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taegularities · 1 year ago

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colour me in: palette | jjk (m)

Summary: Breezy mountaintops and turquoise oceans are even more enchanting with Jungkook by your side. Yet, throughout your vacation, you realise — even once you've left the lofty peaks and liberating waves behind, you'll still elevate each other to new heights every day.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating; tiny hints of angst, crazy much fluff, smut ➳ warnings: okayyy. a shit ton of fluff. vacation with their friends!!!, kissing, singing, sexual tension, slippery soccer lolll, bit of acrophobia, someone flirts with oc, bit of jealousy, lots of taeun and yoonmin moments, new dynamics!!!, mountains and beaches, jimin/jk moments :'), deep talks, some insecurities, bunk beeeeds lol, mention of homophobia, small arguments, anger, talk about passing of time; explicit sexual content: hotel room sex :O, light spanking/ass stuff, kissing and making out, teasing, neck kisses!!, jk never gets enough, bit of manhandling, pussy slapping, big dick!jk, soft dom!jk, oc is soaked, they're both wearing their shirts/naked downstairs tho (impatience sigh), oral (f. & m. receiving), bit of mouthfucking, soft and rough sex, mention of sex toys, slapping with his dick ig, masturbation, spit, edging?, choking, he likes her bewbs and a$$, squirting, they ruin the hotel room bed lol, showering together; the ending 🥺 ➳ word count: 32.6k ➳ a/n: gosh, it's been mooonths. did y'all miss them as much as i did :') the distance really brought me closer to them. some more of my soul in this chapter <3 there'll be angst ahead, so enjoy this one thoroughly and with all your heart. thank you for all the support, too <3 i can't wait to hear what you guys think 🤍 ➳ listen to: can't help falling in love by haley reinhart (alt. version) | full collaborative playlist 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

DAY 1

“Bunk beds… Fu. Cking. Bunk. Beds.��

Jimin scarcely seems impressed with the change in plans that the hostel is forcing your group into. You haven’t quite yet deciphered what’s going on; you’ve been waiting in the lobby with pursed lips and tired eyes, Jimin at the front desk, discussing details that he’s now groaning about.

“Wait… what?” Eun asks, eyes scanning the group members, all equally confused.

Jimin, as agitated as you haven’t seen him in a while, plumps into one of the lobby’s upholstered sofa chairs, massaging his forehead, seemingly preparing to narrate a tale without a happy ending. He sighs, raising his hand as if to teach calculation to a child, and starts explaining.

“We’d booked three rooms, right? But one of them has a leak.” Short pause; Taehyung clicks his tongue. “So now they offered to keep one with the queen size bed and then get another room with two bunk beds. We’d pay less. Or. We keep the other two rooms with the beds, and still pay for the bunk bed room since one couple will still need it.”

“Same price?” Yoongi inquires, aside from Jungkook, the calmest in the room.

“Oh my god,” Eun whispers, matching Jimin’s drama-loving freak, “this is… we’re being robbed.”

“So,” Yoongi tries again, a deep voice interrupting your best friends’ growing hysteria, “we just pay less and get the bunk bed room for four people, no?”

Eun and Jimin stare at the man as if he’s uttered sheer nonsense; Eun’s eyes squint, questioning how he’d dare separate her from her boyfriend. And Jimin, his expression equal to Eun’s, directs the disbelief between his eyebrows directly at his lover speaking.

But as the options start to waver, Eun sighs, leaning back in defeat as she mumbles, “I guess…”

“Yeah, and then, who’s getting the queen sized bed?” you ask carefully, likely initiating another feud; but what else can you do? You need to resolve the issue on hand and you’re dog tired; you need to nap for an hour at least. “How do we decide that?”

“That’s the question,” Jimin declares, rubbing his hands before he announces, “I think we’ll have to fight for it, folks.”

“…How?”

Multiple pairs of eyes drift to the ceiling in thought, attempting to come up with a fair idea or some game. But their schemes are probably too intricate, building scenarios that aren’t feasible in this very situation; you can already tell.

That is, until Taehyung speaks up, slapping his thigh as he finally answers, “We’ll just go the easiest way we know.”

The fact that Jungkook and Yoongi puff out a breath of air is understandable; as Kim Taehyung’s closest pals, they’re bound to know which thought lit up his brain. But by now, even you understand the man’s tactics well enough, and before you can verbalise them, Yoongi does.

“…Wait. You want to rock paper scissors this out?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“We just pull names? Or spin the wheel? There are plenty of sites on the Internet.”

“No,” Jimin again, “I don’t trust any of you to not manipulate this.”

Voices soon mingle, offended by Jimin’s distrust, retorts flying around such as, “Oh, thanks for this,” or “Why would we manipula—”

“Come on!” Jimin defends, cutting through the cacophony of arguments. “We’re all a bunch of newlyweds! Nobody wants to sleep without the other.”

Well… maybe he’s not wrong there. Over the last several weeks, you’ve grown accustomed to your boyfriend’s warmth next to you; under your head; beneath your palm. His breath against your cheeks and the chin in your mane.

Which is why you tilt your head in slight, approaching worry, leaning into Jungkook’s embrace, his arm over your shoulders. You look at him until he stares back, telling him as the others argue, “This is terrible. I just got used to sleeping with you and…”

But he shakes his head in reassurance, blinking slowly. Gently grabs your hand off his chest and intertwines your fingers, promising that, “It’s okay, babe. Whatever game they want to play, we’ve got this.”

If he says it, you must believe it. Losing would be counterproductive for this trip; you required this time-out with him for the sake of your sanity, considering the weight of the past months.

And thinking about it, you’ve gotten used to his presence too much to sleep without it. You reminisce about the nights he hit the gym late, barely finding time throughout the day as he worked on his exhibit pieces, permanent smudged hues colouring the sides of his hands.

And you, exhausted from work, grazed the other side of the bed with a half sleeping, half restless mind, waking up time and time again to find the mattress empty. Whenever he did come back, sliding into the sheets, you’d notice.

Notice everything.

How he’d kiss your forehead or your temple, whispering your name or a soft, “Hi, angel,” without really expecting a response back. He’d pull you half on top of his body, chest rising with your head atop as he sighed and then, eventually, drifted off.

You think that once or twice, you even heard him breathe a nearly inaudible confession, starting with your new favourite letter L.

But…

It seems that today, luck isn’t quite on your side; different from what he foretold, you haven’t got this. Because mere five minutes later, you’re staring into a group of shaking heads and devastated faces.

Jimin and Yoongi have lost already; and when it’s time to decide between the remaining of you four, it’s not you who breaks into cheerful laughter but the couple you’ve decided to regard with a pout for the rest of the trip.

Unnecessary to mention that Tae and Eun dash into their room once they’ve received the key, quick enough for their suitcases to collide with their soles as they roll behind them. The two remaining duos, among them a sighing Jungkook and a disappointed you, trudge to the bunk bed room without any rush.

Jimin and you sulk your way through the hallways, but Yoongi and Jungkook, you soon notice, remain familiarly posed. You don’t get it; aren’t they upset about the separation?

Your boyfriend at least is still sporting an encouraging smile when you open the door to the frustratingly compact room. The two pairs of bunk beds have a sufficient distance between them, but the beds themselves barely fit a person. You’ve been played so bad.

“And what if we do take the second double room and let fate decide between us?” Jimin suddenly suggests, and you nearly buckle, ready to get into position and lift your fist for another game.

But Yoongi pushes between the two of you, clicking his tongue, “Nah. It’s just two nights, we’ll be moving on after that anyway. Besides,” he sets his suitcase against the left bunk bed, claiming it, and ruffles through his long, dark hair, “we can’t leave the last couple all alone here.”

You smirk in mock, tilting your head, “Ha-ha. You’re way too sure of victory. You wanna try right now, Min—”

“Come on,” Jungkook tries, two heavy hands settling on your shoulders before he moves them down and rubs your shoulders in affection, “solidarity, baby. It’ll be fun.” He moves in, close to your face, kisses your cheek and then whispers into your ear, “We’ll have our room at the beach. And then a whole week just for us, remember?”

Oh, as if you could forget.

Jungkook’s hometown will be the third and last stop of your vacation, a wedding and a childhood bedroom awaiting you. You can’t predict what those days in the countryside will bring, but you refuse to think about them; not because you’re reluctant to go, but because you want the place to surprise you.

Nevermind that the thoughts still seep through all the time; the pure elation.

Your face warms at the thought; you’ve communicated it a million times and will say it a billion times more — you don’t think you’ve ever been this pumped in your life.

No — do not think about it. Let it come to you… carpe diem and all that.

You jump back into the moment, right into the banter, placing your suitcase on the floor and opening it to rummage for today’s outfit. As you shamelessly lay open your entire wardrobe, including some of your best lingerie, you tease, “Okay. I’ll save up my energy. More tonight, boys.”

Jimin blows a raspberry at you; Yoongi waves you off with a grin; and Jungkook barely reacts to you. You assume he’s tired from all the driving, requiring rest more than you, eyes half-lidded.

But if you were in his head, you’d know that he’s long dissociated from the conversation, blending out words, movements, reactions; rather, he merely observes your smile. The playful crease between your eyebrows. The curve of your lips as you speak.

Blinking slowly; lucky for the force of nature wafting into his life like a brisk autumn wind.

Lucky, knowing that somebody could actually care so much.

The pullover doesn’t feel as soft and smooth between your fingertips as it looked from afar. You don’t think you’ll take it. But the beige cardigan felt like a shawl made of accumulated feathers against your body; and Jungkook approved of it, too.

You’re liking the village; maybe it’s the overall dreamy and magical vibe it emanates. It’s redolent of cosy nights spent in front of a fireplace, a hot tea cup warming your palms as you study the view out of a small window, the far-reaching blankets of snow.

And the scent of wooden houses and cinnamon travels through this place — you can’t describe it, but you urge to take all the earthy colours with you.

The pink dress, however, hugging your body like second skin, is bright, the opposite of the cardigan you’ve already settled on buying. It’s a fall dress, comfortable and adaptable to any situation.

You turn in front of the mirror, inspecting your ass, your curves, checking the length and the material for possible flaws. And once you’ve convinced yourself, you push the curtain aside, seeking a second opinion from the man patiently sitting in front of the changing room.

Upon seeing you, his eyes brighten the way they did the last couple of times. Even when he didn’t quite like the item you chose, he seemed happy to just see you. But this time, his pupils flit from button to top, the sparkle in them already obvious as he says, “Damn.”

“I take it you like it as much as I do.”

“Do one of your three sixty spins.”

He loves those. Enjoys it when you present yourself with that treacly smile of yours, arms angled and slightly in the air. And when you come to a stand again, the dress still sways, your eyes questioning, sweet, pure. Jungkook finds joy in this; he could look at you doing this all day.

You keep asking, “Are you bored? Wanna go somewhere else?”

And he always responds, “No. Show me another one of the dresses.”

But no matter how boundless his enthusiasm, he can’t control his occasionally occurring ticks — you know they’re a sign of a nervous mind, watching his fidgety self card through his hair or move his leg or cross and uncross his arms.

So you ask, “You okay?”

“Hm? Yeah. Yeah, I think I’m just tired,” he explains, “driving all day made me drowsy.”

Well, okay, that could be a reason. He does get restless when he craves his bed. Kudos to him for still enduring your slow ass at shopping. You hum before you remind him, “I told you to let me drive.”

“Yes, but…. I like driving,” he shrugs his shoulders, pouting a little, “and you were having fun.”

Honestly—

Fun is a way to call it. You pluck at the hem of the fall dress, recalling the morning with a fond but slightly guilty smile.

“Okay. Lean back now.”

The road was challenging, Jungkook’s voice too quiet to prevail over the music, and you too reckless. Despite the chaos, his grin was telling — though the crinkles and dimples disappeared when half your body turned towards the backseat; right when the car approached a sharp curve.

A harsh hand pushed your beaming self back into your seat, and he spat a single warning, “Angel!”

You’d separated the large group — Jimin was driving the other car, alternating with Taehyung. The journey wasn’t awfully long, but you still went the fair route and split your circle in three versus three, Yoongi residing in the back of your car.

Your car because you’d be driving on to the wedding anyway, and Yoongi would then proceed the vacation in Taehyung’s vehicle. But while your excitement for Jungkook’s hometown didn’t dim a single bit, you were a little sad that you’d be leaving earlier, not getting more time with Yoongi.

Because he vibed. With the right people, you heard, and now witnessed, he vibed.

He sang along with the music in confidence, flashing gummy smirks, DJ-ing with you. Sharing the same taste in music as you, the moments were never dull, 80s classics chiming before modern hip hop took their place. Yoongi likes J. Cole particularly.

The two of you were exhausting, but you did pamper the driver enough to not let your annoying self become too obvious. As in, feeding Jungkook snacks whenever you could, indulging in his favourite music when your tracks ended, offering to drive.

Jungkook remained in a good mood most of the way, but nearing the end, he got edgy, tired, even disregarding Yoongi’s sarcastic suggestion to drive wordlessly.

It took you a moment to understand — Yoongi isn’t a bad driver at all, as you’ve been told by himself, but he’s still not fully healed yet. None of you would make him and he wouldn’t risk it.

Mad respect to Jungkook for suffering through your shenanigans and then still being your anchor as the trouble about the rooms began at the hostel.

You’re a handful — but he has confessed a hundred times before that he’d rather have that than an empty palm.

“No wonder you’re tired,” you tell him, flattening the already crinkle-free dress before you add, “Poor Jimin and Yoongi. Were separated in the cars and now in the hostel, too.”

“I mean,” Jungkook starts, “they both seemed to have a good time on the way, though. Other than that, have they even made stuff official yet?”

Good question. Barely occurred to you yet. You think back to the last couple of weeks, to each of the weekend meetings that you’d summon everybody to in order to discuss the trip. Nothing was said then. Nothing has been said since this morning, either.

So you say, “Kind of by just being with each other the way they are, right? To be honest, I didn’t even think about it. For me, it was already official… didn’t think it’d need an announcement.”

“Maybe you’re right? It’s as much of a secret as we are.”

You break into a grin. “Right?” And then, you straighten your stance, once more turning to show off your ass, too, just for good measure. “What do you think?”

“Oh, you should buy it.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, it’d be good to look at and then fun to rip off.”

You roll your eyes so hard, they nearly disappear from his sight; partly to hide the effect his words practise on you — face hot, chest tight, legs crossed to ease the physical feeling that emerges.

And then, partly to remind him of where he’s sitting right now — not far from an elderly lady who’s currently side-eying you. Weird; just a minute ago she was smiling at you. Ah, decency.

“Ugh, can you only think about that?” you joke, right before wiggling a finger. “This one’s expensive. You’re not ripping off shit.”

“Hey, don’t scold me. You’re just as bad!”

“I’m not! In case you don’t remember, I totally resisted when you offered to come into the changing room with me.”

“Ah, ahhh,” he teases, cocking an eyebrow, “in case you don’t remember, only very reluctantly.” You can’t suppress the laugh, and he joins, familiar creases around his stellar eyes. “But seriously, you look gorgeous.”

“Right! I’ll wear it to your next exhibition, okay? Or the party you’ll definitely host once you’ve established yourself as the nation’s biggest artist.”

And that’s when he finally gets up, groaning a tiny bit before he slaps your ass and rubs it, delighted at your yelp. Challenges you, “Decide whether you want to be cute or sexy. I can’t handle both.”

“But you do every day,” you say, sulking. But your expression returns to normal when he pinches your butt, and you click your tongue, “Okay, okay. We’ll see what you can handle once we get to our next destination.”

Where you’ll finally have your own bedrooms. Your peace. Your mattress to be demolished.

Excited doesn’t do this feeling justice.

Jungkook must be thinking something similar; at least that’s what you ascertain from the way he tongues his inner cheek, shaking his head. You don’t provoke him further — only blow a kiss before you saunter back into the changing room.

You purchase the dress, stepping into the fall air, and move your head left and right in search of the rest of you. You ask, “Have you seen the others? I think we lost them at the souvenir shop, but they might be nearby.”

“Yeah, they went into another souvenir sho— wait, that’s Eun, isn’t it?”

You squint into the distance.

God, this place is like a Christmas market straight from 90s movies. Traditional and homely, domestic and gentle. Oozes some type of warmth that defeats the slightly chill breeze by miles.

And you’re so loving the shops. They’re small, their owners as hospitable as you haven’t met in ages. They talk to you, treat you like one of their own, never attempting awkward conversation and always providing their honest opinion. The lady you just bought the dress from even told you to visit again.

Shit, and the stalls! They’re popular spots; the backbone of the tourism in this area. Sell all kinds of snacks — candied fruits, hot drinks, gingerbread. October hasn’t ended yet, but you crave your golden Christmas lights.

Somewhere not too far, you finally recognise Eun and Yoongi, too, standing at the punch stall, ordering. Thinking about it, it’s been a while since you ate or drank — and just imagining the fruity flavour, you can’t help but suggest, “Ohhh, I should get some, too. Wanna come?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer right away. Your suspicion from before somewhat returns; his thoughts don’t seem to align with yours right now. In fact, you guess them far away, pondering about anything but punch.

You’re moved to ask again, but before you can utter a word, he answers, “Hmm, no, I think I’ll get a coffee a bit later. I’ll go find Jimin and Taehyung in the meantime, though? You go get your punch.”

You blink at him, not sure if you should try again. But when you can’t find a reason for any deviation in mood, you give him the free space he might need, telling him, “Okay. You know where to find us if you need to.”

“Got it,” he says, leaning in to kiss your forehead, and then walks away when you do.

Just once more, you turn, gaping over your shoulder in confusion; but he seems okay. Occupied by the view, craning his neck to look at the mountain nearby, at the very peak you’ll reach tomorrow.

So you turn away, only for him to regard you a moment later.

Jungkook watches as you reach your friend, Eun’s arm cheerfully wrapping around your shoulders, welcoming you in. You give the stall owner a knockout smile, and once distracted enough, Jungkook directly charges for the shop the two of you walked past earlier.

It’s still mostly empty when he reaches it. One young man, much like him, is standing inside, discussing an object lying on the pult between him and the seller. Jungkook glances through the store window, spying the object of his desire, and then walks in.

Enduringly, he waits for the other man to finish. Seems he is a customer, too, buying his grandmother a gift for her birthday. And it looks like he’s more or less firm on his decision, because not even two minutes later, he has thanked the woman behind the counter and left.

Jungkook, equally determined, points to the purchase he’d like to make, making small-talk with the woman now and then before she disappears in a small room at the back and packs the object.

And Jungkook waits… waits calmly until a voice breathes a, “What you doing?” into his ears, scaring him to death. The woman leans back, peeking, alarmed as she asks in an accent, “Everything good?”

Jungkook waves her concerns off. Lets her work. Turns to Jimin as he says, “Goddamn, dude. Don’t do that.”

“You look like you saw a ghost. Are you hiding something?” he asks, right before the lady walks out and presents the pretty packaging and small bag to Jungkook. “Oh! Is this for me?”

Jungkook pays with a scoff, carefully placing it in his bag and then laughs, “C’mon.” And once the rucksack is back on his shoulders, he bids his goodbyes to the seller, leading Jimin outside and whispering as if you could hear, “Alright. It’s for her. I’ll give it to her at the wedding.”

“Damn, a little present for the date at a wedding? You’re down bad.”

“How did you guess that?” Jimin chuckles, patting Jungkook’s back as the younger one smirtles. Soon telling Jimin, “Not a word to her, though. Or anyone. Okay?”

“My lips are sealed.”

That’s it. At least for a while. Both pairs of hands pushing into their jeans’ pockets at once, they trek side by side in silence, head moving left, right, up and down. It’s awkward until it isn’t — until Jimin collects some courage and then spits, “Listen.”

Another pause. Just for a moment. Enough for Jungkook’s tremendous eyes to look up, a finger scratching his temple as he hears Jimin articulate words he never expected, “I know I said my piece that night already, but…” A grimace, kissing his lips, then, “I’m really sorry for doubting you so much at first. I should’ve given you a chance much sooner.”

Well, fuck.

For weeks and months, Jimin refused to trust him with a steadfast resolution. Didn’t waver even when you attempted to convince him otherwise. There was a prickly dislike in the man’s eyes that irked Jungkook, and frankly, saddened him a little.

But the night you drunk-called him, begging to come back, minutes before he chauffeured all of you home, something shifted. Jimin’s stance towards Jungkook had seemed to change, at least. Actually a grateful occurrence to think back to, considering how much Jungkook fucked up at that time…

“But you have given me a chance now,” Jungkook defends, Jimin nodding, “and I appreciate that just as much.”

“You remember what I said to you back then?”

Of course… he might remember each detail of that night forever.

“Of course,” Jungkook echoes, “you said you were growing fond of me. Trusted me.”

“And I meant it.”

“She said you said it because you knew she was fond of me.”

Jimin chuckles, the sound high-pitched and pleasant, melodic. “Well, I guess that’s true to some extent. But it’s definitely not just that.” He reviews his thoughts; then, “It’s more so the fact that you came back.”

That he came back.

Jimin doesn’t mention that he came back because you called. Because somewhere within, he must know as well as the man beside him that Jungkook was going to come back anyway.

Nobody here doubts his feelings for you. And in some way, this is a reassurance of trust he didn’t think he needed.

“And in hindsight,” Jimin speaks on, “while I disagree with what you did before that,” a sting in Jungkook’s beating heart, “I think your reasons were selfless. Lack of communication here and there, but… you want her happy, right?”

There’s no debate about this.

“So much,” Jungkook immediately agrees, “it just doesn’t make sense, you know? That someone like her should be sad.”

“I agree. And you came back, that’s what it is. You’re here. I think I was fond of you because you gave her a sense of… safety.” He shrugs his shoulders, hands still buried in his pockets. Gives a glance to the variety of passersby. “Making her feel protected and like she was worth something when others didn’t. And in turn, you gave her something to fight for, too.”

Something to fight for… someone to fight for.

How hard is it to wrap your head around the fact that somebody thinks you worthy enough to combat the world for?

Jungkook’s heart stirs. A sudden affection for your friend awakens. No. His friend, too.

“You’re just half as bad, huh?” he says, urging another laugh out of Jimin.

“No, you.” More snicker. “But seriously. Since we were teenagers and she was first confronted with… all the issues around her, she’s repeated to me everybody has demons to fight. A couple weeks ago she said it again… added that you do, too. No details, no worries!”

He raises his hand in defence, and Jungkook shakes his concerns off, mumbling that it’s okay, that it’s true.

So Jimin continues, “But just… whenever you might feel like you’re not doing enough — because let’s be real, we all do sometimes — remember that you make at least one person happy.”

Crazy. This is crazy. An alternate reality, for sure.

“I never expected to hear this from you, but… I really am thankful, Jimin.”

Jimin nods before he stops, as if remembering something. “And if it helps. I’m really glad you joined us here. I mean you know Tae and Yoongi better, but Eun loves you.”

Jungkook titters, shy as Jimin nudges his arm, but silencing when he looks ahead, not early enough to stop Jimin’s addition, “And by the way, she’ll love that. Will feel like the bride, probably—”

Jungkook grits his teeth at the very last word, as if staggered by another ghost appearing in front. Jimin’s eyes follow Jungkook’s, eyes widening a couple inches as he realises his mistake; met with your bright gaze as you near the men with Eun and question, “What are you guys talking about?”

You’re so cheerful and curious, impossible to resist. Jimin’s lie nearly doesn’t come out, but when it does, it happens smoothly enough, “He was just gushing about your dress. Told me how he already knows you’ll be the talk of the night.”

“Come onnnn,” you urge, your smile falling, replaced by a scowl, “this is so weak. I know you, Park. That’s not what you were talking about.”

“It is!” Jungkook chimes in as shamelessly as he can. Guilt floods him — but there are certain sacrifices that are necessary for love, aren’t there? “I told you many times how hot you look in it. I did, you can’t contradict that.”

Jungkook’s acting might be getting better, but you still squint your eyes, still pulling a face. But it seems they are conspiring against you; Jungkook clearly sees you give up. Understand that you won’t get anything out of them.

Besides, you love surprises. You won’t ruin it for yourself.

So you wave the white flag, only saying, “I don’t really believe you, but okay,” before turning, gripping Jungkook’s hand and adding, “Listen. You don’t get to drink a good punch every day. Screw the coffee, try it for me. Yoongi is still there.”

And as the two of you walk away, Jimin follows, ignoring Eun’s curious look. Focuses on how Jungkook turns to him just a little, smiling in mischief but also in something like…

Friendship.

Jungkook has been babbling his mouth dry. You know of his temporary hyperfixations; alternating between cooking twice a day, karaoke-ing his way through a lazy weekend or playing Overwatch for four hours straight and of course, you.

Tonight, it’s gimbap.

You’ve heard a ton about it today; from his favourite kind to how it’s made to failures in his past as he first attempted them. Anecdotes and urges.

When you went to the restaurant earlier, he inhaled a gigantic portion of jjajangmyeon, followed by kimchi-bokkeumbap that he partly shared with your still hungry self. His idea was to order some gimbap as another course, but his grunts and groans revealed that he was done for the night.

Or so you thought.

Because hours and a trip to the old town and its popular fountain later, he’s still craving them, restless on the hostel lobby couch as he says, “Do they have room service or something? Do they sell gimbap?”

His attention is directed towards Jimin, the main organiser of your trip; everybody’s been posing questions today as if he’s studied the town and journey to the tiniest detail. Jimin rubs a palm over his tired eyes, sighing before he speaks.

“No, this isn’t a very luxurious place anyway,” he explains, “and besides. You’re making me hungry, too.”

Jungkook leans into him as he asks, “Aren’t you quite close with the receptionist?” Pause. “Do you think they’d let us take a couple things from the kitchen and make it ourselves?”

“Wow, you really are craving it,” Taehyung mocks, but Jungkook skillfully ignores him.

“Jungkook, this is a lot of special treatment to ask for,” Jimin then claims, waiting for a response, but nothing comes back.

You lean forwards when your friend shakes his head, trying to understand what’s going on. And when you find Jungkook’s big, twinkling eyes staring longingly, you know he’s gotten to Jimin, too. Because the latter sighs again, adding, “If you charm them, maybe.”

“Come on. I know how to charm people,” he says, regarding you with a wink, a flick of your chin and a click of his tongue, all at once. You whisper a playfully indignant Damn, watching him get to a stand.

He’s brave, you must say; for an initial and past introvert, good food certainly makes him courageous. Jimin first gestures towards the reception, mumbling a, “Go ahead,” but barely a second later, he’s on his feet with a deep exhale, hearing Jungkook say, “Decided to help me?”

“Only because I’m hungry, too. Can make them together.”

Whatever scenario you just witnessed, it could’ve been one from a sitcom. Those little filler scenes, there for comic relief. But what strikes you the most of all is the dynamic you just watched emerge.

You’re surprised to the core; these two, doing something together? Peacefully? Voluntarily?

As your eyes bolt from the duo to the hanging guitar at the wall and then to your friends, you let out a tiny laugh, delivering a short head tilt before you deduce, “That’s new.”

It’s quite a show, the one you observe from here. Your friends are already too groggy to converse, instead indulging in the scene: Jungkook and Jimin as they converse with the receptionist, leaning in, telling the young man about their day.

Then, the quiet plea, as sweetly uttered as possible; you know these two. You know they’re pulling out the biggest, brownest eyes the world shall ever see, the mellowest voices outing their plea — and to your utter surprise, the receptionist gives in.

Leads them to another room, probably the breakfast hall, and around five minutes later, they reemerge.

Your group giggles when they come out with a wink, Jungkook forming a tiny ‘Oh’ with his mouth, as if to whistle without ever doing it. They don’t come back to you yet; settle on another table at the back instead, hands full of ingredients. There’s more room there for sure.

They spread the stuff across the table, rolling up their sleeves. You can’t really hear their conversation from here, but Jungkook says something and Jimin smirks back with a slight shake of his shoulders. Then, they start, but not before choosing a playlist to play quietly as they attempt the gimbap journey.

You can’t believe it. What an odd sight — but good for them.

“That’s rare indeed,” Eun lets slip before she turns back to you and the group, falling back into the couch.

You nod, looking through the round. Different from the two across the room, the atmosphere here is dead. So you wait; wait for an opportunity until Yoongi, opposite from you, gives you one. His eyes roam the room, soon stopping at the guitar from before. He regards it entirely, like a piece in a museum.

You ask, “Hey. Do you play?”

“Hm?” Yoongi looks back at you, puppy eyes in full effect, and then switches between you and the instrument. “Ah. Yeah, I play sometimes.”

“He plays all the time,” Taehyung corrects.

Yoongi raises a hand in something like defence, humble as ever as he says, “I’ve been learning. But I think I have gotten better, though there’s still a long way to go.”

“Any song you enjoy playing the most?” you ask, leaning in.

