#imagine bts

[lbxbx]

Ten steps to you 1 | Jjk

Pair: reader x Jungkook

Summary: A swipe right felt risky, but this time it might be different. You and Jungkook meet for a first date to see where it leads - and it doesn't feel half bad.

Genre: strangers to lovers, modern romance, slow burn.

No one ever tells you that dating in your late twenties can feel like a full-time job. That’s the only thing running through your head as you get ready for yet another first date—one of many this year.

You still get that weird feeling in your stomach before each one. A mix of nerves and hope, even if you’re tired of it all by now. This year’s been… a lot.

There was the firefighter—you actually felt kind of hopeful on the second date. But then it hit you: dating someone who works 24-hour shifts and disappears for days? Probably not the best setup for a future together.

Then came the “entrepreneur.” Which, as it turns out, was just a nicer way of saying “unemployed and lonely.” You almost cried halfway through the date, but managed to hold it together—until he casually mentioned he still lived with his parents. No offense, but that was definitely not for you.

It wasn’t always them—sometimes, it was you.

Like that time you went out with a vet who was ridiculously attractive, smart, and funny. Honestly, the whole package. But then… he just never called back.

To be fair, you’re pretty gorgeous yourself. But him? He looked like he’d just walked off the cover of a magazine.

You grab your purse and car keys, ready to leave your apartment. You swiped right on a guy last night, exchanged a few messages, and he lives really close by. He seems nice, with an interesting lifestyle, a bunch of cool hobbies, and—thankfully—a regular job.

You both decided to try the new Japanese place that just opened a few blocks away. You’re both curious about the food, so it sounded like a perfect plan.

Your outfit totally shows your personality—a white summer dress covered in tiny cherries, paired with a denim jacket because it’s still May, and Seoul evenings can be pretty chilly.

That weird flutter in your stomach won’t quit. What if he’s not who he says he is? Maybe those photos belong to some model, not this guy. Or worse—he could be the kind of person who makes bad jokes and worse conversation. Awkward silences? Guaranteed.

But hey, you’ve been down this road too many times to freak out now. You know the drill: scan for exit routes, keep your phone close, and if things get unbearable, make a quick dash to the ladies’ room and disappear.

You’ve got this. Worst case, it’s just another story for the “date fails” collection.

You hop into your car and start the short drive—even if the place is close, walking in heels is a no from you. The radio hums with soft background music until, of all things, it cuts to an ad for the very restaurant you’re heading to. You actually let out a small laugh.

Honestly, you are a little excited. You haven’t eaten all day, partially out of nerves, mostly to justify going all-out for dinner.

The drive barely takes eight minutes. You park, smooth down your dress, and head inside.

Okay, deep breath.

You start scanning the room. He said he’s about 5’10, dark hair, heavily tatted—not that that part will help unless he decided to show up half-naked (doubtful). But you remember his round eyes, and the single dimple on his left cheek—that should do it.

Your eyes sweep the room, and there he is. One of the only people sitting alone, surrounded by couples and noisy families. And he’s already seen you—his eyes are locked onto yours, calm but expectant, it seems like he’s been waiting for you for a while.

He lifts a hand to wave, and you feel that flicker of nerves again as you start walking toward the table.

Okay—at least it’s him.

Actually, it’s better than the pictures.

“Hey, how are you?” you say, flashing a polite smile, nerves barely tucked behind your lips.

He stands to greet you, offering a friendly handshake and a confident, easy smile. “Good. How are you?”

“I’m good,” you reply, glancing around. “It’s kind of crowded for a newly opened place. I wasn’t expecting that.”

You’re just about to pull out your chair when he beats you to it, stepping in smoothly to help. He waits for you to sit, then gently pushes your chair forward like it’s second nature.

Well then.

“Thank you,” you say, a little surprised. What a Gentleman.

He takes his seat across from you, resting his arms lightly on the table. “So,” he says, “are you as excited about this food as I am? I haven’t stopped thinking about sushi all day and to top it off, their ads were on the radio the entire day.”

You let out a small laugh. “Same. I literally didn’t eat anything today just to go all out.”

That makes you sound like the binge monster you are, if you could only go back in time and scratch that line.

His brows lift. “Bold move. Starving yourself before raw fish.”

“Risky, I know,” you say, smiling. “But I had a good feeling. And I figured worst case, at least I get good food out of it.” What is the matter with you.

Luckily he chuckles. “Fair. Though I’m hoping it ends up being slightly better than just good food.”

You tilt your head, amused. “Is that your way of saying you’re trying to charm me already?”

“I mean,” he shrugs with a grin, “would it be too forward if I said yes?”

“A little,” you tease, “but I’ll allow it.”

A small silence settles between you, but it’s not uncomfortable. He reaches for his glass of water and says, “So what made you swipe right? Was it my very serious photo holding a dead fish? Or the one where I look like I’m about to go to church?”

You laugh. “Honestly? It was the dead fish. Kinda provoked that sushi craving.”

He nods solemnly. “Charming you seems to be working.”

You laugh again, this time a little more relaxed.

It feels so easy to talk to him, you didn’t get too excited, you felt the same on previous date and they all failed.

The waiter stops by to hand over menus, and the two of you take a moment to flip through the pages.

“I have no idea what half of this is,” he says, squinting at the list of rolls. “But I’m willing to be brave tonight.”

You smirk. “That’s the spirit. Just don’t pick the one with fermented squid. I made that mistake once. Never again.”

He laughs. “Noted. Avoid anything that sounds like it could still move.”

There’s a short pause while you both scan the menu. Then he looks up.

“So…you mentioned in your profile you work in marketing?”

“Mhm. I spend most of my days talking to my laptop and accidentally forgetting to eat.”

“Dangerous lifestyle,” he says, mock-serious. “You need structured snack breaks.”

“Oh, believe me, I try. But sometimes it’s just me, three tabs open, a cold cup of coffee, and existential dread.”

He laughs. “Wow, okay. You really sold the work-from-home dream there.”

You shrug. “It has its perks. Pajamas. Flexible hours. Zero coworkers who steal your lunch.”

He nods thoughtfully. “You might’ve just convinced me to turn the library into a remote-only job.”

Yes he was a librarian, most of the photos on his profile were book recommendations even.

“you own a library?”

He smiles like it’s something he hears often—but still enjoys talking about. “Yeah. It was my grandfather’s, actually. I took it over a couple years ago.”

“That’s… kind of dreamy, honestly,” you say before you can stop yourself. “Like something out of a romance novel.”

He laughs. “I’ve been told. But it’s a lot less glamorous when you’re the one fixing leaking pipes and reshelving books at 10 p.m.”

You grin. “Still. You get to be surrounded by stories all day.”

He nods. “Yeah, that’s the part I love. Quiet mornings, regulars who stay for hours, and watching kids discover their first favorite book.”

Your smile softens. “That sounds peaceful.”

He watches you for a second, and the air between you shifts—still light, still easy, but something a little deeper underneath now.

The waiter appears just in time with your drinks, setting them down with a polite nod. You both murmur your thanks, and as the waiter walks off, you find his eyes on you again.

“So,” he says, wrapping his fingers around his glass, “what’s the story that clicked for you when you were a kid?”

You blink, a little surprised—but you kind of love the question.

You lean forward slightly, resting your elbows on the table. “You really want to talk childhood books on a first date?”

“Absolutely,” he says without missing a beat. “It’s more telling than zodiac signs.”

You tilt your head, smiling. “Okay, fair. But I’m warning you, mine’s not very high-brow.”

He leans in just a little, playful. “No judgment. Unless it’s something cursed like Captain Underpants.”

You laugh. “Honestly? Close. But no. Mine was Matilda.”

His eyebrows lift. “Matilda?”

You nod. “I must’ve read it a dozen times. Something about this tiny girl who reads books and makes things float with her mind just… hit.”

“Powerful introvert energy,” he says, grinning.

You smile, a little softer now. “It made me feel like being quiet wasn’t a flaw. Like there was strength in it. And maybe if I read enough books, I’d figure everything out, too.”

He watches you for a moment—really watches you—and the smile on his face shifts. Not playful, not teasing. Just… warm.

“That makes sense,” he says gently. “You’ve got that same vibe, actually.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Matilda vibe?”

He nods. “Like you’re sitting on a thousand thoughts you haven’t said yet.”

You blink, caught off guard in the best way. “That’s either a compliment or a slightly poetic accusation.”

“Definitely a compliment,” he says. “But I’ll admit—it’s also a little intimidating.”

You laugh, flustered but flattered. “I didn’t think I was going to be the intimidating one here. You’re the one who runs a literal storybook setting.”

He chuckles and leans back. “Touché.”

There’s a pause, but this time it’s comfortable. You both sip your drinks. The restaurant hums around you—quiet clinks of chopsticks, the murmur of conversations, soft music overhead.

For the first time in a while, you feel like you’re not on a date you’re waiting to escape.

You’re just… here. And it feels kind of good.

The waiter returns with a small notepad in hand, giving you both a polite smile.

“Are you ready to order?” he asks.

You glance at your date. “I think so.”

He nods. “Yeah—let’s do it.”

You look down at the menu one last time. “Okay, I’m definitely starting with miso soup. And I want to try the pork Katsu… and maybe the salmon nigiri?”

“The pork Katsu? From their ads? Going in with confidence,” he says, clearly impressed. “I respect that.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those ‘just edamame and call it a night’ people.”

He laughs. “Please, I’ve been thinking about sushi since this morning. Can i please get the eel avocado roll, the veggie gyoza, and… you know what, throw in the tempura shrimp too. Let’s go wild.”

“Now that’s the energy,” you say, handing your menu back to the waiter. “Thank you.”

He collects both of your menus with a nod. “It’ll be out shortly.”

As soon as the waiter leaves, your date leans in slightly. “Okay, be honest. Are you going to judge me for ordering eel?”

You squint at him dramatically. “That depends. Are you the kind of person who orders it because you love it? Or because you want to seem adventurous?”

He laughs. “Definitely love it. First time I had it, I was like, ‘Why does no one tell you sushi can taste like barbecue?’”

You pretend to gasp. “Oh no. You’re one of those dramatic food people.”

“Absolutely,” he says proudly. “Food is emotional. I will stand by that.”

You shake your head with a grin. “I can’t even argue. I almost cried once over a perfectly soft-boiled egg.”

“I knew we were going to get along,” he says, leaning back with a satisfied smile.

The two of you are still sipping drinks, waiting on the food. You lean back in your chair a little, feeling more relaxed than you expected to be on a first date.

“So,” you say casually, swirling your straw around the ice in your glass, “can I ask something slightly nosy?”

He looks intrigued. “I like nosy. Go ahead.”

You rest your elbow on the table and prop your chin in your hand. “Why are you on a dating app? Like… what’s the actual end goal?”

He lifts a brow, amused but not thrown. “Wow, just diving right into it, huh?”

You smile. “I mean, better to ask now than after three months of ‘vibing,’ right?”

He nods slowly. “Fair enough.”

Then he looks you dead in the eye—calm, clear, honest. “I’m dating to find someone I want to marry.”

You’re quiet for a second, surprised more by his certainty than the answer itself.

“No weird games. No just-seeing-where-this-goes. I want something stable, real. Someone I can build with. I’m not rushing into anything—but I’m also not pretending I’m twenty-two.”

“I don’t mean tomorrow,” he adds with a small smile. “But I’ve done the whole casual, let’s-not-label-it thing. I want something serious. A partner. Someone I can build a life with, share quiet mornings with, grow old with. I’m ready for that.”

You nod slowly, letting the words settle. It’s not intimidating—it’s honest. And that’s rare.

“I like that you’re sure of what you want.” You study him for a moment, and then nod. “That’s… refreshingly direct.”

He smiles, just a little. “You?”

You lean back, lips pressed thoughtfully before you answer. “I guess… I’m not quite there yet. I mean—I want a real relationship. I want someone solid. Someone who actually shows up. But I’m not dating with a ring in mind.”

You pause, shrug lightly. “I’ve just been single for a while. And I’m tired of the games. Tired of the weird in-between stuff. I want to share my life with someone, laugh with them, eat takeout on the couch, be each other’s person. And yeah… if it leads to something long-term, even marriage someday, then great. But right now? I just want something real.”

He nods, quiet for a beat. “That makes sense. Honestly, that’s a better answer than most.”

You smile. “You expected something worse?”

He chuckles. “No. Just… I like that you’re clear about how you feel without needing to turn it into a checklist.”

Just then, the waiter returns with your food, setting it down between you—miso soup, crispy tempura, rolls lined up like art. Both of you instinctively lean in, admiring the spread.

“I feel like we earned this conversation,” you say, grinning.

He lifts his chopsticks. “Now the real question is… can we still like each other after watching how the other eats sushi?”

You laugh, already reaching for the soy sauce. “Challenge accepted.”

You’re both a few bites in, and it’s good. Really good. You let out a small, unintentional hum of approval as you try the salmon nigiri.

“That’s your food-happy sound?” he asks, smirking over the rim of his water glass.

You laugh, a little caught. “It might be. I’m not proud.”

“No, I like it,” he says, playful but sincere. “It’s honest.”

You look at him then, really look—dark hair falling a little onto his forehead, easy posture, the kind of guy who listens with his eyes. And it hits you: something about him is just… different. Calmer. Like he’s not performing or trying to win you over—he’s just there. Present.

You hadn’t realized how rare that is until now.

“You’re really chill,” you say, before you think to filter it.

He raises an eyebrow. “Is that a good thing?”

You nod quickly. “Yeah. Definitely. Just… most guys talk like they’re on a sales pitch. You’re like the opposite.”

He grins. “So I’m failing the pitch?”

You shake your head, smiling. “You’re making it feel like a conversation. Like we’re… not strangers, somehow.”

It sounds dumb as soon as it leaves your mouth, but he doesn’t laugh.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “I get that.”

And there’s a moment—a quiet, suspended kind of moment—where he just holds your gaze, and you feel it settle into your chest. Not butterflies. Not fireworks. Something steadier. A sense of ease.

You look down, suddenly too aware of your own expression, and reach for a piece of sushi. “So… what’s the weirdest thing someone’s ever said to you on a first date?”

He laughs, clearly delighted by the shift. “Oh, easy. One girl asked me if I believed in ghosts before we even ordered drinks. Then told me her last relationship ended because she was ‘too psychically sensitive.’”

Your eyes widen. “You’re lying.”

“I swear on this eel roll.”

You laugh. “That is… beautifully unhinged.”

He points at you with his chopsticks. “Your turn.”

You hesitate, then smirk. “One guy told me on the first date that he felt a ‘spiritual obligation’ to cheat on women because of a past-life betrayal.”

He stares at you. “That’s not real.”

“It is, and I excused myself to the ladies room and never showed back up.”

He bursts out laughing, and you find yourself watching him again—how easily he laughs, how warm his eyes are, how natural this feels. Like a conversation you didn’t realize you’d been needing.

You sip your drink, and in the back of your mind, the thought quietly floats up:

This one feels different.

And for the first time in a long time, you don’t immediately push the thought away.

You’re halfway through your rolls when he leans his elbow on the table, chopsticks resting in one hand. “So… what’s your family like?”

You pause for a second, then smile, a little caught off guard—not because it’s too personal, but because no one’s asked in a while.

“Messy,” you say honestly. “Loud. Complicated. Loving in their own weird ways.”

He smiles at the way you say it, encouraging you to go on.

“I’ve got an older sister who’s the definition of ‘got her life together.’ Married, two kids, perfect house, color-coded pantry. And then there’s me.” You gesture at yourself with mock dramatics. “Still figuring things out, occasionally eating cereal for dinner.”

“I mean,” he says, “cereal for dinner is a perfectly valid adult meal.”

“Exactly! Thank you.”

He chuckles. “Your parents?”

You twirl a piece of ginger on your plate before answering. “They’re sweet. Traditional. A little confused about why I’m not married yet, but… they’re good people.”

You glance up. “What about you?”

He sets his chopsticks down and leans back slightly, like he’s settling into the question. “My family’s… pretty close, actually. My parents live just outside the city. Still together after thirty-something years, somehow.”

You smile. “That’s kind of rare these days.”

“Yeah,” he says with a soft nod. “They drive each other crazy, but it works. My mom is a force—like, the type who’ll call just to check if I’ve eaten lunch. And my dad is quiet. Steady. Grew up fixing everything with duct tape and silence.”

You laugh gently at that, already picturing it. “Siblings?”

“One older brother,” he says. “Married. Two kids. They live in Busan, but they visit a lot. My niece is in this phase where she thinks I’m cooler than her dad, which I fully encourage.”

You grin. “Uncle points.”

“Exactly. I bribe her with books and chocolate.”

“You’re dangerous.” You rest your chin on your hand, eyes still on him. “You strike me as the type who keeps a small, loyal circle. Am I right?”

He chuckles. “Pretty much. I’ve got six really close friends.”

“Six?” you raise an eyebrow. “That’s a lot for a ‘small circle.’”

He grins. “I mean, we’ve known each other for years. Some since middle school, a couple from college, and one who showed up out of nowhere and just… never left.”

You laugh. “So it’s a real crew.”

“Oh yeah. Group chats, chaotic birthdays, too many inside jokes. They’ve seen me through all kinds of stuff—bad relationships, family drama, existential crises over overdue book orders.”

“Now that’s friendship,” you say, smiling. “Do they give you a hard time about dating?”

“All the time,” he says. “They think I’m too picky.”

You tilt your head, curious. “Are you?”

He shrugs, thoughtful. “Maybe. But not in the way they think. I’m not looking for perfect. I just want something… real. Safe. Honest.”

You look at him for a beat, absorbing that answer, how sincere it sounds. Then you lean back in your chair with a small smile. “You really are kind of a unicorn.”

He laughs. “You say that now. Wait until I start quoting obscure literature or alphabetizing my spice rack.”

You smirk. “You alphabetize your spices?”

“I’m not gonna answer that.” He shakes his head still laughing. Totally guilty.

The server walks away with your dessert order—green tea ice cream for you, mochi and black sesame cake for him—and the conversation settles again into that easy rhythm.

He takes a sip of his drink, then tilts his head slightly toward you.

“What about you?” he asks. “Your friends. You mentioned a small circle earlier.”

You nod slowly, fingers lightly tapping your glass. “Yeah… I’ve got a few good ones. We’ve been through a lot together.”

He notices your tone shift—a little softer now, more careful.

“One of them—my best friend—we had a bit of a falling out last year,” you admit. “Over something stupid at first. But then everything just… cracked open.”

He doesn’t jump in to ask questions or fix anything. He just listens.

“I think when you’re used to having that one person you always call, it’s jarring when suddenly… they’re just gone.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “That kind of silence sticks.”

You glance at him, surprised he gets it so easily.

“She was the kind of friend who knew what I was thinking before I did. And I keep thinking one of us will just text, and it’ll go back to how it was. But neither of us has.”

“Sounds like it still hurts,” he says gently.

You nod once, then offer a small, wry smile. “That’s probably why I’ve been spending so much time alone lately. Working from home doesn’t exactly help.”

He pauses for a beat, then says softly, “I’m sorry you lost that. Really.”

You look down at your napkin, then up at him again, your voice quieter now. “It’s nice talking to someone who doesn’t brush past things.”

“Well,” he says, eyes still on you, “you don’t really strike me as someone I want to brush past.”

The way he says it—it’s not flirty, not forced. Just sincere.

You blink once, caught off guard in the best way.

And maybe that’s when it clicks for you. The quiet feeling you’ve had since the moment you sat down. The ease, the openness. The way he makes space for your honesty, not just your charm.

You watch as the waiter sets down the desserts, the sweet aroma filling the air. Honestly, this place was a great find—the dinner was incredible, and just one bite into your dessert confirms you’re definitely coming back.

“Okay, let’s play a quick game,” he says, a playful glint in his eyes.

You raise an eyebrow, curious. “A game?”

“Mhm.” He swallows his bite, then shifts comfortably in his seat. “We take turns asking each other questions—no skipping, no lying. Just to get to know each other better.”

You chuckle softly. “Like truth or dare, but just truth.”

“Exactly. I’ll give you the chance to start first.”

You take a moment, then grin mischievously. “If you could only eat one food for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

He laughs quietly and scratches right under his ear. “Wasn’t expecting this question, but it would definitely be pizza. You?”

“Ice cream. All kinds.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Good choice. Sweet and versatile.”

The questions flow, light and playful—a perfect way to break the ice. But then, his tone softens, and he asks, “What’s something you’ve never told anyone?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden intensity of the question. But then you met his eyes and felt safe.

Your smile falters slightly, but you meet his gaze. “I guess… I’ve always been scared of failing. Like, what if I’m not enough?”

And he caught you off guard when he leans his elbows on the table, his arm slowly moving to brush your hair behind your ear, “Mhm, I get that.”

“What about you?” you ask, voice quieter now.

He hesitates, then confesses, “I’ve always felt like I have to prove myself. Like I’m carrying the weight of everyone’s expectations.”

You feel the urge to make a move, “That’s a heavy burden.” You twirl your thumb on his tatted finger slowly.

He smiles softly, eyes locking onto your thumb before they lock onto yours. There’s a brief pause, filled only by the soft hum of the restaurant around you. Then, with a teasing glint back in his eyes, he asks, “Okay, your turn. What’s something about me you want to know but haven’t asked yet?”

You think for a second, then grin. “What’s your guilty pleasure song? You know, the one you sing when no one’s watching.”

He laughs—a sound that’s low and genuine. “Honestly? ‘Call Me Maybe.’ Don’t judge.”

You laugh with him, the tension easing more as you go. “No judgment here. I’m tempted to ask for a demonstration.”

He laughs. “Absolutely, I feel like you need to see me perform this, it actually shows my true colors.”

-

The restaurant’s warm glow faded behind you both as you stepped out into the cool night air. The gentle hum of the city wrapped around you like a quiet melody, the night alive but somehow peaceful. He slipped his hands casually into his pockets, walking beside you with a relaxed confidence that made your heart flutter.

“You have to tell me if you want to come back here,” he said, glancing sideways with a smile. “I’m definitely making this one a regular spot.”

You smiled back, the night’s warmth still lingering in your cheeks. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

The walk to your car felt both too short and just right. Every step was quiet but full of meaning — the kind of comfortable silence that didn’t need to be filled with words. When you reached your car, he stopped, turning to face you fully.

“I had a really good time tonight,” he said softly, eyes searching yours.

“Me too,” you replied, voice a little breathy. The way his gaze held you made it hard to look away.

For a moment, it felt like the whole world was holding its breath. Then he reached out gently, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering just a second longer than expected.

“Can I see you again?” His question was almost a whisper.

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you nodded, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

He grinned, and then, before you could say anything else, he leaned in, pressing a soft, warm kiss just below your ear. Your skin tingled, and a slow smile spread across your face.

“Goodnight,” he said, stepping back but not breaking eye contact.

“Goodnight,” you breathed, unlocking your car door and sliding inside.

Once the door closed behind you, the world outside felt suddenly still. You rested your hands on the steering wheel, taking a slow, deep breath.

The way he looked at you—the way he listened, really listened—it was different from anything you’d felt before. Not rushed, not forced. Just… easy. Like you could be yourself without worry.

The playful game, the silly questions that made you laugh, then the quiet moments when he shared pieces of himself you weren’t expecting. Vulnerability. And you shared yours too, something you rarely did on a first date.

You caught yourself smiling at the memory of him brushing your hair away, the softness in his eyes when he asked to see you again.

Maybe this was more than just a first date.

Maybe this was the start of something different.

You turned the key in the ignition, but for a moment, you didn’t want to leave. Not yet.

The night was still young. And somewhere deep inside, a hopeful warmth bloomed — the kind that told you this was just the beginning.

-

Back home, after peeling off your shoes and tossing your purse onto the couch, you finally exhale. The door clicks shut behind you and silence wraps around the apartment, but it’s not empty—it’s filled with the echo of his laugh, his voice in your ears, the way he said your name like it was a secret worth keeping.

You make a beeline for your room, kick off your jeans, and throw on an old oversized T-shirt. The night is quiet and you’re too warm, too wired to sleep. So you lie on your bed, staring at the ceiling, phone in hand.

Your phone buzzes.

[Jungkook]: made it home okay?

You grin, typing back quickly.

[You]: yep. kicked off my shoes the second i got in. thanks for walking me to my car :)

[Jungkook]: my pleasure. i still think i could’ve kept you out for another hour. maybe two.

You smile, heart fluttering again.

[You]: what would we even do for two more hours?

His typing bubble appears instantly.

[Jungkook]: watch the city lights. steal more of your dessert.

[You]: rude.

[Jungkook]: romantic.

You roll your eyes playfully, already sinking deeper into the memory of the night.

[Jungkook]: i’m already thinking about our second date btw.

You bite your lip, sit up slightly in bed.

[You]: oh? bold of you to assume there’ll be one.

[Jungkook]: bold of you to pretend you’re not waiting for me to say when.

You laugh out loud, covering your face.

[You]: okay then, genius. what’s your plan?

[Jungkook]: three options: 1. We could rent a boat and go fishing. 2. late-night drive with terrible music and snacks. 3. Karaoke bar where I could do an outstanding performance just for you.

Your fingers hover over the screen.

[You]: those are unfairly good options.

[Jungkook]: you’ll get all three eventually. but i wanna know which one wins first.

Your eyes start to flutter as sleep creeps up on you, but your heart is too soft, too full. You yawn, smiling as you type:

[You]: surprise me. i trust your taste.

His reply comes just as your phone begins to slip from your hand.

[Jungkook]: then get some sleep. you’ve got a second date to prepare for 😜

You drift off before you can reply, smile still curled on your lips. And somewhere, not too far from here, Jungkook sets his phone down with a grin that matches yours, already planning the next time he gets to make you laugh

[lagrya]

Imagine Kim Seokjin

Kim Seokjin tinha reservado suas férias para passar um tempo com sua família, algo que não fazia há muito tempo. Desde que começou a trabalhar em uma das maiores empresas de entretenimento da Coreia, ele se distanciou um pouco dos pais e do irmão mais novo. Sua agenda apertada, cheia de compromissos e viagens, dificultava manter contato frequente.

Mas ao atravessar a porta da frente de casa, o maior problema nisso tudo foi quando ele viu – além da mãe preparando o jantar e o pai assistindo televisão na sala, o que trouxe de volta lembranças nostálgicas – seu irmão rindo despretensiosamente de alguma piada que o melhor amigo de infância dele tinha feito. Seokjin ficou paralisado por um momento, sentindo o peso do tempo que havia passado. S/N, o melhor amigo de infância de Yeonho, agora estava ali, de pé casualmente ao lado da mesa da cozinha rindo e parecendo tão… maduro.

Apesar de ter crescido bastante, S/N ainda era mais baixo que Yeonho e Jin, o sorriso dele continuava sendo incrivelmente fofo, e a diferença entre o garoto de dez anos e o jovem à sua frente fez com que Jin sentisse uma ansiedade tomar conta dele.

S/N e Yeonho eram inseparáveis na infância, crescendo juntos e compartilhando tudo, fazendo com que consequentemente Jin tivesse que aturar a dose dupla de problemas em sua casa.

No entanto, tudo mudou quando S/N, aos dez anos — enquanto Jin já tinha vinte e um — decidiu confessar seus sentimentos de paixão por Jin. S/N era apenas uma criança, mas a intensidade do sentimento parecia genuína para ele. Quando contou a Jin, o pequeno garoto esperava, de alguma forma, que seus sentimentos fossem correspondidos. Mas Jin, que já era um adulto, rejeitou ele da forma mais educada possível, tentando explicar os motivos óbvios.

A rejeição abalou profundamente S/N, que passou semanas evitando a casa dos Kim. A ausência dele foi sentida não só por Jin ou seus pais, mas especialmente por Yeonho, que ficou triste e emburrado, com saudades do melhor amigo e até tendo a ideia maluca de sequestrá-lo quando o visse da próxima vez. Jin se lembrava claramente da insistência de Yeonho em perguntar por que S/N não aparecia mais, e como ele próprio desviava do assunto.

Eventualmente, S/N voltou à casa dos Kim, e a amizade entre ele e Yeonho se restabeleceu como se nada tivesse acontecido. No entanto, S/N não trocava uma palavra com Jin, evitava-o a todo custo, como se sua vida dependesse disso. Jin, por sua vez, acreditava que, com o tempo, a paixonite do garoto desapareceria, e as coisas eventualmente voltariam ao normal.

Mas então, dois meses depois Jin conseguiu uma bolsa de estudos e teve que se mudar para Seul. A despedida foi breve e sem grandes emoções, pelo menos do lado de Jin. Ele não pensou muito no impacto que sua partida teria, principalmente em S/N, que continuava tentando se distanciar dele a qualquer custo.

Todas as vezes que Jin voltava para visitar a família, S/N nunca estava presente, como se ele tivesse desaparecido completamente daquele cenário familiar. Sem a presença constante do garoto, a imagem de S/N foi se desfazendo lentamente na mente de Jin. O menino que um dia fora parte importante do cotidiano da casa dos Kim havia, aos poucos, caído no esquecimento para Jin, como uma lembrança distante de uma fase que ele não esperava revisitar.

Mas ali estava ele. No auge de seus vinte e um anos.

Seokjin observou enquanto Yeonho soltava outra piada, e o melhor amigo ria alto, os dois compartilhando uma intimidade que ele não sentia há muito tempo. Era como se S/N tivesse preenchido o espaço vazio que ele deixou na relação com o irmão. A proximidade entre eles parecia tão natural, enquanto ele, o irmão mais velho, era agora um estranho naquele cenário.

