#sl x jjk

[dashinhfuzzydeer]

Soulmates!Au

"For a ancient being you are quite knowledgeable about the modern world" The blindfolded man spoke playfully as he looked over his partner's shoulder.

"My planet was just like you, and I am no ancient being" The man with short black hair spoke with a scoff as he scrolled across his phone.

"Well the time dilation between your and my solar system is billions of years and you came all the way here soooo...." The taller male spoke to prove his point but was cutted off.

"I can travel through dimensions in seconds you dumbass" The other put his point before walking ahead faster.

"Well, then you are techinally younger than me so you should call me senpai" The albino jogged his way to his friend, catching up with him as he spoke with a playful tone.

"Ew, never. I am not gonna call you that" The man in black made a disgusted face as he pushed the other slightly and walked ahead.

"Hahaha! Common! I was joking! Don't get mad!" The sorcerer tried to woo the other from being mad at him, he didn't want his soulmate to be made at him and go back to his home planet afterall.

In a world where humans are blessed with different forms of powers, they are also blessed to be never alone in this world. Every being has hold of it's soul in it's body and the other half in it's soulmate's. The divine beings gifted them with the power to sense the presence of their soulmates.

What he didn't knew that it could be done across the universe, but he is glad it is possible. Or how would he have found his soulmate in this vast universe, quite literally?

[quinnyundertow]

Sanity’s Last Stop

Chapter 6

Let no light escape.

Is now live!

[lazysnowtiger]

Sharing The Title

"You really know how to utilize your skills Mr. Sung. Quite Impressive for someone who got his powers a few months ago. You kind of deserve your title as the second strongest" the strongest human on earth spoke while watching the new Korean S-Ranked Hunter slay the monsters.

The said person turned his head towards the man floating in the air near him. He only smiled shortly in response, resembling the one the blindfolded man too had on his face. "Well then beware Mr. Gojo because I will be coming for your title of the strongest".

"Hahaha! That will never happen Mr. Sung, you are still far from where I am. Are you sure you can surpass me?" The albino male asked as he pulled his blindfold down to look into the eyes of the Second Strongest Hunter Of The World.

But instead of annoyance as he expected, he got a smile from the other who threw his dagger at a huge beast without looking it's direction.

Gojo watched as it's head was perfectly sliced off as the dagger returned like a bombarang into the hands of the necromancer.

"If not above you, then atlist next to you. I have fate in myself Mr. Gojo" the Korean Hunter replied as he turned around to see the boss approaching their direction.

"So be prepared to share the title with someone soon". He spoke those words before dashing to slay the boss monster, leaving the japanese hunter behind, a little taken back by his words.

"Share the title of the strongest you say Mr. Sung....." He whispered to himself as he watched the body of the boss monster drop on the ground while memories of a painfully beautiful past flooded his mind.

His eyes saw how black smoke rose from the dead beasts body at one command from the shadow user. Oh how much Deja Vu it gave the six eyes user.

"......I actually hope I can share it with you" those words were unheard to even himself as he saw a fragment of a distant memory flashing before his eyes, soon disappearing to bring him to the present to witness the power of the Shadow Monarch.

[mikgreo]

Hiya! Love your posts so so so much ♡

I was wondering if you could do how haikyuu (or jjk) men react to finding out the reader has a kink for being fucked in front of someone else 🫣

Tysm! Anon x

“curiosity killed the cat.”

haikyuu headcanons.

a/n. ty nonnie for requesting!! ive never thought about writing something like this but it made me excited to see what i could come up with, i had fun writing this! take care nonnie <3!! i might do pt.2 :3

chars. oikawa, iwaizumi, kuroo, bokuto, akaashi, atsumu, osamu, suna.

syp. haikyuu characters & exhibitionism! +mini scenarios.

tags. exhibition, voyeurism, p/v, degradation, praise, petnames, pronouns or gender not mentioned but reader has a kitty & boobies, and use of babygirl/girl, manhandling (bokuto), edging, overstimulation, recording, whatever i missed..

oikawa!

rough jealous sex, teases you alot, might share you depending on the person, makes you moan out his name while the other person makes you cum, tried to get you to go to a kink club but you denied (“y/n-chann!! it’ll be fun!”)

he never thought you, or anyone else, were the type to initiate stuff like that, he was always just used to casual sex with his partners. but when he mentioned how “you probably want iwaizumi to see you like this, huh?” and felt you tighten up around him, he knew exactly what to do, he called iwa to come see a particular “show.”

“k-kawa!! s’too much.. sl-slow dowwwn~..ng-nghh!~” you whined out as oikawa thrusted deeply and roughly directly on your g-spot countless of times. “you like iwa-chan watching you get your back blown out, huh? you dirty fuckin’ girl, t’is what you wanted hm?” he slapped your ass, “after all yer stupid ass swayin’ and bendin’ over infront of ‘em you kinda asked for it, you slut.” he glanced over at iwaizumi, who was sitting on oikawa’s desk chair watching you two, face dusted in red and pink hues, sweat beads falling down his forehead. “come, its yer turn iwa-chan~”

iwaizumi!

def has vanilla sex, he likes to show that he can make you feel good by his hands, nice and soft, wouldnt share you but would make you speak out on how good hes making you feel

iwaizumi wasnt really used to anything like this, he was never the type of guy to have multiple girlfriends, let alone be sexually active. so whenever he found out from oikawa that your friend mentioned you were into that stuff, he didn’t know if he should ignore or act on it. but the more he thought about it the more frequently he found himself masturbating in the bathroom at the thought of him pleasuring you infront of another man. so, he decided to act on it.

“mmm, just like that, babygirl. keep rockin’ yer hips on my fingers js like thaaat.” iwaizumi had you on his lap infront of oikawa, who was sitting on iwaizumi’s gaming chair. legs pried open, glistening wet cunt on full display, you shamefully moaned at the circles iwa had been rubbing on your clit and your entrance. “tell ‘kawa how much you want me to fuck you with my fingers, doll.”

kuroo!

rough sex, open to threesomes (depending on the person), makes the third party record you two, edging/overstimulation final boss

lowkey wasnt that fazed about it, he’s been through some kinky people that he ended up ghosting/breaking up with because the kinks were overstepping boundaries, but he thought yours was quite doable. definitely got turned on once kenma told him you had said you were into that stuff. so he promised kenma he’d buy him the newest pc if he cooperated with his plan.

“oh yeahhh, look up at the camera just like that baby.” kuroo said behind you, as he was thrustinf his fingers into your seeping hole. he had you on all fours while you gave kenma a blowjob, as he recorded you all. “mmm…!!~” you mumbled onto kenmas cock, which he shuddered at. “you cummin’? i told you, cant til you make kenny here cum first, sweetheart.” this went on for 3 more hours..

bokuto!

rough-nice sex, fucks you dumb for sure, very prideful in his abilities and makes you you dont hold your voice back, make you make eye contact with third party, either really nice or really mean no in between, but i live for unknowingly and unwillingly rough bokuto so

kinda awkward about it, you were like his third girlfriend, and first ever actual serious once, adrenaline hits him and he ends up having his whole team watch him rail your poor small body. bokuto had learned alot from kuroo and oikawa about sex, so he decided this was a good opportunity to demonstrate his newly found skills. he asked his teammates to come over to his apartment, got them all to drink some beers and well..

“i know youve all been eyeing, y/n over here. so ill show you who she fuckin’ belongs to, but don’t hesitate to stroke yer dicks while you watch me absolutely fuck her dumb!” bokuto manhandled you into doggy, grabbing your arms and pulling them behind you back, thrusting in and out of you as deep as he could, whispering profanities into your ear. “fuckk, you like how der getting off to yer cute ass moans, huh? cmon.. be louder for them, let em know who’s responsible for this. fuck yeah, babygirl, t’day is alll about you.”

akaashi!

soft sex, would only let bokuto or tsukishima be the one watching you two, would worship you and brag about you to the other person while he fucked your brains out, overstimulation def, kinda gets a little toxic if the other person interacts.

akaashi was lowkey awkward about this too, but remained nonchalant, he had a talk with you to see if you would let bokuto be the one to watch you two, promising he wouldnt let him interrupt or touch you without your consent, he told you he had never been into any type of extreme kinks, so he apologized if he ended up deciding this wasnt for him, but swore he would try to make it work just to make you feel good.

“cmon princess, you can do better, why’re you getting shy on me now, hm?” he placed his hand on your head and ruffled your hair. you were down giving him a blowjob, with your legs spread open enough to let bokuto see you playing with your clit, desperate for some more friction. “mmm!” you muttered staring at akaashi with your puppy eyes. “im not, bokuto-san, touching you til you make me cum atleast twice. so get to work princess. you wanted this didnt you?” … “oh c’mon ‘kashi! dont be so mean” bokuto laughed loudly in the back.

atsumu!

possessive, would probably be mad at your for like half the day for suggesting it, but it grew on him, fast rough sex, lots of foreplay, teasing, and petnames.

“huuuhh?! why would you want sum rando watchin’ us fuck?” atsumu put if off for some days but the more he thought about it the more he found himself getting turned on by it. he set some rules, and had told you to go to a kink club since he didnt feel comfortable having anyone you both knew watch you, since you both only had a couple trusted people, and he was NOT gonna have his twin brother watch him fuck his girlfriend, let alone sakusa.

“look bae, all these people ‘round us comin’ just for you, see i told you you have the hottest fucking ass and tits ever.” he had you on top of him on one of the booth seats, you were jumping up and down on him and he took your nipples into his mouth. “fu-ck! ‘tsumu!! so good m gnna cumm~” you whined. “hell yeah baby, give em a show, aint gona stop til you start squirting like sum fuckin’ water sprinkler.” he laughed as he slapped your ass. “show em who’s yer fucking daddy, who’s making you feel good huh?” he breathed into your ear. “you-youyouyouyouyo-!! is you ‘tsumu youre so fuckin good at fucking my pussy daddy!!

osamu!

slow sex, praiiiiseeee, would probably only trust suna with you, would make suna touch you or something while he fucks you, asks if your okay during sex

he didn’t really know what to say when you had told him you found it hot to have someone watch you get fucked or something like a threesome, and he didnt wanna weird you out so he said you could try it out to see if he liked it as well. and he called up his buddy suna to help out!

“fuckk, yer tits taste so good, feels js like marshmallows, cutie.” suna said just below a whisper as he fondled your left boob and sucked on your right one. “mmm princess, your so tight, you feel so good yk that? you’re so perfect and beautiful like this.. making me wanna cum just from yer face.” osamu said as he had you in missionary, thrusting slowly but deep into your aching cunt. suna reached down to rub circles on your clit, “fuck, keep doing that suna, she just got so much tighter.”

suna!

literal virgin killer, casual sex, with some teasing & degradation, would be one to suggest this if you hadnt beaten him to it, down for anything but just doesnt admit it, literal definition of a freak undercover, lowkey would let anyone watch you two but just not touch you (imagine like anyone u want rlly)

“fuckk, keep fuckin yourself on my dick just like that, you have no idea how tight you feel, ma.” he had you facing the person while you fucked yourself dumb on his cock, going up and down. “play with yer boobs while they bounce, pretty. show em how sexy you can be, kay? put on a reaal pretty face, babygirl.”

[kookslastbutton]

Lovin' You Right ༓ jjk (m)

✑ Summary: Your new badass neighbor won't leave you alone. You know the type, the guy your mama wouldn't want you bringing home. He'd break your heart as quick as he'd take it.

Pairing: new neighbor!jungkook x fem!reader

AU/genre: angst, fluff, smut, e2l, neighbors, oneshot/drabble

Word Count: 2,031

Warnings: cussing, dom!jungkook, sub!reader, missionary, praising, rough s*x, d*rty talk, sp*nking overst*mulation, reader's first-time, sl*t calling once, oc a bit of an uptight b at first, little manhandling, jk rides a motorcylce, jk giving it to oc straight, a very wet date bc MV made me do it

Now Playing: seven by jjk

A/N: no explanation, this is just what i thought of when i listened to jungkook's song 'seven'. Hope you enjoy! 💞

He looked like a real hard ass with all the black leather he wore, arms covered in ink, and chains hanging from his neck. You know the type, the guy your mama wouldn't want you bringing home.

He was your next-door neighbor and he rode a mean motorcycle. It was loud as fuck and woke you up about ten times during the night. And every time he saw you in the hallway? He'd have this shit-eating grin on, like he wanted to devour you whole.

"Think our mail got switched up again," he said, handing you a pile of letters. "Gonna need to talk to the mail man or somethin'."

"Oh geez," you replied, doing your best to avoid eye contact of more than three seconds–his eyes were just a little too piercing. "Thanks." You shoved the letters under your arm and carried on your way. It was laundry day and you desperately needed to have clean clothes.

"Hey wait," he kept on your trail. "How's your day goin'?" He rushed ahead to open the laundry room door, allowing you to go first.

Look at him trying to be a gentleman, hmph. You held your head high and walked through the door. He'd break your heart as quick as he'd take it.

.

Like an itch that won't go away, Jungkook followed you as much as he could. No matter how much you scratched, he'd be right there, burning holes in the back of your neck. He'd watch you dump your clothes in the washer, walk you to your car whenever you needed to go anywhere, hell he even helped you carry in groceries when given the chance.

"What do you want Jeon?" You finally popped the question. He didn't look like he was simply "being generous" or "doing his part to make the world better". He was bumming around for something, he had to be.

"Go out with me," he simply quipped, knocking the air out of your lungs.

"Excuse me?"

He rolled his eyes, he was too old for beating around the bush and he was fed up with you giving him the silent finger. Not once have you told him to beat it straight to his face so he's gonna shoot his shot. "Yes or no __? You know I like you, why else would I be bugging the crap out of you?"

"'Cause you want to fuck me then leave me for your other neighbor, the one who lives on the other side of your door." You crossed your arms against your chest. "Tell me I'm wrong."

He narrowed his eyes, tiniest of smirks on his overly gorgeous, no good, lying face. " No you're right. I do wanna fuck that pretentious attitude you got. It's been pissing me off for weeks."

He took a step towards you, caging you between himself and your kitchen island. "What gives you the right to be this bitchy huh? You act like you know everything there is to know about me, but you're too damn stubborn to open your eyes and see it's all a complete farce." He leaned his head forward to graze his lips along the edge of your ear. "I don't know what little girl fairytales you've been taught but I'm not the monster you need to watch out for....and prince charmings don't exist, princess."

You shoved your hands against his chest but he grips them tight in his own. "We don't have to go out anymore. I see what you really think of me."

He released your wrist and headed for the door. "It's really a shame," he hollered before leaving. "You're really beautiful."

God you hated him.

.

For the next week, Jungkook was no where in sight. He didn't come see you, he didn't bring you anything, he went completely M.I.A. It was a breath of fresh air but by the second week, you wondered where he was and if he was okay. He did drive a motocylce afterall, maybe he got in an accident and you didn't know.

You stared at his door, hesistant to knock in fear if him actually being in there. He'd likely laugh you off when he saw you, so you purposefully picked a time he'd most likely be out and about anyway. You hated that you kinda knew his schedule.

Jungkook quirked an amused brow at you when he finally cranked his door open. He was wearing light washed jeans and no under shirt, his pecs were on full display. "What can I do for you princess?"

"Nothing," you spat, definitely not looking below his thick neck. "Just wanted to make sure you didn't do anything stupid yet."

"Checking up on me huh?" He put an elbow on the door frame, eyes darkening. "That's sweet."

"Fuck off. You're healthy it seems so I'm gonna go check up on the other neighbors now. I think Mrs. Baker set the fire alrms off the other day so I need to make sure she's oka—"

You're arm was yanked back as soon as you moved to turn around. "Fuck you're bullshit __. You missed me didn't ya?"

"Not much to miss Jeon." You're such a liar, Jungkook muttered to himself. The whole world could see you were having a conversation with his pecs this whole time—too damn timid to look him in the eyes.

"Shut up and say you'll go out with me already. I'm tired of waiting for your ass to come around."

.

You swallowed your pride and there you were, watching Jungkook splash in every single puddle. He just had to propose going out the one day it was storming out.

"Wipe that sour look off your face!" He stomped in the water, drenching you entirely.

You shrieked at the sudden coldness. Big droplets of water soaked your face, clothes, shoes, everything. "You're such a child Jungkook!"

He ignored you and wrapped his muscular arms around you. The white tank he wore was drenched as well. "You're having fun, admit it."

You scoffed. The only reason you agreed to go out was to show him how ridiculous it would be for the two of you to go out. You and Jungkook were likely the most incompatible people for each other. While he was out riding his bike with heavy metal blasting, you were watching the latest law drama in you're pajamas. It was only a matter of time before this expirament of his would show him the true results of your intermingling.

"C'mon," he took you by the hand and dragged you through the rain. "Just be in the moment __. Let the rain shower over you and be free!" He grabbed your other hand and began spinning you both in circles.

"I'm going to get dizzy."

"Then only look at me. Look at me and don't worry about what's around us. Focus on a single subject and you won't get dizzy." He pulled you by the waist, forcing you to stare straight at him.

He was right. The dizziness went away but your knees feel like jelly.

"What's holding you back?" Jungkook smiled and it was the most genuine smile you'd ever seen. "Look at me __. Look at us. What do you see?"

As you stood there in the pouring rain, a pair of deep, boy-like eyes locked with yours. This was him, the thought dawned on you, a soft-hearted guy who wasn't afraid to open himself up.

You felt a pang of guilty settle in your gut–you weren't the better person like you so believed. You're closed off, comfortable in your space. Skeptical of anyone and everyone. You were wrong to see Jungkook as a careless, arrogant, motorcycle thug and it was a hard pill for you to swallow.

"I don't know." You replied softly, shivering at the faintest touch of his fingers supporting on your back. "I'm sorry, I don't know Jungkook."

"Well I see something worth sticking around for, rain or shine. I think I've become an idiot for you and I don't think that bothers you as much as you let on. You sought me out after I gave you space and I've literally been playing in the puddles this whole date and you haven't ditched me yet. So if you want some more of this, I'll give it to you with open hands, open heart, and I'll make sure to be loving you right." He winked before finishing. "As many days as you'd like."

Jungkook didn't give you much time to respond before he pressed his lips against your own. He made sure to go gentle, barely brushing them over your lips.

You understood immediately–if you wanted this, you were going to have to be the one to seal the deal.

And you did, kissing him with full force. You hoped you wouldn't regret this in the morning.

.

Ever since that night, you and Jungkook had started going out. It was slow at first but six months later, you and he finally made your relationship official.

"Shh," he cooed above you. He was a bit of a blur due to the pitch darkness of the room but you felt him everywhere. He was straddling your naked sides, praising your body like it was art. "Doing so good for me baby, making me so hard–fuck."

It was your first real-time being with a man and being your new boyfriend, Jungkook made sure to be extra attentive. "Kook," you moaned, back arching and pussy throbbing from where he had recently entered you.

He dragged his thick length out of you before slamming back in, a little rougher than the previous thrust. "That's it," he said through gritted teeth. "Let me hear those pretty moans. Been dying to hear them since I first saw you in those cute little sweat shorts you like walking to the laundry room in."

"Faster Kook, please." You gripped his muscular back, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist. You needed him lodged so far in your gut that you'd literally see stars. "Plea–please."

"Shit baby, if you start begging this early I can't promise you I won't go completely feral and I don't want to hurt you."

"I want all of you Jungkook," you said. "You said you'd love me right, so do it." And that's all it took for your boyfriend to lock down on your waist with firm hands, pounding into you with all he had.

You tried looking up at him, wanting to look him dead in the eye as he fucked into you but you couldn't handle it. He was dripping with sweat, his muscles were tense, veins were protruding out of neck, and his teeth were clamped shut. He was focused and he knew what he was doing. You on the other hand were a complete opposite story.

"Jung-Jungkook, oh god, fuck!" You screamed incoherently. His big cock reached every inch inside you, stretching you out with every snap of his hips. Never in your life had you had so much pleasure in a short amount of time. And embarrasing it may be, you were definitely going to come far before the usual.

"Look at you fucking falling apart already. Too much for your tight little pussy to handle isn't it? Well you begged for this, and now you're gonna take this cock like a big girl aren't ya," he barked, landing a sharp slap to your ass.

"Shit!" You yelped, clenching around him automatically. "Gonna come Kook...please-please. It's my first time I-"

You came without finishing the plead, sticky white substance ran down your thighs and onto the sheets. Jungkook's wet length continues to move in you, pushing some of your cum back in. The erotic squelching makes your eyes roll to the back of your head.

"Mhm yeah." He planted a trail of rough kisses up your neck, teeth nipping at the delicate skin. "And now you're gonna come again, and again, and again til you're dripping with my cum. I'm gonna then eat you out while my fingers play with your clit. But congrats on your first-time baby, because from here on out, you're gonna become my slut , and I'll be fucking you seven days a week."

A/N: written a little different than usual but yeah...haha idk. Tysm for reading and lmk your thoughts 💞

Masterlist

no reposting, copying, or translating my work– © kookslastbutton

[peachsayshi]

Hello can I request a part 5 for the inexperienced reader where they finally do the deed? Thank you and I really love all your writings. You’re amazing!

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ playboy geto x inexperienced female reader (part 4) ⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

wc: 7,712

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰ previous parts: 1/2/3/4

minors / ageless blogs / blank blogs - do not interact.

notes: hi, nonnie! I haven't posted the official part 4 for playboy geto x reader, so here is an update! part 5 is the final part of this mini series and I am still figuring out the scenario for the big moment. I had this idea in my head and really wanted to write out. I hope you enjoy the update!

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ tags: other jjk characters are mentioned, virgin reader; lovesick geto & reader; hurt/comfort; the first fight; making up; smut; oral (f receiving); nipple play; overstimulation; fingering; practice makes perfect *wink wink*

There’s a downpour outside - a peaceful shower trapping you in a cocoon of stillness. Grey clouds collide, orchestrating a rumble of thunder to disperse across the horizon. You squeeze the glass of tea in your hand and breathe out a heavy sigh as you continue observing the waves crashing onto the shore in the distance.

Standing in pensive thought, you find yourself contemplating why the sky isn’t a saturated blue, and why you are not wiping away grains of sand between your toes while tasting the salt in the air and getting kissed by the sun in the red bikini that you are wearing.

This is your first weekend away with Suguru and it was supposed to be perfect…magical even, but…

You haven’t exchanged more than a few of sentences with him in two whole days.

The truth forms as a discomforting lump in your throat. At this point you’re convinced that the turbulent events of this week is what conjured up such a dreadful storm to hijack your mini vacation, and you’ve been a bundle of nerves ever since because you’ve never had a fight with him before.

Not a real one, anyway.

Whenever a situation got remotely tense, your boyfriend would be the first person to jump in to talk things out. Suguru hated having petty arguments and always relied on strong communication to put out any fires before they set everything ablaze. You know it’s entirely unfair to put that expectation on him but, the truth is, you’ve grown used to him mediating, and depended on him to squash potential disagreements without question.

What you weren’t expecting was for things to escalate between you two because it’s never happened before, and now you aren’t sure how to proceed.

What if he leaves me?

The nauseating thought of a potential break up twists your gut, but you brush off your anxiety as you lift the cup to your lips and take another sip of soothing chamomile.

Couples fight, you think, it’s normal to fight.

Your fingers pinch the ceramic so hard, you feel it might crack from the pressure. You’ve tried to reach out since then, but Suguru remained unresponsive to your little gestures of peace.

Why is he still ignoring me?

You lean your head against the window and exhale, eyes fixated on the storm’s dramatic performance. A bolt of lighting crackles across the sky, channeling you back to the night on Suguru’s sofa just two weeks prior.

His fingers were trailing the outline of your thigh, keeping your body tucked perfectly into his frame. You were twirling a strand of his onyx hair between your fingers, listening to him proposition the idea of the weekend trip away.

“Yuki is one of my oldest friends. She lives in a beach house, so that’s where we will all stay…” he casually stated. “We visit her a couple of times a year, and I know she would love to meet you.”

You said yes without hesitation.

At the time, there was no need for you to question who Yuki was or how Suguru knew her. There was no need for you to pry deeper into the memories of his past because you were just living in the bubble of present happiness.

“We used to spend every summer at her beach house while I was in university,” Suguru informed you a few days later, slipping in that tidbit of information right after describing all the places he was excited to take you to. “I love that her beach house is so far away from the city. Plus, they have the best soba in the village. You’ll love it, I just know you will…”

This deep infatuation you shared for Suguru had your heart swelling up more often around him. Your valves were arrows to a compass that always spun directly towards him, your shining North Star. Your eyes were glazed over in a rosy shine of deep romance, making it hard for you to blink away the hue of its affection, but you should have taken a breath to catch yourself.

Maybe then you wouldn’t have reacted so harshly later on.

The ”problem”, as Suguru dubs it, happened two days before the trip.

Shoko invited you to join her and Utahime on a shopping date to pick up some new swim suits for the occasion. However, you weren’t expecting to see Mei Mei upon arrival. Your friendship with Shoko made it easier for you to blend in with the rest of Suguru’s group, but Mei always kept you at an arm’s length. For the most part, you approached any interactions with her with caution. You made sure you were nice and didn’t try to pursue anything beyond cordial conversations. Despite your attempts at playing cool, Mei continued making snide remarks about you being “Suguru’s Girl” and enjoyed addressing you condescendingly.