“Ohh, you’ll like this.” His eyes are widening, waking, sobering up. As you see new stars being born in his dark eyes, you know you’ve introduced the right topic. “You like oldies, don’t you?”

“I do, actually! How do you know?”

Taehyung chimes in, “Jungkook told us. Like literal months ago.”

Perhaps it’s the new sentiments you’re still accommodating yourself to, but you feel the heat filling up your entire chest, moving up to your cheeks and providing warmth in the eye of this autumn.

You peek at your boyfriend and your friend, catching them falling into a goofy cooking session. Jimin grabs the dark soy sauce bottle, attempting to pour the liquid on his plate with the most dramatic expression you have ever witnessed, only to realise a moment later that he hasn’t even opened it yet.

Both of them break into an embarrassed and amused chuckle, Jimin shaking his head, and before you can melt into the leather couch, you look away with a smile.

“Wait,” you say, “in which context? I’m nosy, and now I want to know.”

“He said Yoongi would like you because your favourite song is… what was it again?”

Taehyung directs his gaze imploringly to Yoongi, but it’s Eun who answers fondly, “It’s Can’t Take My Eyes off You. Ever since… always.”

You cock an eyebrow at Yoongi, teasing, “So is it true? Do you like me then?”

“I adore you.”

Your face heats up more. “You didn’t tell me what you like playing the most.”

“I would say I enjoy…”

“Or wait. Don’t tell me. What if you played it?”

“Now hold on—”

Energised, you take a stand, throwing a look at the receptionist who locks eyes with you at just the right moment. You point to the guitar, and he lifts his hand to gesture, “Go ahead, please.”

You take the guitar off its hook, grazing over the smooth, wooden surface and skimming the strings for a tiny moment. Relishing the familiar feeling. And then, encouragingly, you hand it to the man of the hour, telling him, “I know you want to.”

Yoongi is uncaring and unapologetically him, but he’s just as shy when met with attention. Yet, you know him enough to understand he often does whatever somebody asks of him, so you’re barely surprised when he flashes a thin-lipped smile and agrees, “Yeah. Alright.”

He situates the guitar on his lap carefully, treating it like a newborn as he mutters at the same time, “What should I play? Maybe this?”

His fingers strum a few chords that you don’t recognise, tough ceasing when he starts working on tuning the guitar. It takes a moment; a time you spend in silence, watching Taehyung for a second as he props up his head, eyelids half closed.

You shrug your shoulders, telling Yoongi, “Whatever crosses your mind first.”

He doesn’t answer, handling the instrument. He’s focused, his lips slightly apart, his expression impossibly composed. He murmurs another, “This should do,” and when he plays just the first three chords, you already know what he’s chosen.

Sounds like an acoustic version of the song. Like it could be played at a wedding, plucking the strings in the background as the bride marches to her groom, fitting the theme of the song.

“Which one’s this?” Eun asks, leaning into Taehyung who’s barely alive at this point. The music probably doesn’t help.

But apart from him, most of the heads turn, even if just very few present. There’s a quiet couple near Jimin and Jungkook’s table, smiling at the pleasant intrusion. The receptionist puts his lower arms onto the counter, listening in.

And then, eyes still fixated on the fingers skillfully mastering each note, you clarify, “Dance Me to the End of Love. Leonard Cohen originally, but this seems like a very… calm version of it.”

Yoongi nods a little, never stopping the music, but adds, “The Civil Wars. Covered it.”

“Right.”

The ambiance changes immediately. You wish you could lower the lights, embrace all that you hear, save it in your eardrums like a memory stick could. From afar, you notice luminous eyes directed at you, blinking slowly, hands still working, but giving you some momentary attention.

Is Jungkook thinking the same as you? If he stood now, gently pulling you into the middle of the room, would you care who watches as you dance? Could this be the magical moment that soon awaits you in a very near future? Swaying at the wedding…

You break the longing gaze when Jimin nudges Jungkook’s elbow, chin nodding towards your group as if the latter isn’t already watching. It seems they have advanced, nearly done with their endeavours. Not too long until they can join you again.

Another minute passes until Yoongi proceeds to the bridge and the peak of the song, and then another until he’s reached the end. Calm, soft thrums. Fading slowly, snapping you out of something you didn’t know just yet.

Heavy affection crowds your chest, lifting all sorrows off your heart. You’re filled with fondness. Empty of pain. Weighing everything and nothing.

Yoongi looks up at you with another awkward smile, still humble, his lips a straight line. The few people in the room applaud quietly, and as he puts the guitar down, you ask, “And how did that feel?”

“Surprisingly…” Yoongi angles his head, and then changes the movement into a nod. “Comforting.”

“Isn’t that special? Feeling something through the very music you put your soul into?”

It’s how you feel when you write. Probably how Jungkook feels when he draws. To possess something, be it creative or not, that floods you with joy like this is priceless. You think back to when you wrote your first poem. Or when you crafted your very first short story.

The memories are blurred, but you remember the feeling. Putting the dot at the end of the very last sentence. And then, you remember more than just this.

Remember when your father taught you how to play the piano, too, and remember when he—

“You play?” Yoongi suddenly asks, and you look up in surprise.

Oh. What? Your eyes widen, eyebrows lifting, mouth wanting to ask what he said, even though you know exactly which question he posed. But you soon break into a satisfied grin.

“How do you know?” you wonder.

“You talk like you do.”

“I didn’t want to give any spoilers,” Eun confesses from the side, comfortably closing into Taehyung, “so I didn’t say anything. But I’ve heard her play.”

“Ah,” you voice, “not often. Was I any good?”

“As much as I remember.”

Your eyes wander back to Yoongi, the man already working on handing you the guitar over the table between the two of you. You puff out a breath, nearly declining, but then recall that he did this for you, too.

So you grab it for the moment, explaining, “I… I play a little. Dad taught me the guitar and a bit of the piano when I was younger.” You mimic Yoongi’s gestures from before, making yourself comfortable with the bottom of the guitar on top of one leg. “Always enjoyed the guitar more, though. Felt productive, feeling the cornea on my fingertips.”

“Damn…” Taehyung makes, and you smile at him, nodding as if to say, “You’re alive, too!”

“Then you should definitely play something,” Eun says.

“You’re all okay with that?”

“Please,” Yoongi confirms, gesturing for you to start, “you don’t need our permission at all.”

So you nod. Getting used to the steely feeling, preparing mentally as you don’t need to tune the guitar anymore. You start the song in mind, an equally important oldie as Yoongi’s piece; and then you go another brave step further as you start humming.

You wish Taehyung, Jungkook or Jimin could do that for you. They’re better singers. You’re alright, certainly not a pro, singing your words rather quietly when you do start. But it provides you with deep relaxation, and you inwardly hope your voice does the same for the others.

“Wise men say, only fools rush in…”

You don’t know why you chose this song. You don’t know why you didn’t settle with your usual choice. Something about the moment and the starry night urged you to pick out this very melody, holding onto the charm and spark tingling in the air.

Yoongi, an introvert among so many extroverts in your circle, is the one who chimes in soon, singing the chorus and then moving to the third verse. You entrust him with the latter, giving you time to open your eyes that you didn’t realise were shut.

You see the two boys at the end of the room finally emerge, slowly treading towards you with full plates. They plump onto the free seats right under the wall where the guitar previously hung, placing the gimbap in the middle of the table.

Taehyung helps himself to one portion, Eun soon following, but Jungkook…

Jungkook seems to have forgotten about it. He walked to you from one spot to where you sit, but as he looks at you now, you wonder how he moved at all. So mesmerised, like a flawless statue, bambi eyes filled with a tenderness you thought only exists on TV.

If you could guess, you’d say he’s looking at you like… like he’d die for you.

Love. Yearning. Affection uncurbed.

He cradles his cheek, putting his elbow on the arm of the couch, lost as if he’s dreaming. He could fully throw you out of balance just now. If you hadn’t played this song with your father a dozen times, committing each movement to memory, you probably would’ve long failed.

You shut your eyes for a moment enough to catch yourself, hearing Yoongi finish another chorus when you suddenly hear another switch in voices. Jungkook, singing the outro, so effortlessly and tenderly; the tone so angelic without even trying.

You could fall asleep. You could fall deeper.

You never knew you could.

Jungkook is the living proof that, despite not being the biggest sap to walk the Earth, you’ve grown fond of his little gestures. You didn’t think you could feel so shy over the way he kisses the air in your direction, expression so hazy.

A couple months ago, you would’ve never expected not to roll your eyes over his little, gentle antics.

But you’re not. Instead, you’re trying not to let show how much he affects you, nodding towards the applause before you ask, “So I take it, it was good?”

“Good?!” Eun blurts in disbelief, leaving it at that with a shake of her head.

“You keep surprising me, angel,” Jungkook admits, “I don’t know what to do with this anymore.”

“With what?”

He’s close enough for his mouth to kiss your cheek, an eyebrow lifting in tease as he puts a hand on his heart. This time, you do roll your eyes, albeit still going in when he gives your lips the tiniest peck.

Your heart is still in the process of accelerating when he asks, “You chose the right song, didn’t you?”

Yeah. A little dose of Elvis’s Can’t Help Falling in Love fits the situation quite well, doesn’t it?

You merely answer with a flattered smile, nearly going in for another, longer kiss; another touch in your own little bubble, suspending time and the world. But your manners demand differently, so you resist, leaning back.

Only taking his hand until the group comes alive a little more, feasting on the midnight snack that the men handled pretty well. The group changes up with time, seats abandoned and taken, switched with another, the guitar cautiously passed on to Yoongi again.

And then they sing some more. You listen, head on Jungkook’s shoulder, dozing in and out of sleep, in and out of his embrace.

Taehyung is soon encouraged to sing a couple, gorgeous snippets of Fly Me to the Moon, a signature song for him and his baritone voice, as Yoongi and Jungkook assure you. You don’t know when this became a session of nostalgic karaoke, remembering a time you never experienced.

It’s how you pictured these nights to end. Nearly falling into a slumber before the day concludes.

Surrounded by a warmth incomparable to a bonfire; one you’ve been yearning for your entire life.

The end of the night begins with an argument.

Yoongi and Jimin are busy preparing themselves for bed, surprisingly cool-headed after the tumult this morning. They don’t struggle with choosing their comfort in the room, while you pull at Jungkook’s leg as it dangles off the upper bed.

“I’m going to come up,” you warn, trying to tickle the bottom of his foot before he crosses his legs, smirking down at you. “And I will be so annoying.”

“Is that news?” he wonders, and you open your mouth wide in surprise, hearing a chuckle from the couple behind you.

“Babe. I called shots on the upper bunk.”

“You did not.”

“It’s a lot more fun up there. And I thought you’d like sleeping down there.”

Jungkook’s eyebrows kiss, his expression questioning as he asks, “What made you think that?”

Well, now that you think of it, your presumptions were flawed. You assumed he wasn’t too picky, always a deep and peaceful sleeper at home. Defeated, you shrug your shoulders, telling him, “You had a mattress on the floor when you moved into the apartment.”

“That’s… an impeccable argument. I can’t even respond to it.”

The sarcasm drips out of his voice like a damaged tap, and once he shifts to the wall, pressing his back against it, you understand your half childlike, half playful pleading won’t work. So you only tilt your head, squinting his eyes at him, and then drop onto the bed below him.

“Don’t you fart, though,” you tell him, registering a goofy laugh with a fond smile. It’s okay. Maybe tomorrow. Either way, it’s worse than not having him beside you at all.

Yoongi switches off the light, ready to sleep as he falls into his bed with a groan. It was a long day and you walked miles, so you understand his fatigue. You expect for them to snore within a moment, but to your astonishment, Jimin starts a conversation not a minute later.

“We were lucky with the weather. I bet it’s raining back at home.”

Oh… have you finally grown into the type of adults who smalltalk about the sun and the clouds? The precipitation and humidity?

Jungkook answers, “Closer to the equator. The weather is best over here in the fall.”

Then, Yoongi, “Hopefully it’s as nice at the beach, too.”

“It better be,” Jimin chimes in, “I’ve been looking forward to our game for ages. I’ll play in the rain if need be.”

“Oh god, can you imagine?” you add, switching to your left side, hands under your temple. You’ve been thinking about the game just as much — chaos with a big fat portion of craze. “We wouldn’t even be able to get up if it rained.”

“We’d get nowhere,” Jungkook confirms, and you imagine him nodding towards the ceiling, arms under his head.

“That’s what. Doesn’t it sound fun? Wouldn’t matter anyway… the rain would at least kill my competitive side, you know?” Jimin jests, and you already send a prayer above. Not for rain, but for bright sunshine; you cannot miss the ruthless, cut-throat battle that will emerge.

And as if you predicted it, knowing very well who strives for a win and who doesn’t, Jungkook challenges, “Your competitive side means nothing if you’re gonna lose anyway.”

“Dude. Be careful. There’ll be nothing but regret if we end up being on the same team,” Jimin says.

“True, true,” you hear Jungkook respond, just as Yoongi lets out an amused snicker, aligning with your muttered, “Now, that, I wanna see.”

The banter and chatter proceeds for another couple minutes, up to the point where Yoongi needs to shush the quartet. Your laughter ebbs down after his reprimands, morphing into content and tired sighs.

And once the conversation has more or less died, you wonder, “Do we need to sleep? We could just stay awake and talk all night.”

But your suggestion proves redundant — because barely two minutes later, your breathing evens out, calm as you finally drift away. Not a single word anymore. Jungkook rolls over his bed, casting a brief look at you, not quite seeing your face in the dark, but understanding that you’ve fallen asleep.

You can’t stay silent for this long; and you’re not moving. Jungkook clicks his tongue, fond but a tease as he jokes, “I drove all day and still she falls asleep first.”

Yoongi and Jimin’s laughs are cautiously quiet, exhausted, soon giving way to deep breaths like yours until they’ve fallen asleep, too.

Weirdly, it takes some time until Jungkook can join your land of dreams. There’s a strange yearning in his chest that he’s well used to by now; it thoroughly sucks to not have you by his side. And… is this too much?

The affection poured into and onto you, is he doing too much? Feeling too much? Why are his fingers itching and his chest not warm enough, despite the pleasant weather?

You’ve really done a number on him.

The minutes prove long, soon stretching to what he perceives as hours. Jungkook doesn’t know how much time has passed and he refuses to fish out his phone again; the light of the device will only postpone sleep, and he cannot use that for the trip tomorrow.

“Man…” Jungkook quietly complains, letting his left arm swing between the bed rails.

Sleep isn’t an entity to grace him just yet anyway; because as around an hour passes, he hears a sound from below. Sheets shifting, a light groan from you. You sigh audibly, soon going silent, and when he thinks you’re off again, he hears a couple seconds later—

“Kook?”

No, he must be insane. It must be insane how his heart stirs at your tiny, wispy voice. You wash over him like… relief.

“Baby,” he calls out in a whisper, once more moving to look at you — or the darkness below. “You’re awake?”

“Can’t sleep properly. I really hate sleeping in other beds…”

“Right? Me too.” He reaches out for you, hoping you’ll notice the movement, and when your soft fingers get ahold of two of his digits, he breathes out in gratification. “And… I miss you here.”

You hum, rubbing your thumb over his palm, mumbling, “Isn’t it ridiculous? How we can’t go a night like this.”

“Hmm…”

“I miss you, too.”

Patience is a virtue he hasn’t learned yet when it comes to you.

He could wait hours for a hall in the museum to fill. For a visitor to comment on his pieces. He could sit in a room with his father, attempting a conversation; could attempt his whole life to sway your mother’s thoughts. All possible.

But you… distanced from your touch and your lips, not feeling your breath as he does every night is…

Pretty damn shit.

“Wait,” he murmurs, pulling his fingers out of your grip. He hears you mutter a small, “Huh?” as he moves, careful to not hurt himself in the dark.

For the smallest moments, he uses the light of his display to navigate through the limited space, never daring to turn on the flashlight to not wake the entire room. And once he’s touching the ground, agile as a cat, you understand what he’s trying to do.

Quietly, but inefficiently, you protest with just half a heart when he climbs into your bed, telling you to scoot. You say, “Uhm, I… Baby, I don’t know if it’s a good idea—”

But you don’t seem to have much of a say in this matter — because you’re soon outnumbered by Jungkook and his obsession with you, shifting on the bed until you’re nearly pressed against the wall.

He wraps an arm around your waist before the tight space can suffocate you, soon leaning back a little — close to rolling off the mattress? — and pulling you close. The embrace catches your breath more than the cramped area, but it stops your complaints, too.

Winding a little more, you soon find yourself breathing against his chest, a heartbeat right underneath. Your arm reflexively sneaks around him, hugging him close before he laughs and teases, “You were saying?”

“I… I was saying you feel so warm.”

“Mmmh,” he hums, towing you in impossibly close, planting a kiss on your head before resting his cheek against it, “you are, too.”

“Do I feel better than your bed up there?”

“A lot better.” His palm flattens over your back; the scent of his shampoo, his fabric softener and him dizzies you. “Makes me feel a bit less sorry about keeping you awake.”

“Don’t worry,” you sigh into his soft cotton shirt, feeling the lines of his pecs against your lips, “Am exhausted. I’ll fall asleep fast. Especially like this…”

“Oh… glad to be of service then.”

You nod, rubbing his shirt between your fingertips as he moves his hand up and down your lower back, just a little. He yawns against your hair; you know the telltale signs of a drifting mind.

The two of you have gotten used to this. It’s said that pressing something comforting against your chest, such as a pillow or stuffed toy, works wonders on an insomniac mind. You guess that’s what you are for each other.

Even when you’re not home. Even when the space barely suffices for one body.

Which, as you brood over his sudden presence next to you, reminds you—

“You wanted the upper bunk bed,” you tell him. Nothing more; he understands without you needing to elaborate.

He chuckles as quietly as possible to not wake your friends, his hand slipping under your shirt and feather lightly pinching your sides. Not enough to hurt, but enough to tickle you. You nearly yelp, muffling it against his clothes in time.

“Shut up,” he says, thumb running over where he nipped you. “Okay. Do you know why I wanted you to sleep down here?”

You smile. You’re not stupid. As your vision became blurry, your mind shutting just a while ago, the realisation dawned upon you as the seemingly last thought of the night.

“I think I do…” you admit. “I think I figured it out.”

Because.

Because you’ve fallen out of bed one too many times. Because of some days, when you weren’t nestled in his arms as you are now, not caged in solidly, overworked and stressed. Or when you let go of each other in the middle of the night.

And that’s when you rattled down the bed. Just once or twice!

You never got injured or anything, getting away with perhaps a tiny bruise. What was worse was the fond laughter you tolerated when you told him about it, or when he was there and realised. Worried sick, inspecting your body, but still shaking his head in amusement.

Chuckling as he pushed back your hair, but relieved when he found nothing out of the ordinary.

“I’m not gonna risk your clumsy ass to fall off a bunk bed,” he says.

“There’s a raili—”

“Still. One never knows with you. In any case… you’re not getting hurt on vacation, okay?”

You could coo right here, right now. Whisper his name a million times in disbelief and absolute gratitude, melt into him, dampen his shirt. Jungkook is a thoughtful being, alright, but it’s insane that with you, he thinks half a dozen steps ahead.

Mind empty of a response as worthy as his, you settle on a joke, “Is that right? We’ll see about that once we play the game.”

You finish your sentence dramatically, and he answers with a breathy, “Yeah, yeah,” as he kisses your temple. Careful to keep his back off the ladder leading up to his bed, you keep him in your hug, soon detecting in a whisper, “I really mean so much to you.”

“Mhm… So very much.”

It’s too dark to see his expressions clearly; you see him move, see the white of his eyes a little. But even without it, you know he’s blended out the world when you look up at him. You know he’s staring back quietly.

You know what he’s feeling as the tip of his nose touches yours, the bangs of his growing hair grazing your forehead. And when the finger under your shirt draws circles on your skin, touching you so gently, you feel your heart in your throat, hear it in your ears.

Pumping, pumping hard when you see the silhouette’s mouth part before it arrives at yours. Kisses you tenderly. Doesn’t rush or force his tongue in, just lazily moving.

He cradles your face a moment later, raising your head some more, tilting it as much as possible. The kiss is more like a sequence of innocent pecks, but maybe that’s why the moment feels so intimate.

Because there’s no impatience. No other sentiment but adoration.

As he moves back again, he doesn’t talk right away. Takes a deep breath. Then—

He brushes your tresses aside, away from your temple as his thumb rubs against it gently. His lips hover close to yours, and much like the ever-blooming tiger lily on his golden skin conveys, he whispers, “Love me?”

Your heart.

This treacherous thing — cries and flutters, punctured and whole at once. You’re constantly breathless and speechless, so you wonder how he manages to say, “Please love me, too.”

Doesn’t he know how easy that is? Doesn’t he know who he truly is, what his stardust of a soul is made of? That he was born to be loved. That he’s not responsible for those who do not, rather a ray of serene moonlight who doesn’t need to show anyone that he’s just that.

“No need to beg,” you tell him, “you’ll never need to beg.”

Another beat of silence. He’s smiling, you know. Keeping his heart at bay as much as you are guarding yours. Does he think the same way about you as you do about him?

Of course. Probably. In some sense, you were in the same sinking boat, surrounded by an overwhelming, troubled ocean of doubt; waves of self-hatred drowning you. You know exactly what it’s like to get used to being unloved by everyone; and then to learn to be loved again.

You clear your throat, feeling his body relax; your head returns to his chest, and you say, “You know. It might be a bit uncomfortable, but we could make it work. It’s not that tight—”

“In theory. But we wouldn’t sleep well, right?” he ponders.

Wrong. You soon prove him wrong, unpredictable as you are half of the time when you’re not being familiar to him like the back of his hand.

Because your words soon become slurred, silent not much after, your breathing calm and warm against his chest. Your tiny fist still holds onto his shirt, the blanket alternatively slipping either off him or you.

So he waits until your grip around him loosens. Then, presses a light kiss to your lips, carefully moving away and out of your bed. Ignoring how you hold onto him until the last moment, scared you might awaken again; murmuring in your sleep as you tend to do.

He gently rubs your fist until you uncurl your fingers around his shirt; if he doesn’t do this, he’ll stay here all night. Instead, he furrows his eyebrows in chagrin and yearning; and when your hands move back under your head, he finally bids the first day goodbye and climbs back up.

Eventually descending into dreams of you, too.

DAY 2

The air is much colder up here than you thought.

You can’t recall ever having been on a mountain before; considering your country’s geography, a very ordinary thing that you never really got to experience. Your parents were fans of beaches all over the nation and the globe; didn’t enjoy heights, but depths.

You knew that early on.

Satisfied, however, you hide your mouth in your jacket. You’re glad Eun talked you into packing a thicker jacket and gloves, giving half a dozen logical arguments like the amazing lawyer that she could be. It was fun, packing suitcases together via video calls.

But the wind still hits your ears harshly, and you curse as you get off the cable railway, “Damn it.”

Jimin rubs your arms from behind, the ecstasy clear as day as he cheers, “Come on, no pauses now! We finally made it.”

That you did. No turning back. You’ve wanted this for so long. So you follow the others, walking beside Eun. Her legs are slightly longer than yours, and her steps wider. She proceeds a little faster, so you soon hook your arm with hers, urging yourself to catch up.

You’re relieved when you reach a small platform overlooking not much but the mountain lift and all the stops till the ground. Down below, you recognise the entrance you bought your tickets at.

Sometimes, along the descent of the mountain, you spot people hiking. They don’t take the lift; they trek up and down, with these cool hiking sticks of theirs.

Jungkook and Taehyung didn’t come with you. Or rather, they’ll arrive a bit after you. Namjoon rang up Jungkook just before you got ready to leave, asking for his apprentice’s time. Something about the gallery and the exhibit.

Yet, extremely sorry, Namjoon told him he could call back later, but Jungkook insisted on listening to what his mentor had to say, presuming it was urgent enough for an interruption in his vacation. And Taehyung stayed with him — partly to not leave him alone, and partly because he’s always dreamed of making an acquaintance with an art connoisseur like Namjoon.

Taehyung apparently has a big thing for art. The only reason Jungkook let him stay at all.

Because when you suggested the same, he rejected your idea without flinching once, prompting you to enjoy these valuable days instead of hanging around at the quiet hostel with him. It took some persuasion and a tender, “Angel, as much as I want you here, I won’t be able to talk to you anyway. I’ll be there in no time.”

So here you are now, content when cold but pleasant air caresses your face. You take in the high trees and the picturesque mountain range; somewhere in the far back, at the horizon, there’s another higher, snow-capped mountain.

And you look for a while, arms wrapped around your knees. Eun remains in a similar position, enjoying the moment; Yoongi and Jimin decide to bask in their joy by capturing the experience in snapped pictures.

Ten minutes later, your group decides to walk on, tramping up a short distance to a bridge Yoongi mentioned earlier. And you guess that’s where your serenity ends.

Because the bridge isn’t as short as you thought. Moves a little, mostly solid, but… holy shit, were you this high up all the time? They say don’t look down in moments like these, but you can’t help, and God, there’s an immeasurable distance between you and the ground and—

It’s not immeasurable. No, you’re an idiot. But you still can’t help it; stare down, gulp.

You reach to the railing with a careful hand. Why do they… how do they…

The others are doing it so easily. The other tourists. And Jimin; moving over it effortlessly, swaying a bit, but airing a sweet laugh. And then even Eun and Yoongi, initially struggling, make their way over, slower than Jimin but courageous nevertheless.

Okay… okay.

You push your phone extra deep into your bag, blinking before you take a deep breathe, repeating a mantra three or four times before you—

Scream.

The surprise of a new voice directly behind you is unwelcome, absolute horror in a moment like this. You flinch hard, reacting, barely hearing the “See?” over the wind before you slap the sudden hands off your shoulders. Your knees are shaking and you’re uncertain who the fingers belong to, but you’re still ready to fight.

The voice isn’t; the startled gasp reveals as much.

You turn, only to find your boyfriend’s eyes ripped open, lips parted. He puffs out a breath, equally frightened at your reaction before his expression turns apologetic. Baffled. Both at once as he exclaims, “Sorry! Sorry, baby.”

“Kook! Timing,” you blurt, scowling in distress, yet immediately holding onto his waist once you’ve grasped the reality enough.

“Angel…” he starts, looking into the hell below. “Are you scared of heights?”

No time to be sarcastic; you don’t have the breath to. So you admit, “A little.”

“I didn’t know,” he breathes, another apology in his words. He kisses your hair to soothe your worries; in some way, it works, even if not enough right now. “I’m sorry. Do you want to go or just stay here? We can stay here.”

His gaze is worried now, and he nods to reassure you, holding onto you. Behind him, Taehyung emerges, comprehending the situation and studying your countenances within the next three seconds until he asks, “All good?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook promises, “you can go ahead if you want.”

“Mmmh,” Taehyung hums; doesn’t sound too sure about leaving the two of you here. “You need a hand? I can go ahead, Jungkook follows.”

Uhh…

“Is that a good idea?” you mumble.

“It could be.”

Could be? And if it isn’t?

Then again. You’re here for a reason. You’d be disappointed with yourself if you just stood here, ruining the chance not only for yourself, but Jungkook, too. You look at him, and he shrugs his shoulders, signalling that it’s up to you.

So you decide, “No, I’ll go. I came here for this, and I don’t know when the next opportunity will arise. Fears exist to be conquered!”

“Hear, hear!” Taehyung cheers, just as Jungkook praises, “See? That’s my girl!”

It helps you, their way to motivate. Cautiously, you place a hand in each of their palms, moving one step after another. They’re determined to take care of you, constantly checking if you’re okay. And it works at first. But.

The bridge seems endless, and the fright yearns to return to you bit by bit. Halfway through, your surroundings look scary enough to put you off balance; you hate that you’re not holding onto anything solid, basically standing freely.

If one falls, all of you do — which, in truth, is sheer impossible. The railing is high enough. But your brain isn’t quite computing properly right now. You let go of Taehyung’s hand, grabbing the railing, but still clutching Jungkook’s grip.

“Go ahead,” your shaky voice commands; and Taehyung nods this time, no other choice left. “It’s okay.”

“I’m right here if you need me,” he vows before walking on.

Jungkook puts an arm around your waist, a human safety rope. His voice is so insanely steady as he spurs you on, “Imagine it’s the amusement park, yeah? Wanna guess the remaining steps? I think it’s… uh… thirty more till the end.”

You exhale, then inhale. Look in front of you instead of down, blinking rapidly before you let out a trembling laugh and counter, “Are you kidding… Looks like a hundred.”

He chuckles with you as you suck in another breath, straightening your back, fixing your gaze on a big rock on the other side. Thinking about how such a vast number of people take these steps every day offers you some courage. Leaves you brave.

So this must be safe, right? Logically seen. You gulp, and then, with your full chest, estimate, “Forty-five! I say forty-five steps.”

And then, you count together. You’re amused when Jungkook curses as you reach twenty without the end anyhow approaching. And just when you take your thirtieth step, he shakes his head in defeat, telling you, “Should know better than to compete with a munchkin.”