Respirando fundo, Jin deu um passo à frente, finalmente revelando sua presença. Imediatamente, Yeonho se virou e seus olhos se iluminaram. Ele correu para abraçar o irmão com uma alegria que fez Jin sorrir involuntariamente. Seus pais vieram logo atrás, abraçando-o e perguntando sobre a viagem e como ele estava.

Mas, enquanto a atenção estava voltada para ele, Jin não pôde deixar de notar S/N, que se manteve à distância. O garotinho de antes, agora um jovem, estava ali parado, observando a cena com uma expressão indecifrável. Ele não demonstrava a mesma alegria que os outros, e sua postura era rígida… Jin hesitou por um instante, mas sabia que não poderia ignorar a presença dele. Respirando fundo, Jin se soltou dos braços de Yeonho e caminhou lentamente até S/N.

— Ei, S/N. Quanto tempo, né?

S/N levantou os olhos para Jin e assentiu hesitante, como se estivesse decidindo entre dar uma resposta ou manter o silêncio que havia durado tanto tempo.

— É… faz tempo — respondeu S/N, sua voz mais profunda do que Jin se lembrava, mas com uma pontada de indiferença.

Jin estendeu a mão e S/N a observou por um momento antes de aceitá-la, mas o aperto foi rápido e frio. Depois de trocar aquele cumprimento tenso com Jin, S/N olhou ao redor, percebendo que todos os olhares estavam sobre eles então decidiu que era hora de ir.

— Bom… eu preciso voltar — disse S/N, esfregando a nuca com uma expressão descontraída. — Tenho que resolver umas coisas em casa.

Yeonho, que estava rindo há poucos minutos, pareceu desapontado ao ouvir isso.

— Ah, sério? Não vai ficar mais um pouco? — ele perguntou, franzindo o cenho.

— Fica pra jantar, S/N — a mãe de Jin ofereceu. — Já tá quase pronto.

S/N sorriu para ela, mas era um sorriso de desculpa. Ele balançou a cabeça suavemente.

— Obrigado, tia, mas hoje não vai dar mesmo. Fica pra próxima.

Ele se despediu de todos rapidamente, dando um abraço em Yeonho e acenando de longe para os pais de Jin. Quando chegou a vez de Jin, S/N apenas lançou um breve olhar na direção dele, com um leve aceno de cabeça.

— Até mais — murmurou, antes de se virar e sair pela porta

Após a saída de S/N, a mãe de Jin, percebendo a expressão pensativa do filho mais velho, decidiu explicar um pouco mais sobre a situação do garoto.

— Jin, você sabia que S/N está morando sozinho agora? — ela começou. — Os pais dele decidiram fazer uma viagem sem data de retorno, para conhecer o mundo e tudo mais. Ele ficou responsável pela casa.

Jin franziu a testa, surpreso com a revelação. Yeonho, que estava ouvindo a conversa, interveio:

— Sim, eu às vezes passo a noite na casa dele para ele não se sentir tão sozinho. É meio estranho, sabe? Ele ainda é o mesmo de antes, mas ao mesmo tempo, tudo mudou.

— Parece que eu perdi muita coisa — murmurou Jin, pensativo enquanto olhava para a porta por onde S/N havia saído.

Yeonho, atento ao irmão, suspirou.

— S/N nunca foi de pedir ajuda. Se tem alguém que sabe esconder o que sente, é ele.

O peso das palavras de Yeonho atingiu Jin, e ele se questionou: Será que tenho parte de culpa nisso? No entanto, antes que pudesse refletir mais, Jin foi surpreendido por uma chuva de perguntas dos familiares, especialmente sobre sua vida amorosa.

— E então, filho, arranjou uma namorada? — sua mãe perguntou com um sorriso.

Rindo sem jeito, Jin sentiu o rosto esquentar.

— Ainda não… a agenda tá meio apertada pra isso — respondeu, tentando disfarçar, mas sua mente ainda permanecia em S/N.

Os dias foram passando, e Jin se esforçava para aproveitar ao máximo o tempo com seus pais e, principalmente, com Yeonho. Essa proximidade resultava, inevitavelmente, em encontros frequentes com S/N. Os dois começara a conversar mais, e a frieza de S/N logo se dissipou por completo.

Cada visita à casa dos pais se tornava uma oportunidade para observar o amigo de irmão, agora mais maduro, mas ainda tão familiar. Jin notava como S/N interagia naturalmente com Yeonho, rindo e fazendo piadas, enquanto ele próprio lutava contra a própria timidez e a culpa perto do garoto mais baixo.

Jin não entendia por que estava se sentindo assim desde que viu S/N novamente depois de todo aquele tempo. Com trinta e um anos, ele se via gaguejando como um adolescente na presença do amigo. Cada sorriso de S/N fazia seu coração acelerar, trazendo emoções que ele nunca tinha experimentado com ninguém.

Durante a universidade, sua mente estava sempre ocupada com estudos e, em raras ocasiões, pensava na família. Após começar a trabalhar, ele se sentiu orgulhoso de si mesmo e decidiu que era hora de sair com alguém. No entanto, toda garota parecia errada de alguma forma. Então, Jin decidiu se aventurar com os garotos. As experiências foram mais satisfatórias, mas ainda assim havia um vazio que ele não conseguia preencher.

Um dia, a mãe de Jin pediu que ele levasse um pouco de comida para S/N, que estava se dedicando intensamente aos estudos para o vestibular. Ela teria mandado Yeonho levar, mas o garoto estava completamente imerso em seus próprios livros. Jin hesitou por um momento, a ideia de encontrar S/N sozinho martelando em seu peito. A expectativa e a ansiedade se misturavam enquanto ele pegava o pote quente e seguia em direção à casa do garoto.

Jin bateu na porta algumas vezes, e embora S/N tenha gritado um sonoro "Já vou!", demorou alguns minutos para aparecer. Ele surgiu, espreitando pela fresta da porta e escondendo o resto do corpo atrás dela. Assim que viu Jin, suas bochechas ganharam um tom forte de vermelho, um detalhe que não passou despercebido pelo mais velho.

— Minha mãe mandou isso pra você.

S/N olhou para o recipiente e, em seguida, voltou o olhar para Jin, ainda com as bochechas avermelhadas. Ele deu um passo para trás, abrindo a porta um pouco mais, permitindo que Jin visse um vislumbre do interior de sua casa, bagunçada por livros e anotações espalhadas. Mas seu coração falhou uma batida ao perceber que S/N estava apenas de toalha, fazendo com que Jin também ficasse vermelho como um tomate.

O mais velho não pôde deixar de notar o corpo pequeno e esguio de S/N. As curvas suaves de sua silhueta e a pele sob a luz do ambiente despertaram uma atração em Jin. A toalha mal cobria seu corpo, e Jin sentiu um calor subir por seu rosto ao perceber a delicadeza de S/N.

Ele rapidamente desviou o olhar, tentando se recompor, mas a imagem de S/N assim, tão vulnerável, o deixou desconcertado a medida que ele sentia o sangue ser bombeado involuntariamente para um certo lugar…

— Desculpa, eu estava prestes a entrar no banho — S/N disse, rapidamente se justificando ao perceber o olhar sobre si.

Jin assentiu, tentando não olhar diretamente para o amigo e esconder sua ereção a qualquer custo. Ele era um homem adulto, por deus, aquilo não deveria ser um problema. A situação estava se tornando um pouco desconfortável, mas ele não queria deixar que isso atrapalhasse a visita.

— Sem problemas! — respondeu Jin, forçando um sorriso. — Eu só pensei que você poderia dar uma pausa nos estudos.

S/N parecia mais relaxado, ele forçou um sorriso e pegou o pote das mãos de Jin. Durante o processo, seus dedos se tocaram, provocando faíscas no estômago do mais velho.

— Obrigado por vir. Vou colocar isso na mesa. Você pode entrar, se quiser — disse S/N, se virando para levar o pote, dando a Jin uma ótima visão de sua bunda bastante convidativa.

Jin sentiu seu membro se pressionar contra o shorts que ele usava e um frio na barriga percorreu seu corpo. Calma lá, amigão… ele pensou, tentando se lembrar de que era apenas o amigo de infância de seu irmão ali. Ele precisava se controlar..

— Ah, claro! — respondeu Jin, tentando não se distrair com a visão de S/N. — Como estão os estudos?

S/N se virou com leve preocupação em seu olhar.

— Está sendo bem… difícil. Estou tentando dar conta de tudo — disse S/N, colocando o pote na mesa. — Mas é complicado às vezes, você sabe?

Jin assentiu, sentindo uma onda de empatia pelo amigo.

— Se precisar de ajuda, é só me chamar — sugeriu.

S/N se virou, um brilho de humor nos olhos.

— Talvez eu chame. Não posso pedir ajuda ao Yeonho, porque, sem ofensas ao seu irmão, eu o amo, mas ele é tão inteligente quanto uma porta — comentou, soltando uma risada.

Jin riu junto. Era bom ver S/N mais à vontade, mesmo que as palavras deixassem claro o quanto ele estava sobrecarregado.

— É, ele não é exatamente um gênio — respondeu Jin, fazendo uma expressão exagerada de desapontamento. — Mas você sabe que pode contar comigo para qualquer coisa, tudo bem?

— Claro. Se importa de eu tomar banho rapidinho? Eu devo estar parecendo um idiota andando por aí só de toalha.

Jin não hesitou e, sem pensar duas vezes, soltou:

— Você fica lindo assim.

Imediatamente, ele percebeu o que havia dito e seu rosto queimou. S/N ficou parado, com os olhos arregalados. O silêncio pairou entre eles por um breve momento, e o coração de Jin disparou.

— O que… eu quero dizer, é que… — Jin começou gaguejando enquanto tentava se retratar.

S/N, no entanto, não pôde evitar um sorriso tímido que brotou em seu rosto.

— Obrigado? — respondeu, ainda ruborizado, antes de se virar rapidamente para o banheiro, se apressando para fechar a porta.

Jin bateu a cabeça contra a parede mais próxima, murmurando para si mesmo:

— Idiota, idiota, idiota…

Ele não conseguia acreditar no que acabara de fazer. As palavras saíram de sua boca sem que ele tivesse tempo de pensar. O que estava acontecendo com ele? Nunca havia se sentido assim antes, e a frustração só aumentava.

Ele se apoiou na parede, fechando os olhos por um momento para tentar se acalmar. A lembrança do sorriso de S/N e a maneira como ele havia ficado corado voltaram à sua mente, fazendo seu coração disparar novamente.

— Calma, Jin — sussurrou para si mesmo enquanto se sentava na cadeira da cozinha. Ele respirou fundo, no entanto, a pressão que sentia era inegável; ele teve que enfriar a mão e ajustar o membro que estava apertado dentro do short, um desconforto que ele não sabia como lidar.

Decidindo que era melhor se distrair, ele começou a analisar os livros espalhados pela mesa. Havia uma variedade impressionante de títulos, desde clássicos da literatura até materiais mais técnicos sobre os vestibulares. A quantidade de anotações em post-its coloridos mostrava o quanto S/N estava se dedicando aos estudos.

Jin se viu mergulhado em uma análise dos tópicos e subtemas que S/N estava estudando. Ele sorriu ao notar como o garoto sempre teve uma paixão por aprender, mesmo que às vezes parecesse distraído, muito diferente de Yeonho. Ele se perguntou como S/N conseguiria lidar com a pressão ao conseguir uma bolsa e se lembrou de suas próprias dificuldades durante a faculdade.

Enquanto folheava os livros, ele não pôde deixar de se perguntar se S/N ainda nutria os mesmos sonhos que tinham quando eram crianças. E a pergunta não saía da sua cabeça: o que mais tinha mudado em S/N durante todos aqueles anos?

— Jin, você pode vir aqui um minuto? — a voz de S/N chamou de dentro do banheiro, interrompendo os pensamentos de Jin.

Ele engoliu em seco. O que S/N poderia querer? Com um misto de nervosismo e curiosidade, ele se levantou da cadeira e se aproximou da porta do banheiro.

— O que foi? — perguntou, tentando soar calmo, mesmo que a ansiedade estivesse crescendo dentro dele.

— Eu preciso de ajuda com uma coisa. — S/N respondeu, a voz um pouco abafada. — Poderia passar um produto que está na prateleira de cima?

Ele abriu a porta do banheiro devagar, sentindo a umidade do ambiente misturada com um leve aroma de sabonete. O box separava S/N dele, mas Jin ainda conseguia ver a silhueta do corpo nu do garoto através do vidro embaçado. O coração de Jin disparou ao perceber a forma delicada e esculpida de S/N, a luz suave do banheiro refletindo nas curvas do seu corpo.

— Onde exatamente está? — perguntou Jin, tentando manter a voz firme enquanto lutava contra a tentação de se perder na visão diante dele.

— Em cima do armário, bem ao lado da escova de dentes — S/N respondeu, sua voz um pouco hesitante.

Com um esforço consciente, Jin se virou para a prateleira, esticando o braço para alcançar o produto. Ele estava ciente da proximidade ao se aproximar do box e o toque suave de suas mãos ao pegar o frasco,

— Aqui está — disse ele, estendendo a mão para S/N.

Com um impulso repentino, S/N pegou o pulso de Jin, puxando-o para dentro do box com ele. Jin mal teve tempo de processar o que estava acontecendo antes de ser arrastado para o espaço confinado, a água do chuveiro caindo sobre eles, criando uma sensação de calor e intimidade.

— O-que você está fazendo? — Jin conseguiu perguntar.

— Eu não sei o que está acontecendo comigo desde que você chegou, Jinnie… — S/N confessou, seus olhos fixos nos de Jin, a mão apertando o pulso que ele ainda segurava. — Desde aquele dia, há dez anos, em que eu disse que te amava, passei a entender por que não podíamos ficar juntos. Eu passei a evitar você a todo custo, esperando que aquele sentimento fosse embora. Eu era muito novo, mas admirava tanto você que, por Deus, você era tão perfeito…

As palavras de S/N tocaram profundamente Jin, fazendo seu coração acelerar ainda mais. Agora, diante dele, S/N parecia vulnerável e ao mesmo tempo incrivelmente forte.

— Eu não sabia que você ainda se lembrava… — Jin murmurou, a voz trêmula, tentando processar a revelação.

S/N soltou um pequeno riso nervoso.

— Como eu poderia esquecer? Cada vez que você estava por perto, eu me sentia um pouco mais perdido, um pouco mais apaixonado. E então eu decidi que precisava me afastar, para proteger a mim mesmo.

Jin deu um passo à frente, a distância entre eles quase inexistente agora.

— Mas eu nunca quis que você se sentisse assim. Você era só um garotinho admirando uma figura mais velha; não havia qualquer tipo de chance de eu corresponder a seus sentimentos.

— E agora? Você poderia ser capaz de gostar de mim?

A pergunta pairou no ar como um desafio. Jin hesitou, mordendo o lábio enquanto processava as palavras de S/N. Ele sabia que não era mais aquele garotinho de dez anos, mas a verdade era que seus sentimentos por Jin só cresceram com o tempo.

— Você é muito novo, S/N. Eu tenho trinta e um anos, e você só tem vinte e um. São dez anos de diferença. O que nossos pais achariam disso? O que Yeonho acharia? — Jin disse, sua voz carregada de preocupação.

S/N franziu a testa, um misto de frustração e determinação nos olhos.

— Eu sei que a diferença de idade existe, mas isso realmente importa? — respondeu ele, desafiando Jin com o olhar. — Já faz dez anos que eu luto contra esses sentimentos, e agora que finalmente estou sendo honesto, você quer deixar isso de lado por causa da opinião dos outros?

Jin respirou fundo, lutando contra a lógica que lhe dizia para recuar. Ele sabia que S/N estava certo em parte, mas a preocupação com o que os outros pensariam ainda o incomodava.

— Não estou dizendo que não gosto de você ou que não quero tentar. — Jin murmurou, hesitante. — Mas precisamos ter certeza de que isso não vai criar problemas entre nós e as pessoas que amamos.

S/N deu um passo mais perto, o calor de seu corpo agora quase invadindo o espaço de Jin.

— Eu também me preocupo com isso, mas não posso ignorar o que sinto só por causa do que os outros possam pensar.

— Eu só não quero que você se machuque, S/N. — Jin finalmente confessou, sua voz mais suave. — Se as coisas ficarem complicadas, você pode se sentir perdido novamente, como antes.

S/N pegou a mão de Jin, envolvendo-a suavemente com seus dedos, e a guiou até sua cintura nua e molhada. O toque da pele quente e úmida fez o coração de Jin disparar, e ele sentiu um arrepio percorrer seu corpo.

— Eu não sou mais aquele garoto, Jin. Cresci, e os sentimentos mudaram, se transformaram em algo mais complexo. — Ele olhou nos olhos de Jin, buscando sinceridade. — O que sinto agora é diferente. É mais maduro, mais real. E sim, eu gosto de você. Gosto muito de você.

A distância quase inexistente foi finalmente fechada por S/N em um beijo lento e apaixonado, enquanto a água escorria por ambos os corpos. O toque de seus lábios era suave, mas carregava uma intensidade que fazia o coração de Jin disparar. Ele sentiu a umidade envolvente do banheiro misturar-se com o calor do momento, como se tudo ao redor tivesse desaparecido.

S/N envolveu os braços ao redor do pescoço de Jin, puxando-o mais perto, enquanto os dedos de Jin se enterravam suavemente nos cabelos molhados do garoto. O beijo se aprofundou, e cada segundo parecia uma eternidade, preenchido com a paixão reprimida de todos aqueles anos dá parte de S/N e sentimentos novos e inexplorados da parte de Jin. A doçura do beijo transformou-se em uma necessidade urgente, enquanto eles se entregavam um ao outro.

S/N desceu a boca para explorar o pescoço de Jin, deixando um rastro quente de beijos enquanto o mais velho tirava a blusa encharcada, que grudava em sua pele.

— Eu quero você, Jinnie — S/N sussurrou contra a pele dele.

Jin, sentindo a intensidade do momento, segurou o rosto de S/N entre suas mãos, forçando-o a olhá-lo nos olhos.

— Você me tem, S/N. A partir de agora, sou seu — respondeu Jin, sua voz suave, mas cheia de determinação.

S/N sorriu, o espaço que antes parecia opressor agora estava cheio de possibilidades. Jin, percebendo que aquele era um momento decisivo, inclinou-se para frente, seus lábios quase tocando os de S/N, esperando um sinal de consentimento.

S/N assentiu levemente, e Jin, então, aproximou-se, selando o momento com um beijo suave e cheio de promessas.

Não preciso nem dizer que o banho demorou algum tempo para acabar com ambos explorando os corpos um do outro com desejo e uma excitação crescente.  

[taehosjk]

Date Kim Taehyung

[pedido anônimo]

perdoem qualquer erro!!

*mensagem nova*

Tae: Quer fazer algo hoje à noite…?

Seu coração deu uma leve fraquejada ao ler a mensagem pela barra de notificação.

Porra, em seus 29 anos de idade, jamais pensou que voltaria a sentir as estupidas borboletas no estômago. Se sentia velha demais para isso, mas só de pensar no jovem rapaz, seu coração não parecia mais racional.

Sempre foi boa em controlar seus sentimentos, já havia passado por muitas desilusões em sua vida amorosa, e com o tempo, foi aprendendo a ser mais racional.

Mas com Taehyung tudo parecia diferente.

Tudo tão novo e gostoso.

Seus sentimentos estavam tão leves e fáceis de entender.

você: oi, tae! tem algo planejado para nós?

Não importa o que fosse, você iria topar.

Tae: Quer vir até o estúdio? Não vou conseguir sair daqui hoje, mas quero muito te ver. :)

Caralho.

Um soco na cara teria te impactado menos.

Você tem tanta importância assim? Na verdade, não importa. Tudo o que você queria naquele momento era ir ao estúdio e ver aquele homem, apenas isso.

você: eu adoraria, tae!

O que seria apenas um sexo casual, para alivar ambas as partes, estava te custando muito caro.

Uma iminente paixão.

Você tentou não pensar muito no que fariam no estúdio, mas sempre se pegava pensando nele, no sorriso dele, na risada dele, nele e nele.

“Caralho!” Esbravejou enquanto tentava acertar o penteado pela milésima vez. Não queria ir arrumada demais, mas desleixada seria muito vergonhoso, tentava um meio termo entre isso, para parecer que simplesmente foi.

Ouviu seu toque de chamada e o visor brilhava com a foto de Tae.

“Oi.” Continuou mexendo em seu cabelo.

“Oi, bebê.” A voz dele parecia meio distante do telefone, mas você conseguia entender suas palavras. “Estou saindo daqui, ok?” Gelou da cabeça aos pés. No máximo em 10 minutos ele ja estaria em sua porta, e você ainda não estava pronta.

“Ok.” Saiu um pouco embolado, pois segurava a escova de cabelo entre os lábios.

“Ta tudo bem ai, S/N?” Um tom de preocupação saiu entre os autos falantes do seu celular.

“Sim, sim. Estou te esperando!” Desligou a chamada e saiu correndo pelo apartamento tentando ajeitar toda a bagunça que havia deixado.

Hidratantes, óleos corporais, creme de cabelo, maquiagem, pincel, toalha e sapatos. Tudo o que conseguiu recolher entre seus braços e correr em direção ao quarto. Deixou tudo sobre sua cama e foi atendido o guarda roupa, pensando no que vestir.

Um vestido preto apareceu entre suas peças, nada chamativo, mas tinha seu toque de sensualidade. E obviamente, facilitava qualquer má intenção que Taehyung tivesse com você.

Arrumou seu busto em frente ao espelho e retocou seu gloss, sabendo que o deixaria sobre os lábios do doce rapaz.

Fez um checklist mental e conclui que estava pronta. Pegou alguns itens essenciais e colocou em sua bolsa de mão.

Sua campainha tocou logo em seguida. Ficou surpresa que conseguiu se aprontar antes da chegada de Tae. Quando abriu a porta se surpreendeu com duas mãos esticadas em sua direcionada. “Comprei no caminho para cá.” Um leve tom de rosado surgiu nas bochechas do loiro, e seu coração quase saiu do peito. Uma linda rosa vermelha embrulhada com uma caixa de bombom, estava bem em sua frente. Segurou delicadamente entre seus dedos e cheirou a flor, sentindo aquele maravilhoso aroma que naquele momento parecia ainda mais gostoso e apaixonante.

Se jogou nos braços de Tae, sentindo o aconchego que só ele conseguia te fazer sentir. “Obrigada.” Deixou um delicado selinho sobre os lábios dele.

“Vamos?” Perguntou enquanto retirava alguns fios de cabelo de seus olhos.

Vocês se encararam por alguns segundos e sorriram quando perceberam que estavam vidrados um no outro.

“Uhum.” Deixou o presente sobre seu sofá e saiu de seu apartamento, segurando a mão de alguém que jamais soltaria você a partir de agora.

…

Sempre ficava nervosa quando entrava naquele estúdio.

Ja tinha estado ali algumas vezes.

Sentiu uma leve fisgada ao lembrar da primeira vez que tiveram sobre aquele sofá de canto.

“Fique a vontade.” Tae retirou seu casaco preto e jogou sobre uma cadeira. “Tenho que revisar alguns projetos e passar para o Namjoon mais tarde.” Pegou algumas folhas nas mãos. “Mas posso fazer uma pausa por você.” Se sentou.

“Posso te ajudar se quiser.” Analisou os papéis sobre a mesa, tentando entender do que se tratavam.

Reconheceu algumas letras de canções antigas.

“Jazz…?”

“Estou projetando um álbum somente com covers de jazz.” Concordou. “Preciso de musicas que combinem comigo e combinem entre si.”

“Parece meio complicado.” Num ato espontâneo, se sentou no colo de Taehyung e analisaram algumas musicas juntos.

Alguma canção ressoava pelos autos falantes do estúdio, deixando vocês imersos naquele mundo.

…

Não sabia quanto tempo havia se passado.

Estavam tão entretidos na conversa animada que tinha surgido, que na verdade, mal importava o tempo.

Como alguém conseguia ser tão adorável? Talvez fosse o seu coração falando, mas como saber?

Tudo parecia tão especial com o Kim, que era difícil disfarçar seus sentimentos, e ele não colaborava. Passou a noite toda te acariciando e falando bem perto do seu ouvido, sussurrando elogios e roubando beijos.

Não queria nunca mais sair daqueles braços.

Você ficava admirada ao observar o quanto Tae amava aquelas musicas. O quanto ele se entretinha cantando alguns versos soltos, batucando algumas melodias em sua perna, ou até mesmo te explicando alguma curiosidade sobre determinado compositor.

Uma taça de vinho foi servida a você, e enquanto bebericava, tentava não rir demais das graças do Kim.

“Você é a garota mais bonita desse mundo, sabia?” Tae limpou delicadamente uma gota de vinho que descia sobre seu lábio. “Fico muito feliz de saber que estamos juntos.” Beijou o canto inferior de sua boca.

“Juntos?” Apertou a taça de vidro entre seus dedos.

“Sim. Juntos!” Colocou a mão sobre seu pescoço te trazendo o mais perto possível de si. “Quero que seja apenas minha, S/N…” Seus lábios estavam tão perto, que Taehyung conseguia sentir o hálito quente que saia de sua boca.

O cheiro adocicado da uva que o Kim sentia, só o encorajava a fazer o que ele planejava a tanto tempo.

“Eu sou sua, Taehyung.” Sussurrou rente aos lábios rosados.

Sem conseguir segurar a vontade que florescia em vocês, se beijaram intensamente.

Os dedos longos te tocavam sem pudor algum, e a língua de Taehyung te explorava loucamente.

Alguns suspiros escapavam de vocês.

Se afastaram com alguns selinhos e o sorriso radiante do Kim te iluminou.

“Quer namorar comigo?”

Como resistir a esse homem!?

[little-big-fan]

Imagine com Taehyung (BTS)

Romancing

n/a: Esse imagine ficou simplesmente GIGANTE. Espero muito que gostem, eu adorei escrevê-lo. Mais uma vez, peço desculpas caso algum elemento da cultura coreana esteja errada, não sou especialista <;3

Contagem de palavras: 3,697 + fake chat

— Como foi a viagem? — Tae perguntou deixando largando as duas xícaras de chá na pequena mesa de centro da sala.

— Foi ótimo. — Sorri. — Quer ver as fotos?

— Claro.

Tirei o celular do bolso traseiro da calça, entrando na galeria para mostrar algumas das centenas de fotos que havia tirado na estadia em minha terra natal. Taehyung arrastou o corpo pelo sofá, se aproximando para conseguir enxergar a pequena tela. Passei pelas fotos das paisagens, das selfies na praia, até chegar na festa de despedida que a família havia feito um dia antes da minha volta para a Coreia. 

— Quem é esse? — Perguntou rápido depois de ver a imagem por um milésimo de segundo.

— Ah… Esse é meu primo, Paulo. Fomos criados quase como irmãos. — Sorri. Na foto, brincando com o fato de ser muito mais alto que eu, Paulo apoiava o braço sobre a minha cabeça enquanto eu fazia uma careta.

— Vocês são muito próximos? — Me olhou de lado.

— Muito. — Passei o dedo para o lado, mostrando outra foto com o meu primo, onde agora ele me carregava em suas costas. O moreno estalou a língua dentro da boca e se afastou, encarando a televisão desligada á nossa frente. — Ei, você não precisa sentir ciúmes. — Me aproximei, voltando a sentir o calor que seu corpo emanava. — Paulo é como um irmão, mas o meu melhor amigo é você. — Sorri. 

— Sei. — Virou o rosto, tentando esconder o sorriso que se formava ali.

— Já que está bravo… não vai querer o presente que eu trouxe. — Suspirei, fazendo o meu melhor para fingir desapontamento. Virando o rosto rápido, ele arregalou os olhos puxadinhos.

— É óbvio que eu quero! — Disse me fazendo rir. 

— Espera aqui. — Declarei.

Levantei do sofá e fui até o pequeno Hall onde havia deixado a minha mala. Retirei a caixinha embalada com cuidado e voltei. Tae sorriu e agradeceu antes mesmo de abrir o presente, mas soltou uma risada alta ao ver o conteúdo.

— Assim você me faz parecer um bêbado. — Declarou ao encarar o “kit caipirinha”.

— E você não é? — Provoquei, recebendo um peteleco leve na testa como resposta. 

— Eu gostei muito, obrigado.

— Ah, tem mais uma coisa. — Lembrei. — No fundo da caixa. — Tae retirou a garrafa de cachaça artesanal e o copo da caixa, encontrando no fundo o chaveirinho de plástico com uma foto nossa estampada. — Fui eu quem colocou a foto, então não tem perigo de vazar. 

— Acho que essa foi a minha parte preferida do presente. — Disse segurando o objeto pequeno entre os dedos, deixando um sorrisinho bobo estampar seus lábios.

— Fico feliz que tenha gostado.

— Eu senti a sua falta. — Me olhou. Ignorei o pulo que meu coração deu dentro do peito, reação que ultimamente vinha acontecendo sempre que ele estava por perto.

— Nós nos falamos todos os dias. — Falei envergonhada.

— Não é a mesma coisa. — Deu de ombros. Colocando a caixa ao seu lado no sofá, ele se aproximou um pouquinho mais, afastando com a ponta dos dedos gelados uma mecha de cabelo que caiu sobre o meu rosto. — Pelo facetime não posso ver você direito, nem sentir suas bochechas quentinhas ou o cheiro do seu cabelo. — Sua voz naturalmente grossa ficava mais baixa a cada palavra, ficando quase mascarada pelas batidas do meu coração idiota. — Não sentiu nem um pouquinho a minha falta?

