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babystrcandy · 7 months

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the lucky one (pt. 5) | jjk

summary: Growing up you only had one goal: beat Jeon Jungkook. Sometimes you'd win, other times you'd lose. Sometimes he'd lose, other times he'd win. But you'd both walk away from the match thinking the other was the lucky one.

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader rating/genre: 18+ Minors DNI | sports au, e2l/r2l, angst, fluff, smut word count: 27.7K chapter summary: You and Jungkook had always endured your lives, watching everyone else live theirs. It was time you helped each other learn how to finally breathe like real people. warnings/notes: typos probably, explicit language, jk and oc are the sun and moon 100%, hoseok i’m going to kiss you, karaoke..., yoonmin (i don’t ship them irl, don’t worry; all fictional and for plot purposes), panic attacks, poem referenced: mock orange by louise gluck a barbie dream house but all the dolls are kitchen knives by cassandra de alba, oc and jk are like so in love it’s not even funny anymore, oc in her mid-2521 na heedo era, she’s not doing too good, reporters are vultures, mention of king lear, i’m telling you they’re embarrassingly in love, unprotected soft sex like...soft-soft extra soft, mention of icarus/the fall of icarus, i think that’s it but if i missed anything please let me know, i hope you enjoy, my loves <3

chapter five: violet, roses are red, not blue ( ← previous | next → )

FIVE WAYS YOU CAN Help Someone With an Anxiety Disorder:

Validate Their Feelings by Letting Them Know It’s Okay Not to Be Okay

Don’t Tell Them to Calm Down

Encourage Them to Focus on Things They Can Change

Help Them to Help Themselves

Discourage the Use of Alcohol or Drugs to Cope With Anxiety

OK . . .

You blinked once. Twice. Then once more, trying to make sense of the words before your eyes.

The thing was: you’d dealt with anxiety before. Hell, you’d been taking to biting your nails until they bled for a while now. You knew how it felt to peel over the edge of a toilet and empty your stomach’s contents just before a game. But . . . you never knew how to handle it or how to deal with it in such abundant measures.

Why were you looking into it now one may ask? Easy. You didn’t care much about how much you could endure, because truth be told: you knew you could handle it. You knew it would pass and while it sucked, you knew it was something you could deal with. And besides, you could deal with a lot, so . . .

But . . .

There were certain things that made sense to you. While you knew you could deal with everything on your plate . . . and while . . . while you knew Jungkook could handle himself . . . for some reason, you just didn’t want him to have to.

It was an odd thing: realizing you’d rather deal with both your problems and his than let him suffer. You supposed that was what it meant to be friends, though . . . and well . . . you’d never really had any, so this was all new territory for you.

So ever since a few months ago when Jungkook told you about what happened to him just last year, you’d taken to the internet. You spent countless hours researching anxiety disorders, how to help, what to say, what to do, and on the off chance he had a panic attack near you, you’d taken to researching what to do then, too.

It made you feel a little stupid, yes, but you didn’t know how else to help. You didn’t want to make him feel . . . different for telling you, but you also . . . you didn’t want him to feel so alone anymore. (You’d even bought a book on it all (it only made you feel more clueless).

Now . . . you didn’t know much, but you hoped the research would do something. And perhaps it wasn’t too far off either. After all, you’d been helping Jungkook stay away from booze as much as possible, even deciding to stay sober with him and you thought it was helping some. But you knew the late night talks were what helped more. You didn’t know how to say this without sounding full of yourself, but you liked to think you were helping him.

That was what you truly wanted. To help him in ways you couldn’t help yourself. You could handle everything as long as he didn’t have to. That . . . that was what felt right to you.

So . . . five ways you can help someone with an anxiety disorder, you read again. You felt a little more than clueless. Still.

“Hey, Sunshine—“ Jungkook called for you, snapping you out of your own mind— “come look. It’s done.”

Blinking quickly, you clicked off your phone out of habit, realizing where you were. A tattoo parlor.

Yeah . . .

It was the weekend of the final tournaments. The win or lose all, and Yunis was up there right next to the big leagues. How? All because of Jungkook. These past few months you and him had been unbeatable. Sure, you’d lost a few, but . . . more often than not, the two of you would end a match with grins on your faces moments before you jumped into his arms and just let yourself . . . celebrate with him.

That was how it had been. You and Jungkook against the world. And to be honest, you quite liked it that way. (Granted, after your little outburst, your teammates had stopped talking about Jungkook altogether and started to . . . almost but not really but also kind of . . . respect him more (except Wooshik, but whatever). That made things a whole lot better, but it was still just you and him and you were sure it would be for the rest of the season.)

Anyway . . . you were getting off-topic.

The point was: it was almost the weekend of the final tournaments and Yunis was staying at some hotel somewhere in Ulsan. And well, while you and Jungkook were watching some movie in his hotel room, he got an idea. He wanted a new tattoo. For good luck, he’d claimed, and you . . . you hadn’t gotten a tattoo since that one mistake of one. But somehow, someway, Jungkook had managed to drag you out of the hotel and into the nearest tattoo shop he could find on the GPS.

Which landed you there: sitting in the waiting area while Jungkook went first. (He wanted it to be a surprise. That was what he told you, which you thought was a little silly, but whatever.)

And then it would be your turn.

Actually . . .

You turned to face Jungkook, taking in the dopey grin he had spread across his face while he peeked at you through the door leading to the tattooing room. It was your turn.

“Hmm?” you hummed in questioning.

Jungkook shook his head. “Come look,” he repeated as he gestured for you to follow him. “And then I’ve got a couple ideas for yours. Don’t let me forget. And don’t pretend to forget. Got it?”

You rolled your eyes with a huff, but nevertheless, followed after him, shutting the door behind you. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of the artist, but, well, you had never been good at greeting people, so what should’ve been a small greeting wave, turned into you just staring at him with some kind of . . . smile on your face. And when you realized that was so not the way to go, you turned your attention back to Jungkook, grabbing onto the loop of his jeans as he led you to the mirror on the other side of the room.

Jungkook glanced to where you clung onto him, raising his brows as he looked between your face and your hand. “Good?”

You blinked. Then realized what you were doing. Then well . . . you cleared your throat and attempted to tear your hand from his body, but before you could, his fingers curled around your wrist. And without a second glance, Jungkook guided your hand back to him, allowing it to slip into his back pocket.

All you could do was stare at the back of his head in shock. His dark hair was long now. Longer than it had ever been, to the point it could only be tied back with a hair tie or it’d be in his face all day, which was his go-to most days considering the days were long and hot. And somehow, he looked more like himself like that. He seemed to smile more, too, and you always managed to smile back even when you least expected it.

But you couldn’t help it. He was just . . . well . . .

(Sometimes he made you wonder if you should really find your friend this attractive but you ignored that most days.)

Whatever . . . the point was: you had trouble wrapping your head around his touch; around the fact that while he wasn’t exactly yours, he didn’t mind your hands on him at any time. No one had ever liked your touch this much. You had always been too cold; too harsh; too rough, but around him, you felt like your touch was almost . . . soft.

And that was what always shocked you.

“Are you drooling?” Jungkook asked, snapping you out of your own head.

Only then did you realize you had been staring at him for quite a while now, and well, he would always tease you about that. Because he was . . . Jungkook.

Your brows scrunched together. “What?”

But he didn’t bother to repeat his question. No, instead, he took his thumb and swiped at your bottom lip, inspecting it in thought. “Yep, just as I thought—“ he jutted his thumb toward you— “drool.”

Glaring, you stepped closer. “I don’t drool,” you nearly huffed.

“Mmm, that’s not what the evidence says.”

“It’s chapstick.”

“Really?”

“Really.” You glared a little harder. “Will you just show the tattoo?”

Jungkook only grinned.

And then, he turned his attention to his tattooed arm, slowly pulling up the sleeve of his shirt. Your eyes stayed trained on his arm the entire time, expecting some sort of skull or something stupid, but instead . . . no . . . as he pulled up his sleeve, he revealed a vine of some sort of blue flowers traveling from the empty space left on his lower forearm to his hand, covered by a saniderm wrap.

“What flower’s that?” you questioned, eyes still trained on the fresh tattoo as you carefully brought your hand to his arm.

“Morning glories,” he hummed while he watched you slowly turn his arm to get the full view. “My mom says they’re a pain. They grow everywhere like weeds. Once you plant one, that’s it, she says. They grow like wildfire. A nuisance.” He laughed softly. “Figured it fit.”

“It’s pretty,” you murmured with a small smile. “Fits the rest.” You tilted your head to the side a little. “Kinda looks like the snake is wrapping around it.”

Jungkook nodded. “Cool, right?”

It was. It actually really was.

“It’s nice,” you settled with instead, feigning disinterest.

But Jungkook knew you well. “Admit it,” he pushed on, leaning toward you. “Admit you’re impressed.”

Nearly rolling your eyes, you finally huffed, “Yes, fine, it’s actually cool, Kook.”

“So I’ve impressed you?”

“Well, considering I thought you were going to get a dick, yes, I suppose I’m impressed,” you muttered with a small shrug.

Jungkook snorted. “Well.”

Oh god. No, he didn’t.

Furrowing your brows, you pegged the question, “Please tell me you did not get a dick and balls tattooed on you.”

His face screwed up as he tilted his head to the side in thought. “Well . . . “

“Kook.”

Pursing his lips into a cute pout, he offered you his other hand, showing off his fingers. And there on his ring finger was the number three, and on his middle was a sideways U. Meaning, yes, Jeon Jungkook did, in fact, get a small yet visible yet inconspicuous yet not that inconspicuous at all, penis tattooed on his fingers. And no, no, you were not surprised.

“Really?” you deadpanned.

Jungkook shrugged. “Whoops.”

“As long as you don’t think this is a matching tattoo kind of thing,” you started off with your finger pointing directly into his chest. “Because, I’m telling you right now, Jungkook, I am not getting a dick tattooed on my body.”

And Jungkook only snorted, shaking his head. “No, god, I’m stupid, not an idiot. I have my designs in my bag.”

Designs? Your brows twitched. He spent that much time on this? But—

But Jungkook was already one step ahead of you, walking from you toward where his bag lay on the ground beside the tattoo chair. He rummaged through its contents until he clasped his hand around a small sketchbook before he took it out and reapproached you, already flipping through it.

Flip, flip, flip . . . and flip, until . . . he paused on a page and slowly offered it toward you with an almost shy (?) look on his face. Jungkook, shy? You almost didn’t believe it, but still, you took the sketchbook from him without another word, letting your eyes take in the sketch before your eyes.

It was another flower. Well, a stem with a few flowers. Yellow this time. And a little different from Jungkook’s. Perhaps it was a little more peculiar.

“It’s an evening primrose,” Jungkook began while your eyes stayed trained on the sketch, still analyzing it. “My mom used to have them in our garden back home. They, uh, only bloom at night. I remember every night we’d watch them. They’d do this little shake and—“ he laughed, softly at first, then a little louder— “my mom would say it was like they were yawning.”

You traced your fingertips over the sketch, remembering your own little memories of the silly flowers. That was why you remembered them. They were your mom’s favorite. She used to plant like five batches each spring and force you to come outside and watch them with her, and yes, you said force because you had always been a disagreeable child. But still, every night, you watched them.

“They’re my mom’s favorite,” you voiced aloud with a small smile playing on your lips.

“Yeah,” he hummed under his breath. “My mom said she gives her a bundle every year for her birthday.”

Glancing up, you nearly beamed. “Really?”

He nodded. “Really.”

“I guess they’d be proud of us, hmm?” you murmured, searching his face. When you realized what you’d said, you quickly cleared your throat. “For becoming chummy, you know?”

His brows twitched. “Yeah . . . I guess they would.”

A beat of silence.

Then . . . Jungkook cleared his throat, shaking his head of his thoughts as his eyes turned back to the sketch. “Anyway, uh, they remind me of home, so I thought maybe they’d do the same for you,” he allowed himself to say in a hushed tone. “But, I mean, there’s others. The drawing’s kinda shit, so—“

“I like it,” you cut him off as you held the sketchbook closer to you. “I’ll—“ you shrugged— “I’ll get it.”

Jungkook’s brows nearly shot up to his hairline. “Really?”

You only nodded. “Why not? It’s cool. It means something I think, so yeah, fuck it, I’ll get it. Besides—“ you flicked his nose— “the sketch is not half bad. You didn’t tell me you could draw.”

“That’s because I can’t.”

“Bullshit.”

“OK—“ he agreed with a shrug— “hand me the tattoo gun. I can give you a Jungkook original.”

Narrowing your eyes, you couldn’t help but purse your lips into an unamused grimace. “No, thanks, I’ll end up walking out with testicles drawn on my forehead,” you muttered with just a little bite in your words.

And that got him. Jungkook laughed, his eyes crinkling first before a grin broke out onto his face. All the while, he playfully ruffled your hair, gesturing for you to sit down in the chair a second later. And you let it happen, a small dopey smile on your face.

(And you almost realized that while Jungkook had been smiling more lately, you, too, had never smiled so much in your life. You supposed you had him to thank for that . . .

Supposedly.)

It wasn’t your reflection which caught your attention in the mirror. No, rather, what your eyes had landed on was the fresh tattoo of an evening primrose placed in the center of your sternum. It was almost similar to Jungkook’s, yet different just like the two of you, and the funny thing about it was . . . it kept managing to bring a small, almost unnoticeable smile to your face.

“What’s got you smiling?” you heard from behind you as Jungkook appeared in the doorway of the hotel room’s bathroom (completely shirtless, might you add).

“Oh, nothing—“ you shrugged as you reached for a comb (totally not just pretending to untangle the ends of your hair), while maintaining eye contact with him in the mirror— “just the fact you whined and whined about how much pain your arm was in for like, what? An hour after?” Turning slowly to face him, you puffed out your bottom lip into a pout. “Such a pussy.”

His brows raised—a look of challenge. “Yeah?”

A beat of silence.

Another shrug was your only response.

Jungkook fought off a grin, crossing his arms. “I’m a . . . pussy?” Pushing off the doorway, he took a step toward you, head cocked to the side slightly. “Hmm?”

Mirroring him, you crossed your arms over your chest. “That’s what I said.”

“Oh, is that what you said?” he mused, mocking your voice.

And before you could even protest or drop your jaw in shock, he was in front of you. He caged you in, leaning his hands on the counter behind you. One more inch and his nose would be touching yours, but you didn’t dare close that gap.

“You’re such a child,” you hissed in a hushed tone as if his proximity had made the room that much smaller and you that much more exposed.

“Mmm, am I?” he mused, his eyes trailing over your features with such languid strokes, you wondered how you ever handled his gaze before.

You raised your head ever so slightly.

To which, obviously, Jungkook found amusing. With that small, toothy, almost endearing smile on his face, he closed the gap, his nose brushing yours. “Kiss me then,” he murmured, pressing closer, just enough to brush his lips against yours in a feathering touch.

And you began to wonder how on earth you ended up becoming putty in his hands. “What if I bite you instead?” you murmured, but despite your words, you leaned into his touch.

Resting his forehead against yours, he hummed, “Well, I wouldn’t be opposed to that either.”

You felt yourself grin. “Good.”

The only response you received was his lips pressing against yours. You leaned closer, pleasantly sighing into the kiss as a grin tipped onto his face. His hands tickled your sides, lightly dancing across your skin before settling on your rib cage just below the crescents of your breasts.

(Perhaps you forgot to mention that you were entirely topless . . .

What? It was uncomfortable with the fresh tattoo.

Whatever.)

And well honestly, you couldn’t resist not having him close. So what if it bothered your tattoo? He felt better than any pain relief.

Quickly, you found yourself tangling your hands in his dark, grown-out hair as you pulled him close enough to have your bare chest pressed against his. It made you feel close . . . closer than you had ever felt with anyone . . . closer than you had ever let yourself. His grip tightened on you instantly, his hands squeezing your sides once more before he gently sucked your bottom lip under the grasp of his teeth.

It only deepened from there. You melted into him, allowing him to meld his tongue against yours. The act squeezed a soft sigh out of you, to which Jungkook couldn’t contain himself. He smiled widely against your lips, and then his arms were around your thighs, lifting you up onto the sink counter. And once you were supported by the countertop, he stepped in between your parted legs as his hands found your face, gently caressing your jaw while he all but sucked on your tongue like he had done so many times before.

“Stop trying to eat my face,” you chuckled against his lips, still kissing him back while your arms wrapped around his neck.

He shook his head, but the small grin you felt against your lips gave him away. “Stop turning me on then,” he murmured back. “It’s just not fair, Daisy baby.”

Daisy baby. That was a new one.

Your brows twitched without your permission as your eyes traced his features. More specifically, your gaze fixed on his lips, watching as he tongued his lip ring—a habit he had accumulated over the years you supposed.

It made it harder to focus on anything except him. And for the second time that night, you wondered how on earth you ended up being at his mercy time and time again.

It just felt so unlike you. So different. So new. So . . . unfamiliar.

Did you like it?

You questioned yourself over and over again these past months. It felt like something you shouldn’t be able to feel. Really . . . it just made you wonder and wonder and wonder.

Until . . . Yes, you decided. Oddly enough, yes, you did like it. You quite liked feeling like this.

But what exactly was this?

. . . Your eyes met his, and your gaze softened instantly. You had no idea what this was. No idea . . .

Jungkook caught onto the look which crossed your face and leaned forward, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “What’s got you lookin’ like that?” he sighed against your skin, pressing open-mouthed kisses anywhere he could.

And your eyes fluttered shut as you melted into his touch. “Nothing,” you hummed, angling your neck to give him more access to your body. “I just—“

But a knock at the door halted the words from leaving your tongue.

The two of you paused.

A beat of silence.

Another knock came.

Jungkook pulled back and your eyes met, confusion passing between the two of you.

Who could be knocking at the door at this hour? Especially Jungkook’s? (Because, really, after the whole meltdown you had at dinner after the first tournament . . . everyone had steered clear of the two of you. So you wondered once more . . . who could be at the door?)

No words were exchanged between the two of you, Jungkook only took the step into the hall, and peered through the peephole on the door. You watched in silence as he stared a second too long, his posture stiff before he sighed and disappeared back into the room. And well, in utter confusion, you hopped down from the counter, following after him only to find he had put on a tee and grabbed another, moments before he handed that very shirt to you with a tight-lipped smile.

“Who is it?” you whispered, your voice hushed as you put on the shirt he’d handed you, covering your bare chest.

Jungkook tongued his inner cheek, but before you could even press the question, his face softened. A small, stiff smile met his lips as he reached out and caressed your chin with his pointer, while his thumb brushed your bottom lip. “Keep your claws in,” he murmured, that small smile still on his face as if he thought that alone would be enough to ease your wandering mind.

“What—“

But he was already gone.

His touch left you and you watched as he approached the door, while you followed slowly behind. The door was swinging open the next second, revealing—

Oh. You blinked in shock.

In the doorway stood Hoseok, whose back was facing you at that very moment while he talked to . . . Seulki?

Huh?

Tilting your head in confusion, you caught Seulki’s wide dark eyes. Her eyes widened further at the sight of you two as she quickly smacked Hoseok’s shoulder and pointed behind him. The action caused Hoseok to immediately shut his mouth as he slowly turned around, his lips down-turned into an awkward expression as his gaze darted between you and Jungkook.

Furrowing your brows, you sent him a look.

Hoseok blinked back in response. Seulki nervously waved before trying to pass it off as her attempting to scratch the back of her head. And Jungkook . . . well . . . he was the one to clear his throat, putting an end to the silence. (You, however, caught onto the fact that his eyes remained glued to his feet the entire time.)

That . . . that made you step forward, until you stood beside Jungkook, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned against the door frame. “Something wrong?” you questioned the two of them, keeping a close eye.

Hoseok opened his mouth, hesitating slightly. “Uh—“

“We were looking for you guys,” Seulki cut in with a wide smile on her face. “So it’s good that you’re both—“ she glanced at Hoseok, starting to fidget with her hands as she cleared her throat— “here. Hoseok?”

Hoseok eyed her, a tad startled before he nodded in agreement. “Right, yeah,” he hummed with a clap of his hands. “We were gonna meet up with some friends from college in Busan for karaoke. They’re just . . . they’re coming to the final tournaments and we thought ‘why not, let’s go out’.” He laughed . . . awkwardly if you might add. “Anyway . . . We’ve got two extra train tickets. Could be yours . . . ?”

Quirking a brow, you glanced between them. “How much?”

A perplexed look crossed both their faces. But it was Seulki who spoke up first. “What?” she mumbled, slightly puffing out her bottom lip into a small pout—something she happened to do a lot that you’d caught onto. “Nothing. We just . . . “

As her words trailed off, Hoseok picked up where she left off. In fact, he took it a step further. “We . . . “ He quickly shut his mouth, shaking his head at his thoughts before he raised his head once more, eyes now locked on Jungkook rather than hiding from him. It didn’t matter if Jungkook didn’t look him in the eye, it seemed Hoseok had something to get off his chest as he took a literal instead of metaphorical step toward him. “I . . . I feel bad . . . for how we treated you. I assumed things. I never asked you. I never thought to. I should’ve gotten to know you before listening to anything Wooshik had to say. I misjudged you. For that, and everything else . . . I’m—“ he touched a hand to his chest before he gestured toward Seulki— “we are sorry.”

And while his words lingered in the air, you hadn’t realized that the stiffness in your muscles had slowly loosened and your gaze was now set solely on Jungkook. How could it not be?

With a careful glance, you took in Jungkook’s demeanor. It was clear he, too, was taking in Hoseok’s words. His head was still lowered, his eyes trained on his feet, but they kept moving in rapid motions as if he were fighting with himself to not look up. And all you could think was: look up . . . please, please look up.

You hadn’t expected it when you first saw them in the doorway, but you weren’t an idiot. Hoseok and Seulki had come here to make amends. They had come here to admit their wrongs. You couldn’t be angry with that . . . not when you had seen just how happy Jungkook had been the first time he’d been able to . . . see someone.

If he looked up . . . then that would mean he would be OK. If he looked up . . . then maybe he could breathe a little easier. And truly . . . as odd as it sounded . . . all you wanted was for him to be . . . happy.

If Jungkook looked up . . . all of that could be possible.

“Look—“ Hoseok began again, nearly reaching out to pat Jungkook on the shoulder, but he stopped himself before he made contact— “Uh . . . you don’t seem like a bad guy . . . so I was wondering if we could all hang out like teams are supposed to, you know? Not just to apologize . . . but to . . . be friends, I suppose, is what I mean . . . “

You swallowed hard, fighting with yourself not to speak for him. Look up, Jungkook, you repeated over and over again in your head, watching him with careful eyes. Look up. Please . . . please . . .

Another beat of silence, more painful than the last.

Then . . .

. . . Jungkook raised his head, and his eyes met Hoseok’s, and you knew what his answer would be.

In no way, shape, or form could you comprehend how you managed to make it to some random karaoke bar in the middle of Busan around, like, two in the morning. Hell, you didn’t even remember hopping onto the midnight train to get to the city in the first place, but there you were, dressed in whatever the fuck you could find in your suitcase that wasn’t a badminton uniform, and you were sitting next to one of Hoseok’s friends (Namjoon, you thought his name was.)

And while Namjoon managed to impress you with his choice in cologne, he had been talking your ear off for the past half hour and you couldn’t think straight for the entirety of the time he’d been telling you about well . . . you honestly had no idea what he was talking about. In truth, you couldn’t really hear much . . . because your mind was elsewhere. Because, because, because for the last half hour that Namjoon had been at your side, your eyes had been on Jungkook.

Now . . . you knew how that sounded, but you had a reason. You see, Jungkook wasn’t alone either. He had been sat next to another one of Hoseok’s friends (let’s call him Yoongi and hope you got that right) . . . and he was like . . . looking at him. No, no, like . . . he was looking him in the eyes . . . that is why you couldn’t stop staring, couldn’t stop trying to eavesdrop, couldn’t stop just . . . just . . . just whatever!

Was it embarrassing to say you were proud of him?

But . . . you were . . .

As much as you hadn’t wanted to admit it, he’d become the only person you’d ever been this close to in your life. He’d once told you you were the only one he could see . . . the only one he wasn’t afraid of to look in the eyes, and now . . . in just a few hours, he’d allowed himself to hear people, see them, interact with them beyond the restrictions he’d put on himself the entirety of his contract with Yunis.

And the little thing that made you feel all that more warm, was the attentive, genuine smile on his face as he nodded along to whatever Yoongi was saying. That . . . that made a smile of your own touch your lips as you took in the scene.

“You agree?” you heard from beside you, Namjoon’s voice startling only slightly enough to have you abruptly whipping your head in his direction with a confused expression on your face.

You blinked, furrowing your brows. “Hmm?” you hummed in a questioning tone as you snuck a glance back at Jungkook, only to find . . . oh . . . only to find him lazily shifting his gaze from Yoongi to you with an amused smirk on his face. (Great, so he had seen you looking at him. Great. That he’ll really get you later on with.) “Do I agree—what?”

Slowly, you forced yourself to tear your eyes from Jungkook and finally face Namjoon, who seemed to be oblivious to everything else. You weren’t even really sure if he had heard your question or if he were too busy inside his own head, questioning himself. But it didn’t matter either way, because . . . the music cut out, Hoseok and Seulki’s voices died down, followed by their out of breath laughter, and then:

“Alright, who’s next?” Hoseok called out, offering up the microphone.

Immediately, Yoongi shook his head, leaning back to indulge in his drink rather than the question at hand. And no one else could get another word in before, Seulki and Hoseok had caught onto this little act, only they didn’t exactly . . . go for him. No, rather, Seulki, specifically, all but jumped toward Jungkook. “I vote Jungkookie goes!” she declared as she leaned forward to dangle the microphone in front of his face.

“Agreed! Jungkook-ah, onstage now!” Hoseok exclaimed, closing the distance to Jungkook before he wrapped a hand around his arm, urging him to stand to his feet and take over the spotlight.

(Clearly . . . something you hadn’t mentioned . . . everyone but you and Jungkook were . . . perhaps maybe a little bit or a lot or yeah, yeah, yeah . . . they were drunk. (So you could see how . . . this had happened.))

And Jungkook all but turned cherry-cheeked. “No, no, I can’t,” he laughed it off, trying to wave them away. “I’m a horrible singer, really.”

Lie.

He once sang for your elementary school’s talent show . . . you know . . .

But the others persisted, whining and whining and blah blah blah—

. . . Five minutes later, no doubt, Jungkook finally gave in with a playful groan. He took the microphone from Seulki, slowly making his way to the center of the room you guys had booked, and then you noticed something . . . his eyes had only been on you the entire time. And suddenly, you began to wonder what that meant, wrapping your arms around yourself as your brows raised in question.

Until:

“Listen,” Jungkook began, a half-grin sliding onto his face as he maintained eye-contact with you, “I’ll sing . . . but I need my sidekick.”

Raising your brows, you knew you’d kill him for that later. But still you didn’t move. All you could do was shake your head, because no, no, no you did not want to sing in front of anyone.

“OK. OK,” Jungkook nodded slowly to himself, but you knew him better than that. He had something planned. And you could just tell by the way he began to walk toward the system in order to plug in the song that was somehow someway on his mind. Then, he turned back around, both microphones in his hands, his eyes solely on you with a mischievous glint in them as the first seconds of the song began to blast through the speakers.

Squinting your eyes in skepticism, you watched him.

He only sent you a knowing grin.

And you suddenly had a feeling you knew exactly what he had put on.

“ . . . She ain’t got no money,” Jungkook began, trying his best to sing, but his grin kept growing and growing just as your face fell and fell and fell. “Her clothes are kind of funny. Her hair is kinda wild and free. Oh, but—”

You nearly smacked a hand to your face.

“—Love grows where my Rosemary goes,” he continued, beginning to bob his head now to the music. “And nobody knows but me.” Clearing his throat over the music, you knew you were in for it. “Come on, Rosemary, on your feet. Let’s go. Let’s go. Let’s go, because! Love grows where my Rosemary goes! And nobody knows like—Come on!—me!”

And finally . . . finally after being hounded and hounded, you unstuck yourself from your seat, your eyes solely on him as if it were just the two of you against everything, and then you took the microphone from his hand, and you knew you’d sealed your fate. Shaking your head at him, you playfully rolled your eyes moments before you glanced at the screen, checking where you were in the song.

Great, you thought. Fuck . . . OK. Clearing your throat again, this was your Hell. “I’m a lucky fella,” you began, your voice nearly tone-deaf, and certainly agony to the ears. “And I’ve just got to tell her that I love her endlessly.”