You guffaw awkwardly, howling over the wind, “This is actually fun,” not noticing that he’s barely holding you anymore when you jump over to the mainland again.

“What a journey, huh?” Jungkook praises, patting your back. “I’m proud of you. It’ll only get easier from here.”

And it does. As you move on, you soon reach another platform, spiral stairs leading up to the top. It looks a little like the remainder of an old stone tower, half broken, not too high. The stairs were clearly broken; lighter, fresher patches indicate that they were evened out.

Okay, you can do this much, at least.

In fact, you’re the first to climb up, Jungkook treading on your heels, fingers still entwined with yours. And up there, your mouth drops — the view stuns you, frozen in place. The wind blows more fiercely here, but the moment is worth the strong, cold pull of the gust.

Jimin, having reached much before you, must have seen you, because you hear him say, “I know, right?”

Everyone is scattered up here, leaning against the stone wall protecting you from falling. Other tourists are eternalising the moments in pictures, through talking and kissing. Tae and Eun are pointing into the distance, Jimin and Yoongi going around, laughing.

Holy shit. The euphoria filling each one of you is inevitable. Poignant somehow.

You’re above the foggy clouds.

In the far-flung distance, you see the turquoise ocean, merely a day away from wading through its waves; levitating on the sparkling water; thinking back to now and how numerous the miles between are.

And the forests — they’re thick, vast. You wonder what animals inhabit them. Bears? Wolves? Birds you’ve never seen before? Deers and does that have the same eyes as him?

Even the mountain range looks like the sea from here. Is this odd to say? Like high waves, green and dark blue and white and cloudy. So many valleys and so many peaks. Some of them hidden behind the clouds like before.

The birds are flying so close to your heads. And the sun isn’t at its highest point anymore either. You see the horizon coloured in a yellow-ish, orange-ish hue, indicating the nearing sunset.

This was your goal anyway. You wanted to come here late because of these very colours, occupying yourselves with other sights in the morning and the early afternoon. Because you wanted to see what nature bestows upon you.

The mountain will soon be closed for tourists, and in less than an hour, you’ll be heading back down. But you don’t feel any hurry. Nothing matters.

“This…” you finally whisper as you catch yourself, “makes me wanna cry.”

You put your hands on the chest-high stone wall. Jungkook’s arms make themselves home around your body, pulling you in, pushing him close, telling you, “Then cry. Isn’t that what catharsis is about?”

“It’s just so pretty.”

“It is.”

“Like… is this really our world, Jungkook?” You shake your head against him, ruining your hair as his chin moves against your scalp. “The same we saw a few days ago. Those cars and the pressure and the rushing people. All the stress we endure. Or even, our cosy apartment.”

You fill your lungs with the crisp air, more thankful for it than ever. “There’s so much more.”

“There is, right? A lot more,” he confirms.

“Look at this,” you say, chin gesturing towards no particular spot ahead, “wherever there aren’t people to fuck things up, there’s peace like this.” You sniffle; whether due to the temperature or sentiments, you can’t say. “What if we became nomads?”

His laugh is as sudden as your statement, differing so vastly from the rest of the poetry you spat.

He concludes, “I think you’ll really like it back home.” You’re confused until you understand he means his hometown; to that, you nod enthusiastically. “There are so many wonders out there like this one. I want to show you the prettiest places and the prettiest things.”

“…Do you already have something in mind?”

“Of course I do,” he responds matter-of-factly, tapping his finger against your stomach. “I just won’t tell you yet.”

“Ha. I wouldn’t want you to.”

You swallow when he moves in, kissing your cheek, his breath pleasantly warm against your ear. You wait for a second, indulge in the feeling, permitting yourself to believe you’ve transcended this realm and entered another.

But as you hear everyone else’s voices again, laughing and joking and teasing, you remember you’re still very much here, on the same Earth you know. With your everyday thoughts and lives. Which reminds you…

You turn to the side to look at him, his face in immediate proximity to yours. You ask, “What did Namjoon want?”

“Oh, just needed to discuss a couple things. Exhibition.”

“Sounded super urgent, though.”

“I mean, it kinda was,” he answers, catching the strands of hair that the breeze blows into your face, tucking them back, “he needed a status update. We also spoke about the style the gallery collector likes and—”

“Wait. You’re still sticking to your own style, though, right?”

His heart thumps, violently enough to nearly drop out of his chest. When trailblazing artists, already enjoying a remarkable reputation, preach about the relevance of support, this is what they must mean.

Behind someone who does something significant for the world in any way, there’s somebody soothingly rubbing their backs in bad times. Embracing them in success. Pushing them forward, lending them bravery.

You.

You’re who they must be talking about. Unshakably by his side.

“Of course, angel,” he says, “I think having your signature style is always the most important aspect.”

“Good. You’re the coolest, Kook. Just so you know.” His smile is telling, rendering the humble click of his tongue that follows ineffective. He holds you tight, lips close to your temple as you say, “I still don’t know what you’re painting.”

“I will never show you my paintings until an exhibit rolls around. Mostly because you’re my muse. My girl.”

He must think that this doesn’t wreck you inside out. Puts you back together, pieces of puzzles reunited that you didn’t know were lost. You feel something new all the time; is this possible? Surely, there can’t be this many emotions anyway, right?

If you didn’t feel it with your own heart, you wouldn’t believe it…

“But…” you begin, “you’ll let me see those that I don’t inspire, right?”

“Of course. Always.”

Breathing comes easy to you up here. So you do it again. And again. Taking in the oxygen, so entirely different from the one in the city; and soon, you mutter, more to yourself than to anyone else, “This really is pretty.”

He doesn’t answer. There’s no answer to this. Whatever his mind is conjuring and his heart trying to convey doesn’t just have to do with the nature stretching in front of you. Of course it’s gorgeous. Of course, your world’s unique.

Of course, it’s home, and home feels warm, pleasant, familiar.

There’s no doubt that the sight and the moment evoke something rare in him. But he’s seen these things before; when he was younger, he was used to this. What he’s never been used to is people like you.

Those who match nature's fierce, distinctive personality. Those who grow carefully and selflessly; like the trees offering shelter to birds. Or the bees serving as pollinators to provide nourishment for so many creatures out there.

Jungkook doesn’t answer right away because the right response doesn’t come to him immediately. But when he does, he collects his breath, and then voices—

“I love you, angel.”

Your heart skips one or two or three beats. You look at him again.

“People climb mountains, watch the world from above, need to see forests to figure out how good life can be. And that it can be worth living,” he says, his voice velvety soft. “But I feel that way with you every day, you know? I do… I do love you so much.”

You want to say something. You want to pour your heart out. Keep staring at his gentle eyes, serving all confessions at once. But interruptions are expected; so you’re briefly displeased but not surprised when you’re pulled out of your daydream.

Taehyung is gathering the crew behind you, asking for a group picture. You’re soon caught in a short, harmless commotion until everyone has collected at a spot, and you stand in position, yet not before gracing Jungkook one more look.

Mouthing something.

And he sees. In this split moment, he sees and smiles.

If he could be honest… whatever, those mountains. Whatever, them and the adrenaline that comes with them. All the natural phenomena. You’re enough, too — a force of nature, too.

He doesn’t need any mountain peaks when you bring a new high every day.

The lift is crowded as you make your way down again. They stuffed it to the brim, much until a stranger urged staff to stop pushing people in. You’re moved to one end of the cabin while you watch Eun and Jungkook forced into the opposite corner.

Yoongi, Jimin and Taehyung will step into the next, and you’ll wait at the exit.

Since it takes barely five minutes to reach the bottom, you don’t fight for a spot next to Jungkook and Eun. Instead, you look down into the depths, waiting until the vehicle finally finishes its dive.

The chatter in the booth is peaceful, but plenty enough for you to blend out any words the other two utter to each other. In that sense, you don’t hear it when Eun says, “You’re both glued to each other, huh?”

Jungkook’s wide, wondering eyes ogle into hers, surprised as he asks, “Is that… bad? Too much?”

“Well, definitely much,” Eun laughs, “but very sweet, too. By all means, don’t change.”

“Ah. Ahhh, that answers one of my questions at least.”

Eun looks at him in curiosity, though entertained and maybe even a little baffled that she’s ever been the object of his attention in any way. So she voices, “Oh? Which one’s that?”

“Just confirms that I have your blessings.”

Eun catches his admission as a popular line from a million movies before, immediately puffing out a laugh. She didn’t anticipate this, out of all things; blinking, somewhat flattered even.

“My blessings?” she repeats. Her smile, combined with the appearing crease between her eyebrows, dips her expression in something that reveals, “Are you joking?”

Which is presumably why Jungkook’s thought shrinks the very next moment, pupils shaking just a little as he mutters, “Well… yeah?”

“Okay. And what if I didn’t give them to you?”

She raises her chin as if in arrogance, but the immediate giggle reveals the playful joke. She shakes her head again, patting his bicep, smitten when his speechless self voices, “Uhm…”

“I’m just messing with you,” she clarifies, watching one corner of his lips rise. “But also, why is it needed, you know? Would you leave her if I didn’t bless you two? Or stop loving her?”

Jungkook’s surprised about the L-drop; of all people, Eun must have known from the very beginning that he loved you. There’s no bewilderment in her voice; she emits the word casually.

He blinks, albeit discarding all preceding hesitation immediately as he admits, “No.”

“Exactly,” Eun agrees, wiggling a finger with a wise, subtle nod on the side, “you don’t need my blessings. If you’re sure about her, you don’t need anyone’s. I’ll trust the process.”

That’s it.

No ominous warnings, no playful best-friend-threats. She trusts in his certainty as much as he does; and where would the two of you be, what would all of this be if he didn’t? No. Not a trace of doubt.

Not if every smile matching yours expresses a silent I adore you. Or if every exhale against your shoulder reveals a promising I want you.

Not if everything he’s still about to do breathes a whisper of a soft I’ve been thinking of you all this time.

“But,” Eun continues; Jungkook’s ears perk up, “if you need to know. I do adore you two together. I know I tease you and stuff, but I’ve never seen a cuter couple.”

“Ah. Even cuter than you and Tae?”

“Much. We’re not the sappy kind. Or well, he is, but… you’re straight up sugar. Makes me sick.”

Jungkook laughs, spying over his shoulder, seeing a glimpse of you as you look out of the window in wonder. “Well, she makes up most of that sweetness.”

“Maybe. God,” Eun exclaims as if agitated, and when he looks at her again, her teeth are gritted, eyes squinting hard before she opens them again. Adding, “Sometimes I wanna grab her face and squish her.”

“The most precious, right?”

“Isn’t she?”

Somebody to kill for. Somebody with a face that doesn’t fit tears. The world did you wrong, but you exist to be happy. You’re deserving of it; you could be the most enthusiastic soul if the universe allowed you.

No, fuck it. Fuck the universe.

He’s here, right? He can do it, too. Guard you from harm; keep your smile plastered there.

And as if reading his mind, Eun continues, “I’ve always hated seeing her sad. She deserves the world, and shit always hit the fan when she was so close to finding the joy I always wanted her to have. Does this sound dumb?”

No, it doesn’t. In fact, Eun’s very truth pricks his heart like a fine needle. Because in a sense, he was also once a reason for stripping you off that happiness; but he’s made up for it. He so deeply hopes he made up for it.

“It sounds just right,” he says.

“I don’t know if you already know, but you won’t meet anyone purer. Not saying this as her best friend… it’s true.” She shrugs a shoulder, as if to dismiss the corny statements; she truly isn’t a mawkish one. “So it’s a big deal to say I want you close to her.”

Her eyes shift away from him and straight to you; there’s a gap between all the people, allowing a glance at you. And when Jungkook follows Eun’s gaze, you seem to feel it somehow, his eyes like Cupid’s arrows in your back until you meet their attention.

Your lips promptly form the most saccharine smile, an unsure hand lifting; somebody next to you immerses themselves in the brief interaction, looking to and fro between Jungkook and you.

And Jungkook waves back, watching your chest rise and fall in satisfaction rooted in nothing but the untroubled moment. Right there, you hold not one but two hearts hidden. His bleeding organ thumps, but it’s as if he hears it from where you stand.

Slowly, stare dropping to his feet, he nods, love clumping up his throat, a barrier for the words wanting to escape. Instead, he basks in the things Eun said, repeating them over and over in his head until he merely susurrates—

“Thank you, Eun.”

“Here you are.”

Jungkook is soft-spoken, his voice mellow; a textbook definition of a lullaby. Which is possibly why you’re so surprised when it breaks the fall air so loudly, echoing through the empty space.

You flinch before you reflexively turn, watching his body tower on the other side. The lights of the swimming pool illuminate his face, and even from here, you recognise the bright, gorgeous, twinkling eyes immediately. They’re not hidden behind his bangs this time; his damp hair is pushed back.

Maybe you could focus on that unusual sight of his forehead if there wasn’t the entire rest of him. Hands in the pockets of the open bathrobe he’s sporting, mere boxers hiding his most important parts, but the rest of him naked. Tits out, abs sharp.

You flash him a smile from where you’re floating, pushing yourself off the edge and swimming towards him. You see his reflection in the water, blurry, moving, somewhat funny. As you near him, he drops to his knees, crouching for a second before dipping his legs into the pool. Sitting down, remaining there, waiting for you.

Getting ahold of his calf, you pull yourself in for the last few feet. He reaches out without hesitation as your shoulders collide with his legs underwater; gentle fingers tuck your soaked hair behind your ears.

“I was looking for you,” he says.

“Oh, I just got here a couple minutes ago. Making the best out of the remaining time.”

“Yeah. I just showered for a few minutes, too.” He pauses. Looks around the vacant pool save from the two of you, humming before he asks, “Hey, do you need a moment to yourself?”

Your eyes widen as you look up, his expression suddenly cautious, as if he’s intruding your personal space. Curiously, you merely voice, “What?”

“Just. I know there’s been a lot of interaction these days, so I get it if you need a break.” His finger moves to his temple, drawing circles in the air. “My battery almost ran out, too.”

Oh. Oh…

If there was a way to hide your flattered smile, you still wouldn’t. God, if he knew how rare of a person he is. How uniquely humane. If he knew that not everybody’s ready to offer space despite knowing that somebody requires it at times.

You know enough people who put the blame on themselves; deem themselves victims. If you can’t be there for them, it’s something they have done wrong. Not the fact that you need peace, a moment to yourself.

Jungkook knows. Jungkook understands.

Has seen you run out of energy and crave a quiet evening. But you immediately shake your head, touched, “Oh, no. I actually knew you’d find me here. Hoped for it.”

“Is that right?” he says, relieved, grazing your cheek as you put your chin onto his leg. Muscly, thick thighs, yet like a pillow.

You nod. Look up to him properly, a little distracted, very mesmerised. It’s outrageously insane, how he’s perched there like he’s allowed to. As if it doesn’t clearly state in your book that it’s illegal to look this way, that it should be retaliated somehow.

“It’s been a while since we were alone,” you tell him, “feels like we didn’t have many moments to ourselves.”

“Then, this is convenient, isn’t it? An empty pool in the evening. Very cliché.”

You laugh a little, tilting your head and ignoring the goosebumps that arise when he touches the sweet spot behind your ear. Hands exploring. You respond, “Others are probably too tired to be here. Or too cold. We’re the only crazy ones here.”

“It’s warm enough, though,” he argues, sniffling, as if to contradict his point — there’s something funny about it. “I bet it’s wet and grey back home.” A click of his tongue, watching you nod in agreement; after a beat of silence, he wonders, “Are you looking forward to tomorrow?”

Exhilaration inundates your chest without a warning, as is common with this very conversation topic. You can barely fathom that you talked about this for weeks straight, and now you have only a few hours left until the awaited day finally breaks in.

Jungkook must be seeing the change in your pupils, because he smiles when you do, nodding with an open mouth as you cheer jubilantly, “A lot! It’ll be a long day, we’ll be exhausted, but… got a feeling it’ll be worth it all.”

“Yeah, but like. I think we can rest a lot after that, though,” he explains, flashing a wink to your astonishment. “My childhood bedroom is cosy.”

“I’d hope so. We won’t be leaving it.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes in jest before he agrees, “Of course not. Duh. Except for the wedding.”

“Except for the wedding… sure,” you repeat, as if reluctantly.

As you put both your arms on top of his thighs, Jungkook uses the moment to let his stare dawdle; right there where yours lingered two minutes ago. His head moves slowly, taking in the wide, endless view behind you.

The sky above and the stars attached to it. The tiny mountains far away and the forests next to them. The world looks as wide as it truly is, stunningly bedazzling; infinite from where he sits here with your touch so close.

There’s a sense of disbelief in the fact that, despite the crazy vastness of the world, it’s you who found your way to him, inches away. If luck exists, this must be it, right?

But he doesn’t say any of it — don’t you already know? What if he lovebombs too much, frightens you away. So instead, his fingers shift to your face, much cooler to the touch than before, and he queries, “Aren’t you cold?”

You shake your head, however, stating, “Not yet. Or… maybe a little. You can help me warm up?”

Jungkook cocks an eyebrow in disbelief; something about the way he looks down at you with such power lets something in you loose that floods your entire body. You wouldn’t mind if he…

“Isn’t this another cliché?” he asks.

“How so?”

“You’ll make me jump in, huh? Or no, wait. You’re a brat,” he establishes as if remembering just now, rethinking his choice of words. “No… you’ll pull me in.”

“What? I won’t.”

“How do I know that, though?”

“I mean, technically, you don’t, and yes, I realise that doesn’t help,” you blabber, tone shifting when he shakes his head with a laugh, “but, you did just shower. I wouldn’t want you to waste more time showering afterwards.”

He looks sceptical to no end; squinting his eyes, biting his lower lip, furrowing his eyebrows — the whole package. Leaning in, he lets you know, “I don’t trust you this once, but…”

And that’s where his sentence ends. The words unspoken are replaced by another movement closing the gap between the two of you. He grabs your chin, moving your head up, bending his back enough to draw closer to your lips.

The phantom touch and his warm breath cause a strange, crackling sound somewhere in your brain — a bulb going out, your mind breaking. Shutting down. But your body lights up as he cradles your face, every single inch of your skin craving his all.

The knowledge about his affection and that he yearns for you like no other man on Earth blurs your reality, as if you don’t belong into a utopian world like this. As if you’re from another corner of the multiverse, incredibly lucky by accident.

Weird, weird how all of these thoughts trigger disbelief and thorough rapture in you, but how empty-headed you are at the same. Almost enough to fully lose yourself until—

The man leans back, intentionally teasing you, just a little but enough for you to fall out of your immersion. You chase his lips for a second, long enough to make him laugh. But as you find your composure, looking at the shit-eating grin, you land a decision.

“Unfair,” you say, pouting, predicting for him to coo, which occurs just a moment later.

You remain at your spot, not a lot of options either way as he still holds your face. Then wait. See him get a hold of himself before he mutters, “My pretty angel. Pouty little sweetheart of mine, hm?” twice, then thrice and then closes in again.

Thumbs skim the apples of your cheek, nose rubbing against yours, his own scrunched. He looks so happy with himself, but so charmed by you, too, squishing your face as if handling cuteness-aggression.

Calls you plenty of pet names as he kisses your nose, your cheek, your earlobe and then moves in for an actual kiss.

Only this time, no matter how much you yearn for his lips, rosy and wet and sweet and tender — you can’t let him beat you. So you prepare for the retaliation you considered before, and just as new goosebumps arise on your arms, wanting the kiss, you suppress the desire and—

“Fu—”

The curse falls out of him suddenly, just a second after he closes his eyes and you use the moment of weakness to put your hands at the back of his neck. Pulling him in without a warning, watching him lose balance and splash into the pool.

He struggles a little underwater before he breaks the surface; hands reach for you with an intent to revenge, but you dodge him. He gasps, shaking his head, going through the trouble of wiping the water off his eyes before opening them.

You swim away a little, carefully, just to be sure; watching him cough a bit before he laughs. He can’t help but scoff, more curses falling out of him, but never towards you. Only a reprimanding, “Angel, you’re— you brat." Another cough. "You’re too much.”

And as his eyes finally land on you, he immediately charges for you, jaw clenched, teeth gritted, but pure amusement gracing his features. You try to get away, but he’s faster. Moves in the water as he strips himself off the bathrobe.

The image makes you choke.

How ethereal yet sinful of a moment. Tempting as he pulls it off his strong shoulders, revealing the bulging bicep, throwing the bathrobe to the side with an absolute indescribable, fiery aura.

Teeth pull at his lower lip before they instantly release it. Then the tongue, running over glistening lips, eyes hooded, the bathrobe sitting where he did without him even regarding it. Like a villain who sets a house on fire and then walks away without looking, badass to the core.

Fuck, he’s broad. And fuck, he’s coming right for you.

You try to flee, hysterically laughing, probably too loud; but he’s a fast swimmer, arms soon around your waist, wrapping around you, tugging you in. He whispers into your ear, “Talking about clichés, baby, huh?”

As he holds you there, you swallow some water, spitting it out right away before you answer, “Well… there’s a reason why they’re clichés.”

“Not wanting to waste my time showering, my ass.”

“You’re saying it sounds like a bad idea?” you whisper, breathless as he kisses your shoulder, his soft voice muttering a little, “What?” before you clarify, “Showering with me?”

“Nah. Stop planting this thought in my head,” he says, lips continuing at your neck, kissing it gently first before he morphs the touch into a wet, open-mouthed kiss.

You try to stay afloat, but god, you’ll drown if he keeps that up. But then he adds, much to your already existing misery, “Stop or I swear, we won’t even make it to the damn shower. Understood?”

“Beast—”

“You say as if you don’t know me already. Don’t you know?” he asks, pausing, kiss moving to your jaw. “That I get like this with you?”

“I… I do, so well. Not even this is surprising to me.”

You press yourself into him harder, feeling the bulge hardening below, right against your thigh. Your hand drops from his shoulder to his slim waist, further down until it gives his hard-on the slightest of touches. He groans; gives you a head tilt as a warning.

Then kisses your cheek. The corner of your lips; tickles you, pinches your waist. You engulf him a bit more, trying not to pull the two of you underwater, swimming and floating. It’s hard, though, and harder even when he tickles you again.

He must understand, because as you push him away, swimming away a couple feet, he doesn’t tow you back in. Lets you go as your vision blurs, the movements of your arms hectic enough to push more water into your eyes.

You dip below the surface for a second, regaining control, and when you’re up again, you hear his voice farther away, urging, “Come on.”

And once you see him again clearly, he’s already wading to the edge where you stood when he scared you. Right where the view to the town is the best, the pool and roof separated from the depths by a high glass wall.

You follow slowly, stroking for a moment — but it doesn’t take you long to pause again halfway through. Gliding, you watch his arms coming up and settling on the edge, muscular and mountainous like the range far away. Hair wet, water drops drip onto his already doused back.

And in front of him, a lake you couldn’t see from the other side of the pool.

Then, the mountains, like the one you went on. A village and fields and up above, a painting of stars. Millions and millions of them. Sparkling, alive, dead, moving, closer, farther… burning and bright. Reflecting in the lake, along with the moon.

His head moves to the side, probably looking for you; but you don’t move yet, just admiring the side profile for a little longer. Gorgeous, lips formed as if drawn, a clean-cut, razor sharp jaw. Golden back, broad.

As he peeks over his shoulder again, doe eyes searching for you, you finally swim towards him the moment he pleads, “Come, baby.”

And you do. Put your hands on his shoulders again, kissing his back, his neck, his shoulder blade before you settle right next to him. Imitating his position.

He says, “One could almost forget that we’re leaving in two hours. Ahh, I want to stay here.”

Right. Your group decided to check out in the late evening tonight — an exception at this hostel — to make the most of the day on the mountain and at dinner. But in a while, you’ll set out for your new destination. The beach calls for you.

You’ll check in late at night over there, and then remain at the new hotel — no hostel this time — until the day after tomorrow.

“Yeah. Just a bit more,” you say, sighing before you let him know, “By the way… I do feel a lot warmer now.”

“Good,” he says, although you don’t miss the beguiled smile he flashes as he looks away, “anything for you to not get sick.” He nudges your elbow with his. “Not before the big day.”

No, not the big day. If anything, you’re even more overjoyed over it than tomorrow. And nervous — oh, so nervous. You don’t think you’ll feel any different until the day rolls around.

What will happen at the wedding? What’s the atmosphere like in a smaller gathering? What does the magic of such a place elicit? It must be so different from any event in the city.

Could it make you fall in love with him with further desperate urgency? Seeing him standing there, admiring you in your dress, thoughts whirling as the couple of the night promises each other eternity. Does the romantic serenity of a wedding make hearts of those in love burst more?

No. You don’t think it’ll make you fall for him harder — because you don’t need a wedding for that.

A moment like this suffices.

Yet. As you stare ahead, fixing your eyes on the clouds, you remember something. Curious as you think back to the first day and ask, “Hey. What did Jimin mean when he said I should be excited for the wedding? What does he know?”

Jungkook sighs, shaking his head at your friend’s slip-up. He smirks, and then says, “Well, you’ll see at the wedding, right?”

“…Jungkook,” you challenge, and he looks at you so innocently, hiding whatever secret he shares with Jimin. But you don’t fall for it, ideas already brewing in your mind; one blurted as you ask, “Did you get me something?”

But he’s unfazed — a good actor. “Wait up,” he says, “if you’ve got any theories, keep them to yourself, though! You’re too smart for me.”

“C’mon, as if.” You wait. Wait a bit more, pupils shaking, just slightly distracted when he frees your cheek off your hair again, giving you a chaste peck. “Wait. Oh.”

He chuckles, a little lost in you as he copies, “Oh?”

“Jeon Jungkook… are you proposing?”

And that’s when he breaks into a laugh. A loud one, Jungkook-esque, sweet and genuine, with his eyes nearly closed, mouth open wide. So, so enchanting as he says, “I did not expect that. But sure, that’s what it is.”

“Well, that cancels it out.”

“Oh, baby…” He pinches your chin between his thumb and forefinger, moving your head to look at him, kisses you again, just for a fleeting second. “You’re so cute. So, so cute. I love your cute ass so much.”

Butterflies, butterflies, butterflies.

They never cease. You don’t think you’ll ever get over this word. You don’t think there’s a way to get used to Jeon Jungkook confessing his love — his love — for you.

Ugh, he drives you mad. Into absolute insanity.

Sucks you out of breath, your heart palpitations reasoned in him. Your body craves him; not cold anymore at all. Tingling and wanting.

Starved for him, you look into his dark eyes, intrigued by the wet bangs, and with all the patience you can muster, you finally whisper, “Let’s go and hurry to that damn hotel. Hm?”

DAY 3

You love packing your bags, but you hate reorganising them. Like, stuffing back dirty clothes because there’s nowhere else for them to go, changing your initial order.

You won’t empty your suitcase for that one remaining day anymore; you’ll only be here for another night anyway.

But you want to separate the worn stuff from the clean one. Thankfully, your suitcase is spacious enough; after all, there’s no chance in hell you’re having your soon-to-be-messy swimsuit reside right next to your resplendent dress.

Yawning as you rummage through your things, you shoot a fleeting glance at the ticking clock at the wall. It’s only 8 o’clock in the morning. Breakfast has already started, but you and the others longed to sleep in, agreeing on a 9 AM meal.

But for some reason, the two of you already awoke about half an hour ago; nevermind that today’s schedule doesn’t begin before noon.

For some time, you merely lay on your sides of the bed, enjoying each other’s company, brief kisses here, modest touches there — until you decided to make yourselves useful. Still tired, yet unable to fall back into sleep, being productive was all you could do.

Albeit, you’re distracted. Your mind keeps drifting, your heart still pounding thinking about the shower last night, taken right as you checked in and found your room. Not as tired from the busy day and the two-hours-drive to the hotel anymore when he touched you.

You still feel the ghost touch of his palm around your neck; glistening lips exploring your cheek and your jaw.

And… there are bruises on your leg somewhere, reminiscent of when he dragged you into bed, keeping your thighs apart with a grip passionately aggressive. Loving yet brutal. Uttering admissions that still coat your flesh with goosebumps.

Shit, are you grateful for the proper room. All to yourselves at last.

You cover your naked thigh. The oversized shirt barely hides his effect on you, but he seems rather distracted anyway. Of course he is — whenever he spies the lavender dress, like now, he becomes one hell of a goner.

He fishes it out by ruining some of your tidiness, the folded top and two shorts falling out as he pulls the dress from underneath them. You complain, “Hey!”

But he’s still examining the gown, shaking his head once again as he did the last few days whenever he caught a glimpse of it. You still remember his reaction when you first brought it home, presenting it to him but not yet putting it on.

You assured him you looked hot in it beyond hell, but that he’d have to wait to actually see you wrapped in it.