— Eu… — Me perdi nas palavras. A proximidade de seu rosto do meu, seu polegar fazendo carinho na minha bochecha, as pintinhas fofas espalhadas pelo seu rosto bem desenhado. Era tudo demais.

— Você? — Esboçou um sorrisinho e ergueu as sobrancelhas, como se soubesse o efeito que tinha sobre mim.

— Claro que senti a sua falta. — Tae abriu um sorriso sincero, e passou a ponta da língua pelo lábio inferior, chamando a minha atenção para aquela parte.

Engoli a saliva que se acumulou em minha boca, sentindo um calafrio percorrer minha espinha. Apertei os lábios, tentando dissipar um pouco do nervosismo. Parecia que o espaço entre nós era cada vez mais mínimo, já podia sentir sua respiração bater contra o meu rosto quando o toque do seu celular fez com que toda a atmosfera acabasse em apenas um segundo.

Afastei meu corpo para a ponta do sofá enquanto ele se desculpava e saía da sala para atender. 

Esfreguei as mãos pelo rosto, respirando fundo e torcendo que não estivesse tão perceptível o quão nervosa estava. 

— Desculpa, era do estúdio… — Ele disse voltando.

— Tudo bem. — Forcei o sorriso. — Está ficando tarde, então acho melhor eu ir. — Falei levantando.

— Não quer ficar? 

— Não! — Falei alto demais. — Eu ainda preciso colocar as coisas de volta no lugar e…

— Quer que eu te leve então? 

— Não precisa. — Neguei com a cabeça. — Boa noite. 

Me sentindo uma idiota, me joguei na cama assim que entrei no meu quarto. Afundei o rosto no travesseiro, xingando a mim mesma baixinho. Precisava superar a queda que há algum tempo havia desenvolvido pelo meu melhor amigo. Sabia muito bem que Tae não me olhava com outros olhos, e que, desde o ensino médio, eu ocupava apenas o posto de melhor amiga. 

Não sei exatamente quando tudo isso começou. Quando meu coração passou a bater mais forte por ele, quando os meus pensamentos passaram a ser preenchidos por imagens suas. Talvez fosse o fato de que mesmo sendo mundialmente famoso ele nunca mudara a sua essência. Ou por sempre me dar atenção, mesmo estando mais do que ocupado. 

Tae foi a primeira pessoa com quem fiz amizade ao chegar na coreia, anos atrás quando meu pai foi transferido por conta do trabalho. Mesmo com a barreira de idioma, ele se esforçou, me ajudou em cada um dos pequenos passos que precisei dar e se tornou essencial.

Depois de mais uma vez chegar a conclusão de que não conseguiria superá-lo, decidi me contentar com a premissa de poder passar a vida ao seu lado como amiga. Como sempre fui. Torceria e vibraria em cada uma das suas conquistas, seria seu apoio em momentos difíceis e estaria lá para observar de fora a sua felicidade um dia.

— Quer beber hoje? — Ele perguntou assim que atendi a ligação. Abri meus olhos com dificuldade, olhando as horas.

— São oito da manhã! — Falei desacreditada. 

— A noite. — Respondeu como se fosse óbvio. 

— Onde? 

— Sua casa? 

— Pode ser. — Resmunguei, esticando meu corpo preguiçoso sobre a cama. 

— Até mais tarde então. — Disse feliz antes de desligar. 

Não consegui voltar a dormir, ansiando pelo momento em que a campainha ia tocar e ele chegaria. Preparei algumas coisas para comermos e coloquei uma música ambiente baixinho. Esse era um programa frequente entre nós, já que sair em público podia ser arriscado. Seus fãs já me conheciam (até mesmo me dando o apelido de “chaveiro”) por estar sempre presente. Mas Tae se incomodava com a exposição extrema, qualquer mínimo movimento que ele fizesse virava notícia, por isso ficamos muito mais em casa do que em outros lugares.

A campainha finalmente tocou, mas antes que eu pudesse chegar até lá, a senha da fechadura digital foi colocada e ele entrou. — Espero que me ensine a usar isso. — Cantarolou me mostrando que havia trago seu presente. 

Já imaginando que ele faria isso, pedi que me acompanhasse até a cozinha. Lavei os utensílios do kit para começar o meu tutorial. 

— Existem várias receitas de caipirinha. — Falei lavando os limões. — Vou ensinar do jeito que meu pai me ensinou. 

— Uhhh, receita de família? — Falou baixinho, como se guardasse um segredo de estado. 

— Pode se dizer que sim. — Sorri. — Okay, vamos lá. Como esse copo é bem grande, vamos precisar de dois limões. — Falei pegando um e lhe estendendo o outro. — Precisamos tirar toda a casa, inclusive a parte branca, senão vai ficar amarga rápido. — Tae me ouvia com atenção. Mostrei a ele a forma mais fácil de tirar a casca, e depois cortei os dois limões em pedaços pequenos, colocando na coqueteleira do kit. — Agora, amassamos com isso. — Ergui o socador.

— Deixa que eu faço. — Disse pegando os objetos da minha mão e começando a amassar as frutas lentamente.

— Sabe, o limão não vai reclamar se fizer um pouco mais rápido. — Alfinetei. — Agora, três colheres de açúcar. — Falei quando vi que já tinha bastante suco. 

— Junto com o limão? 

— Isso, você amassa mais um pouco, assim não fica granulado na caipirinha. — Tae abriu a boca, como se eu tivesse acabado de revelar algo bombástico. Não consegui evitar achar fofo como ele se animava com cada mínima coisinha.  — Agora, coamos isso e colocamos no copo. — Coloquei a peneira pequenininha do kit, que cabia perfeitamente no copo. Com cuidado ele derramou o líquido ali, usando uma colher para mexer na polpa que se acumulou. — Quer forte? 

— Claro. — Revirou os olhos de forma teatral. 

Abri a garrafa e cachaça, colocando a olho nu uma quantidade que parecia suficiente.

— Quanto precisa colocar?

— O quanto seu coração mandar. — Meu comentário fez com que ele desse uma risada alta, o que fez meu coração aquecer. — Agora, o grande segredo da minha família. — Fiz suspense. — A maioria das pessoas coloca água, mas nós vamos colocar… — Abri a geladeira, pegando uma forma de gelo e a garrafa que já estava esperando por esse momento.

— Refrigerante de limão? — Perguntou desconfiado. Assenti com a cabeça, colocando o gelo e então completando o copo com a bebida gaseificada. Peguei um par de canudos de metal na gaveta de talheres, usando um deles para misturar e então fiz um sinal para que ele provasse. Com os olhos castanhos grudados em mim, ele ergueu o copo e prendeu a ponta do canudo entre os lábios, dando um gole longe e soltando um som de satisfação. 

— Ficou bom? 

— Prova. — Colocou o copo na minha frente. Peguei o outro canudo na mesa, mas antes que pudesse colocá-lo no copo, sua mão segurou meu pulso. — Tem nojo da minha boca? — Enrugou as sobrancelhas, estranhando minha atitude.

— Não, claro que não. — Larguei o canudo. — É que eu não bebia no mesmo canudo dos outros no Brasil. — Expliquei.

— Não é um costume comum lá?

— É, mas eu não sei onde a boca dos meus primos passa. — Fiz uma careta.

— E por acaso sabe onde a minha passa? — Ergueu uma sobrancelha, me pegando desprevenida. Gaguejei algumas palavras desconexas, o que o fez sorrir. — Estou provocando você, sua boba. Bebe logo. — Coloquei a língua para ele antes de tomar um gole. Realmente havia ficado gostoso. 

Perdi a conta de quantas caipirinhas fizemos, mas já sentia minhas bochechas quentes e não conseguia segurar minha risada cada vez que ele fazia uma piada duvidosa. 

— Você foi em alguma festa no Brasil? — Ele perguntou com a voz arrastada, tão bêbado quanto eu.

— Tipo balada? — Perguntei encostando a cabeça na almofada do sofá, ele apenas assentiu, dando mais um gole na bebida. — Não, lá é diferente. 

— Como assim? — Me estendeu o copo.

— Ah, as pessoas não vão tão arrumadas, faz calor demais… — Dei um gole longo, acabando com o líquido do copo.

— Então ficou dois meses no Brasil e não deu nenhum beijinho? 

— Eu não disse isso. — O olhei de lado.

— Beijou alguém? — Falou surpreso.

— Um carinha, mas não foi bom. — Suspirei. Tae coçou o queixo, encarando o teto.

— Por que? 

— Ah, ele não tinha pegada. — Franzi o nariz, lembrando vagamente da péssima experiência. A verdade era que o beijo não foi bom pelo simples fato de eu estar fazendo aquilo para tentar esquecê-lo. 

Fechei os olhos tentando controlar a leve tontura que a bebida proporcionava. Depois de alguns minutos onde apenas a música ambiente soava, imagine que ele havia dormido, mas fui surpreendida ao abrir os olhos e ver seu rosto perto demais. Abrindo um sorrisinho de lado, Tae segurou meu rosto com uma das mãos e passou o polegar pelos meus lábios, me arrancando um suspiro involuntário. Tentei dizer alguma coisa, mas minha mente parecia ter esquecido como pronunciar qualquer palavra. 

— Queria poder fazer vocês esquecer cada cara que já te beijou. — Sussurrou, cada vez mais perto.

A terra colidiu com a lua no segundo em que sua boca tocou a minha, estilhaçando meu próprio mundo em um milhão de pedacinhos. Fechei meus olhos, sentindo sua língua quente acariciar meus lábios. Entreabri a boca, deixando que o autocontrole e a sanidade me deixassem aos poucos. Empurrando a língua contra a minha de forma lenta, ele parecia monopolizar meu corpo inteiro, juntamente da minha alma. O gosto do limão se misturava ao seu, me embebedando ainda mais e ao mesmo tempo, me trazendo para a sobriedade. 

Infiltrei meus dedos entre os fios do seu cabelo, me certificando que não era apenas mais um dos meus sonhos. Sorrindo entre os beijos, ele deixava pequenas mordidas nos meus lábios, me fazendo suspirar contra sua boca. 

Quebrando o beijo por falta de oxigênio, Taehyung encostou a testa contra a minha. Não consegui encontrar coragem para abrir os olhos, ainda com medo de ser mais uma ilusão. 

— Posso ser sincero por um momento? — Murmurou com a voz muito rouca. 

— Pode. — Sussurrei de volta.

— Não sei quanto tempo esperei por esse beijo. — Sua boca roçava contra a minha, me obrigando a suspirar mais uma vez. — Imaginei tantas vezes o gosto da sua boca. — Sussurrou, selando meus lábios de forma longa. — Isso pode realmente ser viciante… 

Sem conseguir segurar os impulsos que o meu coração implorava, ergui meu queixo, beijando seus lábios mais uma vez. Sorrindo contra mim, ele segurou meu rosto com ambas as mãos, me guiando ao seu bel prazer. 

Horas se passaram na fração de um segundo. Perdidos em um mundo que criamos só para nós dois.

Talvez pela mistura do efeito da bebida e dos beijos do meu melhor amigo, acabei pegando no sono depois de algum tempo.

Acordei na minha cama, ainda com a mesma roupa da noite passada. Na mesinha de cabeceira, havia uma garrafinha térmica com água morna e uma aspirina. Coloquei os dedos sobre a boca, ainda sentindo resquícios da noite passada. Sem conseguir conter meu sorriso e os pulos animados que meu coração dava, levantei ignorando a ressaca, feliz demais para que isso me abalasse. Tomei um banho longo e fui comer alguma coisa. 

Peguei meu celular, esquecido na sala desde a noite passada. Abri o aplicativo de mensagens enquanto o micro-ondas aquecia uma xícara de café forte. O chão sumiu dos meus pés no momento em que abri a conversa com Tae.

Rejeitei as três primeiras ligações após a minha resposta. Decidi desligar o celular quando o celular começou a tocar pela quarta vez. O micro-ondas apitou mais uma vez, avisando que meu café estava quente, mas apenas ignorei, caminhando em silêncio de volta para a cama, desejando não ter saído dela. 

Enfiei a cabeça no travesseiro, sentindo a vergonha me atingir quando o tecido umedeceu com as minhas lágrimas. Solucei alto, esperando que o aperto em meu peito aliviasse em algum momento, mas isso parecia não acontecer nunca.

A luz do dia que entrava pela janela se dissipou, me deixando no escuro mais uma vez. Quando finalmente achava que não haviam mais lágrimas para derramar, meu próprio corpo me provava que o estoque era grande. Sentia meus olhos arderem e a garganta seca, mas não ânimo nem vontade de me levantar.

O silêncio ensurdecedor foi quebrado pelo barulho da fechadura eletrônica e o som da porta da frente sendo aberta. Me virei na cama, cobrindo a cabeça com o cobertor e fingindo estar dormindo. Fechei os olhos com força quando ouvi o som da maçaneta do quarto ser girada, torcendo baixinho para que não fosse quem eu sabia que era.  

Senti o colchão afundar quando a pessoa sentou ao meu lado, e me encolhi quando a coberta foi afastada do meu rosto. Ainda com os olhos fechados, tentei fingir a respiração pesada característica de quem dorme, mas meu corpo me traiu, soltando um soluço. 

— Eu sei que você não está dormindo. — Deixou um carinho pelo meu cabelo bagunçado. — Fala comigo. — Pediu. 

— Não dá. — Sussurrei. — Ainda não. 

— Você comeu? 

— Tae, vai embora. 

— S/A…

— Por favor. — Murmurei, sendo interrompida pelo meu próprio choro. — Só sai daqui. 

Taehyung soltou um suspiro longo, e indo contra o que eu implorava, afastou a coberta, deitando o próprio corpo atrás do meu. Tentei me afastar, mas seu braço fez a volta na minha cintura, me puxando de volta e nos encaixando em uma conchinha. Apertei o travesseiro contra o rosto, me sentindo ainda mais humilhada por saber que ele via o meu choro. 

— Me perdoa. — Murmurou. — Me perdoa, S/A. — Sua voz embargou.

— Tae. — Respirei fundo. — Eu prometo que vamos voltar ao que éramos. Mas agora… eu realmente preciso ficar sozinha. 

— Não vou deixar você assim. 

— Por favor. — Implorei. 

— Não. — Me apertou ainda mais contra o seu corpo. Sua intenção era me confortar, mas aquilo só machucava mais meu coração frágil. 

— Você não entende. — Sussurrei. — Só está piorando tudo.

— Estraguei tudo, não foi? — Fungou. — Acabei com a nossa amizade.

— Não. — Passei uma das mangas pelo rosto, secando as lágrimas por ali. Com a outra mão, deixei um carinho em suas mãos que estavam cruzadas sobre a minha barriga. — Vai ficar tudo bem, só preciso de um tempo.

— Tempo pra quê?

— Pra me recuperar. — Suspirei. — Posso ser sincera por um momento? — Ouvi quando ele soltou o ar pelo nariz, balançando meu cabelo.

— Pode.

— Eu preferia que a noite passada nunca tivesse acontecido. — Pisquei várias vezes, evitando que as lágrimas voltassem a escorrer.

— Eu sei. 

— Esperei tanto por ela, mas agora queria que nunca tivesse acontecido. — Sorri com a ironia da minha fala.

— O quê? 

— Promete esquecer o que vou falar agora?

— Não sei. — Disse com sinceridade. — Mas vou tentar.

— Eu gosto de você.

— Eu também gosto de você. — Encaixou o rosto na minha nuca.

— Você não entendeu. — Murmurei. — Gosto mesmo de você. Não só como amigo. — Senti seu corpo tencionar atrás do meu. — Por isso eu queria esquecer da noite passada. — Pigarreei, afastando a voz de choro. — Eu não disse nada antes porque não queria estragar a nossa amizade e porque sei que você não sente o mesmo…

— Olha pra mim. — Me interrompeu. 

— Desculpa, não dá ainda. 

— S/N, olha pra mim. — Neguei com a cabeça. 

Dando seu jeito de fazer o que queria, Tae passou o corpo por cima do meu, ficando agora entre mim e a parede. Tentei virar, mas ele passou o braço na minha cintura, me segurando no lugar. A única luz no quarto vinha pela porta aberta, mas eu sabia que ele podia ver o estado do meu rosto, que devia estar deplorável. 

Meu coração apertou ao ver a expressão triste e as olheiras fundas estampadas em seu rosto. 

— Repete o que você disse. — Neguei, fazendo-o bufar. — Por favor. 

— Por quê? Não vale a pena.

— Você não vai saber até dizer. 

— Eu gosto de você. — Fechei os olhos, não querendo ver seu rosto quando fosse rejeitar meus sentimentos. Mas então, fui surpreendida pelo toque leve dos seus lábios nos meus. Arregalei os olhos e me afastei por instinto. Tae abriu um sorriso, curvando o pescoço para deixar mais um selinho nos meus lábios. — O que está fazendo? — Sussurrei aturdida.

— O que parece que eu tô fazendo? 

— Mas você disse…

— Isso foi antes. — Segurei em seus ombros, segurando-o onde eu pudesse enxergar seu rosto. 

— Antes do quê?

— Antes de saber que você também está apaixonada por mim. — Meu coração foi parar na garganta, e tenho certeza de que minha expressão demonstrava a minha surpresa, pois ele soltou uma risadinha pelo nariz. — Posso te beijar agora? — Ergueu as sobrancelhas e projetou os lábios para o lado, como se fizesse essa pergunta todos os dias. 

Ainda sem saber bem se estava alucinando ou não, assenti. Taehyung ergueu uma das mãos até a minha nuca, puxando meu rosto contra o seu. Revirei os olhos por baixo das pálpebras, suspirando quando ele aprofundou o beijo. Segurei seu rosto entre as minhas mãos, tentando senti-lo um pouco mais. 

— Você não vai se arrepender disso, vai? — Sussurrei contra a sua boca. O garoto riu baixinho, deixando mais alguns beijinhos pela minha boca, queixo e bochechas.

— Não vou. — Fez um carinho no meu nariz com o seu. — Na verdade, eu fiquei desesperado e falei aquilo porque achei que você me odiaria por te beijar. 

— Achou mesmo?  

— Uhum. 

— Eu não odiaria você. — Enlacei os braços em seu pescoço. 

— Agora eu sei. — Sorriu. — Mas eu acordei com ressaca e pensando que tinha feito uma besteira me deixando levar pelos meu sentimentos sem pensar nos seus. Nunca imaginei que você sentia o mesmo. — Deu de ombros. — Porque nunca disse? 

— Eu fiquei com medo. — Suspirei. — A nossa amizade sempre foi muito importante, fiquei com medo de estragar se você soubesse. — Tae abriu um sorrisinho, dando mais um selinho nos meus lábios. 

— Linda. 

— Eu devo estar horrível. — Lembrei de repente, tentando me afastar, mas ele não deixou. 

— Está linda. — Ralhou. — Você não respondeu a minha pergunta. 

— Qual? — Perguntei confusa.

— Você comeu? — Neguei com a cabeça, recebendo uma carranca.

— Então, você acordou com ressaca e não comeu nada? — Confirmei. — O que eu faço com você? — Estalou a língua dentro da boca.

— Me alimenta? — Brinquei. Tae apertou os olhos e mordeu minha bochecha. 

— Eu mimei você demais. — Suspirou de forma teatral. — Ai ai… vou precisar trabalhar muito para alimentar minha namorada com comida deliciosa. 

— Namorada? — Sussurrei. 

— Está fugindo da responsabilidade? — Beliscou minha bochecha. 

— Não. — Neguei com a cabeça. — É que no Brasil, você tem que pedir a garota em namoro. — Ele me apertou em seus braços, enterrando o rosto entre meu queixo e meu pescoço, deixando um beijinho por ali. 

— Namora comigo. — Não consegui conter o sorriso enorme.

— Vou pensar. 

— Ah é? — Ergueu o pescoço, chocando seus lábios contra os meus em mais um beijo de tirar o fôlego. 

— Eu me rendo. — Suspirei. — Vou namorar você.

— Eu sabia. — Sorriu. — Agora vem. — Ajoelhou na cama. 

— Pra onde? 

— Vou fazer algo para você comer. — Estendeu as mãos para me ajudar a levantar. 

Meu corpo reclamou de levantar depois de tanto tempo deitada. Abraçando o meu corpo por trás, sem se importar com a dificuldade que teríamos de caminhar, ele me arrastou até a cozinha. Sentei em uma cadeira, observando como ele se movia pelo lugar com naturalidade, sabendo onde pegar tudo, sorrindo para mim enquanto cozinhava. 

Ainda não conseguia acreditar que realmente estava vivendo o que há meses vinha sonhando. 

Apoiei o rosto entre as mãos para olhá-lo melhor. Tae colocou água na mesma panela em que havia colocado legumes cortados e então soltou suspiro alto, atravessando a cozinha em passos largos.

— O que foi? — Perguntei quando ele se aproximou. Curvando o corpo e segurando meu rosto entre as mãos grandes, ele abriu mais um sorriso.

— Eu disse ontem, beijar você é realmente viciante.

[bts-scenarios-br]

Fake Chat: Quando você faz uma brincadeira dizendo que vai voltar para o Brasil (Maknae Line)

Park Jimin

Kim Taehyung

Jeon Jungkook

Tá aqui o restante! Espero que tenham gostado! Beijinhos e fiquem bem <3

[pennyluna]

Misunderstandings ( Prologue)

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Genre: New to working together au. Cold playboy au. Future something au.

WARNING: This story will contain some bad words/strong language!

I have a good career, I've worked hard for it and spent the last couple of years preparing for the day in which they would give me the first assignment as a lead interpreter. That's my job, I work in the entertainment industry as an interpreter, which means I accompany famous people around and help them communicate with others when there is a language barrier, I also occasionally help them translate any written work but I have always been been an assistant interpreter, so most of my work had been at the office.

But today, was finally the day! I received an email last night asking me to show up early at work for a meeting about a new assignment that was starting in the afternoon! The lead interpreter assigned to it had fallen sick so they gave it to me, we were often not informed of who we would be working with as to avoid any information leaks, that made it a little bit more exciting. Now here I am, waiting by the elevator and checking my watch for the time, it's 3pm, two hours after the VIP was meant to arrive. I woke up extra early today due to excitement but now I'm a little pissed off, I hate waiting plus my stilettos are starting to take a toll on me and I'm sure my hair is a mess by now. 30 minutes later the driver texted me to let me know they were at the building so I faced the elevator and stood un straight, I tried my best to fix myself. I watched as the screen above the elevator doors indicated the floor it was currently passing. I mentally repeated them waiting for them to get to the 21st floor.

8th floorㅡ 'I'm tired.' 15th floorㅡ 'Why is it taking soo long.' 18th floorㅡ 'Soo tired.' 20th floorㅡ 'Oh crap, my breath smells like coffee!'

~DING!!!~

The elevator's door opens and my eyes land on Him.

Min Effing Yoongi.

The legend. The Rap God. AGUSTD. There He was, standing right in front of me and I found myself hating the privacy rules of the company, one in particular because a heads up about who I was going to be working with would have been fucking helpful. I blinked a couple of times and finally started hearing what was happening around me again, His manager made introductions and soon it was my turn to shake his hand.

It was warm, his hand was warm and now that feeling was going to stick with me. The man in front of me is gorgeous and didn't seem to be anything like the cold player guy that I had heard stories about from people that had worked with him in the past.

People in this industry likes to gossip about others so maybe it wasn't true, maybe he wasn't a cold player or was he?. Well, call me cat because curiosity is killing me and now I have a few weeks to observe him while I work with him.

A/N: Hello, I've been working on this story for a while, this is the first story I publish on Tumblr but it is not my first time writing. I wish to make this a series, please let me know if you are interested in the next part. Any feedback would be appreciated and any repost or like will be appreciated too!

[nandangel]

Final Chapter - The Mating 

5122 words| mainlist

Cadance Turner

It’s been almost three weeks since I last saw or heard anything about him, and maybe I’ve gone a little crazy during this time. After that dreadful night and the morning full of shocking revelations, I returned home with a very beautiful and caring woman named Fayette —a rather peculiar name, though not for a wolf. Fayette helped me around the house because of my twisted foot and told me several stories, but she was so considerate that she did everything to avoid mentioning Namjoon. I also learned that she’s carrying a baby — or a pup, as she oddly refers to it.

When I could walk on my own again, Fayette left but gave me her phone number and Namjoon’s in case I needed help or anything else.

It felt strange when she left; I felt so alone and, most of the time, did nothing. I even stopped working on my book because I couldn’t focus, and every time I started typing, both good and bad memories resurfaced.

Honestly, I was losing my mind. Seriously, as soon as night fell, my body started tingling, and I would get oddly aroused. Even after trying to relieve myself, it wasn’t enough — I was missing something.

I hated that feeling because it reminded me of him and made me realize how much I needed him. As bizarre as the whole situation was, I couldn’t deny that I wanted him. I just didn’t want to admit it to myself because he’s a wolf, and that’s too much for me.

Yes, it’s insane to know that everything I used to write about actually exists. It’s even more terrifying to get involved with someone like that, yet fascinating at the same time.

That night was horrible, but every time I remember how elegantly intimidating Namjoon transformed from a wolf into a human, it drives me crazy with questions and makes me want to use him as the perfect model for my book. However, it also stirs feelings I’m repressing and pretending aren’t there — knowing that, with the slightest slip, they could explode inside me, sending me running into his arms.

As I step out of the shower, I hear the doorbell ring, making my body freeze for a moment. But I relax when I see Fayette accompanied by another woman through the peephole. As I open the door, the blonde greets me with an adorable smile, while the other woman looks at me curiously.

— Hi — Fayette says as she hugs me. — I know it’s been a while since I came here, but my hormones have been crazy, and I didn’t want to hurt you accidentally.

— Hurt me? How? — I ask, stepping out of the hug.

— Her mood swings have been making her furious at times. — The woman standing next to Fayette speaks, smiling. She’s as beautiful as Fay, with long, wavy black hair, skin similar to Namjoon’s, and matching eyes. — By the way, I’m Kim Yong-Ji, Namjoon’s cousin.

My expression immediately turns serious, and Fayette notices:

— Sweetheart, we need to have a very serious talk with you.

— If you came here to clean up his mess, you can leave!

— Actually, it’s about you. — Yong-Ji says. — Let’s go inside; this isn’t the best place to talk about it.

— Who is he? — I ask, noticing a man standing by a pickup truck, arms crossed, watching us. His pale skin is hard to forget—I could swear I saw him with Namjoon at the diner that day.

— That’s my mate, Min Yoongi. — Fayette says with a smile, waving at him. Within seconds, his “don’t talk to me” expression shifts into a beautiful smile directed at her.

— What’s he doing here?

— Cadance, let’s talk inside, please. — Fayette asks again, and judging by her face, this isn’t some casual girl talk; it’s serious business.

Once we’re in the living room, I ask for a moment to prepare some tea and quickly return within ten minutes, bringing tea and some cookies.

— Well, — I begin, picking up a cup of tea. — You may start.

— You know I’m a wolf-witch hybrid, right? — I nod, sipping the tea. — Maybe I haven’t told you yet, but I have a gift of seeing glimpses of the future. Before you and Namjoon mated…had sex, I already knew.

— So he knew?

— No, I told him about my vision afterward, but that’s less important now. — Despite Fayette’s usual calm demeanor, whatever she’s about to say is clearly making her nervous. — They’re hunting you, sweetheart.

— What? — I exclaim, nearly burning myself with the tea, which, by the way, I’m the only one drinking. — What kind of story is this now?

— Do you remember the creature that chased you? — Yong-Ji asks, and just the memory of it sends chills down my spine.

— Y-yes.

— It was just bait to find my cousin’s weakness. — Yong-Ji begins. — Namjoon might not have noticed their leader nearby because his wolf was entirely focused on protecting you and killing whoever hurt you. But the problem is, the man who created those creatures knows who you are, and worse, he knows how important you are to our alpha.

— Namjoon hasn’t left that cabin in days. — Fayette comments. — I know this isn’t your fault, and you might not understand, but in our culture, when a wolf is rejected by his mate, he falls into despair, often neglecting everything. As an alpha, Namjoon abstaining from his duties is leaving the pack insecure.

— So it’s my fault he’s not doing what he’s supposed to?

— No, dear, I’m just telling you what’s happening. — Fayette says. — The wolf who created these creatures is a pureblood like us, but he sold his gene to a hunter who used it to produce lab-grown wolves he can manipulate to hunt us.

— Namjoon is one of the strongest alphas with one of the largest packs in the state. If Dolphius gets to you, he’ll have access to Namjoon. And with Namjoon weakened, Dolphius gains the upper hand. — Yong-Ji’s voice is heavy with sadness. — If Dolphius defeats Namjoon, he becomes our alpha. And trust me, we’ll be living in hell, and his creations will feast on the entire city.

— That could be the end of the alliance between humans and wolves. — Fayette takes my hands. — I’m not asking you to forgive him for lying to you, but please, come with us. If he at least knows you’re safe and there, he’ll start to recover.

— I-I need to think.

— We don’t have much time, Cadance. — Yong-Ji says. — Tonight is a full moon, and as far as I know, you two have mated, haven’t you?

— We didn’t…

— Yes, you did. And even if you don’t realize it, he marked you. — She continues. — When the moon is fully risen, you’ll need our help.

— Why?

— With his bite, you’ve sort of acquired certain traits. So your body will experience some changes influenced by the moon.

— What do you mean? What the hell are you talking about? — I snap. — Am I going to turn into a wolf too?

— No, you won’t become a wolf. Calm down. You’ll just feel… certain things. — Fayette says, trying to soothe me.

— What kind of things will I feel? Be straight with me, Fay!

— I’m not entirely sure; it depends on how strong your bond with him is.

— How do you feel?