“Oh, because!” Jungkook jumped in, bumping you with his elbow. “Love grows where my Rosemary goes, and nobody knows like me!”

Snorting once, you continued for him, “There's something about her hand holding mine. It's a feeling that's fine,” you hummed along, realizing that perhaps . . . this . . . was . . . fun. And slowly, so slowly, you didn’t even realize you were doing it . . . you had begun to dance along, following Jungkook’s lead. “And I just gotta say—”

“Hey! She’s really got a magical spell and it's working so well that I can't get away,” he drawled out, perhaps carrying out his words a tad too much, but there was something about the smile on his face while he did it that you didn’t care.

That was when you really lost it. Perhaps lost it was the wrong word, but that was when you really stopped caring if there were other people in the room, about keeping up your image or whatever. It just felt like it was you and Jungkook and the music.

And before you knew it, the song had ended, cheers came from Hoseok’s friends, but your eyes were solely on Jungkook. They had never really left him, because this was the song you’d sang at the talent show in elementary. It was also the song you had been too afraid to sing alone . . . because you were perhaps maybe not a shy child, but an antisocial one. And Jungkook . . . Jungkook had offered to sing with you. He’d never wanted to be in the talent show, but you . . . you always wanted the spotlight, and so, it was because of him that you were able to have it that day. Otherwise you probably would’ve spent the entire night crying in the school’s bathroom because you couldn’t force yourself on stage. And he . . . he had saved you back then.

It seemed he always was . . .

That made a smile slowly grow on your face, but before it could form into a toothy grin, cheers erupted throughout the room. Eyes widening, you glanced toward the noise, realizing it was not just the two of you but rather the two of you and . . . them.

But this them didn’t feel malicious as it had in the past. No, in fact, before you could even blink, Seulki was already jumping toward you, jumping up and down while she beamed about how that had to be one of her all time favorite songs. And Jungkook . . . well . . . Hoseok had reached him in seconds, clasping a hand on his shoulder as he went on and on about how he had no idea he had such a voice, asking if he’s taken lessons, and blah blah blah . . . all the while everyone else shouted requests at the two of you, hooting for an encore.

It . . . well . . . to say the least, it managed to bring that smile back onto your face, and finally you let yourself look away from Jungkook, knowing you could trust the others with him, and suddenly all you could see was Seulki. You’d never had many friends. Perhaps competition or surface people, but a little part of you saw Yurim, your college doubles partner and probably the closest you’d ever had to a friend, in Seulki.

Except unlike all those years ago . . . this time you embraced Seulki with a hand on her shoulder and a warm smile touching your face as you finally let yourself tell her the little story of how the song came to be for you. Now, yes, she was drunk out of her mind and would probably forget about all of this tomorrow, but you didn’t care.

It felt . . . nice . . . to talk to people like . . . this. And—And this feeling when you did . . . Oh what was that feeling called? Like, like warmth but better, perhaps innocent?

Were you . . . happy?

And then . . . you began to wonder . . . was this what it felt like to have . . . friends? Were you allowed to feel like this? Like . . . like you were happy?

In that moment, you glanced back at Jungkook for a brief second just as he did the same. Your eyes met, and you knew he felt the same. And then: relief, relief, relief . . .

A beat of silence.

In it more relief.

Beat.

Beat . . .

But . . . like all things . . . balance. A knock on the door ripped that blissful beat of relief from your grasp. Brows furrowing, you slowly turned to see a blurry shadow just behind the door, indicating that someone was . . . asking for permission to come in? But . . . who? As far as you knew everyone who was there was supposed to be there.

You wondered and wondered, trying to tilt your head to see if you could make it out. And then you heard them call his name, but you didn’t believe it at first. You didn’t quite hear it. Seulki was jumping beside you, and you could have sworn you heard Yoongi announce that it was probably his partner at the door.

And then as Yoongi slowly walked toward the door, opening it to greet the man with this adoring look in his eyes, your heart plummeted to your stomach. Instantly, your eyes snapped to Jungkook, and you saw the entire world crumble before you. You tried to reach him but Seulki was still holding onto you, and you couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t speak, you couldn’t move, you couldn’t do anything but stare and watch as the world fell and fell and fell, leaving you with no way to put it back together.

Amongst the chaos, your eyes fluttered back toward the door and you heard his name once more. Jimin, you could have sworn Hoseok had called out, and you knew this was reality.

Like an old ghost, Jimin had appeared at the door, almost unrecognizable from the boy you remembered in college. His hair now honey blonde, his cheeks full and almost rosy, with this way about him that just screamed he was different now. It made you wonder how different he was now than a year ago when Jungkook left his past behind him.

Breathing carefully, everyone’s attention was on Jimin, but you caught sight of it first. Jimin’s eyes scanned the room and then . . . then they met yours. Your heart stopped again and you could have sworn his mirrored yours. His eyes widened only slightly, until they shifted just to the right of you, and you watched in silence as his lips parted, his brows twitching upward.

That was weird.

You would have expected him to meet the sight of Jungkook with anger . . . but the only expression on Jimin’s face was that of pain . . . perhaps . . . yearning . . . ? For something . . . ?

And finally, you allowed yourself to glance back at Jungkook, and you began to wonder if it truly were possible to die of a broken heart.

Jungkook stood stagnant, unmoving without even a single rise and fall of his chest. No, instead, his hand was clasped over his chest as if he were in physical pain, but he still didn’t move. Until he did.

Before you could reach him, Jungkook was off. He made a B-line for the door, pushing past everyone while they were distracted by Jimin’s appearance.

And you were a step behind him.

“Kook, where you going?” you briefly heard Hoseok call to Jungkook. “Jimin’s got to show you his vocals, man. He’ll give you a run for your money.”

But Jungkook wasn’t reachable. “I—um—restroom,” he barely strained out and then he was gone, slipping out the door and out of your sight.

You tried to keep up, desperately pushing past the others as you reached the door as well, but a hand on your upper arm stopped you in your tracks. Your eyes flicked from the hand on your arm to the face of the person it belonged to.

Jimin . . . he was the one who had stopped you. Of course.

But you had never been easily swayed. You quickly ripped your arm out of his grasp, and left without a look back. But it was no use. The hallway was empty. Jungkook was gone.

So what? You’d find him. You had to.

Without another thought, you didn’t even wait to hear the door close behind you as you began to stalk down the hall, but a voice called out to you.

“Hey, hey, wait,” the voice pleaded.

But you knew this voice well. You knew Jimin well, and you didn’t care what he had to say, not when Jungkook was missing.

Attempting to make another run for it, you put one foot in front of the other, only to be pulled back. Jimin wrapped a hand around your upper arm, pulling you into him and turning you to face him all at once. And you saw that hurt expression once again, but you didn’t care, you didn’t care, you didn’t care! Jungkook was out there and he was alone and you needed him to know you were never leaving his side again.

So fuck it, fuck it, fuck it. You didn’t care!

Desperately, you tried to peel his hand from your arm, but his words halted you in your tracks.

“Is he OK?” Jimin quietly asked, his voice barely above a whisper, almost as if he were ashamed of his own words.

Taking a step back, you could only shake your head at him. “Are you fucking serious?” you all but hissed, the words burning on your tongue as you finally ripped your arm out of his grasp. “Now you care? Now you want to act like—“ Your words were ripped from your lips, unable to finish the sentence. Instead, another shake of your head came. “You’re fucking unbelievable . . . Of course he’s not OK. He hasn’t been for a while, and you would know that if you hadn’t—“

The words died on your tongue, and Jimin watched. While your eyes betrayed you, watering slightly, Jimin looked as if he couldn’t believe his own eyes. His gaze darted across your face, his brows raised in concern (?) while he watched as you fought against the floodgates, trying to bite back the tears in your eyes and the lump in your throat.

And finally, you were able to force out the words: “He’s not OK. He’s really—“ you quickly exhaled— “really not.”

A beat of silence.

You swallowed that lump in your throat while a look of realization crossed Jimin’s face. It was funny . . . he looked completely different now than he did years ago . . . or maybe it was the look he wore. It was something you had never seen on him before.

But you really didn’t care.

Sucking in a breath, you cleared your throat and began to back away. “And he needs me so I have to—“

But Jimin cut you off. “So he told you?” he asked almost a little too hesitantly as he took a step toward you.

Nodding, you swallowed hard. “Yes.”

His brows raised. “You guys are . . . good?”

“Yes,” you muttered, nodding again. “He’s—We’re friends.”

Jimin blinked. “Oh.”

“What?”

“I just . . . I didn’t see that coming . . . “

“Well—“ you bit your inner cheek— “it did.”

Another beat of silence.

Then: Jimin took a step back. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, almost too under his breath to even hear. “I didn’t expect that he’d be here. I haven’t seen him in . . . in a year. I didn’t even think he was . . . I didn’t think he was like that.”

Oh . . .

Don’t say it.

Don’t say—

Don’t—

But you couldn’t help but bite out, “No thanks to you.”

Jimin pinched his brows together. “What? What do you mean?”

You just had to say it . . .

“Nothing—“ clearing your throat, you realized just where your loud mouth had landed you— “just . . . I have to go, alright?”

With one final look at the man before you—a man you once knew that now barely resembled the one you’d known—you walked past him, eyes trained solely on what was before you. Jungkook was the only thing on your mind. Finding him was the only thing you cared about. Leaving the past behind was easy when you knew he was waiting for you somewhere up ahead.

But a hand wrapped around your forearm, halting you in your tracks. Your eyes widened as you heard Jimin speak, but you couldn’t quite make out what he was saying until you glanced over your shoulder, your eyes meeting his words head-on.

“Look . . . look, I know,” he had said, an almost desperate expression plaguing his face. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly before he sucked in a sharp breath. “I know. Trust me. I do.” Exhale.

Slowly, your brows scrunched together as you pried his hand off your arm. “Know what?” you questioned, your voice a slightly accusatory tone while you cocked your head to the side, eyeing him with skepticism.

A moment’s silence passed before he searched your eyes. What he was searching for, you couldn’t quite make out, but he kept searching and searching and searching until his brows twitched upward, an almost pained expression fueling his face. And then: “I know it wasn’t Kook’s fault,” he confessed, his voice soft and quiet as if he were ashamed of his own words. “What happened between him and Tae. I knew it wasn’t his fault.”

Instantly, your heart dropped.

He knew. He knew and he still let this happen.

You wanted to scream. At him. At everything. At nothing.

But you stayed frozen, your mind spiraling and spiraling.

“I tried to get them to see that, too, but . . . Kook had always been our glue, not me,” he nearly whispered, harshly pointing at his chest almost as if he were trying to punish or rather condemn himself. “Tae and I would get into arguments over stupid shit all the time, and Kook would always be there to get us to see eye-to-eye. I didn’t know how to help them. I’m not good at that; he was.”

And then you saw it: you saw the past in his eyes. Slowly, it unraveled, and you watched as the three of them practiced day in and day out while you glared at them across the field back in college. You remembered being angry, but you hadn’t known why, and now . . . now you realized you had been envious of the fact that they were . . . friends. While you had none, they had each other.

To see the three of them in completely separate places now . . . made your head spin and spin and spin. Never once did you think they’d do anything without each other, and now . . . now you were watching the past crumble through Jimin’s sad eyes.

It was almost as if you could see the moment they went their separate ways. Kook alone. Jimin and Taehyung together . . . but . . . distant . . .

The distance was clear on Jimin’s face, and when he spoke, he spoke with a certain type of nostalgia that you knew all too well. “I knew what I had to do,” he continued, those sad eyes of his not leaving yours. “I chose Tae. I would’ve chosen them both, but I couldn’t . . . so I stayed by Tae’s side. I knew how they both felt. I knew that I could play neutral all I wanted, but Kook was gonna leave and I had to either go with him or stay with Tae.” He shook his head as he chewed on his inner cheek. “And I couldn’t let Tae go through this alone . . . and—and there wasn’t enough time to fix what happened between them, but I thought Kook would be OK. I would’ve fought harder if I knew—”

His words cut off, getting tangled around his tongue as the lump in his throat rose higher and higher. There was no way to tell when it’d finally choke him. What would happen then?

“He was just always so . . . fine,” Jimin whispered more to himself than to you, shrugging his shoulders as if he couldn’t believe it. “I thought he’d be OK. I thought he’d ignore all of this and win that medal we all dreamed of . . . but then he left the team and Wooshik . . he told me where he ended up.” He shook his head once more, his eyes now trained on the wall behind you, tears still glossing over and threatening to spill. “I didn’t think he was . . . struggling. I just thought he was hiding. I didn’t realize he was . . . “

“Well . . . I guess we all have our own ways of dealing with . . . guilt,” you heard yourself spit out before you could stop the words from flowing. You didn’t know why, you just . . . you just . . . you were just so angry. But at him? That you weren’t sure or.

It seemed Jimin was as shocked by your words as you were. His eyes met yours once again, blinking quickly, causing a few tears to slip down his cheeks. He quickly wiped them away, shaking his head in the process. “Don’t do this,” he muttered under his breath.

But you almost couldn’t control it. You were more parts anger than anything else, and there he was, the perfect subject to take it out on. Putting up a fight was useless, your mind was on autopilot. “Tae’s at home bedridden I assume and you’re here? On a date?” you hissed out through gritted teeth. “Mmm, I don’t know . . . sounds—”

“Don’t,” Jimin quickly cut you off, mirroring your anger. “You of all people don’t get to judge me.”

You raised your brows. “Why not?”

“You—“ he shoved an accusatory finger your way— “left him too once.”

And just like that, his words pierced your chest, making the anger spread into your bloodstream. “That’s different,” you bit out, eyes now shamefully trained on the ground.

“Is it?”

Scoffing, you shook your head. “Don’t turn this around. You—”

But Jimin wasn’t having it. “He loved you, you know?” he spat like the words had burned his throat.

The world stopped.

A beat of silence.

Two beats.

Another.

. . . You could have sworn your heart thud in your chest. But . . . but that could’ve been your breath catching in your throat.

And then you heard it: your own shocked voice. “What?” you all but gasped out, taking a subconscious step back.

Jimin furrowed his brows as if . . . confused (?) by your reaction. “He loved you,” he went on, keeping a watchful eye on your face. “I don’t know why or how considering you were such a horrible person the entirety of college . . . but he stuck by you. I’ve never seen anyone love somebody that much. Hell, I didn’t think it was real, and I couldn’t understand why . . . but he loved you, and when you pulled that shit on him; when you left, me and Tae saw it. He didn’t talk to anyone for months.”

He loved you? He . . .

“He slowly came back, and a year later I thought he was fine. I thought he was finally over you, but . . . “ Jimin wet his lips— “I guess some old habits never die.”

Jungkook loved . . . you? In college he—But, no! He thought you guys had been friends. You were the one who had hated him, and he had thought of you as a friend. There was no love there. No, no there couldn’t be. He did not love you. He couldn’t have. No. No . . . No!

“And now you’re here . . . defending him . . . and I just can’t wrap my head around it,” Jimin finished off, his words more stable now. Then, slowly but surely, he nodded as if he had made peace with his thoughts. “But I get it. We all make our own choices. You made yours, but you . . . you don’t get to stand here now after everything and judge me when you left him in the dark for years. I made my choices, and I regret them most days, but it is what it is. You of all people should know that.”

But if he had loved you, then . . . had you broken his heart?

You knew you’d done quite a lot of damage on him, but you hadn’t considered that you’d broken . . . the very thing you’d come to grow so fond of. Because truly, over the past months, you’d come to know him more than you knew yourself, and you realized he’d always had this softness about him. He’d always had a good heart. That was what you had come to admire most about him. And if Jimin was right, that meant you had hurt that very part of him.

If he was telling the truth, you had done so much more damage to Jungkook than you had thought. Perhaps it had been you who had ruined him.

That . . . that made your rage boil. “I do,” you ended up biting out, your voice harsher than it had ever been as your rage boiled and boiled, nearly bubbling and spilling everywhere. “I regret every mistake I’ve ever made and I know hurting him is at the top of the list, but you knew that, too, and you still repeated what I did wrong. Why didn’t you go back for him? Why didn’t you, I don’t fucking know, try?! Why didn’t you fucking try?! Huh?!”

Those words left your lips and before you knew it, you were face to face with Jimin, not even two inches apart. Your breathing was ragged and you could feel your rage burning through your bloodstream, turning it to rot, surely burning through your skin.

Had it reached your heart?

“Why didn’t you try?” Jimin mumbled, the anger gone from his eyes as he took in your expression. And his words . . . this wasn’t a question. He wasn’t asking why you hadn’t tried to help Jungkook back then, no . . . he was reminding you that you hadn’t tried for a reason.

Admit it or not, you hadn’t let him in because you hated yourself. And making yourself hate him, blame him, was easier than admitting you didn’t want to live with the person you had become.

That was why you hadn’t tried—you were exhausted with yourself, with everything.

And only then did it hit you. As those final words left your lips, you realized why you were so fueled with anger. You realized why you had chosen Jimin as your punching bag, and you realized what you had done.

Because, really, you weren’t angry with him. No, you were angry with yourself. It was like he had said . . . you had left Jungkook once, too.

Looking at Jimin was like looking in the mirror. What he had done to Jungkook was nothing close to what you had done to him. So being angry at him . . . hurting him was an excuse to ignore who you were really angry with: . . . yourself.

And finally, Jimin spoke for the both of you. “Because . . . I was exhausted,” he mumbled through a heavy exhale. “You don’t get it . . . I’ve stayed by Tae’s side for a year, and I’d do it again and again, but that doesn’t mean that there isn’t a part of me that doesn’t blame him, too.”

Wetting your lips, you took a step back, your anger slowly turning to guilt. This wasn’t his fault. Why did you blow up on him like that? Fuck.

Hating him wouldn’t make you hate yourself less . . .

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“After the incident, it was like he just disappeared,” Jimin went on, his voice equal parts solemn and guilty. “Badminton was his dream. I think Tae loved it the most out of all of us, and just like that, it was gone. And without it, he just faded away. I don’t even think he blames Kook. He’s just . . . gone. It’s like he’s been on autopilot for the better half of a year.”

Fuck. Jimin wasn’t to blame. Just like Jungkook, this entire situation was just one big mess. No one was to blame. Fuck, no one was to blame, and yet . . . you were sure they all blamed themselves.

How could you have been so blinded by rage you hadn’t noticed this before?

“And I . . . I have had to live for the both of us,” he confessed, finally raising his head to meet your watchful gaze. “I knew what I was getting into, and I did it because I care for him, but I didn’t realize . . . I didn’t realize that . . . you can be there for someone as much as you want but there comes a time when caring for someone makes you stop caring about yourself.” His brows twitched only once, but the action carried a world of pain. “Tae is my best friend. They both were, and I . . . I didn’t just lose Jungkook that day. I had to live for Tae, and in doing so, I stopped living for myself.”

I stopped living for myself. Closing your eyes, you were only reminded how wrong you had been. The three of them were all in pain, refusing to admit it. They all blamed themselves, you were sure of it.

But no one was to blame.

No one.

Still, you stayed silent, keeping these thoughts to yourself. Your eyes fluttered back open, and it was as if you were staring the past in the face once again. And god, did it have such a guilty conscience.

“I know it’s wrong, but there will always be a part of me that resents him for it,” Jimin went on, sighing as his words left his lips. “And he—” he gestured back to the karaoke room; back to where Yoongi still resided— “is the only reason I didn’t lose myself. He is the only reason I can fucking breathe just for a second . . . so that is why I’m here. I don’t care if it’s selfish. He’s my sliver of happiness, which is why . . . “ he wet his lips, staring at you as if you were a reflection of his own past “ . . . which is why I don’t blame Jungkook for the things he did for you back then. So . . . I don’t blame you either but . . . but I guess what I’m trying to say is . . . I know what I did. I will always regret it and I will always wish I could turn back time and make it all go away, but I can’t.”

Which is why I don’t blame Jungkook for the things he did for you back then, you repeated in your head once more. Was Jimin right? Had Jungkook truly loved you?

And then, one more final question popped into your head: Did he still?

“Min?”

The singular name brought you and Jimin out of your little bubble. The two of you turned your heads in the direction of the sound, finding Yoongi had peeked his head out of the karaoke room. His dark eyes shifted between you and his boyfriend, a skeptical look plastered across his face.

“Everything’s fine,” Jimin replied with a tight smile.

That was when you saw it—the way Yoongi’s face softened instantly with just a couple of words from Jimin. You recognized that look. You’d seen that very expression reach Jungkook’s face time after time again in the past months you’d spent getting to know each other more and more and . . .

Wait . . .

Wait, wait . . . you recognized that look, but in a deeper way, in a visceral way. Yes, you’d seen Jungkook wear it many times, but . . . you could have sworn you’d seen it somewhere else, too. You could have sworn you’d catch glimpses of it on your own face when you’d walk past a mirror or catch your reflection in a puddle. And you’d always catch sight of it when . . . Jungkook was up ahead or behind or near.

Yes, that was it. You’d seen that expression on your own face when Jungkook was involved. But . . . did that mean?

No, no . . . no. Stop it. You couldn’t think about what this meant or that meant or this or that and those and them or whatever! No.

Right now . . . right now you had to focus. Jungkook had run off and you . . . you needed to find him, but—

Your gaze fixated on Jimin once again. What happened back then . . . He wasn’t to blame. No one was. They, all three of them, were in pain, blaming themselves and yet too scared to face it. None of them would dare to either. But it was so clear that Jungkook missed Taehyung and Jimin as well. And now . . . now it was clear just how much Jimin missed the both of them . . .

And well, you could do something about that. Perhaps then this guilt would leave you alone. Perhaps then things could be set right. Maybe then things could be the way they were supposed to be before life got in the way.

The answer was clear, and you couldn’t stop yourself. “Jimin,” you began, clearing your throat and interrupting the conversation between him and his boyfriend. Once his eyes were on you, with a clearing of your throat, you continued. “I’m sorry . . . for blowing up on you. I didn’t realize that—nevermind—just . . . Jungkook . . . he misses you . . . and Tae. I can see that. He’s . . . He doesn’t hate you, you know? He blames himself, yes, but he’s not angry with either of you. I think he just wants you guys back . . . so . . . if there’s any way . . . ask Hoseok for my number.” You paused for only a second to swallow. “You shouldn’t have to live with regrets.”

A beat of silence followed your words once again, almost as if it were mocking you. But instead of turning your words to shit, Jimin welcomed the silence. He embraced it as a small smile lifted onto his lips. And then . . . then he nodded.

It was a silent agreement, but it was good enough for you.

This could be it.

A new leaf.

For him.

For Jungkook.

For Jungkook, you affirmed, and with that thought, you nodded back. “It was nice to meet you, Yoongi,” you mumbled genuinely, before your eyes shifted back to Jimin once again. Another nod from you. “Jimin. Tell Hoseok that Kook and I went to eat, yeah? We’ll see him at practice tomorrow.”

“Hey—“ Jimin piped up before you could leave— “remember to live for yourself, too, yeah?”

And you nodded back with a smile.

The world fell away piece by piece as you turned from them, their faces still glued to the back of your mind, but you couldn’t waste any more time. As it was, your anger had already bubbled over and burned enough bridges that night to waste a lifetime. You should’ve kept your cool. You should’ve tried to see everything from a bigger picture, but this rage trapped inside you seemed to be bigger than you knew how to control. Sure, it had subsided now . . . but only because . . . because that was what was right.

You didn’t know how to explain it, but . . . Jungkook had become someone important to you, perhaps the most important in your life. You’d never felt that before. You never thought you’d be able to care about someone this much before, but . . . you did, and that was enough to put away that anger boiling deep inside you just enough to do right . . . for him.

Did that make you crazy? Maybe . . . maybe it did, but there wasn’t much in you to care about things like that. All you wanted was to find him. If you found him, everything would be alright. It would. You swore it would.

Your feet didn’t feel like your own as you raced down the halls of the karaoke bar. The lights had begun to blur together in your vision, creating mixes of blue and purple racing in your peripheral. You’d even looked into room after room, disturbing group after group, solely searching for him.

Until . . . with your heart pounding in your chest, your breathing uneven, and a relentless shiver shaking throughout your body, through the muted colorful lights, you caught sight of a man’s figure crouched down in a corner of the building. His hands were covering his ears, his face hidden in his knees as he breathed heavily, but he was there. You’d found him. Instantly, your muscles relaxed. Exhale.

You’d found him. “Ju—” but you quickly cut yourself off before you could draw any attention to yourself.

Think. You had to think. You couldn’t approach him like you normally would. You couldn’t go in all thorns and nails on a chalkboard. This was different. This was what you had read about. What you realized you had never been good at—comfort.

How could you comfort? You had never been nurturing. Hell, you’d read something once that told you some women just weren’t meant to be mothers, and you knew you were one of them. You knew you couldn’t didn’t know how to be . . . soft.

But you had to try. For him . . .

And then you remembered:

Five Ways You Can Help Someone With an Anxiety Disorder:

Validate Their Feelings by Letting Them Know It’s Okay Not to Be Okay

Don’t Tell Them to Calm Down

Encourage Them to Focus on Things They Can Change

Help Them to Help Themselves

Discourage the Use of Alcohol or Drugs to Cope With Anxiety

But . . . but . . . fuck! How was that supposed to help you now? Let them know it’s OK not to be OK. OK . . . You swallowed hard. You could do that. Focus on things they can change. OK, OK. You could do that, too.

Hesitantly, you took a step forward.

But shit! You paused, halting in your movements. What if that didn’t work? What if you didn’t do it right? What if it only made it worse? What if you only made him worse?

Just . . . just . . . fuck, OK! Just—

“Kookie,” you heard yourself say clearly before you knew you had even opened your mouth.

In response, his breathing stopped but he didn’t raise his head to meet your gaze. Instead . . . “It’s OK. Just go back . . . “ he muttered out, just loud enough for you to hear, but he still wouldn’t meet your eyes. “I’m OK.”

I’m OK. You swallowed hard. No . . . no, he wasn’t, and unlike all those years ago, you were not going to leave him behind. Not now. Never again.

It didn’t take another second for you to cross the distance to him before you sank to your knees right in front of him, reminding yourself not to startle him. “I’m here,” was all you said, fighting against everything harsh and rough in you, trying desperately to be soft.

The thing was: people could tell you countless amounts of things on how to help someone, but . . . you’d never get it. You weren’t good at it. You couldn’t do that, be that. You knew him, too. He wasn’t textbook like all the things you’d read up on. You assumed no one was . . . so . . . you’d like to add one more to the list: ask him how you could help.

“What—” you inhaled sharply— “What do you need me to do?”

Still, Jungkook would not meet your eyes, but he didn’t need to. You saw his body shift. You saw him process your words. And you knew he wasn’t going to hide from you. “Just—” he all but choked out— “ground me. Put your arms. Squeeze . . . hard.”

And just like that, you acted quickly. You didn’t waste any time as you scooted behind him, wrapping your arms around his figure, locking him into your body, and squeezing as he’d instructed. Resting your cheek on his back, you continued hugging his body to yours, listening to his heartbeat as you did so. Squeezing your eyes shut, you begged for this to help him, but the beat of his racing heart met your ears like a drum.

It wasn’t enough. You had to keep going.

“OK, OK, what else?” you asked him, your voice clear and calm . . . and soft.

But the beat of his heart was the only thing you heard.

Ground him. You squeezed harder. “You’re here with me. I’ve got you. You’re safe. Speak to me, Koo,” you all but begged.

“Tell me something,” he mumbled, and you nearly exhaled in relief. “Please, say anything.”

Nodding quickly, you tried to scrounge up something, anything. “OK, um, um,” you stuttered out, racking your brain over and over again, until finally . . . “Do you remember when we were kids and my parents rented that cabin for the summer? You had this fake tattoo of a dragon that you really really wanted to put on your arm right—“ you grabbed his forearm, pressing your thumb into a spot— “here, but I wanted everything you had so I just had to have the tattoo. I whined and whined until you finally let me have it. And yet, in the end, my mom forgot to take off the plastic so neither of us ended up with the damn tattoo and we were both pissed.” Smiling against his back, you readjusted your grip on him, holding him closer than before, perhaps so close your souls could almost touch. “Your mom made us hold hands until we got over it.”

And with a small smile on your face, you heard it . . .

His heart rate had started to slow, his breathing becoming more controlled as he tried his hardest to breathe in deep and exhale long. Was it? Was it working? OK. OK. Speak more. Speak—

“Yeah, and you wouldn’t stop crying, meanwhile, I won that thing in a raffle,” he interrupted before you could rack your brain for another memory.