His eyes were still wide, alright. Mouth drooling. And you understand — when you first laid eyes on it, you knew it was made to be yours: soft, pastel pink hue. Dreamy and ethereal. Shit, you can’t wait to wear it.

Apparently, he can’t either.

Because he declares, “You’re gonna be so fucking pretty in this.”

“You told me.”

“And I’ll keep doing so. My god, I’ll need to keep an eye on you all night!”

You laugh. “Ah? Why?”

He shrugs a shoulder, explaining matter-of-factly, “Some of my friends there are still single. Gotta shield you from their shit. I mean, they loyally respect me, but then again… it’s you.”

“Oh, oh,” you voice, tutting, “and the girls? Are some of them single, too?”

“Well, I guess so, but—”

“Nothing but. I’ve seen you in a suit before, mister. What if some of them are girls from your high school? What if they had a crush on you? Fuck it, they all probably did,” you ramble, and he listens, lips twitching; he forces the laugh back. “No, you’re sticking by my side that night, Jeon.”

You raise a finger, wiggling it like a warning, blabbing the most ridiculous, “No running away with other chicks.”

“As if, you idiot,” he jests, “even if I got shitfaced as heck and you carried me home and I didn’t realise it was you? And you pretended to be somebody else — I’d still tell you that I need to go fetch my girlfriend.”

You cover your mouth as laughter fills the air; you’re sure your eyes are sparkling at the fantasy, and your voice changes, euphoric to an unknown extent as you say, “Oh my god. I so want to witness that one day. I’m gonna try to get there.”

“I believe you. What else will you be wearing? This? Wait,” he asks, picking out a silk and lace lingerie from the side; baby pink. But you snatch it out of his hands as he adds, “Is this part of your attire?”

“Well, now you ruined a perfect surprise.”

“What! I don’t think I did, though? Wait for my reaction. It won’t be any less than you expect.”

You smack your lips in faux disappointment, but in truth, you get it very well. Seeing him always feels new to you, too.

You brush your hand across the fluffy carpet as he eyes the dress once more, waiting until he’s folded it neatly again, putting it into your suitcase. Then, he leans against the bed, observing as you get back to work.

Your lips open, pouting a bit. You give the sweetest, most genuine reactions; how you form an Oh with your mouth when you like something you brought. Or how disgusted you look when you’re reminded of your two-days-old clothes again.

You mutter, “Gonna have to ask your mom if she’s okay with me using your washing machine.”

“She will be, for sure.”

“I’ll even hang them to dry myself.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm! Shit, Jungkook. I’m so excited!” you exclaim, fingers moving fast over your stuff, and he keeps watching. “I wanna tattle about you with your mom! And I can’t wait to meet Ria, either. She sounds so cool and—” You peer up at him, and when you catch him smiling, you wonder, “What?”

“Nothing, just…”

He shrugs another shoulder, already moving to close your suitcase. You watch with an innocent curiosity in your eyes, hands on your knees as he pushes it away. He reaches for your wrists to pull you closer until you’re between his legs, your own crossed, obliging wordlessly.

Then, he speaks again, “Can you kiss me? Really wanna kiss you.”

He always wants to kiss you. And staring at these rosy, pretty lips of his, arched so prettily, you don’t think you fare any better.

So you’re walking on air when his hands settle on your waist to tickle you, forcing you to relocate them down to your hips. You ask, “Do you ever get enough?”

“Hmm… Do I look like I do?"

“I mean. Do you really just want to kiss me, baby?” you inquire, but he’s already onto pecking your lips, pulling at them. You place your arms around his neck. “Your eyes look just like they did yesterday.”

“Ah, really?” A featherlight kiss on your neck. “So I won’t have my wish granted?”

“You… You’re stupid,” is all you say before you prove him wrong — diving in, locking your lips, moving them slowly against his, in unison.

You tilt your head immediately. Kiss him deeper, seeking his hair. His hands wander to your back, and you arch it when he hauls you closer. Your tongues come into motion at the very same time, a touch intense enough for him to breathe a sigh that you feel, that you hear.

And before you know it, you’re moving further; straddling him. He pushes your shirt up, only to the small of your back; the other hand moves down to your ass, nothing on you but your underwear. And considering it’s a string, not even that matters.

He has free reign to your rear, squeezing and slapping lightly. At which you lean back, breathless, giggling a little as you watch him move back in — trying to catch another kiss, eyes drooping and lips parted.

But when he realises you’re pausing, not granting him what he needs, he looks up into your eyes. You say, “Thought so. That’s,” you touch his hand over your ass, “what your eyes said. Even after you wrecked me just last night, huh?”

“Sorry,” he mutters with a grin — but his expression soon changes. Back once more against the bed, he promises, “I… if you don’t want to, we don’t have to though. I’m okay with just organising our stuff or chilling.”

Oh, the way he touches your heart…

You blink, affection in your pupils reflecting in his. You coo, and then call, “Oh, baby…”

“No, seriously. Whatever you’re comfortable with, my love.”

“I’m… I’m comfortable with you, you know? If I ever feel like not doing something or disagreeing with you… I’ll be honest with you.”

He silences for a moment. Keeps gaping at you. Then, “Do you feel like you can?”

But no matter how deep his insecurities are, your answer is immediate, “Always.” Swift pause. “Kook, I— I know you still fear I could distance myself from you. I see it, but… I won’t. As long as you’re willing to stay, I will, too.”

“I will. I promise. And I’ll never ever do anything to hurt you again. Not on purpose… okay?”

Hmm… you wish these moments were rare. It does happen ever so often that he seeks reassurance and vows; your companionship, regardless of what lies in your pasts. To know you’re here despite all the despites.

But if you need to, you’ll keep dispeling his fears all your life.

So you say, “I know. I know.” Brushing through his hair. “And I want this.”

“It won’t hurt? We just did last night—”

“If it does, we can stop. I always want you. Besides…” You circle over his lap, your hips a tease. You feel the bulge stir. “I can’t blueball you.”

Jungkook smirks in the way only he’s able to, clutching your butt again, and you catch your lower lip with your teeth. He states, “Brat, acting like it’d be the first time.”

“You’re just… so hard already. Can’t do this to you. Or me. Not today.”

“Babe… you being so sweet makes it worse. And this isn’t even its final state, you know?”

“Of course I know.”

Oh, of course you do. Whenever you think it can’t get crazier, he negates your beliefs. Well equipped as he is, your man, the thought suddenly makes you want to unwrap him again, like a gift crafted just for you.

He’s in a black tank top; tattoos reach up to his shoulder, muscles flexing as he holds you. You touch them, sneaking further to his wrist, and then take the plunge and lead his forefinger into your mouth. Then, you suck.

Upon which his eyes immediately shut. He draws a deep, shaky breath, barely exhaling much of it when you twirl your tongue around the tip of his finger. Absent-minded yet fully aware, he shakes his head, taking a moment to compute before he pulls his digit out again.

His cock twitches beneath you, much as a last warning.

And a second later, out of the blue, there’s a hand on the nape of your neck while the other shifts to your buttbone, pushing you to the ground with his body in tow. You fall flat on your back, his face right above you. Lips crash against yours again, strong hands pinning your arms down.

“You’re so brave,” he deduces, “like you forgot yesterday.”

“I could never. Maybe… maybe I’m just trying to repeat it.”

“Oh… smart, smart. If that’s your wish.”

Cocky, how he tilts his head and winks. How he pushes your thong aside without a warning, already damp, freeing your pussy before his touch collides with it. Fondling with it; making you release a pleased sigh. Gaze still set on you firmly, fingers running up and down. To the clit.

You’re already out of your good mind; but you attempt a fair approach; a mutual effort in which you try your best to push his shorts down. He’s not wearing anything underneath… you know because he threw them on last night after the chaos that ensued, wanting to rush to you. To sleep in peace.

And he’s well aware of it, because as it slides down to his knees, he dares a step further. Fists his cock and replaces his fingers when he drags the tip up and down your heat. You sigh again before it contorts into a moan, gripping him, pleading, “Kiss me again?”

“Not yet. I wanna see you wind.”

“Why…? You’re so mean—”

“Just now. Come on. Look at me.”

You do. You’re met with a hungry beast who’s yearning for you, simultaneously so soft — easing you into this, not dipping his fingers in just yet. Discovering how you feel; how soaked you get; how far he can already proceed.

He might be craving you, but he’s not stupid; he’s cautious. Gauging your reaction.

This man… this man…

“Want me to push it in?” Jungkook then questions, making your eyes rip open; you didn’t expect the inquiry this soon, but you’re not opposed to it at all.

You nod, eyebrows furrowed. Your voice is feeble when you agree, “Please.”

“Please, yeah?” he repeats, just the head prodding your entrance — but then, he chuckles. “Baby. Take care of yourself when I can’t. I can’t fucking think, you know? But even I know you’re not ready yet.”

“I…”

“Just a bit more, okay?” He slaps your pussy; you wince. “Wanna get up and undress?”

“No,” you instantly blurt, “want you like this. Right now. I don’t care about the shirt.”

“Right… so that’s how it is.”

He leaves the two of you just the way you are, except kicking off the bothersome shorts. Pushes your shirt up to your tits, too, stopping right underneath the mounds, still covering them. He leaves it there, dizzy about how your nipples perk against the white shirt, just above the Kakashi Hatake print.

Huh.

“Is this my shirt, by the way? You stole it, didn’t you?” he gathers.

You pretend, playing the innocent lamb, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I can’t believe you. Stealing my clothes… and my perfumes,” he recollects, his voice going up and down. He’s referring to the time you used his cologne just to keep his scent close; once. He was very amused by it. “What’s next? My heart?”

Only that you already exchanged both of yours. He knows, because he can’t really feel his own heart beat, but yours. After all, your chest houses his thumps, not his.

But he still clicks his tongue; kisses down your body, caressing your sides, and then shoves your panties aside. He spits on your pussy so indecently, in a manner so filthy that it affects your entire body.

The sharp tip of his tongue is the first to taste you. The first to intrude. Lightly and softly, he attempts a touch, anticipating a reaction that he barely needs to wait longer for than a nano-second. Because your body blooms immediately, your pussy constricting.

There’s never a single reason for him to react with surprise; if anybody in this world understands your body as well as you, it’s him. He knows you to the tiniest detail; so why the astonished, “Oh? Oh, oh…”

Then again, maybe that’s all that’s necessary to set the mood further; he doesn’t elaborate on it, nor does he ask any questions. Instead, he French kisses your cunt with the techniques he’s mastered to the core. With each time you spend with him like this, he gets better.

Because he knows when to draw back, when to return. When to kiss you again, when to pull at the nether lips. Or when to nibble just lightly, when to use his tongue. It’s obvious in the twitches of your legs, and how he needs to keep them in place each time — hence, the bruises.

Your head lifts when he angles your right leg on the side, enabling better access to where he wants to drown. And when he comes back, he seems starved; maybe he needs that promised breakfast soon to come. Or maybe not; maybe he’ll feast on you enough.

Because he’s thorough; does enough work on you to divulge, “Maybe I was wrong and you are ready after all.”

“…M-maybe.”

“Wish we’d brought the sex toys. Man, I want to…” He touches your clit, painting patterns, a steady and diligent artist’s hand; and you can’t help but imagine it’s the vibrator he often handles. “Wouldn’t that be good?”

“Don’t… do this to me.”

A smug chuckle. “Sorry, bae.”

Ever since he gave you the damn toys months ago, he’s teased you about them constantly. And ever since you started inhabiting the same walls as him, he’s prompted orgasm after orgasm. God, the last few weeks alone, he’d revel in your whines.

Overstimulating, keeping you awake on weekends, battering your cunt and your nub. Nerves on fire. Tears of pleasure and sobs of exhilaration.

“Jungkook…” you start. He hums, but your brain blanks; you think about whatever you were going to say until you remember and jabber, “We’d never get t-to breakfast then.”

“So? I’d still be having mine.”

Thought so.

“But…” you argue, no clue why at all. “They’d be waiting.”

“I think they’re just as bad as we are. C’mon.”

You laugh before you mewl; insane when he buries himself in your sex, tongue in a whirl, plump lips operating so agonisingly skilled. He heaves your legs onto his shoulders; everything feels wet and warm and dirty.

Nerves burning again; your entire neural system is alight like a torch, buzzing like electricity.

And you want to close your legs but you can’t.

The motion only covers his ears, much to his disdain as he says, “Stop… I can’t hear you like this,” before dragging his tongue down again. Pushing your body up, he grips your ass, pulling the cheeks apart before he licks over the string just for a moment. Then suggests, “What if we added something to our collection one day? Hmm?”

His thumb toys right over your clenching hole; you grasp for a breath, airheaded as you admit, “I… don’t know yet.”

“Fine. There’s time.”

There is, but you want it to pass faster. Want him over you, around you. And maybe he can read your thoughts after all, because a second later, he’s uprighting himself; once again slapping his dick against your drenched mess. Hiding it between your folds as he rubs it up and down.

Then moves it side to side rapidly, helping himself, pumping until he’s grown impossibly solid. On his knees, he shifts on the mattress until he’s kneeling right over your face, and you raise your head, mouth ready and open without a single command necessary.

He’s chuffed about your keenness; breathes out a laugh as he drags his cock between your lips and onto your tongue. You’re rigorous, his good girl, sucking right away.

Fuck, he savours the moment much like you are; watching the saliva drip down your cheek obscenely. It covers his dick, much of it enveloped by your mouth; the picture of you barely being able to take half of him in this position yet trying sends him into pure madness.

And when your tongue teases his slit and the head, he thinks he’s dying and being reborn.

“I’m dying and being reborn, babe. What the fuck,” he repeats, immediately regretting it when he realises he spoke it out loud; because you’re right beneath him, eyes foggy but the sudden giggle entirely contrary.

“Glad to hear.”

Jungkook uses the separation from your lips to back away already; any longer and he’ll have to help you rinse out your eyes. He leans down again, kissing you, hips aligning with yours as he prepares for the next step.

He’s gentle as he places your hands on his shoulders, and you already understand why. Already make yourself comfortable, getting into position as if for war, already realising that you need him to kiss you or your scream will shatter the building—

“Careful now,” he still warns, right before he reads your wish off your eyes and dives back in for more making out. You nod; you know. Your neighbours don’t need to—

Fuck.

Fuck, how big he feels when he digs in, not even fully inside yet.

Isn’t it just a bit more than the head so far? You bite your lip when you hear yourself whine, suppressing it, eyes watery. Your mouth transforms into a thin line, but Jungkook opens it with his finger; telling you, “I don’t care who hears.”

Okay. Okay. Then… you’ll stop holding back, right? You moan and call his name, hearing in his tender sounds and overjoyed, endlessly breathy and quiet laugh that he’s loving it. He asks, “Can I go farther in?”

“Thought you’d never ask…” Yet, it doesn’t happen. He refuses for some reason; which is why you work towards him instead, your hips upthrusting. Pushing at his ass, knowing how much he’s enjoying your helplessness. You say, “You are mean.”

“Mhm… especially to you, right?”

“Especially to me,” you laugh. “You say you love me and then edge me? Prove it, won’t you?”

“Ohhhh no.” He drags out the syllable, a sudden change in his tone, as if you’ve purposely teased him to a challenge. A you did not just say that kind of vibe. “You will not doubt that I love you. Fuck no.”

He buries his face in your clothed tits, kisses the spot between them; one hand envelops your left side before he lets go and gets serious. Kicks his shorts away and then— bottoms out. His balls clash against your ass, your eyes rolling back. His words ring in your ears.

And then, he’s already dragging himself out before plunging back in. Hard. Remains like this. Then out again; all the way in again, harder. Repeating it with a hand on your neck; but the moment, much to your irritation, doesn’t prolong at all.

Jungkook must have been quick to make a decision to torment you today when you first kissed him ten minutes ago. Because he fully draws back, leaving you empty, a hand on the back of your head as he mutters his thoughts to you, “Am craving this mouth… Get up.”

You, like his personal doll with a sudden lack of feminism in your body, get on your knees without hesitation. Your hands remain between your legs, as if waiting for him to put a leash on you; rubbing yourself against the soft carpet until he stops your antics and grips your cheeks.

He urges you to open up, pressing in, and when you do, he doesn’t wait to shove his cock in again. This time, he helps you out: goes back and forth, fucking your wet tongue, and then moving his length until the tip prods your inner cheek. He angles it like a fishing hook, bringing it out of your mouth and then back in again.

And you’re careful to suck diligently. You taste yourself, fighting for breaths. Look up at him, take him like your last meal on Earth; touch his balls as he relishes in your gaze. When your hand encases his dick, that’s when he stops moving, glancing up to the ceiling as if praying.

You slow down; wait as he catches his breath, and then ask, “What do you want me to do?”

You’re not always this forlorn. Sometimes you take matters into your own hands, no questions or permission necessary. You often knock him back onto the mattress, straddling him, riding him into the sunset.

But you want to submit today; that’s the mood you perceived. That’s what his eyes reveal and what your body itches for. Something he wants, too: to destroy you, to fuck you senseless.

And he notices the shift. “My god, would you look at that,” he drags, hardly believing that you’re looking at him like this. “Bed. Lean over it.”

You listen; of course you do. Your knees press into the carpet, upper body flat on the bed. Ass out, arms on the mattress.

He touches you gently; first your back, then your hair, and then your arms. Finds the right position, and then rams himself into you. You barely expect it — the intrusion is sudden, happens in one fell swoop.

His legs cage in yours, and he soon pushes yours together, dying for further friction and for you to feel it more intensely. Your eyes flutter shut, and your previously lifted head falls, your cheek against the sheets.

You move with them as he thrusts into you, and you hold onto the fabric to remain in place. Perhaps he sees your efforts, because he’s soon determined to help — or to rile you up further, you can’t say. He catches your arm, just one, pinning it to your back.

A heavy hand falls onto the soft flesh of your ass once. And then, he raises your upper body until it’s glued to his chest. An arm wraps around your tits, two fingers pinching your nipple as he drills into you from behind.

As you yelp and heave breaths, you hear him say, “You wanna know, huh?”

“I…”

You’re not sure what he’s talking about, but you allow him to air his rage. He leans in, kisses your neck, wants to know, “What’s that like? You okay, baby?”

“I’m okay… I’m so okay—”

“And so pretty like this. You’re always… so pretty. I’m so fucking lucky.”

“I want to see you.”

“How did I…”

“Kook—”

“I know. I know you want to,” he says, but he takes another minute to fuck you hard, fast, revved up, and you don’t complain. Not even when two of his fingers slap your cunt, multiple times, rapidly until he repeats, “I know. Would you turn around for me? Sit here?”

How couldn’t you if he asks so nicely, right?

Your legs are shaky and trembling as you take a seat on the edge of the bed, much as he commanded. It’s high enough for him to fuck you standing here; but he doesn’t go in right away as you thought. Instead, he kneels in front of you, forehead to forehead, sentimental all of a sudden.

Did you wanting to actually see him change something? Did it remind him once again that you’re not just what you used to be? A way of passing time, a company to quench each other’s thirst?

Then again, you know Jungkook. He never forgets. Never forgets what you are to him.

Repeats each time just as he is now, “How did I end up with you?” Every time. Tells you every time that he cannot fathom his luck, that you’re more than he’ll ever deserve. He adds, “You want me to prove it to you?”

Oh…

That’s what he—

This time, the kiss is short-lived, albeit urgent. His hand cradles your face when he moves up and slides back home. He fucks you softer first, not as beastly as before. But you guess the distance is as irksome to him as to you, because he soon bends down.

Puts his hands on your ass and shifts your body on the mattress until you’re on your back, laying in front of him. Just the same position as before on the ground, but cosier; it’s easier to hover above you now, scanning your face like you’re the only star in the vast, expanding universe.

The only source of light in this darkened room.

“Hey,” he calls, even though you’re already looking at him.

He grazes your temple, tender as a flower petal. His eyes are a melting, dark brown, almost black; you think you see yourself in the reflection, even though it’s impossible in a setting like this — maybe that’s what he means when he says you reside in him.

Your existence in his chest, your eyes in his.

“I love you,” he then proclaims, “and I’ll show you all the fucking time if you need me to.”

“I… I want you to…”

“Good. Good, baby. You know I’ll do anything, right? Not just this and not just now. I’ll do anything for you.”

You half-smile as he says it, as much as possible between your moans; you don’t know what else to do, because nothing else suffices. Not an I would, too and not an I know.

So you say nothing; only raise your eyebrows and widen your eyes, showcasing every shred of affection you harbour. You keep looking at him until the thrusts force your eyes shut again. And this time, you don’t need long to fall into a series of gasps and outright craze.

You understand you’re close when he pleads, “Can you touch yourself? Please?”

And it helps — considering that you’re already riled up like not once in the past days, the next minutes pass fast, and the end is immediate. The familiar stars soon block your vision, your body quivering; you barely realise what happens and when it happens.

Nothing, but bliss bliss bliss…

Until you very clearly feel the liquid underneath your ass, the sheets soaked, all of it wet. You hear Jungkook laugh, absolutely satisfied. Your eyes rip open and you ask, “What happened?”

But the question is redundant — because as your mind clears, you gather what it could be.

You ruined the sheets. You’ll have to come up with a good ass excuse and ask the receptionist for a new blanket for your room. Fuck. A hell of a guest you are.

“You squirted all over my dick,” Jungkook still clarifies.

“I’m sorry…”

“What? No. It looks… it feels so…”

He doesn’t need to finish his sentence; it seems that the thought alone hardens his cock and balls impossibly. Enough for him to follow your example, letting go. He shakes his head, silences, and then moves in to kiss you hard; to fuck you harder.

He shoves you into the mattress repeatedly, navigating in and out of you so easily that you think he might slip out. But he doesn’t; instead, he spills. Spills hotly, abundantly. You know the bed is soiled forever.

Somehow, you’re even sorry for anyone who might book this room next; but somehow, as guilty as you might feel about it, you feel better for yourself. Then again — it’s fine, right? You’re probably not the first to make a mess of a room like this.

Making out with you one last time, Jungkook remains like thi, not wanting to move as his dick still pulsates and twitches, softening just slowly. Doesn’t want the liquid to leak if he moves out. Maybe thinking the same about the room as you.

His next question, however, is an entirely different one, “Do you believe me now?”

You titter. Even now, even after witnessing each of your reactions, your boyfriend won’t let the thought go. Set on what he feels for you, he’ll probably prove it to you an entire lifetime long.

You promise, “I always will. From anyone in this world, I’ll believe it the most from you.”

“My baby,” he coos. Waits. Then sighs before he says, “Okay, enough of that distraction. We have breakfast to catch. I bet you, five more minutes and they’ll knock.”

“Oh… uh-oh. Quick shower and then hurry?”

“…Great idea.”

Only, the shower isn’t as quick as you anticipated — the two of you are silly, reforming your shampoo hair, giggling until the knocks occur and you bolt to the breakfast hall. The others are already eating; by the looks of it, they’ve just started, though.

Yoongi is the first to speak after you’ve exchanged your polite Good mornings. In fact, he scolds rather gently, “You guys are late. We need to be at the beach by noon, don’t forget.”

“Yeah, we just…” You shrug. “We were organising our suitcases.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook nonchalantly confirms. “Forgot the time.”

Your excuses are so casual, so careful, your eyes busy as they watch your hands smear butter and jam on your toast. Only, you’re not as casual. Your friends fall silent. Their stares alternate between Jungkook and you as the two of you pass a knife or comment on the food.

No word until you hear Jimin gasp and look up at him. His expression seems amused, and you know he’s about to say something bold before he actually does—

“Oh, you fucked… You had the time to?!”

THE CHAPTER ISN'T OVER YET!! PLS READ 👇🏼

1k block limit, beloved. you can read the remaining 10k of the chapter in this reblog!! the reblog begins with a new scene <3

#jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #bts smut #bts fluff #jeongguk smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts x you #bts imagines #jungkook fic #bts angst #jungkook angst #jungkook

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solarsturniolo · 1 year ago

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𝕾𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: in which Matt is failing his classes and at risk of having to repeat the semester, and his tutor is the reason behind it.

𝕯𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗: This is a collaborative story that me and another person started on, but I am in charge of it now :) All characters in this story are of age. None of the characters are minors.

𝖂𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: cursing / smut / switch!matt / switch!fem reader / male masturbation / wet dreams / use of good boy / virgin!matt / p in v / oral (fem receiving) / oral (male receiving) / overstimulation / breeding kink / praise kink / mommy kink / scenes mentioning anxiety

𝖂𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝕮𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 5,906

Other Parts: Intro / One / Two / Three / Four /

“W-Wait, what?” Matt’s eyes widened, his eyebrows raising. “What do you mean I might not be able to graduate?”

The school counselor sighed, lifting her glasses from the bridge of her nose and placing them onto her desk. She leaned back in her plush swivel chair, looking at the nervous boy sitting across from her. Her office was comforting, a place that Matt had found solace in quite often on his bad days. She never used the overhead light, always opting for the warm glow of her floor lamps and the flicker of light from the flame in a scented candle. Her bookshelves were littered with not only books, but numerous knick-knacks and do-hickeys. Most people would have seen it as clutter, but Matt found comfort in the items she had, which more or less reminded him of his grandmother’s house.

She turned her monitor for him to see, and she visibly saw the blood drain from his face. Her screen glowed with a much harsher light, the gradebook showing Matt’s transcript laid out in front of him. “You’re proficient in your American History class, but the rest of your classes for the semester are in the gutter. Socioeconomics, U.S. Government, European Literature, and Chemistry are all greatly negatively impacting your overall grade point average.” Matt’s head fell, his hands coming up to rub his face. How could I have let it get this bad? How could I be so negligent? How was it even possible? She clasped her hands together and leaned forward, resting her arms on her desk. She had grown to like Matt, he was polite and always greeted her with a smile, he was very open with his thoughts and feelings, and he really did work hard. She empathized with him, because she knew how it felt to be in this spot. “This is a reversible situation - we can fix this. You have options, Matt.”

Matt looked up from his lap, his hands falling onto his thighs. “W-We can?”

“Yes,” she replied with a smile. She swirled her chair around, unlocking one of the drawers in her filing cabinet and opening it to reveal a number of filing folders. She fingered through them before pulling out a sheet, turning her chair back towards her desk and placing it down in front of Matt. “We have a tutoring program available, and I think you would benefit greatly from it.”

“Tutoring?” Matt frowned, staring down at the paper. He never thought in his life that he would need tutoring. How embarrassing. I’m doing so bad in my classes that I need another student to teach me. What if I know them? What if they tell everybody? Matt looked back up at the counselor, hesitation clear on his face. “Are there any other options?”

She sighed, putting her glasses back on and turning the monitor to face her once again. Matt watched intently as she clicked her mouse a few times. Matt instinctively brought his hand to his face, subconsciously beginning to chew on his nails. I can’t choose tutoring. Chris and Nick will never let me hear the end of it. This is so embarrassing. Can’t I just retake a test or something? Why did I let it get this bad?

“Unfortunately, the only other option I have here is for you to retake these classes again…which would also mean repeating senior year.”

Matt hadn’t realized he had chewed his nail off. He dropped his hand back to his lap, discreetly spitting it out when she wasn’t looking at him. “I’ll take the tutoring,” Matt sighed. The thought of not graduating with Nick and Chris made him feel queasy. His stomach turned over just thinking about his brothers walking across that stage while he sat in the audience and watched. His brothers holding their diplomas up with cheesy smiles on their faces for their pictures that would surely be framed and hung on the walls of their parents’ house for the remainder of their lives; all while Matt would have to wait another year to meet the same fate. Another year of high school, this time without his brothers. Without Chris to make him laugh, to make the day move by just a little quicker. Without Nick, who always looked out for Matt, always offering to ask the teacher any questions that Matt had to take the heat off of him, to avoid any anxiety inducing feelings that Matt might have had. I can’t do it. I wouldn’t last a day without them. Any chance to avoid that outcome is one he would take, no questions asked.

x o x o x o

I should have asked some fucking questions. Matt’s heart pounded as he pretended to look at something on his phone, switching between his social media apps anxiously; not that any of them were bustling with activity, he just needed something to make himself look busy. She was here. I wasn’t prepared to see her. Holy fuck.

For the past four years, Monday through Friday, once the bell rang after the final class of the day, Matt had booked it for the locker room. Shuffling through a crowd of boys, shoving Chris (and getting shoved right back), listening to a variety of music through his headphones, and throwing on his gear for lacrosse or hockey. Today, however, he sat awkwardly in the school library, leg bouncing, chewing at the skin around his pinky fingernail. His airpods tucked away in his pocket. No music to drown out his thoughts. Why didn’t I ask more questions? I can’t do this; I can’t be here with her. This can’t be happening. She…looks so pretty.

Across from him, a few tables over, she sat on the table itself, cross-legged and completely at ease. A light blue sweater hung off her shoulders, a pair of khaki cargos crinkled over her legs, worn-out white air forces, and a pair of hoop earrings rounded out the simple, gut-wrenching outfit.