Truthfully, she treated you as if you were simply a stranger with one foot out the door and not the person who was in a committed relationship with her friend.

Your eyes, powdered with pink infatuation, had you feeling indifferent about her sharp tongue on this particular outing, and it made you loosely speak up about how excited you were to go on this trip with your boyfriend.

Your walls were completely down when Mei went in with a new attack while you were all having dinner together.

“It’s adorable how excited you are. Besides, I think it’s about time that you met Kiki…” she giggled, earning a glare from both Shoko and Utahime.

“Kiki?” you replied like a naive child, all wide eyed with an innocent pinch between your brow.

“Suguru didn’t tell you?” Mei coos as she proceeds to take a sip of her milkshake. “That’s his special nickname for Yuki. The two of them used to spend their summers together getting high and fucking. She was his first, you know…”

Your cheeks were stinging with embarrassment. You glanced over to both Shoko and Utahime, praying that one of them would denounce Mei’s confession.

Instead, Shoko shook her head with disapproval and simply added, “we all know that it wasn’t serious…”

“Wasn’t serious?” Mei interjected, her cruel eyes fixed on you. “Suguru was in love with her…”

“He wasn’t in love with her,” Shoko sternly answered. “They were friends. Don’t make up stories in your head”

Mei swirled her straw around her vanilla milkshake. “We are his friends too but that didn’t stop him from hooking up with us either. The only difference is that Yuki is the one who broke his heart afterwards. Suguru didn’t speak to her for an entire year...”

“How about you don’t stir up problems for no reason, Mei.” Utahime bit back, and Mei responded by rolling her eyes with mild disinterest.

“I’m not saying anything that isn’t true. Everyone at this table, except Shoko, hooked up with Suguru at one point,” she let out a pretty laugh, one laced with wicked intent. “Maybe this is something we can all bond over at the beach house. Compare notes and what not…”

“How about we dial back the bitchy attitude and put the subject to rest” Shoko interjected, and Mei merely huffed before sipping her milkshake with nonchalance.

Hot, heavy jealousy coiled around your skin, and you used every ounce of restraint not to pick up Mei’s drink and toss it right in her face. By the time your brain was able to connect the dots to formulate even a single sentence, the conversation swiftly moved onto another subject.

You reached for your soda, slurping the icy beverage in an attempt to cool yourself off.

This isn’t the first time that Suguru’s friends have made teasing comments about his past, but Mei took it too far.

The worst part about that god-awful interaction is that it was working out in her favor.

Why didn’t Suguru tell you?

The question sat in your head up until you returned home. You were in a bitter state, choosing to curb Suguru’s calls and ignore Shoko’s messages.

She still called you the next morning with a heartfelt apology.

“We’ve all known Mei for years so we put up with her attitude,” Shoko explained, “But you owe her no allegiance and what she did was uncalled for. I’m really sorry about that…”

“It’s fine, Shoko…” you insisted, but your tone was hard and defensive because it wasn’t fine and you barely got any sleep thinking about what she said.

“I had a long conversation with her last night, and she’ll be backing off from now on,” Shoko consoled.

“Great,” you answered through gritted teeth, trying your best not to hurl the phone at the wall.

“Look,” Shoko added on with a sigh, “I know Suguru doesn’t have the best track record and I know we all give him shit for it, but we also all know that we’ve been too hard on him. He really, really cares about you.”

Tears pricked your eyes. You wished those words were enough to sway you back but they felt just as empty as the space in your chest.

Why didn’t he tell me?

You couldn't stop wondering why.

The day before you left for the getaway, you were giving Suguru the coldest shoulder. He had come over to help you pack your things, but instead was left puzzled by your behavior.

You leaned away from his kisses, always tilting so he aimed for your cheek. You shrugged off his touch, pretending to busy yourself with searching through your closet and picking your outfits. You could feel his piercing stare from over your shoulder, those dark eyes dissecting the softest parts of you to get to the root of the problem. You tried to focus on the music from gently playing through the speakers, but as you walked over to your bag to pack another dress, Suguru quickly reached for your hips to drag you onto his lap.

“What’s wrong?” he asked seriously, his voice the tip of a sharp blade pressing into your heart.

You shook your head, caressing the fabric between your fingers. “Nothing, I have a headache,” you repeated firmly, sticking to the same excuse that you had given him earlier.

“Sweetheart,” he replied tenderly, your body stiffening when he brushed his lips over your shoulder to leave a contemplative kiss. “What’s actually wrong?”

You froze, your anger scalding your insides as it bubbled to the surface. You squeeze the dress between your hands, creasing the smooth surface. Suguru rests his chin on your shoulder, patiently waiting for you to at least acknowledge him.

“Is it true that you were involved with “your friend” Yuki?”

You hid your hurt with sarcasm, her name rolling off your tongue with a hint of disgust.

Suguru lifted his head from your chin, his fingers pinching against the fat of your hip while his other hand moved to reach for your jaw. He angled your face towards him, a pained expression masking over his breathtaking features.

“Who told you?”

“Mei,” you answered sharply, “apparently Shoko and Utahime know all about it too…”

“Look,” Suguru sighed, “it’s…it’s not what you think…”

“Did you to spend your summers getting high and fucking?” you interrupted harshly, mimicking the cruelty in Mei’s voice as you posed your question.

Suguru closed his eyes. “Yes.”

“Is it true that she was your first?” you asked, your voice wavering slightly this time.

“Yes, but…”

You rolled your tear soaked eyes as you stood up on your feet, tossing the dress into your bag as you folded your arms across your chest to give Suguru your back.

You weren’t sure what hurt more. The fact that Mei had all the ammunition in the world to hurt your feelings, or that she knew that your doting boyfriend would keep this from you.

Suguru stood up, carefully approaching you from behind as he extended his hand out to find your waist once more.

“Mei’s a gossip,” he contended, “I told you that when we first met…”

You spun on your heel to meet his anxious stare, drilling your fury right into him.

“That’s not the point,” you argued. “The point is that you lied to me! The point is that you spent weeks going on and on about “your friend” without even warning me that you were both intimately involved…”

“We put that shit behind us years ago. I didn’t want to bring it up, and I didn’t think I had to. Mei shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Didn’t think you had to?” you repeated with confusion.

“There was no reason to,” he replied with annoyance, his fingers digging into your waist. “Because you and I are supposed to trust each other, and considering how things have been going between us, I thought we did.”

Your heart raced at the fact that Suguru was still keeping his mouth tight lipped over what happened with Yuki, which did little to help your own dramatized theories on their relationship.

If he was being secretive about something as serious as this, then who knows what other tales he might have been spinning with that honeyed mouth of his.

The knot that’s wrung itself around your mind finally snapped.

“Easy for you to say, you don’t have an inventory of people I slept with to keep track of…”

Suguru winced, the involuntary grimace an unusual sign of hurt. Your apology shot to the tip of your tongue, and you were ready to jump right into his arms and plead for forgiveness. This brutish commentary was so unlike you, but you didn’t know how to keep a handle on your own insecurities this time around.

“Keep track, huh?” he answered softly, the faintest hint of distress coming through and making you nip at your bottom lip out of guilt. “Must be hard having a boyfriend who is so used up…”

“No...you're not. That's not what I mean, I’m…I’m just saying that it’s different,” you retracted, easing your delivery to try and explain yourself. “You just don’t have to worry-”

“Is there a reason for you to worry?” he rebuked, quirking his brow in genuine surprise.

You scoffed, “You told me about everyone else you’ve been involved with but with her you are suddenly keeping quiet-”

“Please, tell me you’re fucking joking right now-“

“You can’t-” you interjected, clearing the catch in your throat as your voice warbled uncomfortably. “You can’t just expect me to be okay with this, Suguru. I have to be able to trust you and that’s only going to work if you are honest with me. Keeping something like this from me doesn’t help…”

Suguru dropped his hand away from your waist, and folded them over his chest tightly. There was a twitch in his jaw, and the disappointment in his eyes spoke volumes. You both stood there in silence, studying the other in deep concentration.

“I thought you did trust me. You were practically naked in bed with me when you said it. So what is it then? Do you trust me or not?”

Your face grew increasingly hot recalling his birthday, the way you were soft, vulnerable and pliable sprawled out against his chest...

“I do…” you replied with very little confidence. “Sort of…”

You swallowed your regret to stare down at your feet shamefully, and allowing your pride to fight the battle for you. If you can waver his insecurity even a little then maybe you might find some equal footing with the discomfort.

“I can’t change my past. I can’t erase the people I’ve been involved with. Yes, we both had different opinions about how we viewed relationships, but we aren’t going last long as a couple if I’m the only one that has faith that this is going to work,” Suguru informed calmly, using his fingers to gesture between you both.

Hearing those words from your lover’s lips felt like surprise blow. You parted your mouth to exhale quietly, clenching your hands tightly by your side as you naively waited for him to attempt to turn things around.

“I’ve given you everything. I’m not going to force you to trust me,” Suguru adds on, his tone morphing into a cold, cruel note. “And if you fucking can’t, then I’m done.”

Your head shot up in surprise, the front of your brows upturning sorrowfully but Suguru had already turned on his heel to walk out of the room, slamming your bedroom door right behind him.

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊ ⋆˚ ✧. ┊ ⋆ ★

The car ride to the beach house was terrible.

Neither you or Suguru said a single word to one another. He kept his focus on the road, while you kept replaying the words “I’m done” on repeat in your head.

It was disappointing to start off on such a sour note because Yuki’s beach house was the perfect getaway spot as Suguru described. The location was rural, and the building was quaint and cozy. The size is big enough to fit your entire group, but not to the point where it was gaudy. Suguru mentioned that the property belonged to Yuki’s mom, which she eventually inherited after she passed away.

Meeting Yuki took your breath away. From the moment you laid eyes on her you understood how a young Suguru would be infatuated. She was striking - tall, with long, golden hair that cascaded all the way down to her butt. Every part of her was perfect, from her toned tummy revealed by her short black cropped top, to her legs that seemed to go on forever which were covered in only a pair of loose denim shorts. She had a naturally cheeky grin, like there was something up her sleeve that no one could quite point out, and sharp brown eyes that were simply inviting.

She pulled Suguru in for a warm hug, and ruffled his hair like a sister would.

“Sug! Your hair’s getting long! I like it!” she chirped with a big smile, while Suguru held an effortlessly casual stance to play off that the two of you haven’t been ignoring each other this whole time. Yuki instantly turned to face you, “And you must be the girl that stole his heart! I’m so glad to meet you! This guy never shuts up about you…”

You felt small against her, and it wasn’t just due to her height. You could feel yourself shrinking into your own shame hearing her talk about your lover. Whatever doubts that sparked due to Mei’s burning statements were quickly turned to ash.

Yuki gave you a house tour and explained that Shoko was sharing a room with Mei and Utahime, while Satoru and Nanami bunked in another.

“If you’re comfortable you can stay in Suguru’s room. He kind of has his own bedroom from how often he’s stayed with me. If not, I’ve got a pull out sofa in my room,” Yuki informed, while you were trying your hardest to undo the tight knot in your belly.

Getting to know Yuki over the course of the two days only fed into your regret. You couldn’t help but watch her interactions with Suguru, only to conclude it was no different than how he behaved with Satoru and Shoko.

Even when he addressed her as “Kiki”, it came out with a level of comfort that felt a familial familiarity. If it wasn’t for Mei and her devious manipulation games, you would never have even have assumed that the pair were intimately involved with each other.

As your stubbornness started chipping away, you decided to at least try and make amends with your boyfriend.

On the first night, after getting ready for bed, you broke the long hours of silence by asking him where he was going after watching him get ready to leave the room that you both were supposed to be sharing.

“I’m staying with Satoru,” he curtly responded, and slammed the door behind him before you could get another word in.

Yesterday was painful to say the least. You attempted to sit down with him and Satoru for breakfast, but Suguru excused himself only a couple of minutes later. By mid-morning you texted to ask if he would like to join you and Shoko to walk around the village. You even brought up his favorite soba shop, but found yourself left on read.

His behavior was harsh and quite obvious. By lunchtime Shoko pulled you aside to ask if everything was okay.

“We’re fine,” you answered breathlessly, your worry sending tingles to the tips of your fingers and toes. “We got into a bit of an argument in the car, but we’ll talk things over”

Dinner last night was supposed to be a fun get together at one of the local omakase joints, but it turned into you and Suguru sitting on opposite sides of the table barely acknowledging each other.

You were trying to steal his glance, but he wouldn’t stop avoiding yours. Afterwards while all of you were standing outside, you found the courage to reach for Suguru’s hand to grab his attention.

“Hey,” you whispered low enough for only him to hear to avoid making it obvious to the others. Your heart fluttered when you noticed that Suguru didn’t let go of your hand, but instead pressed the pads of his fingers lightly against your palm to return the gesture.

Almost like he was saying hello.

“Do you maybe want to go for a walk?” you asked, eyes hopeful and desperate. “It’s nice outside tonight, don’t you think?”

You couldn’t gauge what he was thinking, but you paid close attention to his reactions. Like the way his eyes dipped to your fingers slightly interlaced with his own, and how his digits were merely tracing yours in the most featherlight touch.

Did he miss you too?

“I’m going out with Yuki tonight,” he announced, his tone sharp and daring.

Your heart winced.

You weren’t used to this side of Suguru at all.

You let go of his hand, and nodded your head to feign acceptance but your throat was tight and tears were glazing over your woeful irises.

“Oh, okay!” you answered with as much confidence as you could muster up. “I guess…I guess I’ll see what Shoko is up to. And-”

Your voice cracked when Suguru let go of your hand. The emptiness a cold touch against your palm.

“I-I hope you guys have fun catching up tonight-“

Suguru nodded his head, taking your breath away for only a second when he leans forward to leave a chaste kiss on your brow. Not giving you a chance to finish your statement.

The gesture shatters you, because you know that it wasn’t genuine.

He was simply putting on a show, keeping up appearances so that the others don't suspect that something is wrong.

You cry yourself to sleep all alone in bed, all the while holding onto the hope that he might just show up to remind you that everything is okay.

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊ ⋆˚ ✧. ┊ ⋆ ★

You’re still staring out the window, watching the droplets trickle down the glass. Lost in the peaceful moment, you barely hear Suguru enter the bedroom, which is why you jump in shock when you suddenly notice a large hand press firmly against the glass by your side.

“It’s pouring, huh?”

His voice, smooth like velvet and soft like storm clouds sent a tremor of desire in your belly. You steadied the cup in your hand, sensing your body trapped between the window and your boyfriend who was now standing prominently right behind you.

“Yeah,” you whisper quietly, your chest rising and falling with anticipation.

You watch him tap his index finger against the glass, your gaze falling to the bracelet on his wrist. It was the other gift that you gave him on his birthday, and he hasn’t taken it off since. The rain patters outside, the white noise your safety barrier against the awkward tension, but you can feel it brewing behind your spine as you steady your breathing.

“Where did you stay last night?” you ask with a mousy voice, hoping that your tone wasn’t coming across as accusatory but simply concerned for wanting to check in on Suguru’s whereabouts.

“Yuki’s room, we were up late talking…” he responds gently, a hint of amusement in his voice but not one that was cruel. “She told me I could sleep on her pull out only after admitting that I’m acting like a little bitch…”

Your mouth naturally ticked into a smile at his playful tone, and you sink your teeth into your lower lip with relief from the casual delivery.

He huffs out a small laugh, "in case you're wondering, I just so happen to agree with her."

“It’s not just you,” you acknowledge, finding the courage to slowly spin on your heel so you can face him. “I started all of this…”

“Yeah, but you’ve been trying to fix it and I’ve been difficult about it…”

Your body crumples when your eyes met his, the power of his gaze forcing you to press your back against the window to stop yourself from buckling at the knees. His yearning matches yours, and the tension in your shoulders relaxes slightly when you note that he might have actually have been missing you too.

The ease in his expression is a white flag of surrender.

You place your tea cup on the table by your side. “I shouldn’t have let Mei get to me,” you admit, “I was caught off guard, and I took my anger out on you…”

“I shouldn’t have put you in that position,” Suguru adds on, shaking his head in disbelief over his own decision. “I should have been upfront with you about Yuki from the star, I just-” He drops his hand away from the window to find yours, and takes both of them between his fingers. His thumb smooths over your knuckles, his grip firm and protective.

“I just didn’t want to give another reason not to trust me”

Your brows furrow with confusion, and Suguru sighs.

“My family were in a bind financially. Even though I got a full scholarship to univerisity, there still wasn’t enough money to put both Mimi and Nana through school. I've known Yuki since I was sixteen. She told me to spend the summers with her and hooked me up with well paying jobs ,” he explains solemnly, almost like he is ashamed by the situation entirely. “So, that’s what I did. Her mom never stayed during the summer break. And yeah, shit happened between us. We’d get high, fuck around, drink, party…but it was just…a release.  It didn’t mean anything else. I swear…”

“Mei said that you loved her,” you fill in, piecing together parts of your own personal indignation. “I think that’s what really got me. Especially when you didn’t tell me yourself. I couldn’t wrap my mind around the secrecy…”

Suguru scoffs, “Mei says that only because I went back summer after summer. I didn’t let anyone else know the real reason why. They had no fucking clue what was going on with me and my last summer with Yuki is when we decided to stop but I-I fucked it up…”

You could see the strain on Suguru’s face, and you squeezed his hand reassuringly to let him know that he could share whatever he needed to say.

“There was this girl that Yuki liked. I mean, really liked. She wouldn’t shut up about her. She was the reason why we stopped sleeping together. One night while we all went out, I got…carried away. I drank too much, I smoked too much, I wasn’t fucking thinking. I don’t even really remember what happened, but when I woke up the next morning…the girl was in my bed. When Yuki found us, she was…heartbroken. She didn’t speak to me for a year, and…I was devastated because her friendship means everything to me. She was the only person who knew how bad things were, and I returned the favor by…well, being myself, I guess…”

“Suguru, don’t say that…” you blurt out, your hands letting go of his as you eagerly clasp his jaw with equal protection. “I see you with your friends. You’re so loyal, and would give them everything if they asked. For somebody whose always so put together, what you did…is so out of character…”

He winced, his eyes narrowing with humiliation but it only taps into your empathy.

You bring his face closer, press your forehead to his own and notice him flutter his eyes close.

“You rarely talk about how hard it was with your family,” you mumble so close to his lips, keeping the conversation as private as possible even though it’s only the two of you in the room together. “I can’t even imagine the kind of pressure you must have been feeling. If you and Yuki are as close as you say are you, I’m sure she came around because she must have seen it too…”

His hands find your your bare waist. “She was the only one who could see it. Satoru, Shoko…it went over their heads…”

The quiet loops in right then, a rumble of thunder echoing in the distance. The hurt in Suguru's voice was loud and clear. The fact that he's always been there, but is so easily forgotten in the long run.

“I need to know,” Suguru confesses, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I need to know what else it’s going to take to get you to trust me because the odds are stacked up against me, sweetheart. And if I can’t make it happen, then I don’t have a single fucking shot at making us happen…”

The sting of regret burns your cheeks once more, and you extend your arms out to circle around your boyfriend’s neck. You want to kick yourself for making him doubt himself, especially after he working so incredibly hard to earn your favor.

“I swore I would never throw your past in your face. I’m so sorry that I did. You’re not the same guy that the people in your life paint you out to be, and I shouldn’t have let them try to convince me otherwise,”

You seal your apology with a small kiss to the corner of his lip, goosebumps pebbling your skin from Suguru’s thumbs tracing tiny streaks up and down your belly. “For whatever reason we don’t seem to make sense to anyone around us…”

When Suguru finds your eyes, you lose yourself into a dark abyss, sinking back into the depths of his soul.

“Is that how you feel too?” he questions seriously, “that we don’t make sense?”

You shake your head instantly to disregard the claim.

“Being with you is the only thing that I seem to understand, and I think that’s why I’m so scared to let you in,” you admit, the past forty eight hours of desperation formulating the next statement on the tip of your tongue. “I’m falling in love with you, Suguru. And-And I can’t seem to stop it from happening…”

Your breathless at the proclamation, your heart hammering so hard in your chest like it’s ready to burst out and bury itself into Suguru’s instead.

You watch your lover pull back slightly, his brows raise with astonishment.

“In love…” he breathes, like he can't believe the words himself, “with me?”

You nod your head, your hands roaming back to the front of his chest where you can feel his own stammering heart against your palm.

"Yeah, with you."

Suguru withers into your touch, his hand cradling your jaw as he dips in to press his mouth over yours. He parts his tongue to deepen the kiss, the weight of his body pushing yours into the surface, where behind you lightning bolts across the sky and grey clouds envelop you both in a shadowy cocoon.

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊ ⋆˚ ✧. ┊ ⋆ ★

You freely unravel, your joy sparking from the tips of your toe as to the top of your head knowing that your lover has chosen not to abandon you, knowing that you both are desperately seeking forgiveness.

You swear to yourself that it’ll never get this far again.

Suguru baptizes you with his kiss; it was a long reminder of your submission, of fully surrendering your feelings towards him. In between he moves your body, away from the glass and across the room, until you're pinned underneath him on the bed. He uses one hand to undo the wrap skirt around your waist, leaving you clad in your bikini to bathe under the light of his love instead.

His index finger loops around the string of your bikini top. He pulls away from the wet kiss, the tip of his nose lightly brushing your own, with the heat pooling in those dark irises enough to singe your skin.

“I’m not done with you,” he confirms, going back to the statement that ate away at you like a parasite. “Truthfully, I don’t think I’ll ever be…”

A lock of his hair brushes his brow, and you move it aside to kiss the space.

“Even if you were, I’m not willing to let you go that easily,” you counter because you need him to hear it. You need him to understand that you see what he’s put into this relationship and that you are more than willing to return the effort.

He smiles, and it’s devastatingly perfect it makes you want to scream at the heavens for allowing someone to be this beautiful.

“Still think I’m worth the trouble?”

Your fingers trace down the bridge of his nose, your heart gooey and soft in more ways than you can understand.

“I’m the luckiest girl in the world to have you, Sugu.”

His head tilts with curiosity, eyes drooping in contemplation. He doesn’t say it but you can hear him asking “are you sure?”, but his doubt is enough for you to seal the truth with a kiss, and when Suguru returns it, you’re once again dissolving in his affection.

Your limbs tangle into one another, your bodies pressed so close that you can feel every hard muscle. The bed sheet rumples, is lifted away from the corners as it gathers messily. Suguru’s hand glides up your torso, over the swell of your breasts, and he hooks his fingers around your throat to tilt your neck to the side and allowing him the access to kiss the column.

You thoughtfully sigh, your eyes fluttering close at the sensation of him sucking on your delicate flesh. He leaves a trail in his wake, and you shiver when his hot breath fans your ear.

“Can I ask you something?” he questions in a hush tone, his voice dipping down an octave and sprinkled with desire.

You nod your head.

“Can I go down on you?”

Your body seizes, every single cell on fire. There’s a catch in your throat, and your thighs clench together nervously at the suggestion.

You tilt your head back to face him, your noses and lips bumping in the process. “I-I can do it for you-”

He interrupts you by shaking his head, his mouth carefully kissing your cupid’s bow. “You’ve gone down on me three times already…”

You can feel yourself soaking through your bottoms. A mixture of pleasure and shame heating your cheeks.

“But...what if-what if you don’t like it? I read somewhere that not all guys do...”

Suguru scoffs, baring his teeth as he gives you a full grin. He prods the tips of his nose onto yours, wiggling it teasingly from side to side.

“You’re so fucking cute,” he confesses before adding, “I promise you, I’ll like it”

Your heart is beating so fast you can’t think, but your body speaks another language as your thighs naturally spread a little wider to invite him in.

“Okay, yeah-” you consent, “yeah, you can…”

He smirks, his hands tracing to the strings of your bottoms. You lift your hips, watching him shimmy the fabric down your legs. He stuffs the material in his back pocket, his palms spreading your inner thighs apart.

You sit yourself up on your forearms to study your boyfriend with intrigue.

“God, you’re so fucking pretty…” he sighs, his attention focused on the triangle between your legs, and your belly flutters at the direct compliment.

He doesn’t move for a second, his hands adding the slightest bit of pressure on the meat of your thighs. He licks his lips and breathes out once more, taking just a second to compose himself.

“It’ll only feel good, no pain,” he informs, “but if it’s too much for you, just tell me and I’ll stop, okay?”

Your hips relax further into the mattress, his assurance easing some of your apprehension. Your boyfriend knows how sensitive you are at this point, but you nod your in head in acknowledgement while gratefully appreciating that he regards you with such consideration.

He kisses up the apex of your thigh, carefully avoiding your sex to find a path to you hips. His tongue is sof and warm, tasting every part of your skin as it travels across your lower belly and further down your pubis. You gasp at the sensation of his breath so close to your cunt, your calf twitching when he finally places a gentle kiss on your lips.