Wetting your lips, you replied, “But it worked, didn’t it?” Your eyes danced around the room, the memory almost as clear as day. The smile on your face grew. “We were sitting by the fire, getting way too messy with those s’mores you swore you knew how to make.”

“We camped outside the entire night,” Jungkook mumbled under his breath, his shoulders shaking slightly as a small laugh escaped him.

“Yeah, until you almost pissed your pants because you thought you heard a bear,” you remarked, the smile on your face too wide to contain.

“Hey!” he quipped back as his hand fell to your arm. “I was like nine.”

In shock, you watched as Jungkook slowly raised his hands to cover your arms, hugging them to his chest. Then, you rested your ear against his chest, and you realized his heartbeat had returned almost to normal . . . and . . . and . . . his breathing had calmed. And then you saw it, a drop of . . . something had wet his shirt where your cheek laid . . . and you realized . . . you were crying.

Was this softness that you felt? Or weakness?

The truth was: you didn’t care. Not now.

Quickly, you wiped your damp cheeks on your shoulder and sniffled. “Scaredy cat,” you mumbled with a soft laugh.

Jungkook breathed out a laugh through his nose. “Brat,” he hummed as he squeezed your forearm.

A beat of silence met the two of you then. You nestled closer, holding him until he finally gave you the go-ahead that he was alright. You’d stay there all night if you had to. And he welcomed this with open arms, holding you as close as he could in his position, and just letting things . . . be, it seemed.

Until, finally, after what seemed like hours, he whispered against your forearm, “I’m sorry.”

And you couldn’t help yourself. Your brows pinched together, confusion revisiting you as you asked, “For what?”

“You don’t need this,” was his only answer.

Another beat of silence.

And then: “You’ll always be unhappy when it comes to me.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, your only response was to hug him tighter. Fuck.

It is not the moon, I tell you. It is these flowers lighting the yard.

As the night droned on, writings upon writings popped into your head as you tried to make sense of this, of tonight, of everything; one, in particular, visited you too frequently to be ignored; one that you had held onto for years now. You supposed it was a silly thing—realizing just how many poems you had trapped in your head, but you had three years of isolation, three years of loneliness, three years where you only read and read and read. Those three years . . . poems had been all you had.

You supposed it would always end this way.

I hate them. I hate them as I hate sex, the man’s mouth sealing my mouth, the man’s paralyzing body—

And like the poem stated, these words remained true to you. You hated many things, perhaps too much. In those three years, you had grown to hate another’s touch, perhaps because you craved it so viscerally. But . . . the scent of mock orange wasn’t in the form of a man for you. To you . . . the scent of mock orange smelled a lot like a badminton racket.

and the cry that always escapes, the low, humiliating premise of union—

Perhaps you had grown to hate badminton. You hadn’t even realized it, but . . . looking back at it now . . . you had done everything to be someone . . . to be the best, and you had wanted that. You had really wanted that. Sometimes you thought it was the only thing that would ever make you happy, but . . .

But . . .

In my mind tonight I hear the question and pursuing answer fused in one sound that mounts and mounts and then is split into the old selves, the tired antagonisms. Do you see? We were made fools of. And the scent of mock orange drifts through the window.

But perhaps . . . like growing pains . . . a part of you had outgrown badminton. Could this be real? Could you really have outgrown the one thing you had ever loved? And if you truly had . . . what did that mean for you now?

How can I rest? How can I be content when there is still that odor in the world?

That odor.

That damned odor of mock orange blossoms.

. . . You had smelt them the day of the incident. The stench had followed you to the hospital, crawling under your skin and resting there for the months to follow. They hadn't even bloomed then, yet you still smelt them every time you breathed. When your heart felt less heavy and your mind was clearer than the day before, when it became month after month after month, the scent finally rid itself from your senses. And you thought you might have actually been allowed to rest without that odor in the world.

But as another month melted into the next, and you tried to get back onto your feet again, the scent of mock orange drifted back into your life. You, of course, ignored this, eager to get back on your feet. You’d been able to take a few steps, which eased the ache you had been carrying around for the past few months. You knew it was stupid to imagine you could actually be healed after a few months, but you didn’t care. You just wanted to walk again . . . maybe run . . . maybe play again with a racket in your hand.

It was nice—being able to dream for a few minutes.

But it did only last for a short time. Soon you being you had gotten too cocky in your progress. You wanted to try longer walks. You wanted to see if you could run.

Then as you ignored the warning signs from your parents, from your doctors, from your nurses, the second they allowed you out on the hospital courtyard, you took off, attempting to run. But . . . before you knew it, something snapped and . . . you were tumbling to the ground, crying in pain.

And just like that . . . the scent of mock orange drifted in and remained in the air.

You remembered just laying there after that, contemplating just how much this would set you back as the nurses hurried you back to your room to be examined. You wondered if you had fucked yourself entirely. You wondered if this was it and you would never be able to play or even walk again. You wondered what that made you now. You might as well have not even been a person anymore, because back then . . . badminton had been all that you had. Back then, if you weren’t the best; if you weren’t someone great, then you were nothing.

And yes, you knew you had never been particularly interesting, but you never thought you were . . . nothing. The scent of mock orange tainting the air reminded you of the truth—without badminton, you might as well have been no one.

As you were escorted back to your room, examined, and left to rest, you laid there, the scent of mock orange being your sole company, and you realized you hated them. You hated those stupid, putrid flowers as you hated feeling . . . less. You hated them as you hated yourself.

Guilt might have been your ghost, but the scent of mock orange was your shadow.

How could you rest? How could you be content when there was still that odor in the world?

You were sure you never would.

And truly . . . how could you rest? If you were constantly trying to be better and better? When would you finally be the best? Could you be? No . . . no, you knew you couldn’t, but then who were you?

Who were you without . . . badminton?

That was the question on your mind as you flicked at your ramyeon with your chopsticks. You supposed like the mock orange blossoms, your coming-of-age escapades did not deliver the fruits of its promise. Becoming someone was all you had ever wanted out of life. You wanted glory. You wanted greatness. And yet . . . why did the thought of badminton slowly and slowly start to turn into this . . . dark thing? Why was it that when badminton was involved . . . bad things happened?

Now, you didn’t believe in signs and you surely wouldn’t start now . . . but it became evident that you had been made a fool of, wishing on a shooting star that was on its last breath. The scent of mock orange would drift in every time, reminding you that you would never reach that greatness again no matter how many times you tried.

And that should’ve filled you with rage . . . jealousy . . . pain . . . but . . . you didn’t feel any of that. What you felt, at its core, was a gentle ache in your chest; the same kind of ache which came with nostalgia.

You just couldn’t stop thinking of it. Actually . . . you hadn’t stopped thinking about that scent of mock orange since you saw Jimin earlier that night. He’d told you Taehyung had loved badminton the most . . . he told you he was a ghost of himself now because of what he lost. And then you began to think of what had happened to you . . .

Those three years . . .

All you had ever thought about was getting back to the person you used to be. That was all you had cared about, and when you finally won that first game all those months ago . . . you had felt that same joy that you had always felt after a win. Except . . . this was different, you realized.

Remembering the win now, the image of you smashing the birdie down onto the court wasn’t what came to mind first. No, you remembered that day; you remembered the thrill of the win, but the image that came to mind first was Jungkook smiling down at you moments before you sprung into his arms.

Jungkook was what you remembered that day, not the look on the other team’s faces when you took home that winning title. And then you realized what you had been trying to ignore ever since you let your walls come down layer by layer: perhaps . . . perhaps there was more to life than badminton.

In the months you had let Jungkook in, you’d lived more than you had in your entire life. You’d laughed more, smiled more, felt more. You’d felt yourself be more.

The scent of mock orange never visited you when he was around. It was like he was the real thing. You weren’t even sure if that made any sense. But . . . but . . . if you couldn’t smell those damned phony flowers, then perhaps Jungkook had taken their place. By chance . . . did he smell like an orange blossom? Without mocking, without malice, without trickery? Was he . . . real?

There was just something about the world that Jungkook had shown you that had a way of making everything just . . . mute. It was like before he’d shown you life through his eyes, everything had been loud, intense, brutal. And then . . . there he was, a bright smile on his face and the words ‘trust me’ leaving his lips as he held out his hand for you to take.

And you took it every time.

The scent of mock orange blossoms was left behind. And you began to wonder if just as you had outgrown your hatred for Jungkook . . . had you outgrown this visceral urge to hold a racket in your calloused hand?

Glancing down, you took in the image of your hand. The calluses were still there, the small cuts from accidental injuries, the bitten nails . . . they were all still there. Did they still fit around the base of a racket as they had three years ago?

You blinked, flexing your hand. Whatever, you decided. It would be tomorrow’s problem. (But we all know how good you were about . . . not . . . getting in over your head (so like, give yourself five minutes and you’d be thinking about it again).)

Whatever. Whatever. Whatever.

Anyway.

Focus on the present.

Yes, that was the plan. You nodded at your thoughts as you blinked, forcing yourself back to the present.

The scent of mock orange blossoms still lingered in the air as you tried grounding yourself to reality. Ignoring them was the best you could do. Because right now, you were supposed to be present, aware, and solid. You were supposed to be Jungkook’s shoulder to lean on after what he had endured at the karaoke bar. You were supposed to know what to do . . . but you didn’t know anything. You just . . . you just wanted him to be alright . . .

And all you could focus on was the fact that the two of you hadn’t spoken since you held him about—

You checked your phone.

—an hour and a half ago.

It had been quiet between the two of you ever since. It had been even quieter the second you stepped inside the nearest convenience store. (Who knew how long ago that was.)

The convenience store was perhaps too quiet now. The two of you had bought some instant ramyeon—one spicy, one mild and sat at the nearest tables outlooking the streets of Busan. Many people had walked back and forth, going about their night (well . . . now early morning), but not once had either of you decided to make little guesses about their lives as you had done many times before. No instead . . . Jungkook was silent. And you were too.

But . . . you didn’t like the silence; not like . . . this. Slowly, with that thought plaguing your mind, you turned your head toward him.

Jungkook sat beside you, his head lowered slightly as he stared blankly out the window. He hadn’t touched his ramyeon once, which was evident as his chopsticks were all too clean without any stain or color. He just kept staring out the window, following those who walked by with his eyes all the while his tongue toyed with his lip ring.

It was obvious why he was stuck in this limbo. Sure, of course it was all too obvious, but that didn’t make it any easier. Knowing why he was stuck like this wouldn’t do anything to . . . help.

And suddenly you were reminded of what Jimin had told you that night. Remember to live for yourself, too, he’d said before you left him. He’d told you it was impossible to live for two, but . . . why? Why couldn’t you? Why couldn’t you at least . . . help? You supposed the problem in that was the fact that you had no idea how to help, and that scared you more than you’d liked to admit.

You just . . . you just wanted him to be OK . . .

“You gonna eat that?” you heard yourself ask him before you knew what you were even saying.

Jungkook turned to you instantly with an almost shocked expression on his face as if he couldn’t remember where he was or who he was, but his eyes still shined with recognition as if he could still recognize you despite it all. He blinked slowly, eyes drifting over your face, and then . . . then he slowly started to relax. His shoulders slumped slightly as the stiff muscles in his face loosened. And once he returned to the present, his eyes drifted from your questioning expression to the ramyeon in front of him . . . and then he was shoving a huge bite into his mouth all the while maintaining eye contact with you while he chewed.

You shot him a blank look, because you knew what he was doing—avoiding the inevitable by trying to make light of the situation. “I wasn’t going to force-feed it to you, you know?” you ended up mumbling as you continued to watch him chew, half making sure he ate all of it and half not sure where to rest your gaze.

“Don’t look at me like that then,” Jungkook muttered, his words muffled from the food in his mouth.

“Like what?” you questioned as you leaned closer to him, analyzing the crease between his furrowed brows.

His eyes shifted to the ground ever so slightly before he turned back to meet your gaze. “Like you pity me or something,” he huffed, jutting out his bottom lip into a pout as he averted his gaze to his bowl of ramyeon.

And you couldn’t help but let the corners of your mouth perk up into a small smile. He was still the boy you remembered when you were kids. He hadn’t changed too much. He was still . . . him. Only now, you had grown to appreciate how he was unlike in the past. Now . . . when he flashed you that pout, you wasted no time in waving him off with a small sigh.

“Oh, Jungkookie,” you all but mused as you grabbed a napkin from the table, “sometimes it’s like you’re still that whiny little kid I grew up with.” You brought the napkin to his lips, gently dabbing. “You really haven’t changed at all, you know?”

With his eyes flicking from the napkin to your face, he timidly licked his lips and mumbled, “I was not whiny.”

You breathed a small, barely audible laugh. “Mmm, if it helps you sleep at night,” you hummed with a small shrug as your hand, now discarding the napkin, reached his face once again, except this time, you barely thought about your next move. Instead, you let your hand drift to his hair gently curling the long, dark strands behind his ear.

And he just stared at you, his dark eyes warm and gentle as they always had been. His brows twitched as you alternated between playing with his earrings and toying with the longest strands of his hair. He almost seemed . . . at peace, and you wondered if this could be considered a moment of happiness?

Perhaps . . .

It was moments like this that you wondered how the sick smell of mock orange blossoms had ever ruined your life.

But like the poem described . . . the smell wasn’t something to be forgotten. It eventually seeped back in. And just as Jungkook had almost allowed himself to sink into your touch, his eyes turned back to the window where he caught a glimpse of his reflection.

It was almost soul-crushing how fast his face fell.

Jungkook took one last look at his reflection, shaking his head slightly as he averted his gaze to the table and clenched his jaw. "Fuck,” he whispered out, his voice hoarse, “this is so fucking annoying. Everything feels so off. I just . . . “ His words tangled around his tongue as he dropped his head to his hands. “Everyone always looks at me like I'm some fucking problem. Like if they get to my core, they can fix me. But I can't be fucking fixed. I fucked up. I ruined my best friend’s life. I don't deserve to be fixed."

And suddenly it was as if you were twelve years old again, seeing your mother cry for the first time and not knowing what to do or what to say. You had grown up that way—not being able to comfort. It had always been who you were. You’d never known what to do to . . . help.

Yes, you could follow the directions of some online article and you could ask and ask and ask how to help him, but would it ever be enough? And what if he said he was fine when he was so clearly not? What then? How were you supposed to help then?

God, you wished you knew the answers.

“You’re not broken, Koo,” you started with, your voice just as small as how you felt in that moment.

“What if I am?” he mumbled into his hands. Slowly, he raised his head, and for another time that night, you faced that crushed look on his face. For another time that night, you saw the things he had been dealing with all on his own. You saw him. “What if I . . . ?”

And then you realized: you didn’t know how to comfort, but you did know how to bear things well. You knew how to crumble up the pain of not being good enough. You knew how to deal with a dream being crushed. You knew how to just . . . deal, and if Jungkook needed help, you could carry the load for him.

So, swallowing your own emotions bubbling up in your throat, you began slowly, "I know I can’t say . . . anything. I know that no matter what I do it's not gonna' make you feel better, because shit doesn't work that way. I'm not some fuckin' hero. I know that. You just need to know that I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere, okay? I'm never leaving your side." Nodding your head, you could feel your eyes burning again. But you didn’t care. The world could see you cry for him and only him and you’d accept it with a heavy heart.

A beat of silence followed your confession.

The world exhaled.

You inhaled as you rested your hand on top of his moments before you began again, "You're—I care about you. . . and—and that means that no matter what time it is, if you feel like you're gonna do something to yourself, then you call me. We can go throw shit off a bridge or—or punch dummies. You need to scream? Then we can go scream until our lungs bleed, okay? Whatever. It doesn't matter. Just—" you squeezed his hand as your heart pulsed in pain in your chest— "You're not alone."

Though the expression on his face didn’t lift, Jungkook accepted your hand, taking it within his grasp to intertwine your fingers together with his. “It’s been months . . . and I still feel like this . . . “ he trailed off, gently shaking his head as he turned back to his reflection in the window.

Instantly, your free hand found his cheek, slowly turning his head so his eyes would only face yours. “I don’t think healing is . . . linear,” you admitted softly. “If I think about it . . . it took me years to be able to play again. Mental shit has to be like that too, right?”

His eyes fluttered shut under your touch. “I don’t know,” he softly sighed as his other hand reached to rest over the one you had caressing his cheek. “I’m just tired of feeling like this.” He swallowed thickly. “I just . . . it’s like . . . I watch everyone else live their lives while I endure mine. And—And I don't know what to do. Sometimes everything just gets so intense, and it just happens. It's like it's some fucked up kind of instinct. Trust me, I wish I could feel something other than this, but I don't feel anything. It's all fucking numb." He nearly dropped your hand, but you clung on tighter, refusing to let him slip through your fingers. "I don't fucking know what I feel. I just . . . I feel like a fucking ghost."

And for the second time that night, you watched the once never-bothered Jungkook reveal another layer of himself to you.

I feel like a fucking ghost, rang in your ears again.

Jungkook squeezed his eyes tight and slowly . . . a single tear trickled from the corner of his eye down the side of his nose.

I feel like a fucking ghost, once more, and you knew the words which would leave your lips before you even had the chance to think.

"Haunt me, then," you found yourself breathing out in a hushed whisper as your thumb caught his fallen tear, wiping it away with ease.

His eyes cracked open, a shocked expression crawling onto his face. "What?” he barely got out as he searched your eyes for anything that would tell him you hadn’t meant to say . . . that.

But you had.

Haunt me, you’d told him, and you knew you’d meant it. The words didn’t have to cross your mind for you to know what you spoke was the truth.

Haunt me.

Give it to me, and breathe.

That is what you had wanted to say. That is what you had meant. You could only hope he knew you were telling the truth.

Tilting your head to the side, you breathed out the air in your lungs. "I told you before, and I meant it,” you began in a gentle tone. “I'll carry the weight for you. All of the pain, the anger, the hatred . . . all of it . . . I will carry it all. Give it all to me, and I will find a way to deal with it." Squeezing his hand once again, you offered up a small smile. "You're not alone anymore, Kook. You do not have to deal with all your shit on your own. You've got me, and you can hate me, you can push me away, you can leave me stranded with no way home . . . but I promise you, I'm not going anywhere."

His brows twitched. “I can’t do that. You’ve got too much to think about.”

You shrugged with a roll of your eyes as you dropped your hand to your intertwined ones. “Like what? I’ve never thought a day in my life. Barely passed college with a 2.7,” you hummed, your voice a little more chipper now as you tried to keep his eyes on you and coax a smile out of him. “I’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“The games,” he muttered with a small sniffle. “You’re shit at multitasking.”

That time, you did smile wider. There he was. “I can manage,” you mused as you leaned into him, nudging him with your elbow. “How about let’s go feed the fish by our hotel after practice tomorrow, hmm? To relax? Yeah?”

And then . . . you could have sworn he nodded. Maybe it was to himself or maybe it was to you, but you knew what it meant. You would accept a nod.

“You gonna eat that?” he asked a second later, gesturing to the half-eaten bowl of ramyeon in front of you.

And you knew he would be OK by your side. You would make sure of it. (You were the older one after all.)

So with a small smile still on your face, you detached your hands from his and reached for your bowl, scooting it toward him. Quietly, he took it from you and began to devour what you had left.

Yeah . . . he was still the same kid you knew growing up. And that . . . that was enough to make your heart feel warm.

It made you wonder if you could ever be . . . warm . . . like him. Unlike this cold, hollow shell you were so used to. Was that even written in your books?

Wetting your lips, your eyes fell to your lap, only to be met with the image of Jungkook’s hand resting on your thigh, secured under the holes in your ripped jeans. It seemed without you noticing, Jungkook had absentmindedly reached for you, toying with the strings adorning the rips in your jeans, only to end up nestled underneath in an attempt to feel your skin against his.

It was sweet. Innocent.

It made you feel warm, yet again, yes. But it also made you feel . . . fuck . . . what was that word?

And that was when you realized something . . .

“You’re wrong, you know?” you ended up muttering out before your brain could catch up with your impulse.

Jungkook hummed, eyeing you. His eyes were still slightly puffy, causing your heart to swell in your chest.

How could he ever think he deserved this?

Wetting your lips, you confessed, “I’m a better person because of you. How could I ever be unhappy with that?”

Jungkook blinked, clearly shocked. Then, he began to toy with his lip ring before he sucked in a sharp inhale and nearly whispered, “All I want . . . is for you to be happy.”

And you couldn’t help but smile. It was warm. It was innocent. It was because of him. “Would you look at that?” you mused in a quiet voice. “Looks like we just came to an agreement.”

The corners of his lips twitched ever so slightly as he nodded once before the two of you resumed your late-night slash early-morning meal. He finished your food for you, and you watched, making sure he ate it all, all the while, the words, I’m a better person because of you rang throughout the air.

I’m a better person because of you.

How could I ever be unhappy with that?

And you knew you meant every word.

The scent of mock orange blossoms couldn’t reach you now.

Not here.

Not with him.

When you were a kid, every Barbie doll your mother ever bought you would end up scalped and decapitated. Now . . . morbid . . . you knew. You weren’t exactly sure why you resorted to . . . that, but playing with dolls just always meant ripping their heads off. You supposed it was kind of symbolic now.

Maybe you were jealous that their lives were perfect and yours was . . . meh. Or maybe you really just really hated dolls.

You supposed there had always been a certain sickness to you; a certain uneasiness that came with being a preteen girl. You were told sweet sixteen was when the claws came out, but you began to question if yours had grown in long before then. Maybe you had been born like . . . this or maybe everyone just felt this way and spent most of their lives hiding it, because if not . . .

. . . it felt like life was just some sick joke that you hadn’t clued in on yet.

Perhaps that was why you had become so keen on poetry: it said what you feared only you felt.

Because really, you used to use pages out of books to fasten a joint in a pinch, too, and now it physically hurt to imagine ever even tearing a page.

But words felt more comforting now. Sure, a racket felt like it fit into you like a hook in an eye, but now . . . now it felt just a tad more awkward than it had in the past. Words . . . words could never disappoint you, you decided long ago when they had been all that you had had.

There’s something soft in me—

You remembered reading long ago.

—we killed it and it’s rotting.

And maybe it was silly. Maybe it was dramatic, but words made things feel better. It made the world less scary. It made looking at Jungkook and wondering what this feeling in your chest was . . . not so scary. It made things . . . better.

So, you’d read, and you’d overanalyze, and you’d spend your time too wrapped up in words because it made everything that much bearable. Because it made the fact that your claws didn’t come in at sixteen so much easier to swallow; it made the fact that there was nothing soft about you alright.

Because maybe there had been something soft about you long ago. Or maybe you had killed it; maybe you had taken the softness and traded it for survival, only to discover all the rot inside of you that you had been trying to ignore for years now.

Had the fire gotten a hold of you even back then?

Is that why you no longer feared it? Because there was nothing left to fear? Did all this rot mean you were no different from a hit deer off the highway?

. . .

Whatever.

It didn’t mean much, right?

There were no birds coming to feast on your rotting corpse like the deer you wondered if you resembled. Nothing had come to consume your body as the world had consumed your soul. You were just there . . .

With a sigh, you clicked off your phone, disregarding the poem as you shoved it all away into the back of the pocket of your athletic shorts. And as you stood there, you slowly glanced up only to meet the image of Jungkook walking toward you, a half-smile on his tired face with a duffel bag over his shoulder and a racket in his hand. You hadn’t seen him since you woke up that morning, quickly dressed and told him you’d meet him at the center after your run. And there he was, his hair in a small ponytail with a grin on his face at the sight of you. (You tried to ignore the urge to meet him halfway. (Also ignoring this . . . weird feeling blooming in your chest the second you saw him.))

“Well, it seems the sun’s decided to come out after all,” were the first words out of his mouth as he drew closer. And only then did you realize the day was dreary, filled with dark clouds and humid spring air.

Tearing your eyes from the clouds above, your gaze landed on Jungkook just as he stopped before you, setting his duffel bag on the pavement beside you. He wasted no time either, poking your abdomen with his racket. “Bad day already?” he questioned, tilting his head to the side in thought.

Sighing, you shook your head. “No, just . . . thinking.”

“Well, stop, it’s aging you,” he lightly scolded.

You squinted your eyes into a glare. “You’re on one today.”

And well . . . all he did was wink. Of course.

Now . . . you knew how this looked. Just last night you and him were up into the early morning nursing each other’s wounds and now it seemed like it hadn’t even happened, but there was a reason for that. The two of you knew each other. He appreciated that you didn’t make it a big thing. You were always going to be there for him; that much was obvious by now given your history with each other. But if there was one thing the two of you both hated, it was being treated as if you were as fragile as glass. So for now . . . last night was a little secret between the two of you, and right now . . . right now you both had to get your heads in the game for the finals tomorrow.

So there . . . that was that. At least that was how it was for you. You were sure it was the same for him, but it wasn’t like you could think about that right now either. Right now you had to think of the tournament as draining as it felt to even acknowledge it.

But just as you were about to move past it all and grab your own duffle bag from the ground, Jungkook halted you with a hand on your wrist. Your eyes immediately snapped to his.

“You sure you’re good?” he questioned once more, his eyes wider now, more concerned than before.

(There’s something soft in me—

But you couldn’t burden him now. Not after what he went through last night. Because you knew him, and you knew he’d do anything to make things right for you . . . even if it meant ignoring his own troubles. And well, despite what you liked to claim, you couldn’t bear to do that to him.

—we killed it and it’s rotting.)

So instead, you blurted out: “Just stressed, you know?”

His brows pinched together slightly, but he didn’t press it further. “Right . . . “

And that was that. You didn’t let another word pass between the two of you as you picked up both your duffel bag and his and began to walk toward the training center. Jungkook, of course, fought you the entire way, trying to grab the duffel bags from your hands, but you insisted, tsking at him as he tried to outsmart you (as if he ever could).

While he repeatedly tried to snatch at least one bag from your grasp, your eyes were training on the scene in front of you. And it was only when the two of you turned the corner, now facing the center head-on, that you realized maybe the dark clouds had been a sign telling you to turn back; to stay inside; to practice somewhere else. Jungkook, on the other hand, was preoccupied, as, in your shock, he managed to snatch both duffel bags from your grasp. And he was mighty proud of himself too until he heard what you had seen . . . and slowly the grin fell from his lips as he turned to face the scene.

Because before the two of you, crowding in front of the training center were reporters on top of reporters with their big flashy cameras and notepads, and . . . behind them, spray painted across the building was your name . . . with the words ‘is a traitor’ too big not to notice.

There’s something soft in me—

we killed it and it’s rotting.

It happened in slow motion. The reporters caught sight of the two of you, and that was it. They were racing toward you in seconds, all screaming this and that, trying to get a story, and all you could do was stare in a state of confusion and shock as if you were waiting for a car to pop out of nowhere and hit you.

Off the highway like another deer.

You’d never seen something like it. Sure, you’d seen this stuff in movies, but never in real life, never because of . . . you. There had been articles published when you fell out of the badminton scene three years ago, but never something like this. Never something like this. Fuck, even the interview you’d done as a team were never like . . . this.

Off the highway like another girl.

What was . . . this?

It was bad. You knew it was bad, but you couldn’t hear anything. You could see Jungkook growing angry beside you, pushing the reporters back as he said . . . something . . . but you couldn’t quite make out what it was. You couldn’t hear it. You couldn’t hear anything.

You should have known better. You should've known there was a chance something bad would happen. Because like always, when you got that sick feeling in the pit of your stomach, when the dark clouds came out and the air felt wet but chilly but humid . . . something bad always happened. But you hadn't thought that the world would be so cruel, especially the day before the end.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t supposed to—

You felt the world caving in on you. You felt small. Small and disgusting. You wanted to disappear. You wanted to run, but you couldn't. Your mind had been the only thing to stay alert. Just run, you thought. Run. Run. Fucking run.

But you couldn't. You wanted to but the camera kept flashing and the reporters kept yelling and yelling and yelling and all you could make out was that everyone hated you. Suddenly, it was three years ago and everyone was pretending to be nice to you, then bitching about you behind your back. Suddenly, you were falling. Your hip was hurting. You were screaming and nobody cared. Nobody cared. Nobody—and then you were pushing everyone away again. Suddenly, you were alone again. And then you felt it. You felt it all, and then . . . then you couldn't breathe.

I can't breathe. You tried gasping for air, but it never stuck in your lungs. I can't breathe. You could have sworn this was what drowning felt like as your breaths came out quicker and quicker. Oh, my God, I can't fucking breathe.

You needed air. You needed to run.

Your eyes darted to the training center, and you knew what you had to do. You forced your legs to move as you tried to make it to the center. You’d be inside in a minute; you just needed a second. One second and you could breathe again.