Matt hated feeling this way. She drove him insane, and she had no idea who he was. That was a lie - they had a few classes together. Incidentally, those same classes glowed red in the gradebook. It didn’t take him very long to figure out why.

For the past four years, Matt had walked into school every morning hoping in equal measure that she had shown up and that she had suddenly become homeschooled. Every single class, he would stare at the door just hoping he’d catch a glimpse of her, whether she was walking into the classroom or just passing by in the hallway. He knew where to look for her in the hallways between classes, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel his heart rate pick up when he’d see her in the flood of other students chaotically herding through the halls.

Now she was his tutor. She was the reason he was failing, and she was his tutor. His counselor had no way of knowing, but she had just doomed Matt to repeat senior year. He was not about to sit down with that girl and make a complete idiot out of himself.

Lifting his backpack and hooking the strap over his shoulder, he got up and turned for the door. At that moment she looked up from her book, her eyes locking with his, and he froze.

Her hair fell softly along the edges of her face, and she looked at him with mild curiosity. Matt’s breath hitched in his throat. Years of her never even noticing me, and now she’s looking at me and…smiling. Oh god.

Don’t you dare fuck this up, he heard Chris whisper in the back of his mind. “Fuck off,” he muttered and began to walk towards her.

“Is this where I’m supposed to be for uh…” He didn’t want to say it. Normally people would jump in and finish sentences anyway to avoid uncomfortable silences. She did not. She just continued to look at him with minimal interest, her smile growing a little in amusement. Oh god. This isn’t happening. Somebody please pinch me. Or shoot me.

Matt felt the heat rising to his face, his breath catching in his throat as she stared at him. “Tutoring. I’m here for tutoring.”

She slipped a bookmark between the pages of the book she was reading and pulled a knee up to her chest. Matt caught a glimpse of the cover of the novel, furrowing his eyebrows a bit. A hockey player? I play hockey. Should I say that? Does she like hockey players? Lacrosse is like hockey… in some ways. Lacrosse season is coming up. Should I-

“You’re Matt, right? One of the triplets?”

Matt blinked. “Yeah.”

She smiled again, placing her book down onto the table. Icebreaker? Matt made a mental note to look that up later. “I think we share a few classes, right?”

“We have Socioeconomics, European Literature, and Chemistry together, and when Chorus comes into the auditorium to practice, I run the soundboard for you. You took Workshop with me and Chris, and I could never focus on a single project me and him had together. We had Math and Introduction to Culinary together last year, all of our electives the year before that, and in ninth grade you were in my home room and study hall. You’ve always been in my lunch block, and you like to eat out in the courtyard under the willow tree far away from the picnic benches. You’re in the photography and Yearbook club because you love to take pictures, and you also run the school’s yearbook account on Instagram. You never get breakfast because it hurts your stomach to eat in the mornings but if you forgot to have dinner the night before, you’ll go through the line in the cafeteria and get an old-fashioned donut and a cup of mixed fruit. You prefer peppermint gum over spearmint, you always wear shimmer lip gloss instead of clear, you chew on your lip when you’re thinking really hard, you write sloppily when taking notes, but your papers are written in cursive. You’re terrifyingly beautiful, and I’ve wanted to talk to you for four years.”

That’s what Matt thought about saying. Instead of opting for that particular route of social suicide, however, he simply went with, “Yeah, I think we have one or two together, right?” and sat his bag down.

Don’t fuck this up. You cannot fuck this up.

x o x o x o

“Ms. Coleman said you were behind in some classes,” she said, pulling out her laptop from her bag. “Which ones?”

‘All of them’, He thought to himself. Matt sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. “What am I not behind in?” he mumbled.

She looked up at him through her lashes. Matt felt his stomach twist up in knots. He had imagined her looking at him like this more times than he could count. Usually late at night when he was in bed, his hand wrapped around his cock, his eyes screwed shut as he bit back soft whines and whimpers as his arousal leaked into his fist. He couldn’t help but feel his pants tightening around his crotch as filthy thought after filthy thought played in his head.

She smiled at him again, and Matt suddenly realized that she had been speaking. His stomach dropped. “S-Sorry, what?” he stammered. She laughed softly, a sound that made Matt’s heart leap up into his throat. “I asked if you could be a little more specific.”

Matt cleared his throat. “Um, Government, English, Socioeconomics, and Chem.” He looked down at his hands in his lap, the thoughts from earlier looming over him. I won’t graduate. Mom will be so disappointed. Dad won’t speak to me for a year. Chris and Nick will move on in life without me. She probably thinks I’m an idiot. Who the fuck fails almost every class in their last semester?

He could have sworn he felt his heart come to a full stop when he felt her hand on his shoulder, his head snapping up in an instant. “Hey,” she cooed as Matt met her gaze once more. “We’ll fix this. We have four months until graduation. You have time.”

Yeah, time to spend my afternoons drooling over you and retaining no information. Four months to sit here and gawk at you every fucking afternoon while my grades continue to plummet. Four months of me rushing home after these tutor sessions to beat off before Nick and Chris get home from their after school extra curriculars. Either way, I’m failing this semester.

“Why don’t we start with English, hm? I’m in that class with you, third period. We have a paper due on Friday.” She opened her laptop, pressing the power button repeatedly. Matt swallowed the lump in his throat – fuck. The paper… he was hoping to avoid it altogether. Sensing his hesitation, she raised her eyebrows. “Have you started it?”

Matt blinked. He licked his lips, suddenly noticing how dry they were. “...No.”

“Me neither,” she grinned, and Matt felt his shoulders relax. She had a beautiful smile, and it so rarely appeared on the Somerville High property, even less so in the classes they’d shared. It made him wonder what else he could do or say to make it stay for longer.

“It’s okay,” she continued, tapping away at her keyboard, urging the ancient relic to awaken and let her log on. “We can write it together.”

“Yeah, sure…together,” he said, taking out his own laptop, proud that he had enough focus to keep his hands steady. He wanted to make her smile again, but he hadn’t the faintest idea how. Matt also wanted to crawl into the floor and sleep for an eternity, but his wishes seemed to have no substance. His grades did, and more than anything, he knew he wouldn’t forgive himself if he made Chris and Nick leave him behind. Punctuating his thoughts with a deep sigh, Matt pulled up the assignment rubric. “Three pages, double spaced - that’s not bad - third page sources cited…” As he scanned the page, she, still waiting on her dinosaur of a computer to come to life, leaned closer to him to see for herself.

Her perfume. Waves of vanilla with floral notes. Undertones of musk. It was strong but intoxicating. Matt used every ounce of self-control to not turn towards her and inhale as much of it as he could. She had been using this perfume for the past three years, and Matt had become obsessed with it. He was like a stoner catching a whiff of weed, he could identify it from a mile away. He could sniff her out like a bloodhound if he really wanted to. Matt begged his brain to behave.

It didn’t.

The aching in his pants grew. Matt pulled his hoodie down to cover his lap, he could not let her see what she did to him. He felt his face heat up as embarrassment flooded his brain. Still, his cock remained half hard and his balls felt heavy with arousal. Despite knowing how wrong it was, he wanted nothing more than to rub one out. Matt used every iota of his self-control to focus on puling the assignment up on his computer. One hour. I just need to get through this one hour.

x o x o x o

“How long have you been tutoring?” Matt wanted to know more about her. It was a near-feverish affliction that kept his leg bouncing continuously, releasing nervous energy at speeds that could power the entire city of Boston.

She didn’t look up at him, pulling up the assignment on her computer. “I started last year…gave me a chance to get out of Johnson’s eighth period. Do you know why you’re falling behind in Philosophy?”

Matt didn’t hear her question at all. The stickers on her laptop were incredibly distracting - he caught a glimpse of Homer Simpson, the Monster logo, a few Pokémon, numerous band logos, Marilyn Monroe, a sick vaporwave statue head, and a plethora of raccoons. I like raccoons. Now is probably not the best time to tell her that. “Huh?”

She glanced over through her lashes, and Matt felt his air supply vaporize. “I asked why you’re failing.”

Because you walk into the room and I forget how to speak my own damn language. Because I want to talk to you so bad, but my throat closes up when you look at me. Because when you smile it makes my legs heavy…But more than anything, because I want you in ways that I have never wanted anyone before, and it is all that I can think about. No matter where I am at or who I am with, you manage to take over every thought in my head. Movie nights with my brothers where I can drown out the movie, daydreaming of what you might look like waking up next to me in one of my shirts. Dinner with my family, wondering if you like whatever it is that we’re eating that night. In the shower, wondering what your routine is like. Late nights in my room, the door locked and the lights off, clothes discarded onto the floor, my hand tugging at my cock. You are always there. You’re the reason why I’m failing, and you don’t even know it.

Matt settled on, “It’s hard to focus in there.” Not a lie. But not even close to the truth.

She nodded. “She talks in circles sometimes.” A pause made his eyes dart up to hers, terrified that he’d missed something again. But no, she was…studying him.

Her head tilted slightly, and her hazy eyes rested on his. He wondered what she was thinking about, and something primitive in his mind was screaming at him to hide. He felt vulnerable, weak under her gaze. His cock throbbed. Matt did his best to bite back the soft groan that fought to escape his throat.

“I think you might just need a body double.”

He blinked.

She continued. “The classes you’re failing, those are the only ones you don’t have with one of your brothers or your other friends, right?”

Matt nodded, wondering how she could possibly know that. He bookmarked that thought for later.

“Well, your brain probably knows that they expect you to do your work, and you don’t want to let them down, so the work gets done. Not in English or History, apparently. So, I’m your body double. And I expect you to do your work.” She grinned. “It’s corny as fuck but you’d be surprised how much you get done. Ready to start?”

Matt decided to process that particular heap of information later. “Yeah, sure.”

“I’m sending you my sources. You know how to cite them?”

His brain couldn’t register her words. It all made sense, but his brain felt too fuzzy to put the pieces together. “Sources, right. Y-Yeah, I uh…yes.”

“Good boy,” she purred. Matt nearly choked, his dick now fully hard. There’s no way she just said that. She gestured to his keyboard, and Matt began to shakily type the name of the website he needed into the search bar. Maybe I just imagined it…It’s been a weird day. Matt could feel her gaze burning into his skin like the heat of a thousand suns. His heart was lodged in his throat, he had begun manually breathing, not wanting his breaths to sound too heavy or too short.

Her hands kept brushing his arm, and Matt realized if he wasn’t careful, she would notice the way his face turned a bright red when she touched him, or worse… she’d see the bulge that could barely even be hidden by his hoodie. He turned away from her, pretending to look for something in his bag. “I um…thanks.”

“Go ahead and read those, throw all the relevant information into a messy doc, and then let me know when you’re done, okay?” Matt looked up and she leaned once more against the concrete column behind her, earbuds in, typing away in her own empty doc for the same assignment. He glanced at the stickers on her laptop, eyeing the one in the dead center with the name of a band he had never heard of. I wonder what she’s listening to. Would she like my music? Would I like hers?

Pulling out his own headphones, Matt shuffled his own playlist, and tried desperately to focus on the article in front of him.

x o x o x o

Forty two minutes later (he counted), Matt finally reached the end of the mind-numbing wall of text. No closer to understanding what the fuck he was doing, he reached out to tap the table near her knee. Her cargos sported faded stitching on their edges, proof of intentional wear as opposed to fashion wear.

When the flash of motion moved into her line of sight, she looked up from her own article, brows raised expectantly and eyes locked onto his. “How’s it going?”

“Well…It’s not perfect but…it’s better than nothing right?.”

“Mhmm.” She leaned forward, staring at his screen. “One and a half pages? Atta boy.”

Matt’s face flushed, his lips parting to speak but silence was all that followed.

“Did you do what I said earlier?”

“Yes ma’am.” Where the FUCK did THAT come from?

She wrinkled her face, her lips tugging up into a smile. “Down, boy.”

Matt almost puked. A lightning bolt struck his lungs, and they withered in his ribcage. “Sorry- sorry,” he stuttered. He ripped his gaze away from hers, blinking rapidly.

She laughed softly, the ghost of a smile passing over her lips. Matt’s head shot up faster than he’d ever admit. “Little weirdo,” she muttered, turning away from him to put her laptop in her bag.

“Oh, are we-”

“Mhm. Bell’s about to ring.”

He blinked again, opening his own backpack.

“Give me your snap.”

“Huh?”

“Your snapchat. So we can talk about your assignments and schedule tutoring for sometime other than boy’s athletics.”

How did she-

“Wouldn’t want you to miss hockey,” She tilted her head to punctuate her all-knowing tone, and put her phone in Matt’s hand.

As he typed megamett_44, Matt reevaluated the entirety of his life’s choices, and hoped she’d just…ignore it. Or not see it at all, that was preferable.

Neither of those things happened.

“Mega. Mett. Forty four?” she questioned, raising an eyebrow at him.

“...Yep.”

“You, um…” She gestured, sarcasm beginning to drip from her lips. “You wanna explain?”

“No I do not,” he replied, grinning nervously, avoiding her gaze.

“Hmm…cute,” She smirked. Matt felt his heart swell and his pants tighten even more at the comment she had made, just barely crossing the line of being a praiseful remark. He wanted to ask more about what she meant; Why did she say cute? Does she think I’m cute? Was she just saying the username is cute? But before he could think of something, the bell rang, and in one fluid motion, she swung her bag over her shoulder and slipped off the table. “Later,” she hummed before she disappeared into a river of students escaping school grounds for the weekend.

Matt exhaled and slumped into his chair, hanging his head as he dropped his bag back onto the floor. The visible bulge under the fabric of his sweats and his hoodie taunted him, his mind raced, thinking of all the things he could have done instead of gawking at her and stuttering one or two words at a time in response to whatever she said to him. Matt ran his fingers through his messy hair. His cheeks remained a rosy pink. He rubbed his lips with his fingers, an anxious habit he had picked up over the years in a desperate attempt to help with his nail biting problem, though very little progress had been made there.

“I’m done for,” he said, nodding decisively. “Yep. This is the end of Matthew Sturniolo.” Matt looked down at his phone, numerous texts from his brothers flooding the screen.

Nick: where are you

Chris: where r u ?

Nick: why weren’t you at hockey practice

Chris: coach is not happy with you lmao

Chris: helloooooooo

Chris: the van is still here so we know ur here

Chris: unless 😏

Nick: enough

Chris: man come on nick is grumpy and bitching about the weather

Nick: it’s fucking FREEZING out and i’m shivering like a chihuahua. I’d appreciate getting into the vehicle that we OWN to blast the heat

Matt sighed and shoved his phone into his pocket. He looked around, making sure that nobody was nearby as he stood up. Grabbing his bag, Matt hurried out of the library and pushed his way through the halls to the nearest restroom.

Ensuring that the bathroom was completely empty, he slipped into the closest bathroom stall and locked it behind him. Matt quickly dropped his bag to the floor, lifting the hem of his hoodie up and holding it between his teeth. He pulled the band of his sweats down, groaning softly as the friction sent bolts of pleasure through him. He slipped his hand under the fabric of his boxers, his eyes fluttering closed as his hand wrapped around his shaft. He hummed ever so softly as he gave his cock a few strokes.

He opened his eyes, suddenly realizing what he was doing. No, this isn’t like you. This isn’t right. You don’t do this here. He pulled his cock up into the waistband of his boxers, dissatisfied above all else, but knowing he had to hide his unpleasant erection somehow. This was a new low for him. What kind of a creep can’t even keep it in his pants until he gets home? Matt pulled his sweatpants back up, dropping the hem of his hoodie from where it had been between his teeth. He stepped out of the bathroom stall, taking a quick once-over in the mirror to make sure he looked put together and not a flustered horny mess, before he slipped out of the bathroom, following the mass of students rushing for the exit out into the student parking lot.

x o x o x o

Matt saw Chris and Nick leaning against the edge of his car, bundled up in their heavy winter coats. Matt clicked the unlock button on his key, the vehicle chirping in response. Nick impatiently opened the door to the backseat, huffing something under his breath as he got into the car. “Where the hell were you?” Chris asked, opening the trunk to the van and tossing his hockey gear into the back. After closing the trunk, Chris walked around to the passenger side of the vehicle, slinging his bag into the back next to Nick’s foot, closing the door behind him.

“Library,” Matt muttered, clunking into the driverseat. Chris paralleled Matt’s actions, dropping himself into the passenger seat. “Library?” Chris repeated, tasting the word with furrowed eyebrows as he turned to look at Nick, expecting he might know more about Matt’s situation.

He did not. Nick scrunched his face. “Since when do you go to the library?”

Matt groaned. “Can we just go home.”

The other two didn’t ask too many questions after that. What normally would have been a debrief session of their individual experiences from that day while feasting on whatever fast-food place the three of them had voted on, was instead a deafening silence and a painfully tense atmosphere. Matt was secretly very appreciative of this, his mind was too scattered for him to hold a conversation with his brothers, never mind care about what they were discussing.

x o x o x o

When he collapsed onto his bed, Matt checked his phone, brows furrowed in surprise. He’d gotten a notification from Snapchat (a rarity), and his heart shot up into his throat when he saw who it was from. He tapped on the notification to see that she had sent him a photo of herself - her hair fell in waves around her face, and Matt could see the glint of her earrings. She wasn’t even looking at the camera, making the edge of her eyeliner effortlessly severe. Matt’s chest went aflutter, and he stared at that picture for a very long set of minutes. “Here’s my snap”, she had typed, and once he tapped out of the photo, Matt added her back.

But they hadn’t spoken past that.

He laid on his bed trying to think of something to say to keep talking to her, but everything sounded desperate and corny. He had so many things he wanted to say, so many questions he wanted to ask. He wanted to talk to her for hours, about anything and everything. He wanted to know everything about her.

As the sky darkened, Matt scrolled aimlessly on TikTok, then Instagram, then back to TikTok, avoiding Snapchat to the best of his ability. His mind refused to let go of her, and it was starting to piss him off. What is she doing? Does she stay home on school nights? Does she go out? What are her hobbies? Does she play video games? Would she play them with me? Does she like to read outside of school too? When does she go to bed? Does she like to stay up late? Does she go to bed early? Why can't I think of something normal to say to her?

Matt dragged himself out of bed, crumpling slowly to the floor. He leaned his head against the edge of his mattress and sighed - what a fucking day.

A knock at the door had him lifting his head from where it rested against the mattress. “Hi, honey.” Mom. “You eating dinner with us tonight?”

He stood up, crossed the empty floor of his room quickly, and pulled his door open. “Hey Mom.” Matt leaned into her, and Mary Lou slipped her arms around her son.

“Hi baby. Somethin’ on your mind?”

I’m failing.

I’m failing four classes.

You and dad would be so disappointed.

I feel tired and sick all the time.

I just want to go to sleep.

Graduation is in four months.

Nick and Chris are gonna leave me.

I’ll have to repeat senior year.

It’ll all be my fault.

The girl making me fail is the girl trying to help me pass.

I can’t focus on anything.

I’m so fucking tired.

“Just missed ya.” Matt sighed. He hummed when he felt his mother's loving arms embrace him just a little tighter. “I’ll be downstairs in a minute.”

x o x o x o

A dark room. The brush of fingers over silk. A candle flickering shadows against the walls. The faint scent of vanilla. Pleasure flowing through his body. The buzzing hum of a vibrator. More waves of soft tingling flowing from the center of his body.

“Good boy…”

He sighed, lips parted, eyes closed. His hips began to shift upwards, slowly at first, pushing against the vibrator, aching for more. Instead, his leaking, rock-hard cock met a soft hand. He whimpered, digging his pelvis into the pillowy skin. “Awww…d’you wanna hump Mommy’s hand?”

“Yes…” he pleaded, his head lolling to the side, chest heaving. “P-Please, I-I... Please.”

Her fist began to slip around the head of his cock. “Please what?”

“Nnnghh…please let me hump your hand. I need it s-so bad, p-please, it hurts Mommy, I just wanna…jus wanna feel your hand around my…my…”

Another hand cupped his balls, silky-soft thumb rubbing spine-tingling circles over his pleasure-filled skin. “Hmm? What was that, pretty boy? Mommy didn’t quite catch that.”

“My cock, miss, I…p-please reward me…please, I-I’ve been so good…”

She smiled, amused by how easy it was to get him riled up. “Go ahead, baby. You’ve been such a good boy. You deserve a little treat, don’t you?”

Matt didn’t need to be told twice. His hips lifted, his jaw going slack as his shaft slipped through her fist with ease, her hand already sticky with his arousal. A whimper grew at the back of his throat, his hips beginning to buck up into her grasp. Erotic sounds filled the room; heavy panting, his wet cock slipping in and out of her grasp, the bed frame creaking ever so quietly, her quiet praises that she’d whisper to him. “Atta boy, you’ve got it,” she hummed, earning a sound from Matt that he hadn’t even known he was capable of making. A mix between a sob and a whimper, a sound that made her press her thighs together, her core aching for him. “That’s it, baby, hump Mommy’s hand. Doesn’t that feel good?”

His pace quickened, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths as he began to rut against her hand. His desire was primal. It was animalistic. The way he craved her, unlike anything he had ever craved for in his life. His balls, heavy with his arousal, slapping against her wrist as her hand reached the base of his cock with every thrust he made. His tip, swollen and pink, leaking with his desire. She could feel the way his shaft throbbed, practically begging for more. Her hand gently squeezed his tip, a guttural moan falling from his rosy lips.

He began to whine now, desperate pleas pouring from his lips like thick sweet honey. “I’ve been so good, I’ll behave, I promise, I’ll be s-so good for you Mommy, please let me cum, please, I’m b-begging you, please Mommy… y-you’re so sweet and g-good to me, I jus’ wanna make you happy, please let me make you happy…f-fuck!” White-hot liquid spurted from his tip, coating her hand and his abdomen as she continued to stroke his sensitive shaft.. “Mmmph…Mommy…f-fuck…thank you, th-thank you, mmph Mommy…thank you, y-you’re so good to me…”

Breathlessly, he pushed himself up onto his elbows, looking up at the beautiful girl in front of him. His gaze flickered down to her hand, his cock throbbing as he saw how much of a mess he had made. Ropes of thick warm cum coated her hand, and Matt couldn’t help but think of what it’d look like leaking out of her. He watched with a dazed and aroused glisten in his eyes as she brought her hand up to his lips. Obediently he licked his mess off of her fingers, paying no mind to the taste. He didn’t care, he’d do anything she wanted, even if it meant having the lingering taste of his seed in his mouth. Once her hand was cleaned up, he pressed kisses up to her wrist, trailing up her arm, keeping his eyes low in reverence.

She lifted his head with a finger under his jaw. “You��re welcome, baby. You did so good for me, hmm?” she murmured, kissing his forehead. Matt closed his eyes, never wanting to leave this moment. “Were you a good boy for mommy?”

Matt shot up in his bed and his chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. He pulled his duvet cover off of him, and in the dark of his bedroom he could still see his mess leaking through the fabric of his boxers. His torso was slick with a sheen layer of sweat. Despite having already finished, his cock refused to soften.

“Oh fuck me,” he snarled, rubbing his tired face with his hands. This is going to be the hardest four months of my life.

𖥔‧₊˚ ⊹ Tags 𖥔‧₊˚ ⊹

@flowerxbunnie @megamett44-lover @xtravrgnoliveoil @mattsturnswife @sturniolofan4lifee @soursturniolo @sturnioz @luverboychris @meerkatzthings @soupuurr @gemofthenight @hi-7-hi @blahbel668 @mattspleasure @sturnybabes @jjmaybankswifes-blog @sturniolosreads @bernardsleftbootycheek @egirlshit @nonamegirlxsturniolo @chrizz333 @sturniolopowers @mattsleftnipple03 @worldlxvlys @hearts4chriss @janiellasblog @creamoncreamoncream2 @meg-sturniolo @ellie-luvsfics @lustfulslxt @braindead4l @ghostlythinggoingaround @taekwite @querenciasturniolo @m4ttslvr @mqttittude @bewtyschooldropout @lovesturni0l0s @zebonos @h3arts4harry @riowritesitall @freshloveforthefit @esioleren @colorthecosmos444 @mbbsgf @kitkatbar1275 @fratbrochrisgf @sturnslutz @favsdti @sturnsmia

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pearlescentparade · 1 month ago

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SUBREADERKIT PREDISASTER ONESHOT OR DRABBLE OR WHATEVER YOU CALL IT!!!! Honestly I say go crazy apeshit cuz I really wanna see what u come up with but pretty please at some point let reader give a kissie to medkit ok... And since this is subreaderkit and not readerkit make subspace somehow happy too ig😒

.....I think I got. Veeeery late. Oh my god

--subreaderkit anon

warning this was not in fact a drabble . its 3.3k words

dead heat ✦⬧ predisaster subspace x reader x medkit 💝

the noises of shuffling papers and hasty writing can be thought of as unbearable to anyone else. but to the two young blackrockian researchers, the source of the aforementioned ruckus, it's everyday ambience.

it'd be stranger not to hear it, really. in the rigorous curriculum of blackrock's institutions, there is a new project assigned every single week, and this week is evidently not an exception to this long-standing tradition.

brain rummaging through the right words to write, you tap your pen on your chin, eyes narrowing at the scrawled ink of the explanatory essay that was to be turned in alongside your project. the conclusion shouldn't be too hard, but after writing several pages about 'the long-term impacts of gears on an inphernal's biology' in the span of six hours? your brain's got nothing.

"..i can finish it, if you're stuck." a meek voice pipes up from behind you. if it weren't for the hand he gently clasped on your shoulder, as if cautious of startling you, you'd have missed the fact that he even spoke at all.

by some stroke of luck bestowed unto you by the deities, you had somehow successfully nabbed the perfect student to be your partner. one of two incredibly promising rising prodigies in blackrock's institution: medkit. or, to be more accurate, he politely rejected every other student leaping over desks to be his partner and asked if you two could work together.

when he asked so nicely, with that particularly hopeful shine in his eyes begging you to say 'yes'… even if he assured you that 'no' was an option, he made it difficult to believe. it caught you off guard, considering how he preferred to work alone if it was an option. it's obvious that medkit doesn't need the assistance of others to succeed. his own capabilities are capable of taking him far and beyond, and they already do. not only that, he rarely spoke in class aside from answering whatever question the professor posed.

he always stayed in his lane, hard-focused on himself.

but you guess this time was different.

medkit himself felt different too. when he beelined right to your desk, his stiff posture yet purposeful stride was reminiscent of a wind-up toy soldier. and when he stood in front of you, in front of a singular inphernal, his fingers fidgeted more than when he presented in front of the whole class. he was lucky that he wasn't getting graded for talking to you, otherwise it would be the only F on his report card.

you had initially found it strange and out-of-character, outside of the consistent pattern that he worked inside of. but you'd be a fool to pass up a collaboration with medkit of all inphernals. your grades were good, but they could be even better. and you have no doubt in your mind that medkit knew that when he came up to you.

medkit was unintentionally conniving in that way, taking all factors into consideration and cornering you when he was sure that his desired outcome was guaranteed.

no matter how you looked at it, accepting medkit's partnership held only benefits for you. but you couldn't help but wonder what exactly medkit gained out of partnering with you. in terms of performance, you were above average, but nowhere near his level. many weren't. and in a facility packed full of inphernals who clawed their way to a high ranking, who cared not for others but for themselves and their faction, you cannot help but be skeptical of the possible idea of attached strings.

you glance over your back, meeting medkit's worried gaze with similar concern. his eyes are round, dark, and cute, you think. like a baby deer's. "oh, are- are you sure? you've been doing all of the heavy research work, so i ought to do all of the essay-"

but he simply shakes his head, "really, it's alright." you frown, staring intently at the blank space next to the last word you wrote. sensing your hesitance still, he continues, "this subject is one of my favorites in any case, it won't take long."

it's becoming increasingly and abundantly clear that you aren't winning here, so you get up from the desk with a drawn out sigh and hand over your pen to medkit. his fingers delicately curl around it when it plops in his palm, treating as gently as he would if it were your finger.

he replaces you in the seat, promptly jotting down new sentences with little time needed to think about them. in awe, you watch him work. as he writes, your eyes can't help but follow the end of your pen as it glides across the page: dotting an 'i', rising and falling for an 'l', or following the curved tail of a 'y'.

then, your gaze falls from the hypnotic motion of the pen to the fresh ink shapes it leaves behind. medkit's handwriting resembles printed font, every word legibly neat and clear despite his vigorous writing speed. reading it feels as easy as him writing it. it's funny, because when you glance back to where you left off, it takes hardly any effort to discern when the writer switched due to the sheer contrast in penmanship. hopefully there's no "handwriting consistency" category needed on the rubric.

after stabbing a period next to a word, the tip of the pen suddenly stills. you tilt your head, curious of why. is he stuck? impossible, with the rate he was just writing at. is he done? maybe, he'd written more than half of a page.