And another kiss.

And another kiss.

And a fourth until your toes curl and he finally flattens his tongue along the slit.

“Oh,” you coo, the sensation so delicate and delicious. Suguru drags his love between your folds, up and down, and side to decide, his mouth circling around each lip as he sucks on them in between returning to glide his tongue around.

Your legs clasp around his neck, your heels resting comfortably on his back. The sound of Suguru sucking and licking up your pussy reverberates along with the storm outside. He reaches one arm to find your hand, and you intertwine your fingers to hold him tightly. His other hand slithers up your torso, and slips underneath your bikini top. He pushes the fabric above your breast, his thumb and index finger finding your tender nipple which he massages steadily as his uses his mouth to pleasure you.

The sensation builds, filters throughout your body in waves that roll over and over again. You squeak when he sucks on your clit, your heels pressing into his back but the weight of his body holds you in place to keep you from wandering away.

Your brows furrow, little tremors shaking your collar bones and your belly. “Suguru,” you whine sweetly, a moan following after when he pinches your nipple and nibbles on your clit. He lets go of your hand, his touch traveling down to your legs. He spreads your pussy, giving himself more access to bury his soft tongue deeper, further, to taste more of your nectar as it dribbles down his chest like he’s biting into fruit.

He groans into your cunt.

He grazes his tongue over your weeping hole, and your body thrashes with anguish and rapture. Your eyes spark in white, glittering like the lightning as it bursts and recedes into the ceiling above you. The band in your core is a tight spring that finally unfurls quickly and quite suddenly, your orgasm unfolding throughout your stuttering body.

“Oh, god…” you cry out, your back arching as Suguru keeps his mouth over your cunt, his hand holding you down by your lower body.

You gasp, panting heavily trying to cope with the aftermath. You think that Suguru might stop, but instead you feel him paint kisses all over your sex, rolling your nipple between his finger and moving to suck on your throbbing clit.

“Sugu?” you call out, your spine shuddering.

“Hmm?” he answers, his tongue massaging across the bud.

“You’re still…” you whimper, “you’re still going?”

He releases you with a pop, blowing air over the swollen bud before smiling into another kiss.

“You have no idea how long I can keep going”

Suguru only manages to keep his word by delivering another orgasm with his mouth buried against your cunt. You had tears in your eyes when you came, panting out “no more” with desperation because you couldn’t handle the detachment you were feeling in your own skin.

It feels so fucking good, but all too much at the same time.

Suguru doesn’t push. He won’t test his boundaries right now. Not when you’re just a vulnerable kitten in his eyes. No, the stamina will require time and patience, and for you to get used to him in the bedroom as well.

His disappointments sits between his brows when he pulls away, his hand smoothing over the curve of your pelvis as he kisses your hip and lower belly. He crawls over you like a panther, his shoulder blades rising with each calculative moment. You can smell yourself against his lips, savor your own arousal when he dips in for a kiss.

“Taste like heaven, baby girl,” he mumbles, his balmy words running over your skin like hot oil. “I could eat you out all night…”

He traces the column of your neck with his lips, and grins into your skin. You’re too shy to say anything, and he knows it. He presses his mouth against your neck, pecking over the marks that he’s imprinted.

Your hands fumble to reach for his jeans, your body desperate to do something for him too but Suguru grabs your wrists and pins them to your side before standing upright and undoing his jeans himself.

“Relax,” he insists.

Your eyes fall to his large hands undoing the button, and then unzipping the front of his pants. His grey boxers have a noticeable wet spot, and your pupils dilate when he pulls his dick out for you to see.

You tuck your bottom lip between your teeth, waiting to see what he’ll do next. He pumps his cock a few times, sighing heavily as his thumb runs over the slit. To your surprise he shifts his position, and adjusts himself until he’s perfectly aligned with you.

He taps the fat, mushroom head over your clit. “You just open up for me, don’t you?” he whispers deviously, “Let’s practice…”

He slides his dick back and forth over your slit, supports his movements by holding both your knees as he grinds his length against your cunt.

“See how far I’ll stretch you out?” he mumbles, eyes hazy with hunger. “See how deep I’ll go?”

He slides his hands up and down your thighs, rocking back and forth and using you for friction. Soft grunts and moans escape him, and in between he halts for only a second when your quivering hand finds his length. His hips stutter when you start to lightly jack him off, your thumb teasing over the head.

Your eyes fall close, imagine the burn of him spreading you apart, of him making love to your body as you mold into his frame. To feel him in all his glory, for your bodies to become.

The image is raw, vulnerable, and so, so perfect.

There is nobody else you would rather give yourself too.

Suguru is the one.

“I can’t wait,” you beg dreamily, “Need you inside me, I can’t wait-”

His grip on you tightens out of surprise upon hearing your words, and he suddenly thrusts harshly as he curses out a broken “fuck”. Ribbons of white spurt out of him, painting your belly and tainting parts of your chest.

The both of you freeze as you look down, caught off guard by what just happened.

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊ ⋆˚ ✧. ┊ ⋆ ★

Suguru cleaned you up using a wet towel to wipe his cum off your belly and chest. You discarded your bikini top afterwards while he removed his jeans, with the two of you then choosing to snuggle up against one another under the sheet.

“That’s never happened to me before,” Suguru confesses, finally breaking the silence. There was a slight blush tinting his cheek bones, and you giggle as you cradle his face in your palm and trace the shade of red.

“You’re usually so in control,” you playfully remark, and Suguru simply rolls his eyes.

“Not with you, I’m not,” he admits, his arm clenching around your waist as he closes the gap of space to tuck you into his chest.

You breathe in his scent, nuzzling your nose into the fabric of his tee.

"I'm glad we're okay now."

"I am too"

You curl your fingers around his shirt. “On your birthday, and just now…we could’ve…just gone all the way. You could’ve just-”

“Not here,” Suguru states seriously, the intensity in his voice prompting you to tilt your chin up and meet his stare. He plays with your ear, traces the shell thoughtfully before gently tugging on your lobe.

The butterflies flutter once again, your irises tinting in pink. You lean forward to kiss the sharp angle of his jaw.

“What was it like for you? Your first time?”

Suguru sighs, and purses his lips as he contemplates the memory. “Yuki was good to me, and it was nice,” he admits, but you’re entranced with the way he holds your gaze. “I sure as hell wasn’t as nervous as I am now…”

“Is that why you keep holding back?” you question innocently, apropping yourself on your elbow to rest your head on your hand. The bed sheet falling and exposing your chest.

Suguru’s eyes fall, his touch tracing the slope to outline the curve of your breast. “Do you want your first time to happen after a petty argument?”

You pout your lips with amusement. “Does it matter?”

“You’re not the only one who might be in love, sweetheart,” he responds, his words greeting the shining sun peeking through the clouds. “Of course it matters.”

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊ ⋆˚ ✧. ┊ ⋆ ★

tags: @sellenite @kiwibao @allofffmypeaches @sugurussbby @kunigamisbaby @pandoraium @brownskinnedgirll

my works are available on tumblr and ao3 - any fics reposted on other platforms or other Tumblr blogs have been plagiarized. do not share my works on social media (tiktok etc.) © peachsayshi 

[taegularities]

colour me in: blurred | jjk (m)

Summary: Funny how things never stay the way they were. You navigate through a life without Jungkook while wading through buried memories – and realise that every path leads back to him.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating, partly college!au; angst, fluff, smut ➳ warnings: artist jkkkkk, still a birthday, a present, exhibition and artwork reveal!!, memories, flashbacks, talk about exes, talk about guilt, ...frat party reveal i mean whut, jung hoseok lol, flirting, sexual tension, “how i, jk, met your mother” lmao i’m kidding, alcohol, insecurities, mean people, an absolute mess, yearning, we love tae, deep convos, overthinking; explicit sexual content: kissing/making out, grinding, stripping, fondling, tiddie sucking, oral (f. & m. receiving), fingering, they’re dorks ??, lmao the dialogues :’’), they play a game, protected sex, drunk (consensual) sex, dirty talk, biting, sl*t mention, teasing, jk moaninnnng, partly rough sex, big dick jk, dom jk, aftercare, weird ass bets lol, i was blushing real hard writing the smut; “the ending” warning has become a constant too so :’) ➳ word count: 31.7k 🥲  ➳ a/n: what a big damn sigh i left out after finishing this one !! ugh, guys, thank you so much for sticking with me and waiting for this one. i truly hope it’s worth the wait… and their story shall only get better. thank you for betaing my love @missgeniality​​​​​ <3 as always, do lemme know what you guys think !! 🎨🤍  ➳ a/n2: keep in mind that every past tense scene is a flashback !! 😁  ➳ listen to: the only exception by paramore | full collaborative playlist 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

The very first day of September begins with a letter between your fingertips.

Or, perhaps not quite a letter — more a memory.

The pages of the diary aren’t older than two years, but they feel ancient when you skim them. A little dirty.

Maybe because the remembrances feel eons away, beginning in the middle of the second last year of college and ending sometime this spring. Mere months ago when cherry blossoms bloomed, along with a dozen other emotions.

You didn’t need to remember those days anymore, because you were gradually losing yourself in something and someone else. Not in love, not infatuated. Just distracted.

That is, until distraction became warmth.

Somewhere in the middle of this diary, you find words of a lost night. You don’t think of it too often; for a while, you felt too embarrassed and timid to reminisce.

Today, you can’t scan the memory, because it hurts.

This very entry is the worst of them all.

Contains all those damn hours in the gentle drizzle, followed by absolute heat, finishing off with glimmering lights in the sky and cold surfaces beneath you.

You don’t know all of it anymore.

But you know who tip-toed around you that night.

The frat party was never quite a frat party at all.

More a private thing hosted by some popular frat boy. It didn’t make much of a difference — half the campus was there, and the vibes were as fraternity as they could get.

You didn’t spend tonight under your fake starry ceiling as you usually would. This time, you sought an escape.

Honestly, everything was a get away these days, because you preferred running from reality rather than facing it; yet, you never quite landed where you wanted to be.

The hot party air was suffocating at first.

Cheap booze spilled into standard red cups, screeches accompanying the music. Despite the mind-numbing ambiance, you thought that’s where you belonged tonight.

With Eun’s concerned eyes on you round the clock, you kept the smile firmly plastered to your face. At times, you’d squint your eyes shut when the lack of lights tired you too much, but the unwavering noises kept you awake.

It was supposed to be a night you wouldn’t just flee your daily responsibilities and studies you weren’t sure you wanted, but from something else, too.

Someone else.

And that someone had dodged tonight’s party because of you. He hadn’t admitted it explicitly, but you knew he wasn’t one to miss such an event. And in some sense, you were relieved.

It was selfish of you. You felt awful, because he’d never proven to be anything but kind to you. But his absence forced at least an attempt to enjoy tonight. Knowing not too many faces around felt nice.

You weren’t particularly familiar with the frat boy community; you knew barely a handful of names in general. Like Eun’s. Jimin was supposed to be somewhere, too, because he told you he’d come. But you couldn’t see him anywhere.

Then, there was this Choi Yeonjun dude; the host. Very young, but already known around college. Also, senior year hottie Cha Eunwoo.

And ah.

There was another guy you could match a name to.

Anyone who hadn’t heard of him before probably didn’t do much else other than head straight to class and then straight back home.

But you’d seen him in serene libraries before, hiding behind thick art books. And in departments that he had nothing to do with in order to meet his friends; to converse with girls.

You remember that he hadn’t been as popular or noticeable a couple months ago — he shot up like fireworks.

And right now…

He was leaning against the white wall on the other side of the room. Calm and collected, confidently talking to some girl; letting her brush his cheek; closing his eyes with crinkles around them and a tilted smile.

As she reached up to his temples, her intentions seemed genuine. The smile she flashed and the way she spoke — perhaps she was still sober, locked in the illusion that she could actually capture whatever beat behind his chest.

You didn’t want to seem judgemental — but you knew the reputation he fostered.

And even now, he seemed to be enjoying this. Like a puppy being spoiled. 

You would’ve watched a bit longer to find out how things would play out. It was an interesting scene; so transparent and clear. These two seemed to strive towards the same goal; it was written all over their faces.

But then, the sound of absolute crap infiltrated your ears; all of a sudden, shaking your world view.

“Hey!” you reflexively shouted.

The self-proclaimed DJ had spoken into the mic prior — apparently, he was replacing the originally invited song mixer. And he didn’t notice you until you waved. 

You’d probably seen him before, but you couldn’t really name him.

Full pink lips, a full dark mane.

He grabbed the mic with long fingers — where had they gotten a mic from anyway? — and holy, his voice was deep. A little unfitting to his gentle, handsome features.

But god, was his choice terrible.

You lifted your hand a little higher, and he pointed at you, ready to speak some DJ-esque motivational words to you before you yelled, “Go back to the good stuff!”

A couple nods around you affirmed your suggestion, but the guy only granted you one slapdash shrug before he went back to vibing to atrocities. The people who had murmured approval a moment ago resumed to whatever they were doing with a sigh or a headshake.

But there was one voice who didn’t quiet back down — its rise in volume was stark and clear, and your eyes immediately ripped open when you heard Jungkook howl, “Tae, I told you to not play shit!”

When you looked at him, he was cupping his mouth. The girl next to him giggled, but one of Jungkook’s eyebrows was cocked, hands raised as if to say, “Am I always just talking to a wall?”

He disregarded the girl’s laughter and shot you a stare instead; matched the light smile you didn’t know had crept upon your face; raised one shoulder in what you assumed was an apology.

Amused, you lifted the corners of your lips a little further. The warning hadn’t moved Tae at all, but the scene had been, admittedly, fun to initiate and witness. Even though it lasted a mere thirty seconds.

Because a moment later, the girl caught Jungkook’s attention again; her finger moved his head by his chin, her face closer to his — you took a few steps back and walked away.

This wasn’t your territory; you were an uninvited observer who happened to temporarily catch the target’s attention. And the target was in the wild, in a beloved habitat, so all you could do was leave him basking in his joys.

There had to be an activity you could dote on, or a familiar face you could approach. Eun had left with an excuse you hadn’t heard, and now, she was nowhere to be seen. It didn’t take long for you to realise that your search for her would remain fruitless.

And just when you were cottoning to the idea of roaming the party alone, an unexpected form materialised next to you. Like a hallucination, sneakily.

His hand coolly sat inside his jeans pocket; yours lamely stuffing snacks into your mouth — the dichotomy was all too present. Your big eyes ogled at a friendly smile and a tiny nod. You covered your mouth, looking a little longer, and then dropped your gaze again.

Jeon Jungkook was probably just fetching a drink for his gorgeous date. You wouldn’t have to grant him much attention.

But when a minute passed and he still lingered around, possibly unable to choose a delicacy, you looked at him again — as if on cue, just the moment he opened his mouth to speak.

“I’m sorry for the music.”

He shook his hair to the side, leaning in with a radiant smile; you didn’t know why he felt guilty enough to approach you for such a thing, but you were ready to forgive him anyway. Admittedly, it was hard to deny his charms.

Your pupils moved in confusion; with raised shoulders and a cocked eyebrow, you asked, “Why are you sorry?”

“Taehyung,” Jungkook started, a thumb pointing behind him without breaking eye contact, “he’s my best friend.”

You’d forget Taehyung’s name the next morning again; the apology wasn’t necessary and you bet he knew. But your mouth still formed an ‘Ah’, head nodding just a little as you confirmed, “Well. That is a reason to apologise, I guess.”

Registering another nod and light chuckle, you averted your eyes politely and shifted them to the table.

You filled your palm with trail mix before your stare drifted across the room — Eun was still not in your periphery, but you guessed she’d find you soon enough.

Perhaps she was testing you. Getting you out of the shell you’d retorted into in the past days, fearing everything and nothing at once.

Tonight was the first breath of air you got; something about all happenings this summer suffocated you.

The man next to you, albeit still a stranger, seemed to want to provide further distraction.

Because when you whipped your head back into his direction, you found him munching on snacks — still here, smiling at you once more. Was he waiting for something?

“So,” you started; the moment you spoke, big eyes focused on you curiously. Wow. “Where did you leave your girl?”

His face fell. Not in the melancholic way, but you thought you still found insecurity and something not too pleasant in it. He puffed out air, looking over his shoulder and then back to you.

“Should still be where you saw us last. But the room got smaller by the minute,” he said. You understood — even a rich frat boy’s house fills up at some point. “And I’m not in the mood to go back.”

“Oh. Why?”

“She was uhm… saying things I didn’t agree with.”

“Like what?”

You bit your tongue the moment he laughed. Playfully, as though he knew you inside out, he nudged your shoulder, teasing, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” You blinked slowly. “Nothing, really. You wouldn’t care about it.”

He was probably right.

So you digressed.

Hummed, though you were sure he couldn’t hear it; even in this big ass kitchen, the sound of the music reverberated.

You shuffled your feet a little, ready to move on and find your friend. Maybe learn a thing or two about her pals to integrate yourself. You still couldn’t quite say how a law student like Eun knew so many people at all.

Extroverts have it easy.

You reached to the back pocket of your jeans, fishing out your phone and unlocking the screen to give her a call. 

Jungkook, still unmoving, had to be peeking, because he exclaimed an excited vocal, questioning, “What was that?”

A tattooed, lean finger pointed to your device, and you looked down, voicing a timid, “…My phone?”

“No,” he shook his head, suddenly shy for snooping. “Uhm. Your wallpaper.”

“Oh,” you looked down, eyes frozen on the dimming screen before they landed back on him. “Well, just… the night sky with some lyrics. Very basic stuff.”

“What lyrics?”

He seemed genuinely curious. It was sweet — but judging from how he’d left another girl in the other room just a moment ago, you couldn’t quite figure out what his intentions were.

So you pulled up your guard just a little, straightening your stance and covering your mind in some ice to cool it down.

And then, you answered, “You wouldn’t know them.”

But he shrugged, tilting his head, and challenged, “Try me.”

For a moment, you stared.

Then, you cleared your throat, exhaling a breath and lit up your phone again. As you held it into his face for him to read, you saw the sparkle in his eyes for the very first time — the beam of your phone allowed it for just a second as he read.

“You and I were bright, shooting through the sky daily.”

And then, he started nodding, sporting an impressed expression. His body movements were open — eager to engage in conversation, sincerity clear.

He simply said, “Good one.”

To which you squinted your eyes, stuffing your phone back. What did you take it out for again? Didn’t matter — it was locked again.

“Do you really know it or are you just acting like you do?” you asked.

Jungkook’s sudden laugh took you off guard — he wasn’t irritated but amused. His snicker was accompanied by tiny dimples and wrinkles around his huge eyes; the sound was lovely and pure.

And you nearly expected a delightful compliment before he clicked his tongue and said, “Damn. Stuck up, aren’t we?”

Well, fuck.

The way he eyed you, still enjoying your company with those rude words of his — was he the distraction you needed tonight?

He was amusing.

“Damn,” you said back.

“I do know The Neighbourhood,” he argued. He sounded calmer again; his voice dropped deeper. “I may look stupid, but I’m not.”

Internally, it made you laugh. Externally, you kept yourself at bay.

He didn’t look stupid at all, and his humour was on point. You bet that’s how he wrapped all the girls around his inked fingers.

Literally.

“I mean,” you said, unintentionally moving closer to him when someone approached the table. He smelled like soap and lotion. Looked at the vanishing distance in surprise. You moved to the side. “One doesn’t need to be stupid or smart to know a song.”

And suddenly, he chuckled again.

“What?” you asked.

“Goddamnit.”

“...What?”

“Nothing, just. You’re funny. Witty.”

You couldn’t say why he found it funny, but you felt charmed. Ugh… no. That’s how things started, you were sure.

So you were quick to state, “And you’re not my ty—”

Which was a blatant lie.

Jeon Jungkook was everybody’s type. A wandering deity with a Greek God’s body and a face carved in heaven. Splendid rizz game.

“I’m not hitting on you,” he quickly interrupted, right at your tail when you approached the door, “spare me the I have a boyfriend talk.”

You knew where this was going — you weren’t stupid either. Those subtle statements demanded a response, and idiotic enough and two red cups down, you said, “If I did, I wouldn’t be here.”

“What?”

“What what?”

“No, like,” he started. As you halted in your steps, right next to the couch and looking at him, he took a seat on the couch’s arm. “I fully expected you to give me the boyfriend lecture.”

You took a deep breath. No matter where you went, this… reality followed you.

Half frustrated, half tired of it, you shook your head again, looking into the depths of the cup you’d grabbed, and said, “I do not have a boyfriend.”

“Right.”

“Not quite at least.”

You kept adding things. Why?

The stored up misery escaped so easily now — but why with him?

He stared at you with actual attention in his eyes; God, he could feign it well. Even worse when he spoke and you heard the interest in his mild voice, “Quite?”

“I just do not, okay?”

The words didn’t come out rude. Hastily maybe, but not vexed.

But Jungkook’s expressions still changed. The curiosity from before faded bit by bit; realisation dawned on him that you were here for something else tonight and not… whatever you were fleeing from.

Maybe, you thought, he’d been sincere before. Actually socialising and expanding your casual exchanges.

But now that you’d closed the topic once and for all, he dropped the puppy gaze and transformed back into what you thought he was. A beloved presence on campus, always relaxed and always popular.

You saw his peer change in slow motion — baffled when he opened the path to his cocky self again.

And confident and with the tiniest of winks, he said, “Cool. So then… not to hit on you, but,” he lifted a hand, big and masculine, “I’m Jeon Jungkook.”

Jeon Jungkook and the liquor made the house look and feel twice its size.

After wandering around for over half an hour, you thought the hallways and rooms were expanding exponentially — until you passed the same plant you’d definitely seen a while ago. Some by now familiar faces were still roaming around the same place.

But the conversations you began kept shifting; time became relative. Subtle teases and little laughs kept you busy.

“By the way,” you asked. The lights were starting to burn into your eyes. Too neon and painful. “Are you gonna follow me all night?”

Jungkook tsk-ed, comical sass in his expression as he clarified, “I’m not following you, I’m literally walking next to you.” He tilted his head once, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “So rude.”

“Sorry.”

“Besides, you’re not necessarily doing what you were supposed to, either.”

Tired eyes blinked at him, an eyebrow cocking. For a moment, you found yourself lost, but the realisation that you were going to look for Eun dawned on you a mere second later.

In all honesty, you had walked past by her once.

She’d raised both eyebrows when she’d detected him, wearing a mirthful look, and you nodded as a fleeting greeting, but let him blabber on. Kept walking.

You didn’t tell him any of this, though.

“Yeah, well,” you crafted a careful excuse, vaguely gesturing across the badly lit, crowded living room, “easy to get lost here.”

He squinted, eyes flitting across the chattering bodies. You barely heard the hum, but you saw the shrug as he asked, “Is it really?”

“I mean… It might be easier for you since you know almost everyone here.”

“That’s not true.”

“Really?”

Another shrug; softer this time. Blooming lips curved into a pretty smile, and he nodded towards you. Let his eyes scan you head to toe before he finally said, “I don’t know you.”

Hm… True.

Seemed like he didn’t want to keep it that way.

You nodded with tightly pressed lips, averting your gaze and shifting it to the back of the room, out to the backyard. It was one of those semi-rich houses with French windows; you could see the cleanly cut grass and part of the treehouse from here.

“Anything you’d like to know, then?” you finally asked.

“Keep going.”

Jungkook gestured to the staircase in the hallway. You looked around; you guess you’d been blocking the entryway to it. Partygoers gave you a weird look.

You stirred, clearing the traffic jam, and navigated towards the staircase. Jungkook, hot on your trail, answered, “Uhm. Yeah, actually — be honest. Do you know The Neighbourhood from social media? TikTok and shit?”

“God, no,” you immediately defended, secretly outraged, “I’ve known and supported them since high school.”

“Oh.” Now that you were steering towards the first floor and away from the music, you could gradually register his words clearer. “Okay. What else?”

“What else? Like what other music? Uhm… Avatar: The Last Airbender soundtrack.”

He rolled his eyes, rocking a little as you approached the end of the staircase. People floated by you quickly, roaming the entire place.

“Come on,” he replied.

“What? It legitimately counts!”

You still felt the vibrations of the beat. It wasn’t so bad from here; kind of pleasant, fitting the rhythm of your conversation.

Or his laugh when he puffed out air, leading you down the hallway; a couple steps from here, you detected a small balcony. But as you neared the exit, you found it busy; two friends drinking, chatting the night away.

Jungkook halted, pressing against the wall with a glimpse to the ground. He rubbed his eyes; you understood. The hallway was lit a million times better than any room downstairs. Balm for your eyes.

“Alright,” he asked, looking up to you with an inhale, “another trivial question as we wait,” he tilted his head towards the door. “What’s a superpower you’d choose?”

You contemplated on suggesting a walk outside the house, but you knew why he’d possibly led you here — it was quieter. The crowd not as tense.

So instead of muttering the question, you relaxed your spinning head; your heavy eyelids fell a little as you said, “Oh, uh… let me think.” You swallowed, drifting your gaze to the ceiling; and eventually, you challenged, “Tell me yours first. And make it as useless as you can.”