But before you could even really move to make it, a hand was on your shoulder, and it wasn’t who you thought it’d be. No, it wasn’t a comforting touch; it was the touch of a reporter trying to make you stay in place just for you to answer their question. There was no making it out of this.

Glancing up, your eyes met the reporter’s and then you finally heard the words you’d been drowning out all morning: “Are the bribing rumors true?”

All air escaped your lungs. Bribing? You? “What?” you weakly asked (you’d never sounded like this before in your life, and yet . . . ).

But before anything else could escalate, Jungkook was stepping in front of you. His body blocked yours from the reporters, his hand carefully resting on your hip as he tucked you behind him while he mumbled, “Don’t bother—”

“What—” you blurted out before you could stop yourself— “What rumors?”

You just . . . you wanted to know. Bribing? All you’d ever done in your career was try to be the best. You’d put blood and tears and sweat and everything into badminton, and this . . . this was how it repaid you. You’d fucked up your leg for it; fucked up your life; fucked up everything just to hold a fucking racket in your hand and now they wanted to say that you bribed your way into . . . into what? Success? You wanted to know the truth. You wanted to know.

But no one bothered giving you an answer. It was just question after question, confusing you more and more, and all you could come to the conclusion was the fact that the whole world must have thought you were as horrible as a person as you feared you were.

So, the final person asked, “Do you have anything to say?”

And all you could fathom was: “I—” you swallowed hard— “I . . . don’t care.”

That was it.

I don’t care, you’d said even though you did, because you always had. You cared too much. Too fucking much. And you were too much. And this was too much. And just . . . just . . .

You didn’t bother thinking further. Your mind went blank as you tore yourself from the scene. Dropping your racket to the ground, you took a step backward.

. . . And then you were gone.

Run, you’d told yourself, and finally, you listened.

And as you ran, you realized, things were easy for you when you could ignore them. If you spent your time worrying about everyone else, then there would be no more time left to worry about yourself. You supposed that was an issue on its own, but that was how you survived.

A burnt child loves the fire. Yes, and you did. You loved it because it meant you’d have one more reason to survive. Survive enough and you wouldn’t have to deal with the aftermath. Just keep surviving the fire. That . . . that was what you were good at.

But you didn’t know how to deal with . . . this.

This wasn’t a fire. Far from it.

It was almost as if you were stuck at the bottom of a lake, your foot trapped under a rock, unable to get to the surface. And no matter how hard you fought to unsheath yourself, you stayed trapped at the bottom, water threatening to clog your air pipes.

And the thing they don’t tell you about drowning: it only takes forty seconds.

Forty seconds turned into minutes then an hour, and you began to wonder how long you had been left at the bottom of that lake. How long until the water finally reached your lungs?

It was about half an hour ago when you’d finally found the pond just outside the hotel your team was staying in, that you’d finally searched up whatever the fuck had gotten you in so much shit.

Yunis Doubles Player Accused of Bribing Referee to Make Nationals, was the headline. Apparently, an anonymous inside source had come forward and claimed that you’d not only bribed your way into winning each tournament for your team, but on top of that, you were also taking whatever drug to help with your fucked leg.

And get this . . . apparently it was because once you won finals, you’d go on to sign for Russia, leaving Korea behind, essentially making yourself a traitor. So there it was. In less than a day, you were a traitor, a drug abuser, and a cheat. Because apparently, that was true.

Whatever . . . it didn’t matter anyway. Even though it wasn’t true, the media had made it so, so it was by default. And as if badminton hadn’t already been feeling like a chore, your love for it lessened and lessened into . . . this hate.

That was what you felt: hate. Had you become hatred now?

Had you become a ghost, too? . . . Had you always been? . . .

“Don’t do it. You’ve got so much to live for,” you heard a voice say in a joking manner behind you just as you tossed another rock into the large pond below your dangling feet. (The voice had startled you all the same, nearing skyrocketing the rock out of your grasp, but we don’t dwell on that.)

Still . . .

. . . you didn’t jump. There was no need to. Startled or not, there was no need to fear. You knew that voice, and it only ever filled you with comfort, nothing else.

So instead of answering, you dropped your head in shame, eyes on the koi fish swimming idly through the water below you as your hands tightened around the edge of the rickety bridge.

Jungkook had found you. Somehow he always managed to make his way back to you, no matter how many times you pushed him away.

(It used to be annoying. Now it was just . . . well . . . it was something else now. It had grown into something . . . more . . .)

His footsteps grew closer. He was behind you now. Close, yet still so very distant.

Silence for only a beat more.

And then, he spoke.

“I was trying to find an excuse to come find you,” he murmured, his words unexpecting of a response as he sat down beside you, dangling his feet over the edge of the bridge.

And you . . . you stayed still, peeking at him through the corner of your eye. Sure enough, he was real, and he was sitting there dressed in his athletic clothes, some of his hair pulled back into a ponytail, while he held in his hands two pieces of . . . bread (?).

Your brows scrunched in confusion. “Bread was your excuse?” you questioned, your voice quiet.

Jungkook glanced between you and the bread, then back at you until he settled on the bread, tapping a finger to the loaves. “Ah . . . right . . . well . . . buy one, get one free,” he curtly explained. His eyes drifted back to you, then, as he wet his lips and sighed. “You talked about wanting to feed the fish.” Add in a shrug. “Thought this might be where I’d find you . . . so—“ a clearing of his throat— “Just—Are you OK?”

And you couldn’t help it. You took him up on his offer, silently grabbing a loaf of bread from his hands and resting it on your lap. Your eyes followed it the entire way, watching as your hand began to rip a small piece from the corner. “I think,” you finally replied to his question just as you tossed the piece of bread into the water. “I can’t force people to believe me. So—” pausing for a second, you watched as two koi fought over the piece of bread— “whatever, right?”

Jungkook plucked a piece of the bread off, but instead of throwing it to the fish, he plopped it into his mouth, chewing in contemplation. “You were always the best player,” he mumbled through the mouthful. Plucking off another piece, he waved it in your direction, gesturing to you. “They can’t take that away.”

Maybe it was the sentiment or maybe it was how he’d begun to eat the bread he brought solely to feed the fish, but you couldn’t help but fight off a smile. Because when times were like this, you felt fine; you felt . . . almost good, but when you were out there neck-and-neck, trying to hit the birdie again and again, you felt . . . off.

It made you realize that one: badminton didn’t feel like it used to and two: you weren’t entirely sure that the accusation itself was the reason behind your anger. Because maybe it was easier to be angry or sad. It always had been.

But as you ripped off another piece of bread to throw to the fish, it hit you. You weren’t exactly hard to figure out you’d like to think, so really, put two and two together and you get one burnt-out badminton player looking for an excuse to quit.

Fuck.

It really was that, wasn’t it?

You didn’t want it to be. You didn’t want to believe it either because badminton was your life. There was no without. Like a hook in an eye. Hook in eye. Hook in eye. Hook in eye. You couldn’t escape it.

But now . . . after years and years of trying to get back to that same person you were before the accident, you’d ignored just how draining it had begun to feel to practice and practice and try and try and . . . try. You mistook it for physical fatigue; for healing from your injury. You didn’t once think that your disinterest may have been because you had grown further and further apart from a racket in your hand and the sound of the court squeaking under your shoes. And when that reporter asked you if you’d cheated to get back in the game . . . you’d taken that chance to run away; to ruin it for yourself once more . . . and this time not for the sake of self-sabotage but perhaps . . . conservation.

So you began to ask yourself the same question that had been haunting you for a while now: how well did badminton still fit into you? You’d thought about it last night. You thought about it a million times before, refusing to acknowledge it, and now . . .

Then you found yourself turning to Jungkook. “What—” you sucked in a quick breath— “What made you want to play badminton? . . . In the beginning . . . “

Setting the bread aside, he leaned forward, resting his forearm against the lower part of the railing. “I’m not really sure,” he mumbled as he rested his cheek against his forearm. “It was just . . . easy for me. I liked being good at things.”

“But . . . “ (you had begun to toy with the bread instead of tossing it to the fish) “ . . . why did you love it?”

A few beats of silence.

Beat.

Then, Jungkook spoke: “The people, I think,” he finally said in a calm, collected tone, adding in a shrug at the end of his sentence. “I never really cared about being someone special; I just when I played, I always played with friends. It was fun. I think when I look back on it, it wasn’t badminton that I loved, it was the people. My friends . . . coaches . . . “ his eyes flashed to meet yours, “. . . you.” And he maintained eye contact. “It was the only time I ever felt happy, and when I grew up . . . when badminton felt more like a game of loss . . . it lost its magic. I wasn’t a kid anymore. Everyone had grown up and I was still there, on that court. . . . It wasn’t fun anymore . . . “

Oh.

Because, truly, you’d felt the same. Well . . . perhaps a tad different. Badminton had been fun for you because you always won. It was the only time you felt . . . special, good . . . worth . . . something. And when you lost it all, you felt like nothing upon nothing upon shit. So when you finally gained it all back, it was almost as if with each win, that magic Jungkook spoke up washed away bit by bit. Winning wasn’t fun anymore; it was being with him that made it worth . . . something.

But could winning itself ever have the same effect as it did years ago? Would you ever crave it so violently again?

“Do you think it could ever be fun again?” you voiced your thoughts aloud, hesitant as if admitting this aloud was some kind of sin.

“Maybe,” Jungkook muttered with another shrug. His attention was drawn on the fish now, his round, brown eyes following them as they swam to and fro. “But—” he breathed in heavily— “if I had it my way . . . I’d go back home and help run my parents’ shop.” There was that smile creeping up on his face again at the mention of home. “And if I really had it my way, I’d be thirteen again and I’d never grow up. I’d be small and happy and I’d never have to leave home again. That is what I truly want; to be that kid again . . . but for right now . . . I think I’d settle with just going home, knowing my mom’s special dish is waiting for me.”

Home.

He spoke of it so fondly, and you began to wonder if you’d ever loved it as much as he did. Now, you knew you did. Your parents were good, kind people. They were good parents. You loved them, missed them, but home had never been something that you’d acknowledged if that made any sense. You were just always looking forward to the future and who you’d become. You supposed you never stopped to take in the lines drawn onto the bathroom wall labeling your height year after year. You supposed you never stopped to catch sight of the way your mom would shave off the skin of the apple because she knew you didn’t like getting it in your teeth. You supposed you never thought of home as home because you always knew it’d be there, and now . . . now it was far far away and you were so so small, no longer great and big, and looking forward to the future.

It made you wonder if this feeling deep inside you had something to do with missing this home Jungkook spoke of. And then you began to agree that, yes, yes you would very much like to be small again, coming home from badminton practice to the smell of your mother’s cooking and your father’s tunes playing on the CD player.

Perhaps . . . perhaps you wished you were little again, too. And perhaps you wished you could start over, this time with badminton as more of a love than a state of survival . . . and maybe then you’d know more of this . . . home.

“Kook . . . “ you began, eyes darting from fish to fish as your thoughts raced, “if I admit something . . . do you promise not to judge?”

Jungkook hummed moments before he reached out to tuck your hair behind your ear. “What’s on your mind, hmm?” he mused, nudging you with his elbow as if telling you to go on.

Another few beats of silence. (It was odd how it kept lurking over your shoulder like a vice.)

And then: wetting your lips, you swallowed the weird feeling in your throat, finding it hard to get these words out for some reason. And then . . . when you were sure the silence had begun to eat at your flesh, you opened your mouth to voice your thoughts. “What if . . . what if I don’t love badminton anymore?” you mumbled, your voice nearly inaudible as you heard your words echo in your head again and again. But just like Pandora’s box, once they were spoken, you couldn’t shove them back down. Your words just kept flowing. “I mean . . . I’m—I’m twenty-five years old. All I’ve ever known is badminton. I ruined my life for it. I wasted three years trying to get it back and . . . and . . . and what if I did it for nothing? I wasted my entire life trying to be the best at something that I don’t even like anymore. What am I supposed to do if—if I don’t want it anymore?”

There.

Right there.

There was the truth you’d been hiding from for so long, and it was laid out in front of you, staring back at you.

What if you had wasted your entire life trying to be the best at something you didn’t even like anymore?

It wasn’t even like you wanted an answer from him either. You just needed to say it. You just needed to admit that perhaps you and Jungkook were more similar than either of you had ever thought.

And did that . . . did that give you relief? To be understood in this way?

“I just—“ you blurted out, still trapped inside your head— “It’s like you said. I just . . . maybe I just want to go home. I don’t . . . I don’t want to go to the Olympics or—or anything. I don’t want to be who I was. I just . . . I don’t know if I care to be . . . that anymore.”

A beat of—wait—no, unlike you thought, no silence entered your space. No, instead, Jungkook didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, baby—” he sighed, his voice like honey moments before you felt a warm hand cup your cheek— “you haven’t changed one bit either. Don’t you know? Violet, roses are red, not blue.” Your eyes met. His filled with understanding, while yours stained in shock. And then . . . then he tapped his thumb against the corner of your mouth, and offered up a small smile. “Where’s your smile? Hmm?”

Instantly, you sucked in a sharp breath as your eyes fluttered ever so slightly, taken off guard by his words. You wet your lips, trying to form any kind of sentence, but nothing ever came. Until you realized something . . . this feeling . . . it wasn’t something you were used to . . . but it was something you’d heard of . . . and it was . . . soft.

You’d never held something like that. You’d never owned something like that either. You’d never been it. You’d always just been machine parts and badminton plays. Strategies upon strategies. Always thinking and thinking and thinking and never just . . . being . . . feeling . . .

Until . . .

. . . until him.

And you had no idea how to handle that.

“I’m so scared,” you heard yourself whisper before you realized it was you who was speaking.

Jungkook furrowed his brows as his eyes trailed across your face before he wiped his thumb across your cheek, then dropped his hand to yours. Only then did you realize you had been crying. Not sobbing or anything close, but a few tears had slipped past, and there he was again wiping them away like it was normal; like it was OK.

“Why are you scared?” he questioned softly as he squeezed your hand.

“Because,” you muttered out with a confused shrug. Hell, you didn’t even really know. You just knew . . . you just knew that: “I’m only still here . . . on this team . . . because of you. I think . . . I think what I like about badminton is . . . you. You’ve made it worth something when it’d lost all meaning to me. And . . . and . . . I think what scares me the most is that . . . is that you’ve made me . . . soft . . . and I can’t tell if I hate that or if I . . . if I’m grateful.” Quickly, you wet your chapped lips. “I’ve had good things in my life. I’ve had success and victory and fame . . . but it all felt like it came with a price. You know? Win a competition and you feel great but what about the next one? It was always just a constant race . . . but being around you . . . it doesn’t feel like I have to win anything. I feel softer and—and it doesn’t even come with a catch. It’s free.” Your eyes searched his. “Am I even allowed to have something like that when I should be obsessing over winning this championship?”

Jungkook leaned closer, taking your hand into both of his as he held it close to his chest similar to how you’d hold a teddy when you were a child. And then . . . he spoke, and you couldn’t believe your ears, wondering if this was the same man you knew when you were young. “Have all of me,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours as if he wanted you to know he meant this within his soul. “Take my bones and build yourself a home. They’re worn, sure, but I like to think they’re pretty sturdy . . . so . . . take them.” His eyes searched yours deeper. “Take all of me if you have to. Take all of me . . . ”

Blinking slowly, you shot him a look, a small, shocked smile creeping onto your face as you let a sliver of a laugh out before you knew it. “That’s disgusting,” you scolded him, shaking your head at his words, but you couldn’t help but find some sentiment in them. Maybe it was the morbidity to you, but no one had ever said such things to you . . . and you found yourself holding these words close to your chest just as Jungkook held your hand close to his.

He smiled back, too. “Good. I knew it’d make you laugh,” he murmured softly, and you knew this, too. It was him after all. He’d do anything to get a laugh out of you, and you began to realize that it had always been that way. (Perhaps you should’ve spent your childhood laughing more than scowling at him.) But it seemed he didn’t mind as he began to rub his thumb back and forth against your knuckles, his smile slowly fading into a solemn expression. And then: “You asked me to haunt you, but you’re the one who haunts me.”

You swallowed hard.

You’re the one who haunts me.

Oh . . .

And then you began to wonder: was Jimin right? He loved you, he had told you. And suddenly, you realized that if this were still true . . . it didn’t bother you. You’d accept it even. But what did that mean for you?

You swallowed hard once again.

“You said I make you feel real again,” he continued on, making you forget your own thoughts as you watched his head tilt to the side in thought, ever so slightly. “I’ve thought about it. I don’t want to haunt you. I don’t want to poison your softness. I want to make you keep feeling real and soft and . . . you. And . . . and well . . . you make me want to be real again. You–you make me want to be a person, to be something, to make something of the person I am. I don’t want to end up like your King Weir—”

“Lear,” you felt yourself whisper so quietly you almost didn’t hear it. All you could do was stare at him and stare and stare and . . .

“I don’t want to be him,” Jungkook restated. A small pause followed as those warm brown eyes you’d come to be fond of searched yours like you were the only two people left on the planet. “I don’t want to be nothing . . . and you’ve reminded me of that.” Wetting his lips, he reached for your other hand, now holding both your hands in his, his thumbs running across your knuckles. “So I was wondering—” he maintained eye contact, while he gave a quick squeeze to your hands— “if maybe instead . . . well . . . I want you to help me live . . . no haunting necessary.”

I want you to help me live.

It echoed in your ears.

I want you to help me live.

I want you to—

Did he know that he’d given you a whole new reason to keep living? Did he know that when you thought of him, you realized you had another reason to live? Didn’t he realize that it was him? That caring for him had made you a better person?

But Jungkook took your silence as a sign of rejection, so before you could slap yourself up the side of the head, he nearly retreated, quickly muttering out an apology for being . . . weird. Only, this was now and not then, and you were you, and well, you quickly reached for his hands, pulling them into your lap. His eyes followed your movements, clearly taken off guard, but you didn’t let him dwell on it too long.

“How about—” you began, running your thumb across the tattoos dotting his fingers— “let’s take care of each other?”

Jungkook blinked once. Then twice. Then . . . then his brows twitched in longing? Understanding? Or . . . oh what was that word?

Whatever.

It didn’t matter. What mattered was his answer. And you already knew it before you’d spoken those words.

OK, he nodded.

OK, he smiled.

OK, your eyes seemed to glisten back.

OK.

There was a time in your life, where every night you’d have the same nightmare. Over and over again, you’d be trapped in this room with no windows, no doors, just darkness. And in the middle of the room would be you, or rather a version of you, strapped to a chair, with flames slowly licking up your legs, scorching your skin. But you wouldn’t feel any pain, because it wasn’t actually you. Sure, it looked like you, but . . . you were on the other side of the room, watching with wide eyes as you heard yourself scream and beg to be released from the shackles.

The flames wouldn’t touch you there. They were around, yes. They were burning holes into your clothes, yes, but you couldn’t feel it. All you could do was sit and watch as this variant of yourself burned alive right before your eyes.

And as if watching yourself be scorched alive wasn’t bad enough, there would be this point in the dream where you, no, she, no . . . it . . . would speak to you. Through the flames, it would hiss and whisper that it was your fault.

It was your fault, and you’d know what it meant.

But, No! you’d scream back. Because, no, no, no, this couldn’t be your fault. You couldn’t have been the one to ruin yourself. That would just be so, so, so . . . well . . . it would be too much.

(You knew now that it was just one big accident. Sure, trying not to blame yourself for it now was hard, but you’d learned in the past few months. It hadn’t been your fault. It hadn’t been his either.)

But back then . . . back then the incident loomed over your shoulder like a ghost.

You were getting ahead of yourself again, but . . . but the dream, no . . . the nightmare always started and ended the same. You stuck in a burning room, left to watch yourself burn and burn and burn as you, she, it, whatever (!) screamed and screamed, its voice growing louder with each, it was your fault!

And with the last shift of blame, the fire would finally set in. The red, hot flames that had left blisters and boils on your skin would begin to itch, then sting, and then consume you until all you felt was pain, pain, pain.

Then it would be your screams which filled the room.

Only when the pain would begin to shift, your back ripping with agony as this pair of . . . wings (?) split from the wounds, would you think you’d been saved. Because just as those wings had appeared, on the other side of the room, so had a door. And perhaps, perhaps then you could escape the burning room; fly out of there and save yourself.

That was always your first thought: survive, and you would always head for the door without a second thought. It was only when you’d hear the other you’s screams that this immense amount of guilt would hit you, because there you were, able to save yourself but not without leaving a piece of you behind to burn to ash.

. . . You never turned around to give yourself one last glance either. Instead, you always counted to three before you stepped off from the ledge, trusting that what was behind the bright light coming from the door would surely save you. And every time as you realized you were falling and falling, the heat would leave your senses and all you’d be able to feel was wind in your hair and the smell of salt water. You were no longer in the burning room. You were free.

With the opening of your eyes, you would be in the sky, your wings carrying you. And for a moment, you would believe that you truly were free; free from the incident, free from your guilt, free from everything.

Until the wind no longer felt refreshing and the vague smell of burning wood could be sensed; until you finally glanced back at what you had left behind, only to realize the wings you had been gifted were not made of feathers and bone at all, but rather wax, and under the Sun’s embrace . . . they had begun to melt . . .

You’d spare yourself the details of stating what happened next, but the story was simple. Think Icarus. Just like Icarus, every time, your wings would melt and you’d hit the sea below you, shortly drowning but never dying. No, every time you’d get a bit closer to death . . . but you’d wake up just before you succumbed to it.

And every time you’d wake in a fright, sweat coating your body as you panted and panted, trying to figure out if you could still feel the fire on your skin or the water in your lungs. And every time you’d wake wondering if that was why you craved the fire so viscerally; if that was why you felt like you were drowning from time to time.

But . . . that dream, that nightmare . . . well . . . you hadn’t had it for a couple weeks or maybe months (?) now. It used to be something that you just considered part of your routine; something that you just had to deal with. But ever since you and Jungkook had begun this little thing you guys had going on where you’d sleep next to each other almost every night, you hadn’t been having any dreams.

You didn’t quite understand it. You just knew that the nightmares had stopped . . . and maybe you had him to thank for that (just a little bit).

Slowly, you brought yourself out of your mind, planting yourself in reality once again as you were reminded that you and Jungkook had gone back to his hotel room after you got in a few hours practice after well . . . after your little . . . mishap. You’d showered and washed your hair, brushed your teeth, and blah blah blah. You were already tucked into bed, waiting for Jungkook to finish up brushing his teeth so the two of you could watch something to fall asleep to. (He was slow . . . of course (brushing his teeth while listening to a playlist at max volume)). And you, you were beginning to doze off, lost in your mind as you thought of the peaceful sleep you had awaiting you (partially thanks to him yeah (!) you knew . . . whatever).

Still, you couldn’t help but roll over in bed, your eyes quickly catching a glimpse of him in the mirror just outside the bathroom. And well, you couldn’t help but laugh just a little as you watched him dance to the music playing from his phone, haphazardly brushing his teeth along to the beat. (You couldn’t wait until he hopped into bed next to you and you could finally get close enough to feel his heartbeat against your cheek (not that you would admit that out loud. . . right?)).

“I can see your asscrack,” you called out across the room, laughing slightly because duh you were lying but you couldn’t help but tease him. (Plus . . . maybe a part of you missed him being beside you (you wanted him to hurry up, could you blame yourself?!).)

“Nuh-uh—” he gurgled out through the copious amount of toothpaste in his mouth— “not falling for that again. You’re full of shit.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, falling back against the bed, the back of your head now laying in the center of the pillow. One, two, three, you counted the swirls in the ceiling. It was literally like watching paint dry having to entertain yourself until he was done. It was an odd thing, wasn’t it? Liking someone’s company that much?

God . . . what had you turned into?

“Do you sleep with your eyes open?” you heard Jungkook ask from beside you just as the bed dipped and he crawled under the covers, no shirt and only in his boxers (as usual).

Ignoring the pitter-patter of your heart, you turned to face him, your eyes immediately trailing across his features. “You tell me,” you hummed, quickly rolling onto your side so your entire body was facing him.

“Probably,” he mumbled as he settled into the bed, propping up the pillow to support his head. “Dunno though. I try not to look at you too much.”

Your jaw dropped. Then a scoff. And you didn’t waste any time, reaching forward to twist his nipple . . . hard.

Instantly, he caved in on himself, clutching his chest as he whined, “Ow. Not cool, baby.”

You threatened to do it again, your hand outstretched.

But he waved a metaphorical white flag in surrender. “OK. OK. I’m kidding. I’m kidding,” he all but begged, twisting away from you.

Falling back against the bed once again, you avoided his eyes. “That’s what I thought,” you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest as you faked your displeasure with him.

Jungkook only found this amusing, soothing a hand over his chest before he shifted closer to you, his tattooed arm thrown over your waist as he pulled you into him. It took him no time to bury his face into the crook of your neck, nuzzling his nose just under your sweet spot. “Mmm, don’t be mad,” he mumbled against your skin, slowly kissing his way up to your ear. “You really are the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” A kiss to your cheek. Then a squeeze to your side as he brought you closer and closer and closer until you were sure the two of you were intertwined. “You always have been, you know?”

Slowly, as confusion and shock twisted onto your features, you turned your head so you were nose to nose. “Don’t be silly,” you whispered as one of your hands found its way into his long hair. “I know you were kidding, you don’t have to overkill it.”

Listen, listen, listen . . . you knew you weren’t god awful, but every girl feels like they’re not good enough. It’s built into us, so sometimes it comes as a shock when someone is so . . . so forward. It wasn’t like people just went around saying ‘oh, you’re the prettiest girl ever duh!’ like duh! Obviously! So . . .

But Jungkook always managed to surprise you. Always.

And just as you were about to close your eyes, thinking this was over and the two of you were going to actually get some sleep, he surprised you once more. “You know . . . “ he began, his voice low and quiet, almost as if he were fighting with himself to say his next words . . . “I spent the entirety of the sixth grade learning every flower I could just so I’d have something to tease you about,.”

“What?” you all but snorted as you threw your leg over his hip. “That’s insane.”

“Well, I had to get your attention somehow,” he mused, while his hand had begun to trace letters or random doodles on your back.

Scrunching your brows together, you asked, “What are you talking about?”

“You’re so dense. Pretty, but—” he tapped a finger to your forehead— “hollow.”

Instantly, you shot him a look. “You wanna talk?”

He only laughed.

A beat of warm silence. You traced his bottom lip with your thumb, toying with the piercing. He nipped at your thumb. Another beat. He pressed a kiss to your thumb. One more beat, then . . .

“I had a crush on you, idiot,” he confessed against your thumb in the dead of night.

This time you actually did snort, moving your thumb to rest on his chin. “What? I was all braces and forehead acne,” you went on, remembering who you were and how you were and all the little things that you wished had been different about yourself back then. “A crush, JK? Be serious.”

“Hey, hey, I’m not a liar,” he quickly rushed over, humorously defending his honor. “I had a crush on you. Seriously. Why do you think I tried to impress you all the time.”

Your smile nearly faded. (And Jimin’s words revisited you (you pushed them away).)

He wasn’t kidding.

But . . .

“Impress me? You spent our entire childhood showing off how much better you were at everything than I was,” you said, confusion and everything in between laced in your words. Because, truly, what? “That was like our . . . thing as much as it disgusts me to admit.”

His brows raised ever so slightly. “What?”

Oh no.

No, he wasn’t kidding. He actually did have a crush on you. But that meant . . . that meant the whole reason you had hated him growing up was over . . . nothing. He had never meant to start anything. He was just . . . he was trying to impress you and not . . . one-up you.

He wanted you to like him back . . .

So then you had—oh, no!

“Wait,” you cut your own thoughts off with a gasp. “Oh my fucking god, are you serious? Kook, I thought you were just trying to be an asshole.”

Jungkook pulled back. “No, what the—” his words died on his tongue as it all dawned on him. “Is that why you thought I hated you?”

“Yes! Obviously!”

“Oh, shit . . . “

And then . . . as if this couldn’t get any more on-brand for the two of you, Jungkook had begun to laugh. Quietly at first, then his hand was slapping against his face as he cackled, his shoulders even so much as shaking. He was full-on laughing. Laughing.

“Why are you laughing?” you exclaimed, squeezing his shoulder

“Because! You hated my guts for like fifteen years and it’s all because you took my sixth-grade flirting as an insult!” he bursted out through small laughs. “You—” he embraced you, his hand cupping your cheek as his eyes searched yours— “are something else.”

“Well . . . it’s technically your fault,” you responded with a quick click of your tongue.

His brows twitched upward. “Oh, is it technically my fault?” he asked while trying to fight the half-grin tipping onto his lips.