"um, you don't.. need to watch me write."

medkit doesn't look at you as he addresses you, likely to hide the otherwise apparent blush burning his face. a soft glow emanates from his crystal, gradually growing more prominent with every second. he had not a clue why you stayed there rather than sitting elsewhere or occupying yourself. watching him write couldn't be that interesting.

you lean down, and medkit immediately turns his head to the other side, determined to not face you. "well, i'm cheering you on, 'cause there's nothing left to do." a playful grin creeps onto your features, as you begin to chant, "give me an m~ give me a-"

he groans, effectively telling you to cut it out without using any words. "that's- only going to distract me more.."

you giggle. his heart giggles too, and he has to drag his hand over his face under the guise of a facepalm to wipe off the smile that his lips twitch into.

it's interesting. when he's being examined by proctors and higher-ups in much more rigorous tests, he can perform like normal. yet, doing something as simple as writing felt strenuous with your eyes on him. perhaps, he hypothesized, because he's accustomed to the judgement of greater authority. he's familiar with the way they scrutinize his work, and they do so everyday.

on the other hand, medkit has only concepts of what you think of him. he's rarely even spent a moment alone with you.

oh swords. he's alone with you.

"y'know, medkit, i've been meaning to ask…"

oh swords.

"...why did you choose me as your partner for this project?"

oh swords, oh fuck.

medkit stiffens. his lips repeatedly open and close as he carefully deliberates over what he should say to you. gears visibly turn in his head while he scraps responses as quickly as he constructs them. in a moment like this, every inflection and implication behind every word matters. it'd be a terrible shame to lose all of his progress in courting you (which is actually not a lot, in retrospect. but it felt momentous to him) to fumbling something as simple as small talk.

nothing involving you was ever simple to him.

with a quiet exhale, he sends out his winner, "well.. i… believe it's- important. to learn how to cooperate with different inphernals."

you narrow your eyes, skeptic. medkit's shoulders tense when he hears you huff. how unfortunate, he'd underestimated you. "yeah, right. you always like to work alone."

so you noticed even that? his heart skips a beat, both panic and fluster swirling in his chest. "i didn't take you for a liar, meds." your arms cross, and your appearance resembles that of a disappointed higher authority. something unfamiliar to medkit.

he could lie. he didn't do it often, but he's omitted a few details here and there. he was clever, and he could lie well enough. it helps that he has that "good" image too. no inphernal expects the "good" kid to lie.

but he doesn't have bad intentions when he lies. when he lies, it's to help. that's the only reason people should ever lie: to shield the damaged from complete destruction, and to gift hope to the hopeless. to heal. that's his job.

so naturally, the one time he can't slip by is when he's being selfish and stepping out of that role assigned to him from spawn.

"well?"

right. you were waiting for him. his grip on your pen tightens, as if clutching it would calm his buzzing nerves. it does not. they only get louder and hotter, akin to an angry nest of wasps.

he wants to be selfish and greedy and all the things healers aren't supposed to be.

"because.." his throat has never felt drier.

you uncross your arms, eyebrows worriedly knitting together at his uncharacteristic speechlessness. you thought it'd be fun to tease him—y'know, loosen him up a little—but you wouldn't have asked if you knew such a question would send him into a panic.

in an attempt to maybe move away from the topic, you start to shrug it off. "...i mean, it's only a question. you don't have to answer, i was just curious if-"

suddenly, medkit turns his head to face you and finally make eye contact. the sharp movement captures your attention completely, a stark contrast to the usual smooth way medkit carries himself with.

his voice is the loudest you've ever heard it when he practically announces, "i chose you as my partner because i—!!"

"—because he wants to feel better about himself, obviously!!" a harsher, more boisterous voice rings out from the door of medkit's dorm, seamlessly stealing his spotlight.

medkit's heart drops when your attention redirects to subspace as he waltzes right in. subspace maliciously grins as you give him your full, undivided attention on a silver platter.

"that's not true-" medkit desperately tries to defend himself against such slander, but subspace continues, "using a lower-ranking classmate to feed his savior complex, and not only that, but inviting them to his room?! how scandalous!!!" the pink-horned inphernal feigns a look of pity and dramatically rests his hand over his heart, to say it aches for you. "oh, you poor soul!! he didn't do anything to you, did he?!?"

you roll your eyes, but laugh at his over-the-top theatrics. if he weren't a researcher, you think he would've made a marvelous actor. "knock it off, subspace. you know medkit wouldn't try anything. we're just working on a project together."

even though you reprimanded him, subspace's smile grows, pleased at himself for getting a giggle out of you. on the other hand, medkit sighs in relief that you're not so easily swayed by the other inphernal, though he knows subspace is not at all convincing. but subspace's presence still had him on edge. and with you in the mix, medkit is damn near about to fall off.

"yes, and speaking of which—i'm done with the essay." you glance to medkit, and he gestures to you with a nod, "you can go back to your dorm now. we'll meet in the morning." he says decisively. though it pains his heart to send you away so soon (and without answering your question), it would mean getting you away from subspace. and that always takes priority.

when subspace sees this, he cackles. he could already guess why medkit was in such a rush. so naturally, he instigates, "oh, so cold!! the moment the project is done, he doesn't need you anymore!! just casts you to the side, like a failed experiment." his tone darkens at the end.

you quirk a brow when he skips up to you and leans in, his lower horns grazing your cheek as he lowly murmurs in your ear, "if you were the partner of the great subspace t. mine, you would never feel so discarded."

subspace enthusiastically pulls away, scanning your face for any signs of a fun reaction or fluster, only to be disappointed with a half-amused smirk.

"if i were the partner of the great subspace t. mine, i'd get my ear talked off about his latest inventions." for the first time upon stepping into medkit's room tonight, he frowns. for all you did in response was wave him off with nothing more than a chuckle, and head straight out the door.

yes, you laughed because of him again. but you laughed in the way a superior would laugh at a foolish, impossible idea of his, and not in the way you should have. you should have laughed in the way you would if you agreed with him.

but you didn't.

two pairs of eyes watch your back as you slide open the door, idling in the doorway. "it's alright, i'm sleepy as hell anyway. goodnight, you two. don't keep each other up too late with your bickering."

"goodnight… sleep well."

"no promises!"

the metal door slides closed behind you as you step out into the dormitory hall. your dorm is not too far from medkit's, but you're not exactly neighbors, so it's quite a walk. it's quiet at this hour, giving you the space for a nice, peaceful stroll. you stretch, mind wandering to what you'll do now that your night is free. maybe you'll just sleep early. that sounds good.

meanwhile, the other side of the door grows a few degrees hotter.

"...you gonna keep that pen for your shrine or something, meddy? creeeppppyyyy~" naturally, subspace is the first to cut through the tense silence. he peers at medkit from the corner of his eye, his snickers positively aggravating as he resumes mocking him.

medkit whips around to face subspace with a look of confusion mixed with disgust. "what- no, what?? subspace, what pen are you-"

clatter.

he pauses, then slowly cranes his head back. your pen had rolled off of his hand onto the last page of the essay, gradually slowing, then teetering between two faces, before it chooses one and stills completely.

"that's not their pen."

"i'm not stupid, meddy. it has their name inscribed on it."

"so what if they left their pen here, i can just return it in the morning-"

"you're always waiting." subspace's voice goes up at least two octaves for his terrible medkit impression, "oh, i'll talk to them tomorrow, or- ohhh, i'll ask to work together on the next project-" then he drops down to his normal tone, "-gosh, you're such a pathetic FAILURE!! you know what happens to demons who wait, meddy?!"

before medkit can react, subspace snatches the pen, the paper it was resting on fluttering up from the sudden deft movement.

"they LOSE!!"

with his echoing maniacal laughter, and a scrambling medkit behind him, he rushes out of medkit's room and down the hall. loud footsteps shake the calm-up-until-a-few-seconds-ago dormitory as the two race, and if one listened closely, they could hear the collective groans of the numerous inhabitants trying to sleep or work on their own projects.

"better speed it up back there meddy, or i'm gonna get there first~!!"

"what are you, a child?!"

the location of your room is common knowledge to subspace, who's invited himself inside a myriad of times to grace you with his presence and lengthy rants about his various accomplishments. or to drag you out to help him with testing a new gadget. here, subspace had the home advantage.

on the other hand, medkit can only tail him hopelessly. even if he did get ahead, he had no clue of where your room is. but he didn't need to. because medkit didn't need to be first to your room.

he just needed to be the one with the pen.

subspace skids to a stop outside of your door, frenetically slamming his hand repeatedly on your doorbell. within seconds, medkit catches up, breathless but determined. turns out sitting at a desk and writing and running experiments doesn't do very much for your physical health.

seeing medkit struggle, subspace scoffs. this is the way it should be, he thinks, with him in first and medkit in second.

he prepares to aim another venom-laced jab, but it doesn't even leave his mouth when medkit strategically pokes subspace in his side. a small attack, but surprisingly effective, considering that subspace is incredibly ticklish there. the pink demon shrieks, and the teal demon seizes the opportunity to wrestle your pen out of the former's hand.

subspace's face crinkles, shoulders raising in preparation for what medkit could only assume to be a retaliation. but then the pink demon's eyes flicker from the teal demon to the door behind him, and immediately fixes his posture and face to be 'normal'. knowing subspace wouldn't act out with your eyewitness, medkit shoots him one last burning glare before turning around. meeting your confused gaze almost makes him want to pivot right back around.

you blink, surprised to see the two at your door now of all times. or willingly together in general, for that matter. your eyes dart between them, noting their heavy breathing and slightly off-kilter uniforms. when subspace notices that you're observing him, he quickly adjusts his skewed collar.

"did you guys run here? is.. is there an emergency or-"

"your pen."

medkit holds it out to you abruptly, your engraved name shining from the light in your room spilling into the hall.

"you, uh, forgot it." his eyes, having reached his eye contact limit with you, opt to look at his boots instead. in the back, subspace snickers at his coworker's hopelessness.

the tips of your fingers brush against medkit's as you retrieve your pen, the steel cool against your warmth. with fond eyes, you turn the pen around in your fingers, relishing its return to your possession. it had been a farewell gift to you from your caretaker before you were sent to this facility. so needless to say, it's precious.

and shouldn't good deeds be rewarded?

with little warning, you clasp your hands around medkit's face and bring his head forward into a sweet kiss on the forehead.

his brows shoot up and a faint gasp escapes him. his stomach could earn a trophy for acrobatics due to how hard it's somersaulting. when you withdraw from your little stunt, you can see his much more apparent blush as a deep crimson crawls up his neck to the top of his head. a giggle bubbles in your throat at the sight.

"thank you so much, medkit. it means a lot to me, really…" now it's your turn to be shy as you awkwardly twiddle your fingers, the weight of what you just did creeping up your own neck and filling your cheeks. it may have been a teeny bit overkill, but seeing medkit's reaction? beyond worth it.

in disbelief, like he thought he'd found himself in his fantasies, medkit mindlessly touches his forehead where you smooched him. remembering he's supposed to respond, he manages to stammer out, "of-of course, it was no prob-"

"what about me?? i so graciously showed meddy the way here, and i don't get anything!??" medkit's eye twitches and his dreamy daze breaks as subspace whines, throwing his hands in the air. but you don't mind as much, simply offering a kind smile. "i couldn't have gotten my pen back without your kindness, subspace. you're so sweet."

he still pouts, eyes squinted in fury.

you roll your eyes in a lighthearted manner. of course, he loves to push things to get the most out of them. "and a genius. and talented. and handsome. and the best in all of blackrock." with each compliment, you count it off with a finger.

yet despite your extra praises, subspace's face remains shriveled in envy. it's only after he allows a few suspenseful seconds to pass that he livens back up again, puffing his chest out with a satisfied grin. "that's right!! don't you dare forget it."

you snort, "well, if that's all, goodnight again you two. don't open my door again tonight unless there's a fire or something." once they nod in agreement to adhere to your demands, you bid them goodbye with a small wave. with a dull slam, the metal door shuts, leaving the two demons standing and staring at it like fools in the silent dormitory corridor.

after a brief moment, subspace leans over to medkit and whispers, "...you owe me."

medkit hisses back, "no i don't."

parade postscript: when i was younger in like elementary school my class went on a field trip downtown and i brought a pencil that i had won from a class raffle and this girl threw it on the metro tracks, so naturally i made a scene and cried and said it was a pencil my grandma who died from lung cancer (true) gave to me when she died (false), and our supervisors got mad at her and went onto the tracks to get it for me i was an evil ass fking child

#sfw #subreaderkit anon #subspace x reader x medkit #subspace x reader #medkit x reader #phighting x reader #roblox x reader

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melanchoire · 4 months ago

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hii meya!! love your works!! could you write your thoughts on g!p gamer reader and ning being needy during a match? i bet she would be such a tease

how about… if you are this typical popular streamer who is funny and makes people laugh easily, is charismatic, charming, and attractive enough to win people's hearts and gain new fans? always managing to be able to interact with the chat and maintain a conversation even while playing any video game, sometimes by collaborating with other well–known streamers or inviting your personal friends to play with you

and ningning is your lovely girlfriend who is always there for you! always visiting your room a couple of times to leave a container with snacks or a can of soda on the desk, making sure you at least eat something because she knows you spend hours in front of the screen and you probably haven’t had a decent meal since you put your ass on the chair 😓 so she takes the trouble to take care of you, because she knows you’re an idiot and because she loves you very much 💕

sometimes she even keeps you company, sitting next to you on the extra gaming chair you have. she usually reads the chat and talks to you about something in the comments that catches her attention, but there are times where she just stays quiet, looking at her own phone and living in her own world

until one day ningning feels so needy and it’s not a matter that she can ignore, she needs you! then she decides to go to the room in the apartment where you have your gaming room, finding you again playing a game with your group of stupid streamers 🙄 it’s not that they are complete idiots, but she couldn’t stand them! they were very loud, very noisy, they made bad jokes and they seemed unbearable. ningning couldn’t stand being in the same room as you and listen to the stupid things that came out of their lips every time she was keeping you company and that day was the one you decided to play in a group with your friends

walking into the room and doing her usual routine, leaving a bowl of chips and a glass of soda on the desk, earning a simple “thanks babe” but you didn't even turn to look at her! you didn’t even move your hands from the keyboard or the mouse of your computer… and that pissed ningning off! she was here, being a good girlfriend and caring about your well–being, but you couldn’t even thank her properly?

and she gets super clingy because she wants your attention 😵‍💫 moving the desk chair close to yours, always talking non-stop even if it’s nonsense because she's only doing it to cover up your friends’ voices so you only can hear her 😇 and well, you can’t complain to her about how she dresses when you two are in the comforts of your shared home, but today she was literally wearing the shortest, tightest clothes possible AND sitting in the chair in a way that arches her back just to stick out her chest and ass?? sometimes ningning would sit in that position unconsciously, but you knew she was doing that to get your attention and make you only look at her, but you were in the middle of an important game and you couldn't downplay all the effort you were putting into the game today! 😤

until she finally seems to be taking an interest in the game, and that makes you quite happy! of course your friends listen when she tells you to talk to her about the game because it seemed to be catching her attention and being interesting to her, they starting to cheer and say that maybe you should do a 1v1 with ningning sometime or that she should become a streamer too because she is charismatic and hot, words that pissed you off quite a bit but you had to bite your tongue because you didn’t want to ruin the current mood! 😊 so you just explain to ningning the dynamics of the game, what defense options your character has, how you can attack, and she listens to you! her chair practically next to yours and resting her chin on your shoulder until you feel a hand on your crotch?? you appreciate that the camera angle is positioned so that nothing under the desk is visible

but she just rests her hand on your clothed cock, occasionally patting the slowly growing bulge… but she keeps a poker face! pretending to cuddle up to you while you play, resting her head on your shoulder and occasionally kissing your cheek, pretending to be completely oblivious to how her actions were completely affecting you! suppressing a grin as a blush covered your cheeks or you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, looking at the chat to find fans saying things like “awww she gets nervous because her girlfriend is giving her affection in front of the cameras 🥰” of course!!! 🥰🥰🥰

ningning whispering things in your ear and trying not to get her voice picked up by the microphone, telling you that if you win the game she will reward you for your effort by sucking your cock, saying that she will give you a very good ride if you achieve victory just for her

and you do it! almost throwing the mouse to the ground after barely winning the game, your friends celebrating and talking through the discord voice chat, but you’re counting on finishing your stream!

and ningning dragging you into your room almost instantly after you finish your stream, pushing you by the shoulders so that you’re lying on your back on the mattress, taking advantage of the opportunity to climb on top of you because she is willing to give you what she promised you!

#yizhuo #yizhuo x fem reader #yizhuo x reader #yizhuo smut #ning yizhuo #ning yizhuo x fem reader #ning yizhuo x reader #ning yizhuo smut #ningning #ningning x fem reader #ningning x reader #ningning smut #aespa #aespa x fem reader #aespa x reader #aespa smut

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nickistuffs · 7 months ago

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Design Choices

Hi, I’m back with some inspiration! As a designer in product development, this photo really resonates with me.

Pairing: Harry x Designer Reader (curvy or plus size—whatever you feel works best! This is just my preference 😌)

Summary: Harry invites you to a Pleasing meeting.

Word Count: 874

Warnings: None. Just fluff 💗

Please enjoy! I’m just doing this for fun.

✨masterlist✨ read the rest of Harry x Designer Reader there ...

Today, Harry had a meeting for his cosmetics brand, Pleasing. While getting ready, he saw his girlfriend sitting at her desk, working on designs and 3D renders for various brands vying for her talent.

He’d always wanted to add Y/N to his team of designers or do a small collaboration. However, being the shy and offline person she is, Y/N mostly kept her work to her portfolio and artworks online, with little to no social media presence. She’d told him before that she didn’t want to be seen as the girl who got work because of her boyfriend—something Harry found ridiculous since he would’ve gladly welcomed her on the team if she’d asked.

After slipping on his socks, he tiptoed to her workspace, wrapped his arms around her shoulders, and placed soft kisses on her head. Briefly, he watched her work on what appeared to be a floor plan for a coffee shop. An idea crossed his mind, one he hoped she’d be open to.

“Hey, baby. Are you busy today?”

“Uhmm, not really. I’m just finishing my files, and my meeting got moved to tomorrow. Why?” she replied while continuing to type up details and notes for her contractors.

“Well, if you’re done with that, would you like to join me in a meeting today?”

She quickly saved her file and closed her laptop, looking at Harry with curiosity.

“For… your next album?”

“No, silly! For Pleasing. We’re finalizing some packaging boxes and stickers for a new nail polish release this New Year.”

“Oh! Right, sorry. My mind’s been all over the place.”

“No worries, love. So, do you want to come?”

“Sure, but can you pack my stuff for me? I’ll just go change.”

“Go ahead. I’ll take care of it for you.”

Harry rummaged through her work bag, filled with her essentials: a pen case, notebooks, journals, sample swatches, three different types of measuring tools, and other knick-knacks she might need for meetings or site visits. Knowing her, inspiration—or a design mishap—could strike at any moment. He added her laptop and earphones to the bag just as she walked back into the room.

“Ready! Do you have my bag, babe?”

“Yup, everything’s secured. I’ll just put on my shoes, and we can go.” ...

As Harry drove them to Pleasing’s unofficial office, he broke the silence.

“Babe, thank you for coming with me today. I thought you’d say no and stay home.”

“Well, I know I’ve said I didn’t want to be part of the product development team, but I still want to support you. If going to this meeting means so much to you, I’ll gladly hop in when I’m free.”

At a red light, Harry grabbed her hand and kissed it gently. ...

When they arrived at the small office, Harry and Y/N were greeted warmly and offered coffee, pastries, and nuts. She placed her bag on the floor and settled onto the couch, her eyes immediately drawn to the sparkly, hot-pressed foils on the PR boxes inside a nearby cardboard box.

“You can touch them if you like,” said Harry’s head designer.

“Thank you. Harry, may I?”

“I know you’re dying to feel it, love. Don’t let me stop you.”

Harry smiled at her excitement as she examined the new products Pleasing had created. He silently observed her body language, sweating a little as he hoped nothing was out of place—knowing how detail-oriented she was.

“These are so nice. The feel is great. Do you have options where the box is fully foiled or mixed with matte finishes for texture variety?”

A sigh of relief escaped Harry’s lips as he saw her getting into her element.

“Yeah, we have all of that here,” the head designer replied. “Here are the inserts, the bottles, and other packaging we’ve printed, along with the initial samples, if you want to try them.”

They laid everything out on the table. Y/N immediately locked eyes with Harry.

“These are amazing! The supplier you got is really good. You have to tell me who they are!”

Harry chuckled at her enthusiasm.

“It’s a secret, love. I can’t reveal that to the competition. I might even ask the team to whip up an NDA before you leave.”

The three of them laughed at Harry’s joke, but soon the meeting shifted into a more serious tone. Work began in earnest, with Harry choosing his preferred designs, giving feedback, and discussing limitations and options with the team.

Meanwhile, Y/N started snapping photos of Harry looking serious, as well as top-down shots of the table and the stickers he was pointing to.

**“What do you think, love?” Harry asked.

“Sorry, I was distracted. Can you say that again, babe?”

“I asked if we should add another color to the collection, or if this is enough?”

“Well, is it in your budget? I thought you already finalized a color story. Adding another might confuse the supplier if it’s a last-minute change. I’d recommend saving it for your next release or an expansion of the range, maybe with a different collaborator.”

Harry nodded, impressed by her quick, thoughtful response. He felt a surge of pride, knowing he was in a relationship with someone as brilliant and passionate as she was. ... Thank you so much for reading! I have more in store and might write again soon. See you! 💗

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samheughanswife · 6 days ago

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This was chosen by one of my book club friends. I had bought and read it way back in 2020.

I did not like it then and I haven’t changed my opinion. Maybe it’s the style the book is written in?

But

I look forward to Caitriona’s portrayal of Ana. It will be a move away from supporting wife, FvF, the boxing movie with Orlando and the small part in Amateur.

It will be 5 years since Caitriona secured the rights to adapt and produce Here is the Beehive this August.

“I am beyond thrilled that Sarah agreed to collaborate with me to bring her exciting and compelling novel to life for the screen,” said Balfe. “I was particularly drawn to her portrayal of a flawed, complex and wounded woman, navigating a tragic circumstance somewhat of her own creation.”

“I am delighted Caitriona Balfe has acquired the film rights to Here Is the Beehive,” said Crossan. “Her vision is ambitious and daring as well as sensitive to the original text. I am excited to be working with her and her team over the coming months and years.”

“Sources close to Balfe say schedule and timing permitting, this is intended to be a starring vehicle for Balfe as well.”

Well.

OL is done. Could this be on her desk for the remainder of 2025 into 2026? Or is she a very busy 🐝

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patrixjia · 7 months ago

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Heat of The Moment

Plot Overview

You’re an independent songwriter tasked with writing a collaborative track for Stray Kids. What should have been your dream gig turns into a nightmare thanks to last-minute deadlines and your strained creative energy. You clash immediately with Bang Chan—too confident for his own good and infuriatingly talented. He insists on late-night studio sessions, constantly pushes back on your ideas, and doesn’t seem to know how to take no for an answer.

One night, when tension reaches its peak, an explosive argument in the recording studio leads to unexpected sparks. With tempers flaring and boundaries slipping, the heat between you boils over into something far more primal. The lines between frustration and desire blur, leaving you both vulnerable to feelings that neither of you wanted—or planned for.

Disclaimer:

This is a work of fanfiction created for entertainment purposes only. I do not own or claim any affiliation with Bang Chan, Stray Kids, or their management. The events and characters depicted in this story are entirely fictional and do not reflect real-life personalities, actions, or relationships.

This story contains mature themes and is intended for audiences 18 and older. Reader discretion is advised.

━━━━━━━━━━━☾✧✦✧☽━━━━━━━━━━━

The studio air was thick with frustration. It wasn't the equipment, the hours, or even the looming deadline - it was him.

Bang Chan sat sprawled in his chair like a king, his dark eyes fixed on you with infuriating calmness. You could practically feel the smugness radiating off him as he leaned back, one arm lazily draped over the chair's edge, his lips twitching upward in what could only be described as a challenge.

"Again", he said, his voice low and maddeningly smooth.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, trembling with restrained fury. "We've already gone over this again five times! The hook works, the track flows, and it's done. You just want me to sit here all night because you've decided sleep is optional."

He didn't even flinch. If anything, that smirk grew sharper. "It's not about sleep. It's about getting it right. This?" He gesture at the speakers like he was dismissing a bad meal. "This isn't right."

You turned, fully intending to argue, but the look on his face stopped you. It wasn't disdain or boredom - it was focus. Relentless, unshakable focus.

You hated that he looked good while being such a pain. His hair was a little messy, his sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms that you were doing your best not to notice, and he had that maddening way of looking at you like he was already one step ahead.

But this wasn't about how good he looked. It was about the fact that he was driving you insane.

"Why don't you just write it yourself?" you snapped.

Chan shrugged, the movement deliberate. "Because i want to see what you've got. You're suppose to be the best, right? Prove it."

The arrogance in his voice set something off in you. Your hands slammed against the desk, the sound echoing in the studio. "You don't think I'm good enough?!"

"I think," he said, standing and crossing the room toward you, his footsteps slow and deliberate, "you're holding back. And I'm not interested in 'good enough'. I want something that hits harder."

By the time he stopped in front of you, the air felt charged. He wasn't touching you, but he didn't need to. His presence was overwhelming, his eyes locked on yours with a heat that send your pulse racing.

"Well," you said, refusing to back down, "maybe you should stop breathing down my neck and let me work."

Chan tilted his head, his smirk turning into something more dangerous. "Maybe you like it."

Your breath hitched, but you didn't flinch. "Don't flatter yourself."

The hours stretched on, the tension between you crackling like static. You were at the piano, furiously reworking the melody, while Chan sat behind you, watching. Always watching.

"Play the last part again," he said, his voice softer now but no less insistent.

You obeyed - if only to avoid another argument. Your fingers stumbled lightly, the fatigue of the night finally catching up with you.

"That's not it," he murmured, standing and moving to your side. "Here, let me."

You bristled but scooted over just enough for him to sit. His hands brushed against yours as he reached for the keys, and the warmth of his skin sent a jolt up your arm.

"That's not-"

"Relax," he said, his voice so close that you felt it more than heard it. His hands moved confidently over the keys, the melody shifting under his touch, morphing into something richer, heavier. "See?"

You hated that it sounded better. You hated him. And yet, you couldn't pull your eyes away.

"Show-off," you muttered, hoping to break the spell.

Chan laughed softly, his voice low and teasing. "You're cute when you're mad."

Your head whipped toward him. "What did you just said?"

He turned to face you fully, his face so close that your noses almost brushed. His smile was infuriatingly calm. "I said, you're cute when you're mad. What are you gonna do about it?"

Your jaw tightened, but before you could retort, his gaze dropped to your lips, lingering just enough to set your skin on fire.

It happened all at once. One second, you were glaring at him, and the next, his lips were on yours.

The kiss was fire and frustration, a tangle of heat and tension that exploded in the small studio. Your back hit the piano as he leaned into you, his hands framing your face, tilting it up to deepen the kiss.

You gasped, and his tongue slid against yours, sending a shiver down your spine. His hands moved to your waist, gripping you firmly, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

“This,” you managed to gasp between kisses, “is a terrible idea.”

“Probably,” he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with want. “But you started it.”

You shoved at his chest, though your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. “You kissed me!”

His laugh was low and wicked as he nipped at your jawline, his hands slipping under your shirt to skim along your sides. “And you didn’t stop me.”

Chan’s mouth was on yours again, hot and demanding, as he pressed you back against the piano. The weight of him, the way his hands gripped your waist, sent your pulse skyrocketing.

“You’re infuriating,” you gasped, your fingers curling into his shirt, tugging him closer.

“And you’re impossible,” he shot back, his voice rough, lips brushing against your jaw before moving lower.

His mouth left a scorching trail along your neck, and you felt yourself arch into him as his teeth grazed the sensitive skin there.

Your hands slipped under his shirt, fingers tracing along the ridges of his muscles, eliciting a low sound from him that made heat pool in your stomach.

“Touchy,” you teased, though your voice was breathless.

His response was a low chuckle, muffled as his mouth moved lower, his hands now sliding under your shirt to rest on your bare skin.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his voice dark and rough, though his fingers lingered teasingly along the edge of your waistband.

You didn’t answer—didn’t want him to stop—so instead, you grabbed the hem of his shirt and yanked it over his head.

The sight of him—flushed skin, wild hair, and that insufferable grin—shouldn’t have made your knees weak, but it did.

“You’re staring,” he said, voice teasing, though his eyes were anything but playful.

“You’re in my way,” you shot back, pulling him to you again, crashing your mouth against his.

This time, it was frantic, all pretense stripped away as hands wandered and clothes were pulled at—shirts discarded onto the studio floor, his jeans pressing into your thighs as he lifted you onto the piano bench.