— Well, — she clears her throat, her face flushing. — I feel an overwhelming urge to mate with my husband, but we have a strong bond. Since you and Namjoon are distant, you might just feel angrier than usual or…I don’t know.

I spend several minutes thinking and rethinking what to do. Both options feel like ultimatums for me.

— Where will I stay there? — I ask, and my question seems to excite them.

— You can stay with me. — Yong-Ji offers. — I’m not mated.

— And what would be the problem if you were?

— Oh, would you rather stay at Fayette’s house? Because you might not get much sleep with them fucking at all over the place.

Fayette bursts into laughter and lightly smacks Yong-Ji’s arm.

— Oh, God! — I cover my mouth, shocked. — But you’re pregnant.

— Pregnant, not dead.

— You’re such a naughty girl. — I say, and their laughter is contagious, pulling me in.

— Go pack your things so we can leave before nightfall. — Yong-Ji says amidst laughter.

[...]

The reverse is the most magnificent thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life. The late afternoon gave me a bit of light to appreciate that beautiful place and its stunning people. I don’t know if it’s a wolf genetics thing, but everyone here is gorgeous, even the elders to a lesser extent. The houses are separated from one another, like in a village, and each one has a unique design. From what I remember, only Namjoon’s house is a cabin, and it’s farther away from the rest—I could swear I saw a lake behind it. Yongi-Ji’s house is no different; it’s small but charming, with a distinct touch of her own, filled with vintage furniture and decorations.

— You can have the first room; it’s right at the beginning of the hallway. — Yongi-Ji points to the hallway next to the kitchen. — The bathroom is just next to it.

— Thank you. — I give her a smile.

Looking around the house, I notice a wall filled with framed photographs. In most of them, he’s there, with a smile that melts my heart and a body that makes mine burn like embers.

— He’s like a brother to me. — Yongi-Ji whispers behind me. — But sometimes he acts like a grumpy dad.

— Overprotective?

— You have no idea. — She replies, smiling and gazing at the photos. — But he’s an amazing person, the best alpha we have. We’re all grateful for him.

— What about his parents?

— They died in conflict, but they left behind a great alpha.

��� I understand, and I’m sorry. — She nods and gives me a “It’s okay, it’s in the past” smile. — I-I’m going to lie down for a bit; I have a headache.

— Oh, do you want something for the pain? I can grab something from Matt.

— No, it’s fine. Just a few minutes of sleep, and it’ll pass.

— Alright, then. — She shrugs. — If you wake up and don’t find me, it’s because I’ll be at the field. Since tonight’s a full moon, it’s the ascension ritual for some of the younger betas. You can come if you want; just follow the sound of the music, and you’ll find us.

[...]

After taking a nice nap, I wake up still feeling lazy and a bit dizzy. I check the time on my new phone and see that it’s already past two in the morning. I get out of bed, head to the bathroom, and take a hot shower because it's freezing, then I dress warmly and go to enjoy the so-called ascension ritual. I hadn’t even properly arrived when I’m greeted with stares from everyone, and despite all the warm clothes, I managed to hide my "human scent." I also notice that I’m the only one dressed like someone from the North Pole; everyone else there is dressed like it's summer, and I see a group of boys wearing only sweatpants. I didn’t want to get too close, because besides feeling like an intruder, I know I am one, so I decide to stay away, but when I realize it, I see Fayette and her husband approaching. I notice there were torches hanging from the trees, a large table with plenty of food and drinks, and music played by percussion instruments.

 — I see you decided to accept Yong-Ji’s invitation. — She says as she approaches and gives me a hug, and I can already feel the bump of her pregnant belly.

 — Yeah, Yong-Ji doesn’t have a TV, so… — Fayette giggles and stands next to her husband, who remains serious.

 — Honey, meet Cadance, and Cadance, meet Min Yoongi. — Yoongi extends his hand for a handshake, and I swear I’m afraid to shake it, he looks at me like he wants to bite me at any moment.

 — It’s a pleasure to meet you. — I shake his hand, and he returns the handshake, but lightly.

— Likewise. — He says curtly, but his voice is deep and sensual. Fayette is a lucky woman.

— I’ll join Namjoon, dear. Stay where I can see you. — He says lovingly to her, and it's sweet how he uses “see you” to refer to her and their little one, and he gives her a loving kiss on the forehead before walking away. The scene of their small gesture of love is so beautiful that the name “Namjoon” leaving his mouth doesn’t make me nervous.

 — Are you excited to see the ritual? — Fayette wraps herself around my arm, excited.

 — What is it?

— Basically, the boys have an arm-wrestling match, and the last one standing challenges the alpha, and then they have to hunt for all of us. — Fay explains excitedly.

— When you say hunt…

— Not people. — She smiles. — Don’t worry. It's other animals, like deer.

— Where is Yong-Ji?

— Probably behind those trees, kissing someone.

— Oh. — I say, surprised and laughing. — She doesn’t look like that kind of person.

— I used to think that too. — Fay laughs.

— How you two…

The sound of some kind of horn interrupts me, the chatter stops, and I don’t know why, but I start to get nervous, a little itch behind my neck, and a shiver. A man places a large chair next to the circle. Fayette and I are a little further from the people because I didn’t want to draw attention to the event that was special to them with my human scent, but I can see Fayette’s husband, and I can bet I heard her sigh when she saw him. Another man exits the tent, dressed only in pants with body paintings, with several circles and designs.

— What do the designs mean? — I whisper the question to Fayette.

— They mean strength, power, and loyalty.

When the man blows the horn differently than the first time, Namjoon steps out from behind the tent with all his grace and sexiness, his muscular torso exposed, with the same designs; he exudes power when he sits in the chair set for him, you can feel how respected he is by everyone.

The ritual begins with a pair of boys fighting bravely in a fair match, boys of various ages, I’d guess around 19 or more, it’s a brutal fight with a lot of blood, but the boys are tough. I’ve never liked fights and blood much, but it’s interesting to watch because, despite all the brutality, it was almost beautiful.

There were about 15 boys, and as Fayette had said before, only one stayed standing, and he seemed to be the oldest among them, I’d bet he’s around my age, he’s very strong. At this point, Namjoon rises from his chair with all the dominance and power he has, I know he’s going to meet the boy who challenged him, but his gaze is entirely on me, and I feel my body start to respond, the heat rising within me, and wearing that outfit becomes unbearable.

When the fight starts, strangely, all the movements Namjoon makes to dodge the opponent’s blows leave me wet. The way his body dances in the fight is so light that I feel pity when the boy takes a punch because it’s strong and brutal. I start hyperventilating and feeling my body sweat. I close my legs in search of relief, but it’s impossible. I feel suffocated with all that clothing, and all I want is to run back to Yong-Ji’s house and get under the shower. But he looks at me, and I feel an overwhelming urge to scream.

— Cadance, are you okay? — Fayette notices my distress.

— N-N-No, I-I need to go.

I run quickly to Yong-Ji’s house, take off all that clothing, leaving only my leggings and bra, and run to the kitchen sink, putting my head under the water to try to relieve all that heat. I hear the front door open, and I can bet it’s Fayette, worried.

— Go back there, Fay, I’m fine. Your husband might be worried if he doesn’t find you. — I say with my head still under the faucet.

— Are you really okay? — Namjoon’s voice leaves me stunned, and I pull away from the faucet quickly.

— What are you doing here? D-Don’t you have a ritual to finish?

— I finished right after you left, now they’re all hunting. — He answers calmly. Namjoon is still in his ritual attire, wearing only pants.

— Don’t you need to participate in the hunt? — He smiles, probably liking that I’m interested.

— Technically, no. — He closes the door and doesn’t approach. — Are you okay?

— No, I’m not okay! I feel like I’m going to collapse. — I rant. — Why does your bite make me want you so badly? Why?

— My bite doesn’t make you want me, that’s something you. — He says calmly, slowly approaching.

— Yong-Ji said the moon would make me feel things…

— Yes, but it doesn’t make you love me.

— How do you know I love you? — With each of his steps, my heart beats faster.

— I don’t know, I just… feel it. — Namjoon gets very close, tugs a wet strand of my hair behind my ear. — Because I feel the same. I know you’re suffering, and I am too. — He brushes his lips against mine, torturously. — You were chosen to be mine, but I wanted you to choose me to be yours. What are you so afraid of?

 — I don’t know. — My eyes become watery because everything I’m feeling feels like an explosion of emotions. — I want you, but…

— What? — He smells my neck and leaves a kiss there.

— I’ve never felt this way about anyone, and it scares me.

— I understand. — He kisses my cheek. — But be sure, I can make you angry, but I’ll never disappoint you. Since our first night, I’ve been yours.

— Kiss me. — I ask, and it doesn’t take long. Namjoon attacks my lips, and I don’t want gentleness, I want him now.

The kiss is wild, he grabs the back of my neck and my waist, bringing me closer to him, I moan and try at all costs to hold on to him more, my body is crying out for him. Namjoon pulls me by the legs and places me on his lap, he moves through the house and enters the room where Yong-Ji is placing me.

Oh God.

He lays me down on the bed and lowers himself to the edge of the bed, between my legs, takes off his pants and lets out a moan. The air rushes in and out of my lungs, keeping me unable to function.

I look down, seeing him staring at my soaked white lace panties. He takes the piece of lace between his fingers and pulls it off. Soon after, his soft, cool tongue caresses the lips of my pussy. A soft, needy moan escapes my lips. He lifts his face to look at me.

— Namjoon...

I didn't know what to say, only because if he stopped now, I could go crazy. And kill him. Definitely kill him, for teasing a woman who hadn’t had sex with anyone but him since that night. His lips curved into a sexy, confident smile. 

— I didn’t get to taste you that day, but I bet you taste like cinnamon.— He lowered his head and gave me a slow lick before I could process his words. — Mmm…

He growled into my pussy. The vibration sent a wave of pleasure racing through me. I fell back onto the bed, gripping the sheets in a white-knuckle grip. 

— Oh my…— He licked my pussy, around my clit and down to my anus. Fire spread in my belly and raced down between my legs. — God!

Namjoon licked my entrance, thrust his tongue into my pussy and began to tongue fuck it. I moaned loudly. His arms tightened around my thighs to keep my head pressed against him. In and out. Over and over, he thrusts the rough length of his tongue into my pussy.

I throw the blanket in my fists and grip the soft ends of his hair with both hands. I press my sex into his mouth, rocking my hips against his lips.

— Oh, oh, oh, oh! — I moan, focusing solely on the tension coiling inside me.

He rubs two fingers against my dripping entrance, dipping them inside and fucking me with quick, aggressive movements. Namjoon runs his tongue over my clit, licking in small circles over the swollen nub. He swirls his ring finger over my wet ass and slides it inside. Then he fucks me with two fingers: one in my pussy and the other in my ass. I gasp, the stretching tension so much tighter inside me. Namjoon sucks the small pleasure center into his mouth and grazes it with his teeth, biting it lightly.

I whimper. I’m so close.

With Namjoon sucking on my clit, I scream as a wave of pleasure washes over me. I gasp, sucking air into my lungs, hoping to catch my breath.

A loud ripping noise makes me snap my eyes open. Namjoon has ripped his pants off, then the last piece of clothing I have left. A groan lodges in my throat when I realize he’s completely naked. Thick muscles bind his lower body, and his long, hard cock points straight between my legs.

I spread my legs wide for him, but he shakes his head.

— Turn over onto your stomach. — he says. His voice is a deep growl.

The harsh tone only served to make me heat up all over again. His jaw was clenched and his nostrils flared. It was clear he was having trouble controlling himself. For some reason, instead of getting scared, I got even more turned on.

Carefully, taking my time, I turned over onto my stomach, lifted my ass up in the air and smiled at him.

— Is that what you want?

I watched him stroke his long length. Moisture dripped from the head of his cock, which he used to lube himself. That's when I realized he wasn't wearing a condom and well, I shouldn't worry now since we've already done that, but I asked anyway.

— Where's your protection?

He continued to stroke his cock, lubricating it with the drops of pre-ejaculate.

— Pure wolves don't get STDs, or any of your human diseases.

Was that enough? I doubted he could get me pregnant. He's part wolf, after all. I'm no expert, but I was pretty sure that interspecies mating wouldn't produce any babies, I guess. Still, I'd never had sex without a condom. The question vanished from my mind when he approached me from behind, grabbing my hips and rubbing the head of his cock between my cheeks.

— I... Um... I don't think I'm ready for anal right now.

I'd never done anything to that entrance before, and I wasn't sure if I'd like it either. It's one thing for him to put his finger in my ass while licking it so well I don't even notice, and quite another for him to shove his very large cock back there.

— Relax baby, I'm not going in your sweet ass. — Namjoon grins and slides the head of his cock down until it's at my entrance. — Unless you want me there. — he adds and thrusts forward, filling me in one quick slide.

— Oh my God. 

I drop my head forward, resting my forehead on the soft sheets, my hands gripping the bedclothes. 

He pulls out until he’s almost completely out of me and then slams back in. I groan, gripping the sheets tighter. 

His cock slams in and out of my pussy in quick, slurping motions. His grip is tight on my hips. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh, mixed with loud moans and whimpers fills the air in the early evening. 

With each hard thrust inside me, he pushes me closer to climax. His movements increase in speed, becoming more forceful. I’m not sure what’s changed, but savagery has taken over his advances. Then he’s forcing my body at a downward angle, giving him a powerful double view from behind. 

He growls, falling onto my back, his movements even faster and harder, with a growing desperation. Bursts of heat race down my spine and center in my belly. 

Harsh breaths and low growls sounded from the back of my neck, a harsh, panting time with his own ragged breathing.

— Please, God, please…

I’m ready to offer him everything, if he’ll just make me come.

Our sweat covered both of our bodies, making it easy for him to slide and slide up and down my back. He brushed his lips over the curve of my shoulder, causing a slow vibration along the flesh, before flicking his tongue quickly.

— I know what you want, baby. I know what you need.— He licked my sweaty shoulder repeatedly, his rough tongue adding to the overly sensitized sensation of my skin. — And I’m going to give it to you right now, baby.

Desperate moans raced through my throat.

He pounded me with his cock. My gasp increased with each fluid stroke.

His licks drugged me into such frantic desperation, I didn’t even think about his teeth grazing my back.

— You’re so fucking perfect, Cadance.

My breath hitched and my orgasm rushed toward me so quickly, I could taste it. 

I scream, vibrating through the waves of release as he moves his cock into my pussy and the throbs and tremors beat one after the other. His smooth body stiffens against my back as his hot cum fills my womb in rapid bursts. For long moments, he just continues to cum inside me, licking and kissing the back of my neck.

Boneless and exhausted, I lie on my stomach, huffing and puffing. My brain and body have turned to jelly and are not in working order for the foreseeable future.

He lies down beside me and pulls me to him, until I am lying, half draped over him and with my face resting on his chest.

This night has been different in an almost cosmic way. On our first, almost disastrous night, which was also wonderful, I had not felt what I felt now. Maybe it was because I am now accepting of feeling what I feel for him, I am accepting him as he is.

Now I am his mate.

We lay there for long minutes, we were exhausted in a good way, dirty, but refreshed. Maybe Yong-Ji would freak out when she saw the beautiful bed sheets stained with paint, sweat and sex, but I'm sure she would forgive.

When our breathing became stable, I still draw the same designs he had painted on my skin a few hours ago, with the tip of my nail on his chest, while he caressed my head to the ends of my hair, and that delicious caress was almost making me fall over.

— Nam, what happens to my body when you mark it? — I look up and he has a tired smile on his face.

— Your body starts to age more slowly, your senses become a bit heightened, and you can feel my fears, worries, and joys. — I nod. — You can ask those questions that are on your mind, baby.

— Really? Because I have a few in mind, and they might sound stupid.

He smiles and places a kiss on my forehead. It's so gentle and loving that it makes me want to cry; I never imagined being loved like this.

— They won’t sound stupid to me. I’ll be happy to answer all of them. You’re my partner, you deserve to know everything you need to know about me and your new family.

— And what if one of them doesn’t accept me because I’m human?

— They might not accept you, but they should respect you as an equal because, by disrespecting you, they’re disrespecting me too.

— That’s strangely sexy.

— Oh, really? — He raises an eyebrow, and I nod. — Good to know.

— You know what’s the funniest thing about all of this? — He shakes his head. — My new book is about a human and a wolf, fate’s irony, right?

— I wouldn’t call it irony, but something that was destined to be. — Namjoon sits down, leaning his back against the headboard of the bed, and I snuggle against him. — My mom used to say that we all have things written for us to happen, and there’s no way to change it, because even if you try to deviate from fate, things always seem to move toward happening.

— That’s interesting. Can you tell me later? I want to write it down for my book. — He smiles and nods. — I don’t want to ruin the mood, but Yong-Ji told me about some guy named Dolphius and his lab rats.

Namjoon growls softly when he hears the man’s name.

— It’s under control for now, and with you here, we have more control over him because he can’t manipulate me. But Dolphius is a relentless man, and he wants revenge for being kicked out of his pack; however, my team is ready for him if he wants war.

— Oh, wow! — I exclaim, surprised. — That line would be great in the book too.

My words break the tense mood, and he smiles, pulling me closer.

— How are the sex scenes in your book going? — He asks, squeezing my waist. — I read one of your books about a bad boy and a nerdy librarian, and I have to confess, I would love to recreate some scenes with you. They’re hot, and I got horny reading them.

I feel my face turn red.

— Well, um... I haven’t gotten to the sex part yet, I mean, there were those preliminaries.

— So we should create some scenes so you can remember them when writing, huh? — When Namjoon pulls me, I feel his hard dick touching my stomach, and I already know what’s coming.

— That sounds like a good idea. — I give a wicked smile and let him lie on top of me and position himself between my legs.

— I love you, Cadance. — He declares, looking straight into my eyes as he enters me.

— I love you too, Nam. — I hold his hand, and I can feel that he’s taking things slow, but it’s delicious and romantic at the same time.

— From my body to yours, a heart, forever.

Namjoon’s last words, whispered before we lose ourselves in pleasure, were the most beautiful and sweet thing I’ve ever heard. I felt my eyes tear up because at that moment, I could feel that I would now be one hundred percent complete because I found my love, my partner.

[sweetwrite]

REIGN - JJK.

© SWEETWRITE, 2025. All rights reserved. Do not steal, repost, translate and/or claim these work as your own.

© SWEETWRITE, 2025. Todos os direitos reservados. Não roube, republique, traduza e/ou reivindique esses trabalhos como seus.

   ● Todos os personagens incluídos nesta história são de minha autoria. Alguns nomes serão mantidos, exceto sobrenomes.

   ● Qualquer semelhança com a realidade é mera coincidência.

   ● Esta história NÃO é de domínio público, ou seja: plágio é crime.

   ● Não é necessário ser de algum fandom para compreender.

            ESTA HISTÓRIA ABORDA:

- Drogas ilícitas.

- Palavrões.

- Cenas fortes.

- Violência.

NÃO RECOMENDADO PARA:

- Menores de 16 anos.

- Pessoas sensíveis à violência ou à temas relacionados.

- Pessoas sem imaginação e chatos de plantão.

     DM's ABERTAS PARA SUGESTÕES:

   ● Estarei aberta à sugestões e dicas nos chats ou comentários. Responderei assim que possível.

   ● Sintam-se livres para me alertarem sobre erros na gramática sempre que puderem.

   ● Sejam respeitosos na sessão de comentários.

》 Os capítulos não serão muito grandes, mas terão sempre muito carinho, conteúdo e dedicação 《

All love,

~Sweetie

[queenofadarkworld]

Greetings everyone. 🫰🏻💜

After a long time of intense thoughts it finally happened.

I released my first ever Imagine called "Your arms ♡ my only home". It's the first part of a series based on the K-Pop band BTS. Right now I'm already working on part two. 💪🏻🤭

I'm really curious what you guys think about it so I want to ask you nicely to please take a look at it and let me know your thoughts afterwards. 🫣

I deeply hope you like what you're about to see. I tried to do my very best and I promise to do my best in the future too.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for your time. 🫶🏻💜

https://youtu.be/zABujGIYv_U?si=3ydQIs1PQuPk12E0

[dailydoll444]

Shove my face down ur d!ck, now!!🥴

[noonecareslol]

When it hits 9 pm and I pull out this combo:

Ps: I have severe writers block. Help

[lbxbx]

Ten steps to you 10 | Jjk [ M ]

Pair: reader x Jungkook

Summary: night wrapped in candlelight and warm water turns into something deeper—where every kiss speaks louder than words, and every touch leaves them breathless. This time, there’s no turning back.

Genre: strangers to lovers, modern romance, slow burn.

Warning: Explicit content, rated m. MDNI

You said you’d see him tomorrow. But somehow, work pulled you in, and the office swallowed your day whole.

You meant to stop by, to see his parents one last time before they headed back to Busan. You wanted that.

But the hours slipped through your fingers, and all you managed was a rushed goodbye over the phone.

And now, you miss Jungkook.

You miss him so much it aches , quietly, insistently , like a song stuck in your chest.

You keep imagining it:

How you’ll wrap your arms around him and not let go.

How you’ll press your face into his neck and just breathe.

How you’ll kiss him , not urgently, but deeply , like making up for time lost.

He hasn’t let you forget he’s thinking about you.

Text after text. Call after call.

He’s been relentless in the softest way , checking in, teasing you, worrying over whether you’ve eaten.

And when the meetings stacked up, he had food delivered to your office without asking. You didn’t even need to say you were stressed , he just knew.

“You wanna go out tonight?” he asks, voice casual, glasses pushed back into his hair as he crouches over a book, carefully gluing the spine.

“I could get us a table. Something fancy. Just us.”

“No.”

There’s a pause.

You can almost hear the flicker of surprise through the phone , like he’s buffering. Waiting.

You smile softly to yourself.

“Let’s just stay in. We can have our fancy dinner here , just the two of us. Your place.”

You snap your bag shut, already halfway out the office door.

“Fancy dinner at home, then,” he hums, already falling into the idea. You can hear the smile in his voice , that low, pleased sound he makes when something goes his way.

“I’ll cook. Something real. Like, annoyingly romantic.”

“Annoyingly?”

“Yeah. Like candles, wine, and a dish that takes way too many steps for no reason. You deserve extra tonight.”

You don’t even try to fight the grin tugging at your lips.

God, you missed him.

-

By the time you get home, the air already feels different , electric, expectant.

You peel off the workday slowly, step by step, starting with your heels at the door, then the hairpin at the base of your neck.

In the shower, you let the water run hot , steam curling around you, washing the long day away.

You close your eyes and let your mind wander:

To the way he touches you like you’re fragile and fire at the same time.

To the way he looks at you like he’s already undressing you with his eyes.

To the way tonight might end , if you’re both brave enough to go there.

You step out, skin flushed, your hair wrapped in a towel.

The apartment is quiet, save for the soft hum of your playlist starting in the background , something moody and slow, just the way you like it.

You reach for the dress.

The one you’ve kept hidden in the back of the closet , silky, dark, and too much for most occasions.

But tonight, you want to be too much.

Too pretty. Too soft. Too wanted.

It slips over your skin like a secret , cool at first, then warm as it hugs your curves. The fabric clings just enough to tease, sways when you move.

You dab perfume along your neck, your wrists, the inside of your thighs , just in case.

Then you stand there for a beat in front of the mirror, trying to calm the flutter building in your chest.

-

He stands in front of the open fridge, one hand running through his hair, the other holding a carton of cherry tomatoes he’s not even sure he needs.

Cooking used to be a quiet hobby , something to do after long days at the library. But now, it’s different. Tonight feels like a performance. A promise. A slow, simmering confession.

He sets the tomatoes down.

No. This needs to be perfect.

He lights the candles first , before anything else.

One on the table. Two on the counter. A few in the bathroom, placed deliberately around the tub filled halfway, petals floating like soft punctuation marks in warm water.

The bedroom, too , dimmed, prepped. Petals on the bedspread. A quiet dare he doesn’t name aloud.

He’s not trying to seduce you.

He’s just ready , finally , to let himself show how much he wants you.

All of you.

Back in the kitchen, he rolls up his sleeves and gets to work.

The pasta dough is already resting. He started it hours ago, like some lovesick fool, mixing eggs and flour like he was conjuring something sacred.

Now, he slices garlic thin, lets olive oil heat slowly in the pan, fills the room with a smell that’s already intoxicating.

He checks his phone between steps , a quick glance, just in case you’ve texted.

You haven’t.

Good. You’re probably getting ready. He imagines you towel-dried, skin warm from the shower, choosing a dress that will ruin him on sight.

He nearly burns the sauce thinking about it.

He pours himself a half glass of wine , just enough to take the edge off his nerves , and tastes the sauce again. Perfect. Creamy, spiced just right. He spoons a little into a bowl for later, already planning to feed you a bite.

Your laugh is playing in his head, soft and close, like you’re already here.

He shakes his head and runs a hand down his jaw. It’s ridiculous how much he misses you after just a day apart.

He’s always been good at waiting.

But tonight? Tonight he’s not so sure he can hold back much longer.

-

He wipes his hands on the dish towel for the third time in five minutes. The kitchen’s clean, dinner’s almost done, the candles are burning low and steady , but his hands still won’t stay still.

He hates this part , the waiting.

Because you’re on your way.

Because he knows what tonight could mean.

And because he’s never wanted someone the way he wants you right now , not just in his bed, but everywhere.

He walks to the living room, adjusts the cushions, then moves them back.

He checks the lights , warm, low , and then checks them again.

He goes to the mirror in the hallway, runs a hand through his hair, then down his neck. His shirt’s too crisp. He undoes the top two buttons. Rolls his sleeves up higher. Less put-together, more undone , for you.

The scent of dinner lingers around him , roasted garlic, wine, basil , cozy and heady. He hopes it clings to his skin, hopes you’ll lean in and breathe him in when you hug him.

He thinks about your voice , the way it dipped low when you said, “Let’s just stay in.”

The way you made that sound like something intimate. Like a secret only he got to share.

He couldn’t answer fast enough.

He didn’t want anyone else around tonight.

Just you.

His phone buzzes once , a message.

“Leaving now.”

His chest tightens.

Twenty minutes.

He walks into the bathroom one last time, checks the candles flickering gently around the tub. The water is still warm, the petals still floating. He lowers the lights.

The scent of sandalwood is faint but present , grounding, rich.

He imagines your reaction when you see it , when you realize he planned all this.

Not just for romance, but for you.

Because he listens. Because he remembers.

Back in the bedroom, he pauses at the foot of the bed.

It looks like something out of a movie , petals spread across the sheets, soft candlelight kissing the walls. He’s never done anything like this before. Not for anyone.

But you make him want to do things.

Say things.

Risk things.

He can already feel it , the moment your eyes meet his, the way you’ll melt into his arms, the way the air will thicken with every silent beat between words.

He doesn’t know exactly how tonight will unfold, but he knows how he wants it to end:

Your dress on the floor.

Your skin under his hands.

Your voice in his ear , soft, breathless, saying his name like it’s only meant for nights like this.

The clock ticks.

Seventeen minutes.

He pours two glasses of wine and waits.

-

You don’t remember the last time you felt this… keyed up.

Your body is ready. Your mind is spinning. Every inch of you is aware that you’re going to see him , touch him , soon.

The car ride is quiet. Too quiet. You keep glancing at your phone, watching the minutes tick down like you’re counting breaths. You’re not sure if you’re nervous or just… impatient.

It’s not like this is your first time seeing him.

It’s just the first time it feels like everything has been leading to this.

The silky fabric of your dress shifts against your thighs as you cross your legs, smooth the hem, adjust the neckline. You’d taken your time getting ready , probably too much time. Perfume. Lipstick. Jewelry you only wear when you want to be noticed.

You wanted him to notice tonight.

You imagine his hands , the way they might slide along your waist when he opens the door. His arms pulling you in. His voice, low in your ear: “You look unreal.”

The thought makes you press your thighs together.

Your heart skips when you see the building.

You’re really here.

And he’s upstairs , waiting.

When the elevator doors close behind you, you check your reflection in the steel wall. Your cheeks are flushed, lips soft and slightly parted, hair falling just the way you wanted. You don’t look nervous.

You look ready.

You inhale slowly and exhale even slower, trying to anchor yourself. But even as the numbers climb floor by floor, your pulse only rises.

By the time you’re standing in front of his door, your palms are warm, your stomach fluttering. There’s candlelight spilling from underneath the frame. You can smell garlic and something richer, something deeper , wine maybe, or herbs that have been simmering for hours.

You lift your hand to knock.

Then pause.

Because this is it.

After all the dates, all the moments, all the things neither of you said but both of you meant , tonight isn’t just dinner.

It’s an answer.

You knock.

Soft. Once.

And then the door opens.

He holds you just a little tighter, his voice low and full of something that makes your skin tingle.

“You look breathtaking,” he says, eyes tracing every curve of your silk dress, the way it catches the light, the soft flush on your cheeks.

You feel your breath hitch at the way he says it , like you’re the only thing he’s been thinking about all day.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his gaze gentle, curious.

“So, tell me… how was your day? Really. Not the work stuff I’m guessing you had to deal with, but you , how are you?”

You settle into his easy tone, the warmth in his eyes making it easier to breathe, to let down the walls you’ve been holding up.

“It was… busy,” you admit, a small smile playing on your lips. “Long meetings, tight deadlines. But thinking about tonight? That helped.”

He chuckles softly, a sound that makes you feel like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

“Well, you’re here now. So, that’s the only deadline that matters.”

He takes your hand, guiding you toward the dining table. The candles flicker softly, casting shadows that dance along the walls, making everything feel intimate, private , like this moment belongs only to the two of you.