For some odd reason, you were eager to hear his question.

You found yourself wondering about him and his little habits a lot.

Jungkook took a moment to ponder, and then declared with a miniscule hint of sarcasm, “Ah. Never spilling my drink. Knowing every dance move to every song.”

Maybe the alcohol was truly showing its effect, because you burst into simultaneous laughter that forced the strangers’ eyes upon you. From the balcony, they looked at you, chuckling just a little before they turned back.

You covered your mouth with the back of your hand, hearing him ask, “Alright, your turn. What’s your superpower choice? Uselessness is the key.”

“Okay, easy,” you said, shifting up the wall you’d slid down a bit, “I’d choose the superpower of persuasion. Would use it for the greater good, like––”

“That’s not a useless power—”

“––To convince everyone that The Last Airbender soundtrack deserved more recognition.”

“Okay. Way to make it as useless as possible.”

“Soundtrack of the century.”

“Okay. Sure, why not?”

Short pause, but never awkward.

In truth, you found a moment of respite from the chaos underneath your feet. The wall you leaned against was cold against your bare arms and calves, and for the first time tonight, you thought you could think.

Nevermind your foggy brain, and the way his company made reality blur.

You were enjoying yourself.

That is, until Jungkook spoke up again.

“Okay… one more thing, and you can fully tell me to fuck off if you don’t wanna tell.”

You turned to face him, eyes filled with intrigue, mustering a sole, “Hm?”

“You’re… escaping something tonight. Aren’t you?” He took a deep breath, words dangling between you. Your eyes widened ever so slightly, brief surprise flickering in them. “Do you want to vent?”

His probing was delicate, not overly curious. He was being careful, ready for rejection, and you appreciated it, no matter how caught off guard by his perceptive observation.

“What?” you still voiced.

“I don’t think that’s your type of environment, right? Nothing seems to catch your attention for long enough.” He paused again, meeting your gaze intently. He tumbled to the other side, pressing his back against the wall. “Except me. You’re still talking to me.”

There it was — you were sure it was.

That fleeting moment of vulnerability that passed over your face. Not just due to the circumstances but to everything that they evoked, too.

Jungkook wasn’t wrong, and his keen understanding of your inner life surprised you.

Slowly, you let out a soft laugh, just a little fragile as you admitted, “You’re right. I’m escaping the responsibilities of adult life and the upcoming doom of my last college year.”

Yeah… but beneath the surface, there was more.

You didn’t know whether he saw it; you knew you weren’t too drunk yet to decode expressions.

But he only nodded, offering a gentle smile. Told you, “Sometimes that shit does weigh us down. But isn’t it worth it? Don’t you like college?”

“I do like college,” you argued, “I just don’t like the thought of finishing it. Because then you’re deep in that… life thing. You probably understand, don’t you?”

“Yeah, no doubt. I just don’t think of it yet, because I want to like what I do.”

Want to like what I do.

Was that what you were doing to yourself? Making something miserable for yourself that could or could not have ended half as bad as you thought?

Hmm…

“That’s good,” you said.

“I mean,” Jungkook started again. “You’re still young. If you can’t be passionate about what you’re doing, you can look around for something better, you know? Like—”

His shoulder rose, and he clicked his tongue, “You don’t have to go with whatever’s forced upon you, no matter who you are.”

Your eyebrows kissed; you felt a sense of relief the moment the breeze blew through the open door. Two fresh inhales at once.

You were in for surprises all night, it seemed.

“Do you… know who I am?” you wondered; your voice was cautious, intent on not spilling too much.

Which wasn’t necessary after all.

“I told you I’m not stupid.”

Yet, he didn’t mention it. Didn’t care for it, either. It was kind of nice.

A corner of your lips tugged into a little smile, hands folding behind your back as you digressed, “Is there anything else you’d like to know, Jungkook?”

He huffed, shaking his head for a moment; folded his arms as he teased, “You didn’t even answer my question.” He bit the inside of his cheek; seemed amused. A little fascinated. “But okay. Something else then. Do you like games?”

Huh.

“Like what?”

“Mmmh. There’s spin the bottle,” he suggested, albeit immediately taking it back upon taking in your grimace. “Okay, no, but there’s also like… two truths, one lie?”

“Oh, uh—”

“We don’t have to play—”

“No, I…” You sighed, delivering a reassuring smile. He was truly so polite. “I was just thinking, but…”

He was waiting with those big eyes. Shaking the hair off his face with slightly parted lips. Those things — they felt like tiny habits; you wished you’d been sober enough to pinpoint all of them.

You gathered three ideas in your head, and after careful contemplation, you said, “Okay. I have shotgunned a beer in under ten seconds.” He looked impressed. Fun. “I snuck into a music festival without a ticket. And… I prank called an ex once.”

“Shotgunned a beer,” his answer came immediately, no trace of doubt, “I tried that once and it took me over fifteen seconds.”

“Well. You’re wrong, noob,” you answered, delighted by his mock annoyance, “I never called an ex to prank them. That’s disrespectful.”

For a second, he looked embarrassed — and then, he nodded, accompanied by, “And I respect that.”

He shifted against the wall, inhaling a breath with a hiss as he thought. His eyes travelled to the ceiling, and then to the people wandering about. No one was approaching the balcony, because you’d already patiently reserved your spot.

Jungkook squinted his eyes shut, and then released the lips he’d pressed together with a plop. Finally uttered as his fingers counted, “‘Kay uh, I have pulled an all-nighter for a major exam and still aced it. I have performed a belly flop off a diving board—”

“Those are so specific.”

“And, I’ve been part of a flash mob before.”

No clue, and no point in thinking about it. So you guessed, “I’ll say the flash mob one isn’t true. We’ve all pulled an all-nighter before, and the other one was too distinct.”

“Well damn,” Jungkook said, stretching the last word as though you’d solved a century-old riddle. “You’re right. You already know me so well.”

“I could do a quiz show on you, I’m sure.”

He laughed. Whenever he expected you to roll his eyes at him or to dismiss his foolish jokes, you joined his bullshit instead. Sweet.

The boys relaxing outside interrupted your game, finally flooding out. Apparently, there was a third you couldn’t see, and he flinched when you made your way out, almost bumping against you.

You didn’t know who it was, but he seemed to know Jungkook.

Flashed a gummy smile when his eyes moved back and forth between your conversation partner and you. His cheeks were red, but his stance and walk were still stable; high-tolerance drinker.

But a little, teasing “Enjoy yourself,” was still in the interaction as he passed you by.

Walking out into the summer night immediately evoked a sense of serenity. The warm breeze caressed your skin, wafting the scent of blooming flowers towards you. Under the moonlit sky, the world was alive — or at least, the one you were visiting right now.

It was a little louder here again, though the noises came from chatter and conversations rather than music. 

From here, you had a better view at the neighbourhood; and tragically, at the people making out in that children’s treehouse. You laughed.

Leaning over the railing, you inhaled the wind, watching Jungkook follow suit before you said, “Okay, moving on — I’ve never sat on the roof of these… detached houses. I am not a procrastinator… And I’d really like some more of that cheap booze right now.”

He looked at you in disbelief, though charmed enough to chuckle and wonder, “You actually do?”

“That’s on you to find out.”

“I mean, maybe you are sick of wine and champagne.” Well… true. But when he saw bits of your expression fall, his laughter subsided a little, and he added without hesitation, “No, but you might actually mean that. I feel like those are all truths, but… I’ll go with the procrastination one.”

You stomped your feet in light excitement when he guessed wrong, glimmering eyes staring into starry ones. “Nope.”

“No?” His forehead wrinkled; and then, his eyes ripped open. “What, the roof bit?”

You nodded. He asked, “Oh? Wait, what?”

More than two decades, and you’d only seen these things in movies and TV shows. People sharing lunches and thoughts on roof tiles, soaking in the sun, building up to a big, character-developing moment.

No real life occurrence for you.

“Why does it surprise you?” you asked. “Isn’t it dangerous?”

“Yeah, I don’t know, I…” He leaned back, rubbing the nape of his neck. “I’m a country boy.” Interesting. The more you knew. He pointed to the sky. “More stars down there, so we used to do it a lot in the summer. And a friend of mine… she and I, we liked spending nights like this.”

You ignored the pause after the mention of his friend — you wouldn’t have noticed anyway if he hadn’t dropped his gaze to his hands.

“Oh… that sounds nice.”

A nod confirmed your statement, short-lived when he said, “Alright. One more.”

He turned towards you, placing his lower arm onto the railing. His smile was genuine; he looked beautiful like this. Messy hair blowing into his face, covering his eyes until it didn’t and you finally saw—

That.

This man had an entire night sky in his eyes, diamonds sprinkled all over.

So sincere. Maybe that’s what lured them all in; not just his charm.

“Okay,” you more mouthed than said.

“So,” he drew in a breath, licking his lips, “I’m a cat person. I’d rather drive than shotgun. And…”

Once more, he hesitated, bringing back his thinking face, and you used the moment to declare, “These are tough.”

He stalled. You waited; looking at him in anticipation until he smirked, leaning in to nudge your shoulder and utter the most outrageously riveting confession of the night.

Your heart stood still before he’d spoken the last syllable.

“I kinda wanna kiss you right now.”

A fever dream, wasn’t it?

You blanked. You would’ve been lying if you’d said you didn’t think about it tonight.

Obviously not a top priority, but it’d crossed your swaying mind, undoubtedly. Not that you knew too much about him — but he drew you in, like a hook-up with chemistry.

Because that’s what that night seemed to develop into.

All that your throat spit out was a little, “Damn—”

He held up a hand, and then pointed to his chest, innocently stating, “But that’s me. I won’t even touch you without consent.”

The balcony was rotating a little. Either the ground or you.

Probably you.

Because your mind was blurred, too; the air charged with tension. The witty banter and lighthearted remarks weren’t supposed to shift like this; where had all this appetite come from?

“So you’re… confessing one of your truths now?” you asked.

A playful smile tugged at your lips; you angled your head, waiting for a response.

His chest moved inwards, holding the breath before he choked it out in a laugh. Embarrassed with himself, he lifted a shoulder, saying no more than, “Well, shit.”

Ugh, the playful tone.

The thirst pooling in your stomach subsided a little when you saw his eyes sparkle like this. Images of his lips on yours faded just slowly as you found enough courage to tell him, “Not that easy to just snatch a kiss from me.”

A frisky challenge appeared in your eyes and he took it all in patiently as he inquired, “Okay… what would I need to do then?”

If he truly meant his little admission, were you going to let him dive into it? Allow the little adventure, swaying from your original plans for tonight?

Did you have any at all?

Your voice daring and just a teeny tiny bit mischievous, you proposed, “I’ll kiss you if I fail at guessing the lie. If not, then I won’t.”

A smirk danced on Jungkook’s lips as he leaned closer, a surge of excitement mingling with a touch of nerves. Quietly, he mused, “Fifty-fifty chance.”

“Right.”

“You could just…” His voice dropped the moment his eyes did, following the fingers that reached out to your arm but never touched you. “Walk away if it’s too weird.”

“Nah. I’m too invested now.” A grin spread across your voice, hiding the fog his expression elicited. “Kiss me when I lose. And I’m saying that, because I do feel like I’ll win.”

Stupid, usual, drunk blabber.

Too courageous. Too daring.

“I choose,” you tried to focus on your sentences, only mildly distracted by the bite of his lip, “drive rather than shotgun. You probably do like cats.”

And the moment you voiced your option, victorious crinkles formed around his eyes. Doom became crystal clear to you, though you couldn’t help but embrace it with open arms.

And the thought stirred something in you.

“Wrong. I like cats, but I have a dog and I love him to bits,” he remarked, triumphant and teasing.

Holy fuck, he was good at this.

This wasn’t just a game anymore.

He was too exhilarating, his effect too undeniable. And each of his words strengthened that desire in you, luring you in like a seductive melody, enticing you to surrender to its rhythm.

“It’s okay,” was what it entailed, “I know you don’t want to kiss me,” he backed away, and you released the breath, “so I won’t.”

The smirk stayed glued to his face. Unspoken words remained just that, and you let the night evolve, aware yet oblivious to how it’d unfold.

And as he leaned back again, his expression promising, you allowed the spark to keep dancing between you. Patient and curious when you let him know—

“Jeon Jungkook… that’s incredibly thoughtful of you.”

The letters on the paper barely make any sense.

You read through and over them, putting them together to syllables and relating them to the other words in the sentences.

You still remember rushing through your narrative. Half excited and half indignant, you jotted down all you could remember before you wouldn’t. The lines and curves of the alphabet are messy and nowhere near constant.

Exhausted and still feeling remnants of the inebriation, you didn’t have it in you to indulge in poetry or eloquent prose.

You remember it got worse as you proceeded. You remember your words became blurrier, incoherent, your thoughts jumping from one idea of the night to another.

To sentences he said, to things he did.

Only now, it has all escaped your memory — and it seems that your past self didn’t have any particular intention to let your older being recall it all.

Because in the middle of the page, your thoughts finish in a cliffhanger.

I think at the very end, it wasn’t the time we spent in the bedroom that messed me up. It was the goddamn roof.

And that’s it.

When you flip the page, another day has started. Several dates skipped, you talk about a cosy study session in a coffee shop and the faces you saw. About the waitress who praised your hair style and ended up chatting for half an hour.

Little things. You didn’t mention Jungkook again anymore until he joined your class and crept under your skin. Evoked all emotions you barely knew before — a pain in the ass but an introduction to… whatever has developed now.

An alternative to the reality you lived. Never out to fix you but to pull you out of your shell.

Maybe that’s why you ripped out all the pages. Behind the lost memories, you still know the humiliation you faced — but you don’t know about the little dialogues anymore. The things he said and how you perceived them.

Where are those words you scribbled down? 

You look around your room. Your bed and desk are a mess; numerous objects scattered enough to make you uncomfortable. The sun is still high in the sky, but you know it’ll set eventually.

And by then, it’ll be too late.

Maybe you should stuff the diary back to the place you pulled it from. Maybe you should leave this smothering room; that spot on the bed where you sit, sunlight burning up your skin.

You hold your breath when your phone vibrates against your thigh, and let it out when your heart has calmed from the sudden intrusion.

The lit screen is unreadable against the sun; but when you lift it to your face, the message jumps into your face and attacks you like a wild animal. 

Hoseok [6:23PM]: Work was slow today, but I’m not doing the night shift this time!! Hoseok [6:23PM]: So we could grab dinner if you’d like?😁

A kind, genuine question shouldn’t grip your chest like this. The way your heart is leaking and your lungs emptying — when someone really cares for you, that shouldn’t happen.

But when you don’t care back just as much, it still does.

You remember feeling just like this a year ago; at the stupid party with its stupid music and then on the dumb, stupid roof.

An active dodging of one presence and a silent yearning for another.

It makes you sick.

The twisted feeling in your stomach lingers; and when you look at your diary again, you feel it everywhere. In your guts, in your chest, in your throat.

Something burns behind your eyes; tears are missing in action, but you think it’s your melting brain. On fire as you keep overthinking, fingers curling in, legs restless and urging you to stand.

Hoseok’s dinner dates aren’t what you crave, and you know it. Everyone knows it.

He, the cause of all misery, must, too.

And when the ache becomes too poignant, nearly unbearable, you lift yourself off the mattress. You flatten your shirt, pull up your jeans and grab a thin bolero just in case.

If you hurried, you could make it, right?

Rushing down the stairs, you shoot a message back to Hoseok; simple and quick. Hints of regret penetrate the back of your mind, but you shove them away to focus on the situation on hand.

You [6:25PM]: Ahhh I’m at an event today but… tomorrow? x

Your eyes dart to the top of the screen. Numbers sting more than they should; the date looks unreal today.

September 1st.

You’re stupid. And you will reprimand yourself for this later.

But… That's for you to worry about later.

Ripped pages and a fervent night still floating in your mind, you step into your car. It’s hot inside, considering you left it standing on the road after work instead of parking it in the garage.

It’s baffling how lazy heartbreak makes you. How tiny tasks leave a body immobile, forcing it to stick to the bare minimum.

You grip the wheel hard, only now realising how breathless the short way down rendered you. The prospect of seeing him again stirs your insides and your mind. Doesn’t let you start the engine just yet.

In the moments that you use to relax, you imagine how things might go.

You’d enter a climatised, sophisticated building. Walk past art that people worked hard on, admiring every stroke and colour. Would approach the place he invited you to with a wobbly body; ready for whatever pain he’d inflict on you.

But.

Pain.

Isn’t that what has kept you away for all those endless days since you escaped the dark alley?

Pressed against the cold wall, flush against him, hot lips parted and a hotter breath mingling with yours. Only to crush all you’d hoped for. He did this to you.

You begged. And he kept doing it to you.

Do you have the capacity to hurt again?

Your head moves to the side. Slowly peeking over your shoulder, you catch a glimpse of the squared object, wrapped in silver; you don’t have the heart to look at it for too long.

No.

You’re stupid. And you will reprimand yourself for this later.

Perhaps it’s better to not allow such a later at all.

So you remove your trembling hands from the steering wheel. Look down to them; feel your body fall again. Whatever hope you’d gathered evaporates at the idea of the same, damn ache.

And it feels awful. So fucking awful.

The bare minimum. That’s what all of you wants you to do. With the energy gone, you want to become weightless. Want to press against the pain in your chest.

So you walk back in; lay down without attending dinner.

One last glance at your phone before you put it away. Still the damn first of September.

An hour later, notifications light up your phone, but you, pulled in by the same uneasy slumber, won’t see them anymore before the morning breaks in.

Those darn treacherous lips of his had lied to you.

He’d said he wasn’t hitting on you; wanted you to spare him all talk of boyfriends and affection.

Instead he kept talking — kept drinking with you.

Rendering you breathless when he pushed you against the wall of an empty room, shoving his tongue down your throat like it was all he ever knew how to do.

You remember giggles — an ongoing, addictive streak of childish laughter. Coming from his touches and silly words and from how it tickled when he kissed that sensitive spot on your neck.

With a sigh, you put a hand half on his jaw, half on his cheek. His features were sharp; in your drunken state, you wondered if you’d cut yourself if you ran your fingers across them fast enough.

But everything was foggy and insane; it was surprising enough that your legs weren’t giving in under his actions. And when your brain enabled a coherent conversation, you felt even prouder.

“Are we gonna stay here?” you asked.

It must have been the first time tonight that you could hear your own voice properly. The music sounding from downstairs was a lot dimmer here, muffled through the door.

Your head felt a sense of relief that he took very soon again; the tiny but sharp bite on your neck made you gasp in anticipation. He was doing whatever the fuck he wanted to, and you let him.

“I mean,” he whispered; his voice was low and raspy, and its effect shot straight under your skirt, “I can totally take you against the door.”

Which was menacing enough as it was. But the promise to take you at all left you wanting so much fucking more.

You rubbed your legs together as a heavy hand pushed against the small of your back. He lifted his head to look at you, teeth digging into his pink, lower lip. His eyes looked so damn thirsty that you felt your own tongue dry up.

As he stared at you in question, fingers digging into your back, you said, “Nah… door too cold and uncomfortable.”

“‘Kay,” his fingers snuck to the hem of your skirt, only pushing under the material for a brief moment before they retreated, “get to the bed then.”

Your body felt like a feather when he let you go.

As you obliged, taking languid steps to the mattress, your voice was still enthusiastic and you were still bubbly, “It’s so much calmer here.”

You sighed when you dropped onto the bed, not quite noticing that he didn’t deliver an answer. You didn’t have it in you to focus on much at all when you looked at him again — because he was locking the damn door.

And something about this little, harmless gesture was so devilishly sexy.

You looked at the ceiling; then closed your eyes. He was too much to bear; so you continued your zany ramble, “I usually get a headache at such dark and loud places.”

No answer. But you heard steps inching closer.

You had to shoot a glance.

And when you did, he was undoing a few buttons of his shirt, including the ones of his sleeves. Then whipped out his belt and threw it to the side haphazardly, grinning down at your awaiting body.

He was so hot.

“But not today,” you continued, “I was too distracted to get a headache today.”

“Mhmmm.”

The tired glimpses of him walking to you had your heart beating at an unreal rate. You knew he was just as drunk as you, but he was oddly calm for now, as opposed to you. Or maybe, he just acted that way.

When he suddenly dropped onto the bed, knees digging in and a torso and lips hovering above you, your breath hitched.

Fuck.

“Keep talking,” he ordered.

His smile was inviting and on purpose. Big eyes were half-lidded now, wanting and hankering. You were putty in his hands.

“What?” you mumbled.

“You said you were distracted.”

“I… I still am.”

“Yeah,” a smirk lifted his lips; his fingers freed your forehead off a few hair strands. In return, his bangs hung into your face. “Tell me about it.”

You gulped.

Your hands itched to grab him by his collar, but you felt so powerless that your digits didn’t move. A sole kiss wasn’t supposed to fuck you up like this, but you were already a hot mess.

And when you finally gathered a full thought, you said, “I don’t want to.”

“Oh?” He lifted an eyebrow, letting his face drop a little more. “Why?”

“We’ve talked enough.”

“Fair enough,” he responded, laughing, closing his eyes as his breath fell against your shoulder.

The tip of his nose ran a trail along your neck and then down to your clavicles. You didn’t have much to say; mostly because you couldn’t grant language much attention anymore.

Not when he took the strap of your top between his teeth and started pulling it off your shoulder. Baring your skin as his soft voice questioned, “What do you wanna do, then?”

“Mmmmh,” you said, finally managing to sneak your palms onto his broad shoulders. “What can you do?”

Bit by bit, your exhaustion faded. The more he touched you, the more he lit your veins. You felt electrified; sleep was vanishing fast.

“I can do,” he murmured, placing a gentle kiss onto the newly naked skin of your shoulder, “a lot.”

“Like what?”

“You know… I can just show you?” His voice sounded so pretty. So alluring and pleasant to listen to; you wanted it to talk you to sleep. “I dunno what you like, though.”

You could barely remember when exactly he’d bewitched you like this; but you didn’t have it in you to care. Only admitted, “I think I’ll like anything you do.”

He smiled. He had a confident laugh — probably knew how gorgeous he looked.

“We can find out. No worries.” His eyes shifted to your top, and then down to your skirt. “Just need to get all of this off first.”

“Mhmmm. The best part.”

The intimate atmosphere settled in the bedroom; strange to think that just a while ago you were standing on a balcony, playing a game. Seemingly harmless in theory, leading to a locked room in reality.

Which reminded you.

He was so eager to take off your clothes so quickly, but you didn’t consider him the type to rush things. Why the hell would you give in so fast then? Allow him that bit when you were sure that man liked to tease?

So your expressions changed when an idea formed in your mind. A mischievous glimmer flickered in your eyes when you proposed, “What if we played another game?”

And this seemed to grab his attention. 

“I’m all ears.”

Your voice dropped to a husky whisper as you pushed yourself off the bed, waiting for him to sit up before you began outlining the rules, “Strip according to correct guesses. We take turns asking questions, and whenever one guesses correctly, the other removes a piece of clothing.”

The idea ignited a sense of thrill in you; perhaps he felt the same. He sat back against the headboard, curiosity lacing his adjective features, and you went ahead and kneeled next to him, hearing an intrigued, “Sounds easy enough, right?”

“Right. We can set boundaries, if you’d like, but—”

“I do trust you. It sounds… kinda fun.”

You exhaled relieved; more keen by the second. “Yeah. I wanted to say it sounds fun.”

Jungkook thought about it for another moment; then, he straightened his stance, exchanging a knowing glance, crossing his arms as he said, “Let the games begin, then.”

You jubilated.

With the air thick with beguilement, you crawled an inch closer until your knees hit his waist. He immediately put a hand on your bare knee, charging the atmosphere.

For a minute, time stood still, his touch warm and inviting. You’d delivered boldness, acting as a catalyst. Further tension brewed between you, simmering at the surface, ready to be acknowledged and explored some more.

“You were going to hook up with someone tonight,” you said. A statement, not a question.

He paused for a second, staring, slowly blinking at you. Hesitation lingered for a good while before he finally mumbled, “Maybe.”

You cocked an eyebrow. 

Despite the fact that Jeon Jungkook was still a stranger, you’d clicked somehow — you liked to think that he’d had his focus fixated on you tonight. That you weren’t just any fling, at least not before the night ended.

So it was oddly relieving when he noticed your questioning gaze, clicking his tongue before he said, “Well, I thought it could happen… but I wasn’t really planning on it. Because anything’s possible at this place.”

You couldn’t bite back your curiosity, and spat immediately, “Are you hooking up with me, because you considered it possible? Were you gonna do it with just anyone? The girl downstairs—”

“Nah,” he was quick to counter, “not her.”

Right.

You believed him with a shrug, licking your lip; watched his gaze follow. He moved closer just a little; as his hazy doe eyes moved back to yours, you knew he was struggling as much as you.

So you fuelled the fire, suggesting, “So I’m special tonight, is my guess. You want me a little more than anyone else.”

He pushed forward — the sudden movement transported his lips so unbearably close to yours, and you flinched. He fumbled with something, and only when you peeked to the left, did you see him taking off a damn sock.