The sound of the piano keys clanging beneath you should have been comical, but it only fueled the tension as his mouth found yours again, his hands sliding to grip your hips and pull you closer—until there was nothing between you but thin fabric and the weight of all the things you couldn’t say aloud.

With a swift motion, Chan flipped you back, his body now hovering over you, the heat radiating off him almost overwhelming. “You think you can just take charge?” he challenged, his voice low and teasing.

You smirked, feeling a rush of adrenaline. “Maybe I can show you how it’s done.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh, really?”

You leaned in, capturing his mouth again, your bodies pressed together, the warmth between you palpable. His hands slid up your thighs, fingers brushing the edge of your shorts, teasing but not crossing the line.

“Is this what you wanted?” you breathed against his lips, your own pulse racing with the thrill of being in control. “Something that hits harder?”

He chuckled, the sound low and inviting, “You have no idea what you’re asking for.”

With a swift motion, he flipped you back again, his body now solidly over yours, the weight of him deliciously grounding. “But I’m going to show you.”

His mouth found yours again, but this time, it was urgent, a claim that sent shivers down your spine. You gasped as his hands explored further, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shorts, teasingly inching toward the waistband.

"Chan,” you breathed, the thrill of anticipation mixing with the heat of his touch. “You’re insatiable.”

“And you love it,” he replied, voice thick with desire, as he pressed his body against yours, the piano creaking beneath the weight of your shared urgency.

“Maybe,” you admitted, a grin breaking through as he captured your mouth again, the world around you fading into a blur.

His hands slipped under your shorts, fingers brushing against your skin, and you moaned softly, arching into his touch. The sensation was electric, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear, igniting a fire deep within you.

“I want you,” you gasped, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “I want all of you.”

His eyes darkened with desire, and in that moment, you knew there was no turning back. He kissed you fiercely, and as the world around you faded, you surrendered to the overwhelming need that had built between you.

Chan's lips were relentless against yours, each kiss igniting a fire that spread through your entire body. His hands moved with purpose, exploring every inch of you as if memorizing your shape. The world outside the studio faded into nothingness; it was just you and him, lost in the heat of the moment.

“Are you sure?” he murmured, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark and searching. “I don’t want to rush you.”

You felt your heart race at the sincerity in his voice, but the urgency of the moment drowned out any hesitation. “I’m sure,” you replied, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions within you. “I want this.”

His smirk returned, a mixture of satisfaction and wickedness, and he leaned in again, capturing your mouth as if sealing the promise of what was to come. You could feel the muscles in his arms flex as he held you against the piano, the heat radiating from his body enveloping you.

With a swift motion, he pulled you closer, his hands gripping your thighs as he shifted, positioning you to straddle him fully. The sensation sent another wave of heat through you, the feel of him beneath you amplifying the tension that had been building all night.

"Chan,” you gasped, feeling the rush of exhilaration mixed with a hint of nervousness. “Please...”

“Just wait,” he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. “I’m just getting started.”

As if to prove his point, his hands moved back to your waist, guiding you as you began to grind against him. The friction was intoxicating, and you let out a soft moan, the sound echoing in the dimly lit studio.

“Like that?” he teased, watching you with an intensity that made your cheeks burn.

“More,” you urged, craving the connection, the way he made you feel alive and desired.

He obliged, his grip tightening as he helped you find a rhythm, the two of you moving together in a way that felt both primal and electrifying. You lost yourself in the sensation, every touch, every kiss igniting something deeper within you.

“God, you’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. The praise sent a thrill through you, pushing you to go faster, to feel more.

You leaned forward, locking eyes with him as you whispered, “Show me how incredible I can be.”

His response was a low growl, and in an instant, he flipped you back, pinning you beneath him once more. The shift was exhilarating, and you reveled in the feeling of being completely at his mercy. He leaned down, capturing your mouth again, and the kiss was fierce and demanding, filled with all the pent-up frustration and heat that had been building between you.

His hands roamed freely, exploring every inch of your body, his fingers igniting fire wherever they touched. You gasped as he slipped a hand beneath your shorts again, teasingly brushing against your most sensitive spots, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you.

“Chan, please,” you pleaded, the urgency in your voice echoing the frantic beating of your heart.

“Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you,” he responded, his voice low and gravelly, the promise laced within it making your breath hitch.

You could hardly think straight, the need for him overwhelming. “I want you inside me,” you confessed, the words spilling out with a desperation you couldn’t hide.

His eyes darkened with desire at your admission, and he nodded, his expression turning serious. “Okay. But we’re doing this right.”

He took a moment to rummage through his bag, pulling out a small packet. You watched, breathless and eager, as he prepared, the anticipation building to a fever pitch.

"Strip for me, sweet girl," he said as he returned to you, helping you take off your clothes, taking a second to admire you. "Even more beautiful than i imagined."

You looked at him, with big, vulnerable eyes. "You imagine this?"

His gaze soften for a moment, "From the day you walked in this studio from the first time."

His hands found your waist again, fingers digging in as he positioned himself at your entrance. “Ready?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.

“More than ready,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, and with that, he pushed inside you.

The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and fullness that made you arch against him, gasping at the intensity of it all. He filled you completely, stretching you in a way that left you breathless.

“Just like that,” he urged, his voice thick with desire as he began to move, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you. You felt every inch of him, the way he filled you up, and it was almost too much to bear.

“Chan,” you moaned, your body responding instinctively to his rhythm, the heat between you growing with every movement.

He leaned down, capturing your lips again, the kiss deepening as he lost himself in you. You could feel the way he filled you, the way your bodies moved together, and it felt absolutely electric.

“Faster,” you urged, urging him on, your nails digging into his shoulders as you pulled him closer.

He obliged, his pace quickening, the sounds of your bodies moving together filling the studio as you both succumbed to the pleasure building between you. Each thrust sent you spiraling closer to the edge, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until you thought you might burst.

“God, you feel so good,” he groaned, his voice hoarse with need. “I’m not going to last long at this rate.”

“Neither am I,” you gasped, the pleasure reaching a crescendo. “Just a little more.”

With a few more powerful thrusts, the tension snapped, and you came undone, the waves of ecstasy crashing over you as your body quaked beneath him.

“Yeah, just like that,” he breathed, his own release following closely behind, the feeling of him filling you driving you to new heights as you clung to each other, lost in the moment.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, you both collapsed against each other, breaths mingling in the stillness of the studio. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you, tangled together in the aftermath of your shared passion.

The room was quiet except for the sound of your uneven breathing and the faint hum of the studio equipment. You sat slumped against Chan, your heart still pounding as you tried to collect yourself.

“Well,” he finally said, his voice a low rasp, “that was… productive.”

You swatted weakly at his chest, though you couldn’t stop the small, satisfied smile tugging at your lips. “Shut up.”

He tilted his head back with a quiet laugh, his fingers tracing lazy circles along your skin. “You’re not gonna fight me on the hook anymore, are you?”

“Don’t push your luck,” you muttered, though the bite in your voice was gone.

Chan looked down at you, his expression softer now. “Guess I finally got your best work out of you, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, but when his hand slid back to your waist, tugging you closer, you didn’t resist.

“Maybe you’re not entirely useless after all,” you teased, brushing your lips against his again.

His laugh rumbled against your mouth as he kissed you back, slow and unhurried this time—like you had all the time in the world.

“Careful,” he murmured. “You’re starting to like me.”

You pulled away just enough to meet his gaze, arching an eyebrow. “Don’t let it go to your head, Bang Chan.”

But the smirk on his face told you it was already too late.

#bang chan #stray kids #skz fanfic #bang chan fanfic #stray kids imagines #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #enemies to lovers #mature theme #smut warning #skz smut #bang chan smut

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rainsoughtflowers · 6 months ago

Text

do you see right through me?

part two

tw/cw - swearing, depictions of death, attempted murder, suggestive content.

a/n - we are halfway done! woohoo! hope you guys like this chapter.

you read the words displayed on the chalkboard at the front of the room repeatedly. over and over again, picking apart each syllable and allowing it to linger on the tongue. when the words don't change, finally sinking in, you glance towards your left, switching your attention between the two girls near your seat. they each wear similar expressions of conflict.

"what should we do?" yoon-seo asks, only furthering the anxious pit inside your stomach.

a group assignment to be completed in pairs. three friends. an unwilling scapegoat.

you consider your options once more, carefully running through each outcome. your class number was even, so there was no possibility of an odd pair, no matter how much you may beg the teacher for an exception. the only other people you would consider working with were already in groups, meaning your options were limited to either one of the girls before you or the only other person in the class who didn't have a partner yet.

coming to a decision, you open your mouth to speak, only to falter when you hear your name being called from across the room.

all three of you turn, and your surprise becomes apparent as you stare at the owner of the voice, blinking slowly, feeling rooted to your seat. kyung-jun is leaning back in his chair, balancing his weight on the back legs, dangerously close to tipping over with just one wrong move. around him, you notice similar faces of shock and confusion as he motions lazily with his hand for you to come over, "work with me."

perplexed, you glance back at your friends, wondering if you misheard the boy's words. but sure enough, studying their expressions revealed a mixture of suspicion and concern. even then, they don't say anything to stop nor encourage the partnership.

you push yourself to your feet, hoping your face doesn't betray the nerves prickling across your skin, "you two can work together."

you don't wait to see their reactions. you lift up your desk, shuffling across the room to where kyung-jun sits next to the wall. with a small grunt, you drop the furniture next to his own, plopping down into the seat shortly after.

during the entirety of your short journey, you could feel someone watching you, more specifically the boy now several inches to your right. you do your best to avoid his eyes, feeling afraid of what you'll find if you meet them. what would you prefer? mockery or something kinder? which was worse out of the two? you look down at your paper, curl your fingers around your skirt, shift in your seat. the assignment was simple, so it didn't require too much talking, not unless you needed help. still, being this close to kyung-jun, having to collaborate with him, it made something shift inside your stomach, almost like a flutter.

for several minutes, you work quietly. you hear the sounds of your classmates conversing in the background, the shuffle of paper, the scratch of your pencil. every so often you'll pause, press the tip of your eraser against your lip, your brows furrowing in concentration. beside you, it's eerily quiet, and kyung-jun's paper remains blank.

this continues on for several more minutes, and kyung-jun's intense stare doesn't falter, not even once. what exactly does he want? was there something on your face? did he need something from you? you do your best to focus on your task, refusing to acknowledge the boy's rather annoying attention. but it lingers there in the back of your mind, persistent, consuming any logical thoughts you had regarding your math assignment. eventually, you release a sigh, dropping your writing utensil. this wasn't working.

your fingers reach for your paper, rolling it swiftly into a circle. you then shift in your seat, angling your body towards kyung-jun, and tap your makeshift weapon against the top of his head, "pay attention. you can save the staring for after. finish your work."

he blinks, his expression blank for a moment, then followed by a slight annoyance. but he doesn't say anything, simply examining you carefully, eyes flitting across every surface of your face. this time, you hold his stare, keeping your expression carefully constructed, waiting for the exact moment he either lashes out or complies to your request.

kyung-jun tightens his jaw, and you brace for it, the snap of his anger, the rise in his voice. but to everyone's surprise, especially your own, he listens. kyung-jun turns away, picks up his pencil, and stares at his paper. you watch, dumbfounded, the way his eyes move across the assignment, reading line after line, the gears steadily turning in his head.

'he's kind of cute when he's concentrating.'

the thought rises unexpectedly, and it causes heat to build rapidly across your skin, burning every surface. where did that come from? when did you start thinking such sappy things like that? and about him? flustered, you only allow yourself to stare a single moment longer before resuming your own work, desperately trying to calm the rapid pounding of your heart and the flush of your skin.

when morning comes, and you snap your eyes open, the ceiling is the first thing to greet you. the sight of it doesn't bother you at first. it makes sense to fall asleep laying down and to see the ceiling when you wake up. but the more you stare at it, taking the sight of it in, you realize the abnormalities. for one, it was so far away, and across it you spot metal beams and electrical wires.

just then, you realize the rest of the peculiarities. you feel the cold floor of the gym beneath your body, not the soft mattress of a bed, and a dull ache behind your head, throbbing insistently.

the memories of the night prior is the second thing to greet you. around you, there's the rustle of movement, the soft murmur of voices, and a bell announcing the morning. a clear contrast to the chaos that erupted the night before. flashing lights, screams of terror, death after death occurring in that very room. you do your best to avoid a certain corner of the gym where a body sways in the air.

you slowly sit up, feeling each muscle in your body protest at the movement. across the room, yoon-seo is breaking down, tears running down her cheeks, her eyes full of anguish. beside her, jun-hee stares into space, vacant, hollow, like a part of himself died last night along with the others.

from the corner of your vision you catch movement, and you turn your head to find kyung-jun pushing himself up into a sitting position. he blinks rapidly, clearing the confusion addling his mind. different memories from the previous night push to the forefront of your own. soft moonlight on every crevice of his features. the bruises on his face and neck. the harshness in his tone when he told you to stay away. an ache forms in your ribs, pressing down so hard it hurts. you have to force yourself to look away.

"hey! lee joo-young!"

you search for the source of the screams, your attention landing on mi-na in the center of the gym, knees pressed to the floor, frantically shaking a girl's body. there's a white sheet covering her face, and no matter how much mi-na begs her to wake up, she doesn't move an inch. dread starts to pool in your stomach, and you slowly stand up when yoon-seo rushes over. an alarm blares from above.

LEE JOO-YOUNG WAS EXECUTED BY THE MAFIA LAST NIGHT. LEE JOO-YOUNG WAS A CITIZEN.

mi-na's screams get louder, echoing in the otherwise silent gym.

BEFORE THE PREVIOUS VOTING ENDED, THE DOCTOR CHOSE TO USE HIS HEALING ABILITY ON CHA YU-JUN.

the doctor. with everything that transpired, you forgot about your own role and responsibility. should you start looking for the doctor? form an alliance with them? but how would you go about finding them? you glance at yu-jun, wondering if it was him or ji-soo that possesses the doctor's abilities. it would make the most sense. you didn't think anyone else would use their healing abilities on him. not in a game like this.

MORNING HAS COME. ALL PARTICIPANTS, PLEASE FIND THE MAFIA AND BEGIN VOTING.

yoon-seo lifts up the sheet, revealing red and purple bruises along joo-young's neck, "i think she was strangled with this."

mi-na stands up abruptly. the suddenness of her movements catches you off guard, her emotions going from one extreme to the next. despair now turned into anger, she marches towards jun-hee and pushes him back, "i didn't want to hand in my phone!" she grabs his collar, shaking him aggressively, her tears rapidly falling down her cheeks as her crying intensifies, "i said i didn't want to! we wouldn't have slept here if we hadn't collected the phones. and no one would've died. you killed them all, kim jun-hee! take responsibility!"

jun-hee doesn't say anything, doesn't so much as move. he takes mi-na's screaming and physical attacks with no complaint, behaving as if he deserved it. so-mi is the one who puts an end to the one sided argument, shoving mi-na back, "that's enough."

you run a hand through your hair, feeling something akin to frustration build within your chest. you doubt jun-hee did it on purpose, but how could you prove that? not to mention kyung-jun's involvement with the plan. had he done it on purpose? you spare a glance at the boy, but you can't find any traces of guilt or malice.

this whole situation was a mess.

"they're not wrong," ji-soo suddenly speaks, referring to mi-na's earlier words, "we survived because we were lucky. how will you and kyung-jun take responsibility?"

kyung-jun sneers, "did i fucking suggest we should collect them?" he turns to jun-hee, lifting a finger and pointing at the class president, "jun-hee, you son of a bitch! you said we only had to collect the phones! we all ended up like this because of you! take responsibility!"

no one speaks for several moments, all eyes on the boy at the receiving end of kyung-jun's implication. even then, under the scrutiny of the class, the emptiness surrounding jun-hee's figure doesn't disappear.

"i'm sorry." jun-hee whispers eventually. his bottom lip trembles, and his eyes waver, holding back unshed tears. without another word, he brushes past your classmates and leaves the gym. for once, no one goes after him.

kyung-jun rests his hands on his waist once he's disappeared, indifferent about his behavior, "whatever. this happened because of the class president. let's just vote him out today."

"you're the one who took all our phones saying it was a good idea." jung-won says accusingly, causing the boy to turn and look at her, "why are you acting like you didn't?"

instead of responding, kyung-jun puts his hands inside his pockets, regarding jung-won carefully. up and down, sizing her up. the girl doesn't falter under his examination. instead, she regards him with the same level of examination.

she folds her arms across her chest, "you were pretty relaxed last night. why did you secretly keep your phone? if we're pointing fingers, you're the most suspicious one here."

you feel your entire body seize at her words, unconsciously directing your attention to the boy in search of confirmation. was it true? kyung-jun kept his phone even after taking everyone else's? but why? just what was his motive here? a thought forms in your mind, something you're sure everyone else has wondered at least once since this absurd game started. but the more it lingers, the more you refuse it. even if it is logical, even if all his actions point towards that answer, you didn't want it to be true. you didn't know what you'd do with yourself if it was.

kyung-jun passes a glance to the floor, composing himself before responding, "hey, isn't it obvious?" he takes a slow step closer, lifting his head, "how should i trust jun-hee, that bastard? he might be the mafia." he turns around, glancing at everyone, waiting for someone to agree. when no one does he looks back down, "hey!" he yells, causing everyone to jump, successfully gaining their full, undivided attention, "this is a game of life or death. why should i put my life in someone else's hands? i just used my brain." he rounds back on jung-won, shoving da-bum, who is standing next to her, once on the shoulder, "if i hadn't," he does it again, this time with more force. the boy stumbles back, "i could've died."

before you know it, before you even realize it, your body is stepping forward, and words are tumbling from your mouth, "kyung-jun, that's enough." he turns around to face you, and you feel it all over again. that ache in between your ribs, the hurt still lingering in your bones, "there's no point in arguing about it. what's done is done," you look at him then, really look at him, and the ache intensifies, spreading through your chest and laying itself upon your face. it's the root of your helplessness and exhaustion, the need to just allow it all to crumble to pieces. your voice breaks as you speak, cracking along the edges, "don't you want to go home?"

kyung-jun doesn't answer, but you can sense the shift in him. the small tic in his jaw. the way his intense gaze wavers ever so slightly, softening in the corners. surrender yourself. lay it all to rest. i don't want to leave this place if it's not with you.

"how can we go home?" so-mi asks suddenly, causing him to look away. you find yourself reluctantly doing the same, "we can't escape."

"if we can find out who created the mafia came and why, we can figure out how to get out of here. then we can all leave and no one has to die," yoon-seo answers. she glances to her side, regarding joo-young's still body, "but we can figure that out later. lets move them first."

"move what?" so-mi asks, a hint of suspicion creeping into her tone.

yoon-seo gestures towards the dead bodies around the gym, "we can't leave them like this. we need to move them to a freezer."

kyung-jun smiles in disbelief, as if he couldn't believe the seriousness in yoon-seo's suggestion. he rolls his eyes and motions for his friends to follow, taking several steps forward in order to leave. yet again, without thinking, you reach for his arm, latching on and successfully halting his movements. kyung-jun turns around, irritation visible on his features when his eyes meet your own. he swears at you, attempting to pull away, but you keep your fingers firm around his wrists.

"don't leave." you plead desperately, causing him to pause. you soften your grip, holding his palms within your own, sliding your fingers delicately over the rough, calloused skin, "after this i'll stop bothering you, just like you wanted. but do just this one thing. please."

he glances down at your hands, the features of his face softening into slight confusion. the ghost of perplexity. as if ko kyung-jun could not grasp the reason behind your persistence, your concern. open your eyes, kyung-jun. don't you see?

"are you slipping away again, y-you cheapskate?" woo-ram stutters when kyung-jun still hasn't answered.

kyung-jun snaps his head up, latching his attention onto the boy. he moves as if to step towards woo-ram, "what did you say?"

you tug on his arms, preventing him from taking any further steps. astonishingly enough, kyung-jun doesn't protest, instead using his annoyance to glare at your classmate. under his sharp stare, woo-ram stumbles back, hiding his body behind another one of your classmates.

slowly, kyung-jun directs his attention to you once more, and you can feel his resolve crumble the longer he holds your eyes. it's almost identical to the night before, only this time there is no weapon in his hands, and his life isn't in crucial danger. you're not even entirely sure if kyung-jun will agree with your request, not if there isn't an initiative to keep himself alive. what could you offer him that didn't involve his very life?

but eventually, he releases a muttered curse, pulling away roughly before stepping towards the closest body. he crouches down, putting his arms underneath joo-young's shoulders. when no one moves, he yells at seung-bin and jin-a to help, sparking a rush of movement from all of your classmates.

it takes less than an hour to move all of them. in the freezer, goosebumps scatter along your arms, your breaths forming a small cloud every time your lungs deflate. yoon-seo ensures that each body is turned over and faces the ceiling, side by side, a white sheet pulled over to hide them from sight. you don't say anything as hyun-ho's pale face and blue lips disappear beneath the fabric, becoming just another dead body. a number. you only turn and leave the room, rushing towards the nearest bathroom.

you brace yourself against the sink, gulping down several deep breaths greedily into your lungs. your fingers tremble as they reach towards the faucet, turning it on and cupping the rushing water into your hands. you splash yourself in the face three times, the cold shock of the temperature calming you momentarily, enough to even out your breaths and clear your mind.

slowly, you blink your eyes open, facing the girl in the mirror. water droplets slide down her face and towards the counter, her eyes bloodshot and fearful. you'd think they'd disappear with the amount of sleep you got each night, but if anything, it only makes them more prominent, causing you to look both exhausted and sickly. trembling, you reach up and touch them, then reach down to the cuts at the corners of your lips. the skin is cracked and peeling, but there is no harsh sting to accompany the touch.

it's as you're pressing down on the wound do you notice it. pulling back in shock, you stare at the back of your hands, streaks of dried blood tainting them. only one question forms inside your head. who does this blood belong to? you inspect it for a moment, the pounding in your chest increasing steadily with each beat, before hastily dropping your hands and scrubbing at them furiously. you don't stop until the skin is raw and clean.

when no more red bleeds into the water you turn off the sink, drying your hands and fixing your uniform before leaving the bathroom. the halls are empty, leaving no doubt that everyone is either in their rooms or somewhere else in the building. intending to retreat to your bed, you direct your steps towards the stairs.

just as you're turning the corner of the hallway someone grabs you, forcefully pulling you back. a cry forms in your throat, but their hand hurriedly covers your mouth, muffling any sounds attempting to escape. even more panicked now, you reach up and try to pry their fingers away, moving your body in any way to get them to release you.

"fuck, stop struggling. it's me."

you slacken ever so slightly, recognizing the voice almost immediately. kyung-jun? he removes his hand, prompting you to turn around and face him. sure enough, the familiar features of his brown hair and dark eyes greets you. he presses a finger to his lips, motioning for you to remain quiet. your confusion builds, but you comply nonetheless.

kyung-jun peeks around the corner, and once confirming that you are alone, relaxes into his position by leaning against the wall and hiding his hands inside his pockets. why isn't he saying anything? you thought you had an agreement. if kyung-jun despised you so much to the point where he couldn't stand being near you, why is he here now? didn't you give him a way out? you gave your request, he accepted it. your paths should never cross again.

so why?

you can't help the beginnings of annoyance starting to form within your body.

"what do you want?" you inquire, folding your arms over your chest, regarding him with just a slight hint of suspicion, "i thought you said to...what was it? 'stay the fuck away from you'?"

kyung-jun rolls his eyes, "well, you didn't do a very good job of it."

you scoff, appalled by his words and behavior. why seek you out if he was going to be an asshole? "i don't have time for this." you mutter, spinning on your heels and beginning to walk away.

"i know you're the nurse."

you pause, kyung-jun's words echoing insistently within your mind. that was impossible. how could he have possibly figured that out? you were so careful, and it's not like you used your ability recently, considering that you can't. was it a bluff? would your reaction give him his answer? you make sure to compose yourself before turning around, "what are you talking about?"

slowly, a foxlike grin pulls at his lips. kyung-jun pushes himself away from the wall and steps closer, "playing dumb? okay," he reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone and tapping at the screen. he turns the device around, and sure enough, when you lean forward to read the contents, there was no mistaking your name and occupation displayed on the history tab of his phone in bright, bold letters.

your brows furrow in confusion, a thought suddenly forming in your mind, "wait, but if you have this, then..."

kyung-jun lowers his phone, "i'm the police."

you blink slowly, ingesting his words carefully. the first emotion that sinks in is relief. kyung-jun isn't mafia. you are on the same team. eventually, however, frustration replaces your comfort, and you frown at the boy before you, "are you stupid?"

kyung-jun's own lips pull down into a scowl, "what?"

"if you're the police, why the fuck were you acting crazy yesterday, huh? are you trying to get killed?"

kyung-jun glances away, clicking his tongue in annoyance, "that? those motherfuckers pissed me off. especially hyun-ho."

you falter at the mention of his name, pushing away the image of a swinging body hanging from a rope. you stare at the ground, pondering over the situation and the absurdity of it all. a different question forms, persisting against your tongue, "why are you telling me this? i can't use my ability you know. i'm useless to you."

"no, but if the doctor dies, you can."

"so i'm an asset to you." you mumble, neither a statement nor a question. kyung-jun answers you anyways.

"yes."

his words shouldn't hurt you as much as they do. it shouldn't strike a pain through your ribs, cause disappointment in your stomach, or make your heart falter. and yet it does. in the end, that's all you are to kyung-jun. someone he can use to keep himself alive.

then why does it feel so wrong? like you're missing a piece of the puzzle?

"why did you use it on me? why not one of your friends? or someone suspicious? seems like a waste of your skill."

kyung-jun releases an annoyed breath, running a hand through his hair frustratingly, "fuck, you ask so many damn questions."

"and you seem to have no answers."

kyung-jun's eyes snap to your own, studying you meticulously for a moment before dropping his hand. he shifts slightly on his feet, and for a second, you see an internal battle rage in his mind. another breath escapes through his nose, his eyes fluttering shut for a single second, "earlier, you asked me if i wanted to go home. if we're to do that, we need to find the mafia. you're gonna help me."

you consider it, the proposition he presented you with. what choice did you have, really? it's your third day playing this game, and you're no closer to finding the mafia than before. if you really want to stop it all, you have the play the game and win. and what's the harm in keeping kyung-jun close, staying by his side? "fine. i'll help you."

kyung-jun grins, and you heart leaps to your throat, studying the way his lips curl up and settle easily into his foxlike smile. it softens his face, creases the corners of his eyes.

the sound of footsteps echoing down the hall snap you out of your daze, growing closer and closer to your current position. someone is coming. what do you do? what would your classmate think if they stumbled upon you and kyung-jun alone in a corridor? the two of you don't really talk much. not unless necessary. wouldn't they accuse you of being mafia?

kyung-jun swears softly, hesitating only for a moment before stepping towards you, "play along."

what?

confused by his demand, you're about to open your mouth to protest, but before you can react he's pushing you against the wall, one arm next to your head and one hand holding your chin.

"what are you doing?" you whisper, doing your best to avoid glancing down at his lips. don't look don't look don't look-

"giving us an alibi."

kyung-jun doesn't provide you another chance to speak. you freeze, watching helplessly as he leans in, ghosting his lips over your own, giving the illusion of a kiss but never breaking the distance. despite it, however, your heart is pounding, fingers gripping the front of his shirt, curling around his collar. you look up at him, and he's so close, his eyes fixated on your lips. every time he breathes, it brushes against your skin, tickling your cheek, causing you to shudder. his breath smells like the remembrance of cigars, but there's a hint of mint mixed in, as if he chewed some gum recently to get rid of the scent. beneath your fingers, you can feel the warmth of his clothes and his own heart pounding, beating frantically against his chest.

why is it so fast?

the footsteps round the corner and stop, and you glance at the source of the sound, meeting so-mi's surprised eyes. her attention switches between you and kyung-jun, her confusion turning into understanding as the answer slowly dawns upon her.

kyung-jun passes her a disinterested glance, annoyance thick inside his voice, "what?"

at the sound of his irritation the girl smirks, crossing her arms across her chest, "you know, kyung-jun, you could at least have the decency of going into a room so the rest of us don't have to watch the two of you suck each others faces off."

suck each others faces off? the thought of that happening mortifies you, but it's exactly the kind of situation kyung-jun set up to avoid any dangerous accusations. heat creeps into your face, and you have to glance away, unable to look so-mi in the eyes any longer.

"you're the only one watching," kyung-jun bites back, shifting slightly. his hand drops from your chin to your neck, causing your pulse to jump underneath his touch, "now fuck off, we're busy."

you hear her scoff, but eventually, the sound of footsteps resumes once more, before fading completely.