He stands and heads toward the kitchen, the soft clink of plates and pots breaking the quiet.

When he returns, he carries two steaming plates, the aroma of garlic, basil, and something rich filling the room.

“Okay, don’t judge,” he grins, setting the plates down carefully. “This might be my best disaster yet.”

You raise an eyebrow, amused. “Disaster? That smells amazing.”

He shrugs, sitting back down with a mock-serious face. “Well, I might have nearly burned the sauce. Twice. But I saved it , hero style.”

You laugh, the sound easy and light. “So… do you actually like cooking? Or is this just to impress me?”

He smirks, leaning forward, eyes sparkling. “A little of both. But honestly? It’s nice to do something where I’m in control. And when the reward is seeing you enjoy it? That’s motivation.”

You watch him take a bite, then close his eyes, savoring it.

“Not bad, Jungkook. You might have a future as a chef.”

He laughs softly, then his tone drops a notch, more serious now. “Maybe. But cooking for you? That’s different. It’s not just about the food. It’s about this… this moment.”

Your fingers brush across the table, accidentally,or maybe not,finding his.

The warmth of his skin feels like a promise.

You lean in slightly, your voice softer. “I like this moment too.”

The soft clatter of cutlery blends with the quiet music playing in the background as you both savor the meal he’s prepared.

Jungkook looks across the table at you, his eyes warm, a shy smile tugging at his lips.

“You know,” he begins, voice low, “after the first date, I went home and… I couldn’t stop smiling. I kept replaying your laugh in my head.”

You smile, the memory of that night already soft and glowing.

“After the second date,” he continues, “I sat in my room for a while, just thinking about you. It hit me , this feeling, like maybe… maybe something was different this time.”

You meet his gaze, heart fluttering.

“I felt the spark too,” you confess, voice quiet but steady. “Right after the second date. I wasn’t sure if it was real or just hope, but… it was there.”

He reaches across the table, his hand brushing yours gently, sending a spark that makes you both pause.

“And after the third,” he adds, cheeks reddening a bit, “I caught myself wanting to tell you everything , even the silly stuff , because it felt like you’d actually listen.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you feel a warmth spread through your chest like sunlight breaking through clouds.

You squeeze his hand tighter, your smile softening into something deeper , something real.

“I’m really in love with you,” he says, voice low and steady, like he’s sharing the most precious secret in the world.

He lifts your hand gently to his lips, placing soft kisses there , slow, reverent, as if memorizing every inch of you.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he slides his chair closer, the warmth of his body drawing near.

His arm comes to rest on the back of your chair, his other hand still holding yours like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

“I wanna make up for all the time we didn’t spend together,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin.

You breathe in the moment, feeling every word sink deep into your soul.

“Me too,” you say, voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes search yours for a moment longer, as if giving you a chance to stop him , but you don’t.

You wouldn’t.

Instead, you lean in just the slightest bit.

And that’s all he needs.

He tilts his head and presses a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek. You feel the warmth of his lips long after they leave your skin.

Then another kiss, lower this time , along your jaw, his lips trailing slowly, deliberately, as if tasting the path he’s imagined more than once.

You exhale, the sound catching in your throat.

And then, his mouth finds the curve of your neck.

The kiss he plants there is deeper. Warmer. It lingers. It means something.

Your eyes flutter shut as your body leans instinctively into him, your free hand rising to gently clutch his shirt.

It’s like the tension you’ve been carrying all week , all month , melts beneath his mouth.

Like all the noise in your head just… quiets.

A soft gasp escapes you when he kisses just beneath your ear, and your legs press together beneath the table without thinking.

He feels it. Smiles faintly against your skin.

“Still with me?” he murmurs, lips brushing your neck as he speaks.

You nod, barely able to find your voice. “Barely.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you , flushed, breathless, undone in the best way.

“You’re beautiful when you melt,” he whispers, thumb brushing your cheekbone tenderly. “I want to see more of you like this.”

You don’t answer him with words.

You just look at him , really look at him , and whatever he sees in your eyes makes his breath hitch.

He leans in again, slower this time, watching your lips part instinctively.

Your hands rise without thought, fingers sliding up the front of his shirt, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your palms.

Then his mouth finds yours.

It’s soft at first. A gentle brush. A question.

But the second your lips move against his, everything shifts.

The tension you’ve been holding onto all day, the longing that’s been simmering under your skin for days now , it crashes into you like a wave.

You kiss him back, harder, surer, one hand fisting in the front of his shirt to pull him closer.

He exhales sharply against your mouth, the sound rough and low, and suddenly his hand is cupping the back of your neck, holding you in place like he can’t stand even an inch of distance between you.

Your mouths move together with that unspoken urgency , not rushed, but hungry. Deep. Like he’s trying to relearn the shape of your lips all over again.

His tongue brushes yours, and the heat between you surges, pulling a soft sound from your throat that makes him groan into your mouth.

You shift in your seat, trying to get closer, but it’s not enough.

It’s never enough when it’s him.

His chair scrapes softly as he moves it even nearer, and suddenly your knees are brushing, his thigh warm against yours.

He kisses you deeper now, angled just right to fit against you like puzzle pieces, like you were meant to do this , over and over again.

One of his hands slides from your jaw down your side, slow and open-palmed, fingertips grazing the silky fabric of your dress, finding the bare skin of your thigh through the slit.

You suck in a breath.

He swallows it, kissing you again , slower this time, but no less intense.

The kind of kiss that feels like a confession.

His thumb strokes your cheek gently even as his lips part yours again, his body pressed so close you can feel the heat of him radiating through your skin.

You pull back for just a second, panting, your lips swollen and your eyes hazy.

He looks at you like you’ve wrecked him.

And then his hand slips into your hair, his mouth finding yours again before you can speak, his lips moving against yours with a need that’s both reverent and desperate.

This time, there’s no space between you.

You rise slightly from your chair, moving into his lap without thinking, knees on either side of his thighs as his arms wrap around your waist, grounding you.

Your hands slide into his hair, fingers tangling as his tongue strokes yours again, deeper now, more sure.

Every kiss feels like a slow burn , the kind that doesn’t just spark, it consumes.

His lips trail down to your jaw again, then your neck , open-mouthed kisses that make your head fall back, exposing more of your throat to him.

You can feel him smile against your skin when your breath catches.

“You drive me insane,” he murmurs against your collarbone, voice rough, hoarse with wanting.

You press your forehead to his, your hands cupping his face. “Good.”

He kisses you again , slower, lazier now, but somehow even more intense. Like he’s trying to memorize the way your lips taste under candlelight. Like you’re the only thing that’s ever existed in this moment.

His hands move over your back, your waist, your hips , not rushing, just feeling. Mapping. Holding.

You press your chest to his, lips parting again as you sink into him, like gravity itself has given up trying to keep you two apart.

And even though you’re both breathless and flushed, neither of you wants to stop.

You finally pull back, both of you breathing like you’ve just surfaced from underwater.

His lips are red, kiss-bitten, and his hands are still gripping your waist like he can’t bring himself to let go.

You brush your nose against his, barely able to hold your smile.

“Weren’t we supposed to have a fancy night in?”

He chuckles softly, resting his forehead against yours. “We are. And it’s just getting started.”

His hand slips into yours, warm and sure, as he gently guides you up and toward the bathroom.

The lights are dimmed, soft golden candlelight flickering against tiled walls, casting everything in a dreamy glow.

Rose petals float lazily atop the steaming water, their crimson hue rich and romantic. The scent of lavender and something sweet fills the air, calming and heady all at once.

You glance at him, your heart thudding. “You really did all this?”

He smiles, pulling you close again. “Wanted you to feel spoiled. Worshipped.”

You blink at him, stunned for a second, and maybe a little breathless.

He brushes your hair back from your shoulder and presses a kiss just beneath your ear. “Now get in before the water goes cold.”

You slip out of your dress slowly, letting it fall in a soft whisper to the floor, feeling his gaze on you the entire time , reverent, never greedy. Just hungry.

You sink into the bath, the heat wrapping around you instantly, sighing as the warmth loosens your muscles.

Jungkook joins you moments later, slipping in behind you. You feel his thighs on either side of your hips, his chest warm against your back, arms sliding around your waist beneath the water.

You lean into him, your head resting against his shoulder, his chin finding a home in the crook of your neck.

It’s quiet for a few seconds. Just breath. Candlelight. Water.

Then his hands start to move.

Slowly.

They glide over your arms, your shoulders, your neck , massaging you with long, purposeful strokes.

His thumbs press into the base of your skull, kneading gently, and you moan softly, unable to help it.

“That feels…”

“Yeah?” he whispers, kissing the top of your shoulder. “I want you to feel good.”

You tilt your head slightly, giving him more access. His lips trail down the slope of your neck, wet and open-mouthed.

The water shifts softly as your body arches just a little against him, your hand reaching back to tangle in his damp hair.

His hands move lower now , brushing over your ribs, the curve of your waist, the tops of your thighs just beneath the waterline.

He’s touching you like you’re something sacred. Like this moment is a prayer.

You twist slightly in his arms so you can kiss him again, slower this time. His hands find your hips under the water, gripping softly as he presses into you, lips parting over yours like he needs more of you with every second.

The kiss deepens, turning heavy with want but never rushed.

When he pulls back, his voice is hoarse, lips damp and swollen.

“Not here,” he murmurs, forehead pressed to yours. “I want to take my time with you.”

Your breath catches, your skin tingling under his touch, under his gaze.

You nod, heart thudding. “Then let’s go slow.”

And he does.

He kisses your shoulder again, then your collarbone, then wraps his arms tightly around you from behind , holding you close as the heat of the water and the slow rhythm of your breath lull you into a haze of softness, desire, and quiet anticipation.

You shift slightly in the water, back arching just enough to press more fully into him , into the hard heat of him against your lower back. The pressure is unmistakable, and it sends a pulse of desire straight through your core.

He breathes in sharply when you move, his lips brushing the back of your neck.

His hands resume their slow, deliberate path along your shoulders, but it’s no longer just a massage. It’s worship , a silent devotion poured through his fingertips.

But then one hand dips lower, trailing down the curve of your side, your waist, your hip. The water moves with him, soft ripples lapping against your skin.

Your breath hitches.

He slides his fingers inward, under the water, over the sensitive skin of your thigh , and he pauses there, right at the edge of something electric.

Your head tips back against his shoulder, lips parted, your chest rising and falling with anticipation.

And when his fingers move again, slower now, finally brushing over where you’re most sensitive, you feel your entire body light up.

A soft sound escapes you , not quite a moan, more like a gasp wrapped in pleasure.

His lips are on your neck instantly, shushing, soothing, encouraging. “That’s it… just let me take care of you,” he murmurs, voice deep and steady despite the tightness in his breath.

He moves carefully, deliberately , slow strokes, more pressure, never rushing. He’s not chasing anything. He just wants to feel you unravel.

The sensation winds through you like silk, heat blooming low in your belly, your legs trembling under the surface. You clutch his wrist gently, not to stop him , never that , just to hold on.

Your eyes flutter closed, the candlelight behind your lids, your mouth slack with pleasure and trust.

It’s not just the way he touches you.

It’s the way he holds you while doing it.

Secure. Protective. Like you’re the only thing that matters.

“Jungkook.”

His name leaves your lips like a sigh, breathy and broken , soaked in heat and need , and it hits him like a strike to the chest.

He groans softly behind you, his lips pressing harder against your neck as if trying to bite back the flood of desire that rises inside him. That voice , your voice, saying his name like that , destroys him.

His hand stills where it rests between your legs, fingers twitching just once before he slides it upward, slow, reverent, like he’s rediscovering you.

He maps the path over your stomach, the delicate curve just below your ribs, his touch barely there , until he reaches higher.

And then he wraps his arm around you.

Fully.

His palm cups your breast as his other arm anchors you back against him, and suddenly there’s no space left at all.

You’re enveloped , in the water, in his heat, in his arms.

His thumb grazes the soft curve of your breast, and he swallows a rough sound when you arch into him, your back curving like a bowstring pulled tight.

Your skin is slick and warm from the water, and his hands feel every inch of it , tender but possessive, holding you like something precious he’s finally allowed to touch.

“I think about you like this,” he breathes against your ear, his voice low and ragged. “When I’m alone. When I miss you. When I can’t sleep.”

You let your head fall back onto his shoulder, your hand reaching up to tangle in his wet hair, heart pounding against your ribcage like it might burst.

“I want you to know how much I think about making you feel this good.”

His hand moves again, fingertips skating over the underside of your breast, then your sternum, like he can’t decide whether he wants to comfort you or drive you wild. Maybe both.

“You do,” you whisper, turning your face toward his. “You always do.”

Your lips meet again , twisted, breathless, too wet from steam and water and barely-contained want.

It’s a kiss that aches.

Not desperate. Just deep.

His hands frame your body as he kisses you from behind , one arm still holding your chest, the other curving around your stomach like a vow.

And when the kiss finally breaks, when your lips hover just apart, breath mingling , you feel it.

That shift.

That unspoken decision.

Neither of you wants this to end in the water.

Not yet.

He presses one last kiss behind your ear before murmuring, “Let me dry you off.”

He shifts behind you, pressing a final kiss to the side of your neck before moving. The water rocks gently around you as he rises from the tub, droplets trailing down his skin, catching candlelight like scattered diamonds.

You watch without even meaning to , or maybe you do.

The sight steals the breath from your lungs.

His back is the first thing you see, all broad muscle and defined lines, water clinging to the ridges of his shoulder blades and lower back. His hair drips in loose, dark strands, sticking to the nape of his neck, and the tattoos along his arm ripple with every movement as he reaches for a towel.

He’s casual about it , barely dragging the towel down his chest and over his hips, too focused on squeezing the water from his hair to realize the effect he’s having on you.

Or maybe he does know.

Because when he finally turns to face you, your eyes don’t even try to hide how they travel.

From the sharp lines of his collarbone to the firmness of his chest, the slope of his waist, the curve of his thighs.

And God, the way he looks at you in return , towel hung low on his hips, chest rising slowly, his gaze full of heat and mischief.

You realize your mouth is slightly open.

You swallow, caught in the act.

He smirks. Just barely. Like he saw it, too.

“You okay over there?” he asks, voice husky from the steam, eyes twinkling as he steps closer, water still trailing down the grooves of his stomach.

You blink, willing your voice to work. “I’m,fine.”

“Just fine?”

He’s at the edge of the tub now, crouching slightly, one hand reaching for yours. “Come here,” he says softly, and when your fingers slide into his, he brings them to his lips first , kissing your knuckles gently, as if to ground you.

“Let me take care of you now.”

He helps you stand, his towel brushing against your knees as he wraps a fresh one around your body, holding it in place as his arms curl around your waist.

The air between you sizzles , too thick with everything unsaid and everything felt.

You’re pressed against him now, nothing but damp skin and heated stares, and you swear you could live in the way he’s looking at you.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, voice reverent. “Even more so when you’re letting me look at you like this.”

He dries you off slowly, like he’s memorizing every drop of water left on your skin , every line, every curve. His touch isn’t rushed, isn’t clinical. It’s adoring. Focused. Like he has nowhere else to be but right here, taking care of you.

Once you’re wrapped in the soft towel, his hands linger on your arms, sliding down to hold your fingers again. He kisses your temple, then leans back, just enough to look at you fully.

“Come with me,” he whispers.

You follow him barefoot down the short hallway, wrapped in candlelight and the scent of rose petals that only grows stronger as he opens the bedroom door.

The room is aglow , warm and golden, the flicker of candles lining the dresser and nightstands like tiny stars.

Petals are scattered in a trail across the wooden floor, spilling onto the ivory duvet like a celebration. The bed looks impossibly soft, inviting, like it’s been waiting just for this moment.

And maybe… so have you.

You pause in the doorway, soaking it all in.

He glances back at you, the light catching in his eyes. “Too much?”

You shake your head, breath catching. “It’s perfect.”

He smiles , and that smile… it’s enough to melt your knees.

“I’ll get you another towel,” he says softly, moving to the wardrobe , but before he can even open it, you’re already stepping forward.

“Leave it,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “Come here.”

His gaze darkens instantly. He crosses the room slowly, towel slung low on his hips, his every step quiet but heavy with intent. When he reaches you, his hand slides up your arm, warm and careful, until his fingers find the edge of your towel.

His eyes search yours for a heartbeat. A question. Always giving you the space to say no.

But you nod. Just once.

And with a gentle tug, the towel slips from your shoulders and pools at your feet.

His breath stutters , a soft, reverent sound , and he closes the distance, his palms smoothing over your sides, your back, your waist as he pulls you against him.

Your skin to his.

Heart to heart.

The kiss that follows is slow, molten, full of everything you’ve both been holding back. He kisses you like you’re air, like you’re home , and as his arms tighten around your waist, you feel it all crashing down in waves.

Need.

Love.

Longing.

He walks you backwards gently, his lips never leaving yours, until the backs of your knees hit the bed. You sit, the mattress sighing beneath you, and he follows , kneeling in front of you like you’re sacred.

He kisses your thighs. Your belly. The soft inside of your wrist.

Every touch is a promise.

“I’m gonna take my time,” he says, voice thick, brushing your hair back from your face. “I want this to be slow. Just us tonight.”

His lips trail down the column of your neck with aching slowness, leaving soft, open-mouthed kisses in his wake , gentle at first, then more purposeful.

When he bites, it’s delicate , just enough to make your breath hitch, his teeth grazing your skin before he soothes the spot with his tongue. A soft gasp escapes you when he sucks lightly at the sensitive hollow just above your collarbone, and you swear you feel his smirk against your skin.

Then lower.

He kisses down your sternum, his hands warm and steady as they slide up your sides, anchoring you in place. His breath fans against the top of your chest as he pauses there, his lips hovering over the curve of your breast.

He looks up at you.

Half-lidded, dazed , like he’s drunk on you already. His brows are drawn together in that familiar crease of focus, like he’s memorizing every inch of you, every reaction.

And then he leans in.

His lips press a soft, reverent kiss to the slope of your breast. Then another, lower now. He licks a slow line along your skin, tasting you, teasing , until his mouth closes over your nipple.

The sensation hits you in a rush , a wave of warmth that surges straight to your core.

He groans, low in his throat, like this is heaven for him too.

His hand comes up, large and gentle, cupping the other breast with care, his thumb sweeping across your sensitive skin in slow, deliberate circles.

But it’s his mouth that undoes you.

He sucks , not too hard, not rushed. Just enough to pull a moan from deep in your chest, to make your back arch up into him instinctively.

The sound he makes in return is sinful. Gratified. Like your pleasure is his reward. Like he’s starving for it.

His tongue moves in slow, teasing swirls, lips warm and firm, and that little crease between his brows deepens as he keeps going, mouth locked around you like he can’t bear to stop.

His eyes flutter open briefly , glazed, dark, hungry , then fall shut again as he leans further in, hand tightening around your waist to keep you close.

“God,” he breathes, voice muffled against your skin. “You taste so good.”

The words land low in your belly, where the fire is building and building, and your fingers thread into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan again.

You’re not even sure who’s enjoying this more , you or him.

He doesn’t lift his mouth from your skin, not even once.

It’s like he’s made a silent vow , to worship every inch of you with lips and tongue, like his life depends on it. His kisses become slower, deeper, as he descends down your body, tasting you with a kind of reverence that makes your breath tremble in your chest.

When he reaches your stomach, he pauses , lips pressed against the soft skin just below your navel, eyes fluttering closed like he’s grounding himself, or savoring the moment.

Then comes a bite , playful, sharp enough to make your hips twitch , and a low chuckle rumbles in his throat when he feels your thighs shift.

“Still with me?” he murmurs, voice thick.

You can barely nod. Your fingers tangle in the sheets. You’re burning, unraveling under every kiss, every drag of his lips.

He keeps going.

Lower.

His hands trail down your sides, then slip beneath your thighs. In one smooth motion, he drops to his knees at the edge of the bed, palms curving under your legs as he pulls you toward him with a strength that makes your whole body jolt.

Now you’re open. Spread for him.

And the way he looks at you , from beneath those lashes, jaw tense, lips parted in awe , it makes you ache.

Like you’re art.

Like he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

He presses kisses to the inside of your thigh , soft at first. Lingering. Then, slower… deeper. A nibble here. A scrape of his teeth there. You gasp when one of them catches a little too hard, and he soothes it with his tongue, leaving a bruise behind like a secret only he’ll know.

“You’re so sensitive,” he whispers, mouthing at the same spot. “I love that.”

Your stomach tightens.

The tension is unbearable now , your hips subtly rising toward his mouth, wordlessly pleading, but he’s not in a rush. He wants to savor. To drag it out.

You feel his breath against your center before you feel his lips. Warm. Slow. Intentional.

And then, finally ,

A kiss.

Right there.

Soft and slow, so achingly tender you nearly cry out from the relief.

His lips press against your clit like a confession.

And your whole body answers.

A sharp inhale. A tremble in your thighs. The slow, liquid heat spreading low in your belly until it curls deep, demanding more.

He groans at the way your body reacts , deep and low, like he needs this , and he kisses you again, slower this time. Like he’s introducing himself.

No rush.

No chaos.

Just reverence.

And you know, in this moment, that he’s not just trying to please you.

He’s worshiping you.

His eyes waver, debating whether to stay open and watch you unravel, or close and simply savor the taste of you.

Your head falls back as your eyes roll, lids fluttering shut the moment his tongue flicks against your entrance. He kisses his way up slowly,languid, deliberate,until he reaches your clit. Another flick. And then he seals his lips around it, sucking gently.

His eyes are on you now. Watching. Asking. Testing.

Is this okay?

It’s more than okay.

Your entire body is frozen in place, stunned by the rush of pleasure overtaking you. Your fingers find his hair instinctively, tangling in the strands as a quiet moan escapes your lips.

“Yes..”

The word barely leaves your lips before it melts into another breathless gasp. He hums against you at the sound,low and pleased,sending a new ripple of sensation through your core. The vibration makes your thighs twitch around his head, but his hands are already there, holding you firmly in place.

He takes his time. No rush, no urgency,just slow, precise attention, as if you’re something sacred. His tongue works you in soft, circular motions, then flattens and drags upward in a rhythm that has your toes curling in the air.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, your hips lifting off the edge of the bed in a silent plea for more, for something deeper,closer. He understands. Of course he does. He always does.

He slides one arm further beneath you, lifting your hips slightly so he can reach you at a better angle, and it’s perfect,too perfect. A soft whimper escapes your throat before you can even think to hold it back. You feel his mouth curve in the faintest smile against you.

He loves this. Loves you like this,undone, open, real.

Your heart is pounding now, faster than it should be. Not just from the rising wave of pleasure building between your legs, but from how deeply you’re feeling everything. Every touch. Every kiss. Every unspoken word in his eyes.

“Jungkook,” you gasp his name, half warning, half worship. Your chest heaves as your back arches.

Every muscle in your body is straining, caught on the edge,waiting for that final push. He gives it to you in the form of one long, steady suck, and that’s when it happens.

It crashes into you like a wave.

Your stomach tightens, your back arches off the mattress. A soft, broken cry rips from your chest, and your whole body shudders,helpless and raw. The heat coils and releases all at once, like something inside you just snapped free.

White. That’s all you see.

Your hands clutch at his hair, his shoulders, anything to keep you anchored as pleasure courses through every nerve ending, toes curling, heart pounding. It’s too much and not enough all at once,like being unraveled and held together at the same time.

And through it all, he doesn’t let go.

He holds you, rides the tremors with you, kissing through the waves as they come in pulses, each one softer than the last, until you finally melt back into the bed sheets, trembling and dazed.

When your eyes flutter open, he’s already looking at you,quiet, reverent, like he just witnessed something sacred.

His lips are glossy, swollen, and his hair is slightly tousled from your hands. But it’s the look in his eyes that finishes you. Dark, tender, reverent.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he whispers, voice rough with restraint. “You feel it, don’t you?”

You nod, barely able to catch your breath.

He leans up, his mouth trailing wet kisses along your inner thigh, your hip, your stomach. By the time he reaches your chest, you’re already reaching for him,pulling him up, needing to feel him fully, skin to skin.

He settles above you, water still dripping down his neck from his damp hair, and when he kisses you, slow and deep, you taste yourself on his lips. But more than that, you taste how much he wants you. How much he cares.

This isn’t just lust. It never was.

It’s him. It’s you. It’s everything in between.

His lips find yours again,slow, unhurried. He just wants you to taste yourself, to feel how much he enjoys every part of you. There’s no rush. Just warmth. Devotion. The kind of kiss that says I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere.

He settles between your legs, his body aligning perfectly with yours as he continues kissing you,soft, deep pulls at your bottom lip, a gentle hum in his throat like he’s savoring everything.

Then, he pauses.

Forehead resting against yours, both of you breathing each other in, chests rising and falling in quiet sync.

His voice comes low, a breath more than a sound.

“Tell me if this is okay.”

His nose brushes against yours, and his hand cups your cheek,thumb stroking slowly.

“I need to hear you say it.”

Not because he doubts your desire,he’s felt it, seen it in your eyes, heard it in your voice. But because you matter. Because this isn’t just about pleasure for him. It’s about being sure. About honoring every inch of your yes.

Your lips part,your voice still shaky, but your gaze steady.

“Yes,” you whisper, voice soft but certain. “I want this. I want you.”

A flicker of something raw flashes in his eyes,relief, reverence, something deeper than lust. He kisses you again, slower this time, like he’s sealing a promise between your mouths.

Then, with careful hands and steady breath, he lines himself up, letting the tip of him brush against you. He pauses once more, eyes locked with yours, giving you the space to pull him closer,or stop him.

You wrap your legs gently around his waist in answer, guiding him in.

The stretch makes your breath catch. He enters you slowly, inch by inch, eyes never leaving your face,watching every twitch of your brow, every change in your breath, making sure it’s still okay, still right.

And it is.

You gasp softly, hands sliding up his back as he settles fully inside you. The feeling is overwhelming,filling, grounding, right. Like something that was meant to fit.

Neither of you move for a long moment. You’re both just… there. Breathing each other in. Letting the reality of it sink in.

Jungkook presses his forehead to yours again, voice almost breaking.

“You feel like home.”

Your heart clenches at that. The way he says it, not like a line,just truth. Pure and unfiltered.

You thread your fingers through his damp hair, tugging him closer. “Then stay.”

He kisses you once, twice,then he starts to move.

Slow, controlled strokes that make your whole body arch into his. It’s not just pleasure. It’s something deeper,like your souls are brushing against each other with every movement. His hips roll into yours with a rhythm that speaks of care, of intimacy built one soft thrust at a time.

He murmurs things between kisses,your name, bits of praise, quiet groans of your effect on him. Your nails trail gently down his back, your thighs tightening around him as you match his rhythm.

The room is filled with soft sounds,skin meeting skin, breathless moans, the occasional whisper of “you’re perfect” or “just like that.”

It builds again, slowly. Like a storm on the horizon, inevitable but beautiful. Your fingers find his face, thumbs brushing over his cheeks as your eyes meet,completely open, no defenses left.

And in that moment, it’s not about climax. It’s about being seen. Known. Loved.

His hips move in slow, deliberate rolls,deep, measured strokes that leave no part of you untouched. It’s not hurried. It’s not frenzied. It’s intentional.

Every time he moves inside you, it’s like he’s learning something,memorizing how you react, how your breath catches, how your legs tighten slightly around his waist when he hits just the right spot.

You trail your hands down his back, feeling the strength beneath his skin, the way his muscles shift and tense with each thrust. He shudders slightly when your nails drag softly along his spine, and you smile against his shoulder, tucking your face into the crook of his neck.

You’ve never felt so close to someone. So open. So seen.

Jungkook shifts his weight onto one forearm, freeing his other hand to explore. His fingers slide down between your bodies, brushing your side, your stomach, until they find the space where you meet. He touches you there gently,just enough to make your breath stutter again.

“That feel good?” he whispers against your ear, voice thick, almost reverent.

You nod, but it’s not enough,you need to tell him.

“Yes,” you breathe. “God, yes… just don’t stop.”

His lips find the spot just beneath your jaw, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your neck. His fingers move in slow circles in perfect sync with his hips, and it’s overwhelming in the best way,a total surrender. Your body doesn’t know where to focus: the deep pull inside you, the friction at your center, his breath against your skin, the way he says your name like it’s holy.

You can hear his own restraint in every exhale. He’s holding back,not for himself, but for you. Making sure you’re not lost in the moment alone, but held in it. Grounded.

“I could stay like this forever,” he murmurs suddenly, the words spilling from his lips before he can stop them. His voice is hoarse and breathless, like he didn’t mean to say it out loud,but every syllable rings true.

Your chest tightens. The emotion behind it,the vulnerability,is more intimate than anything your bodies are doing. You reach up and cup his face, pulling him into a slow, lingering kiss.

“You don’t have to go anywhere,” you whisper against his mouth. “I’m not letting you.”

He exhales sharply, like your words hit deeper than they were meant to. He presses his forehead against yours again, eyes fluttering closed, and for a while, you just move together,no talking, just touch. A slow dance, fueled by quiet worship and all the feelings neither of you had dared to name until now.

The warmth between you builds slowly again, like kindling catching fire. Not yet an inferno, but steady, glowing, certain.

His movements slow almost to a crawl, each stroke deliberate, teasing. He’s not just inside you,he’s with you, syncing to the rhythm of your breath, the quickening pulse in your veins. Every inch he moves makes your body tremble, a quiet storm gathering beneath your skin.

You feel his hands,one resting on your hip, steady and grounding, the other sliding softly up your ribs, fingertips tracing invisible patterns that make your skin tingle. His touch is both fierce and gentle, a contradiction that unravels you further.