“Obviously.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, thinking for only a second before: “At least you’re pretty.”

In response, your mouth fell open slightly. “I will bite the tip of your penis off.”

“Mmm, kinky,” he remarked as he nudged your nose with his.

Scrunching your nose, you tsked, “Ew.”

“Come on, baby,” Jungkook mockingly whined, pouting as much as he possibly could. “No cold shoulder. Gives me the chills.”

But you were having too much fun with this to give it up now. “You had a crush on me,” you all but gagged as you turned your nose up (once again ignoring Jimin’s words . . . ). “Disgusting.”

“Is it?” he questioned in amusement, moments before his lips were on your exposed jaw.

“Mmm.”

Jungkook gently bit your cheek. “I think you’re the one with the crush,” he mused, his lips trailing down to your neck again, this time hovering just over your sweet spot.

“Oh, please,” you scoffed, trying your absolute hardest not to show how affected you were by just his lips grazing your skin. But one gentle kiss to your sweet spot, and you could feel your heart skyrocket to your throat as you all but choked in a breath. It was just that . . . he had this effect on you. (Fuck, did he ever . . . )

“Begging now, are you?” he remarked before leaving another kiss here and then there and the oh, you guessed it, just on the corner of your mouth but not on your lips, of course.

And all you could do was admit you were weak when it came to him, and just give in. Which was, of course, what you did as a soft groan escaped your lips and you turned your head to face him once again. “Would you get over your ego and kiss me?” you deadpanned, all but pouting at him.

That almost got him immediately. His eyes flicked to your lips, then your eyes, then to your lips once again before one of those cocky grins plastered across his face. “Yes, ma’am,” he whispered, his voice like silk.

That was the last response you received before his lips grazed yours. Gentle at first was his touch, like a feather on skin, but as he nudged your nose with his, he finally closed the space between you two, pressing his lips against yours in a soft kiss. You leaned closer, pleasantly sighing into the kiss as you nipped at his bottom lip. A grin tipped onto his face before he dipped in for more, running his tongue along the crease of your lips. You complied quickly, hands tangling in his long, dark hair as you pulled him closer and melded his tongue with yours. He inhaled sharply through his nose as his grip tightened on you instantly, his hand sliding up your thigh, squeezing your hip before it snuck under the hem of your shirt (or rather his old college badminton tee that he had grown out of by now (which meant it was yours by default . . . duh).

A soft mix between a gasp and a quiet moan escaped your lips when you felt the coolness of his hand graze the swell of your breast, palming it. He grinned into the kiss, circling his thumb around your nipple, knowing damn well that it would get to you and have your skin blazing in seconds.

That was just the thing—he knew how your body worked. More . . . he knew how you worked and perhaps that was why he had figured out how to pleasure you.

Still, you tugged on his hair in annoyance, huffing slightly and pouting perhaps just a tad, which you knew he found endearing. That was the thing, too . . . you knew how he worked as well. He snickered against your lips, proving your thoughts to yourself just moments before he pulled you closer and began sucking on your bottom lip as his thumb pressed down on your puckered nipple, tweaking the bud. You hummed softly in response, grinding your underwear-clothed core against his muscular thigh.

He stilled under your touch for a mere second before his hands gripped your waist as he pulled you down onto his thigh, moving with you while you grinded against him. “Making a mess, pretty girl,” he murmured against your lips as he moved to lightly kiss your neck. His hand was at your shirt again in an instant, fisting it and pulling it up over your breasts.

“You’re such a guy,” you nearly moaned out, your hands now on his shoulders as his head dipped to your breasts, catching a nipple in his mouth all the while he flexed his thigh against your core. He didn’t stop there either. He softly hummed against your skin as he released your nipple long enough to kiss it just moments before taking it into his mouth again, swirling his tongue around the bud and sucking hard. And you couldn't help it, you jerked against him, throwing your head into the pillow as a loud moan sounded from the back of your throat.

“So you agree—” he mumbled as he still flicked his tongue over and over again over the abused bud— “you like that about me?”

Before you could even answer, his hand had gone from your waist and now tangled in your hair, holding the back of your neck. That was moments before his lips detached from your puckered bud and reattached to your lips. His other hand worked quickly, too, as he slid his thigh out from underneath you and swung your leg over his hip, his hardened length now pressed against your aching core.

“Maybe I do a little,” you whispered with a small grin playing on your puffy lips as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer.

He grinned back. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured back, kissing you quickly before you could respond.

And his comment was long forgotten as he grinded his bulge into your heat, stimulating both you and him. It was intoxicating. No, he . . . he was.

He was so intoxicating, you couldn’t help but whine out, “Take them off, please.” Your fingers were at his boxers, tracing the elastic band as you all but whimpered against his lips. You just wanted him, him, him. All of him.

“Eager?” he mused as his thumb dug into your hip. (You knew this was eating at him just as much as it was eating at you. It always did.)

“Please, Kookie. Can’t take it,” you whined further, all but straight-up riding him to scratch the ache inside you. “Need it so bad. Killin’ me.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, and he didn’t waste another second either. “Love you like this.” His own whines filled the air as the two of you struggled to tear off his boxers, your underwear quickly following after as both the undergarments eventually became lost under the covers. But neither of you cared.

It was a quick descent after that. You couldn’t help but grind your core over his hard length, the sound of your wet arousal evident even over the hum of the air conditioner. The two of you never did this. You’d always done foreplay after foreplay after foreplay, finding it thrilling to tease each other, but right now . . . right now all you wanted was him inside you. You wanted him as close as possible, and it seemed he wanted the same, the both of you unable to think or do anything other than grind against each other.

Only then when you couldn’t take the throb between your legs anymore did he press a single kiss to the corner of your mouth before you felt him slowly enter you, inch by inch sinking into your cunt. Your eyes fluttered closed as your mouth parted and your head tilted back while you basked in the fullness which came along with his cock sliding snugly against your tight walls. Your breath hitched in your throat just as you felt him bottom out, your core taking him all the way until the hilt.

The next second, you were wrapping your legs around him, locking them together in an attempt to get him even deeper. Your eyes fluttered open next, meeting his gaze instantly as he stared down at you with his brows pinched in pleasure and those big, round eyes of his blown out . . . but was this lust that he gazed at you with? His gaze appeared different, almost warmer, almost softer, almost too soft to touch . . . to have . . . to hold. He looked too pretty like this. Definitely too pretty for you to handle.

It didn’t help when the following words out of his mouth were: "You're always so fucking tight.”

And then he began to move, not breaking eye contact once. No, his eyes watched yours as his cock pumped in and out of your wet heat. His breath hit your face, and you could almost feel his heartbeat against your chest, syncing with yours as the two of you stared into what you could only describe as each other’s souls.

It was odd, too, because while whatever this feeling was blooming in your chest scared you, you couldn’t look away. You couldn’t turn from him. You just wanted him, him, him. Always him. You feared that if you did turn away, when you glanced back he wouldn’t be there anymore. And that perhaps scared you more than anything: losing him.

But there he was. He was always right there . . .

Almost as if he could hear your thoughts, his grasp on you tightened, his cock sinking deliciously deeper if it were even possible. The pressure in your lower stomach was becoming too much as it bloomed and bloomed, twisting and turning in a pleasurable ache. You bit your bottom lip, turning your head to the side as your breathing became more uneven by the second, but not once did you dare look away. No, you watched each and every twitch of his brow, every shaky breath, every flutter of his eyelashes, and you relished in it, soaking it all in.

It became clear to you that you couldn’t look away even if you tried.

And it seemed neither could he . . .

"Why are you looking at me like that?" you rasped out, trying to swallow your spit.

Jungkook nudged your nose with his. "Like what?"

You swallowed, this time harder (Jimin’s words revisited you once again). “I can’t say . . . “

His brows twitched this time. “How could I not?”

How could I not? And you knew what he meant, just as he had known what was playing on your mind. How could I not?

And then he was kissing you again, taking you by utter surprise. Sure, the two of you had had sex over and over again and each time felt a little different from the other, but this . . . this was like the beginning yet the present all at once. It was like you could feel all of him in just this kiss; like you could see his past and he could see yours and neither of you had thought about running once.

It was soft. So was his hand as he brushed through your hair as he kissed you, tracing your hairline, your cheek, your jaw, then your neck as if he were trying to map out your features.

(You couldn’t help but melt under his touch.)

Why was his kiss always the softest thing you had ever known?

Then . . . amidst your soft moans and carnal sounds, he pulled back, his eyes finding yours again. He glanced between the two of you where your bodies met, brows rising in marvel as he released a small sigh before rolling his hips against yours again and again. And then . . . then, he grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers together as his gaze met yours once again and he whispered so quietly, almost too quiet you wouldn’t have heard it if you hadn’t been so close, “I don’t even know where you end and I begin.”

And you knew instantly he didn’t just mean where your body met his. No, this was deeper, and you realized he could feel that this time was different, too.

Swallowing hard, you fluttered your eyes in almost a state of shock as you stayed silent. But you didn’t need to speak. No, you took his words, and you held them close, and then you were holding him. Take my bones and build yourself a home, he’d told you, but no, no, you wouldn’t put him through that. He could take yours. He could take all of you. You would give yourself to him.

Fuck, you would give all of yourself to him. Only him. Him, him, him.

“Wanna see your face, baby,” he murmured as he brushed your hair out of your flushed face. “Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. My pretty girl.”

And you knew that was it.

With one final kiss, you let him know all this, allowing him to take the lead once more. Everything pulsed as he picked up a sensual pace, hitting your sweet spot over and over again as his thumb snuck between your legs, skillfully working against your swollen clit while you chased the coil. It tightened and tightened, rings of pleasure hissing in your ears. His thumb quickened its pace, and then the coil snapped, your release crashing over you. All you could do was surrender to it, tilting your head back into the pillow as your hips raised while your hands squeezed his toned arms. All the while, Jungkook continued the long drags of his cock against your walls, dragging out your orgasm for as long as he could.

“Wanna stay like this,” he confessed, his thrusts growing slower and slower, unsteadier and unsteadier as he nearly whimpered into your neck. “Love this so fuckin’ much. Being with you—fuck. You make me feel so good, baby. So good.”

“I’d let you,” you mumbled against the shell of his ear, your voice a little too hoarse as you were still coming down from your high. “I’d let you do . . . all the time . . . I want—” you were delirious at this point and you knew it, too— “Want you always.”

Your words barely even registered in your brain as pleasure and that blooming feeling in your chest consumed you. It wasn’t long before you found yourself lifting his head so your lips could slot against his. And he graciously accepted your offer, consuming you just as the feeling had done.

The two of you wasted no time in escalating from gentle kissing, allowing you to further calm down from your high before your cunt was throbbing once more. And . . . before his cock had begun to feel too fucking hard inside you, nearly twitching for release as it begged for your addictive touch.

You let yourself get wrapped up in him for a little longer, too, never wanting to stop. Your hands were on him again as you tangled your fingers in his hair and pulled. This time a loud, deep groan came from his lips, and you knew you had him. He gave another groan of submission when you tugged again, his thrusts barely cohesive now. He was close, and you reveled in this, wishing to bring him to ecstasy. With that thought on your mind, you devilishly reached over his muscular ass, fingers quickly finding his perineum and pressing into it, massaging the sensitive spot.

He was sheathed deeper inside you before either of you could breathe, the two of you too wrapped up in each other to move positions. You just wanted to feel each other again and again and again, because for some reason . . . this time was different.

Different and yet all the same. That was how it had always been with Jungkook.

And you couldn’t quite put a word to the feeling, until . . .

“Will you cum inside me?” you whispered, your voice hoarse as you omitted a soft moan under your breath. “Please. I need more.” Swallowing hard, you finally met his gaze, and instantly, you couldn’t look away. There was just . . . something . . . there. “I need you.” Your brows furrowed as you soaked in your own words while you searched his eyes.

Slowly, with another roll of his hips, he sank lower, his abdomen grazing against yours so he could be close enough to brush his lips with yours but not that close to kiss you. But you . . . you couldn’t be without his touch, and found yourself tilting your head to press your lips against his, finally finding that something you had been searching for in his eyes.

And then . . . then it hit you.

“I need you,” you heard yourself whisper before you knew the words had left your mouth. “I need you, Koo.”

I need you, you’d whispered, and you began to realize . . . you knew what you felt for him wasn’t what you’d feel for a friend. Because you did need him . . . in more ways than you’d like to admit.

And that scared the shit out of you.

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desswright29 · 3 months

Text

The Great Antipode

Pairing: Ex/Queen Shuri X Ex/Singer Reader

Word Count: A short Novel lol

Summary: Five years ago, you left Shuri on her knees in her hotel room. On the night of your wedding. The two of you moved forward with your lives both accomplishing great things. Will a celebration thrown for your latest accomplish bring the two of you back together?

Contains: Fluff, Angst, Smut, Domestic violence, slow burn, deprived Shuri

A/n: Ok y’all. Snuggle up for this one. It’s long af! But It has something for ALLL THE GIRLY’s. The romance girls, the angst girls, the smut girls, the slow burn girls, the music girls. And “Good bones” is an original poem. So I hope you all snuggle up and rub your feet together and dive in. Enjoy! Happy B-lated Valentines.

Good Bones by Shuri Udaku Who knew that the death of us could be so endearing? Laid to rest, the flesh of fearing Decaying beneath the thumb of time The stars in your eyes and my heart align

Weakness shriveled, and fell off the shape Kindred spirits take place in love’s nape A funeral began, to which we did not attend But tears fell through the soil, and growing begins

Time stood still and said “not yet” A reach in the night, yet our hands never met But I felt you, Sthandwa… I was never alone No strength in old vessels, but our love has good bones.

Walking along the foggy dock; the long coat of her tuxedo whisked gracefully in the windy night. Her vision was engrossed with the horizon of the navy sky, almost hypnotized by the green light that blinked at the top of the building in the city. The owner of the home that was a direct antipode to her own ran marathons through her mind. Though she couldn’t fully visualize it, she knew it was there. A perfect vertical axis from her home, to the home of her heart. She’d built it that way. Coming up on the end of the dock her stride came to a halt. Her eyes shut, with the green light still invading her sight behind the lids of her eyes. She stretched out her arm,reaching for the light. For the love she’d lost five years ago. She reached for a sign. Even just a light wind to tickle the tips of her fingers. Any sign that maybe, just maybe she was thinking of her too.

“Ikumkani wam” Griot spoke through the Queens Kimoyo earrings. “Wakanda is calling.”

With a light sigh, her hand fell to her side, jaw flenching in frustration. She opened her eyes, staring right back out into the darkness that surrounded the relentless blinking green light. The darkness she deserved after the hurt she’d caused the only woman she’d ever truly loved. She turned on her heels, begining the walk back to what had become her second home. Turning her back on the darkness, and also the flashing hope of the green light.

“Bast. Hear my cry. I have done the work. If you see fit, please send my heart back to me.”

Across the axis the direct antipode to the home the Queen had built, was a JamesEdition penthouse filled with busy bodies, and buzzing conversations as everyone prepared for the big day! The fuss was partially interupted by the ringing of the doorbell. The door opened to reveal Mr. Bruno Mars. The best friend to the lady of the house. Greeted at the door by the butler, and led through the elegant grand hallway to the study. Where he was met by Mr. Michael Addai. His best friends husband. Michael quickly took the phone from his ear ending the call immediately to properly greet Bruno.

“Bruno! What’s up my brother!” He spoke with a loud booming voice, his walk just as boisterous. He stuck out his hand for Bruno to grab.

“How’s it going man?” Bruno replies.

“Everything is everything man. That woman of mine has been talking about seeing you non-stop all week!” Bruno smiles affectionately.

“Well I should get to her then. I’m excited to see her too. I’ve missed her.” Mike smiles, wrapping an arm around Bruno’s neck.

“Inseparable the two of you. It’s quite cute!” He laughed big and loud, as the two of them entered busy living room.

The house was alive with music and bodies. It almost seemed as if it were a dance. Hair stylist, makeup artist, and wardrobe, moved gracefully around the large room. Their only mission being to perfect the beauty that sat in the center of the room.

A luxurious silky white robe tied neatly around your waist, hung from your shoulders so elegantly. You sat leaned slightly forward, legs crossed as the makeup artist applied the last bit of gloss to your plump bottom lip.

“Well I’ll be damned! It seems as though you’ve made it my friend.” A light gasp leaves your lips. Your head turns and your eyes glimmer as they connect with your longtime bestfriend.

“Is that you my love!?” You stood, rushing over to him with your delicately heeled feet. Arms raised prepared to be wrapped around your favorite person. You close your eyes as the two of you connect finding comfort in the warm embrace.

“Did you miss me?” You say pulling away staring into his smiling eyes. “Everyday! Everyday I sat by my window in Rome and gazed into the nights sky missing my only friend!” He says, full of drama like only he could. You giggle pushing his shoulder, turning to take your seat back in the center of the room so that your hair could be finished.

“You’re lying. But I’m still flattered.” Bruno laughed along with you.

“Not about the important part.” The two of you share another glance with mutual adoration.

“Bruno!” Your sister Danielle yelled as she trotted down the stairs to embrace him. “It’s been a while! I see your work in my travels often! Beautiful! Incredible!”

“Thank you Dani. I’m very flattered.” He says with a blush.

“Yes! They are which reminds me I’m hoping to commission an original piece from you.” You chime in somewhere beneath all of the commotion.

“I’d be honored. Especially, from a soon to be Grammy winner. Ten nominations is unfathomable!” You giggle and do a little jig.

“It still feels like a fever dream. I’m taking it moment by moment.” Someone began to fan you. Keeping you from overheating in all the commotion.

“So Bruno, are you back in New York for good?” Michael asks, walking over to the mini bar to pour two glasses of scotch.

“For awhile atleast, I’ll be settling. Just bought a new place over in New Rochelle. It’s nice though humble compared to the estate next door.”

“New Rochelle? Interesting. There’s an after party out there tonight. It’s being given by someone who calls themselves Sweet Lady. Have you heard of her? Anyway, I was planning for us to go there after sissy came home with the win!” Dani exclaimed, sitting elegantly on the couch in her flowing sundress.

“Can’t say that I’ve heard of her, but I’m down to go.” Bruno replied, as Michael hands him his scotch and he nods in appreciation.

Your heart dropped to your stomach. “Sweet lady?” You say. “Sweet lady.” You say again in a whisper to yourself. Confusion crept up on your brow as the image of her sculpted face creeped into your mind. Within a blink she was again gone.

“Y/n are you ok?” Bruno asks, bringing you out of your thoughts.

“Hm? Oh yes. I’m fine. Today is just overwhelming in this best possible way! Let’s just get through the show first and we can discuss the parties later. They’ll be plenty!”

You say, joy prevalent in your voice. But, in the back of your mind that name continued to echo.

Sweet Lady.

Slouched in her seat, leaning slightly to the left with her elbow resting on the arm of the chair, her thumb rested underneath her chin, and her pointer finger sat thoughtfully over her lips. Shuri sat sectioned off, secluded from the masses in an area of the building that was drapped in golden curtains and flooded with security.

Nakia and Okoye sat beside her watching the stage with expectancy. Shuri’s fingers tapped along the table before she nervously reached forward, grabbing her drink, and taking a stressed sip. She was fixated, focused in on the screen as Victoria Monet sashayed onto the stage to present the last award you had been nominated for. Album of the year. Her heart pounded against her chest, and her palms were sweaty as photos of you and the other nominees flipped onto the screen. So far, you’d cleared eight of the ten Grammy’s you were nominated for and Shuri’s heart swelled with pride.

Victoria opened the envelope, and Shuri sat forward. Her elbows sat steady on the table holding up prayer hands. Underneath the table, her knee bounced uncontrollably. It seemed the world was moving in slow motion as Victoria’s eyes lit up looking up from the envelope.

“Oh My God!! Everybody stand to your feet right now! Give it up for my girl as she comes up to except her 9th Grammy of the night!! Making history and surpassing Michael Jackson’s record of eight in one night. Mrs. Y/n Y/l/n-Addai!!!!”

The other nominees photo’s disappear, and Shuri’s hands flew to her mouth as she jumped to her feet. Pumping her fist in the air. “Holy Shit! She’s done it! She did it! That’s my girl!”

Her eyes welled, as she looked to Nakia who stood to the left of her, grinning, clapping, and hooting like a proud big sister. “Yeeeesss!!” Okoye stood stoic a hint of a smile on her face and proud eyes.

The camera landed on you, standing stuck at your seat, tears streaming down your beautifully made up face. Your hands covered your mouth, identical to Shuri’s. Your mom scooped you up inside her arms holding you, rocking side to side whispering her pride in your ear.

Your sister jumped up and down, her own tears falling before she joined in with you and your mother. Your husband waited patiently, smiling down at you taking your hand and the two of you share a loving kiss. The crowd was roaring, giving you a well deserved standing ovation.

Suddenly, a longing took over Shuri’s body. The lump in her throat getting larger, and the direction of her tears changing. Shuri’s eyes zero’d in on his hand, resting delicately on your waist as you gracefully saunter up the steps to the stage to receive your award. That should’ve been her. Guiding her beautiful wife up the stairs, waiting at the bottom as you had your moment. That should’ve been her last name hyphenated behind your own. Instead, she sat hidden away. Wanting to support, and be there for you without ruining your evening with her past transgressions.

Your dress was simple and elegant. A silky black material, with a slit that traveled all the way up to your small waist and flared out beautifully. It trailed behind you as you gave Victoria a long tearful hug before stepping up to the mic and trying to speak. Your husband stepped up beside you pressing you into him. Your mouth opened, but nothing came out and you closed your eyes opting for a wet exhale as the audience cheered you on. Shuri’s eyebrows furrowed. Why was he still there?

You try again successfully “Whew, this is…..WOW!” You broke into tears again. As you spoke HE remained attached to your hip. Pressing your body into his side while you tried to deliver your speech. Shuri cocked her head to the side in annoyance. Until the sound of your voice took over the room again.

“You’ve all had to hear a lot from me tonight, so I’ll do my best to make this short.” A few chuckles float through the crowd. “If you look around you’ll see all of my family here. My mom, my sister, my bestie even flew in from his travels to be here tonight. Heeey Bruno!” You smile and wave and he smiled pumping his fist. “And my wonderful husband who’s always standing beside me. I love you baby.” He gave you a peck on the cheek before finally stepping back. In an instant, a flash of sadness took over your face and you took a contemplative breath before speaking again.

“A long time ago, I had a pretty amazing friend. Under difficult circumstances that friend grew to mean the world to me. Even in the middle of loss that would’ve sent most of us into a spiral of insanity, she didn’t break. She mourned, she tried, she failed, and she learned. She never gave herself the option to quit. Now today she stands as one of the worlds most powerful, innovative, world leaders of any time. Who has not only shown an undying love for her own people, but has spread that love over into our African American culture! And let us not forget she is a BLACK…WOMAN!”

The entire crowd stood to their feet with a loud applause. You smile while wiping away a single tear, waiting for the crowd to calm down. “During my first album she’d fly in with her busy schedule, just to be in studio sessions with me and the crew until sunrise. Making sure all of our broke ass’s ate and atleast got some sleep.” You laughed lightly as the crowd followed. “Outside of all of my musical inspirations that I’ve listed tonight, I would be remiss to not mention my greatest inspiration. The person who inspires my resilience, my tenacity, my work ethic. The person who showed me that it wasn’t enough just to be pretty and talented. But, that I had to be smart and unafraid to be a bitch that was about my business.” A few shouts of agreement sounded throughout the crow.

“So tonight I hope that she’s watching. I hope she’s proud, and I want her to know that if it hadn’t been for her, I would not be standing here today. Thank you for loving me the best you knew how. But, most of all thank you for believing in me. This last one is for you Queen Shuri Udaku.” You held your award in the air before crossing your arms over your chest in a Wakandan salute. “Thank y’all.” The crowd roared.

Nakia and Okoye stood on either side of Shuri tears in their eyes, arms crossed over their chest. Shuri sat in shocked. Her right hand sat over her heart and her eyes were closed, as she listened to the sound of the roaring crowd. The day she lost you. She’d prayed. Prayed to Bast that she would make you and her family proud. That somehow she could rise out of the deep dark hole she’d dug herself into, clean and in good graces. Now, here you were taking your historic moment to acknowledge not only how she had impacted you, but her impact on the world. She let out a shakey breath standing to her feet. She crossed her arms over her chest. And she, Nakia, and Okoye placed there arms down to their sides simultaneously.

You turned to walk off of the stage and landed right into your husbands arms. He pressed your body up against his, trapping your lips against his in a sloppy kiss. When he pulled back. He yelled “Love this girl!” into the microphone. The crowd went crazy, clapping, laughing, and hooting. Shuri officially couldn’t do it anymore. Her hands shook. She was overwhelmed with the storm of emotions evading her senses and she needed to get away.

“Shuri. Do you want to go, Usisi?” Nakia spoke up, noticing the distress in her little sisters eyes. Shuri took another sip of her drink. She nodded, wordlessly placing her drink back onto the table. Everyone at the table grabbed their belongings as Shuri stood to her feet. The Dora surrounded her, and Nakia and Okoye stood in front.

Bruno looked up from his seat out into the sea of people, just in time to catch a glimpse of what looked like the Dora Milaje exiting the building.

“What the fuck was that?” Your husband came up behind you whispering as you exited the stage. He gripped your hips rougher than necessary pulling you against him. “It was a speech Michael.” He nuzzled into your neck, breath tickling your ear. Your skin crawled.

“She can’t save you. You know that right? You belong to me.”

“Why on earth would you acknowledge her in your moment! That was YOUR moment y/n!”

“My moment to say whatever I wanted to say Dani.” You say, uninterested in your sisters opinion. You sat at the bar in your home sharing a celebratory drink with your mother and sister.

“And it was a beautiful speech baby girl. I’m sure Shuri was very touched.” Your mother says before glaring at your sister. “Dani we all know how you feel about Shuri. Let’s not ruin a good night with it.” Dani rolled her eyes.

“I’m just saying. She may be doing great things now but she still hurt my sister, so she’ll forever be the opp to me.”

“The opp? Girl…Ok street nigga.” You say rolling your eyes back at her.

“Well, it’s obvious the woman has grown and it’s ok for your sister to acknowledge that. Because she’s grown as well. Shuri didn’t go about loving your sister in the best way. But the love she had for her was undeniable. She just had some healing to do.” Dani smacks her teeth.

“Fuck her.” Your mother furrows her brow.

“Danielle” Dani quickly straightened up.

“Sorry Mommy.”

“Mhm. That’ll be my cue. I’m headed in for the night. I’m gonna go back to my hotel.” Your mom got up from her bar stool begining to grab her things.

“Mommy we have plenty of room. I don’t know why you felt the need to get a hotel!”

“No no! You all need your space tonight. I figured you’d all be partying all night. And I may want to find me some company.” She winks at you and your sister.

“Oh nah. We’re not there yet mama.” Danielle says.

“Absolutely not. But do your thing girl!” You say, and you all laugh.

“Goodnight beautiful girls. Be safe tonight.” You mom threw over her shoulder as she walked out of your home.

“We should be heading out now too!” You give your sister an apologetic look before speaking.

“Rain check?”

“Y/n! I don’t want to hear that shit! Please tell me you’re not bailing on your big night! You won nine Grammy’s tonight! Let’s go have some fun! Everyone is waiting and want to celebrate you! This party is supposed to be one for the books.” Your sister stares at you incredulously.

“Well you go ahead! Everything was just alot tonight. I’m a bit overstimulated and tired. You know how I get. We can celebrate tomorrow I promise.”

“Y/n-“ she began to protest.

“Really I’m ok. Me and Michael will celebrate in our own way.” She turns up her nose. “You’ll be back to see mommy tomorrow anyway. Go have fun! This is all of our night to celebrate! Take a driver!” Your sister hesitated, but eventually gave in.

“Ok. Tomorrow y/n.” She points with a stern glare.

“Tomorrow.” Your sister looked at you with a bit of worry in her eyes.

“You still thinking about her?” She asks.

“Who?”

“Don’t play dumb with me.”

“She did played a huge roll in all this Dani. Part of me wishes she could’ve experienced this with me.” Your sister shook her head in disapproval.

“Well she can’t, because she fucked up that chance. She’s doing great ruling her country well. And you’re doing damn good without her. She wasn’t concerned with how you felt when she was cheating and how she feels now is none of your concern. Keep your eyes forward baby sister.” You cast your eyes downward. She lifts your chin.

“I’m so proud of you, and I love you.” She says giving you a hug.