"that bitch, so annoying." kyung-jun mumbles beneath his breath. you look back up at his face, and he's still so close, despite so-mi being gone. there was no need to continue pretending. so why hasn't he moved away? your heart continues its erratic beating inside your chest, threatening to burst out or go into complete failure. god, what was happening to you? why did kyung-jun have this effect on you?

you push him back slightly, creating enough space for you to slip out from his hold. he watches you silently, raising an eyebrow in slight confusion.

you swiftly clear your throat, composing yourself momentarily before finally meeting kyung-jun's puzzled eyes. even then, as you lengthen the distance, you can still feel the ghost of his touch, the remains of his warmth. if you had moved just an inch closer, would he have kissed you? no, it was best to forget that situation ever happened. there were more pressing matters at the moment after all. things more important than the funny feeling in your chest, "let's find the mafia, shall we?"

the snack bar isn't empty when you and kyung-jun enter, but he makes quick work of ensuring it's occupants leave as quickly as you arrived. seung-bin and jin-a are sitting across from one another at a table near the window, half eaten cups of ramen and savory snacks scattered across the surface. their focus switches between you and the tall boy beside you, their confusion evident in the way their chopsticks hover in mid-air and their mouths fail to snap close.

"get out." kyung-jun speaks firmly, his demand holding no sort of malice, but it was apparent the authority he held between the friend group.

"huh? why?" jin-a asks, sparing you yet another glance. you shift awkwardly beneath his wary gaze.

kyung-jun steps closer, "do i need to repeat myself?"

jin-a and seung-bin share another look before shaking their heads, hastily gathering their things and fleeing the room. kyung-jun sits down in the previously occupied seat, and you take the one across from him. for several moments, it's silent. while kyung-jun reaches into his pocket and pulls out a lighter, fiddling with the latch, your own fingers curl around the edges of your skirt, pulling at the thread insistently.

although it's now a reoccurring thing, being completely alone with kyung-jun is something you're still steadily getting used to. how exactly do you behave around him? do you treat him as a partner? a friend? could you even call yourselves that?

"so, mafia. any ideas?" kyung-jun breaks the silence, snapping you out of your internal dilemma. you watch as he expertly moves the lighter across each finger, his movements practiced and eased. it was mesmerizing.

at your continued silence, kyung-jun lifts up an eyebrow, his eyes bright with amusement, and you avoid them as you ponder his question and voice aloud the doubts previously floating in your mind, "the person who killed joo-young is not who killed ju-won. that much is apparent."

"what makes you so sure?"

"well for one, the method of killing was different," you think back to your second day, recalling the disfigured face of your classmate slumped against the bathroom stall. it was weird to go from that sort of extreme to a much milder method, "ju-won was hit by a fire extinguisher. joo-young was choked to death. plus, the culprit wouldn't pick such two different people."

"so there's a motive." kyung-jun determines, causing you to nod your head slightly.

"yes."

kyung-jun thinks for a moment, eventually releasing a short breath, "so not the president then."

"glad you're smart enough to put aside your hatred and actually think."

kyung-jun's lighter snaps shut, his dark eyes staring at you with newfound intensity. you stare back, unfazed, and a smile eventually curls his lips, as if pleased by your indifference.

kyung-jun leans back in his seat, pondering for a moment before speaking, "there's only two people who would want joo-young dead."

your face scrunches in confusion. it never occurred to you which of your classmates hated joo-young so badly to want her dead. even if it was the only reason, your mind refused to think about the possibility, "who?"

"mi-na and..." kyung-jun pauses, lifting his eyes from the table to your own, "woo-ram."

you shake your head immediately, "it couldn't have been mi-na. they are on bad terms sometimes, yes, but mi-na is not a good actor. she seemed genuinely upset about joo-young's death."

kyung-jun considers it. another thought forms in your mind.

"why do you think woo-ram killed her?"

"woo-ram liked joo-young."

"so he killed someone he liked?"

kyung-jun's features twist in confusion, "don't you remember the video that went around?"

video? you try to remember what exactly kyung-jun is referring to, but no matter how hard you try, a clear image never forms in the forefront of your mind. you didn't really keep up with that kinda stuff. the only thing you remember are bits and pieces told to you by na-hee, "she rejected him, right?"

kyung-jun snorts, "humiliated him more like. you think that's enough motive to kill?"

humiliation. if it went on for as long as you think, and if enough people knew about it, woo-ram's pride may have been hurt enough to form into hatred, "i think it's enough to check." you decide.

kyung-jun nods, pulling out his phone. you watch his face carefully as he clicks on the screen, awaiting the exact moment his features betray the answer before his words do. eventually, a triumphant grin paints his lips, and he turns the phone around for you to see, a proud glint in his eyes.

WOO-RAM IS MAFIA.

you slump back in your seat in disbelief. even though it was there, as clear and plain as day, you couldn't imagine woo-ram, someone you grew up with, killing someone in cold blood, "no way."

"looks like my hunch is right. hey," kyung-jun leans forward and lays his weight on his arms, shaking his phone in the air, "i'm pretty good at this police job."

"better than your people skills."

you snap your mouth shut, eyes growing wide in mortification at the backhanded comment you just made. you expect kyung-jun to quip back with his own snarky response, for him to swear at you, or call off the arrangement entirely. and yet, rather than do any of those things, rather than respond with his anger and his bitterness, kyung-jun laughs. so softly, so quietly, it's almost like he's releasing a long held breath. your eyes drift to his face, studying his features, searching for a trace of irritation or annoyance that would betray the gentle sound you just heard. but there was no trace of it. he really thought your comment was funny.

"you laughed." you state simply, in awe. his face had changed then, becoming softer. not so roughed up at the edges with his acrimony. he looked like a regular teenager then. so different from the boy you learned to fear and avoid in order to keep your high school years peaceful. for a moment, when that very sound entered your ears, filled the space around you, you could pretend you were just friends having fun. you think its your new favorite sound. what you would do to bottle it up and listen to it forever, "you should do it more often. you wouldn't look so scary then."

kyung-jun tilts his head, eyeing you carefully, "do i scare you?"

you consider his question, examining the boy before you. maybe before he would've scared you. terrified you, even. you would've gone through unimaginable lengths to avoid him. but looking at him now, instead of recalling certain emotions from the past, you recall something different. memories. the quiet kindness he offered you. his defensiveness over you. did he change, or was he always like this?

you find the answer doesn't matter to you. what matters is the fact that right now, in this moment, kyung-jun is not like anything you expected. you think you love him for that.

the corners of your mouths lift up into a smile, "no, you don't."

the tension in the air is so thick you could cut it with a knife, and it feels like the longer you breath it in, the more it'll suffocate you. around you, your classmates shift uncomfortably in their seats, deliberately keeping their gazes pinned to the floor or on their phones. back facing the window, kyung-jun leans forward in his own seat, his head hanging low, palms clasped, stray hairs falling into his face. he is the first to break the silence since everyone settled into their respective spots.

"let's come clean. speak up if you're the mafia."

internally, you roll your eyes. despite discussing the plan earlier, it was a little annoying having to drag the whole thing out. it would be much simpler if you could go ahead and reveal the mafia's role. but if you did that, you risked exposing kyung-jun's occupation, and you couldn't afford that this early in the game.

"would you speak up if it were you?" jung-won points out when no one responds.

kyung-jun looks at the girl, releasing a short breath, "fuck you." he mumbles irritably. he readjusts his position, this time leaning his body comfortably against the back of his chair, "let's try this again. who do you think is definitely the mafia?" once again, no one answers, causing kyung-jun to drop his head back in annoyance.

seung-bin slams his hand on the table, making several people jump in alarm, "the police should at least speak up. the police! come clean!"

"if the police reveals their role, the mafia is sure to come after them. you want to risk that?" you stare at the blond, awaiting his answer. instead, seung-bin sneers at you, but keeps his mouth shut.

kyung-jun directs his attention to jun-hee, "hey, class president. it's you, isn't it? you didn't let us vote, so all the civilians died. that was the mafia's scheme to kill civilians, wasn't it?"

"what are you saying?" so-mi protests, "didn't you see the notice? civilians weren't the only ones who died. the mafia died, too."

at so-mi's reasoning, the conversation dies for a moment, everyone coming to the same conclusion. yesterday was a mistake. there was no motive behind preventing everyone from voting. it was simply a plan to work around the game's rules that didn't work out in the end.

"at least we can guess who the doctor is." one of your classmates mumbles as an afterthought, causing everyone to slowly turn their attention towards yu-jun. upon realizing what the question was alluding to and the sudden spotlight, he glances up, clear panic widening his eyes. well, that answered that question.

"it's not me!" he exclaims defensively, passing a glance to his right.

ji-soo looks slightly offended by the action, "it's not me either."

"it has to be you two." mi-na presses, causing the couple's head to turn in her direction, "who else would save yu-jun if not you two?"

"i don't know why they used it on me, either, but it's really not me!" yu-jun protests.

it grows quiet again. you're not sure if the rest of your classmates figured it out, but it was obvious that yu-jun is the doctor. should you approach him later? form an alliance? but how could you prove your role to him without jeopardizing kyung-jun's safety? perhaps it was best to keep your distance. things could get messy.

"hey, so-mi." mi-na speaks suddenly. at the sound of her name the girl shifts her focus to mi-na, eyes narrowed slightly in unease, "eun-ha said you were the mafia yesterday. did you choose her because she exposed you?"

did that happen? you try to recall when the events occurred, but come up empty. maybe it happened privately. is that why eun-ha was voted out last night? because so-mi voted for her first? but why? eun-ha was a civilian, so unless so-mi felt threatened by her, there was no need to take things so far.

unless?

"hey, i.." so-mi sits up straight, pointedly looking at everyone in the room as she prepares her defense, "i had no choice but to choose her since she tried to vote for me," her eyes eventually land back on mi-na's, directing the suspicion to her, "what about you? are you the mafia?"

mi-na's face hardens, her defensive walls going up as she scowls at the vice president, "w-what about me?"

so-mi gets up, dropping her phone carelessly on her chair, "joo-young." she begins, approaching mi-na step by step, "you two had a big argument yesterday."

"an argument is an argument. why would i kill her over that?"

"you acted like a maid in front of joo-young but cursed her behind her back, saying she was annoying. maybe you wanted to kill her."

mi-na scoffs, looking around in disbelief. when no one protests, her panic rises, "that's not true!

"i guess joo-young did keep bossing mi-na around." jin-a mumbles thoughtfully.

"i said that's not true!" she screams, a shine of tears threatening to spill down her cheeks in frustration.

"you talk too fucking much." kyung-jun mutters, rendering the girl silent. he looks at woo-ram, who squirms in his seat under his scrutiny. finally, he meets your eyes, "mafia. come clean before you see blood."

so-mi returns to her seat, her own irritation apparent as she crosses one leg over the other and glares at the ground beneath her. its quiet again. then, several beats later, woo-ram speaks up. "kyung-jun."

kyung-jun's eyes light up in delight, and he directs his attention to woo-ram. you shift in your seat, posture straightening, fingers folded neatly in your lap. it was time.

"why did you do that then?" woo-ram finishes. kyung-jun tilts his head slightly to the right, eyes narrowed slightly.

"do what, you fucker?"

"why were you the only one who hid your phone? you knew our classmates would die if we didn't vote. you kept quiet so they would all die, huh?"

kyung-jun leans forward in his seat, "i told you," he points at jun-hee, "how could i trust that bastard?"

woo-ram tightens his jaw, unable to control his anger as his voice rises along with his words, "why did you force us to trust him when you couldn't?"

"woo-ram," you cut in, causing the boy to snap his attention to you, "we talked about this earlier. please, let's stop arguing about it. jun-hee and kyung-jun didn't know about the phones. how is that their fault?"

woo-ram remains quiet, caught in a moral dilemma. an air of uncertainty begins to surround him, your reasoning causing his once clouded judgement to clear. he slumps back in his seat, defeated.

"look at you, putting the attention on me when we all know it was you who killed joo-young you bastard." kyung-jun taunts.

woo-ram sits up straight at kyung-jun's words. slowly, his eyes grow wide and his skin pales, "what?"

"you were shit on online after you confessed your feelings to joo-young and got rejected."

woo-ram stands up abruptly, "joo-young and i were just joking-"

"stop bullshitting, you dumbass!" kyung-jun cuts him off, his voice rising as accusation after accusation falls from his lips, "you got on your knees and begged joo-young to take it down. is there anyone here who doesn't know about that?" no one answers. kyung-jun finds mi-na in the room, "hey, mi-na! speak up. you recorded that."

mi-na shifts uncomfortably in her seat, "y-yeah."

woo-ram smiles in disbelief, "how does that matter right now?"

"it matters because someone killed her out of hate, and you're the only one here who holds that for her," you chime in, remembering the details kyung-jun explained to you earlier, "you trashed joo-young behind her back, calling her a sly fox, isn't that right?"

the boy shakes his head in denial, stepping back slightly. sweat starts to form along his forehead, his movements growing erratic. hide all you want, but the blood is still on your hands, "that's not true. h-how could i be the mafia?" he meets your eyes, suspicion creeping into his tone as he switches his focus between you and kyung-jun, "and why are you defending him, huh? since when are you guys so close?"

before you can respond, so-mi stands up, "didn't you know?" you look at her then, watch the way her eyes darken in delight and her lips curl into a smirk, something dangerous lurking beneath, "they're fucking."

everyone looks over at the two of you, complete and utter shock forming rapidly upon their features. suddenly, your throat feels dry, and you can't find it in yourself to meet any of their eyes, especially your friends. what could you say? that it wasn't true? then how else could you explain this?

kyung-jun scoffs, glancing at so-mi irritably, "why is it any of your business?"

"it's my business when you're making out with your new bitch in the middle of the hallway."

the flames of kyung-jun's anger spikes, licking up the walls and pressing down against the air in the room. he jumps up from his chair, taking a step towards the girl, "the fuck did you call her?"

in a panic, you catch the sleeve of his jacket and pull him back. a physical fight was not something you needed right now, even if your pride was a little hurt, "kyung-jun. stop."

when the boy doesn't protest, so-mi's smile widens, as if his actions only confirm her suspicions. kyung-jun notices her delight, but he doesn't reignite the fight, simply huffing out a frustrated breath and pulling his arm free from your hold. he reaches into his pockets, pulling at his phone and tapping at the screen. an announcement comes overhead.

KO KYUNG-JUN HAS VOTED FOR PARK WOO-RAM.

one by one, each of your classmates pull out their own devices to confirm the announcement. woo-ram shakes his head, hesitantly stepping towards different classmates to prevent them from voting, "i'm not! don't do it!"

seung-bin and jin-a ignore the boy's protests, voting for him without a second thought. once again, it gets announced to the entire room, revibrating against the walls.

woo-ram looks down at his phone, staring at the screen for a long time. he eventually looks up at the two boys, face twisting in anger, "hey, you sons of bitches!"

kyung-jun silently walks over, pulling woo-ram by the collar and showing him off to the room, "hurry up and vote for this bastard, too. hey, mi-na," the girl startles at her name, "this bastard is pretty pissed with you, too. since joo-young died, it's your turn today." he throws woo-ram against the table, who releases a groaned pain when his body connects with the hard wood. kyung-jun brushes past each of your classmates, moving towards the exit.

jun-hee calls after kyung-jun, but the boy doesn't falter in his stride. eventually, seung-bin and jin-a follow after him, shoving past jun-hee forcefully. several seconds after them, mi-na gets up as well, disappearing behind the doorway.

"hey, where are you going? hey!" jun-hee calls out, using the authoritive voice saved only for class announcements. but the commands don't work, and more and more people file out of the room.

sensing that the meeting was over, and woo-ram's fate sealed, you direct your movements to shuffle out behind them, only to get pulled back by jun-hee's firm grip around your arm.

his eyes frantically search your face, concern laced deeply within his tone and features, "what does he have, huh? photos? videos?"

you stare back at him in confusion, "what are you talking about?"

"kyung-jun. he's blackmailing you with something, isn't he? what is it!"

"nothing!" you insist desperately.

jun-hee's fingers relax slightly, relief replacing his once panicked motions. yoon-seo steps forward, her stance hesitant as she examines your face carefully, "then its not true, right? you and kyung-jun..."

you pause, faced with your earlier dilemma. if you reveal the reason behind your sudden defensiveness regarding the boy, you risk it all. what if jun-hee was mafia? yoon-seo? jung-won? as much as your heart refused to believe it, it was slowly becoming apparent that the people you could trust was close to zero. in the end, kyung-jun is the only one you can completely rely on. it's best if they believe whatever it is they fear, at least until you can confirm their occupations.

"we are." you mumble, causing jun-hee to flinch, leaning back slightly. you regard each of your friends, unable to bear jun-hee's betrayed eyes, yoon-seo's concerned face, and jung-won's disappointed frown. hastily, you pull away, turning around and walking out of the room.

you rush straight to your room, relieved to find that na-hee was no where in sight. trembling, you pull out your phone and open the mafia app, scanning the names and photos of your classmates in search of a particular person. when you spot woo-ram's name, you click on it and press vote. the announcement crackles to life, but it sounds muffled in your ears, distant. you stumble to your bed, your knees hitting the edge of the mattress. your body falls, hitting the covers, and you can't stop the tears from streaming down your face in warm, fat droplets.

the sun sinks slowly down the sky, dipping past the trees and turning the world dark. other than the rustle of leaves and the chirp of crickets, it's silent, and during the hours you spent locked int your hotel room, it was only ever broken twice.

the first time occurred an hour or so after you broke away from the group. your phone went off three times, one after the other, and when you went to check, three more votes had been counted towards woo-ram. you wondered if it was kyung-jun's doing, and figured it most likely.

the second time was thirty minutes after the previous announcement. this time, however, the votes did not stack against woo-ram's favor. rather, kyung-jun's named appeared, and you felt your heart drop to your stomach when you realized that kyung-jun's actions and bitterness may finally catch up to him. you briefly entertained the thought of finding the boy, seeking him out to ensure that the possibility of his execution was simply that, a possibility, not definitive. but after recognizing that your actions would do more harm than good, you decided to remain in your room, pushing your anxiety aside.

it was an hour or so later, as you're laying curled up on the bed and willing your body to sleep, that a rush of frantic voices slip through the cracks of the door. you slowly lift your body up, straining your ears to listen, recognizing the owners of the sounds. frantically, you stumble towards the door, pulling it open and finding your theory to be correct.

yoon-seo, jun-hee and so-mi open and close the doors around you, calling out woo-ram's name. their eyes are wide, voices growing more and more panicked when the boy they're searching for never appears. dread begins to form in the pit of your stomach.

"what is it?" you question. what could cause such genuine alarm?

jun-hee rushes towards you, his breaths labored. he must have been running around the entire building looking for your classmate, "woo-ram is missing. have you seen him?"

the dread builds, slithering up your chest and constricting your lungs. a thought enters the back of your mind, something that makes your entire body freeze, something you refuse to listen to. he wouldn't, right? kyung-jun may be desperate to survive, but not even he would go through such lengths.

right?

you open your mouth to speak, but your words are interrupted by a voice above.

"IT'S PARK WOO-RAM," it announces. what was he doing in the studio room? and why? the speaker crackles as the boy lets out several deep, heavy breaths, his next words causing a sharp chill to prickle down your spine, "I'M THE MAFIA. I KILLED JOO-YOUNG."

"what's he saying?" so-mi cries, searching each of your faces for an explanation you couldn't provide. what reason could possibly force woo-ram to expose himself?

you think you know the answer, and you're afraid of it.

"that's the studio." yoon-seo realizes, sharing a look with each of you. jun-hee is the first to move, rushing down the hall, followed by yoon-seo, so-mi, and finally yourself. while you run, woo-ram's voice continues from above.

"I WASN'T PLANNING TO DO THAT AT FIRST, BUT I GOT UPSET BECAUSE SHE HUMILIATED ME. BECAUSE SHE ALWAYS BELITTED ME." he pauses, and you hear the shuffle of movement, the quiet suppression of pain. the edges of his voice crack with anguish, and the underlying sound of pure bitterness and hatred, "I WANTED TO KILL HER."

the speaker clicks off.

you finally make it to the studio, your footsteps skidding to a stop in front of the closed door. jun-hee and yoon-seo start banging their fists on the hard metal, yelling woo-ram's name repeatedly. over and over again. at first there's no reply, and you wonder if maybe you got it wrong. maybe it was a recording, and woo-ram was long gone. the only reason he confessed was because the guilt was too heavy to bear. but then you heard it, barely legible over the sound of jun-hee's foot colliding with the door with every powerful kick he delivers to it.

"guys! i'm in here!" he shouts, followed by the telltale sounds of a struggle. like someone had covered his mouth to prevent him from speaking.

without a second thought yoon-seo runs off, returning with an axe gripped tightly in her hands. jun-hee takes it from her possession, pulling it back and swinging the sharp end towards the handle. the loud sound of metal meeting metal causes you to jump, taking a step back, only to collide with another body rather than the wall. you glance back, meeting na-hee's fearful eyes and jung-won's calculative gaze. the sound erupts again, then once more, and finally, the handle hits the floor with a thud. the door swings open.

jun-hee rushes into the room, followed by the rest of your group. you enter last, pausing by the doorway, feeling a mixture of surprise, fear, and something else you couldn't place, like a deep ache in the space between your ribs. kyung-jun, seung-bin and jin-a are backed against the corner of the room, and beside the studio station, woo-ram is slumped against a chair, his limbs bound by ropes, his face bloody, eyes exhausted. a pen sticks out of his thigh, embedded deep inside the flesh.

hesitantly, you meet kyung-jun's eyes, fearful of what you'll find. his usual anger? amusement? would he carefully craft his features into a blank canvas, hiding away the true nature of his intentions? but you find none of those things. on kyung-jun's face, you find something you've never seen before. remorse. kyung-jun was ashamed.

why? what sort of guilt is looming over his shoulder for him to react like that?

"you crazy jerks!" jun-hee shouts, lifting up the axe and falsely swinging it. a threat. the three boys back away slightly, "you're crazy! you're lunatics!"

kyung-jun looks away. refusing to meet your eyes, or anyone's for that matter. yoon-seo and so-mi rush towards woo-ram, one of them untying his restraints and the other pulling the pen out of his leg. he groans in pain, and blood spurts out, soaking his uniform. once he's free, both girls help him out of the chair.

kyung-jun lifts his head at the unsteady movements of your classmate, any sort of guilt or remorse gone without a trace when he lays his eyes upon his bloody form, "who's real crazy here?" he shouts, taking a step forward. he points an accusatory finger at woo-ram, "he's the mafia! he killed joo-young!"

"cut it out." jun-hee seethes.

kyung-jun's eyes sharpen, his voice lowering to a bitter note as he drops his hand, "come to your senses, idiot."

the group ignores him, slowly leaving the room one by one. you step out of the way when yoon-seo and so-mi pass with woo-ram in between them, his body weight supported by their own. jun-hee leaves the room last, and you stand several feet away from the door, hesitating, mind spinning frantically in circles. a part of yourself wanted to follow after them. but another, a more persistent side of you, wished to enter the room, to look kyung-jun in the eyes and ask him why.

your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you hastily reach in and pull it out, opening the mafia app. your heart pounds inside your chest, anxious to see the names displayed in the chat.

woo-ram. it was woo-ram's name. kyung-jun's was no where to be found. despite yourself, relief floods your senses. you got rid of a mafia, and kyung-jun was safe.

laughter, manic and coming out in desperate breaths, echoes in the hallway, urging you to slide your eyes over to the source of the bone chilling sound. woo-ram is on his knees, head hanging low, the motion causing his shoulders to shake. from where you stand, it's hard to tell the difference between laughter and crying.

suddenly, woo-ram swears, his fist meeting the floor in one swift punch, "shoot! i should've killed kyung-jun first." he laughs again, shaking his head, "i'd be an idiot if i just die."

you feel your breath get caught in your throat, any sort of air being forcefully squeezed out of your lungs. the fear trickles back, this time starting in your mind and spreading through the rest of your body.

he lifts his head then, turning around and meeting your eyes. his own are full of hatred, the look of a man who has lost everything, and therefore has no issue in doing whatever it takes to meet his goal. woo-ram stumbles to his feet, his steps shaky and uneven as he rushes towards the studio room.

it happens so quickly then.

the sound of protests from those inside. the crash of disturbed items. when you hear the sound of kyung-jun's labored breaths, you rush to the doorway, just in time to see kyung-jun dodge an attack from a swinging axe. his body collides with your own, the force of the impact causing the both of you to hit the ground. your skin slides against the carpet, a harsh burn lingering even after you push yourself to a sitting position and shuffle back. woo-ram's desperate tone erupts once more.

"i'll kill you before i die!"

kyung-jun copies your movements, scooting back towards the wall opposite of your own. woo-ram limps out of the studio room, trembling fingers dragging the bloody axe against the floor. each step brings him closer and closer towards the boy, his anger growing as the distance gets smaller.

"if it weren't me, someone would kill you." he seethes. he picks up the axe again, flexes his fingers around the handle. you don't think as you get up, "die you jerk!"

just before he brings it down, your hands close around the handle, stopping it from falling. woo-ram is only surprised for a moment before forcing his strength down, and the both of you struggle for a moment. he's strong, but you hold your own with a soft grunt.

"let go you bitch!" he screams

"stop this woo-ram! it's over! don't try to bring kyung-jun down with you!"

"why should it matter? he's a bully! everyone hates him!"

"he's not the one who killed an innocent person!"

"i did what i had to to survive!" he yells.

you falter, his words hitting you like a slap to the face. your hesitation is enough for your grip to slip, and for woo-ram's strength to overpower your own. the axe comes down, his arc crooked, slicing the edge of your shirt and leaving a harsh sting behind. woo-ram shoves you back, and your back hits the wall, causing you to let out a soft groan of pain. he brings the axe up again, but this time something else stops him. a voice.

VOTING IS OVER. PARK WOO-RAM WITH THE MOST VOTES WILL BE EXECUTED.

he lowers the axe, stumbling back. you watch, silently, fearfully, as he slowly lifts the weapon, turning the handle in his hands so the sharp edge faces his body. all it takes is one blink, one second, and the sharp metal slices through delicate flesh and breaks through sturdy bone. something wet hits your cheek, warm and sticky, and you can't hide the sound that leaves your throat at the contact. his body drops down to his knees, then hits the ground, limp and lifeless. blood starts gushing out, quickly, like it was running out of time, and there's so much of it. you didn't think it was possible.

PARK WOO-RAM WAS THE MAFIA.

no one says anything. they barely even move. their eyes stay fixated on the dead body on the ground, the reality of the situation hitting them so suddenly. their beloved friend, someone they trusted, betrayed them. he lied to their faces and pretended to be innocent.

beside you, kyung-jun shakily gets up. you glance over at his face, taken aback by the expression laying there. hurt. it was pure, unfiltered hurt. his breath comes out shaky as he speaks, "see? i told you."

when no one responds, kyung-jun turns away, rushing down the hall and towards the stairs. you only falter for a second before running after him.

his retreating footsteps lead you to the snack bar. as you approach, kyung-jun is halfway through pulling down the shutters, but at the sight of you he stops, pausing only for a second before motioning with his head for you to enter. you come in breathing heavily, mind still spinning, heart still pounding. behind you, you can hear the sound of the shutters hitting the floor and a lock clicking into place.

you watch as kyung-jun straightens, slowly stumbling over to the counter. he throws the keys before staggering to a nearby wall, his back hitting the structure with a soft thud. his body slides down it, all the way until he reaches the bottom, and he lifts his head up, eyes fixated on the ceiling. eerily quiet.

and then it crumbles.

his expression shatters, piece by piece, until all his defenses are nothing more than a memory. you catch the way his lips tremble, his eyes wavering, as if holding back the tears building in the corners of his eyes. to prevent it, he drops his head, pressing his fingers against his forehead as his body shakes staggeringly.

it breaks you, the way he silently breaks down. even now, when there's no one but you around, no one to judge, he tries to hold it in. you want nothing more than to shoulder the burden for him.

hesitantly, you step closer, crouching down in front of him. you lift up your hand, tentatively reaching out to press your fingers against his own. he flinches, much like the first time you touched him, and he lifts his head to meet your eyes.

'how much pain have you been holding onto?' you ask him silently, searching his face for the answer. he looked so small then. a teenager, just like the rest of you, doing what he could to survive. just as woo-ram did. just as you are doing now, 'i see you kyung-jun. i see your pain. i see your heart. why do you hide it?'

you rush forward, throwing your arms around his neck, pulling him into an embrace. his body tenses beneath you, but he doesn't fight it. he doesn't return it either.

"even if everyone is against you..." you begin, doing your best to keep your voice steady, "i'll be on your side."

from above, the music begins, and you hold on tighter, seeing the room darken and feeling your body slowly grow weak. i'll be here, kyung-jun. when you have no one else, you'll have me.

you slump forward, releasing a long sigh, and allow sleep to consume you entirely.

NIGHT HAS COME.

part four.

#fluff #angst #ko kyung jun #kyung jun #kyung jun x reader #night has come

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