Your breath hitches with every glide of his body, the soft scrape of skin on skin making your nerves light up in the most delicious way. The warmth pooling deep inside you grows, slow and relentless, creeping higher with each pass.

He leans down, pressing his chest against yours, and your heart pounds,feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your collarbone. His lips brush your temple, his breath warm and steady.

“I’m here,” he murmurs, voice low, like a promise.

You wrap your arms tighter around him, grounding yourself in his presence as waves of pleasure rise and fall in a slow, torturous dance. It’s not just physical anymore,this is connection, trust, surrender.

His fingers tighten just a fraction, and you arch into him, gasping softly as a coil of tension twists in your belly. Your skin flushes under his gaze, your eyes locking as if wordless conversation passes between you.

Every nerve ending is alive, every sense heightened.

Time slows. The world outside this moment disappears.

The pressure builds, subtle and insistent, a promise on the edge of everything you can hold back.

And yet, he waits. Patient. Attuned.

His lips find yours again, this time soft and urgent, grounding you as your body trembles beneath him. Your breath mingles, slow and shaky.

You feel the tremors begin,first a ripple, then a deeper pulse, spreading from your core outwards, setting your nerves alight.

But he keeps moving, slow and steady, riding the waves with you instead of chasing them.

The moment crashes over you like a tidal wave,sudden, fierce, and all-consuming. Fire ignites deep inside, spiraling outward in powerful, pulsing waves that steal your breath and make your heart race. Every nerve ending buzzes, sending shivers that ripple from your core to your limbs.

Your body arches instinctively, pressing into him as the pleasure sweeps through you, relentless and overwhelming. Time slows,each second stretching and thickening as the sensation floods your senses. Your hands clutch at his shoulders, gripping tightly, anchoring yourself to the reality of him while your mind floats somewhere distant and electric.

Your breath hitches, coming out in broken gasps as a soft, trembling sound slips from your lips. Your vision blurs, colors fading into soft white light, while every muscle clenches and spasms, pulsing with the rhythm of your release.

Warmth spreads beyond the physical, filling your chest with something deeper,trust, surrender, connection. You are completely bare and vulnerable, wrapped in the intensity of this shared moment.

His name falls from your lips like a prayer as his steady hands hold you close, grounding you until the waves slowly fade, leaving you trembling, soft, and utterly spent.

You feel him still moving inside you, slower now, savoring the last stretch of this shared moment. His breaths come deep and measured, like he’s holding himself back, teasing the edge but not rushing in. His hands,those steady, warm hands,rest lightly on your hips, grounding him even as his body betrays the tension coiling beneath the surface.

His eyes are half-lidded, dark with need and something softer,like he’s searching for something in you, something unspoken between heartbeats. His jaw clenches ever so slightly, and you can see the way his breath hitches every time you tighten around him. You know he’s close.

But he doesn’t let go yet.

Instead, he draws his attention to you,your skin, your breath, your pulse racing beneath his fingertips. He kisses the side of your neck, soft and slow, and murmurs your name, savoring the sound as if it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever heard.

You reach up, fingers tangling in his hair, and he shivers, eyes fluttering shut. His hips shift just a bit, gentle strokes that tease and plead for release without demanding it. He’s savoring you,the way you respond, the way your body presses into his.

He leans forward, forehead resting against yours, breath mingling in the small space between you. “You’re everything,” he whispers, voice thick with emotion and need.

You tighten your legs around him instinctively, feeling the slow burn growing hotter, deeper inside him. The tension coils tighter, a slow crescendo rising just beneath the surface. You feel the subtle pulse of his desire, measured and deliberate, as if he’s holding back for you,wanting this moment to stretch as long as possible.

His hand moves from your hip to your waist, fingers digging in lightly as he lets out a low groan that vibrates through his chest and into yours. His body tenses, muscles flexing with the inevitable building pressure. But still, he waits. Savoring every second, every breath, every touch.

You feel him shudder, a small, almost imperceptible tremor that runs through him like a warning. His grip on you tightens just a little more, and his eyes flutter open, dark and smoldering, locked on yours with fierce need.

Then, slowly, he lets go.

It starts as a low, guttural sound, raw and unfiltered, escaping his lips with a trembling intensity. His hips move with a steady, rolling rhythm, deep and sure, driving into you with growing urgency but still controlled,like he’s both losing and holding himself at the same time.

His breath quickens, ragged and hot against your skin, as the tension inside him breaks loose in waves that ripple through his body. His hands clutch your waist tighter, pulling you closer, as his muscles contract around you in a powerful, unrelenting release.

The sound of his moans fills the room, thick and urgent, mixing with your own ragged breaths and whispered names. You feel his body shudder, trembling as he rides out the slow, overwhelming tide of pleasure,long and consuming, drawing out every last drop until there’s nothing left but the soft, shaky aftermath.

He collapses against you, breathless and spent, forehead resting on your shoulder. His voice is rough but tender as he murmurs, “You’re mine.”

And in that moment, wrapped together in quiet warmth and shared vulnerability, everything feels right.

The room is bathed in soft shadows, the only light coming from the faint glow of the city beyond the window. You lie tangled together, his chest rising and falling against yours in a steady rhythm, matching your own breath. His arms wrap around you like a shield, holding you close,not just physically, but in a way that feels like protection, safety, and something far deeper.

You can still feel the warmth of him, the steady heat seeping into your skin where your bodies touched. The quiet hum of his breath so close to your ear is soothing, a gentle reminder that he’s there, that this moment is real and yours.

Your fingers trace lazy circles on his back, careful and slow, as if afraid to disturb the fragile peace that’s settled over you both. His muscles twitch under your touch, and you feel a soft sigh escape him,a contented, almost sleepy sound.

For a long while, you just lie like that, wordless. No need for conversation. No pressure to say anything. Just the steady comfort of being together, skin to skin, hearts beating close enough to feel.

You turn your head slightly to catch his eyes, still half-closed but filled with something raw and tender. His gaze lingers on you, warm and unwavering. It’s a look that speaks volumes,of gratitude, of awe, of the quiet joy of having found someone to share this with.

“Stay,” he murmurs softly, voice thick with emotion. “Don’t go anywhere.”

You smile, your heart fluttering at the vulnerability in his words. “I’m not going anywhere,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. “I want to stay right here,with you.”

He shifts a little, pulling you closer until your cheek rests against his chest. You listen to the steady beat of his heart, the sound steady and strong beneath your ear. It grounds you, calms you, makes you feel anchored.

In this moment, nothing else matters. Not the worries outside the door, not the world spinning fast beyond these walls. Just this,this closeness, this shared warmth, this quiet intimacy.

Your hands wander again, this time brushing over his hair, feeling the softness beneath your fingertips. He tilts his head, nuzzling into your touch, and you catch the faint scent of him,clean, familiar, and comforting.

He breathes in deeply, then exhales slowly, as if letting go of everything else. “I didn’t know it could feel like this,” he admits quietly. “Being with you… it’s different. Better.”

You reach up, fingers brushing his cheek, your thumb tracing the line of his jaw. “It’s okay to feel that way,” you say softly. “It’s okay to want this… to want me.”

His eyes flutter closed again, and you can feel the tension in his body ease. “I do,” he says, voice low and sincere. “More than I ever thought I could.”

A silence stretches between you, comfortable and full of meaning. You rest your forehead against his, sharing breath, sharing presence.

The soft rustle of the sheets is the only sound as your bodies relax further into each other. His hand finds yours, fingers intertwining easily, naturally, as if they were made to fit together this way.

You squeeze gently, a silent promise that you’re here, that you belong.

His voice breaks the silence again, barely audible. “Thank you. For trusting me. For letting me in.”

You smile against his skin, feeling a swell of warmth in your chest. “Thank you,” you whisper back. “For being gentle. For being patient. For making me feel safe.”

He shifts so he can look at you again, eyes shining in the dim light. “I want to be better,” he says. “For you. For us.”

You brush your lips softly over his temple, your heart full. “You already are.”

Time slips by unnoticed as you lie there, wrapped in each other’s arms. Occasionally, you exchange quiet words,small confessions, soft laughter, gentle reassurances. The kind of talk that happens when you’re stripped of everything but trust and affection.

Eventually, his fingers trace lazy patterns on your skin, fingertips warm and sure. You close your eyes, letting yourself sink deeper into the calm, the love, the rare and precious feeling of being fully known.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you realize this moment is a beginning. Not just of something new between you two,but of something true, something lasting.

And as the night stretches on, you hold on to that feeling, letting it fill you up and carry you forward.

-

Morning comes slowly, quietly, like it’s trying not to disturb what was created in the dark.

The sunlight filters in through the curtains in long, golden slants, brushing softly across your skin. The air is still, warm with the remnants of last night. Your body is tangled in the sheets, comfortably sore, and you’re tucked safely against him , your back against his chest, one of his arms loosely draped around your waist.

But it’s the sensation near your temple that stirs you first.

A gentle tug.

A soft touch.

Fingers playing idly with the edge of your hair.

You blink your eyes open slowly, barely moving, letting yourself pretend,just for a few seconds longer,that this is a dream you haven’t woken up from. The quiet warmth of his body behind you, the way his breath brushes your shoulder, the feeling of him so present even before a word is spoken,it makes your chest swell.

And then you hear his voice, soft and warm, roughened by sleep.

“Did I wake you?”

You shake your head gently against the pillow. “No,” you whisper. “I was hoping you’d still be here when I opened my eyes.”

He smiles,though you can’t see it, you can feel it in the softness of his voice. “I was hoping the same thing.”

You turn slightly, just enough to look up at him. He’s already watching you, head propped up on one hand, the other still absentmindedly toying with your hair. His face looks softer in the morning light,less guarded, more open. There’s something adoring in the way his eyes scan your face, like he still can’t quite believe you’re real.

“You okay?” he asks gently. “You’re… quiet.”

You nod, biting your bottom lip. “I’m just… happy.”

The word comes out small, but it lands heavy between you. You watch the way his expression shifts,how his eyes soften even more, how his thumb brushes your cheek without thinking.

“I was afraid I overdid it,” he says after a beat. “I kept thinking about it after you fell asleep. If I went too far. If it was too much for you.”

Your fingers find his, threading through them. “No,” you say quietly. “You didn’t.”

His brow creases just slightly. “You’d tell me if I did, right?”

You nod, squeezing his hand. “You were perfect. I’ve never felt…” You pause, searching for words. “…more wanted. Or safer. Or seen.”

His throat works as he swallows. “I wanted you to feel all of that. I kept watching you, checking in, even when I couldn’t speak it. You… you let me in. I didn’t take that for granted.”

A silence settles again, but this time it’s full,not empty. His fingers slide over your waist under the covers, just resting there. No heat, no pressure. Just a grounding touch.

“I keep thinking about you,” he admits softly, “from last night. How you looked. The way you said my name.”

You flush, but you don’t look away.

“There were moments,” he continues, “where I didn’t know if I should stop or keep going. You were so…” He pauses, exhaling. “Beautiful. Overwhelming.”

“You didn’t overwhelm me,” you say gently, brushing your fingers across his forearm. “You made me feel… like I could fall apart and it would be okay.”

He lets out a breath that sounds like relief. “Good. Because that’s all I wanted. I just wanted you to feel held. The whole time.”

You nod. “I did. I still do.”

He leans down and kisses your forehead, lips soft and still tasting faintly like sleep. “Are you sore?” he asks quietly.

“A little,” you admit, smiling sleepily.

A low sound escapes him,part groan, part regret. “I should’ve,”

“You should’ve nothing,” you interrupt, tracing a line across his chest. “I wouldn’t change a single thing.”

He watches you for a moment longer before drawing you closer again, his fingers slipping behind your neck to cradle the base of your skull. There’s something soft in his touch,unhurried, deliberate, like he’s still savoring you. His thumb strokes your hairline once, twice, and then he leans in, brushing his nose against yours.

Your lips meet in a kiss that doesn’t start with urgency,just warmth. Gentle and exploring. A greeting. A silent I’m-still-here.

You hum softly against his mouth, and he smiles into the kiss, tilting his head to deepen it. His hand slides lower, down your spine, pulling your body flush against his. The heat between you begins to stir again, slower this time, but unmistakably there.

His lips part just slightly, and yours follow. The kiss turns more languid, wet and lazy and full of promise. He groans quietly as your fingers slide into his hair, tugging gently, grounding him to the moment.

“You’re going to ruin me,” he whispers, his voice gravelly from sleep and need, brushing your lips with each word.

“Too late,” you breathe, your smile felt more than seen.

His hand curves around your thigh, guiding it up and over his hip as he rolls his body into yours, fitting perfectly. You feel him against you,already hard, already wanting,and a quiet gasp escapes your throat at the contact.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his gaze flickering over your face. “Are you sure?” he murmurs. “We don’t have to, not if you’re sore or,”

“I want to,” you cut in gently, your thumb brushing over his bottom lip. “I want you.”

He exhales like he’s been holding that breath in since the moment he woke. And then he kisses you again, deeper this time, his hand tightening around your thigh.

There’s no rush now. No need to chase anything. This time it’s slow, exploratory, like rediscovering something he already knows by heart. His fingers glide along your side, relearning the shape of you, and every kiss feels like a new way of saying I still want you. I still want more.

Your body responds instinctively, arching into him, welcoming him back with soft sounds and open hands. The desire that simmered quietly all morning now burns steady and warm, building in waves beneath your skin.

His voice is low and reverent in your ear as he settles between your legs again.

“Let me take my time with you this time.”

And you nod, breathless, ready,because there’s no one else you’d rather give your morning to.

His body lowers over yours with quiet reverence, the weight of him settling into you like something you’ve been waiting for all your life. The morning light pools around you both, brushing your skin in gold, catching in his hair as he leans in and kisses you again,longer, deeper this time. It’s not rushed. It’s not even hungry. It’s worshipful.

He kisses you like he has all the time in the world.

His palm traces the length of your side, slipping under the sheets, warm and confident as it travels from your waist to your ribs, feeling every curve like a familiar song. He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t need to. The space between you hums with anticipation, thick with tenderness.

“You feel so good,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice still coated in sleep and something deeper,something raw. “So soft.”

You arch slightly into his touch, your breath catching as his hand brushes over your chest, fingers teasing lightly, slowly, until you sigh beneath him. He watches every reaction,every twitch of your lip, every flutter of your lashes,like they’re sacred things.

His kisses wander lower, slow trails pressed to your neck, your collarbone, the slope of your shoulder. Every movement is patient. Intentional. There’s a delicious weight in how slowly he’s moving, like he’s savoring the rediscovery of your body.

When he finally reaches between your legs, he takes his time there too,gentle strokes, delicate pressure, his eyes never leaving your face as he learns what you need all over again. And when your hand finds his wrist and grips it tighter, silently pleading for more, he listens.

“You’re so ready for me,” he whispers, kissing your jaw. “You always are.”

The way he slides into you is careful. Slow. He waits for your breath to hitch, for your legs to wrap around him, for your soft gasp that says yes, this is what I want. You feel full immediately,utterly claimed,and yet, somehow, safe inside his hold.

You’re both quiet for a few moments, wrapped in the stillness of morning, in the nearness of skin and breath. His forehead presses to yours, your noses brushing as he rocks into you gently, setting a rhythm that’s deep, smooth, and maddeningly slow.

“Look at me,” he breathes, and you do,eyes half-lidded, heart wide open.

He holds your gaze as he moves, his eyes soft and dark, like he’s trying to memorize you from the inside out. Every stroke feels like a conversation. Like a promise. Like he’s trying to tell you something with his body that words would only cheapen.

You cling to him, your fingers digging into his back, your breath catching with every slow thrust. You whisper his name like it’s a secret, and he responds with a kiss that lingers at the corner of your mouth.

“I want this forever,” he whispers. “This right here.”

Your body trembles under his, but not from the build of pleasure alone,it’s the weight of what’s being shared, the way your bodies speak to each other in silence.

The pace never quickens. He holds it steady, refusing to chase the finish. Instead, he coaxes it out of you slowly,letting you rise, letting you melt, letting you unravel.

When you finally come, it’s not with a cry but a breathless, broken sound, like something deep inside you has opened and filled with light. He whispers to you as you do,praises, gentle moans, things you’ll barely remember but will feel in your bones.

And even then, he doesn’t stop.

He follows you through it, still moving, still watching, until your eyes flutter back open to meet his again. His jaw is tight now, his movements just slightly heavier, but still controlled,still careful, like even his own release isn’t allowed to take away from your comfort.

“I’m close,” he says, his voice low and rough.

You touch his cheek, your thumb brushing just beneath his eye. “I want to feel you.���

That does it.

With a low groan, he lets go, burying his face in your neck, his body shuddering against yours as he falls apart with you. There’s something quiet about the way he comes,less a storm, more a surrender.

You hold him through it, your hand stroking the back of his head, his weight resting over you, breath mingling with yours.

It takes a while for either of you to move.

Eventually, he lifts his head, pressing the softest kiss to your cheek, then your lips, and finally your forehead.

“Good morning,” he whispers, smiling sleepily.

You laugh, breathless, your arms still wrapped around him. “Best one I’ve ever had.”

It’s a long time before either of you moves.

He stays draped over you like a warm blanket, his breath evening out as you both ride the quiet afterglow. You feel his fingertips tracing idle patterns along your side beneath the covers, and every so often he leans in and presses a soft kiss to your temple or shoulder,just because he can.

Eventually, you shift beneath him, stretching a little with a wince and a sleepy smile.

“Sore?” he murmurs, brushing his nose along your jaw.

“Mhm,” you hum. “But it’s the best kind of sore.”

He chuckles, a low, proud sound, and rolls onto his side to give you space, keeping one hand splayed on your stomach like a tether.

“You hungry?” he asks, propping himself up on one elbow. “We technically skipped dinner last night.”

Your stomach growls in answer, and he raises his eyebrows, clearly trying not to laugh.

You cover your face with your hands. “That was so rude of my body.”

“No,” he grins, pulling your hands away gently. “It was honest. Come on, let me feed you. But don’t get too excited,my cooking skills are… limited.”

You sit up, holding the sheets to your chest, watching him stand and stretch, gloriously naked and clearly unbothered by it. He looks over his shoulder when he realizes you’re staring.

“Take a picture,” he teases. “It’ll,“

You throw a pillow at him in response

-

The kitchen is quiet except for the faint hum of the fridge and the rhythmic sound of him opening cabinets in search of something edible. You pad in behind him wearing one of his shirts,massive on you, soft, and smelling like his skin. He turns and just stares for a second, his mouth twitching into a smirk.

“Okay, that’s illegal.”

You blink. “What is?”

“You. In my shirt. Looking like that.” He waves a hand vaguely. “You’re ruining me all over again.”

You roll your eyes but smile anyway, hopping up onto the counter and letting your legs dangle.

He pours cereal into two bowls and slides one toward you, handing you a spoon with mock ceremony. “Your breakfast, my lady.”

You glance at the box. “Fruity Pebbles?”

“It’s all I had,” he shrugs, biting into his spoonful. “Judge me later.”

The two of you eat in quiet comfort, the morning stretching around you like a secret. Every now and then, he leans over to steal a bite from your bowl, or kisses your bare thigh just because it’s within reach.

Once the bowls are empty and the mood has shifted from sleepy to playful, he sets his spoon down and eyes you with a grin.

“You’re still sore, right?”

You narrow your eyes. “Why do I feel like this is a setup?”

“Because it is,” he says brightly. “Let’s shower. Hot water might help.”

You hop off the counter and follow him, suspicious but smiling.

-

The bathroom fills quickly with steam, the mirror fogging up as he fiddles with the water. He tests it with his hand, then pulls you in with him.

The warmth is instant. Soothing. His hands slide over your back as you tilt your head up into the stream, wetting your hair. He watches you, gaze soft, then reaches for the shampoo without a word.

You freeze. “What are you doing?”

He smiles. “Letting me take care of you.”

So you let him.

He works the shampoo into your scalp gently, massaging with slow, circular motions. His fingers move with care, like even this is a form of intimacy. You lean into it with a sigh, letting your eyes close.

“Feels nice?” he asks, voice quieter in the water.

“Too nice. I might fall asleep standing.”

He laughs and leans in to kiss your cheek, rinsing the lather from your hair before reaching for conditioner next. Every step is unhurried. Every touch a quiet I see you.

He washes your body next,your shoulders, your arms, your legs,his hands careful, almost reverent, while you giggle under your breath at how serious he looks doing it.

“You’re very focused.”

“I’m a perfectionist,” he says simply, rinsing you off. “I like taking my time.”

When it’s your turn, you mimic him with exaggerated seriousness, lathering his chest and shoulders with both hands.

“I can do it myself,” he mutters, trying not to laugh.

You shake your head. “Nope. My turn to ruin you.”

-

Afterward, you’re both wrapped in towels and laughter, dripping down the hall. He tosses you a shirt and a pair of boxers,comically big on you,and you change in front of him without hesitation now, like the boundary between you has dissolved completely.

You crawl back into bed with him, your damp hair splayed over the pillow, his arm already pulling you in like muscle memory. The window is open now, letting in the soft sounds of the morning,a few birds, distant voices, the world beginning its day.

But inside, it’s still just the two of you. Quiet. Warm. Held.

You trace the ink on his arm with your fingertip. He watches you.

“What are you thinking?” he asks gently.

You take a breath. “That I never expected to wake up in your bed and feel this… okay.”

He shifts closer, kissing your forehead.

“You feel like home,” you whisper.

The words land softly in the space between you, yet they echo like something far bigger than the moment. His arm tightens around your waist. You feel his breath catch for just a second before it releases warm against your hair.

He pulls back slightly to look at you, searching your face like he’s trying to commit every inch of it to memory. Like he already knows he’ll come back to this second in his mind again and again.

“You are,” he says simply.

The silence that follows is anything but empty. It’s full of heartbeats and shared breath, of every unspoken thing that’s passed between you,last night, this morning, now. A stillness that feels like understanding.

You don’t say anything right away. You just press your forehead to his, and your eyes close. The closeness, the quiet,it’s enough.

Eventually, you roll onto your back, your fingers brushing his as they rest between you. “So… what now?” you ask, not because you’re uncertain, but because you want to hear him say it.

He’s quiet for a moment, considering. Then, he turns onto his side to face you fully, his hand finding yours again and lacing your fingers together.

“We take it day by day,” he says. “But I’m not going anywhere. I want this… whatever this is turning into.”

You nod slowly, heart swelling in your chest. “Me too.”

You lie there a while longer, hands clasped, bodies tangled beneath the sheets, as the late morning light grows stronger through the window. Eventually, life calls you both back,quietly, gently, with the promise of coffee and clothes and the world outside.

But the magic doesn’t leave when you rise. It lingers in how he hands you a fresh shirt, in how he checks your face while brushing his teeth beside you, in the way he reaches over and fixes your necklace without a word.

You end up back in the kitchen, this time sitting at the table instead of on the counter, your legs tucked under his on the same chair. He scrolls on his phone aimlessly while you nurse a mug of tea, neither of you speaking much,but there’s no need. The comfort between you doesn’t depend on constant conversation.

After a while, he sets the phone down and looks at you. “Wanna come with me to the bookstore later?”

You smile, the answer already sitting in your chest. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

You help him clean up, brushing against each other in small ways that still spark heat,his hand at the small of your back, your elbow grazing his arm, the casual kiss he leaves on your shoulder when he passes behind you. Everything feels new and old at once. Familiar. Easy.

Later, you walk beside him down the street, your hand in his as the breeze plays with your hair. The world bustles around you,cars, people, fragments of overheard conversation,but you don’t hear any of it. Not really. Your world is him right now. His thumb brushing over yours. His soft smile when you look up. The feeling that, finally, you’ve found something real.

At the bookstore, he unlocks the front door and holds it open for you with a playful bow. “After you.”

You grin and step inside, greeted by the soft scent of paper and dust and sunlight through tall windows. It’s quiet, cozy,just like the man who runs it.

He lets you roam for a while, shelving a few returns while you wander the aisles, fingertips trailing over book spines. When he finds you again, you’re seated cross-legged on the floor in the poetry section, flipping through something with worn pages and a cracked cover.

He crouches beside you. “Find something good?”

You nod, holding it out to him. “Listen to this.” You read a few lines softly, and as you do, his gaze never leaves your face.

When you finish, there’s a small silence. Then he leans in, brushing your hair back behind your ear. “You reading poetry in my shop? Dangerous.”

“Why?”

“Because it makes me want to kiss you.”

You smirk, closing the book and tucking it into your lap. “Then what’s stopping you?”

He doesn’t answer with words. Just leans forward and kisses you slowly, right there between the shelves, surrounded by quiet and dust and stories.

It feels like an ending and a beginning all at once.

-

That evening, you fall asleep on his couch, your head on his chest, a blanket thrown over both of you. There’s a movie playing on low volume, but you’ve stopped paying attention. His hand rests on your back, stroking slowly, and every once in a while, he kisses the top of your head like he doesn’t quite believe he’s allowed to.

And maybe you don’t either.

But as you drift off to sleep in his arms,your skin still warm from his touch, your heart still full from the way he held you that morning,you know something with absolute certainty.

This is no longer just a moment.

It’s the start of something.

A life built in quiet mornings and second kisses. In cereal shared on countertops and poetry read on hardwood floors. In whispered promises and simple gestures and the way his eyes always find yours across a room.

And no matter what comes next,what decisions, what labels, what changes,

You’ll wake up to him again.

And again.

And again.

Until home isn’t a place, or a moment, or even a word whispered in bed.

Home is him.

And you are already there.

[uramakimochi]

me for the past week and i'm so fucking maddd

STOP👏TAGGING👏XREADER👏IF👏YOU👏USE👏AN👏OC👏NOBODY👏 FUCKING👏ASKED👏FOR👏THAT👏OKAY???

The wrong thing is not the fact that you write a story with an oc, no, that's not the real problem, really.

IT'S JUST THE FACT THAT YOU USE THE WRONG TAG SO YOU HOPE MORE PEOPLE READ YOUR STORY. BUT BELIEVE ME IT'S JUST FUCKING ANNOYING 'CAUSE WE AREN'T ABLE TO FIND THE RIGHT FICS IF YOU KEEP DOING THIS!!!

There are people who like to read more stories with ocs than reader inserts, so use the fucking right tag go reach that community and stop spamming your stories among ours.

I don't think you get it but, you know, the purpose of fanfics with reader insert is to make the reader imagine her/himself as the mc of the story. The best part of these fics is the fact that EVERYONE can be included in them.

SO WHY THE FUCK DO YOU HAVE TO RUIN THEM BY MAKING THE MC A PERSON THAT LOOKS COMPLETELY DIFFERENT FROM THE READER AND EVEN HAS A NAME THAT IS NOT THEIRS?

Not to be dramatic but i hate y'all.

And the fact that it's always the same fandoms and we all know who we're talking about...

[taehosjk]

Smithereens

PARK JIMIN IMAGINE - part 1

tô sumida? estou!

mas sempre estou por aqui!! kkkk

Tentando ser o mais silenciosa possível, deitei meu corpo cansado sobre o gigantesco colchão de minha cama.

Meu marido estava virado de costas para mim, sua respiração calma indicava o seu sono profundo.

Senti uma lágrima escorrer por minha bochecha direita e cair delicadamente sobre o travesseiro branco. Levantei a mão e num relapso de loucura, tentei tocar seus fios de cabelos sedosos, mas me lembrei que eu não podia.

Não podia tocá-lo.

Há alguns meses, nosso casamento vem desmoronando, e mesmo que até um tempo atrás fingíamos que nada vinha acontecendo entre a gente, quando deitamos nossas cabeças nos travesseiros macios, sabemos que tudo está estremecido.

Um suspiro longo saiu entre os lábios de Jimin, nesse instante sequei as lágrimas dolorosas que insistiam em sair de meus olhos.

Virei meu corpo em outra direção, dando as costas ao homem que jurei amar por toda a eternidade.

Encarei a janela de vidro do quarto e observei as poucas estrelas no céu escuro, sentindo um breve momento de paz ao admirar tamanha beleza e imensidão.

Perdida em pensamentos, me senti observada. Senti o corpo de Jimin se aproximar delicadamente do meu, e instantaneamente me distanciei; fechei os olhos e rezei para que o sono viesse o mais rápido possível.

E no meio de pensamentos tristes e deprimentes, acabei dormindo ao lado do meu amado marido.

Que estava tão distante de mim.

...

Alguns feixes de luz atravessavam o vidro da janela e batiam diretamente em meu rosto. Abri os olhos lentamente e senti uma leve pontada em minha cabeça, provavelmente pelo choro de ontem.

Me levantei devagar tentando não piorar a dor. Jimin não estava mais na cama, e lembranças nossas de momentos matinais pairam sobre minha cabeça. Momentos felizes de amor e paixão que hoje parecem ter acontecido em outra realidade.

Tentando afastar esses pensamentos, fui me preparar para encarar mais um dia de mentiras e falsos sorrisos.

...

"Bom dia, ____" Ouvi a voz rouca soar por toda a cozinha. Meu coração falhou por um mísero instante.

"Bom dia, Jimin." Respondi.

Perdemos até isso.

Me pergunto em que momento os apelidos amorosos sumiram de nosso vocabulário diário. Não vou negar que ouvir meu nome sair por seus lábios de maneira tão indiferente, faz com que o meu coração entristeça.

Quando foi que meu casamento se tornou esse relacionamento frio e indiferente? Sinto meu casamento escorregar entre meus dedos, e cair no chão se estilhaçando em milhões de pedacinhos. E mesmo que eu tente recuperar o que éramos, colando seus caquinhos, por que lutar sozinha?