Then, he leaned back again, relaxed when he repeated the statement from earlier, “You’re escaping something tonight.”

Well damn. He didn’t need to go so hard right from the start.

You rolled your eyes, pushing his body further back. Putting a gap between him and you, you crossed your arms over your torso, gripping the hem of your top to slip it off swiftly.

Which seemed to baffle him. The dark red Fenty bra caught his attention — and his breath.

And all he could mutter was a weak, little, “Wow. Going all in.”

“Not yet,” you argued, shaking your head. “But I’m also just trying to encourage you to do the same.”

“Right…”

You cleared your throat, rubbing his dark grey, black shirt between your fingertips. “Your favourite colour is black.”

“Hmmm.” He thought for a moment. And then imitated his action from before, once more eliciting a gasp out of you when he took off the other sock. “One of my favourite colours, so I’ll take it.”

“You’re a coward for this.”

Fucking socks.

Laughing in mock, you ran a finger down his leg. To his knee and then up to his hip again. Only barely missing the bulge very slowly forming under the dark pants.

Breath escaped through his teeth; it seemed that he was a fan of such teasing, because his eyes sparkled.

And then, your brave mind formed this brilliant, easy yet effective idea.

You were already so far gone — taking it a step further wouldn’t be awkward at this point. So you shook your head in disbelief, looking at his feet and then at the fully clothed body.

And the moment after, you lifted your body and straddled him.

Hah.

There it was.

The restrained breath and the clenched fists. The suddenly open mouth and wide eyes; you could play his game, too.

Before he could speak, you sighed at the palpable beauty growing underneath you, remarking a sweet, “What now? Still gonna take it slow?”

“I… dunno,” he said, “make me do it differently.”

You moved your hips over his dick just a little. The movement was subtle but did what it needed to; the tiny moan he voiced was too fucking beautiful to regret and the bulge, while faint, was definitely there.

You loved this a little too much.

With a strained, nearly hoarse voice, he spoke, “You’re a 2000s hit girl. You uh— you don’t like the shit that comes out today.”

His speech kept breaking, and you felt beyond proud of it. If you managed to make Jeon Jungkook stutter even once today, you’d bestow a badass title upon yourself—

“Wrong,” you said with a confident smile; for now, he wasn’t getting what he needed. “I’m a Frankie Valli girl.”

“That’s so hot of you,” Jungkook said. He lifted a finger to your bra, hooking it into the space that connected both cups. Pulled a little. “But. Just fucking take something off, please?”

You grabbed his wrist, removing it from your body. “That’d be cheating.”

“I’ll take off my jeans if you do the same with your skirt…?”

Fuck.

If Jungkook hadn’t been so stubborn with his control, you knew you could’ve made him falter beneath you. Something about him suggested that he was very well able to become a begging mess.

But not today.

Today, you were giving in.

You wetted your lips, clenching your jaw, and then finally said, “...Alright.”

The process of pulling down your skirt was a hassle. You basically pushed your tits into his face as he attempted to kick off his jeans, constantly distracted and letting you know that he was.

He missed your touch as you threw your skirt aside and only breathed out in relief when you found your way back onto his lap.

It felt good, feeling his bare legs against your ass. To diminish the hurdle that his jeans were. To feel his erection pressing into your dampening panties, hard and firm and ego-boosting under you.

You bit back how amazing it felt, because you knew you’d be spilling praises shamelessly all too soon. Somehow, you were sure he’d make you do it — so for now, you kept the craze to yourself.

He, however, didn’t.

“My God,” he whispered. A warm palm brushed along your sides and across your back. Toyed with the hook of your wine red panties before it dropped to the curve of your ass. “You look so good. How did you know I liked this colour?”

Lifting the shoulder he pulled the strap down from, you joked, “I asked around campus.”

To which the roaming hand dug underneath your panties, pulling out a tiny moan as he left crescent moons in your flesh. Soon, his hand was gone again, and he nodded towards you, saying, “Look at you…”

“…What?”

“You’re a goddamn tease, and you don’t even need to think about it.” His hips lifted, pressing against your cunt. “You’re so fucking sexy… you know?”

You didn’t; but it wasn’t bad hearing it out loud. Feigning all poise, you answered, “Business student confidence.”

“Uh-huh. Some of y’all are so stuck up, but… you’re cool. Gotta be good to you tonight.”

You scoffed, affected by his length — were you truly ready to have him ram it into you? Because he felt… huge.

“You…” you began, choking on that word before swallowing the clump and starting anew. “You could just fuck me and leave.”

But he, adamant and eager to stick to his plan, shook his head immediately. Hair flew into his face as he answered, “Nah. I need to leave a good impression.”

What a statement.

Was there a doubt about it anyway? If he’d fucked you and left, you might’ve remembered, too.

But you weren’t going to decline the offer, so you simply challenged, “Do it.”

“Right. Fuck the stripping then.” 

Jeon Jungkook was a beast ready to devour you. He showed early signs of his insatiability when he kissed you first — and now, he still kept proving his point when a harsh hand cupped one of your tits.

He didn’t unhook the lingerie just yet; instead, he tugged the material over your breasts, letting it settle it under them. The change in temperature made your nipples perk, and judging from how he looked at them, he noticed, too.

Because a second later, his mouth hung open; his breathing was stagnant and infuriatingly hot. Lustful and insane, he kept staring at the pebbles, rounding the tip of his finger around a nipple as he said, “You’re full of surprises.”

Your eyebrows furrowed — as far as you were aware, your desires lay in front of him like an open book. 

“How so?” you asked.

“Just. Whenever I think you can’t get prettier—”

Slowly drawn to you, his eyelids dropped. Your hands grazed his naked torso until they reached his jaw, and you cupped his face the moment plush lips wrapped around your nub.

Sensitive.

A wet, burning hot tongue snuck its way through, the tip of it rounding your nipple. When you cracked your eyes open and looked down, inhaling the scent of his hair, his eyes were shut comfortably.

The arched upper lip looked pretty from here; his mouth wrapped around your tit so gorgeously. No matter what he was going to do with and to you tonight, you already knew he’d look stunning doing it.

And you, while driven by the sound he voiced against your breast and the thrown-back head, couldn’t help but feel self-aware. This was the first time you were seeing Jungkook naked; and the first time vice versa.

For a man who’d bared enough pretty women before, were you good enough? Or did he not care, drowning in desire and led by the hardness of his length?

Why were you always like this?

“I’m…” you breathed, tilting your head. “I’m a little insecure.”

Jungkook’s teeth captured your nipple ever-so-lightly, pulling just a bit — then, he sucked one more time before he let go with a plop. He shook the hair off his face, and then asked, “You? You don’t seem insecure at all.”

“That’s what you see,” you said, ignoring the way his breath hit the wetness on your tits. “I have weaknesses, too.”

“Oh… well. Like what?”

“Like. I’m insecure about my boobs.”

He shot a stare down. Analysed them, taking them in — probably the first time properly since he’d pulled that damn bra down. It worried you; was he still seeing something he liked?

Maybe.

Because confused, he wondered, “Why?”

You shrugged your shoulders. And his interest piqued, his voice changed, a little more inquisitive and sober now when he asked, “Has anyone ever said anything bad about them?”

“Well,” you took in the genuinity in his eyes. Starry and sincerely curious; his touch around your waist was gentle. “No.”

Your response didn’t seem to surprise him. Much like he didn’t expect any other answer; at least, that’s what the slow nod, accompanied by a stretched hum, suggested.

“Good,” he said, putting a hand under one of your tits, flush against your ribs, “because… you’re beautiful head to toe.”

This was a fling, you told yourself, but you moved farther and farther from that belief — especially with those praises he showered you in. And the click you’d previously felt, the budding connection…

It was a fling, but boosting your ego, you hoped he was affected by it, too.

What was superior to a hook-up you would remember? One where the other person exuded and demanded respect and trust?

“Thank you,” you told him. A daring finger travelled to his jaw, tracing the sharp line; you’d wanted to touch it all night, and now you couldn’t stop. “You’re pretty, too.”

Slowly, he pulled you closer, wet nipples touching his toned pecs until you were flush against him. Warm… he was so warm.

“Yeah?” he whispered.

You smelled the alcohol in his breath, only half as hypnotising and intoxicating as him. Breathing in sharply, your body shivered as you choked out a weak, “Yeah…”

And a moment later, he was kissing you.

Deeper this time, eating you whole. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, your own rising; you didn’t need to see the goosebumps to know they were very much present.

This… he… felt too good.

He put his palm on the back of your head, messing up and knotting your hair and angled your face to dive in harder. You could barely breathe with him so close to you.

His torso pressed against you; it felt as though he was squishing your lungs. And this tongue of his — rolling around yours. Lips enclosed yours and made oxygen a foreign concept.

And he only pulled back when you whimpered unintentionally, nails deeper in his skin. As he looked at you, you were long out of it — and it amused him. Made him laugh as he asked, “What’s wrong?”

Nothing. You didn’t think anything of it felt even remotely wrong.

You answered, “You’re just… such a good kisser.”

“Oh,” he voiced, suddenly all confident when you nodded hastily, still drunk and horny. “Oh?”

“I’m serious. How much practice have you had?”

Jungkook halted for a while. Not to think, you assumed — but his expressions changed. Like he hadn’t planned on gaining practice, and now your question was catching him off guard.

And after a while, he finally said, “Some.”

Not that you could dissect this odd behaviour of his. All you knew was that you wanted those lips back on you — so you led your hand to the nape of his neck, tugging him in as you plead, “I… wanna keep going.”

Spinning just a little, his eyes slid down from your gaze, already parting his mouth. But when the softness of your lips barely touched his, he reclined a little yet enough to dodge your kiss.

“Now wait,” he mumbled, changing back to a smirk. At this point you wondered whether he did it on full purpose. “If you really like it so much, I… can’t just give it to you so easily.”

What.

“Why?”

“Because you’re amazing to look at.” One of his tattooed fingers drifted to your chin and flicked it. “So hungry for more.”

“Jungkook—”

“And you’re an amazing kisser, too,” he said as smugly as an inebriated man could, delighted by your sudden pout, “so it’s not just hard for you.”

“Jungkook,” you emphasised, hissing in impatience, grinding against his erection, “take off that damn underwear.”

“Then guess something correctly about me.”

“Right.” You groaned in frustration, lifting the hand from the nape of his neck to his hair, pulling in slight irritation. With gritted teeth, you spat, “You want me. You want to fucking flip me around like some damn pancake. You want to fold me in half, don’t you?”

In truth, things you wanted. In theory, things you hoped he desired just as much.

“Want to pin my wrists to the bed and pound and fuck me into another universe until you’ve left a dent under me. To bruise my skin and leave scratches deep enough for me to feel tomorrow and… I fucking promise I can give you even more than that.”

Silence.

He stared at you, holding a breath. The sheer disbelief in his eyes satisfied you; the lack of words was soon made up by the twitching package underneath your folds. 

Gulping and unblinking, he ogled at you like you’d handed Area51’s secrets to him; and then, half a minute later, he finally said, “Fucking hell.”

“Wha—”

“That was fucking unfair.”

This made you smile. For once, you were certain you had the same power over him as he did over you.

“C’mon,” you said, once more rolling your hips over his length. A delicious grunt left his lips. “Wanna know what you’re hiding in there.”

He puffed out a breath, kissing his teeth. “Something interesting. You might like it.”

“You’re…” You rolled your eyes, but immediately stopped. It made you dizzy. “So full of yourself.”

“I mean…”

“Underwear. Please.”

It took some begging and a throw of puppy eyes, but this time, he obliged. Chuckled a bit and then patted your thigh, signalling you to get off of him to ease the process.

And once you did, you waited. For ages, it seemed.

Because those veiny hands were as teasing as they were skilled. Pulled down the Calvins torturously slowly.

But when he did… oh, boy…

He was big. Incredibly so.

You felt your heart in your pussy.

“I’m not full of myself, by the way,” he said. “I’ll ask you again in fifteen-ish minutes. Tell me I was wrong.”

You can’t remember anymore, but you’re sure you sat there with your tongue out. Eyes big, drooling, leaning forwards with tits pressed between your arms. Your body was a mess, and he hadn’t done anything much to it yet.

You wanted him to. ASAP.

“Ah,” you voiced, only reluctantly ripping your gaze off that glorious cock to fixate it on his eyes. “So you do want to fuck me for real.”

“Baby,” he paused. Gave his dick a stroke as he pushed towards you, sneaking a hand to your waist. “I won’t leave a piece of your body intact.”

Chills everywhere. The current shot straight down to your dribbling cunt.

You breathed a singular, “Okay.”

And a moment later, you were in his grip.

The fingers previously wrapped around his shaft pressed against your back, throwing you onto the bed in one swift motion. He positioned himself immediately, dropping low to pull your legs apart and lick above your panties just once.

He was ruining them. Fuck.

And… were tongues always so wet? Or was that just you?

Because the panties stuck to your poor pussy like they were fusing with it. And the pad of his thumb suddenly dipping between your clothed folds didn’t help.

“Take them off!” you commanded, so breathy that it was high-key embarrassing.

Your frustration didn’t deter him in the slightest; if anything at all, you thought you saw that dangerous glimmer brighten in his eyes.

He nodded towards the garment, chin so close that it grazed your covered clit. You flinched, though distracted by the absolutely ruthless demand he uttered, “You do it.”

“Why?!”

His tone and expression were cheesy; you were so done with him. “Wanna see you struggle.”

What an ass.

Intentionally, you rolled your hip, shoving your damp pussy into his face before he backed away with a laugh. He allowed you a moment to pull back your legs and stretch them to the ceiling, stripping off the thin barrier once and for all.

It rolled along your legs, and you already knew you’d be having a gloriously horrible time fixing it and putting it on again.

Whatever.

You stored this thoughts for after Jeon Jungkook had railed you to the moon. All good.

He waited for you with his head propped up, fists digging into his cheeks playfully. The Joker–esque smile made you want to wipe it off his face, ideas clear in your head.

Or maybe it wasn’t the smile. Maybe you just wanted to sit on his face.

“Okay,” he said once your legs dropped again, sniffling once before he crawled closer. You wished you could’ve seen how his cock twitched, but he had it sandwiched between his body and the mattress. He gripped your thighs, and then said, “You’re already shaking.”

Your face warmed. You pushed your head into the pillow, shifting comfortably as you positioned your legs on each side of his head. Closing your eyes, you shrugged, shoving all visible timidity away.

“Felt good,” you said.

“I licked you just once. Over those pretty, little panties, too.”

Did he ever shut up?

“So what.” You moved further down the bed, breathing in when his fingers touched your waist, and ordered, “Give me more. Please.”

You heard a chuckle, again.

“Make a mess for me, ‘kay?”

You felt his presence closing in, his hunger evident in the way he licked his lips. Nimble fingers pushed his hair back, but it fell back into his face, teasing your clit along with his nose.

With a tantalising roll of his hips, he matched your desire, grinding into the bed. His perfect ass, a tapered waist and strong shoulders filled your view. Hands pushed your legs apart, driven by a clear purpose.

Your brain was functioning on its last cell — you couldn’t say much more than a hazy, “Not messy enough yet?”

“Far from it.”

Slowly, he kissed your inner thigh, travelling close to your knee and then up again. The pecks were soft, accompanied by the gentlest bites; never too rough. He blew wherever he nibbled; and then repeated the process.

His lips felt like the flutter of butterfly wings against your skin; so tender and sweet. Though you were sure the delicate manner wouldn’t last too long.

You sighed constantly.

“So far from it,” he repeated close to your pussy, brushing along the junction that connected your leg with the rest of your body. “You’ll be twisting soon, I promise you that.”

“Ah… huh—”

Senseless sounds escaped you as he kept his pace slow. Kitten licks soon circled your pussy before the tip of his tongue tasted the dripping arousal between your folds. He used the gesture to part them — that was all.

Because he soon moved to the bottom of your cunt, exhaling against the dampness. You attempted to force your eyes open, but never quite succeeded — you wanted to see him, but you wanted to feel him just a little more.

“All of you is so pretty to look at,” he praised, and you blinked slowly. “Like, genitals are whatever, right? But you’re so pretty.”

What the fuck was he even saying?

No matter.

You’d take the compliment.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, and he chuckled at your vulnerable voice.

You felt the snicker against you when he dropped his wide tongue and flattened it. Started at the bottom where he’d settled, collecting extra saliva that soon flowed down your pussy when he finally moved up.

The touch was expected, but you held your breath. He was soft yet firm against you, and so, so wet. 

You pressed your lips into a line, muffling a moan when he stopped right below your clit. The base of his tongue kept applying pressure, and you literally felt your pussy clench.

He removed his mouth for a moment, patting your sides as he said, “Good. Stay like that for me.” You assumed he meant your lack of defiance; but you were on the edge, nearly closing your legs around his head. “Will make you see heaven, alright?”

“Or hell, really.”

His laughter was constant. You didn’t think you were that hilarious, but his humour aligned with yours. Perhaps, however, you were just still too inebriated and your humour cracked.

But Jungkook, you’d decided, was cool for now.

Especially when he repeated his action. He didn’t curl up or flick his tongue; just licked, never applied more pressure than necessary, because this fucking man knew it didn’t equal more intensity.

He looked up at some point, gauging your reaction, only letting his eyelids flutter shut when you delivered the sound he’d awaited. Jungkook was sure you felt the smile that emerged — it was hard to hide his pride. 

To realise how your fast breathing, clutching of sheets and heavy rise and fall of tits was his doing.

You were too sweet, too awesome, too pretty to not feel proud.

And you were so responsive — he liked listening to your body.

Which you noticed immediately; he was taking in every movement and sound. Actually did. Responded to them, got faster when you reacted, slowed down when you whispered little Nos.

And then, reaching the peak of consent mountain, he asked, “Does this work for you?”

Your nod was immediate, words tumbling out, “Keep going.”

Only, he didn’t quite keep going as you expected — just as your orgasm built up, your exclamations intensifying, he stopped. Rendering you hyper-sensitive.

Nice tactic. Guess that’s what he wanted — to flood you with more craze until he was ready to give you what you needed.

Instead of continuation, his mouth formed a small ‘O’, just enough to enclose your clit. Wet, shiny lips wrapped around the nub and started sucking gently, the rhythm pleasant and constant.

Then, he held his mouth there, tongue licking your clit, like a massage. He was never harsh like you were used to — men had, to your discomfort, even used teeth on your clit before.

Not Jungkook, though.

He was as vocal as you, sending vibrations to your pussy, groaning and moaning expletives as he sweetly confirmed your comfort. All accompanied by dangerous gestures — a pinch of your folds, raising your clit, licking from side to side.

And a minute or two later, he pushed two fingers into you; so effortlessly, so smoothly as he said, “Holy fuck. No friction at all.”

Between the mess he’d predicted, you tittered.

“Are you… this hard, too?”

“God,” he breathed; you felt the shake of his head against your leaking sex, “I’m the hardest I’ve ever been.”

“As if.”

“What?”

The surprise in his voice was funny; filled you with confidence, because he seemed to mean it.

You answered, “You’re good at this. This talk thing and… everything.”

“Thanks. But I’m actually the hardest—” His fingers fucked into you once, interrupting his words to hear you moan, “I’ve ever been. Fuck.” More pumps, not hard or long, but pressing against your walnutty spot diligently. “Shit… come for me.”

And you did.

Hard.

Your legs trembled, your lower body drowning in chaos. Your movements were unsteady, but he held you down, aiding you through the progress until—

The snapped coil vanished and the earth-shaking, mind blowing orgasm subsided.

The stars you saw were real — he’d actually caused his very own Big Bang behind your eyes and created a new universe.

Holy fuck.

“Oh, holy fuck,” you repeated, sensitive as hell, brushing quivering fingers along wet thighs.

Jungkook’s cheek was pressed against your leg, and he kept moving to kiss your flesh, rubbing your outer thighs, massaging them gently. He was taking care of you thoroughly — he didn’t come to play for three minutes and then leave.

“Good?” you heard his voice ask.

“Good,” you confirmed, nodding slowly. You were still in your post-frenzy haze, and it truly felt like it would never leave. “Very. What now?”

“Gonna wait a couple seconds until you’re ready to move on. In the meantime,” he moved his body up along yours, leaving a kiss here and there, “wanna know what I had the pleasure to taste?”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you wrapped weak arms around his neck, pulling him in almost aggressively as his lips crashed against yours.

Half his body weight fell onto yours, but you didn’t care. Not with this strange, unfamiliar taste against your tongue, sucking it up eagerly. Or the cock, still rock hard, pressing against your stomach.

You wanted him so bad, it hurt. Everywhere.

As he parted, the touch of his hand contradicted the wild kiss — soft on your cheek, feeling your heat, his voice intriguing as he asked, “Ready then?”

“Mhm,” you voiced, “yes, please.”

One more butterfly kiss and an intrigued smile, and he moved away. The missing warmth left your body shivering, and you wrapped your arms around your body, pushing your tits together.

In comfort, your hand settled over your mounds, and you watched as he drew back the jeans half hanging off the bed. He fished out his wallet — from where you lay, you could make out a small murmur. Something about how he was lucky he didn’t lose it.

It made you smile.

And a moment later, he was sneaking back to you again, waving a condom between his fore and middle finger to show it to you. You couldn’t see the size description on it, but… you could imagine.

With his teeth, he ripped it open, moving towards you to replace your touch on your tits. A finger moved around the pebble, hardening it until it stood tall and perky enough for him to swoon.

But… that was also the very moment your drunk insanity hit the hardest.

Whatever triggered it, you still can barely think about it today.

Because a miniscule moment later, you complained, “One of my tits is bigger than the other.”

Which didn’t deter Jungkook; today, you wonder about it — back then, you barely registered his lack of care, his admiration for both sides as he said, “Oh yeah? Let’s see.”

“Promise you won’t find it weird once you notice.”

“I bet I barely will.”

He dropped low to kiss your flesh, fiddling with the nipples, but you pushed his shoulders away again. A confused expression danced across his features, and you shot back a timid stare as you worried, “No, I’m serious. It is strange.”

“No, it’s not. They’re perfectly gorgeous.”

“You… think?”

What a thing to be concerned about. You reached peak awkwardness that night, you’re sure — but he still stuck around.

“Mhmmm,” he voiced.

“Okay, but touch them lik—”

You screeched when he bit into your nub, planting you firmer against the bed. A final, oddly sexy order fell off his tongue, his teeth gritted when he said, “Enough. Shut up.”

And what better way to eliminate all your unspoken words than to start with a delicate brush of his mouth against the expanse of your neck?

There was something about the way his lips felt — taken care of, hydrated, pillowy soft and plush. Did every girl he touched feel that strange tingling sensation, the shiver down her spine?

As he explored the contours of your neck, pressing in, his hands wandered down. You closed your arms around him, pulling him closer, breathing a hushed, “Jungkook?”

No answer yet.

Instead, his fingers purposely grazed down your body before he wrapped them around the length poking your belly button. Distracted eyes met yours for a moment, as if in question, half-lidded when he started stroking the thick shaft.

The swollen lips parted, and you saw his tongue curling in briefly before it peeked out, wetting the dry, rosy pout. His head descended back to your neck, the kisses harder this time. Accompanied by damp smooches and a hot breath.

The tender nips sent waves of sensation through your body.

“Jungkook,” you murmured again.

He groaned against your skin, but looked up properly this time, still pumping himself harder than he already was as he hummed, “Hm?”

“Let me suck your dick,” you finally voiced. “I’ll fucking show you bits of your own medici—”

An innermost wish, lingering in the back of your mind the entire night. You wanted to return what he’d provided. A world-shattering, limb-numbing orgasm; all of him in your throat, thick and salty.

But when you attempted to sit up, he pushed you back again, dick-hand between your clavicles as he said, “Stay like this. You can use that sweet mouth of yours later.”

God. He made those cringey sex talks hot, too.

Your pulse quickened; intensifying a thousandfold when he lifted himself to his knees, looking down with shallow breaths to roll the rubber over his cock.

It twitched gorgeously. So curved, smooth; the colour of its tip mouthwatering.

You wanted him. You wanted him. You wanted him.

When he covered his palm in spit, spreading the saliva over his dick, you reached out. A silent offer to help, but it seemed he was finally done.

Because he grabbed your wrist momentarily, returning to his position over you and pushed one of your legs back. Angling it until your pussy spread for him.

Eyes closed, he came back for another messy kiss, and then said, “I’ll start slow… you tell me if it hurts, okay?”

Did it usually? You could imagine. With the package he carried around, you could truly imagine.

You nodded slowly, grabbing onto his shoulders, already breathless in anticipation.

“I will,” you promised.

“Okay.” He inhaled. Looked down between your bodies again, leading his cock to your entrance to poke it a couple times. Rubbing the tip between your folds. Then again, “Okay…”

The curve slid up to your clit and back down one more time, and a second later, finally—

The head slipped in slowly. Split you and turned the feeling of emptiness into something entirely else within a second.

You hissed, overwhelmed by the change in your body, and he immediately asked, “All good?”