“I love you too.“ You smile, and walk her out of your home. You shut the door leaning against it, you close your eyes and let out a small exhale. That’s when a full bottle of alcohol flew by your head. The sound of glass crashing on the door beside your head shocked your system, as a frightened squeal left your mouth. You gripped your dress preparing for impact. Michael grabbed you by the biceps pushing you into the wet spot and tiny glass shards left on the wall.

“Michael! Please!” You tried breaking free to no avail.

He wrapped his hand around your throat hard. Cutting off your circulation.

“How dare you acknowledge that bitch on our night?”

“I’m sorry.” You rasped, hanging there helplessly. The color leaving your face.

“Don’t let all of these little accolades get to your head. You’re still a little piece of trash that lucked out and got me after the queen hung you out to dry. Remember that shit the next time you decide to publicly embarrass me.” He threw you to the ground into the pile of broken glass on the floor.

“Argh!” You yell out gasping for air, as glass peirced your arms.

“Worthless.” He mumbles as he walked away.

You lie there in the glass, and once he was far enough away you inhaled deeply before, sobbing. Wondering how you had ended up here.

Rolls Royce, Bentleys, and Maybachs OH MY! The finest cars lined up outside of Sweet Lady’s home as they tried getting into the Estate. The open invitation Grammy’s party was indeed Bruno’s next door neighbors. He watched the house from the road as it lit up the sky. The music pumped loudly, and rowdy conversations could be heard for miles. Bruno maneuvered around the cars parked in front of his driveway trying to make his way up to his front door. A black envelope, lined with gold waited for him. Taped over the peephole. He looked around before carefully walking up on his porch, taking down the envelope and opening it.

“I have an invitation!” Bruno yelled, with the card held high above the crowd. He found himself shoulder to shoulder with a sea of people trying to enter the gates of the grand estate.

He continuously try’d showing his invitation to the random men in black suits that stood guard. But it seemed as though it didn’t matter, being that he was the only one who had one. Placing the invite in the front pocket of his suit jacket, he walked further into the party. His eyes filled with wonder as he’d never seen anything quite like this before. The home was exquisite. Lit up like an amusement park. It almost looked like a modern museum. There was a live band playing in the center of the fountain. Dancers and servers everywhere with whatever food you could think of. Some for the bougie. Some for the hungry. And the drinks were endless!

This home was what dreams were made of. Who is this Sweet Lady?

“Bruno!” A feminine voice called from behind him. He turned to see Dani waving above the crowd. “Hey! I see you decided to come! This place is insane!” She said.

“Yea I did. I found an invite on my door. Did you get one?”

“No one got an invite.” Dani shrugged.

They moved through the party sipping cocktails and continuing their conversation.

“Do you know her?”

“Only what I’ve heard of her. But no one has ever seen her.”

“Wow. I wonder who she is? She has to be a huge deal to live this way!”

“I’ve heard she’s some invisible industry big wig. That she controls the industry. You know Illuminati type shit.” Dani said. Another individual over heard the conversation as they began to ascend the stairs, and decided to add their bit of gossip.

“I heard she was a spy.” They say, causing a domino effect.

“I heard she was a bootlegger, on the run.”

“I heard she was a politician.”

“Who ever she is I’d like to know her.”

Everyone looked at eachother able to agree on that statement.

“Excuse me? Peter? Peter Gene Hernandez?” A man in black interupted the gossip circle. Bruno was taken aback. That was him. His full government name.

“Um y-yes. That’s me.” He says, confusion apparent.

“Madame would like to speak with you. If you would follow me.” Everyone gaped at the scene dying to know what Sweet lady wanted with Bruno. Bruno looked at Dani his heart pounding a bit in his chest. She gave him a nod to follow the man and he slowly complied.

He was led through the large doors into a grand foyer, and up a staircase that could’ve easily been mistaken for something inside of the Metropolitan. Everything about this home was tastefully over the top. Whoever this mystery woman was, two things could be said for her. One: She was Classy, And Two: She was LOADED. After being led through a long hallway. He was taken through yet another set of double doors that entered a much cozier area of the house. With beautiful furniture. Still plenty of room to entertain and a grand piano. A figure in a black and gold suit stood watching the party from a bay window.

She was slender. Yet powerful in stature. Her hair was cut low. And her jaw, sharp. In some cases she could be mistaken for male. But for Bruno. There was no mistaking that posture. Before him stood…..

Shuri Udaku. Queen of Wakanda.

“Bruno my friend. How have you been?”

“Shuri?” She turned from the window. Finally facing Bruno.

“In the flesh” She says raising her martini glass. Fireworks went off outside of the large windows as if this moment had been coordinated.

“So I wasn’t tripping when I saw Dora leaving the award show?”

“No you weren’t tripping.” She giggled. “I guess we could have been a bit more discreet in our exit.” They both stood awkwardly. Shuri took a sip of her drink and ran a hand over head.

“So they said you wanted to see me?”

“Of course. Yes. Yes. I did ask for you. Um. I wanted to know if.. if she came?”

“Y/n you mean?” Shuri shifted on her feet.

“Yes. Y/n.” It was all starting to click for Bruno.

“No. She said she was tired.” Shuri’s face visibly saddened, and she turned back towards the window. Placing a hand into her pocket as she held on to her glass with the other.

“She used to love parties…This was all for her.” Her head lowered. “I guess this was my way of celebrating her without having to disrupt her day.” Bruno looked at his surroundings.

“This house for her too?” Shuri just stared into Bruno thinking of a way to answer.

“In a way. Y/n always had big dreams. When we were together she always said she wanted something like this. Something huge outside of the Citadel where she could entertain, and have garden parties and things. Just some where for us to come and relax that had endless possibilities. So, I built her dream home. An antipode of sorts. I’m aware I’ll never have her again. But I come here when I want to feel close to her.” Shuri turned away from the window and walked over to the seating area placing her glass down and taking a seat. Bruno looked on, exceedingly impressed with the love Shuri had for you. “I know it’s silly. I just hoped that tonight she could atleast see it.”

Bruno thought back to tonight at the show. The blantant show of insecurity your husband put on. The cautiousness you held around him. How he wouldn’t let you have your moment completely. The inappropriate glances with other women that he thought no one noticed. Bruno had come to the conclusion that he didn’t really like Mike pretty early on in the evening.

“How’d you know I lived next door?” Shuri smirked. “Oh Bruno. You know better. I’m still extremely aware of my surroundings.”

Bruno chuckled, joining Shuri on the plush sofa. “If it’s any consolation, this place is amazing. And this is one hell of a party. She would’ve loved it.” Shuri leaned back before running a hand over her face.

“Nah. This was stupid. I don’t know what I was expecting.”

“It’s really a beautiful gesture. Maybe you could talk to Danielle she’s here. She could put a bug in her ear.” Shuri shook her head. “Absolutely not! She’s more angry at me than Y/n. It’d be like arguing with a rock.” Bruno’s eyebrows rose in agreement.

“That’s true.” He leaned back as well. That’s when an idea hit him. “Hey! How about I invite her over for dinner tomorrow. Tell her to come alone. And you could join us.” Shuri sat up straight, her head turned towards him. She rubbed her sweaty palms against her pants before standing and pacing.

“Y-you think she’ll come. That would be great! Dinner? That gives us plenty of time for us to get your grass cut. No offense. Griot. Contact the gardeners!” She began rambling.

“Whoa whoa. Calm down. Yes she’ll come. I’ve been gone awhile she’ll want to catch up.” The excitement in Shuri’s eyes was almost childlike.

“Ok. Ok. Great! That’s great!”

“So tomorrow?” Bruno stood, outstretching his hand for Shuri. She stepped forward taking his hand in hers and shaking.

“Tomorrow.”

Bruno walked back out into the party. Dani stood at the entrance of the mansion waiting wide eyed as she sees Bruno approaching. She quickly meets him half way.

“Wellllllll.” She said excited for answers.

“I can’t give you anything. But just know… This all makes sense.”

The next morning Bruno woke up to the sound of power tools outside of his home. He quickly jumped up grabbing his robe rushing to his front door. He swung it open to see a crew of gardeners in his yard. Cutting grass, planting flowers. And… building a fountain? Shuri stood in the center of the yard overseeing the work being done. Bruno just shook his head and walked back into the house to prepare his home for when you arrived.

Closer to time for dinner to start, rain started to pour from the sky. Bruno glanced out of the window of his kitchen as he put together some appetizers for the evening. An army of umbrellas marched up his driveway. Shuri leading the pack dressed to the nines. Bruno opened the door for the barrage of people, Shuri stepped aside allowing them to enter Bruno’s home. The first two people carried a large 3 teir wedding style cake. The others carried tables, food, chairs and more flowers. “They say the rain will clear by evening.” Her eyes shifted around the yard looking over the work done. Her eyes never settling on one thing.

“Yes it should.” Bruno says.

“Is everything alright?” Shuri asks, finally looking his way.

“Ah. The grass looks fine if that’s what you mean.” Shuri looks around and then back at Bruno.

“Grass? What grass?” And brushed past him walking into the house.

Time ticked by as they sat quietly watching the clock in Bruno’s living room. Shuri sat fiddling with her hands on the couch facing the clock. Her foot taping rapidly. Bruno leaned against the entry way to his living room watching Shuri’s internal panic. One minute after five Shuri hopped to her feet.

“I can’t wait all day. She’s not coming. I’m going home.”

“Shuri she’s only a minute late.” She rushed past him. “I’ll just go. She wouldn’t want to see me. Besides no one’s coming to dinner it’s too-” She was cut off by the honking of a horn as a car pulled up. “It’s her.” Bruno said grabbing an umbrella and rushing out of the door. Shuri froze in the hall eyes wide with regret before rushing back to the living room where she tried to find the best way to present herself to you. She eventually opted for an awkward pose by the sliding doors waiting for you to enter.

Bruno rushed outside with an umbrella waiting for your driver to let you out of the car. The driver came around laying out a carpet for you, so that you wouldn’t step into the mud. Bruno held out the umbrella as you stepped out.

“This is a beautiful place you have Bruno. Why did I have to come alone? Are you gonna confess your love for me?” He laughs.

“Oh that’s a secret! Tell your driver to go far away!” The two of you laugh. “I’ll call you back James! His name is James.” You say as you both enter the house. Bruno allows you to walk ahead of him. You stop to check your reflection in the hall mirror before heading to the living room. You were stopped in your tracks at the doorway of the living room, your mouth dropping.

“Oh my God! Did you ransack a greenhouse?” You ask walking through touching all of the beautiful flowers. “He is in love with me.” You whisper to yourself. Bruno walks in behind you looking around in confusion. Shuri was nowhere in sight. That’s when he noticed the sliding door had been left slightly ajar. He let out a sigh, and you take off your jacket. Bruno took it from you to hang in the hallway.

“That’s funny.” He chuckles.

“Wha-“

And there was a knock at the door.

“Give me one second.” He says as He ran to the door. There Shuri stood, now soaking wet.

“What are you doing?” He whisper yelled.

“I can’t do this! This is crazy!”

“Come on Shuri she’s here now! This is what you wanted.” She shook her head turning away.

“I’m leaving.”

“Stop it! You’re acting like a child.” Bruno chastised. Shuri stopped in her tracks. Turning back towards Bruno. She stepped forward, smoothing down her jacket. She charged forward into the house.

“Is everything ok?” You say, hearing footsteps enter the living room as you stood gazing out of the glass sliding doors. You turned only to be met with the shock of your life. There she stood, in burgundy slacks and a matching jacket with golden flower embellishments, with the shoes that matched to the T. Though she was drenched, she wasn’t any less of the African Goddess you remembered. An ethereal beauty.

“Shuri?”

“Sthandwa.” Shuri breathed, She felt like her heart would explode as she ogled at your beauty up close for the first time in years. It’d been five years since you’d left her on her knees in her hotel. The years spent alone had not been wasted. She’d matured immensely. Though she was the youngest to have ever ruled Wakanda, it was a well known fact that she was indeed the best. She’d dedicated her life to the well being of her people. And it’d kept her sane. But everyday she awoke feeling like a continuous failure. All because she’d lost you.

Now here you were.

You wore a simple white dress that fell off of your shoulders. The sleeves were long but sheer. The skirt short but flowing. The sunlight beaming through the glass doors, hit you just right. Casting a glow around your silhouette. One could mistake you for an Angel. You were the first to break the awkward silence.

“I’m certainly glad to see you again.” Shuri let out a puff of air as though she had been holding her breath.

“H-hi. I’m certainly glad to see you too.”

Your eyes slightly water as a smile crept up on your face. In that moment Shuri felt blessed. She’d never thought that she would see your smile directed at her again. Your eyes light up with the sight of her. A sense of relief passed her over as the two of you gazed at the other from across the room. The sound of a tea kettle whistling from the kitchen sounded throughout the house. But the two of you never broke eye contact.

“Um. That’s the tea. We should head to the dining room before the food gets cold.” Bruno cut into the tension.

“Y-yea that sounds good.” Shuri agreed.

The two of you migrated into the dining room, as Bruno excused himself to the kitchen to grab the tea. Shuri pulled out your chair and you took your seat, as she sat adjacent to you. The silence remained awkward as you both tried catching glances at the other without each other noticing.

Bruno came and sat the tea in front of the both of you. “The servers will be out with the food in a few. But, I forgot. I have this thing in town.” Shuri’s head snapped up towards Bruno the fear in her eyes apparent. “I know forgetful. But you guys enjoy yourselves I’ll be back as soon as possible.” He said rushing out of the house. Shuri got up quickly following him. “Be right back” she said to you before running behind him.

“What are you doing?” She asked incredulously.

“Im leaving the two of you alone. And you’re not going to get anywhere with her talking to me. Go back!”

“This is bad. This is a bad idea. It’s embarrassing!” Shuri said pacing and panicking. Bruno grabbed her shoulders.

“Hey! It’s ok. Y/n‘s inside waiting for you. Go get her.” Shuri swallowed. Giving Bruno a greatful nod. With that she went back inside.

“I’m sorry about that.” Shuri said as she sat next to you. You eye her as she sat.

“It’s fine. I’m guessing you’re nervous.”

“Yes. Yes you could say that.” You laugh softly.

“I have to say I am too. This was very unexpected.”

“I realize that. I’m sorry if this makes you uncomfortable. I just.. uh.. I really wanted to see you. Congratulate you in person. I’ve never sat next to a nine time Grammy winner before.” The both of you laugh as the atmosphere started to feel a little less heavy.

“Actually. Im really happy to see you Shuri.” Shuri sat forward a bit looking at you intently.

“I must tell you that your speech meant the world to me.” Your eyes widened.

“You watched?” Shuri broke eye contact. “Uh” Your face scrunches in confusion.

“You were there?” She looked back into your eyes.

“I couldn’t have imagined missing it. I am so very proud of you. You’ve become one hell of a force, and you would’ve become that with or without me.” Your eyes glistened with tears.

“Thank you.” You whispered reaching for her hand that she slowly placed in yours. The smallest connection sent waves of electricity through the both of you. Today it would go ignored.

“There’s so much I want to share with you Shuri. We have so much to catch up on. I’ve missed you.” A tear fell from Shuri’s eye and she quickly wiped it away. “Yes we do. I’ve missed you too.” The servers began to bring out the food, it was easy to see that it was hand selected by Shuri. Everything she remembered being your favorite was on the menu. The two of you talked and laughed. It was refreshing, the way it had been in the beginning.

When Bruno returned the two of you had made your way back into the living room with the drinks of your choice. Shuri’s arm was behind you on the couch, her body turned towards you as she listened intently to the words coming out of your mouth. He couldn’t help but smile. The sight was almost nostalgic.

He cleared his throat, and was ignored. He rattled his keys and still wasn’t acknowledged. So he decided to just announce himself.

“Heeey! I guess dinner went well?” You stood to your feet smiling. “Dinner was delicious.”

You turned your attention to the sliding glass doors and stepped out onto the porch. Staring out at the water. Shuri followed behind you.

“This is beautiful.. just open breathable air. You can even see the top of the buildings in the city.”

“It is quite beautiful. You have an even better view from my place.” You look at her in confusion.

“Where is your place?”

Shuri points to the home straight across.

“So you are Sweet Lady.”

She chuckled. “I’d hoped you’d come to the party. But honestly, this was much more rewarding.”

“Well I’d love to have a tour.” Shuri’s heart soared.

“Of course. Bruno! I’d like for you and y/n to come to my house so I can show her around.”

“Ooooh my-“ You say stepping inside the gates of Shuri’s home, stunned, thunderstruck. You couldn’t believe your eyes. A knot formed in your throat. “Shuri is.. is this-“ Shuri stepped up beside you. Taking in your reaction with an affectionate smile she replied.

“Yes. It is.”

“Our house.” You say, a lone tear fell from your eyes, as you look up at her.

“Our house, Thando.”

“I-“ was all you could say. Words escaped you.

“There’s so much to see. Ubusi. She directs you forward holding out her hand, gesturing for you to go ahead of her. Shuri and Bruno grabbed your hands leading you up the steps as you admire the architecture. The doors open to the entrance and your breath was taken as you stepped inside.

Years ago, at the begining of your relationship you and Shuri designed this home as a game. A fun look into what could’ve been your future. After the two of you had finished you’d fawned over how the two of you meshed so well, and how this would be your dream home. With everything that happened the memory faded into the background. But Ofcourse Shuri’s masterful brain, brought it to life and made it into something you could have never dreamed of.

Beautiful unique chandeliers, marble floors. The entrance with the most gorgeous tree growing in the center of the room. Shuri walked ahead of you leading you throughout the house. Introducing you to staff. Showing you every intricate and well thought out detail of the estate.

The gardens were your favorite. There were many. An area to have garden parties. A meditation garden, a butterfly garden. Hell there was even a helicopter landing pad! Back inside, you swooned at the beautiful high ceilings of the living room, and the cat walk that surrounded it.

This was all so overwhelming. You felt like you were inside of a fairytale. You watched Shuri as she strolled leisurely through her home proudly. Her calm regality just fit so perfectly well within the home and you found your heart fluttering at not only the beauty of the home. But hers as well.

The next area was the bedroom. Covered in marble. Cream, Olive greens, and gold. It was huge. Big as some peoples homes. It had its own living room and a bar area. A mirror sat above the bed that had another one of those gorgeous Chandeliers. The hers and hers closets were gold and grey, behind glass enclosures. Shuri’s closet being perfectly organized and the one meant for you empty.

“Shuri?” She stopped in her tracks, hearing the tremble of your voice. She turned walking over to you. Bruno excused himself from the room leaving the two of you to talk.

“You don’t like it.” She looked worried. “I’m sorry if-“

“Shuri. I love it. How could I not! I’m just wondering. Why? Why all of this? We’ve been done for years. Why did you build our house?” Shuri was silent for a moment before reaching a hand for you to grab. “Come” You take ahold of her hand and allow her to guide you back into the room and onto the large furnished balcony. She stood behind you and pointed out over the water.

“Do you see that? That faint green light flashing on top of the building in the city. Directly across from us.” You look out, humming as it comes into your line of sight.

“Yes, I see it.” You reply softly

“Remember the first time I messed up? You made it so difficult. One night I’d set up a picnic for you. Laid out blankets. Hung fairy lights. Had all of your favorites. You still weren’t feeling it.” She chuckled slightly, and you join her.

“I remember that night well.”

“I told you that you could walk away if you so choosed. But that I’d always be waiting for you. That light is at the top of the building that you live in.” You gasp turning to look at her. “I excepted our fate and gave you your space. But I built this in honor of what we had, before it went bad. In memory of my greatest loss. And when I get overwhelmed and wish to be near you. This is where I come.” You gazed into her watery eyes with bated breath. A shakey breath left your lips before you spoke.

“Are you even real?” A small smile crept onto her face before she once again took your hand. “There is one last thing I’d like to show you.”

“What else could there possibly be Shuri.”

“You’ll see.”

Shuri led you to another set of grand double doors that she opened for you. And led you down a spiral stair case. As the room came into view, a fresh set of tears fell down your face.

“A ball room.”

“Because can you really be a queen without a ballroom.” You both say recalling the moment you’d told her you’d wanted one.

“It’s official. I’m dreaming.”

“You most certainly are not.” Shuri stood behind you. Gazing at the joy radiating from you.

“Shuri this is… I don’t have words.”

You turn to her with tear stained cheeks and a glint in your eyes. You gave a mischievous smile, “Is there music?”

Shuri smiled. “Hm.” She placed a finger at her temple in faux contemplation. “Jovan!” A young gentleman entered the room onto the balcony where there sat a piano.

“My Queen.”

“Would you play something for my friend Y/n here?” She looked up, and he gave her a nod before sitting at the piano.

The sound of light haunting piano resounded throughout the room, and Shuri looked toward you asking “May I have this dance.” Your face lights up excepting her offer, and taking her hands for her to lead you to the center of the room. It started off with Shuri’s left hand sitting lightly on your waist as her right intertwined with your left.

“ I've been waiting for something

Something I can't ignore

Maybe someone I've been waiting for

To bring me back to life one more time”

It felt personal. And when you looked up and into Shuri’s eyes you knew…These were her words.

“I've been praying for another chance

To make me feel again

I've been sitting, reminisicing of a better day

Trying to reawake”

You found your self stepping closer into her. Your arm that had previously been on her shoulder sliding down and around her waist.

“Coast to coast

I'm doing the most for a second chance

Just to feel again

Baby I try and try a thousand times

And I know why”

Your hand left hers and it joins your other at the small of her back. Your head lay comfortably on her chest as she wrapped you up in her arms as though you were the most precious jewel. Your body almost went into shock at the unfamiliar feeling of safety in her arms. Your lip started to tremble as you feel the vibrations in Shuri’s chest as she began to sing the words.

“When you left me,Oh you left behind every moment” Her hand lightly rubbed up and down your spine, as she rocked you side to side. “Back when you said we, Would grow old on a porch in the golden sun.” Your fist clenched the fabric of Shuri’s jacket, your body shaking with sobs.

“It's not over

Said it's not over

As I shattered every memory across the floor” She ran her fingers through your locs before placing them behind your ear.

“When you leeeeeeeft” You let out a whimper from the words and pressed your body against hers tighter. That’s when it hit you. The pain in your side a reminder of what you had to go back home too. You flenched and Shuri pulled back.

“Are you ok?” You shook your head.

“No.” Shuri’s faced morph into one of confusion as she searched your eyes.

“W-what happened?” She softly gripped your arm and you flenched once again.

“Y/n-“

“ It’s nothing Shuri. I can’t. I-i can’t. I have to get home. Im sorry. This is too much. It’s just too much.” You took off back up the stairs to find the exit as Shuri called after you.

A choked gasp left your lips, as you lay in the center of your bed. Dress pulled up around your waist and hand inside of your panties. You rubbed quick circles into your clit as she ran marathons through your mind.Your eyes were shut tight and you bit harshly into your bottom lip as the sound of her voice, the light touches of her hand, and the security of her arms sat vividly at the forefront of your brain. Turning your head into your pillow, you bite into it to stifle your moan as you come up on your release.

“Shuuriiiii…Ahh.” Her name tastes so sweet on the tip of your tongue. Your body trembles in the aftermath, and you let out a deep breath. Coming down from your high.

“This is ridiculous.” You whisper. It’d been a week and you couldn’t shake her. She’d come back into your life and implanted herself inside of your brain. In the most inconvient of moments your mind would drift to her. Causing a goofy grin to spread across your face. You wanted to be near her. It was like her heart called out to you.

You glanced at the phone on your night stand.

“This is only going to cause trouble y/n. Don’t do it.” You spoke aloud to yourself. Unfortunately, it seemed as though you had no self-control when it came to the queen.

“Fuck it.”

You snatched your phone up and found the number you were looking for.

“Hey, Hey!” He answered after the second ring.

“Heeeeyyy best friend in the world! How are you!?” Bruno let out a long sigh.

“Aw hell. What do you want?”

“Is that the way we’re greeting each other now?”

“Y/n/n”

“Okay, okay. Did um. Do you have Shuri’s contact info by chance?” Your voice comes out light, almost shy making Bruno chuckle.

“She left Kimoyo beads here for you.” You sit up quickly, a smile ghosting over your lips “I’m on my way.” Hopping off of the bed you run to freshen up, oiling your body, and throwing on a form fitting floral sundress. You call downstairs to have vallet bring around your car and head out of your room.

“Where are you headed, Uto m (my sweetness)

“Oh Papa! You scared me. Um I was heading to Bruno’s. Dani’s meeting us and where going to do lunch.”

“Hm.” He looks you up and down “You look good. You have been filled with joy lately my dear. Is it the return of your friend?” He says before wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing your neck.

“I am happy my friend is back. Yes.” You cringe inside but you fake a giggle. Anything to get out of your suffocating house.

“Hm. You smell like a harlot. All of this for Bruno?

“Stop babe. Don’t be silly. You bought me this perfume, and you know that Bruno is like a brother to me. You’re gonna make me late. I already called the car up.” He took your ass into his hands squeezing before letting go. “You can go. But remember who you belong to.” You muster a smile. “I only belong to you Papa” You head out of the door with the intention of clearing your pallet by falling back into the arms of Shuri.

Your car barely rolled to a stop before you hopped out. Jogging up to Bruno’s front door begining to knock.

“I heard you were looking for me.”

Your hand fell to your side and you turn to see Shuri leaning against your car. Eyes stalking your body lingering on your frame. She was casual today in black joggers, a plain white T, and a white Jacket with African patterned fabrics sewn into the sleeves and pockets.

“I figured I’d save you the call.” You heard Bruno’s voice come from behind the door inside of the house. If he was infront of you right now you’d kiss him.

You squirmed underneath her heated gaze. Her stare penetrating you through the form fitting dress.

“Well it seems you wanted to be found.” You say seductively, giving her a stare of your own. One of Shuri’s brows rose her curiosity officially peaked.

“I’ve been waiting for you”

“So you knew I’d be back?” Shuri picked up on the change in your interaction with her.

“I can’t say that I did. But, I’d hoped that you would.”

“Well here I am.” The sultry tone of your voice caused Shuri’s head to tilt back eyes peering at you through hooded lids. Any other time the sex oozing from your pores would have knocked Shuri to her knees. As of now, there were more pressing matters.

“You look beautiful.” The words came out low and slow, her voice a lower pitch. “Turn for me.” She pulled moisturizer from her pocket, coating her hands before they met infront of her, rubbing together, gapping at you as though you were her prey. Your need to obey your panther was still ingrained deep into the crevices of your brain. So It was second nature for you to throw your waist length locs over your shoulder so that she would have a better look at you from behind while you turned slow, giving her a show.

“Mm.” She egged on approvingly. When you finally faced her again there was an unreadable expression on her face. A bit of a storm brewing behind her eyes. However, your want for her made you none the wiser.

Her index finger motioned you forward and you happily obliged, wanting nothing more than to fall into her arms, searching for that feeling of safety again. Those hands, those deliciously attractive tattooed hands landed on your shoulders, slowly, achingly, her fingertips trail down to your forearms. Her thumbs began to rub gentle but firm cirles into your arm. Eyes downcast and focused on her task. The evenness of your skin tone began to wipe away as you both watched a bruised cut apear onto your arm.

Your eyes watered, trained on your arm, afraid to look up. You felt Shuri’s glower burning the side of your face, heating your body with fear and embarrassment.

“P-performance injury’s.” You falsely claim, and Shuri hummed her disdain.

“Uyaxoka (You’re lying), I need to make something exceedingly clear, Bambo'lwami. You and I are both aware that there is not an ignorant bone in my body. Do not insult my intelligence.” A tear fell from your eye, dropping into the smeared make up on your arm.

“I did not call on you for body, Mtuwam. My intentions are not to seduce you, but to show you what you mean to me. So I will not participate in meaningless sexual banter with you, only for you to walk away from me back into the arms of an abuser. You have to know me better than that. Albeit, It’s been a while. But, my knowledge of the woman I love has not wavered. Mamela kum y/n, I’ll try not to jump the gun and allow myself to become irrational before you decide to be honest with me about whatever this is. I will not turn you away. But, I also will not use you at a time when you are vulnerable. You are loved by me completely and wholly.” Tears poured from their sockets as Shuri finally placed you inside of her protective embrace.

Your heart palpitated against your sternum as panick set in. She was calm. Too calm. What was she going to do?

“I feel you panicking Entle. It is true that everything inside of me is giving me the green light to end his life. The same thing that is driving me forward is holding me back.” She pulled away. Looking down into your eyes. “That is you. Say the word and it is handled.”

“It doesn’t happen that often. Sometimes he just gets-“ Shuri placed a finger on your lips. A smirk that doesn’t reach her eyes settling onto her face.