Jimin já não faz questão da minha presença, ignora meus anseios de reconciliação e é totalmente indiferente com a situação.

Depois de perceber isso, parei de lutar. Parei de esperar sua presença no jantar, deixei de vestir minhas camisolas sensuais, não o espero na cama, não falo sobre o meu dia e não pergunto sobre o dele. Deixei de ser a esposa perfeita.

Segurei o envelope marrom com força, e delicadamente o coloquei sobre a mesa, de frente para o meu marido.

"Eu pretendia te entregar isso ontem, mas você já estava dormindo quando eu cheguei." Tentei controlar minha voz, para que ela não falhasse por nenhum segundo. "Imagino que você já saiba do que se trata."

Jimin me encarou confuso, e com seus olhos brilhosos abriu o envelope. "O que é isso, _____?" Sua voz estava mais baixa do que o normal.

"São os papéis do nosso divórcio." Tentei soar o mais indiferente possível, mesmo que eu já não conseguisse sentir minhas pernas.

"O que!? Mas, eu.- mas, nós... como vo-" Levantei o dedo indicador para contar sua fala.

"Não fique tão surpreso, nós dois sabíamos que isso viria a acontecer, só não sabíamos quem teria coragem que dar o primeiro passo."

"Fizemos promessas em cima daquele altar." Jimin respirou fundo e fechou os olhos. "Não vou me divorciar por puro capricho seu!" Apontou o dedo em minha direção.

Meu marido parecia levemente alterado.

"Promessas essas que você não cumpriu! Quem pensa que é para jogar algo na minha cara!?"

"Juramos ficar juntos para o resto de nossas vidas." Jimin soltou o envelope, que caiu rapidamente no chão.

"Já lutei demais por esse casamento." Olhei diretamente dentro de seus olhos, queria que ele sentisse toda a minha angústia. "Lutei sozinha por um amor que jurei que você também sentia."

Todo o sofrimento que guardei com o passar desses meses.

"Não fale assim, _____..." Jimin tentou se aproximar, mas me afastei deixando a mesa entre nossos corpos. "Eu também tentei, caralho!"

Uma risada sem humor saiu por meus lábios.

"Mas como eu iria lutar por você, se não permite que eu me aproxime!? Foge de mim o tempo todo, me ignora e, agora quer jogar a responsabilidade em cima de mim?" Passei a mão por meu rosto, tentando não chorar.

Eu sabia que seria um momento difícil. Jurei que estaria preparada para isso, mas aqui frente a frente com o amor da minha vida, percebo que sou fraca.

Não tenho forças para lutar.

"Jimin, não torne as coisas mais difíceis para nós, por favor." Supliquei.

"Eu tenho direito de contestar isso! Eu amo você e não quero me divorciar."

"É tarde demais, Jimin." Suspirei. "Demorei tanto para optar pela separação, e você decide simplesmente que não quer!?" Minha voz subiu alguns tons. "Me ama tanto que só quer lutar por mim, quando percebeu que me perdeu."

"Perdi você?" O olhar que Jimin jogou em minha direção conseguiu destruir o meu coração. "Você não me ama mais? Hum?"

Respirei 1, 2 e até 3 vezes.

Eu sabia a resposta.

Com toda a certeza do mundo eu amava Park Jimin. Porra, ele é o homem da minha vida! Mas o que adiantaria falar isso agora? Dar a esperança que podemos contornar essa situação, e nos machucar um pouco mais quando percebermos que não temos mais jeito.

"Quando foi a última vez que você me procurou como mulher? Que me desejou? Que fizemos amor, ou, que nos entregamos um ao outro como se não houvesse amanhã!?"

"Então o problema aqui é a falta de sexo? Caralho, _____! Você é inacreditável!" O suspiro cansado que saiu por seus lábios chamou minha atenção. "Estou atolado de trabalho e mal tenho tempo para respirar, e você quer se divorciar porquê não chego em casa e te jogo em cima dessa mesa e te fodo? É isso?"

"O sexo foi o primeiro ponto." Tentei controlar meus pensamentos. "Depois tudo desandou." Uma lágrima escorreu por minha bochecha. "Você tem outra mulher, Park? Por favor, me diga agora!" Encarei seus olhos amuados.

Só de pensar nessa possibilidade sinto que tudo a minha volta pode desmoronar.

Não sei se aguentaria uma traição por parte de Jimin.

"O que? _____, porra, está se ouvindo!? Você não me conhece?"

Me surpreendi com a indignação do meu marido.

"Eu achei que te conhecia, mas a cada dia você vem se mostrando uma pessoa diferente do que era antes."

"Você me ofendeu de uma maneira, _____..." Mordi os lábios ao ouvir suas palavras. "Sei que não fui o melhor marido para você nesses últimos dias, mas você também não é perfeita. Temos nos erros, mas eu nunca te acusaria de algo assim! Me mato todos os dias para te dar a vida que te prometi, e conquistar nossos sonhos. Sei que não é desculpa para negligenciar nosso casamento, mas quem você pensa que é para simplesmente apontar o dedo para mim?" Jimin estava bastante exaltado, não queria que as coisas tivessem tomado esse rumo.

"Sei que não sou a melhor esposa, mas lutei todos os dias para ser melhor para você!"

Ouvimos um pigarro e voltamos nossa atenção para a porta da cozinha.

"Desculpe atrapalhar vocês, perdão." Minha empregada estava nos observando. "Mas tem um senhor esperando por vocês na sala." Sua voz saiu um pouco mais baixa. "Eu disse que os senhores estavam ocupados, mas ele insistiu em entrar." Suas bochechas levemente rosadas indicavam que ela havia escutado nossa discussão.

"Nós já vamos, Minhee! Um minuto." Peguei um copo de água gelada e bebi em alguns segundos, torcendo para que minha tristeza passasse junto com minha sede.

Jimin me observou a todo instante.

"Você primeiro, querida." O apelido saiu de maneira bem sarcástica por seus lábios, ignorei a pontada que senti.

Não queria que estivéssemos assim, nesse ponto de estarmos jogando cinismos um para outro.

"Obrigado, amor." Passei em sua frente entrando em minha sala alguns passos depois.

Identifiquei a imagem do homem sentando em meu sofá branco. O analisei por alguns segundos, mas não me recordava se o conhecia.

"Em que podemos te ajudar, senhor? Creio que a sua visita tenha um motivo muito importante." Jimin foi direto. Não tão educado como costuma ser normalmente. "Não sei se posso te atender por muito tempo, então se puder ser direto no que deseja..."

"Desculpe aparecer assim tão de repente, sou Bang Jae!" Estendeu a mão em nossas direções. "Tenho uma notícias pata vocês." Ajeitou delicadamente o tecido de seu paletó escuro. "Sua avó, senhor Park, faleceu há alguns meses, como já deve saber." Meu marido concordou rapidamente. "Vocês estão no testamento de Park Chohee, e preciso que comparação a leitura do testamento amanhã."

"É necessário advogado ou algo assim?" Jimin perguntou.

"Só se você preferir." Bang se levantou e nos encarou sorridente. "Aqui estão todas as informações que precisam-" Nos entregou uma folha de papel. "Até amanhã." Se curvou.

"Obrigado pela presença." Tentei ser o mais simpática possível.

"A propósito-" Voltei a minha atenção ao homem engravatado. "Conhecem a senhorita Minji?"

"A garotinha que minha avó adotou como neta?" Jimin perguntou confuso.

"Exatamente." Bang pegou outros papéis em sua pasta. "Aqui estão os papéis de adoção."

"Que adoção?" A confusão deveria estar estampada em minha cara.

"Já está quase tudo pronto para vocês receberam a guarda da pequena Minji. Aguardamos apenas a decisão de vocês."

Meu queixo quase caiu de meu rosto.

"Sua vó me implorou para que cuidasse disso pessoalmente, ela deseja que vocês cuidem da garota." Bang parecia tranquilo enquanto jogava essa bomba em nós.

Meu marido parecia tão perplexo quanto eu.

Eu adoro Minji, desde quando a conheci. Uma garotinha de 3 anos adorável, que infelizmente foi abandonada pelos pais logo quando nasceu. Viveu um tempo em abrigos, até Chohee encontrá-la e adotá-la.

Mas adotar a garota? Isso nunca se passou pela minha cabeça.

"Imagino que vocês saibam que não há mais ninguém na fila de adoção. Caso haja a negativa por parte de vocês, Minji irá diretamente para um orfanato."

"Mas e os outros parentes da vovó!?" Jimin parecia tão nervoso que a veia em sua testa poderia explodir a qualquer momento.

"Todos já foram avisados sobre a possível adoção, caso houvesse a negativa de vocês, mas já fui informado que eles não tem interesse nessa situação."

"Onde ela está agora?" Questionei aflita.

"Com a assistência social."

Ficamos em silêncio por alguns minutos.

"Não quero mais tomar o tempo de vocês." Bang Jae se aproximou um pouco. "Até amanhã."

"O que vamos fazer?" Jimin perguntou assim que o homem saiu pela porta da sala.

"Não sei, Jimin. Sinceramente não sei."

[little-big-fan]

Um neném para o Idol. (Jungkook - BTS) Parte 4.

Parte 1. Parte 2. Parte 3.

Ajuda com os nomes:

Jungkook: Jeon, JK J-hope: Hobi, Hoseok Suga: Yoongi Taehyung: V Namjoon: RM (também chamei ele de "líder" em algumas partes) Jin: Seokjin Jimin: Chamei ele só de Jimin mesmo, mas fiquei com pena de deixar de fora da lista KKKKKKK

Dei duas batidinhas na porta fechada antes de abrí-la. Deitado na cama acompanhado de um livro e seus óculos de leitura, Patrick me olhou de lado. 

— A gente pode conversar? — Perguntei entrando. 

— Você vai mesmo deixar esse cara entrar na nossa vida? — Indagou quando me sentei ao seu lado.

— Pac, ele é o pai da Liz. 

— Não, não é, S/N. Eu sou o pai da Liz. — Desviou os olhos de mim quando sua voz embargou, fazendo meu coração apertar. — Você vai mesmo acreditar nessa historinha de que ele não mandou as mensagens? 

— E se não tiver sido ele?

— S/N!

— E se não tiver sido, Patrick? — Passei as mãos pelo rosto. — Você viu a forma como ele olha pra ela? Ele não pode ter dito aquelas coisas horríveis e agora fazer de tudo para se aproximar. 

— E por que não? — Cruzou os braços. — Ele é só mais um mauricinho que tem tudo o que quer.

— Pac…

— S/N, a filha é sua e você faz o que quiser. — Suspirou. — Só não diga que eu não avisei quando ele fizer a próxima merda ou sumir no mundo de novo, entendeu? 

— Ele nunca vai roubar o seu lugar na vida da Liz. — Garanti. 

— Eu sei, não vou deixar. Ele querendo ou não, eu também sou o pai dessa garotinha, e não vou desistir dela. 

— Eu amo você. 

— Eu também. 

***

Três semanas inteiras se passaram desde que Jeon Jungkook voltou para a minha vida. Fazendo visitas mais frequentes e cada vez mais duradouras, ele foi ganhando aos poucos espaço na vida da minha filha. Causando até mesmo milhões de questionamentos nos dias em que ele não podia aparecer para contar a historinha de dormir. 

— Ei, podemos conversar? — Ele perguntou baixinho, acenei com a cabeça, indicando que fôssemos para a cozinha, para não acabar acordando a pequena. 

— Aconteceu alguma coisa? 

— Não. — Suspirou, parecendo nervoso. — Mas vou precisar voltar para a Coreia, pelo menos por algumas semanas. — Assenti devagar, sem deixar transparecer minha decepção. — Preciso cumprir alguns compromissos que foram adiados, a empresa já está me cobrando. — Se justificou. 

— Eu entendo. 

— Eu quero contar a eles sobre Liz. 

— A empresa? 

— Exatamente. — Coçou o queixo. — E eu também quero registrá-la. 

— Você não acha isso um pouco precipitado? 

— Ela é minha filha, S/N. Se acontecer algo comigo, quero a garantia de que ela terá a assistência necessária. 

— Não fala assim. — Disse sentindo um gosto amargo na boca com o pensamento. 

— Mas é a verdade. — Deu de ombros. — Liz tem direito a tudo que é meu, e eu quero garantir isso a ela. 

— Jeon, eu acho cedo demais. 

— Na verdade, já são três anos de atraso. 

— Podemos conversar sobre isso quando você voltar, pode ser?  — Ele assentiu. 

— Eu queria pedir para fazer chamadas com ela, enquanto estiver longe. — Não consegui esconder minha expressão surpresa com a atitude. — Quero que ela saiba que eu vou sempre estar presente, mesmo que não seja fisicamente. 

— Claro, nós podemos ver isso. — Sorri. — Quando você vai? 

— Amanhã. 

— Ela já sabe? 

— Sabe. — Suspirou. — Ficou um pouco triste, mas me fez prometer trazer uma boneca bonita. — Sorriu bobo. 

— Não esqueça então, ela é rancorosa. — Avisei. 

— Como você. 

Meu coração deu um salto no peito. Desde a nossa primeira conversa “civilizada” no quarto de Liz, três semanas atrás, sempre que ficávamos sozinhos por algum tempo, o tom de flerte do assunto aparecia naturalmente. Era estranho, e ao mesmo tempo desconfortável. Eu precisava ficar lembrando a mim mesma que não passávamos de dois estranhos que tinham uma filha juntos. E eu precisava admitir, os quase quatro anos que se passaram caíram bem aquele homem. Ele sempre foi lindo, mas a quantidade enorme de tatuagens que agora cobriam um dos braços e parte da mão, os músculos que havia ganhado, o par de argolas que enfeitavam o lábio inferior. Ele parecia ainda mais lindo do que quando eu me apaixonei. 

— S/N? — Chamou, me fazendo notar que encarava o seu rosto até agora. Senti minhas bochechas se aquecerem, e ele soltou uma risadinha. — Eu vou indo então. 

— Boa viagem. — Falei quando chegamos à porta. 

— Me ligue se precisar de qualquer coisa, okay? Qualquer coisa mesmo. 

— Tudo bem. — Sorri. 

Jeon me olhou por alguns segundos, já do lado de fora do apartamento. Em um silêncio estranho, ficamos apenas olhando um para o outro, até que ele fez o primeiro movimento, curvando o corpo, ele deixou um beijo na minha bochecha, espalhando uma corrente elétrica por todo o meu corpo. 

— Tchau, S/N. — Disse piscando um olho e virando para ir embora. 

Fechei a porta, sentindo meu coração bater forte demais. Encostado em uma das paredes com os braços cruzados, Patrick me encarava com uma expressão irônica. 

— Você já está caindo nos encantos dele. — Acusou. 

— Não começa. — Reclamei. 

— Sabe, você deveria revisar o caráter desse cara. — Andou em minha direção. 

— Como assim?

— Ele flerta abertamente com você, mesmo achando que nós estamos juntos. 

— Nós não estamos. — Falei sem entender sua linha de raciocínio. 

— Mas ele não sabe. — Depois de plantar a semente da dúvida, Patrick abriu um sorriso e voltou ao seu quarto.

Terminei de arrumar a bolsa de Liz para o berçário enquanto ela e o padrinho tomavam café da manhã juntos. Me despedi do meu amigo, avisando que sairia mais cedo por causa de uma reunião de última hora e segui meu caminho para o estúdio. 

Depois de dar um beijo na minha garota, fui para a sala de reuniões, onde algumas pessoas da equipe já esperavam. 

— Bom dia, pessoal. — James cumprimentou ao entrar. Ele fez seu caminho até a ponta da mesa, onde todos poderiam enxergá-lo bem. — Bom… eu vou direto ao ponto. — Respirou fundo, demonstrando um pouco de nervosismo. — Como a maioria de vocês sabe, meus filhos estão crescendo… e, eu sinto muito a falta de ter um tempo de qualidade com a família. 

Um burburinho se instaurou, fazendo com que o apresentador parasse de falar por um momento. 

— Por isso, e, juntamente da minha esposa e de amigos que me deram alguns conselhos, decidi que, infelizmente, está na hora do The Late Late acabar. — Mais uma vez todos começaram a falar ao mesmo tempo, mas agora James ergueu as mãos pedindo por silêncio. — Eu sei, eu sei. Não foi uma decisão fácil. — Sorriu triste. — Gostaria de dizer que não vamos deixar nenhum de vocês desamparados. Aqueles que quiserem continuar na emissora, por favor, falem comigo. E aos que resolverem seguir outro caminho, podem contar com a minha recomendação. 

Não consegui deixar de me sentir surpresa e também um pouco triste. A equipe do The Late Late foi a primeira a me acolher depois de me tornar mãe solo, demonstrando tanto carinho por mim e por Liz. Saber que aquele programa tão especial iria acabar era desolador.

Por duas semanas inteiras, trabalhei quase sem pausas, fazendo o possível para que o último programa fosse memorável para cada um que fosse assisti-lo. Deixando Liz muitas vezes aos cuidados de Patrick ao chegar completamente exausta em casa. 

Comemorei minha primeira folga antes do grande dia dormindo até tarde abraçada à minha garotinha. Assistimos filmes da barbie durante a tarde e comemos besteiras depois de um longo tempo comendo apenas as comidas fitness que Patrick preparava para nós. 

A campainha tocou no começo da noite, me deixando confusa pois não esperava por ninguém. Ainda de pijama, me arrastei até a porta, tomando um susto ao ver Jungkook do outro lado.

— Você está linda. — Debochou do pijama surrado. 

— O que está fazendo aqui? 

— Eu avisei que vinha. — Ergueu uma sobrancelha. 

— Avisou? — Cocei a cabeça, sem lembrar. Dei um passo para trás, deixando que ele entrasse. 

Liz tagarelava em um português arrastado durante uma chamada de vídeo com a minha mãe. Contando a ela sobre as peripécias da Barbie sereia e como não aguentava mais comer a comida de coelho que seu padrinho fazia para nós duas. 

— Liz fala português? — Ele disse surpreso. 

— Eu sou brasileira. — Respondi, imaginando que ele tivesse esquecido deste detalhe após tantos anos. 

— Eu sei disso, mas não imaginei que ela falasse a sua língua materna. — Comentou. 

— Geralmente falo português quando estamos sozinhas. — Dei de ombros. — Achei importante ensinar, já que a minha família não fala inglês. 

— Não pensou em ensinar coreano a ela? 

— Por que? 

— O pai dela é coreano. — Tombou a cabeça para o lado. 

— Não sei se você lembra, mas o meu coreano é limitado. — Sorri. — Eu não sou a melhor para ensinar isso a ela. 

— Eu posso? 

— É claro. 

Liz pareceu finalmente notar a presença do pai, sorrindo abertamente e gritando de animação, largado a avó falando sozinha sobre o sofá. 

— Filha, dá tchau para a vovó. — Falei. Ela voltou os passinhos que havia dado, pegando o aparelho.

— Tchau, vó! — Disse rápido, desligando em seguida. Coloquei a mão na testa, sabendo que ouviria um discurso enorme sobre o comportamento da garota na próxima ligação. 

Agora sem mais desculpas, a pequena correu. Jungkook se abaixou, abrindo os braços para abraçá-la e arrancando risadas gostosas ao girar o corpo pequeno no ar. 

[ggukivrse]

JUST THIS… TWICE? | JJK

summary. when you complain to jungkook about your lack of action in the past year, you're not really asking for a solution. but when he casually offers to help, you just can't seem to bring yourself to say no.

after all, what's the worst that could happen in hooking up just this once?

pairing: jeon jungkook x f!reader

genre: friends to lovers, smut, fluff

word count: 8.3k

warnings: more porn but with a tiny bit more plot :0, swearing, explicit sexual content (mdni), car sex, kissing, making out, oral (f. receiving), again he’s very cocky but can we blame him, breast play, multiple orgasms, banter and teasing as dirty talk, petnames (baby), jk's actually a menace but lowkey down bad, the ending deserves a warning (i’m sorryy), let me know if i missed anything!

notes: thank you SAURR much to my bae j @tranquilreign for beta reading!! (i’m still giggling at all ur comments pls :3) likes, comments, reblogs, asks and feedback are so so appreciated. enjoy reading my angelss <3

ps. READ PART ONE HERE!!

⌗ masterlist. ⌗ taglist. ⌗ feedback

You wake up to the dull throb of sunlight pressing through your curtains and the sharper ache between your legs.

It's not unpleasant — just a lingering reminder. A hum under your skin, like a bruise you don’t mind touching again and again.

You blink slowly, your eyes gritty from sleep, mouth dry, brain hazy in that half-dream state where everything feels like it could be made up. The heavy comforter is kicked down to your hips, your legs tangled in each other, and for a second — just one — you think maybe it was a dream.

But then you shift, and your thighs protest, and it all comes back.

The couch. His fingers. His mouth. The way he looked at you like he’d already had you a thousand times in his head. The things he said — low, teasing, mean. The things you said back. Your stomach tightens, breath hitching as your body tries to replay it too fast, too much.

You squeeze your eyes shut and will your brain to shut up.

You don’t usually let people sleep over. Not like this. Not in your bed, under your sheets, in your space.

But Jungkook’s always been the exception to things. It’s not new, waking up with him in your apartment. He’s been here for movie nights that turned into sleepovers, for hangovers that turned into late mornings, for heartbreaks that turned into shared pints of ice cream and shit talk.

You’ve seen him in your space more times than you can count. But never like this.

You breathe in slow and exhale even slower, eyes fluttering open. The room is still, the air thick with the kind of silence that begs to be broken but doesn’t quite want to be. You shift again, turning onto your side, and your eyes land on the shape beside you.

He’s lying on his stomach, one arm thrown across your pillow, the other tucked under his chest. The blanket’s halfway down his back, exposing the mess of tattoos curling across his shoulder and the dip of his spine. His hair’s a wreck — pushed off his forehead, flattened in the back — and his lips are parted, soft. He looks young like this. Calm. A little too good for your peace of mind.

You stare at him a moment too long.

And then you very, very carefully roll onto your back again.

You feel like you’re in a minefield. Like one wrong move will detonate something you're not ready to name.

You slept with your best friend.

Not just slept. Fucked.

Fucked him like you meant it. Like you’ve wanted to for longer than you’re willing to admit, even to yourself.

You exhale again. A sharp, quiet puff of air through your nose. Maybe if you stay still long enough, he’ll just keep sleeping. And you can sneak to the bathroom. Or back in time. Whichever’s easier.

You’re not panicking. Not technically. You’re just… thinking. Overthinking. Remembering how you sounded begging him not to stop. Remembering how he looked at you like you were the only thing he’d ever wanted. Remembering how, when it was over, he held you like it meant something.

You feel his warmth next to you, steady and real. His leg brushes yours, his knee nudging slightly against your calf, and your whole body goes still again.

You wonder what he's going to say when he wakes up; if he'll still smile at you like he did last night — like nothing about this is complicated. Like your world didn’t tilt just a little off its axis the second he kissed you back, like he wasn't allowed to and never planned on stopping.

You should feel weird. You should feel guilty. Or ashamed. Or something more than this weird, electric calm.

But mostly, you just feel like you don’t want to move.

His breathing shifts — subtle, but enough that you know he’s starting to wake up.

Your heart trips a little.

He shifts, and the arm he’d slung over your pillow curls slightly in, fingers brushing the back of your hand. He lets out a groggy hum, the noise half in his throat.

You freeze, eyes still closed.

“Mm,” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep. “What time is it?”

You swallow. Your voice doesn’t come right away, caught somewhere behind your tongue. When it does, it’s soft, a rasp. “No idea.”

He exhales. Shuffles a little closer. You can feel the heat of him now, bleeding through the sliver of space that still separates you. A moment passes. Then another. You brace for it — for the tension, the shift, the stammered joke to smooth over the jagged memory of last night.

But all he says is, “Damn. My back hurts.”

You blink, startled by the normalcy of it. “You’re not supposed to sleep like that. You looked like a crime scene victim.”

“Sexy,” he mutters, eyes still closed. “That’s what I was going for.”

You huff a quiet laugh. And weirdly, the knot in your stomach loosens just a little.

Another silence stretches. But it’s not bad. Not heavy. He makes a small sound as he shifts again, propping himself up just slightly on one elbow. You don’t look at him, not yet, but you can feel his eyes on you.

“How do you feel?”

You hesitate.

He waits.

You turn your head slowly toward him, and finally meet his gaze. His hair’s a mess, his eyes still sleep-warm, but there’s something sharper under the surface. Not regret. Not even nerves. Just… attention. He’s watching you the way he did last night — carefully. Like you matter.

You chew your lip for a second. "Sore," you eventually say, voice quiet.

He smiles. “Good sore or bad sore?”

You raise an eyebrow. “You want a Yelp review?”

He shrugs, still smiling. “I mean, if you’re offering. I’d love a star rating.”

You stare at him for another second. Then you snort, burying your face in the pillow. “You’re such a dick.”

“You didn’t mind last night.”

You groan, muffled. “Please don't. It's too early for this.”

He laughs — really laughs — and you feel it wash over you like a warm breeze. He’s not weird about it. Not cagey or distant. And maybe it’s a little disarming how himself he still is. Like nothing’s changed.

Like everything has, but it’s fine.

He shifts again, flops onto his back beside you with a loud sigh and an arm flung dramatically over his eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this hungover and this smug at the same time. It’s honestly kind of impressive.”

You glance at him, lips twitching. “Your ego’s going to explode.”

He peeks at you from under his arm. “Can you blame me? I mean, damn.”

You roll your eyes and toss a corner of the blanket over his face.

But your heart’s still racing.

You don’t know what you were expecting — some awkward shuffle out of bed, a strained goodbye, maybe even him pretending it hadn’t happened. But he’s still here. In your bed. In your space. Making you laugh.

Just like always.

Your fingers brush against his under the covers. Neither of you pull away.

You stare at the ceiling for a moment, letting yourself breathe. Letting the silence settle between you again. It feels different now, not loud with questions or demanding anything from you.

It feels like… him.

And maybe you’re not ready to ask what it means yet.

But for now?

This doesn’t feel like a mistake. Not even a little.

You’re standing outside your office building, arms crossed and scowling.

The sidewalk’s sticky with the leftover heat of the day, and there’s a cluster of your co-workers behind you laughing about something you’re not a part of. Their voices blur into the honks and hum of Friday traffic, and all you can focus on is the time.

Jungkook is two minutes late.

You know how stupid it is — two minutes. But today, even two seconds of anything feels like too much.

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, the back of your neck damp with sweat, the strap of your bag digging into your shoulder in just the wrong way. Your phone sits heavy in your palm. No new messages. No “almost there.” No “sorry, traffic’s ass.”

Nothing.

The week has wrung you out like a wet towel. Every day, some new tiny disaster: deadlines moving without warning, your boss micromanaging you like you’re an intern again, and a meeting yesterday where a client talked over you so many times you wanted to crawl under the table and scream.

You’ve barely slept. Your eyes are scratchy. You snapped at someone in the break room this morning because they made a passive-aggressive joke about your “resting bitch face.” And now, Jungkook is late. On your day. Friday. The one consistent thing in your life.

Every Friday, he picks you up from work.

It started almost a year ago, after a breakup left you crying into your salad at your desk. When Jungkook had texted you to come down that day, you'd expected takeout and tissues. But instead, he’d cranked up the music in his car and driven you to a late-night ramen spot where you ended up laughing so hard you nearly choked on your noodles.

It became tradition. No matter what kind of week you’d had, no matter what mood either of you were in — Friday nights belonged to you two. You didn’t even have to plan anything. Sometimes it was tacos in the car and talking shit about your co-workers. Sometimes it was video games at his place or walking around the city until your legs ached and your cheeks hurt from laughing.

He always showed up. Early, even.

But today, the sun is setting in your eyes, and he’s late.

You tap your foot. Then stop, because that’s annoying. Then sigh loud enough to get a look from a passing stranger.

You grip your phone tighter, squinting down the street. Still no sign of his car. Your thumb hovers over the call button.

Three minutes late now.

Your stomach twists — not from worry, but frustration. Because this — this quiet, unnecessary delay — is the cherry on top of the shit sundae that has been your entire week. And you hate that it’s him. That even Jungkook gets to be a part of the unravelling now.

You lean against the metal pole of the bus sign, letting it bite into your spine. A bead of sweat slips down your back. The sun is way too bright for this hour.

Your phone buzzes.

Finally.

You snatch it up like you’ve been waiting for a lifeline, and there it is:

Kook 🍜: here in a min

You glare at the screen. Then type:

You: You’re late.

Kook 🍜: exactly 3 min. that’s barely anything

You: You’re lucky I’m too exhausted to castrate you.

Kook 🍜: bet you'll still get in the car

You don’t respond.

You just shove your phone back in your bag and take a breath that doesn’t do anything to help.

Jungkook’s car pulls up slow, music low, window already halfway down. He’s in that stupid black bucket hat he always wears, curls pushed out from under the brim. You catch the grin he’s wearing before he even says anything — wide, lazy, like he’s proud just to have found parking.

He leans over and calls out through the window, “Damn. Which poor intern did you kill today?”

You glare at him.

His smile falters a little, but he keeps going, still trying to crack you open like usual. “I mean, you’re kinda glowing with hate. It’s kinda hot. Very—”

“Jungkook,” you cut in, sharp.

His eyes snap up to yours.

You immediately hate how sharp your voice came out. You look away, fingers curling around the strap of your bag.

“Sorry,” you mutter after a beat. “I just… I’ve had a fucking awful week, and I’m really not in the mood for jokes right now.”

There’s a pause. Just the hum of the engine and a soft beat coming from the speakers — some song with a lazy bassline and breathy vocals.