“This is gonna be… you are so—”

A proud smile danced around his lips; they twitched in amusement, but he cleared his throat. Looked at you with a nod and assured again, “We’ll start slow. Don’t forget to speak up… yeah? Lemme know.”

“Mhmmm…”

Your mewls grew in pitch when he pushed further in, taking in your gasps until he was nearly sheathed inside you. And only when you realised he still had a bit to go, did you say, “Wait—”

“Hm? Why?”

He looked concerned and out of it, but listened immediately. The kissing eyebrows indicated genuine care; though the expression changed the moment you said, “I can’t breathe.”

Of all the reasons you’d told him to stop, that’s the last he expected. A laugh tumbled out, breathy and broken.

“See?” he said. “That’s why I didn’t want you to suck me off just yet. You look so done.”

“Shut up.”

He moved — shoved the dick in more. Fuck, you felt every ridge, despite the skin-thin condom. Felt him so deep, you could faint.

Your eyes rolled back, closing slowly as you heard him command, “Take a deep breath for me.”

You did.

“And breathe out.”

You did.

He closed the gap between your lips some more, bottoming out, and wiped the stray hair out of your heated face. His member jerked inside you, shifting, and it made your eyebrows twitch.

The whimper jumped out unintentionally; you felt self-conscious about it.

Not that he minded. 

Quite the opposite.

In the heat of the moment, he let his forehead fall onto your shoulder, moving down to your tits as he muttered a single, “Fuuuck.”

“What happened?”

“That sound you just made,” he whispered. His breaths against your chest were tempting; the blood-filled cock inside you too still. “My God. So sweet… but so hot. Wanna ruin you so bad.”

“Can’t more than you already did, but… please still do—”

“Are you okay now?”

You gulped. You were. You were longing — he couldn’t see that in your eyes? In the tremble of your hands, laying on his back?

“I am,” you promised, “won’t be more prepared than I am now… Please.”

You held onto the broad back; he was so freaking warm. And so naked.

“So I can move?” he asked.

“Please. Fuck, please do.”

And when he did…

You thought you felt him poking your guts. You knew that anatomically, that was a thing of impossibility.

But he was huge. Heavy. A big fat cock pushing into you in missionary, a hand parting your legs more and pressing them into the mattress.

With your eyes rolled towards the back of your head, you dug your nails into his torso; a little more insane with each rhythmic, punctuated thrust.

He reached so far inside you, fucking seriously—

And those words he uttered. The little praises. The tiny, “You’re so fucking pretty.”

Hell…

The alcohol and his body heightened your senses — you couldn’t remember a single affair from your past as rapturous as this one.

The way he provided reprieve, sliding in and out of the slippery smooth entrance. The way his pelvis brushed along your engorged clit. The way he moved swiftly, controlled, applying pressure at the perfect spots…

For someone who could barely think, you registered so many bodily sensations, the little details, how he felt and made you feel. Lighting up your nerves.

Your elevated breathing made your words more incomprehensible when you asked, “Can you go a bit faster? Ple—”

“Wait.” Reaching up, he grabbed one of the two pillows, a hand sneaking under your ass. “Lift.” You did, allowing him to place the cushion under your butt with a grunt. “Hold onto me, baby.”

The new nickname triggered another rush of blood through your body; your muscles tensed when he dug in deeper. Propelled into you harder. Still rhythmic, not jackhammering into you yet, but clearly faster.

And it was enough for you to call out his name.

Which set off another cascade of pleasurable phenomena; gentle tingling to waves of desire. Breathing a foreign concept when he pulled your mouth apart with a thumb, settling his lips between yours.

Tongues played a new game, lips moving to your jaw, back to your mouth; kissing you hard before they dropped to your tits. Suckling at your nipples, toying with oversensitivity.

Pushing you close to the edge as he separated your pussy folds more, dragging every protruding vein of his cock along your aching, lubricated walls.

Jungkook, you had concluded, was a Monster with a capital M. When you moaned for the thousandth time, he glanced at you — and you swore he looked like he wanted to bury his claws into your flesh. To rip you apart.

And you let him.

As your bodies’ movements synchronised, endorphins eliciting unmatched euphoria, half his weight dropped onto yours. His scent engulfed you, and you wrapped your legs around him, up his waist until you whimpered and whined.

“I’m…” he started; he was so hot against you. Bodies covered in sweat. “I love that so much. Those… fucking sounds.”

“Kook,” you murmured — no clue where the nickname had emerged from. But he seemed to like it; buried his fingers in your hair. “Are you getting tired?”

“I’m okay.”

“Can I—”

“You’re okay — you don’t… I mean, you don’t need t— fuck—”

Broken words and a steady rhythm. He felt so fucking good. Sounded even better. Deep sometimes, desperate and high other times.

“I want to,” you said, vocalisation increasing. “Let me do something.”

“What do you wanna do?” he asked.

Okay, another attempt.

“Wanna suck your dick.” His pounding calmed down. You’d struck a nerve. “And… want to come. And—”

“And?”

“Wanna be your slut until you come, too.”

Wait. What?

Where did that come from?

Your face heated up, cheeks and neck burning. Oh, he was gonna laugh at you; after all the bickering tonight, you could imagine that he would—

“Oh, babe…” is what he, however, babbled; dizzy beyond measure.

You had a similar hurricane whirling in your head.

“What?” you wondered.

“Didn’t think I’d find you calling yourself that so hot.” He pushed into you once more. Dragged his cock out and then in again languidly. “My slut, huh?” And then, he was gone. Your pussy pulsated. “Get the fuck up.”

You tried.

Your limbs were wobbly, struggling on the soft surface. And he kneeled over you, heaving his golden chest in exhaustion. His dick hung off his body, the condom drenched; thighs muscular and firm as he watched you fight your own feeble legs.

“C’mon,” he then said, growing impatient.

He grabbed you by your elbow, wrapping his fingers around your arm and gently tugged you up to your knees until you were facing him. Your nipples skimmed his sculpted pecs, one of his palms suddenly under your jaw, even if only for a second.

The touch affected you. Like he wasn’t done or bored yet; like he wanted more.

But—

“You don’t happen to have another condom on you?” he whispered, freeing your shoulders off your hair. He did it a lot, playing with your tresses.

Now that you were sitting up, not wrecked by him inside out, your head cleared a little. But it spun, too — you noticed for the first time in a while how slowly you were sobering up, and how blurred the world still was.

He held you; but you were swaying.

So his words felt like a fever dream to you — a strange question amidst all the mess.

“What?” you said, placing your hands on his stomach for support. “I don’t… I didn’t plan on hooking up with anyone.”

Unlike him.

“Well…”

“But I’m on the pill.”

“Oh.” He blinked. Looked at you, hands wandering to your back. He moved closer, the inches fading between you; and incredibly close to your face, he said, “Then we could just go ahead raw. Actually feel each other, right…?”

He pecked the apple of your cheek, gently but menacingly. Danger hiding in plain sight, yet disguised as innocence.

You didn’t answer. Kept staring until he kissed your jaw. Closed your eyes.

“Hm?” he voiced in question, but you didn’t quite know what to say — agreeing would’ve been stupid, but you didn’t want to stop. Plus, you were drunk and stupid.

In hindsight, you would’ve declined anyway; but when he chuckled, shaking his head, you were still relieved. Happy when he said, “I’m kidding.” He moved away, searching his jeans again. They were on the floor now. “I wouldn’t do this to a first-time-fling.”

First time?

Not like you were going to meet again. You were almost fully certain tonight was an exception. Odds bringing you together and saving you from this temporary misery.

In a while, you’d start your new semester and drown in new worries. This party would mean nothing anymore.

“Yeah,” you said.

“I should have another.” He dug into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out his wallet and yet another condom. How many did he store there? “Last one. We’re lucky.” Oh. Okay.

He ripped off the soaked rubber, crumpling it up and stuffing it in the other pocket of his jeans. You cringed in disgust and disbelief, but then you remembered that he was nearly as gone as you; he’d regret it tomorrow, but not yet.

As he placed the condom next to his body, you inched towards him, close to the edge of the bed and ready to devour him.

If you’d known him a little longer, indulging in those shenanigans for some time, the thought of him bringing not one but two condoms to this party would’ve stung.

Because Jungkook had obviously thought this through. Or, as he’d said, at least considered it a possibility.

But you were too drunk, and he too much of a stranger — all you knew was that you wanted, needed to suck his dick.

“But not for too long, okay?” Jungkook pleaded, stroking his length just once. Looking down where you moved like hunting your prey. “I don’t want to come in your mouth.”

“But I’d love that.”

“Do not. I don’t want to.”

“Why?”

He hesitated, and then smiled, straight-forwardly admitting, “Because I’m not coming before you do.”

Jungkook, you’d noticed, didn’t care that you’d already experienced the high of your young life. You were sure you’d never feel such bombastic destruction anymore — but he still seemed to be opting for something far greater.

He truly did prioritise a partner’s pleasure. Left you envious of every one of his encounters before.

You pushed your hair to one side, positioning yourself and dropping low; his cock was way heavier in your palm when you touched it, only weightless when it jumped.

Your fingers grazed along a vein on the base of his shaft, your palm tickling his balls — he reacted.

“Alright,” you finally said before—

The low hum was melodious to your ears when you delivered a momentary kitten lick over his tip. And then, slowly, patiently, your tongue drifted up his shaft, just the sharp tip until you flattened it.

Your fingers gently snuck to his balls, barely touching as you kissed down his member and then repeated your actions; slow licks from bottom to top. 

“That’s good,” Jungkook praised, stroking your ego, “really good, babe.”

Tingles down your spine. Beads of sweat on your forehead.

Jungkook’s hands pushed through your hair, collecting it at the nape of your neck to form a spontaneous ponytail. As the view became clearer to him, the volume of his voice grew — his groans and exclaims sounded beautiful.

And you kept focusing on him. On his reactions, on his body.

Opened your eyes and sought his gaze — pulling the ultimate trick out of your sleeve before you wrapped your mouth around the cock’s head.

And he liked it. He liked it very fucking much.

Enjoyed the slow pace, the way his dick disappeared in your mouth bit by bit until the gag reflex kicked in. You knew what you were doing; with that tongue swirling around, tracing his veins… hands teasing his balls, edging him to the max.

Eyes still on him, breathing through the nose, the tip of it touching his flimsy, trimmed hair.

Your tactic was doing wonders on him. Your enthusiasm was addictive.

And how could you not enjoy it? He was deliciously thick, big, promising. You wanted to swallow around him all night.

But just when he started choking, balls tightening impossibly, he pulled your head away.

His cock was shiny and drenched, much like your lips, drool spilling past them and to your chin.

“Gonna finish this,” he declared with a heavily falling chest, thumb wiping at the spit on your face, “so fucking done with you. Get on all fours for me?”

The contrast between his kind demands or actions and ruthless warnings was messing with you. Like he wanted to fuck you up, but never without consent.

Delightful. So damn delightful.

You listened immediately, turning until you faced the bed’s slat. Whoever this room belonged to, you were truly hoping they weren’t missing their bed. And you’d definitely need to take off the sheets later.

In this tiny moment, you felt bad.

But only until you heard him open the second foil, taking a couple moments to do whatever needed to proceed. You dropped half your body — partly, to allow a better view to your ass, and partly, because you were tired.

“‘Kay,” you then heard, soon feeling a touch along your spine. Tracing it down to the curve of your ass, moving closer and settling around your legs, pushing them together automatically. “So pretty.”

And this very position, just like that, allowed a hell of a lot more friction.

Because when he entered you again and resumed his strokes… your breathing stopped.

You bit your lip, balling up the sheets. Your jaw dropped, your body on fire; the way he gripped your hips, slowly pulling back before slapping his pelvis against your butt was…

Not bad, to say the least.

“Can you still think?” he asked; you weren’t quite sure he’d actually said it, though.

“Huh?”

Jungkook laughed; he sounded so sweet, so pure. So different from what he was doing, a lot more tender than his words, “Thought so.”

And definitely not as alluring as when he leaned in, wrapping an arm around your tits and another around your neck and pulled you up without a warning.

He pressed your back flush against his chest, and your arm flung back instinctively, around his head to draw him close. You didn’t know how he could muster so much strength, pounding into you in a position like this.

Upwards, constantly, consistently, keeping a hand on your neck as the other fell to your clit. You threw your head back; an open invitation to your shoulder and neck.

Like this, he didn’t reach as far inside you — but it was an utmost compliment to him that he was still large enough to affect you thoroughly. A Monster indeed.

His jabs were sharp, moving in and out unhindered; effortlessly. Only stopping a single time when his cock dropped out, and he immediately fell onto the mattress, stretching his legs in front of him and pulling you with him.

“Wait,” he breathed, helping you adjust and sit back on your throne. And this time, as you straddled him, shoving him inside you all the way, you felt him in your guts again. “Move. Come for me.”

Which wasn’t hard to do when he glued your body to his. Traced your cheek, nibbling at the earlobe, down to your jaw, down to your neck and shoulders.

His breath was hot against your flaming skin as you bounced up and down, uncontrolled moans mingling as he drew circles over your clit. Not too fast, not too slow, steady and skilled.

The peak of your pleasure was arriving when his sounds reached maximum intensity; he was close, too, endlessly moaning, chanting your name. Right into your ear, eyes shut tight, muffling his exclaims when he kissed under your ear or bit your shoulder.

“Fuck… fuckkk,” you cried out, muscles of your body contracting. “Close, Jungko—”

The build up was torture — it happened slow and fast at once, and you felt it clearly. It crept from your lower stomach to your pussy, and your walls clenched, your back arching and your body winding in his hold.

And then…

“My fucking god, you—” Jungkook began, irregularly breathing. He was losing it; so were you. “That’s it. That’s it… good. That’s a good girl, you—”

He spoke whatever. Talked you through the orgasm as it washed over.

Violently, hard.

Way worse — or better? — than the first one. Jeon Jungkook was unmatched; no one was going to fuck you this good again.

And a minute later, he followed up.

Let you fuck him, and then pistoned up into you when your body started giving up. And when his release finally occurred, you thought you were dreaming.

He sounded heavenly. His thighs were shaking; you wished you could've felt his hot seed, not separated by the thin condom. 

But his voice… his breaths… the way he moved and held you.

They were worth it anyway.

A minute passed as you winded down; and after the mutual climax subsided, your bodies entered a state of deep relaxation and contentment. You felt it in the way his arms became limp, hands dropping to your legs.

Kisses lazy on your cheek. Strangely intimate.

You felt pleasantly fatigued, satisfaction flooding through your body. The internal rush of warmth radiated outwards; you could’ve stayed like this forever. So tired.

And a tiny bit later, he pulled out as he started softening inside you, pushing you forwards just a little to take off the condom, tie it up and throw it to the ground next to his jeans. Then, he pulled you back in.

For whatever reason.

Seeking warmth? Maybe.

You calmed down in his hold, and then said, “That was amazing.”

You felt the smile against your skin. He had let his face drop to your shoulder, and now spoke quietly and softly, “Because you were amazing. I reacted according to you all the time.”

“And I reacted according to you.”

Jungkook snickered. “We’re a good match, it seems, huh?”

You clicked your tongue, a hand on the arms around you. Slowly and carefully, you opened them, gently falling onto the mattress to get dressed. All of this was comfortable.

Too comfortable.

But you reminded yourself that he wasn’t more to you than a stranger temporarily turned party-friend. That’s what Jeon Jungkook would part from you as, too.

Why the fuck were you cuddling?

You looked back at him, eyes widening; and once you’d taken him in the near darkness, you laughed. Pointing at him with an amused, “You have lipstick all over your face.”

“Really?” He reached to his cheeks, wiping on the wrong side; you cackled a bit more. He nodded towards you. “Yours is very smeared, too.” Pause. An unblinking stare. “You look gorgeous.”

What? No.

Stranger, temporarily turned party-friend.

“Shit,” you cursed, “I have some in my bag, though. I guess we’ll need to take a look at a bathroom mirror anyway before we go downstairs.”

“Or upstairs.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Jungkook sighed. Shrugged his shoulders, lifting his arms to brush back his hair. The bicep flexed, and you forcefully averted your gaze from it. “Want me to do your make up?”

So lovely.

“Want me to do yours?” you said, legs flinging over the edge of the bed. You still felt a little weak. “You’d look very pretty in pink.”

He laughed; the way his head tilted was still so gorgeous. Movie-like.

“Maybe one day,” he said.

“Right. One day, yes?”

No.

You weren’t doing this to anyone like him. He was carefree, nice and enjoyed the little things in life. You weren’t going to be a burden to someone like him.

You didn’t speak on as you finally stood, trudging towards the bathroom belonging to this bedroom. As you collected your clothes, inspecting your ruined panties, he got up with a grunt, stating, “Okay. Let’s get out of here.”

And the next minute happened quietly.

He helped you clean yourself, helped you get dressed. Caught you when you oscillated, holding your hair when you drank the water from the tap, sobering up just barely.

After all he’d done to you, the moment was incredibly serene.

And you couldn’t help but think that the connection was certainly there; blissful if you could truly continue it. Clicking with someone wasn’t easy these days, but Jungkook made it seem easy.

Like he’d known you for long, knew you inside out. Like he’d been part of you in a previous life.

You saw his messages the moment you woke up.

Hours later, and you’re still staring at them.

Jungkook [7:43PM]: I’m sorry. I’ll always care about you… and i never wanted to cause you any pain Jungkook [7:43PM]: just wanted to protect you from it

What a way he has to forgo heartache. Funny how it’s insanely present right now.

It doesn’t ease as you hear the desperation in his words. The regret and wish for an alternative reality. If last time wasn’t tattooed into your mind, you’d assume he wants you back.

Truly sucks to know a person well enough to hear their voice through typed text. It sucks, because when they’re not around anymore, their timbre is all that resonates in your head. All that’s left, really.

“Hey.”

The familiar baritone makes you flinch. He went to the tiny balcony a moment ago, inspecting the place, and you didn’t think he’d return already.

You were supposed to look around, too. The landlord left for a brief call, entrusted you with the empty rooms and unpolished parquet. You shouldn’t have wasted your time, you guess.

“What are you doing?” Taehyung asks.

You dip your eyes in innocence when you look at him. With the shrug of a shoulder and a slight pout of your lips, you say, “Nothing.”

“Right.”

His side-eye feels like a warning; fleeting, however, as he turns away.

Relieved, your expressions drop again, shoulders falling limp with a sigh. But you don’t quite expect him to move his attention back to you a moment later, a hand on his hip as he catches your descending mood.

The silent stare takes you in thoroughly, studying your face until your eyes drop to the floor. And then, he dares a single step forwards and asks, “Hey. Are you okay?”

Stupidly enough, you retort with another lie, “Yes. Why?”

“You look disheartened. Do you not like the place?”

The place?

It’s still the same space that you approved the moment you stepped in. The same walls you can imagine a life between, away from pain, towards independence.

The ceiling is still at the same height, and when you look out of the sealed windows, you still see the same main street, a building on the other side of it.

The world around you is perfectly fine. Earth still spins at the same pace.

You do still like the place.

It’s just your heart that’s fickle.

“I do,” you say, “no, I can totally imagine being here.” You shift to the other leg, pushing half your fingers into your back pockets. “Anywhere but home, I think.”

“Okay. Do you want to look around more?”

You shrug. “I mean. It’s mostly empty. Except for the kitchen.”

“Which is great!” Taehyung says; his voice echoes off the walls. His smile is contagious, and his enthusiasm about your move flatters you. “Kitchens are expensive as hell.”

“Yeah.”

“I like it here, too. I love Yoongi, but moving here was the best decision of this year.”

Right. You almost forgot that they used to be roommates just a couple months ago.

Back when you made the pact with Jungkook, wasn’t it?

He’d tell you about their bickering at their small dorm again and again. Refreshing, little stories. You wonder how Yoongi feels now, alone at his place — did he ever mention settling somewhere else?

Maybe Jungkook did. Maybe Yoongi will once he’s fully recovered.

“Doesn’t have anything to do with Eun, does it?” you ask, a tiny glimmer in your eyes that must be the trigger for his blushing cheeks.

“Listen,” he says; the back of his hand rubs his face, as if he could rid it of the rosy dust like that. “At least one of you needs to be able to talk to either of us without mentioning… this.”

You laugh.

He isn’t wrong. It has become a running joke in your group; every couple teases the other. Of course you haven’t heard much of it lately — you’re more a victim to silence and moral lectures.

Which you appreciate.

But the recurring thought of this little group splitting… isn’t too nice.

“In any case, I’m happy for you,” you let him know.

“Thanks. It's been nice.” Odd expression; creased eyebrows and guilt in his big eyes. “But anyways—”

“You can talk to me about it, you know?” you assure immediately. Taehyung can’t help but notice the change in your voice. You sound different than a few weeks ago. “It won’t hurt me to know that you guys are doing okay.”

Maturity? Or maybe calmness. No.

What is it that your voice is dipped in?

“I know,” Taehyung promises, “I just… I don’t want you to feel like I’m bragging. And it makes me uncomfortable that two of my friends are…”

Unable to bask in joy.

Jungkook taught you things that life couldn’t — you could say that calling that influence temporary makes you uncomfortable, too.

“I don’t think you’re bragging, Tae.” You sigh. You hate talking about these things; which is dumb, because you were never one to close off. “Things work out for some and don't for others. That’s fine.”

But he isn’t done. They’re never done.

For a while, you weren’t, either. And right now, you’re caught in the middle — not on the ground, not in the ether.

Just confused. Blank.

“But…” he argues, “they can work out for you, too, you know.”

“Tae—”

“Did you go to the exhibit yesterday?”

You knew he’d ask.

Someone was supposed to — obviously not your parents, still upset deep within. Your house has always been a constant source of obscurity; the white walls don’t deceive you anymore.

The darkness always changes, though steady in gloom, and as you escape the current one, you seek comfort in a friend and the outside world. Questions like these, however, are seemingly still going to haunt you wherever you go.

“I didn’t,” you admit.

He must know, because he doesn’t look surprised.

But the emotion that this very truth evokes in you, a toss-up between feeling relieved and regretting your choice — he does see that goddamn pain.

“Maybe you should?”

It’s a careful suggestion. You don’t know what to do with it, except to ask, “Why?”

“Because he’s still waiting for you.”

It’s cruel. How such words still knock all air out of your lungs.

How those images hunt you down, circling your mind until you overthink them to death, or until they lose their meaning. You hate the ruthlessness of this bitter feeling, and of the sting in your chest, and the longing that it consequently triggers.

The clump in your throat blocks your ability of speech; laces up your tongue. You feel the imminent burst of sentiments in your chest, but then immediately hold it back the way you’ve done the last few days.

You work past the clogged throat, and then say, “He was the one who let me go.”

Holding shit back can be learned; you know how to keep yourself at bay in front of Taehyung.

But.

It still hurts.

“Mistakes happen,” he defends, ever the loyal friend, “he just… makes a bit more of them every now and then.”

You throw a mocking smirk, looking away with a slow blink. Your feet are aching; they want to carry you away.

To him. Home. Wherever you find solace.

How fucking tragic.

“Hey,” Taehyung says, hastening towards you, a grip around your wrist to turn you back to him. “Jungkook, he… has his reasons. Twisted ones but yet. Talking about everything might make it all easier for you.”

Communication is key, blah blah blah.

Once upon a time, you used to believe the same thing. Soft spoken and naive; filled with fears but hoping for the best.

You wondered, “What’s it, really?”

“Trust and stuff.”

Trust.

Thinking about it, you’d always put some of it in Jungkook’s palms.

Like a month ago. Or when you asked him to play pretend. When you stormed into his dorm room every time, and when you met him first, locked in that empty room.

You don’t know how the warmth of that night changed into the playful hostility once the semester started. Maybe because his competent side was a lot more infuriating than his drunk, frat party persona.

Maybe because he annoyed you on purpose, throwing away all pleasantries and sweet, tender words you’d exchanged on the roof. Or maybe because of the embarrassment near the end of the night, embroidered in your brain.

But you’ve always trusted him, you think.

“When I met him,” you say, “I didn’t think I’d ever find myself in such a situation.”

“What situation?”

“…Feeling all that shit for him. Mourning that loss. Just,” your breathing falls in rhythm, and you blink away the dampness. “Craving him, you know?”

Taehyung silences.

He looks at you with empathy and reassurance; a little bit of relief, happy you’re talking to him at all after the numbness you drowned in. Or like he’s caught you feeling something that he knows Jungkook feels, too.

He smiles, eyes drifting to the ceiling. Reminiscing, amused by the memories he never quite found as bad; and then, he asks, “Really, though?”

“What?”

“You never thought you’d ever be trapped in this moment, yeah?”

“Why…?”

“Because—”

His laugh is soft; for a second, he reminds you of the man you transiently saw that very night. Operating the music, careless of every single occurrence around him.

“I could already tell, you know?” Taehyung says. A tiny, nostalgic smile tugs at his plump lips. You lower your head to the dusty floor again. “Back at the frat party.”

Could he?

Not even you could detect a permanent feeling. A connection yes, but you were so sure you’d stick to that one night — you didn’t let yourself think further than that. Did you?