“Sh. Don’t piss me off. I’m on edge here Y/n. If your not ready for me to handle it. I’d advise you not to speak to me about it. I damn sure don’t want to hear fucking excuses for him.” Her anger escaped its wall for a second before she fought it back inside. “He will be handled mtuwam. I’ll try my best to wait for you to come to terms with that.” She gently placed your head back onto her chest, placing her chin onto the top of your head as she continued to comfort you with her embrace.

When all was said and done. Shuri stood tearfully in Bruno’s driveway, sending you back into the arms of your abuser.

Time flew by, before you knew it three months had past. Shuri had kept her promise; though she’d made it blaringly obvious that it was one of the most difficult things she’d ever had to do. She’d given you Kimoyo earrings that matched hers in multiple colors, because they were “more discreet than the bracelet”. They were to be on you at all times. Solely for her sanity while you were still with who she called “that man”. She was constantly back and forth between there and Wakanda. Still having duties to take care of, but it was clear that you intermingled with the top of her priorities.

While in Wakanda, she was constantly checking your location. If she saw you out to dinner or shopping, extra money would appear in the hidden account she’d gotten you. If she was with you in New Rochelle, she would hire brands to bring there latest collections to the house so that you could browse from the comfort of home. Your closet at her home had filled copiously. You didn’t want to take the clothes home, so they stayed there. Being that’s where you spent the majority of your time.

Access to her home was unlimited, an obvious no brainer for her. “You are the architect. It was made for you.” She would say. Her way with words had always made you swoon. So, over three months your husband had heard excuse after excuse for why you were gone early and coming home late. You’d blamed it on your schedule picking up after the wins. Which wasn’t entirely untrue. However, you always had time to be with Shuri.

In the begining, your attraction to your ex came simply from what you already knew her to be. Resplendant, undaunted, and most importantly secure. She’d come with guaranteed saftey. But, now it was so much deeper than that. All in all, it was simply…HER.

She’d grown so much. There was such a patience and maturity to her. An air of calm that was unknown to her former self. She was slow to anger. Quick to contemplate and very solution based. Her walk, a confident saunter that made you weak in the knees when you’d see her coming in the distance. When she spoke, it was matter of fact, direct. She had no time for bullshit. Shuri had always been a hopeless romantic, grand gestures being her thing. However, the lengths she would go were impressive.

She’d take you on random excursions in her helicopter. A day trip out of the country was not uncommon. You’d go back home to your husband with a tan you hadn’t had that morning, and tell him you’d taken up tanning. Your favorite part of her that not many others didn’t get to see, was her sense of humor. She made you laugh from your belly and it felt special to witness. It was as if it was a piece of her that was only for you. Relaxed and completely wound down.

Over time, you watched her work tirelessly and still there was nothing she wouldn’t do for you, and no time she couldn’t make for you. She made that very clear. Shuri in the past few months had turned out to be many things. But, if you had to narrow it all into one simple word. Only one came to mind.

Sexy.

It was bad. Every move she made turned you into a literal puddle. Her voice in particular made your spine tingle. And you’d be damned if she didn’t always smell edible. You felt like a preteen having your first real crush.

It’d been the longest two weeks you had ever encountered. Shuri had once again been out of the country, and this time you thought you would loose it. This was the longest stretch of time you’d not been in her presence since the two of you had reconnected and you were getting withdrawls. Today, she was due back and you couldn’t get to her fast enough. You threw on a cute tracksuit placing your hair in a high pony, to get ready to rush out of the house to head to her home.

“FUCK!” You yell, you’d swung your room door open and your sister was on the other side.

“Whoa! Slow down sonic. Where you headed?”

“Damn! You scared the shit out of me. I was headed to the gym.” Your sister looked you over and your outfit matched your story.

“Cool. Well I’ll join you. I could use a little sweat session. Let me borrow one of your sets and we can head out.” She pushed past you into the room to head to your closet.

“Dani, I’m working with a trainer.” Danielle glanced over her shoulder.

“And?”

“And this is my alone time.” Dani turned to you fully.

“Nah what’s up. What’s really happening? You’ve been M.I.A lately we always spend time together and somehow we’ve barely been in touch.” She sat on the edge of your bed. Waiting for a plausible answer.

“I-I just been working. There’s a lot of pressure on me with this new project after winning 9 Grammy’s everyone is expecting perfection.”

“I didn’t know you were even working on a new project?”

“It’s just-“ you were interupted by the flash of your Kimoyo earring against your sisters face and your eyes widened.

“Bitch did your earring just take a picture of me?” She stood walking back over to you squinting at your ear, and then it hit her.

She looked over your shoulder and around the room perplexed.

“I just know damn well that this isn’t what I think it is.”

“What?” You say feigning innocence.

“Those are damn Kimoyo earrings.”

“N-no-“

“Griot” Your sister announces.

“It’s nice to hear from you again Ms. Danielle.”

Your eyes shifted downward. Caught.

“Check the message y/n. Out loud.” You sigh.

“Griot, please open my messages.”

“Yes Nkosazana, The Queen says she will be in shortly and has asked me to advise you to meet her in the garden.” Your sister throws her hands up dramatically walking away from you.

“Thank you Griot.” You reply softly.

“You sneaky bitch!” She whisper yells.

“You can stop whispering Mike caught a flight out this morning.”

“Good. YOU SNEAKY WHORE! You’re fucking Shuri!!”

“Ok you’re doing a lot! And I am not fucking Shuri! We’re just friends.”

“Friends? Friends! On what planet can you be friends with someone who did you the way Shuri did. That’s not a friend!”

“Damnit Dani! Give the woman some grace! What she did was fucked up and it hurt. But it was over years before she proposed and she’d done the work, before word even got out. She’s an even better woman now. So your disdain for her is completely unwarranted. She isn’t that person anymore!”

“I call bullshit!”

“Dani it happened to me! So you should get over it! I have!” Your sister took a deep breath before continuing.

“Little sister I don’t want you to get hurt. You have a damn good man that would never hurt you the way Sh-“

“You don’t know that!” You scream. “You don’t know Shit Dani! Your talking shit but you were at her house sipping cocktails and watching fireworks on Grammy’s night; at a party she threw to celebrate me! In a house that she built in memeory of us!” Confusion took over your sisters face.

“Mike has been mentally, emotionally, and physically abusive for years! And Shuri would have NEVER done THAT! It took Shuri a second to see me and nobody else noticed! She’s kept me out of here and safe, so Mikes abuse has been minimal lately. She hates that I’m staying here. Afaid of the consequences of leaving. But she’s trying her best to be understanding, and takes damn good care of me sis. Such good care….I feel so loved. So protected, and she’s only being a friend.” Tears now poured down you and your sisters face. “So Yea. I’m leaving. And I’m going to go be with Shuri. Because I’m in love with her…You can let yourself out.” You walk out of your house leaving a stunned Dani behind.

Underneath the apple trees, you sat on a bench with your head lying on Shuri’s shoulder. Munching on the perfectly juicy fruit, surrounded by the beauty of the garden.

“This is nice.” Your eyes closed taking in the smell of the flowers, the fruit, and the woman. Shuri smiled. “Yes it is.”

“Shuri?” She hummed, signaling you to go ahead.

“My sister knows.” Shuri’s brown raised as she continued overlooking the garden.

“How much?”

“She knows that I’ve been spending my time here, and that you’re Sweet Lady… She also knows about Mike.” Shuri contemplated on your words a moment before she spoke.

“Thwandie?” She speaks softly in that voice you loved so dearly.

“Yes?”

“I’d like to tell you a story.” You lift your head. Eyes connecting with the sharpness of her jaw, and her handsomely gorgeous side profile. “Ok?”

“A few years ago, There was a young queen, who lost her heart. After she lost her, she felt as since of finality. A vast emptiness that scared her to her core. And as she tried to give her Princess space. Time to sit with the betrayal of the queen. That emptiness penetrated her deeply. It drove her insane.” Shuri took a deep breath and you lay unmoving on her strong shoulder as her arm found your waist.

“So one day, she couldn’t take it anymore. She showed up to the princess’s home and she begged her forgiveness. Not for the well being of her love. Purely to mend her own brokenness caused by her own poor decision making. Needless to say the door was slammed in her face. Rightfully so. But the self righteous queen continued to bang and beg. Pleading with the princess to help her. All to no avail. So the queen placed her back to the door sitting, quietly crying. Woe is me. Until a few minutes passed and suddenly this wail comes from inside the house. Right on the otherside of the door. It was heartbreaking. Full of a deep ache. A soul wound. So she sat silently crying against the door, as her heart sobbed trying to cleanse herself of the wound the woman she’d trusted had given her.”

A solemn tear fell down your cheek, moans escaping your lips through the suppressed sound of hiccups. Shuri continued her own voice shaking as she held back tears of her own.

“I was still there. I heard it. Every body racking sob you let out. That sound etched itself in my mind for years. I got my shit together y/n. I sat and I tortured myself with the sound of the hurt I cause you. And I got up. And I got my shit together, and dedicated my life to being the type of woman who would’ve made you a proud wife. Because that’s what you deserve. That is what you have always deserved.” Tears welled from deep inside and coursed down her cheeks. “You said I inspired you. But you are THE reason. The reason for every move I make baby girl. The reason I learned to pray.” A sob escaped your lips as you turned looking out over the lake. Shuri shed tears of her own as she watched you. The sun was begining to set. Casting a beautiful light over your silhouette.

“I don’t know why you’re choosing to stay there with him. But, I’m ESTATIC that Dani knows. Because now I am sure that it will be short lived. I know it won’t be for me. But please… Leave him. I just want to see you happy.” Her eyes peirced into yours thoughtfully. You gaze back into her eyes, Your feelings beginning to bubble up ready to explode from your lips.

“Shuri I-“

“Panther, M’Baku is trying to reach you.”

“I apologize. I must take this.”

“Ofcourse, I’m gonna go inside. The guys are coming over for a session I should get to the studio.”

“Ok. I’ll be in shortly.” You smile and nod, turning to walk away, heart still racing from what had almost been said.

You stepped into the booth, befuddled by Shuri’s words in the garden. You’d wanted so bad to let her know that she owned your heart. That and so many other parts of you. Every part. She had been the insperation behind your pen, Making words flow from you like a river. You’d pushed out soo many songs to use in the past few months, just dreaming of her being yours again. Now here you stood in her home studio, prepared to bring them to life. Bruno sat behind the sound board with your producer Leon, when the doors to the studio opened.

Shuri swaggered into the room with enough posh to bring you to your knees. She had changed from her more formal wear that she wore in the garden. Opting for purple joggers with a black button up jersey that had Wakanda written across the back in gold and purple gradient letters. A matching cap sat low over her eyes as she walked through dapping up all of the guys. Freshly showered it’d seemed.

She sat on the leather couch directly in your line of sight, and your heart dropped into your stomach. Her smile brightened the dimmed room as she acknowledged you. Arms sitting over on the back of the couch as she man spread underneath the spotlight that was meant to highlight the art on the wall. Now there sat a much more interesting piece beneath it.

“You ready to run this one all the way through?” Leon asked. You tried peeling your eyes away from Shuri, it was as though her presence cast a spell over you. Your fingers graze against the fretboard of your guitar and you build up enough strength to nod signaling them to start. They start the countdown. And the music began.

“You got meee

You've got meeee

You've got meee

You got me speeeeechleeeess”

Your guitar sang, piercing throughout room to reach the woman you loved.

“Where you been, baby?” Shuri laid her head back against the couch. Her eyes peering at you from underneath her cap.

“My heart starts trembling

As I hear your footsteps pace”

At this point, everyone else had faded. There was only you and Shuri.

“Goin' out my head I think I'm losin' all my mind

Drive me crazy burning candles, makin' love all night

Feels so strange, it feels so crazy to be in your world

In your arms lost for words, you got me”

You put every ounce of passion you had for Shuri into the song. Her bottom lip was now trapped between her teeth only amplifying your lust for her.

“Layin' so closely

I feel your skin rubbin' and touchin' me

Only sweat between us

Feelin' you kissin' and pleasin' me”

Shuri began to involuntarily squeeze the cushions of the couch. Your words and voice coursing through her veins. She was now inside of your mind. Visualizing every word that came out of your beautiful mouth.

“I rub your back

I kiss your neck

I know that you love when we touch like that

I can feel you need me

Feels so good to me

Feels so good to meeeeeee”

The tension was thick in the room. Shuri was hypnotized and you couldn’t take your eyes off of her. Wanting to see every bit of her reaction to you. The song gets more intense, your pretty breathy voice igniting a fire inside of Shuri.

“You got me

You got meEeEee

You got meeeee

You got meee”

Your eyes open staring straight into Shuri’s.

“Speechless”

You go into another guitar solo. Your eyes shut tight as your fingers worked the strings with proficiency.

“all I can say is

Yeees

Yeeess

YEEESSSS, all I can say is

YEeEessss

YeeeEEESS

YEEEEAHHH, OOH!”

Your eyes opened and Shuri now sat on the edge of her seat. The look on her face undoubtedly lust.

“Kiss me

Hold mee

You've got me

SSSpeechleeess”

The song ended and silence penetrated the room. Your eyes finally dropped away from Shuri’s.

“I think we got it.” You say breaking the silence.

“Yea.”

“That’s definietly it.”

“I don’t see it getting any better than that.”

Agreement scattered throughout the room. Shuri silently sat back on the sofa, her eyes never leaving you.

The rest of the night was spent perfecting and mixing the song. Discussing music for other projects, and bullshitting. You all smoke, drank, ate, and caught up. The tension however never left between you and Shuri. It was thick in the air and everyone felt it. The subtle glances. The avoidance of touching or being near eachother.

Everyone started packing up to leave one by one, until it was only you and Shuri left.

“Bye love, I’ll come by tomorrow.” You say to Bruno as you shut the door to the studio behind him. Turning to Shuri who stood leaning against the mixing board. You cleared your throat.

“I guess I should be getting ready to head home.” Shuri nodded.

“Yea. That’s probably a good idea.”

“Probably so.” You agree, as you began to gather your things.

“If that’s what you want.” You hear Shuri say. It stopped you in your tracks. “It is pretty late.” She says fiddling with the rings on her fingers.

“Shuri.”

“Yea?” She finally looks up from her hands.

“I don’t want to go home.”

“Then stay.”

“I’m gonna take a shower it’s been a pretty long day.” you announce as the two of you enter Shuri’s bedroom.

“Yea go ahead. Help yourself.” Though you were often at Shuri’s home, had a closet full of clothes, and her fridge was stocked with foods you loved. You had never spent the night. Always choosing to go home for the sake of discretion. But, tonight Mike was gone and with Shuri was were you wanted to be.

Shuri took off her shoes and unbuttoned her shirt, getting comfortable while you took your shower. She headed to her bar area fixing a drink before taking a seat in one of the plush chairs in the seating area of her bedroom, and turning on soft music. The soft warm lighting highlighted her toned stomach. Glistening against the simple gold chain around her neck as she leaned back, sinking deeper into the comfort of the chair trying to figure out what she was doing. This was dangerous. The two of you were playing with fire, and Shuri didn’t know how much longer she would be able to hold out. It was becoming apparent that the feelings the two of you had for each other were bubbling over. It was getting harder for this friend charade to last.

She’d dreamed of the day that she could call you hers again. Nevertheless, this time she wanted to do this right. Questions flooded her mind. If the two of you crossed that line, how would you feel about her afterward? Would you regret it and run off? She didn’t want to ruin the progress that had been made with you. She could be totally misreading the signs. Shaking her head she took a sip of her drink, rings clinking against the glass. Sitting it on the side table, her finger circled the rim as she remained in deep thought.

The click of the door to the bathroom grabbed Shuri’s attention. You stepped out of the fog. A black lacy lingerie set with a robe to match decorating your frame. A diamond garter sat high on your thick thigh. Strappy stilettos graced your pretty feet as the smell of your fresh scent permeated the air. You strutted further into the room with all the grace of a super model. Shuri raised a brow as she looked to both sides of her, to be sure she wasn’t dreaming or on a trip. Her mouth sat slightly ajar as her eyes settled back onto you.

Your walk had always been unmatched to Shuri; the sway of your curves was genuinely hypnotic. You approached the table infront of her with your alluring stride, stepping up onto the golden table, your pretty toned, gartered thigh peaked out from under the robe. Your fingers brushed against the pretty pendants that dangled from the chandelier, your eyes interlocking with Shuri’s.

“These chandeliers.. they’re made from vibranium? Yes?” You inquired seductively.

The rise and fall of Shuri’s chest was steady through the sports bra she wore under her opened shirt. Her heart pounding hard against her chest. She placed her drink against her lips again taking a light sip, before nodding her answer.

You smile. “Good.” You pulled the tie of the robe from around your waist allowing it to fall open. You began to tie the strap to the bar inside of the Chandelier as you spoke, finally pouring your heart to Shuri.

”You know Shuri. I wrote that song with you on my mind. I hope you felt that. Lately, all I seem to do is think of you. The smell of your cologne, the sound of your voice, the way you talk. You told me a while back that you wanted all of me, not only my body. Baby I’m ready to give myself to you. All of me. Because you deserve it.” You pur.

“Y/n I-“ Shuri tried interupting, but you cut her off. “Shhhh. Let me talk, beautiful.” you placed a finger against your lips and Shuri obeyed.

“You treat me so fucking good Shuri. I can’t help the way my body reacts to you. The woman that you are. So strong, powerful, and yet you’re still so gentle and patient with me.” You close your eyes letting out a low moan. “Shuri. Shuri. Shuri. Just your name is enough to make my body tingle. It’s written all over me. All over her.” You grab onto the tie that now hang taught from the chandelier with one hand and your other made a trail down your body and stopped over top of your mound. “All over my kitty kat.” Your body trembled as your hand ran over your clit. Your eyes open, connecting with Shuri who was salivating.

She had leaned forward her elbows on her knees with her drink dangling from the tips of her fingers. Her bottom lip was relaxed slightly seperated from her top, wet from her recently running her tongue over top of it.

“Shuri, baby. You give so much. Work so hard. What I want to know is, who takes care of you?” You finally took full hold of the Chandelier and let your body hang, opening your legs wide for the Queen. “I can do that for you daddy. I’d do anything for you.” You began moving your body to the music as you hung from the Chandlier, showing off like an acrobat. Leaving Shuri In a daze “Will you let me?” Shuri let out a staggered breath.

“Fuck.” Her voice was shakey. Her tongue once again ran slowly over her lower lip as she sat back in her chair placing her drink back on the table next to her. Moment by Victoria Monet began to play as you spun from the glistening beauty above you. Shuri was too stunned to speak as your body spun, streched, rolled and grind to the sexy song. If she was dreaming. Bast did she never want to wake up.

“BhaBha, are you sure you want to do this?” Shuri finally found words.

“I’ll show you.” Every coherent thought that Shuri had been thinking before exited her mind as you dropped onto the table in a split. Removing the robe from your shoulders. You move out of the split onto all fours. Crawling over and placing yourself inbetween Shuri’s spread legs. You place your hands onto her knees and slowly make your way up the inside of her thighs, fingertips brushing against her womanhood before making up your way up to her beautifully toned stomach. You lean forward and kiss right above her naval. Her stomach tensed from the contact and she let out a muted groan.

“Mm. My Queen. Do you know your power?” You continue laying sloppy kisses on her abs. “Do you see yourself?” She hisses throwing her head back against the chair, closing her eyes tight as her core began to throb. She gripped the arms of the chair. “Ahhh shhhit” She moaned.

You climb into her lap, kissing up her neck. “You’re tense baby. Have you been neglected?”

“E-entle, I-I can’t. We s-said we’d do this the r-right way.” Shuri tried to stand strong on her word, but you would always be her weakness. You bit right underneath her jaw before giving it a peck to ease the pain.

“Touch me Sweet Lady” you moaned. “Please. I need it.” As if commanded by the sound of your voice both of her hands rose slowly from the arms of the chair, gripping the meat of your ass. The both of you moan out as if you’d waited a life for that exact moment. Shuri gently nudged the side of your head with her chin as you were busy sucking on her neck. The sexiest of bedroom eyes fell on you.

Trailing your face down to your lips. You took your the hint, leaning in you exchanged breaths before you gave her your mouth. Sharing your first kiss in five years. You pressed into her gripping her shirt. You basked in the feel of he tounge gliding against yours. The walls crumbled. Any doubts about going further going with them. It started off slow and loving. Pecking eachothers lips softly. Slowly the Intensity built with the desire that had grown inside the both of you for months. It became a wet, sloppy, lusty display of affection.

A groan fell from Shuri’s lips. Pulling away from you looking into those beautiful brown orbs.

“I’ve lost restraint ubusi. It....it's..um... been a long time.” You pull back a bit searching her eyes. Yours grew in shock as you reached the realization of what she meant.

“Shuri? Have you not..Have you not had sex since we broke up?”

She buried her head into you, a bit embarrassed to say.

“I-I Uh…we… I couldn’t.” She whispered. You felt your core pulsate. Knowing that this gorgeous woman who could have had anyone in the world at her disposal waited for you. It made you want to give her the world. You wanted to please her in every possible way. She belonged to you. And you belonged to her.

You grabbed ahold of her hands. Intertwining them in yours and placing a sweet kiss to her soft lips. You take one of her hands placing it over your breast. You take the other and place it on your clothed pussy.

“Don’t worry baby. It’s just like riding a bike. I know you still got it.” Shuri’s hand rubbed slowly against your pussy, her other hand squeezing your breast. She left open mouthed kisses all over the exposed skin of your chest, trembling at the feel of you. Your wetness coating her fingers through your panties. Your body was so hot you felt as though you would scorch her lips. Pulling down the lace of your bra, she freed your breast out of its confinement, before flicking her tongue over your nipple. She then began to suckle, moaning at the taste of your skin on her lips again. You roll your hips into her hand. And gripped the back of her neck, head rolling back.

“Oh yes. Just like that. You got it baby.” You moan.

“You sound so fucking pretty like this.” Shuri whispered as she gave your other nipple some attention. The sound of her voice mixed with the sensation of her mouth on you and her fingers pressing against your clit made your vision blur.

“Fuck..we’re really doing this.” Her eyes were glassed over, trained on the whine of your waist. “We’re d-doing this Shuri. I need you. N-need you to make me feel good”

Her eyes shut tight. A groan of desperation reverberating from her throat. She bit into your nipple and your head lolled back letting out a whine.

“Demethi.” She whispered

Suddeny she was up on her feet with you settled easily in her strong grasp. She carried you the short distance, to a cushioned bench laying you gently onto your back. She stood above you, her sweats dipping low on her hips. The muscles from her hips and pelvic region making a perfect V. You moan at the sight of the African Goddess.

My God, this woman is in love with me?

You thought to yourself as her hooded eyes stared down at you in admiration. The sight of you must have been erotic. Your breast pulled over the top of your bra, legs spread wide as your fat wet pussy soaked through your panties. As diamonds twinkled against your thigh.

“Ubuhle bakho bundigqiba amazwi (Your beauty renders me speechless)”

“Shuri Please baby. I need you. Let me show you how I feel for you.”

“Patience Phakade lam(My forever). I want to take my time beauty. I’ve waited so long for you to be back in my arms. Let me take my time.”

She settles herself between your legs, lifting your right leg placing a kiss against the jewlery on your ankle. She kissed, sucked, and licked down to the garter on your thigh, before biting into the thickness beneath it. Unable to resist. She grasped the garter with her teeth pulling it down your leg maintaining eye contact. Once she got it over your heeled foot she sat up straight dropping it from her mouth. She repeated the same actions on your ungartered leg, except she made her way all the way up to the crotch of your panties. Nuzzling her nose into you. Taking in your smell. You grind your pussy against her face

“Baby please she’s aching. I need you so bad.”

“Turn for me.” You eagerly sit up making a show of turning over onto your stomach for her. You lay flat, and she grabs your hips pulling your ass up, making you arch your back for her. You spread open wide for her and bounced each ass cheek seperatly. Showing off.

“Bast, so beautiful” She leaned down, pulling the string of the thong and setting it to the side of your ass cheek and spread you wide open.

“I’ve missed you sphalaphala sam (my pretty one)”

Your hips began to rotate in anticipation. She placed her face between the cheeks of your ass and placed a lick to your needy cunt.

“YES!” You yell, eager for her mouth on you. You go deeper into your arch.

“Ooohh that’s what you want pretty girl?”

“Fuck yes Shuri. Please!”

Shuri lapped at your pussy a few more times before taking all of it into her mouth. She moaned at the taste of your wetness as she gripped each side of your thighs, spreading you unforgivingly. Your moans were trapped in your throat as a tear rolled down your cheek. Yes! It was finally happening. You threw your ass back against Shuri’s face as she opened wide, sticking out her deliciously long tongue. Placing it inside of your hole. She fucked you with her tongue as your ass slapped against her face.

“Mmm. Smother me sthandwa.” She moaned into your pussy.

“Oh my God Shuri. Eat this pussy! Eat it. You better eat this shit! Just like that.! Yeeeessss!” Your praises landed on Shuri’s ears and sent signals directly to her swollen thick clit. She straddled the bench, getting comfortable as she cleaned her plate involuntarily grinding into the seat beneath her.

Her body quivered from the sounds coming from your mouth mixed with the squelching of your cunt. Fuck was she going to cum untouched.

“Uhn, uhn! Shuri! Oh Shuri! I’m gonna cum.”

“Let it go baby! Drown me! Cum on my fucking face!” On command your thighs began to shake and Shuri pressed your ass into her face taking hold to your clit trapping it between her lips.

“I’m cumming! I’m cumming! I’m cuuuummiiiiiinng!” You scream as Shuri held you against her as your body convulsed. Trying to fall flat against the bench. Shuri felt herself on the cusp of her own release and quickly removed herself from the bench. Face drenched in your nectar.

“Stay arched for Nkosazana. Please.” The sexiest groan left her lips. “I need to cum.”

You felt her hips grinding into you desperately from behind, She remained fully clothed much to your dismay. You felt her heavy breath against your neck and you panted along with her. Feeling high from her touch.

She pressed herself up against you. Running her hand up your spine she unclasped your bra with expertise. As she continued rolling her hips. Bending over she began placing kisses along your spine. Her hot breath making your body shiver. She made it up to your collar bones wrapping her arms around you gripping at your breast. She planted sloppy kisses on the back of your neck. Grunting as she grinded making your clit jump aching for her to touch you again

“Shuri baby?”

“Hm.” She groaned as she continued to kiss you.

“Use me. Please use me baby. Make yourself cum on me. Take what you need.”

Without hesitation, Shuri sat up on her knees not bothering to stand to take off her pants and boxers. She pulled them just below her ass and placed her thick swollen clit onto your ass grinding against it as you pressed yourself into her. “AhOooh. Oh Bast.” She moaned deep as her body jerked on contact, her clit sensitive and aching for release. She began thrusting into you with fervor. Face scrunched biting hard into her lip as she selfishly cosintrated on her release.

You reach between your thighs rubbing circles into your clit as Shuri ground her pussy into you.

“Oh Fuck Shuri! You like how that feels daddy. You like how this thick ass feels against that big clit daddy.”

“Fuck. Yes! Yes y/n don’t stop. Ah! Keep g-grinding that shit for me uuhhnnn r-right there. Oouu you feel sooo good.” She wound her waist behind you.

“Oouuu Panther, Never. I’ll never stop! I love it when you use me!”

Shuri gripped the back of your thong with both hands using it as leverage to press you further into her as she leaned her torso back slightly watching you work against her. Her head lulled back, her eyes rolling to the back of her head. You could her breathing start to pick up behind you as she began thrusting against you. You arched harder and she gripped the flesh of your ass hard. You knew it would surely leave bruises. She let go of you with one hand getting one of her pants legs off with the other to get a better angle against her clit. She began to spread you open as she concentrated on her nut. That’s when her engorged clit slipped into your folds. Your hungry hole sucking her in. Both of your mouths fell open at the sensation. Shuri’s thrust got impossibly faster as your pussy clenched onto her clit doing kegals.

A moan attempted to escape Shuri’s lips but it only came out in choked gasps.

“Pretty girl. T-take it eaaaasy on me!” You were insatiable feeling Shuri inside you. Teasing your hole as you rubbed your clit ferociously. It was like nothing either of you had ever experienced before.

“I want to feel it! I want to feel your pussy cum inside me!”

Shuri felt the pressure building and she could no longer hold it. She reached forward grabbing your locs, bending over to get her clit as deep inside of you as possible.

“You’re s-so fucking nasty. It’s so u-unladylike Entle.”