Then he shifts. You hear the click of the lock before he leans over to push the door open for you. “Get in.”

You do. Without arguing.

The cool air hits your face the second the door closes, and you let your head lean back against the seat. He doesn’t say anything right away. Just starts driving, hands loose on the wheel, his bottom lip tugged between his teeth like he’s thinking.

“You wanna talk about it?” he asks eventually, softer this time.

You shake your head. “Not really. Just one of those weeks where everything goes to shit in slow motion. Work, people, the world. My brain. I think I hate everyone.”

He hums. “Cool. We can start a club.”

You huff a laugh, just barely. But it’s something.

He glances at you sideways, like he’s measuring how far he can push. “So when do I get to punch your boss?”

“I’m serious, Kook.”

“I'm serious too! I’ve been doing push-ups.”

You snort, against your will. “You do three push-ups and call it training.”

“First of all, way more than three. Second, the form was perfect. Don’t disrespect me in my own car.”

You smile — tiny, fleeting — but it’s the first time today you’ve felt even remotely human.

“Thanks for picking me up,” you murmur after a second. “Even if you were late.”

“Exactly three minutes,” he says, defensive. “And I was texting you while driving, which is dedication. Illegal, but dedication.”

You glance over at him. He’s wearing his usual all-black like he’s trying to look tough, but the corners of his mouth are soft. His grip on the wheel is loose. Familiar. Like this is just another Friday, like nothing’s changed since last week.

But something has. You feel it.

You clear your throat. “Can we just go back to mine? I kind of want to curl into a blanket and pretend I don’t exist.”

“Nope,” he says instantly.

You blink. “What?”

“I have a plan.”

“A plan?”

“Yep.”

“What kind of plan?”

He just grins, eyes still on the road. “You’ll see.”

You narrow your eyes. “I swear to god, if this ends with me getting roped into karaoke—”

“No karaoke,” he says with a laugh, holding up one hand solemnly. “I promise. You’ve suffered enough.”

You sigh and let your head fall against the window. The glass is cool against your temple, and you let your eyes slip closed for a second. “I’m serious though, Kook. I really don’t think I have the energy to be around people right now.”

“No people,” he assures you. “Just us. Little detour. Nothing dramatic.”

You peek one eye open at him. “You’re being weird.”

“I’m being nice.”

“That’s what’s weird.”

He smirks. “Okay, that’s fair.”

You fall quiet again. The road noise fills the silence, the gentle whir of tires and the low pulse of the bass. It’s soothing in a way, the way riding with him always is.

Your fingers drift to your lap, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. He doesn’t ask again about your week. He just drives, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually near the gearshift, fingers tapping to the beat of the music.

You glance at him again.

He looks good when he’s focused but relaxed. The way he hums along to the music without realising. The way the light paints the side of his face gold as it streams through the windshield. You feel it crawl up your chest: that annoying, warm pressure. That thing you haven’t named yet.

That thing you’re starting to feel more often when he’s near you.

And it’s so stupid. So inconvenient.

You stare out the window, try to shake it off.

He turns down a street you don’t recognise.

“Seriously,” you say, finally. “Where are we going?”

He just grins again, eyes still forward.

“You’ll see.”

You’re parked at the top of a hill you didn’t know existed.

Below you, the city stretches out — tiny glints of light catching on glass and metal, and cars threading through the streets like slow-moving ants. It’s not some tourist lookout spot. There’s no crowds, no fences or coin-operated telescopes. Just a dusty turnout on the side of a winding road and a view that makes you feel like the world finally shut up for a minute.

It’s quiet up here. Real quiet. Even the music in the car has been turned down to a soft background hum — just instrumental now.

You’ve got a milkshake in your hands, condensation slipping down the side and catching on your fingers. It’s thick and rich, the kind that takes actual effort to sip through a straw. The sweetness coats your tongue, dulls the bitter edge that’s been living in your chest all week. In your lap is the discarded wrapping of a burger so good you had to ask where the hell it came from.

“I’ve literally never heard of this place,” you say around a mouthful of fries. “Is this one of those ‘secret menu, don’t tell anyone or they’ll kill you’ joints?”

Jungkook grins around his own bite, sauce already on the corner of his mouth. “Maybe. The guy who owns it doesn’t even do social media. Total off-the-grid.”

You nod like that explains the magic burger. “They probably sold their soul to the devil for the recipes or something.”

He laughs, mouth full, and leans over to wipe the sauce off with the back of his hand. “You okay now?”

You pause.

The question isn’t heavy. He doesn’t even look at you when he says it — just stares out at the view like he’s asking casually. But you hear the real version underneath. You always hear it with him.

You take a slow sip of your milkshake before answering.

“Yeah,” you say. “I think I am.”

And for once, it’s not a lie. Your body still feels wrung out, your muscles sore from being tense for too many days in a row, but something about this — about being here, with him, with real food and fake silence and a breeze that smells like clean air and french fries settles something in you.

You glance over. He’s sitting back against the driver’s side door, one knee propped up. His hat’s on the floor somewhere — he'd thrown it off after complaining about the heat — and the curve of his neck is exposed just enough to distract you when you look too long.

Which you are. Looking too long, again.

“So,” you say, casually. “How many women have you brought up here to seduce with mystery burgers and pretty views?”

He snorts. “You’re the first. Most of my dates prefer the classic ‘come over and watch a movie, but don’t actually watch the movie’ route.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Wow. Such effort.”

“Right? I’m kind of romantic like that.”

You toss a fry at him. It bounces off his chest and lands in his tray.

He doesn’t flinch. Just picks it up and eats it. “Thanks.”

You roll your eyes, but you can't help the smile that tugs on your lips.

The air settles into a rhythm again. You chew slowly, the kind of silence between you that doesn’t need filling. It's never been hard, being around him. Even now — after everything — you find yourself slipping back into the easy groove of just existing next to him.

Your phone buzzes in your bag, but you don’t reach for it. You don’t even want to know.

You glance over at him again.

He’s still working on his burger, brows furrowed like he’s trying to solve it. Like he’s mad at how good it tastes.

It should be funny.

It is funny. But your heart stutters instead.

You don’t laugh. You just watch.

The way his lips press together before each bite. The little crease between his eyebrows. His jaw, flexing with each chew. The thick column of his throat when he swallows.

You’ve seen him eat a thousand things in a thousand places. Messy tacos. Gas station snacks. Instant noodles straight from the pot. But somehow, this moment feels different.

Or maybe you do.

Something in you has been tilting all week.

You’ve been tired, angry, brittle with exhaustion. But under it — every time he texts you, looks at you, shows up — there’s something else rising. Warm and low.

You’re not sure when being around him stopped feeling simple.

Maybe it was that night. Maybe it’s been creeping in longer. But it’s louder now. Clearer. It fills your throat and sits behind your ribs and presses up against the edges of your self-control.

He licks ketchup from his thumb.

And you can’t stop staring at his mouth.

He glances up and catches you looking, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

You blink. Swallow. Try to think of something else, anything else, but your body’s already too aware. Too wired.

“Would you hate me if I did something?” you ask, voice low.

His head tilts. “What kind of something?”

“Would you?” you repeat, ignoring his question.

He puts his empty milkshake cup and spare tissues into the paper bag you got the food in, then puts it on to the dashboard of the car before meeting your gaze again.

“You know I could never hate you,” he says, voice casual.

Your pulse stutters.

And before you can talk yourself out of it, your fingers fist in the front of his shirt and you’re moving across your seat, crashing your mouth into his.

It’s not sweet or delicate.

You kiss him like you’ve been holding it back for weeks. Like you’ve hit your limit and there’s nowhere else for the feeling to go. Your teeth scrape his lip. Your noses bump.

He makes a startled sound, hands finding your waist instinctively. You pull back a bit, heart hammering in your chest, and for a beat, neither of you move. He just stares at you — wide-eyed, lips parted — like he’s trying to memorise this exact second.

His mouth opens and closes for a second before his lips are on yours again, chasing your mouth like he needs you to breathe.

Fuck. You weren't actually expecting him to reciprocate.

Then again, you hadn't been thinking at all.

"This is a horrible idea," you mumble.

Jungkook smiles into the kiss. "Mhm. Terrible."

But neither of you stop. You're not sure you could even if you tried. Jungkook's an addicting man, especially when he's kissing you like this.

You grunt into his mouth when your knee hits the centre console, frustrated — not at him, not at this, but at the fucking layout of his stupid car.

You pull back just far enough to say, breathless, “This car is the worst possible place for this.”

He’s panting a little, lips flushed. “You’re the one who launched yourself at me.”

You roll your eyes, shifting your position to try and get comfortable, but your impatience only grows with every second that your lips aren't on his.

“Fuck,” you mutter, pushing your hair out of your face. “This is so—”

“Hot,” Jungkook cuts in, his hand sliding under your shirt to palm your waist. His touch is warm. Steady. “It’s hot.”

You pause. Look at him.

His gaze is on your mouth again and his hand flexes against your skin like he’s trying to stay in control. But you see it — how much effort it’s taking.

And that…

Yeah, that does something to you.

With the help of his hands, your weight sinks down into his lap, both knees straddling his thighs.

The position isn’t comfortable — your head almost knocks the ceiling — but it’s better than before. Your mouths press together again, desperate.

Your tongue slides against his, your teeth catch on his bottom lip, and he pulls you tighter like you might disappear if he lets go.

One of his hands snakes up your back, under your shirt, fingers splaying across your spine like he wants to map it. You grind down against him, slow and deliberate, and his breath stutters.

“Fuck,” he mutters into your mouth. “Do that again.”

You do.

He tilts his head and deepens the kiss, like he’s trying to taste everything you’ve never said out loud. You lose your balance for a second, your body leaning into him, your chest flush with his. His hand slips up to your jaw, thumb brushing along your cheekbone.

You roll your hips again, slower this time, and he breaks the kiss with a gasp, resting his forehead against yours.

“Shit,” he says, voice wrecked. “We can’t do this here.”

“Why not?” you murmur, mouth still grazing his.

He laughs — short, breathless. “Because I’m gonna break the gearshift with my dick if we keep going.”

You laugh too, the sound getting lost between the kisses you press to his jaw, his neck, the line of his throat.

His fingers dig into your waist. “You’re evil.”

You bite his earlobe gently. “You like it.”

He groans, the sound full and needy, and his hands are on your ass, dragging you harder into him, his hips rolling up to meet yours.

You both freeze at the contact.

Your breath catches. His does too.

You pull back to look at him. His eyes are blown wide. His lips are red. His chest rises and falls like he’s run a mile.

His mouth breaks from yours, breath ragged, lips swollen.

“Backseat,” he says, voice a little raspy.

You blink, still breathless. “What?”

He grabs your waist again, eyes dark with lust pooling in his pupils. “Backseat. Now.”

You don’t question him this time.

You clamber into the back with far less grace than you’d like — knees catching on leather, thigh knocking the steering wheel hard enough to make the horn let out a pathetic chirp. Jungkook laughs behind you, but it’s breathless and reverent, the kind of sound that makes you feel seen. Wanted.

You fall into the back seat, legs tangled, heart hammering, your skin hot beneath your clothes. Before you can even fix your hair or adjust your position, he’s climbing in after you.

His body slots over yours, knee between your thighs, hands bracing on either side of your head as he dives back in.

You fist his shirt, tugging him impossibly closer as his mouth breaks from yours and moves lower — along your jaw, down your neck. His lips are soft but relentless, nipping at the skin just below your ear before sucking hard enough to make your hips buck into him.

“Fuck,” you whisper, head falling back. “You’re—god—”

“Still not tired of me?” he murmurs against your throat.

You grip his shoulders, legs falling open to make room for him between them. “Shut up.”

He huffs a laugh against your skin, but he listens. Fingers move to your buttons, surprisingly nimble despite how wrecked he looks. He doesn’t tear anything. Doesn’t rush it. He undoes each one slowly, as if he’s unwrapping a gift he’s been waiting way too long to open.

As each button pops free, his mouth follows — kissing down the newly exposed skin between your breasts, over the curve of your ribs. His hands slide beneath the fabric, pushing it open until your chest is bared, and hooks a finger beneath the centre of your bra, tugging it down and out of the way until you're fully exposed beneath him.

He pulls back to look.

And when he does, he breathes your name.

Low. Like a prayer.

You watch his eyes drag over you, dark and worshipful. One hand cups your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple in slow, lazy circles while the other grips your waist, holding you steady as your back arches into him.

He leans down again, tongue flicking over your nipple before his mouth closes around it — sucking just hard enough to make your toes curl. Your fingers fly to his hair, anchoring yourself in him as his teeth graze sensitive skin and his free hand teases the other side, drawing a sharp gasp from your throat.

“Kook—” you breathe, hips shifting beneath him, desperate for friction.

His mouth drags away with a wet sound. “Yeah, baby?”

The pet name sounds dangerous in his voice. Too natural. Like it belongs.

You don’t even call it out. You just say, “Need more.”

That’s all he needs to hear.

He drops one hand between your thighs, pressing it there over your pants with firm, maddening pressure. Just enough to make your breath stutter. His mouth is back on your chest, and his fingers start moving — slow at first, then harder, more purposeful, dragging against the seam of the fabric like he knows exactly how to push you to the edge.

He does.

And you’re already spiralling, body burning under his touch, chest heaving, lips swollen, the back seat of his car too cramped, too humid, too perfectly wrong for what’s happening.

But you’ve never wanted anything more.

Your head drops back against the seat, a soft moan catching in your throat as Jungkook keeps working you over through your pants, his fingers circling you like he has all the time in the world and none of the patience to waste it.

“I swear to god,” you pant, “if you don’t get these off me right now, I’m gonna lose my fucking mind.”

He laughs, still panting himself. His mouth presses hot and open to your neck, teeth grazing skin that’s already buzzing. “Bossy tonight, huh?”

“You started this.”

“And I’m gonna finish it,” he mutters, breath warm against your collarbone.

He shifts down your body and you feel him fumble with the button of your pants, tongue poking at the corner of his mouth in concentration.

“I can do it,” you say, breathless. “You’re slow.”

He blinks up at you, eyebrows raised. “Oh? I’m slow?”

You undo the button in one motion, zipper halfway down, and shoot him a sarcastic smile. “There. Congrats.”

He smiles, wide and wicked, and in the next second, he’s got your pants halfway down your thighs, your panties bunched right after. “Cool. I’ll just use my mouth then.”

That wipes the smugness off your face in an instant.

You freeze.

“Kook— wait, no—”

He pauses, glancing up at you from where he’s knelt between your legs, hair falling into his eyes, hands gripping your thighs with intent. “Did you just try and say no to that?”

“I mean…” You squirm, thighs twitching under his touch. “Last time was already— like, I came. A lot. You don’t have to do the whole… y’know…”

“The whole what?” he asks, voice dangerously innocent. “The part where I make you forget your own name with my tongue?”

You glare at him. “Don’t say it like that.”

He smirks, leaning in until his nose brushes your inner thigh. “Say what? That I’m gonna eat you out until you’re dripping into the seat?”

Your whole body jerks. “Jesus— Kook.”

“That’s not a no.”

He presses a kiss to your inner thigh, slow and warm. Then another. And another. Higher. Closer.

“Didn't get to do it last time,” he murmurs. “And I’ve been thinking about it. All fucking week.”

“You think about this?” you ask, trying for teasing, but your voice wavers as his mouth brushes closer to your core.

“Every night.”

Your breath catches.

“Every time I jerked off, it was to the sound you made when I had my fingers in you. You remember that?” he asks, dragging his mouth up until he’s just hovering over you, warm breath ghosting across your heat.

You nod, because you can’t speak. Your fingers are curled tight into the edge of the seat. Your thighs twitch.

“You remember what you said? ‘Please, don’t stop,’” he mimics, voice low and mocking. “But now you wanna tell me to stop this?”

You open your mouth to fire back some bratty reply — but then he presses a single, firm kiss against your cunt.

Your brain blanks.

Your hips buck.

“Fuck— okay,” you gasp, voice breaking.

He grins like he’s won a bet. “Knew you’d cave.”

Then his mouth is on you.

Hot and slow at first — just one long lick from bottom to top that has your eyes rolling back. His hands pin your thighs apart, anchoring you in place as he buries his face between your legs.

His tongue is obscene. Soft and firm in perfect rhythm, flicking over your clit before sealing his mouth around it and sucking hard enough to make your vision blur.

You cry out, hips stuttering up into his face, but he just groans against you.

“Fuck, you’re so messy already,” he mumbles against you. “Is that for me?”

You’re beyond words.

Your fingers snake into his hair, anchoring yourself as he eats you out like a man with something to prove. He moves with precision and hunger, memorising your every twitch, every gasp, every breathless curse.

“God, Kook—” you pant, eyes squeezed shut. “You’re such a fucking overachiever.”

He pulls back just enough to look up at you, chin slick, pupils blown. “You gonna dock my grade if I make you come too fast?”

You glare down at him, chest heaving. “You’re insufferable.”

He presses a kiss to your clit, slow and sharp. “As if it doesn't turn you on."

You can’t argue. Not when he dives back in, tongue sliding over you with maddening confidence, his nose bumping against your clit as he hums.

The pressure builds fast.

Too fast.

And you know it’s coming — the kind of orgasm that starts at your toes and climbs like a fuse to the rest of you — but you don’t care.

You come hard, shaking through it, barely aware of the sounds leaving your mouth. Everything goes white-hot for a second — your grip in his hair, the tremble in your thighs, the pleasure that pulses through you.

You’re still gasping, thighs trembling, when he finally pulls back. His lips are slick, his chin wet with you, and he looks fucking wrecked.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You good?” he asks, cocky and a little breathless.

You shoot him a look. “Do I look good?”

He smirks. “You look like I just rocked your shit.”

You scoff, weak but grinning. “You’re so full of yourself.”

He kisses your inner thigh, then leans up, mouth dragging over your ribs as he moves back over you. “Just calling it like I see it.”

Your hands slide under his shirt as he settles above you again, dragging it up over his toned stomach until he gets the hint and peels it off. You press your palms to his chest, warm and solid and slick with sweat.

Then your hand starts moving lower.

Jungkook freezes above you, eyes flicking down to where your fingers are tugging at his waistband. You smirk up at him.

“My turn?”

“Your turn to what?” he asks, voice already hoarse.

You shift, nudging his hips up so you can start pulling his jeans open. “You think I’m gonna let you have all the fun?”

He groans — actual, full-bodied groan — as you work the zipper down and slide your hand beneath the waistband of his boxers.

But the second your fingers wrap around him, he grabs your wrist.

You look up, surprised. “What?”

He’s panting now, jaw tight, brow furrowed like he’s holding on by a thread.

“I can’t.”

You blink. “Can’t what?”

“I— fuck, if you put your mouth on me, I’m not gonna last.” He grips your wrist tighter, not pulling away but not letting you move either. “And I need to be in you first.”

You raise a brow, amused. “What happened to all that stamina you brag about during Mario Kart?”

He glares, cheeks flushed. “That’s different. You don’t suck me off during Mario Kart.”

“Maybe I should.”

“Don’t joke right now,” he grits out, pushing your hand out of his boxers with an almost painful kind of restraint. “I’m serious. I’m already dying.”

You pout, dragging your nails lightly down his stomach just to be a brat. “So needy.”

His eyes narrow, before moving back onto you.

You squeal as he pins your hands above your head, his body crashing into yours, mouth crashing against your neck.

“I’ll show you needy,” he growls, voice thick and dark.

Your heart kicks hard in your chest, and you’re smiling — giddy, wrecked, turned on beyond belief.

“You promise?” you whisper, voice almost mocking.

His hips roll down into yours.

“Oh, baby. I promise.”

The second his hips grind down again, dragging against your soaked heat, you feel your breath punch out of your lungs.

He lets go of your wrists and shoves his jeans and boxers down just far enough to free himself, cock flushed and heavy, already leaking at the tip. You reach for it instinctively, wanting to feel him, stroke him slow just to tease — but he swats your hand away like it’s nothing.

“No,” he growls, leaning in to press a kiss to your collarbone, rough and reverent all at once. “You had your chance.”

You open your mouth to argue, to push his buttons just a little more — but the head of his cock nudges your entrance, and whatever snark you had queued up melts into a gasp.

Jungkook groans under his breath, burying his face in the crook of your neck like the restraint is killing him. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

“Yeah,” you rasp, gripping his shoulders, nails digging in. “Wonder why.”

He shifts his hips, just a little, dragging the thick head through your folds. Not pushing in yet, but slicking himself up with you. You moan despite yourself, arching into him, your body desperate to be filled.

“You ready?” he mutters, voice ragged.

You look at him — really look at him. His hair’s a mess, stuck to his forehead. His lips are kiss-bruised and red. His abs flex as he holds himself up over you, barely restraining the shake in his arms.

And you’ve never wanted anything so badly in your life.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Please.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

He pushes in slow, thick and stretching, and your breath catches at the burn. Your back arches. One hand flies to the window for leverage, the other fists in the back of his neck.

“Jesus,” Jungkook groans, barely halfway in. “You feel— fuck— you feel insane.”

You laugh, short and winded. “That’s what you said last time.”

“Yeah, and I meant it.”

He bottoms out with a curse, hips flush to yours. For a moment, you both just breathe — heavy and ragged, bodies locked together, the air thick with sweat and want.

His movements are slow at first — just a shallow roll of his hips that drags his cock along every nerve ending inside you. You moan, legs tightening around his waist, heels digging into the backs of his thighs.

“Faster,” you breathe, already twitching around him.

He leans back just enough to watch your face, eyes locked on yours like he’s chasing every reaction. Then he picks up the pace — slamming into you with long, deep strokes that have the car rocking.

You cry out, snapping your hand up to press against your mouth. “Kook— fuck, don’t stop.”

He laughs — laughs, breathless and wrecked. “You think I could?”

Every thrust punches a gasp from your lungs. You can’t think. You can’t do anything but hold on.

He shifts, bracing one knee on the seat and angling his hips just right — and when he hits that spot inside you, your whole body jerks.

“Oh my god,” you moan.

“Right there?” he grits out, sweat dripping down his jaw. “Fuck, I feel it— your pussy’s so fucking tight, you’re gonna— shit— you’re gonna make me come.”

“Thought you said I’d be the one begging.”

He groans, pulls out almost all the way, then slams back in so hard you scream.

“Still wanna be a brat?” he growls, panting.

You nod, grinning through the moans. “Always.”

“Fine.” He grabs both your wrists again and pins them above your head, his body pressing into you harder now, relentless, sweat slicking your skin. “Then you can take it.”

And fuck, you do.

Your second orgasm creeps up on you fast — your whole body tensing as his thrusts get rougher, deeper, desperate. You cry out his name, high and wrecked, and the sound makes him snap.

His rhythm falters. His mouth crashes against yours, sloppy and hot, all teeth and tongue as he chases his own edge.

“I’m gonna—” he gasps, pulling back to look at you, eyes wild. “Fuck— can I—?”

You nod fast, moaning. “Inside. Just do it.”

That’s all it takes.

He buries himself one last time and shatters — groaning low in your ear as he spills into you, body shaking, arms trembling with effort as he holds himself up.

For a moment, it’s just the sound of breathing. Wind through cracked windows. The slow drip of sweat down your temples. The burn in your thighs. The mess between your legs.

Jungkook lets out a choked laugh and slumps down, burying his face in your neck. “Okay,” he mumbles. “That might’ve been the best sex I’ve had in a fucking car.”

You laugh, dazed. “You say that like it’s a long list.”

“Give me some credit,” he says, voice muffled against your skin. “I’m not that trashy.”

You stroke your fingers through his hair, still catching your breath. “We just fogged up every window in your car.”

“Worth it.”

He doesn’t move.

You’re still tangled together, his weight heavy on you, his softening cock still inside.

After a moment, he shifts slightly and lets out a low, satisfied sigh. You can feel the smile against your neck before he presses another kiss there. Then another. And another.

You squirm, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “You’re clingy as fuck after sex.”

“Mm-hmm,” Jungkook hums, completely unashamed. “Deal with it.”

You roll your eyes, still grinning. “You’re like a weighted blanket.”

He lifts his head just enough to look at you, sweaty curls falling into his eyes. “You love it.”

“Debatable.”

He snorts, then finally pulls out, slow and careful. You both groan at the feeling, and you feel it immediately: his cum, warm and slick, already starting to slide out of you.

You shift to reach for your underwear, cringing at the sticky feeling.

“I’ll clean you up,” he says, voice quiet but certain. “When we get home.”

You blink at him. “You don’t have to. Just drop me off—”

“No.” His tone is firmer now, jaw set. “I’m not just dropping you off.”

You stare at him for a beat, surprised by the sharp edge in his voice. Then you glance down pull up your bra and button up your shirt, suddenly very aware of your heartbeat again.

He watches you the whole time, his eyes dragging over your skin like he’s memorising every inch of it before covering it back up. And when you finish with the last button and reach for your jeans, he leans forward and kisses your jaw — soft, almost reverent.

“I mean it,” he murmurs. “Let me take care of you.”

And for some reason, you don’t fight it.

You’re lying in his bed, hair still damp from the shower, the curve of his hoodie soft against your bare thighs. The sheets smell like fabric softener and his cologne, and the room is dim — just the small lamp by the closet casting a low amber glow. There’s a bowl of ramen on the nightstand, still steaming. You’re not hungry, but he made it for you, so you took a few bites anyway.

Outside, the city hums. A car passes on the street below. Somewhere down the hall, the radiator clicks.

It should feel normal. Comfortable. It did feel normal — until maybe twenty minutes ago.

Things were fine when you got here. He’d pulled you toward the bathroom and handed you a towel, that stupid grin still half on his face. He even said something about making noodles if you promised not to pass out in his bed again. You’d laughed. Called him a housewife. Everything felt fine.

But when you came out of the shower, something was different.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling his phone like he didn’t hear you walk in. And when he looked up, the smile was there, yeah — but it didn’t fully reach his eyes. You shrugged it off. Maybe you imagined it. Maybe he was just zoning out.

But then it kept going.

Quiet, too quiet. He’d made the ramen without talking. Brought it to you, set it down, and just... sat on the floor for a while, scrolling again, saying nothing. When you asked what he was doing, he just said, “Checking something,” and didn’t elaborate. Eventually he stood, turned on a random playlist, and flopped into the chair in the corner with a bottle of water.

Now he’s across the room, scrolling again, leg bouncing slightly like he’s keyed up and trying to burn it off. He hasn’t looked at you in a few minutes. You watch the light from his phone flicker across his face, the way his brow furrows every now and then, and something in your chest tugs.

It’s not dramatic. He’s not being rude or distant. He’s not treating you like a stranger. But he’s not treating you like you, either — not the way he usually does.

You know him too well not to notice. The way he’s moving isn’t right. Like he’s stuck in his own head. Like there’s something he wants to say but doesn’t know how to bring up.

Or maybe he’s trying not to say something. Either way, it sits in the air between you, subtle but heavy.

You pull your knees up under the hoodie and wrap your arms around them, resting your chin there. Watching him. Waiting, maybe, for him to snap out of it. Say something dumb. Make fun of your hair. Crawl into bed next to you like it’s nothing.

But he doesn’t.

You shift slightly, tugging the hoodie down over your thighs even though it’s already covering you. The ramen’s gone lukewarm on the nightstand.

“Kook?”

His head lifts just a little. “Hmm?”

You hesitate. “What’s going on?”

He blinks, finally looking at you. His eyes are soft. Tired, maybe. Or just dimmer than usual. “What do you mean?”

“You just feel…” You trail off, unsure how to word it without sounding dramatic. “I don’t know. A little off.”

He smiles, and it’s almost convincing. “I’m good. Just tired.”

You don’t push. Not really. You know him. If he doesn’t want to talk, he won’t. And whatever this is — it doesn’t feel sharp enough to cut yet. It just feels strange.

“Okay,” you say quietly.

He glances down, then back at you. “Eat your noodles before they go gross.”

You glance at the bowl, then back at him. “You eat yet?”

He nods. “Earlier.”

You don’t believe him, but you let it slide.

He shifts in the chair, stretching his legs out and resting his head back for a second before sitting up again, like he was about to let himself relax and then thought better of it.

“I’m gonna get some work done before bed,” he says, standing up slowly. “Couple things I need to catch up on.”

You watch him move toward the door, half expecting him to stop, change his mind, come back and say something dumb like he always does. But he just opens it, hand braced against the frame.

His voice is gentle when he adds, “Don’t stay up too late, alright?”

You nod. “Yeah. I won’t.”

He gives you a small smile — soft, careful — and then he’s gone.

The door clicks shut behind him.

You stare at it for a long moment. The hoodie sleeves are pulled over your hands now. The ramen sits untouched. The playlist keeps playing, quiet and aimless in the background.

You let out a soft sigh before reaching over to flick off the lamp.

The room goes dark, soft shadows stretching over the walls. The sheets rustle as you shift down into them, tugging the comforter over your legs, the warmth doing nothing to quiet the noise in your head.

Maybe this is why people don’t sleep with their best friends.

Maybe this is exactly why those lines exist — because crossing them means risking everything else. And maybe you knew that. Maybe you ignored it anyway.

Because it was him.

Because part of you has been circling this for longer than you want to admit.

You close your eyes, breathing slow and steady. The scent of him still clings to the sheets. Still wraps around you like he should be here. But he’s not.

Regret settles low in your chest, dull and heavy. You hate the way it sits there, thick in your ribs, twisting slow in your stomach. You’ve always hated how it creeps in after the fact, when it’s already too late to take anything back.

You shift onto your side and pull the blanket up to your chin. Try to sleep. Try to stop thinking.

He said everything was fine.

You just wish you believed him.

→ read part three here

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