Because you were intoxicated by the booze and the summer air. The conversations and the touches. Jungkook’s scent.

Exclaiming his name while today, you can barely vocalise it.

“I was thinking about the frat party today, too,” you tell him.

He nods, glancing past you. Probably looking for the landlord who’s still not back.

And then, he continues, “When I saw you guys talking on the roof, I knew. I could just tell.”

“We weren’t in love or anything, Tae.”

“I know you weren’t. I mean, you didn’t look like you were, either. But you did look like you bonded… and that’s rare, you know? For people to still share that link after so long.”

“…Don’t know.”

Your stoic ignorance is frustrating. And new.

You’re not one to hide your emotions. Usually open with your happiness and open with your grief. 

“Go today,” Taehyung suggests again, puffing out air, “to the exhibition, I mean. Play around with your choices, okay?” Silence. A press of your lips. You don’t answer, and he can’t read your mind; so he doesn’t prod, and asks instead, “Why were you thinking about the party?”

Easy: because, distraction.

“I was cleaning,” you answer, “clearing my head. Found an old diary while dusting.”

Which was a pure coincidence. It wasn’t supposed to fall into your hands, and you weren’t supposed to open it. Seek out the pages you subconsciously still knew were there.

Why were you cleaning your desk anyway? It was flawlessly organised, dusted by a trusted staff.

It’s crazy.

Insane how even in the tidiest corners of your room, he’s left a mess.

“Okay,” Taehyung simply says, “anyway. Please think about going tonight. And on another note… do think about this place, too. I think it could do you good. And it’ll be nice to have a friend nearby.”

And that’s it. You leave the building with a thankful nod and a genuine smile.

Only to fall into deep contemplation when you arrive home.

Could tonight change something? The way the party did last year?

What exactly did the two of you say to each other? Does Taehyung know it all? Does Jungkook? Perhaps you do, too — maybe you need to dig far enough.

Brooding on the corner of your bed, you shake your head. Get to your feet, scouring your desk, reaching to the very back of every drawer and scanning through every file. Notebook. Diary.

And you don’t stop until minutes have passed, ripped pages falling out of a second semester course book. Its edges are worn out, carried in your bags a hundred times.

But the pages are intact. As slightly yellow as the other ones. You knew you didn’t throw them away.

There it all is; less descriptions, more dialogue — you were tired out, yet kept going.

There, the narrative continues.

Because on that goddamn roof, I think… that Jeon Jungkook truly saw me. You know, it’s been so long since someone did.

The light air brought relief from the day’s heat.

You couldn’t remember how he’d persuaded you to climb up to the attic and then out of its window, leading to a platform to sit on. But as you revelled in the ambient sounds of chatter and distant laughter, you couldn’t complain.

And Jungkook’s conversations kept lulling you into a state of tranquillity. You had no clue how he did it.

“I can do a handstand, and I can show you,” he said; why you’d slipped into talks about athletics, you can’t recall.

“No. You’ll die.”

He laughed, his smirk ever-present. “Would you care?”

You eye-rolled at him, instantly regretting it when the world started spinning again. The effects of the booze were dwindling, but you weren’t quite there yet. Your head and eyes still felt heavy, your tongue still loose.

Maybe he registered your drowsiness, because he soon suggested, “You should go home.”

“I’m okay,” you, however, argued. The night was too serene. “I’m sobering up a little.”

“You look tired, though.”

His words triggered a reflex, and you yawned on cue — unable to hide your fatigue, you admitted, “I am.”

Jungkook drifted closer, arms touching; his voice was light as the wind, and his suggestion as teasing as it was soft, “Wanna sleep on my shoulder?”

“Nah,” you declined, playfully pushing at him, “we’re not that close.”

“We did fuck each other’s brains out just now, though.”

A pleasant reminder, but wholly unnecessary. You doubted you’d ever forget the insanity that transpired downstairs — and once again, you felt incredibly sorry to Yeonjun for ruining one of his bedrooms.

You shuddered.

“We… hooked up,” you argued, muffling a laugh when he scoffed.

“Alright. Whatever.”

His syllables carried a chuckle; contagious and captivating. Mixed with your own, it dragged into the next seconds, lingering as you enjoyed the breeze. Rocking back and forth, gazing up into the vast darkness.

You barely saw the stars in the city and on campus. That’s why you liked those outskirt houses; the sky was clearer here, not disturbed by city lights and their reflection.

And for as long as you were going to remain here, you decided to keep your eyes glued to the glimmer above. Watched it with a melodious hum. They twinkled one after another, like winking, whispering confessions to you from the cloudless, infinite expanse.

Pretty and soft; painting a full picture along with the sliver of the moon you saw. A celestial, silver beacon.

You smiled.

“You’re enjoying yourself,” Jungkook said.

Your instrumental died, though one last sound indicated a question, “Hm?”

“You’re liking it here.”

“Ah. Yeah.” Your eyes narrowed in wonder, head on your shoulder. “Why would I not?”

“No, I just mean…” He moved his feet on the platform, shoving them forwards. “You looked different when you got here. Not too happy about tonight.”

“Oh. Right… I’m sorry if it dampened the mood.”

But he shuffled on his spot, wrapping an arm around one angled leg, dropping the other and fully turned towards you. Guaranteed, “No, it’s okay. You were perfectly fine throughout the entire night.”

With him.

“I did have fun,” you said.

“Did seem like it.”

You delivered a hazy nod, blinking your tired eyes.

Even today, you remember the silence that descended, and remember how comfortable you deemed it.

Despite the haven that the roof had become in record time, the retreat couldn’t keep your mind off the bustling world anymore. Thinking about it, even the existence you’d bolted from resided at a suburbian, quiet place like this.

He swam in money, just like you, and you’d seen a similar greenery and heard a similar quietude as you were here. Yet, being with him didn’t compare to being with Jungkook.

Why?

Maybe because that friend understood your lifestyle too well, but not your emotions.

You clicked your tongue, peeking at Jungkook. He lifted his head at the sound, big eyes questioning; and after a moment of contemplation, you finally said, “There’s this guy.”

His ears perked up.

He sat straight, never questioning where it came from; instead, he listened as you spoke, “He and I hooked up during freshman year and then not too long ago. We met through friends, and he’s just… you know, an amazing person and all. Takes care of me and texts me and… keeps asking how I’m doing.”

Fingers of your hands locked, arms firmly enclosing your bare legs.

“He takes my ideas and thoughts and tries to make them more optimistic. Or attempts to actively talk about my flaws. To fix them.” You met Jungkook’s eyes, tender and attentive. “He gives me advice all the time.”

“But?” Jungkook asked. “I think there is a but.”

“Well…” You sucked air through your teeth. “He said he wants to be with me. And I told him that I don’t.”

“Oof…” He grimaced before he hissed, voicing deep empathy for a man he didn’t know. “But why?”

Jungkook was a stranger, but you talked like a soft, hushed waterfall. He emanated a sense of trust; some magic that permeated the air.

You felt comfortable.

“I tried, it’s just. I might sound ungrateful, but I think I’d… rather like someone who wants to love and appreciate me instead of trying to fix me all the time,” you confessed.

There was a hint of annoyance in your voice and you hated yourself for it. The man in question was heavenly — just not ideal for you.

“He is a sweetheart. Keeps buying me gifts and all, but… I think I’m a construction site to him. And that,” you snickered, sporting what you were sure was a sombre expression, “keeps reminding me that I actually am.”

Jungkook paused. You didn’t blame him — it was a sudden revelation, and his possibly still tipsy brain couldn’t quite fathom his thoughts into a response just yet.

He smacked his lips; you’d seen him do it a couple times today. Bangs flew into his face, his eyes suddenly sentimental.

And then he told you, “I understand.” He thought again, looking past you. “I wouldn’t call it ungrateful. I mean, you are thankful for him as a person, yeah? Your personalities and ideologies don’t have to align, y’know? That shouldn’t be an expectation.”

“…Yeah.”

Time ran differently now. The movements you saw in the garden were in slow-motion, but in this dreamscape that the roof was, where you laid out every damn word haunting your mind, the world suspended in time.

It was solacing in some way. Your heart was still clouded, but… you didn’t feel horrible anymore.

“So that’s what you were escaping tonight. Still are,” Jungkook then concluded.

Your mind suddenly raced.

Back to the first words you exchanged with Jungkook; back to the reason for you coming here tonight; back to how delighted your parents seemed when you first mentioned Jung Hoseok.

When Hoseok had stepped over your threshold for the first and only time, back during freshman year, they’d enjoyed the sole glimpse of him. Had adored that he’d brought you a silver bracelet, because it showcased wealth.

If you’d let them, they'd have interviewed him — nevermind that he was just a rare hook up and you barely even knew what his parents did.

Lawyers, weren’t they? He’d mentioned lawyers at some point, you thought.

You’d kept it lowkey; away from the campus. You hadn’t imagined he’d come back this year, whirling your thoughts, lost in freshman nostalgia.

To you of all people; and he knew so many. Which is why you didn’t mention his name to Jungkook — judging his and Hoseok’s popularity, they probably knew each other.

“I just feel… terrible,” you eventually said, “because I know he likes me, and I can’t quite say why. We just kept meeting over the years, so—”

“You don’t owe anyone anything,” Jungkook interrupted. “Like, I’d feel bad, too, but… if the reciprocation isn’t there, it’s not there. And it sucks but that happens sometimes. Things don’t always work out.”

“Yeah. It’s worse when they could, but don’t.”

Jungkook’s demeanour changed. A fog of melancholy settled in his gaze, brief but impactful. If you’d been fully clear-headed, you might’ve registered the slight flinch.

For a second, he didn’t expand on his thoughts, voicing a simple, “Mhm.”

But as the air thinned, affecting his chest and his mind, he couldn’t help but think back to how life had developed for him. From when he was a child and had spotted broken relationships to shattering his own.

Under easier circumstances, love could work. Why had he always been a witness to it crumbling?

“Jungkook.”

Your voice broke his trance. You watched him drift more and more into it, and now that he was awake again, his muscles relaxed. He smiled a little, and then asked, “I can vent if you did, right?”

Eyebrows flashing up, you stared in silence; you didn’t expect this.

“Yeah. Of course,” you said, legs unconsciously lowering towards his. “Are you okay?”

He nodded. Pressed his lips into a thin line; your eyes fell to his mole, and then back to his starry pupils.

Half distraught, half calm — much like you — he began, “One reason why I left that girl downstairs standing was because… she was looking for the first best thing tonight.”

“…What do you mean?”

God, for someone who’d been cheerful all night, he looked incredibly downbeat right now. You felt sorry without knowledge of the context.

He shifted.

“I separated from my ex a while ago. That girl,” he nodded towards the window you’d climbed through, into her general direction, “she knew. And she wanted to use my,” he made air quotes, “loneliness to have fun.”

“That’s… terrible. I’m sorry about your ex.”

Jungkook kissed his teeth, shaking his head, “Nah… we parted on good terms. I just regret that we let the end of it all drag for so long.”

“Hmm,” you hummed. You wrapped your arms tighter around your legs. “Do you miss her?”

Prolonged silence later, you darted your head in his direction; he was squinting his eyes in thought. And then, he inhaled the summer air, and said, “Sometimes.” Pause. Then, “Sometimes I miss feeling like I’m… enough for someone.”

Enough for someone. Right for someone.

Jungkook wasn’t missing her. He was missing being loved.

“Time heals all wounds,” you said, nudging his chest, “etcetera.”

With a rub over his pecs, he tugged his lips to a crooked smile, promising you sincerely, “That goes for you, too.”

The exchanged beams introduced another break in conversation.

There’d been a dozen of those pauses today, but none of them had felt out of place. In fact, you felt at peace. Tonight was a respite from the demands of everyday life, because pain faded away.

The still bubble of comfort around you felt like a sanctuary; you appreciated the simplicity of the present.

You thought, there was something about the air. And the stars. And all those scents.

Fitting to the softness of his voice when he eventually spoke, “Hey… You were humming a song just now. When you were looking up?”

“Oh, uh…” You thought about it, rewinding time; he was right. You remembered the melody. “Maroon 5, was it?”

“I think so. How does it go again?”

“Uhm…” Putting you on the spot like this, you forgot every word of the song. You mumbled the melody, du-du-du-ing your way to the first verse, and then sang, “Beauty queen of only eighteen, she—”

His face lit up.

“Had some trouble with herse— yeah!” His finger conducted the two of you through the song before he wiggled it. “Yes, but there’s that part. The ugh— bridge? It’s my favourite part.”

“Uhm, wait.” Fast forwarding, you sang your way through the chorus, close to the bridge until it dawned on you. “Out in the corner in the… broken smile— ah, yeah. I know where you hide, alone in your car.”

Jungkook got into gear, sitting up properly, nearly shifting off the platform. Instinctively, you grabbed his wrist, but he was too into his narrative to acknowledge it, “Yes! Ah, I love that part so much. My mom used to sing it with me when I was in elementary school.”

He was so fucking sweet.

Contrary to every touch he’d delivered today, he was like a puppy. Forlorn and pure and kind.

“That’s so nice,” you said, nodding when he did, watching as he prepared his vocal cords.

“Know all of the things that make you who are— that’s what it was, yeah? I know that goodbyes—”

And then you broke into a duet, falling into a rhythm… catching strangers’ attention wandering around the house’s garden. You weren’t loud enough to disturb the party, but you did see a flash of smile here and there towards you.

Your singing and laughter grew in pitch; you started the last line but never finished it. Instead, you quieted down, hearing his timbre indulge in the song; his eyes were closed and his head tilted. An incomparable spell in his voice.

“—Catch her everytime she… falls.”

Omitting Adam Levine’s soft Yeahs, Jungkook replaced them with hums, and for the teeny tiniest of moments, your heart jumped.

Radiant warmth spread in your lungs. It surrounded your beating organ and tied your throat, and against all you’d expected today, you wondered—

Did temporary, fleeting party-hook-up crushes exist?

As he finished, leaving out the rest of the song, you told him, “You sing well.”

An understatement, but he took it anyway. Blushed a bit as he said, “Thank you.” And then, “Why this song of all you might know?”

Why this song?

You didn’t know. Because you’d grown up with it. Because every second of it, every beat, every melancholic word about hopeful love resonated with you.

“Because,” you said, shrugging your shoulders. A weak smile took over your features. “She shall be loved? Everyone shall be loved.”

Jungkook deadpanned at you. Glassy-eyed. For a couple heartbeats, he blinked at you, and then he broke into a chuckle.

You puffed out a breath; the desire to end the night vanished bit by bit.

That was, until another doom crawled around the corner.

Whenever a day passes flawlessly, misery is close, and this time, it arrived in the form of an older, equally drunk male friend of Jungkook’s.

It was the guy who’d DJ’d prior that night; the one with the deep velvety voice, ogling up at you with a hand in his pocket and a cup in his hand. He made you wonder where your friend was. 

Had Eun left any messages? Perhaps it was you standing her up now; you hadn’t checked the device in a while.

From the garden, the dude — Taehyung, was it? — squinted up into the sky, yelling over the sounds, “Aren’t you the girl from before?” He pointed between Jungkook and you. “What are you two doing up there?”

You felt enthusiasm in your veins. Rapture, leaving your nerves alight. Despite all the sentimental talk, you remembered again that your filter was long abandoned, and with a dazy mind, you leaned forwards.

In hindsight, you shouldn’t have gotten more of that liquid bullshit after your hook-up. Jungkook had insisted on it — perhaps you should’ve gone for water and sobered up properly.

But as sloshed as you were, you brought out your funny bones, half your body dangerously pressing against the platform as you exclaimed, “I was having the time of my life with this one.”

A thumb pointed back to Jungkook — if you’d seen the man’s expression, you might not have risked your well being like that. Because his hands floated over you, finally gripping your sides with knitted eyebrows when you moved further forwards.

“Hey,” he called quietly, but you were already immersed in the conversation with Taehyung.

“He wanted me to suc—”

“—ceed in every aspect of life!” Jungkook wrongfully finished, leaning in to whisper to you, “I don’t think you should be saying this.”

Okay. Maybe he was a little more conscious about the situation; but you felt too ecstatic to lay down your jokes.

Grave mistake.

People started turning to you. Heard you clearly.

Taehyung, in his own world, still understood, ignoring Jungkook and asking with a laugh, “Really? Lucky son of a bitch.” He halted, and then pointed a finger at you, “Are you the Charmante girl?”

“Uh-uh,” you rejected, “not tonight.”

Fuck.

Even today, you’re adamant on keeping this part of your memories locked.

Because in a few moments, a mess would occur, followed by Jungkook’s kindness, and it would mentally make you push him away.

You just never expected to see him again in the fall.

During senior year, you concluded that he didn’t deserve the chaos of your world, fearing that your connection might destroy the both of you. But throughout all these months, your heart only held back until it couldn’t.

And today, he has wreaked havoc in it anyway.

“How so?” Taehyung asked.

“Because,” you asked. Stress and hangover incoming. Words a rich, popular future heir like you definitely wasn’t supposed to utter. “Fuck that imperium for tonight, okay!”

“Hey—” Jungkook’s voice again. “Lean back. Don’t do this.”

Taehyung shook his head, slowly caught in the awkwardness you called forth. Your deep-rooted trauma was doing a number on you, and you didn’t seem to realise just yet.

“You should go home,” Taehyung suggested; the second tonight.

Why did they want you to leave so bad?

Cocking an eyebrow, you looked at him weird, stoically staying at your place as you bantered, “I don’t want to.”

“I… I think you should, though?”

“You try going home to misery,” you said, laughing through the ache creeping up. Shit, shit. “I’m fine riding his di—”

“Stop it!”

The firm warning pumped sudden intimidation through your body.

Jungkook said it through gritted teeth, hissing it, a sliver of a grunt in his voice. His hands tightened around you and pushed you back up, catching you when you swayed over the edge.

He was irritated; and you were baffled. Puzzled by his concern.

You creased your eyebrows and gulped. Jungkook knew who you were; had confirmed that he did — but he hadn’t spoken about it a single time tonight.

Was he trying to protect you? Why was he trying to protect you?

“What the hell was that?” he asked, lifting his hands off your body.

You didn’t answer.

In fact, you didn’t quite understand the worries anyway. Yes, you had a reputation, but it wasn’t like anyone on campus cared. Right?

Wrong.

Because when you looked down, registering a faint chatter, you froze. Understood why Jungkook had constantly held you back. And why loosening your tongue had been a bad idea tonight.

You wished you could’ve gone back to singing with him. Not live through… whatever crap you’d caused. Nothing you would’ve done on any other day.

But Taehyung had been talking to you — you weren’t thinking anything of it.

The others, however, were. In fact, they were still laughing and recording when they looked down, some of them shamelessly filming with the flashlight on, pointing in your direction.

And there were quite a few of them…

“Wait,” you muttered, eyes flitting from one stranger to another.

Eun had to be inside, because you couldn’t find her face among them. It took a moment — but then, it started sinking in.

“Oh,” you said, and Jungkook, helpless, kept looking at you. “Oh fuck, no.”

“They won’t do any—”

“No.”

Your body felt immobile and it took more exclaims from downstairs that certainly weren’t Taehyung’s to finally move.

As your limbs came alive, you rushed your way back into the attic; humiliated, fire in your cheeks.

Your legs felt wobbly, but adrenaline kept you on your feet. Your mind awoke, your eyes burning. It took a moment to realise you had Jungkook in tow, storming downstairs with you; he was saying something, a soft hand on your elbow that you shook off in panic.

You’d done this to yourself. Stupidly, idiotically. 

Never, never in a million years could you’ve opened your mouth like this in a sober state. You’d trained for this, for fuck’s sake. Knew media attention and how to behave.

The descent to the ground floor took ages; or so it felt.

You traced the faces of the people you’d seen from the roof. Nonstop thoughts of regret flooded you — in the contentment Jungkook’s presence had wrapped you in, you’d lost track of reality.

And now you were rushing from person to person, vehemently warning them and begging them to not put that shit online.

Only to meet a worse fate.

One that, within a moment and without a warning, arrived in the form of a plastered party-goer. Shoulders clashed until you stumbled and fell against a neck-high object. Synthetic plastic bounced against your body, the inflatable pool filled with water and people.

Had they been swimming all night?

Had this thing always been here?

Did it matter anyway when a wave of water broke out of the pool, splashing onto you and half your torso? Probably not.

What mattered was that you were drenched immediately. That Jungkook was still calling your name, albeit further away from you now. Or that a random guy was whistling, mumbling something about your white, soaked top.

Fuck…

Your head darted around; you pushed wet strands out of your face. You weren’t entirely dripping, but enough for people to remember for a while. That was, if they could recall tonight the next day at all.

And if they couldn’t, they’d have it on their damn phones…

Seeking the light crowd, you found Jungkook near the entrance to the house.

He was throwing an empathetic smile, eyebrows scrunched; nibbled at his lower lip and then—

Walked away.

One blink and gone.

You were disappointed. A little hurt. The connection you’d shared felt trivial now; had you enjoyed tonight just to be abandoned by every friend you’d come with or met?

Tears burned in your eyes, there without a notice. In your helplessness, you stood in the middle of the garden. A few people felt sorry for you — you knew. 

And other, selected, a handful ones were too drunk to remain respectful.

The attempt to ignore them remained futile; they kept going.

You tried to search for the elusive people who’d recorded you; another handful who had now vanished into thin air again. Hiding their phones to evade you.

And when your search turned out fruitless, you redirected your attention to instead. She had to be nearby. Or Jimin; you hadn’t seen him tonight at all.

Just as you opted to enter the house, a stranger touched your bicep; reacting swiftly, you instinctively dodged his touch. Disgusted and weirded out.

He didn’t attempt to reach out again, but his persistence to struck your nerves was overwhelming; awkward as he tried to compliment, “That was kinda hot of you to say up there.”

To say what?

That you were a victim to your own imperium — that you were seeking company in others?

What was?

Twisted people, you didn’t understand — as much as you didn’t comprehend your own stupidity.

Your fucking fault.

Feeling a wave of chagrin wash over you, you hurriedly made your way to the door, hoping for another escape; hearing another dumb, “Listen, I’m not trying to offend you, but you—”

The sentence dangled in the air; broken by a sudden interruption. Raw cotton grazed your arm as Jungkook stepped next to you, a white towel thrown over his hand as he intervened, “Enough, man. Don’t.”

His tone was gentle, but held a fragment of a warning. Like he was annoyed, frustrated; tired of the people here.

Surprise was an understatement of a word to you.

There he truly was…

He handed the towel to you wordlessly, a hand on your back. Looked at you with a nod and concern in his eyes. You sighed in light relief, though cringing internally as the water trickled down your spine.

Jungkook sensed your unease immediately; said your name as if to take you away the moment you heard Eun’s voice.

In that moment of gratitude, you felt a renewed sense of a link to him — oddly calm as you said, “Thank you.”

The room you stand in is dark.

You’ve walked through several bright and vibrant halls, passing modern pieces. The ceiling was high so far, so this very room, containing art of the stars and nebulas, hit pleasantly with change.

The dimmed lights match the mood of the paintings; and you’ve noticed that visitors are way quieter in here than they were before.

Probably inhaling the silence of space and time. Diving into a world unknown with a curious fascination.

You glance at your watch, squinting to make out the tiny hands — half an hour left until closing time.

Drawing the millionth breath of this evening, you let your arm drop, curling and uncurling your fingers with a sickening feeling in your stomach. Lightly, you rub the spot, head darting left and right.

For some reason, you expect him in this room.

You can’t quite guess what he might’ve come up with after all; the exhibition showcases various genres and styles, and you haven’t found the room exhibiting his creativity yet.

Seems this isn’t the right place to look either. And you’re getting more nervous with each step.

You scold yourself. This better have been the right decision, because you don’t think you’ll be able to opt out anymore. 

Your soul is still fractured and afraid; but Taehyung’s words float in your mind. Perhaps this will do something. Make clear that you should stay away. Or make clear that you shouldn’t.

Wrapping your arms around your body, you pass more art, more fresh artists, moving to the next room; irritated by how far he seems and of how cold it is here. Museums and their exaggerated air conditioning.

But the shiver the cool air elicits doesn’t compare to the white, blinding, bustling hall. This must be where the main attractions are displayed. Namjoon’s pride, you imagine.

Because people are still talking to the artists. Fingers on their chin, nodding; fancy tote bags and interested hand gestures prove that they’re fat greater art connoisseurs than you.

You don’t need to comprehend techniques and art jargon, though.

All you need to understand is that in the middle of the room, many feet away from you, stands who you seek. Suit-clad, though he has discarded the black jacket, he’s nodding towards other guests, smiling softly to send them away.

They point to his work one last time, and the next moment, they’re chatting among themselves, walking on.

He’s deep in the moment, tracing their steps, frozen in place.

And you, looking at him from afar, are frozen in time. Like everyone around you is barely moving.

Only your blinking eyes. Only his legs as they shift the balance. And then, only his head when he finally averts his gaze and lets it drift over the room. Stops when he sees you, and… 

Remains there.

Your heart jumps; the twisting guts melt and dissipate. Fingers start shaking.