“I don’t want to be a lady. I want to be your dirty little slut. The Queens whore.” You spit back at Shuri. She let out a low growl, grabbing your hips, slapping her own against yours, fucking into you hard.

“Bast! I’m cumming! I’m cumming! G-Grip me! Bhaby grip me! I wanna fill that pussy.”

“Yes Shuri yes! Explode in this pussy!”

An animalistic howl left Shuri’s mouth, the sound triggering your own release.“Uuuuuhhhnnn.” She pulled your body up completely by your hair. Pressing you against her. Her hips stuttering and body shaking as she released years worth of cum onto your waiting ass. “Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.” She mumbled as you continue rubbing your ass against her, wanting to milk her of all her essence. She burried her head into your neck. Still quivering from her release. Both of you collapse onto the bench.

“You Definietly still got it Shuri.” You say breathlessly. You both laugh.

“The Queens whore huh? Oh Thando. You’re in for a long night.” Shuri says. You turn your head around, capturing her lips in a kiss.

“You waited for me. I have all night tonight and every other night after. Just tell me what you want. Now, I want to taste your cum.”

Shuri rose to her knees and you turned to face her straddling the bench. You came face to face with Shuri’s pretty brown soaked pussy.

“So beautiful.”

You smiled having missed the sight of her thick clit that jutted out from her pussy lips. You give it a lick and her body jolts. Still sensitive from her orgasam. You give it a few more licks before immersing it with your mouth. Sucking it up and down as if giving her a blow job. Shuri wrapped your locs up in her hand as she gently thrust herself into your mouth.

“Oooh baaaaby.” She groaned. “Just like that. Good fucking job.”

You moan at her taste and encouragement. Your hands travel up her legs caressing her hamstrings. One of your hands continued up finding its way between her thighs. Your middle finger finding its way to her tight hole.

“Shit. Mtuwam fuck me. Ahh!” It came out in a blissed out whisper as she continued to control the movements of your head.

“Mm, so needy” you moan into her aching twat. Shuri’s eyes were closed her mouth ajar concentrating on the pleasure you were giving her. You watched her abs contract with each thrust as your other hand found it’s way back between your legs. Shuri’s breathing sync’s with her thrust and you knew she was close again. Slurping at her bud you add another finger going a bit faster. Her legs began to tremble and you got ready to drink her sweet nectar.

“Yes that’s right give me another one Panther. Bless my mouth. You deserve it.” you whined.

“It’s coming baby! Catch it for me!” You opened your mouth wide and flicked your tongue over her clit.

“Uuuhhh it’s coming baby! It’s -“ Grabbing the back of your head she pressed you into her and her juices splashed onto your tongue and all over your face as you fucked her through it.

“Ugh it so good! Soso good!” Shuri screams as she let go again. You continue lapping at her getting her all cleaned up. Once she caught her breath she released you from her core. Bending down to place her lips on yours.

“Thank you so much for pulling that out of me. I needed that. Now daddy’s going take over pretty girl.” She smirked. Your core clenched around nothing anticipating Shuri’s next move.

She motioned you closer to her with her head wanting nothing more than to please the panther, you obeyed. She grabbed your arms wrapping them around her neck, and stood from the bench. Gripping underneath your thighs, wrapping your legs around her waist, she finally shook the other pants leg from her leg and carried you over to the bed. She tapped your ass twice signaling you to stand on the bed, motioning to the chandelier that hung from the mirrored ceiling. You smirked jumping slightly to grasp onto the bar inside.

“Show me how wide you can open up for me.” She said as she removed her shirt and sports bra. Finally standing before you completely naked. You spread wide open for her. Revealing your bare and soaking wet cunt.

“Stay just like that for me.” She pulled up her camera on her Kimoyo beads. “You don’t mind if I take pictures do you?” She stood back watching you. “You just look so beautifully erotic.” Her sensual gaze caused your core to pulse, and you spread wider for her camera.

“Mmm, that’s my girl. Look at how fucking wet you are. Hanging from my pretty Chandelier.” She saunters over to you closer placing her thumb onto your clit. You hiss.

“This shit is innovative sthandwa. I love your mind.” She said as she rubbed her thumb up and down your sensitive bud. “Let’s play a game. How much longer can you hold on while I taste you? Hm?” She stepped forward placing a kiss directly to your clit. You moan thrusting your pelvis forward chasing her mouth.

“Oouu look at you. You needed daddy’s mouth?” She didn’t waste anymore time. She dove in with an open mouthed kiss right to your core. You placed your thighs on her shoulders grinding into her face as you literally hang from the ceiling.

“Oh God! I missed that fucking tongue daddy!” You threw your head back watching the scene play out on the ceiling. She went between sucking your clit and fucking you with her tongue hands free.

“You taste *slurp* so fucking *slurp* good *pop*” She slapped your ass hard. The stinging pain mixing perfectly with the pleasure she gave.

“Mmm. It’s so good! You’re the fucking best!.”

The longer she went, the more your body began to tense and shake. Concentrating on holding on becoming an after thought along with your hands becoming sweaty. Your hands slipped and Shuri’s panther reflexes came in handy. She caught you by the ass, both of you landing roughly onto the bed. Shuri didn’t miss a beat. Your legs started to close as you got closer to your peak. Shuri slapped the inside of your thigh.

“Be a good girl. Keep them open for me.”

She carressed your thighs as she enjoyed her meal. You spread them wider and she rewarded you with those beautiful long fingers. Pumping in and out of your pulsating hole.

You look down, watching her long tongue circle your clit, before disappearing inside of you. Her eyes closed savouring your taste as she made your body feel better than it had in years.

“You feel s-so good Shuri. Ssss so good.”

Shuri curved her fingers hitting your spot, she opened her mouth wide using her entire tongue to place over the entire length of your clit pressing against it putting the perfect amount of pressure. Moving her head up and down. She looked up at you as she worshipped your pussy. Your back arched pressing against her more. Your legs began to shake. Your hands reach between your legs and to the top of Shuri’s head. Her movements became short and choppy knowing you were close.

“Give it to me gorgeous. I’m thirsty.” She demanded.

You gasp. Pressing her further into you as your body began to quake. “Mmmm baby baby baby!” You shout over and over, gasping for air as you cream heavily onto Shuri’s face.

“Mmhmm, mhmm, Let it out.” She pulled back after you stop shaking taking a look at her work. Watching the cream leak from you.

“I missed you pretty girl.” She spoke into your pussy nudging it with her nose before diving back in to clean her up. “Thank you for keeping me hydrated mama.”

She kissed up your body now hovering over you. “And thank you for letting me taste her again. I promise she’ll never want for a thing.”

Your juices sat on Shuri’s face, dripping from her chin. Her eyes, blown and focused. You opened your mouth and she smiled, opening her own and sticking out her tongue. You lift up sucking your juices from her tongue, and cleaning her face with your own. She lay between your legs grinding up against you as the two of you share your juices in a kiss.

“I need to fuck you now baby. Can you give me more. I want to make you cum all night.” Her breath against your ear sent tingles down your spine and there was nothing you wouldn’t do for her in that moment.

“Please. Please fuck me.” Before you knew it Shuri had plucked one of her Kimoyo beads from her bracelet, placing it against her twat. She tapped it and it expanded into her wide curved strap. She places one of your legs on her shoulder slowly entering you with a groan.

“Ohhh Shuriiiiii”

She enters you in one smooth push, making you gasp like a virgin on her first time. Lovingly, she looks into your eyes, and begins to fuck you into oblivion. She knows... instinctively knows...what you need. She whispers into your ear, "Ooooh y/n…...I'm going to cum in your pussy.” The notion fills you. All you want is her cum. At this moment she could talk you into having her baby.

“I missed this. Uhn, being inside of you. The f-feeling of you g-gripping me. So wet, so fucking tight.”

She rolled her hips one of your legs on her shoulder the other around her waist. Tears began running down your cheeks. Speechless. Your pussy was so sensitive. Shuri kissed the tears from your cheeks as she continued to thrust inside of you. Your moans of pleasure her motivation.

“So pretty, such a pretty pretty sound. The prettiest song you’ve ever made.”

Her thrust started to speed up. “I want more of it.” She took the leg from around her waist placing it on her other shoulder and sat up on her knees. She was completely in control, as she gripped your hips bouncing you on her dick allowing deep penetration. You moan salaciously "Fuck me....fuck me deeper!" She pounds you banging hard into you. You were so out of it in your pleasure that you hadn’t noticed Shuri moving you two up the bed until your back hit the headboard.

“Damnit Shuri I c-can’t! I c-can’t take it! Too gooooood! Sooo deep!” Her thrust made your words staccato as you did your best to fuck back into her.

“Yes you can. You’re taking this shit baby. Taking me so well.” One of her arms was straight out holding onto the headboard as her other assisted in bouncing you into her.

“Shuriiiiiii!!!” You yell as the pleasure became overwhelming. This caused her to press into you deeper pausing to feel your pussy squeezing against her. She slowed down. Choosing slow hard strokes, so you could feel all of her. You were full out crying now. A delirious mess.

“That’s right baby cry for me. The only tears I want to see. This pussy is mine now. Nobody else can have my pussy..”

You tried to reply but it only came out as gibberish. “I want to hear you baby. Who’s pussy is this?” You gather up strength to reply.

“YOURS PANTHER!!” She gives another slow and hard stroke. “What’s my name?!” Your head fell to her shoulder as tears continued to pour. “Uuuggghhh.” Your moan came out in a gurgle.”

Shuri’s hand that had been on the wall was now around your throat. “Uhuh. I asked you a question. What’s. My. Fucking. Name?” She punctuated each word with a thrust.

“AhhhUuuuhhhhnn!” You screamed. “SHURI!!”

“All of it b-baby! Say your wife’s name.”

“AAAAAja-A-A Adanna SSSShuri FUCKING UDAKUUU!”

“That’s a g-good f-fucking girl.” She praises against your lips.

Dazed and fucked out you began to speak gibberish. Spewing out whatever came to mind and Shuri replied the two of your foreheads pressed together lips ghosting over one another’s, as the two of you reached your peaks.

“I don’t ever wanna leave.”

“You don’t have too”

“I wanna have your b-babies”

“We can have as many as you want.”

“You fuck me so good”

“I’ll fuck you like this everyday for the rest of our lives”

“Uhn God your so sexy”

“And I’m all yours Entle.”

“Ooouuuu I’m cuuuummmmiinnng.”

You feel her body stiffen and know she will cum too. Finally she groans, "Oh y/n....I'm cumming with you!" Deep inside, you feel the cum shooting into you, and it tips you over the edge. You cum savagely, squirting onto Shuri’s strap, and your world shattered into bright shards of light and colour. Shuri had captured your mouth as the two of you came both of your moans and groans of pleasure shooting down eachothers throats. Shuri’s hips continued to stutter inside of you as she gave slow less powerful thrust. Your head lolled down onto her shoulder, as the two of you slide down the head board.

Your body was spent and you were dozing. You hadn’t been fucked that good since you and Shuri broke up. Just quick sessions of huffs and puffs until Mike got his. Leaving you to fend for yourself. She fucked you so good you could suck your thumb.

“Sthandwa, let me hear you.” Shuri said after a moment of recuperation. All you could manage was a hum. Her hand came to the top of your head massaging your scalp as you lay on top of her body.

“Uthando Iwami lungangolwandle. Impilo yami ngeke ibe lutho ngaphandle kwakho, Ndiyakuthanda.” (My love for you is greater than the ocean. My life is nothing without you. I love you)

“I love you too Shuri. My dear Aja-Adana.” Shuri lifted her head kissing your forehead.

“Thando?”

“Hm.”

“Can you give me one more?” Your body was screaming at you. Bone achingly tired, and your pussy was at capacity. But you wanted nothing more than to continue making love to Shuri. So you rolled over onto your back and spread your legs for her. She sat up, looking down at you as if you were the worlds most precious gift.

“Awusemhle (You’re beautiful)” Your tired eyes looked up into hers that had glazed over. She bent down placing a kiss to your tired sloppy cunt, and you jerk at how sensitive you are. She gave loving licks to your pussy. Doing her best to ease the ach before getting your last orgasam from you.

“One second.” She got up and headed to the closet. When she came back she held in her hand a double sided dildo. “Can you take it mtuwam?” You didn’t know. But you were definitely going to try. You held out your hand to her and she placed the toy inside. You lubricated the toy with your mouth and slowly inserted it into your aching hole.

Shuri’s eyes lowered as she watched you pump it slowly in and out. She crawled over to you, and sat legs open wide. She pulled you closer to her by the backs of your knees, and placed your legs over top of hers, inserting her end of the dildo.

“Ahhhhh” you both let out satisfied moans as the two you began moving your hips, your clits kissing as you meet in the middle. Shuri wrapped her arms around your waist, and you wrapped your arms around her neck. Moans and groans resounded throughout the room over the music that was now Victoria and Kehlani crooning about wanting to be touched. You could relate. Hands probing and carressing every inch of eachothers body as you bounced against Shuri’s lap. Your bodies dripped with sweat, intertwined, moving against eachother like well oiled machines. You leaned back so that she could get a better view of your beautiful breast bouncing. She leaned forward catching one in her mouth, bitting into your nipple and then running her tounge in a circle around it before sucking, and repeating with the other one.

She pulled you up placing her head in the crook of your neck. Biting licking and sucking. At some point it all stopped and the two of you could only focus on the feel of eachothers bodies this close to eachother again. You had found your way back into eachothers arms. When Shuri pulled back, you both recognized the stain of tears streaming down eachothers cheeks.

“I’m so sorry I ever hurt you.” She choked out with a sob. Your hands cupped the back of her neck as you brought your foreheads together. “Thank you baby. Thank you for giving me another chance. I promise you won’t regret it.”

“I know Shuri. I know.“ Shuri’s hips began to move faster in a circular motion. Sighing, moaning, and crying the two of you were experiencing a pleasure neither of you had felt before. It was otherworldly. Your lips ghosted over eachothers breath combining as you made love.

“Bast. You feel so good. I don’t ever want to loose you y/n. Be mine again. Please baby. L-let me call y-you mine. Shit!”

“Aaahh! I’m already yours Shuri. I belong to you.” Shuri’s pussy squeezed the dildo and she took control. Fucking you harder.

“Oh Shuri! Im about to cum. Cum with me!”

“Mm Mm. Not yet. Let go now baby. I’ll join your next one.”

Your body couldn’t hold it you released hard all over the toy. Shuri gripped your waist harder not stopping.

“SH - SH-SHURI!!! I-I can’t! OOOOOHHHH GOOOODDDUUUHHH!!! I can’t cum anymooore”

Shuri grabbed your neck continuing fucking herself on the dildo as it also stroked your sensitive inside. She nodded. “You can take it, Entle. You’ve been wanting me to fuck this pretty pussy for a while now. Let me get the big one out of you!” Your mouth was frozen open tears pouring down your face. The look on your face had Shuri ready to explode. She could no longer hold it.

“Come on baby! Finish for me. You can do it! I’m cumming y/n! Pull it out of me!” An intense pressure built up inside the two of you as the sun rose over the horizon, and the both of you reached your final explosive climax’s.

“UuuuhhhAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!” You let out a guttural scream as your body convulsed and squirted.

“FUUUUUUCCCKKKK, Fuuucck, Fuuuuuckkk!!!!” Shuri groaned as her own juices splashed against yours. You both reached down rubbing your hand quickly side to side over your clits, juices still flowing splattering all over eachother.

The two of you collapsed, seperating from eachother; but, covered in eachothers cum.

“We should take a shower.” Shuri said after slightly coming down from her high.

“I can’t move.” You say half dead. Shuri laughs. She sits up grabbing a blanket from the end of the bed. She grabbed your hands pulling you up, wrapping your arms around her neck. And bringing you over to a dry side of the bed. She wrapped you both in the blanket as you intertwined your legs with hers lying on her chest.

“The suns coming up.” You say.

“I noticed. I guess we got a bit carried away.” She chuckles

“A little.” You join her.

“Sthandwa.”

“Ewe.” Shuri smiled at your use of her native language, before turning serious.

“He cannot have you any longer. I mean that.” She grabbed your chin lifting it so that you could look at her. “The marriage is done. Time is up. You are mine and I want you here with me.” You smile, placing your bottom lip into your mouth.

“And here is the only place I want to be.” You say before the two of you drift into a peaceful sleep.

Click, Click

The sun blared into the room. Soft music still playing over the speakers. Shuri lie flat on her back, as you lie betwixt her legs, head resting on her naked stomach. The room was blurry as you streched opening your eyes. Your movement caused Shuri to stir beneath you, her grip tightening around your upper back. You lift your head to rub your eyes when the back of your head was met with cold steel. Your heart fluttered, as you turned your head only to be met with a familiar silhouette.

“Shuri.. Shuri baby..” You call out tapping her side frantically as tears began to form.

“Don’t be scared now, Waka. You disrespectful cunt.”

Shuri’s eyes popped open, at the sound of the male voice inside of her room.

“What the fu-“ She came face to face with your husbands calm demeanor. As he held a pistol to the back of your head. The anger in his eyes unmistakeable. Her eyes found your panicked ones looking up to her with sheer terror. Your breathing was erratic, and your palms began to sweat.

“Be calm Thandiwe. You are safe with me.” Calm, steady, not an ounce of fear, could be detected in her tone.

“You are a smart man Mr. Addai. Atleast that’s what I gathered from my extensive research.” Shuri brought her hands up to rest underneath her head. Her small perky breast exposed, however she was unfazed. Mike brought the gun up to her quickly.

“I already have a bullet in the chamber. I suggest you not move a muscle.”

“Relax. What are you afraid of? You’ve got the upper hand. The gun, the element of surprise. We’re only two women. What are we going to do?” Staring Shuri down, he kept the gun, and his attention on her. “Ubusi, go fix me and your husband a drink, and bring my robe. Cover yourself, your body is no longer his to see.”

Mike began to move the gun back to your head and Shuri quickly reached up grabbing the barrel, placing it back onto her.

“Ah ah on me oo.” She looks him dead in the eye, She acknowledges you again only with her words. “Do as I say my love.” You instantly get up from the bed taking the covers with you revealing Shuri’s naked, cum stained body. His eyes followed you as you scurried off of the bed.

“Don’t even think about it.” She whispered, bringing his attention back to her. His eyes trailed Shuri’s beautiful toned, cum stained body. “Excuse, the mess. We got a little carried away and passed out. So much cum. Have you ever made her cum? Didn’t seem like it last night.”

“You talk a lot of shit for a bitch with a gun to her head.”

Shuri chuckles. “Common sense. It betrays you Michael. What was your plan? To walk armed into the home of the Queen of a nation, quote undetected end quote, into an unguarded room. Hold a gun to my babes head, and somehow make it out alive to take her home?” She once again chuckles. “Did it not feel wrong when you walked the halls and not one guard or Dora spotted you? And here I believed you where at the very least a critical thinker.” Shuri cocked her head to the side, sizing him up. “We all but rolled out the red carpet for you. Idiot.” She whispered. Fear resonated behind his eyes, they darted from side to side now searching for Shuri’s henchmen.

Demure in the presence of the Queen, now clothed in your robe you approach her with her own, and the drinks that she’d requested. Composed and unafraid she stood to her feet without warning.

“I said don’t move!” Michael screamed, clearly unnerved. You place the drinks on the table beside the bed, and Shuri turns her back to you as you hold her robe open, so that she could ease it on. Shuri side eyed Mike, amused at his irratic behavior. Choosing not to acknowledge him at the moment, she placed a finger underneath your chin.

“Enkosi, Bambo'lwami. Be a good girl for me and stay out of the way.” She spoke sweetly as she placed a sweet kiss to your lips. Your gaze met hers adoringly. Even in imminent danger, she made you feel as though you were the only ones in the room, making your body react to her. You nod, “Whatever you want, baby.” It came out more seductively than you intended, and Shuri smirked, raising a brow. You turned to walk away and she bit into her lip.

“I’m going to have fun with that later. You smell that?…” Shuri sniffed the air. “That’s her arousal.” Shuri smirked. Picking up her drink from the table.

“Fuck you!” Mike yells, Shuri cringed.

“I think not.” She says, cooly taking a sip.

“My problem is not with you.”

“I bet it isn’t.”

“You saw an opportunity and you took it.”

“Is that what I did?”

“I’m leaving here with my wife.” Shuri stepped forward into his gun, the barrel between her eyes.

“I wish the fuck you would.” Mike took a shakey breath and In the blink of an eye straightened his arm out to the side pointing it towards you, letting out a shot. You scream falling to the floor, and Shuri took the thick glass and shattered across Mikes face. Dora rushed into the room. “Take her! I’ll handle him.” Shuri’s attention now lie on the groaning man on the floor. She bent down to his level, gripping him by the neck.

“I hear you like to fight women. Fight me.” Her demeanor was still calm as she spoke. Mikes face scrunched in pain.

“Come oooon now. No way way my little weak woman blow has you out already? Big strong man. Goooriiiillaaa!” Her laugh was sinister as she placed her face close to his, scrunching her eyes in faux confusion as he tried backing away from her.

“No? Nothing? Mchht, Demethi! I was wrong about you! I thought this would be fun! But you are truly pathetic.” She picked him up by his neck walking out onto her balcony hanging his body over the side.

“No! Please!” He screamed. Grabbing onto her robe for dear life.

“Please. Please he says.” His body thrashed under the strength of the Panther. Tears streaming from his eyes. “And he’s crying? My God! This is embarrassing for you. I see why that beauty downstairs made you so insecure.”

“Please just let me go.” Shuri raised a brow smiling. “Well if that’s what you want.” Panicked gasps left his lips as Shuri pretended to drop him. “Nononono! GAAHD!”

“You should be more specific with your requests Michael.” She held him a bit further over the edge. “I’ll tell you what. I’m going to go ahead and take my lady off your hands. You obviously can’t don’t no what you’re doing, so she’s mine now baby boy.”

“I honestly couldn��t have done it without you. All of the odds were in your favor, you had the power to make her never want to see me again. But you were negligent with a prize. Intimidated by her value. You brought her right back to me. And for that….” She pulled him up throwing him to the ground infront of her. “I’ll let you live. You are of no threat to me, and you can watch her be treated like the queen she’ll be.”

“The me before would have thrown you from the balcony, gutted you, and fed you to the lions. But I’m better now. And I’ll admit. I lied. This was fun. Now get out of my house.” Mike scrambled to his feet. Piss staining the front of his pants, bleeding from the side of his head as he rushed past Shuri, while she followed him out.

“Ikumkaziwam!” A Dora called out as they reached the top of the stairs trying to get Shuri’s attention. “Give me a moment to see him out of my home.”

“Y/n was hit by the bullet my Queen.” Instantly it felt as though the walls started to close in on her. Everything started to move in slow motion. The front doors opened and in ran your mother and your sister right as Shuri gave Mike a swift kick causing him to tumble down the stairs

“Where’s my sister?! Where’s my fucking sister?!” Mike reached the bottom of the stairs and Dani was on him immediately.

“You been putting your hands on my sister nigga! You shot my sister!” She screamed and threw punches to the unconcious man’s face. Your mother tried to pull Dani off of Mike but she was relentless. Shuri snapped out of her shock long enough to get to Dani pulling her off of him.

“He’s out Dani! He’s gone! Let me take you to your sister!” Dani pulled and tugged against Shuri trying to get herself out of her grip and Shuri let go. Dani snatched away, turning to Shuri placing a finger in her face.

“Don’t fucking touch me! This shit is on you!” She turned. “Somebody take me to my sister!” A Dora stepped in leading Dani to where you were.

“FUUUUUUUUCK!!!” Shuri yelled falling to her knees in tears.

“Pick yourself up little girl.” The voice of your mother came from over top of Shuri.

“I-I’m sorry.” Your mother shook her head. “Danielle is upset and irrational. You have nothing to apologize for. You know that.” Shuri sniffled.

“Yes mama I know.”

She bent to Shuri’s level grabbing her chin. “All you’ve done is love my baby. And you would never cause her harm. That’s why I called you to come get her. I knew you were ready. You’re not here for Dani or anyone else. You’re here for y/n. So get up.. and go be with her.” Shuri nodded standing to her feet.

Shuri entered the medical area of her lab inside of the house. She’d thrown on some sweats and a tshirt and rushed to your side. Bruno, your mom, and sister all surrounded you as She approached, seeing you lying unresponsive an open wound to your belly. “I’m sooo sorry sthandwa. I’m going to make this right. I promise.” She whispered standing over you, a sob breaking from her lips.

“Oh yea? And how do you plan on doing that?” Your sister glared at Shuri across from her. “Dani, now isn't the time for this.” Your mother interjects. “Then when is the time!? She shouldn't be here! Standing here acting hurt like she didn't cause my sister just as much pain as Mike did! It may not have shown up physically but you did just as much if not more damage and you couldn't fix that. So just how the fuck do you think you’re gonna fix this your highness!”

Your mother opened her mouth prepared to intervene, only to be interupted by Shuri. “Dani, I’m aware of what I did. I’ve received my karma everyday i had to wake up with her not next to me. I don't want any trouble. Your sister has forgiven me. And I hope in time you can too. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

The room was silenced. The Queen had spoken. She held onto your hand. Leaning down to whisper in your ear.

“It’s time to get up baby. This isn’t where our story ends.”

It was approaching midnight in Wakanda as Shuri stood outside of the river tribes village. People lined the streets dancing and chanting holding there sage and torches. Her eyes were misty, as Nakia, Toussaint, Okoye, and M’Baku stood steps behind her in support

“Usisi, they are ready for you.” Nakia says placing an encouraging hand onto Shuri’s back.

Shuri walked forward, watching her people celebrate the woman she loved. Tears finally fell as she thought back on all the time she’d wasted. The years the two of you could’ve spent had she not hurt you. The memories lost. You had always been a beckon of light for her, even when she couldn’t be near you. Your mere existence had brung her hope. Whether you knew it or not, you were the reason for the difference Shuri had made in the world. You’d made an immutable change in her life and she would forever be grateful. As Shuri reached the end of the alter she was met with the Elders.

“Ikumkazi wam, come.” The Merchant tribe elder stepped forward beckoning Shuri to her.

Shuri stepped forward and turned towards the crowd.

“Citizens of Wakanda, I Elder of the merchant tribe present to you Queen Shuri Udaku the Black Panther.”

Shuri gave her warriors salute and kneeled before the crowd. Their arms crossed over there chests in Salute to their Queen. The elder stepped aside, welcoming you and your family as you stepped forward in your traditional Wakandan garb.

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown.”The elder speaks up. “Tomorrow you will bare that weight, once conjoined with our beloved Queen and Panther. Today her shoulders are strong, mighty. As a gracious gift from bast runs through her veins. But she will not always carry the strength of the Black Panther. Tonight we test your willingness to bare the weight with your lover.”

Another elder steps forward handing you a wooden bowl with a deep iridescent purple liquid.

“Now my dear you will place this to your loves lips and strip away the powers of the Black Panther.” Slowly you walk up to Shuri who gave you a reassuring smile.

“Will it hurt?” You say concern filling your voice. Shuri looks up to you.

“My love, you don’t need to be concerned for me. I will be fine.” She reaches out squeezing your hand reassuringly.

With that, you place the liquid to her lips and she sips.

It immediately takes effects, veins poping from her forehead and neck, her teeth clenching, and brows furrowing. The people closed their eyes bouncing their shoulders to beat of the drums as Shuri groans in agony. As fast as it started it was over. She gave herself a second and stood to her feet, as the girl you met in your dorm several years ago. She’d grown her hair back. Once again rocking the curly top that you loved so dearly. Love filled her gaze as she took your hand. This was who you loved Not the Queen of Wakanda, not the Black Panther just Shuri.

She led you forward as the dancing and chanting began to start again your families combining behind you as she led you to the river. The two of you stopped at the edge the water, it tickling the tips of your toes before you turn your heads locking eyes adoringly before Shuri nods her head in reassurance. Together the two of you step into the water submerging yourselves in the blessed water.

People came, baring gifts of fruits and herbs to anoint your union as the full moon reached its peak. The Elders reached their hands out to you praying for the success of your marriage and reign as Queens of Wakanda.

You leaned forward, foreheads touching as Shuri’s hands snaked around your waist, your arms wrapped around her neck. And you heard her sniffles.

“They’re here Shuri. They’re watching. And they are proud.” She lifted her head allowing herself to be proud.

“I’m so exited to live the rest of my life with you bambo’lwami.” Your smile gave the moon a run for its money.

“I’m so glad you said yes.”

Shuri believed in the green light, the orgasmic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that's no matter- tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther ... So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

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