The knot in your throat won’t let you breathe properly; and you think he must be struggling much like you, because even from here, you see him gulp hard.

His longing, sorrowful gaze is killing you. Are you looking at him the same way?

Unsure, you close the gap between your bodies. Slowly, you near him until you’ve become his official guest, taming a wild heart with tense eyebrows.

He’s looking at you like he’s scared to blink. Like you might vanish if he does.

And eventually, you muster the tiniest of smiles, not letting those big, stellar eyes drop you to your knees. But they’re relentless. And…

Red. A little swollen.

“Hey,” you say.

He doesn’t bother for a greeting aside from a little nod. His pink lips are slightly parted, his expression so innocent; so achingly pure. And his voice so weak when he says, “You came.”

“I… almost didn’t.”

He nods lightly, much in understanding. “…I’m glad you did. I’m sorry if my message put you under pressure, I ju—”

“No, no, I thought that— Taehyung told me you’d like it if I dropped by,” you say. Your words are dipped in courage; if he wasn’t looking at you like a yearning puppy, you might not have muttered them. “And also…”

You drop your head, clutching the straps of your purse.

Try not to think of who the both of you used to be.

You clear your throat, gaze flickering up. “I want you to know that I still support you.”

Those puffy cheeks and the younger face, lacking a smile — you’ve only seen that expression before as he slept. When you woke up next to him, observing his dozing form. How helpless he looked. So faultless.

You now know that Jeon Jungkook isn’t perfect, either. But despite all that — or perhaps because of all that — you crave him more.

Because he’s always known he makes mistakes; yet, he’s always been your steadfast anchor.

And maybe that’s all that love ever requires.

No.

Don’t fall back into a spiral.

“Thank you,” Jungkook says. “This means a lot coming from you.”

The first button of his shirt is open; you see the chest rising. The mole on his neck. Last week, in that dark alley, your palm was still covering it. And now, you’re standing at a safe distance.

“So…”

You move, looking past him. The first thing your eyes settle on is a smaller painting.

Jungkook’s eyebrows shoot up, and his tangled fingers let go of each other, open palms gesturing you closer. He steps aside and says, “Oh, yeah. Yeah, please take a look.”

He’s nervous. You hear it in his voice.

Why, though?

There’s no need, considering how gorgeous the sunset is. Perhaps a little standard for such exhibitions, but it still carries his touch. The preciseness and soft details.

You lean in, taking in the colours he worked with. There’s no skyscraper or traffic light in sight — the scenery differs a lot from the city you know.

“Is that your hometown?” you ask.

There are white fences and wide fields. Trees afar, a cottage at the right of the canvas. In the right bottom corner, you see a fluffy little cloud, white and serene.

“It is. Not exactly where I live but… a little outside of it,” Jungkook explains, shifting close enough for his shirt to brush against your elbow. You shiver. “I used to ride my bike to this place and watch the sunset. Took me twenty minutes to get there, so my parents weren’t always too happy about it.”

You laugh quietly, straightening your stance again. Pointing to the tiny cloud, you guess, “And this? Gureum, was it?”

He keeps looking at you. You don’t notice until you register his silence; eventually meeting his gaze that screams affection and tenderness.

Whispers, You still remember.

He catches himself within a second, and then says, “Yeah. Gureum. I’d sneak him into the bike basket and take him with me. He’d enjoy the wind. Jump around there,” he nods to the place in the painting, “and enjoy dusk with me.”

“So sweet.”

You hum in pleasure, ready to move to his other piece.

Most of the artists here are boasting two pieces; some one big object, some several smaller ones. Jungkook settled on the choice in the middle; and you immediately realise that his second work is far more elaborate, in details and in size.

And you’d voice fascination, gasp in admiration — you swear you would.

But what awaits you instead is a masterpiece that renders you mute; baffled, and maybe a little heartbroken.

Because you immediately know what it is.

You remember it from a foggy memory; not too long ago but eternities away.

That day, you brought him and his new boss Namjoon lunch. You chose to barge in as a surprise, sitting on Namjoon’s couch, eyes flitting from artistic canvases to dirty brushes.

Back then, you properly talked about Gureum for the first time. Jungkook was working on drawings, carrying around his sketchbook. You swore you saw a glimpse of something familiar flashing that day, but Jungkook closed the book too quickly for you to decipher it.

And now, it’s here. A damn painting on a museum wall.

A pretty artwork for anyone else, a young, incredibly skilled artist’s talent. But to you…

To you, it’s a peek into what you used to be. And proof of what you’ve become.

You’re hurting. You’re fucking hurting.

“Jungkook…” you choke. You keep staring at it; blink twice; shake your head in disbelief and then voice, ”Wait, what?”

He doesn’t respond. Facing the ground, he’s wading through the pain silently; his bangs are covering his eyes. But your emotions are swimming at the surface of your pupils, an absolute mess.

“Jungko—”

“I had a full speech prepared yesterday, you know?” he says, looking to the side. His jutting lower lip makes your chest burn. “But you didn’t come, and… now you’re here and—” He brings an inked hand to his eyes, rubbing them for a moment. “Now I can’t fucking think.”

You can’t either.

“I didn’t know how to come,” you admit.

You gulp down the tears, looking back to the painting.

The background is blurry, like a rainy window. In focus, you see two hands reaching out to each other. One’s palm facing up, the other’s towards the ground.

Fingertips are inches apart, delivering the illusion that they’re touching without ever doing so. His must be the hand hovering over the softer one. And the latter… It's you. Isn’t it?

Digits reaching out to him, never quite grasping him — the same bracelet around your wrist that he brought you from his vacation among so many other things. Blue and sparkly, no actual gemstones but gorgeous nevertheless.

And in your hand—

Forget-me-nots, slowly drying.

Your memory might not be serving you right, but you think that the brief peep you caught back in Namjoon’s studio was fully blue. Have the flowers withered in his mind?

“What does that mean…” you whisper.

You think you know. But you still wait.

Yet, the only hint Jungkook gives you is, “I had this idea in my head… and the night we drove to that small town and I gave you those forget-me-nots? The way you held them got stuck in my mind and—” He shakes his head. “I knew I wanted to paint them like this.”

“But… you didn’t.”

“Because…” He shrugs his shoulders, but the gesture is anything but nonchalant. The melancholy in his eyes betrays him. “Things changed.”

Right…

That’s why the flowers wilted.

Don’t those blue wonders signify remembrance? True love and devotion?

Does Jungkook think you’re forgetting him? Or that your devotion is fading? That whatever tied you two together is diminishing…?

Whatever used to be a symbol of blooming endearment is now a metaphor for broken hearts. 

But you bite back the sentimental talk, the questions and statements infiltrating your mind. Keep them in, for your and his sake. Hearts need to stay glued together for as long as possible.

No scene in front of a crowd.

So you say, “In any case… It's beyond impressive. You painted it beautifully.”

Jungkook sighs; recovering from the tension of the moment, and then answers, “Thank you. Since I had you in mind, I’m… honestly glad you came.”

“…Of course. Thank you, too.”

The moment you gulp, more people approach Jungkook’s spot. They’re talking to each other before they greet the artist, flashing tender smiles.

When they immerse themselves in his paintings, murmuring something not directed to either of you, you ask, “Should I go?”

But Jungkook’s reluctance emerges immediately. His eyebrows skyrocket, chest tensing; his words are rushed when he tells you, “Oh, you don’t…! You can stay.”

You look around. The hall is emptying; security is leading people out, probably informing them of closing time. And suddenly, you remember that Jungkook doesn’t possess a car.

“Did you take the bus here?” you ask.

“Yeah.”

“…I could bring you home.”

Why are you suggesting this? Are your lungs not failing you enough? You’re on edge as it is.

And even when he assures, “You don’t have to,” you shake your head, softly promising that, “Yeah, but it’s no problem. If you want.”

With his turn to glance around, Jungkook licks between his lips. Then, he sneaks a look at his watch, contemplating before he says, “The museum closes in ten minutes, and then I’ll need to find Namjoon. Wrap it all up and stuff. Are you uh… okay waiting for half an hour?”

Are you?

Despite all the pain? You shouldn’t be. But for him… achingly and stupidly, you are.

“Yeah,” you voice, keeping your tone stable. You’re dying of nervousness. “I am. If that’s okay.”

Jungkook nods, stepping to the guests; seems they have a question, waiting for their turn. So he redirects his focus again, giving you a little, “Alright. Thank you again.”

But without ever letting his attention fall from you fully. Not even when you finally step away.

The noises of the streets and vehicles keep the silence away.

Music quietly sounds from the radio, and your finger taps the steering wheel slightly to its beat. Jungkook is staring ahead, sometimes looking out of the window; probably as unsure as you about what to say.

The car comes to another halt in front of a red traffic light, and the silence increases your discomfort. From the side, you watch for a tiny moment as he cards his fingers through the soft, long hair.

And involuntarily, you think back to when you’d bury your fingers in them, too. Would pull him to your lips like that; hear him hold his breath.

Your body trembles, goosebumps on your arms.

You immediately rub at them, focusing on the green light, and once the car comes back into motion, you tell him, “You should save up some money and get a car, too.”

He nods, barely looking at you as he responds clipped, “On it.”

“It’s just late.”

“You don’t need to worry about me. And it’s not that late at a—”

“Just,” you interrupt. He’s right — it’s not too late in the evening. But fall is approaching, and the sky is grey; the sun hides these days. “I’d feel better if you had a car.”

You’re aware that it doesn’t matter what you think or feel anymore, but your concerns still seem to resonate with him; maybe he’d feel the same towards you, too. Because he assures softly, “I’m working on it. Don’t worry.”

Another pause in conversation. Another five minutes pass in silence.

Half of the distance to his place conquered, you grow more nervous by the second. This isn’t a casual get-together or you calmly bringing him home.

Right here, next to you, is literally the man you fell for.

Who confessed his feelings in the pouring rain. Who kissed you through the afternoon the very next day. And who forced you to leave the moment his dam broke.

The one who hasn’t allowed you solace in a while; who touched your lips just once since then, only to shatter every piece of you again.

This is him. Still no one but him.

Equally as nervy on your damn passenger seat as you, going back to an exhibition tomorrow that presents the very hand he used to hold.

This hurts like a bitch.

“Jungkook,” you spit.

“Hm?”

“How long…” You draw a deep breath that comes out shakier than anticipated. You calm your chest. “How long had you been working on this?”

Surprised by your question, he doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he bites his full lip, toying with its skin before he admits, “Not long. As I said… had the idea for a while, but the day I saw you holding them, I… I kinda cemented that picture into my brain.”

The night of your trip is a firm part of your memory, too.

Piling up bravery, you press your tongue to the palate, clearing your head before you ask, “Why did you make it your main painting?”

Jungkook’s laugh is quiet and insincere. Pained when he answers, “What do you think?”

“I just mean… doesn’t it hurt?”

No response.

You sit up straight, clutching the wheel until your knuckles pale, and try again, “I guess I just didn’t expect you to—”

“What about you?” he questions instead, dodging your inquiry. “Did it hurt you? Seeing it?”

“…Why are you asking?”

“Because I still can’t really decode your reaction.”

Yes… because you’re fighting transparency. The last time you made your vulnerability visible to him, you crumbled. 

But does it matter anymore? You thought tonight would give you a clear answer to what to do; but so far, nothing has changed.

Might as well be exposed.

“Those things don't stop hurting so easily, you know?” you say. Talking proves hard. "But. At some point, you get tired of fighting the pain, and instead, let it happen until it gets better."

“Has it gotten better for you?”

His questions are sudden. Different from his determination to leave last week. He feels vulnerable to you, too, as if he’s fighting himself.

“I didn’t think you’d care,” you tell him.

You make a right turn and miss the absolute grief in his eyes. After all the moments you spent together, he didn’t reckon his care for you would escape your mind. But in hindsight, thinking of all the despair he’s put you through, he understands, too.

“Seeing the exhibition today… seeing my piece,” he begins, eyes drifting to his lap, “you still think I don’t care?”

God, your chest feels heavy.

You lift a hand from the wheel, rubbing between your clavicles, but the strange feeling won’t pass. Utter discomfort spreads through your veins, dizzying your head; but you need to concentrate on driving.

You should be almost there.

So you say, “I don’t think I want to talk about it.”

To which he dares to ask, “…Why?”

Another stupid traffic light. No excuse to keep looking away, but you still evade his gape.

“Because.” Unblinking, you stare at the tail lights ahead until the red becomes an unpleasant afterimage. "You'll hurt me." Resolutely, "Again."

No answer.

That’s the problem, isn’t it? His reluctance to say something.

Goddamn, you’re frustrated. Uneasy.

“I think the best way to fight more uncomfortable situations is to not talk about them anymore,” you then say, firmly and certain. “At all.”

“Okay.”

You crane your neck to busy yourself, looking for a parking spot when you finally turn into his street. Frustrated when none is empty, you click your tongue, driving around the block in vain before finding a spot near the tiny park close by.

“There goes,” you say.

Jungkook doesn’t get off immediately. Much as though he still has something to say, something to plead for. His eyes are staring ahead, his breathing deep.

In your lovesick illusion, you imagine him gritting your teeth and then reaching out, pulling you into a kiss.

But the version of you that wades through reality doesn’t want him to; wants to swerve the pain you’re already combating every damn day.

All he says, however, is a timid, “Thank you for coming today. I really was hoping you would.”

You think back to yesterday, picture a lonely Jeon Jungkook, awaiting your arrival without the desired result. You think of his messages last night, and of the desperation in them.

But you don’t mention any of this. Not his apology, not his yearning.

What you do instead is recall the date, taking off the belt; and when he reacts with surprise, you clarify, “I forgot something.”

You open the door of the vehicle carefully, shooting a glance to the empty road. That’s a cool thing about this area — it’s quiet. You think a lot of families and old couples live around here, because it’s usually serene around this hour.

You get out the moment he does, rushing the one step to the backseat. In a corner, right behind the passenger seat and out of Jungkook’s gaze, you find the same silver object from yesterday.

The silky, shiny paper is soft under your touch as you take it out, and you round the car to a positively confused Jungkook. He doesn’t know what’s awaiting him, but he doesn’t ask; only hums in question.

You brush the non-existent dust off the white ribbon, and then stretch the gift towards him.

Which is when he finally speaks.

“What’s that…?”

Suddenly aware of the gesture, your eyes flit to the object. You try not to stutter but fail, “Your birthday present. I… I had it made a little after you came back.”

He keeps staring at it, like it’s an unidentified item, dangerous to touch. But once he’s caught himself, his muscles relax. He closes his mouth, cautiously taking it from you; the brush of his fingers against yours is warm.

As always.

“You can open it now,” you suggest, “and if you don’t want it, I can just uhm… return it or something.”

It’s hard to return such a present. But you know this might be your only chance to take it back, should he not like it.

It’d be a shame, though.

You watch with bated breath as he nods. Pulling at the ribbon, stuffing it into his jeans pocket before he’s unwrapping the present. He’s so gentle with the paper, as if it means anything.

But if your roles were reversed, you’d cherish every bit that carried him, too.

A moment later, the little, squared thing comes into view.

A new sketchbook, matt black.

His name is golden on it, elegantly and swiftly engraved in the middle of the cover.

“You…”

He utters this sole word. And then looks down again.

His fingertips barely touch the cover for another moment, and then, he ever-so-carefully opens to the first page. It’s an index — has a black and white print of a tiger lily behind a box that says—

To fill these pages with every curve and contour you desire, and to colour them in. Like you do with me. Happy Birthday, Kookie.

His breath visibly hitches. He opens his mouth again, audibly exhaling, eyes glued to the words and reading. Rereading. Internalising them.

The shake of his head is barely there, and you think you imagined it. But when he bites his lip again, an old tiny habit, you start worrying.

Maybe it pains him too much after all. You know that’s what it did to you every time you looked at the wrapped package.

Hurriedly, you explain, “I thought it could be something to remember me by. But I understand if you don’t want i—”

“No, I—” He lifts his gaze, your breathing suspended. His waterline glistens. “It’s an honest present. And you had it made just for me, so I… I’d be an ass to not accept.” He pulls it to his body. “Thank you so much. It’s… incredibly thoughtful.”

“So… You like it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“I’m glad. Happy Birthday, Kook.”

The peace in your voices is briefly interrupted when Jungkook suddenly raises the hand with the notebook again, speaking louder as he assures, “You didn’t have to.”

You think back to all his little gestures; the stuff he brought you from his vacation. The freaking tattoo on his arm; the sleeves of his shirt are rolled up, and you see a fragment of the orange and blue.

Even now, he carries around his sentiments for you. You’re not accepting his humility this time.

“I’ve never given you a present,” you say, “there was no way to not do that for your birthday.”

Only tonight, he’s wearing his heart on his sleeve; you can see the heaviness of it, tell yourself you’re hearing its beat. Matching yours. Falling like yours.

But you brush it all away, landing back in reality; once more taking in that you’re actually standing here and actually looking at him but reminding yourself that he and you aren’t what you used to be.

It takes enough strength to believe that he’s here, breathing in the same air as you. You won’t dive into delusions that might crack anyway.

You watch as he nods, putting the notebook into his bag in soft, watchful motions. Careful to keep each corner intact.

When he looks back at you, his eyes are glassier than before. Aching to utter something, preparing for something with an open mouth; words fail him, though.

They have been all evening.

What is he waiting to say?

You halt. Keep standing there. Smiling a little, biting the inside of your cheek. And when nothing comes, you finally conclude, “I should go.”

And that’s it.

That’s when his entire being finally breaks.

Because the moment you walk around your car again, he follows immediately; the rushed steps you hear behind you increase the pace of your heartbeat. Hammering against your throat, loud and clear; your head spins.

Worse and worse when you open the car’s door and he appears behind you, shutting it again with a flat hand.

You don’t know what he wants, but you know you’re not ready for it.

But…

You did come here for answers.

So one inhale. One exhale. You calm your head and unflex your muscles. Let your shoulders fall, shut your eyelids, and when ready, open them again.

Your fingers are still gripping the handle, but your gaze is fixated on your window. It’s darker now, and his reflection in it is clearer, albeit still a bit fuzzy. Doesn’t do justice to his incomparable beauty.

Better for your heart, maybe.

Or not?

Because you still catch his sombre stare, meeting your eyes. His nearing body doesn’t contribute to your health. You promised yourself to not spiral, but you are.

And he’s so close.

Because you feel his breath, hear him so near when he mumbles, “I’m sorry.”

Another breath in. You can’t do this.

You stand at your spot with drooping eyes, only half scared that an approaching car might run you over; your other half is dizzy and whispers, “What are you sorry for?”

“That… I hurt you. I know you don’t want to talk about it, and— if you want me to shut up… I’ll do it right now.”

You do. You don’t.

He’s tangling up your thoughts; he always has. Does it matter whether he speaks or not? It won’t change anything about your wretched heart… about the sting it suffers.

If he keeps talking now, you’ll dismantle each of his words for the rest of the night. And if he doesn’t, you’ll keep wondering what he would have said.

You wait. Let him decide what he wants to do.

And when he takes your silence as permission to go on, he says, “I didn’t want to hurt you. And I… I wasn’t being completely honest with you.”

Nightlife starts chirping already. It’s getting darker by the minute.

“When I said things have gotten easier for me without you. I lied.”

You swallow, torso nearing the car. You watch as his hand slowly lifts to the vehicle’s roof, close to your face. If you were in such a position to do so, you’d step back, fall into his arms.

Instead, you merely say, “It sounded true.”

“It was true that people are off my back… but. Nothing’s fucking easier without you.”

You gulp; there’s urgency in his voice, and it’s ruining you thoroughly.

You tell him, “It should be a reward. You’ve won more than you’ve lost.”

A chuckle moves a strand of your hair; it’s still not as sincere as you’re used to, but rather sad. Troubled as his words as he asks, “Let me guess… Because it’s just you?”

You only shrug one shoulder, listen as he adds, “You’re a lot more to live without than you think.”

Are you dreaming? Are his words real?

And the subtle, sudden touch, fingers against yours. Real? A fantasy?

You let out a tiny gasp and then hold your breath, seeking his warmth as he grazes your digits. His question is breathy and hushed when it falls, “Can you look at me?”

You don’t know if you can — yet, you oblige. Somewhere in your head, subconsciously, all of you would still do anything for him, no matter how small or harmless of a command.

“Jungkook…” you murmur, looking at his chest. At its rise and fall. At the buttons. You can’t meet his eyes yet. “What do you want me to do?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why…”

“I want to say that I’m sorry. And—” His next words are daring. Incredibly ruthless, uncaring of your heart. And you can’t believe he lets them slip. “I know it’s far too late, but… if there’s a way, any solution to stick here with you after all…”

Your eyebrows knit together, and you raise your head a little, looking at his shoulders with a feeling akin to irritation. Confusion?

“…What could it be?” he finishes.

“I can’t tell you.” You close your eyes when he moves in; once again hearing the pounding of that treacherous organ in your ears. This is driving you insane. “I knew some solutions. They came easy to me, because you… you felt comforting to me, you know?”

You rub your teeth together; your throat feels dry when you comment, “But now I’m caught up in life and—”

You drop your head lower again, unable to finish the remark.

You’re caught up in emotions and craze, you think. They’re creeping in slowly but surely, and consuming all of you. The way he was supposed to.

His touch stops toying with your hand, allowing a moment of relaxation. Only to come back worse.

The back of his fingers rise high, brushing against your cheeks, down to your jaw. You stand in front of him frozen, unable to defend yourself — or maybe, unwilling to refuse him.

You shudder again; it rolls up and down your spine, tickles your brain. Drains your lungs.

You blink your eyes fully open, and then let him lift your chin with a finger.

Two specific syllables of his sentence render you broken to the core, all of you in agony when he asks—

“Did I make a mistake, angel?”

The question echoes through your mind. What happened for him to reflect on his actions and reevaluate his choices?

How did he come to such a drastically opposite conclusion than he did last week?

Has he realised it takes two to move on? To break off things? That none of you is as free as you could be without each other?

That separation and distance fuel pain instead of destroying it?

Your lower lip quivers. Pulling yourself together, you manage, “Yes. You did.”

“Because of the comfort…?”

“Not only. You know why.”

“…Tell me.”

He’s reckless.

Perhaps he’s milking it to lead the two of you to a common understanding. One where it’s clear to either of you that you need each other’s presence around, navigating towards a final verdict.

So, so different from the words that cut you last week.

“Why?” you ask.

“Because,” he begins immediately, “I’m an idiot who chose for us both. I should’ve heard you out, because… this isn’t benefiting us, right?”

“You couldn’t see that before? When I told you tha—”

“I’m an idiot,” he repeats, “who thought he knew what he was doing. And I didn’t. I want to steer towards a decision we can both agree on. So tell me,” he tries again; you sigh. The whiplash is too much. “Why was it a mistake?”

The cool evening breeze rustles through the trees and your hair. The faint glow of the streetlights starts settling in, casting a soft illumination on the surroundings. Helps you see his face clearer.

His words weigh on your heart; you could ramble down a list as to why it was a mistake.

But you settle on the obvious, “Because… I’m working on getting out of my house.” Your voice is tinged with resolution; and the statement seems to surprise him. Eyebrows shoot up. “I’ve found an apartment and… started planning out every detail of how I want it to look and feel. But…”

His eyes fill with curiosity and concern; his voice, despite all the mess, is a soothing presence amidst the uncertainty, “But?”

“But it still doesn’t feel like home… It's strange.”

“Did I feel that way to you?”

“Being with you was the first time in my life that someone or something truly did.” Your words start breaking; your voice a dwindling sound. This requires as much strength as you expected. You take a deep breath. “So yes, you… you made a mistake.”

You wait, working on your tone, steadying it with conviction. And then, you say, “I’ve never needed anyone to survive, you know? I trained myself to be as independent as I can be. Just—”

Your lungs seem to shrink; they feel tight and knotted. Maybe you’re saying too much and not hoping enough. Perhaps that’s the perfect formula for further heartbreak.

But you communicate these thoughts. You will go insane in this little head of yours if you keep them in any longer.

“I crave your comfort,” you mumble. “Whenever I feel like shit or empty, I think— if he was here, he’d know what to say or do. He’d listen. And I hate that. The only warmth I’ve ever known shouldn’t come from you, and I– I shouldn’t be missing you like that.”

You huff out a breath, accompanied by a frustrated and exhausted sound. Your fingers rub your tired eyelids, your head moving to the side. The tips of your digits keep the dampness in, and you focus on proper respiration.

Say, “I hate that I’ve grown to crave you.”

You should’ve known, back in someone else’s bedroom; pressed against him; on the damn roof.

This thing you started with him wasn’t going to end any other way, and you should’ve known.

Wasn’t it the biggest reason you opted for distaste instead? For playful loathing, showcasing it in every class and whenever you met him once the semester started.

It was easier than being fond of him — like when he pulled you to your feet again; back when you were drenched in pool water, staring at the towel he handed you.

“It was much easier,” you echo, “when you weren’t part of my life. I pushed you away with some stupid academic excuse, because I knew we… this would hurt. So much fucking easier to keep you at a distance.”

And when you marched into dorm room 7, asking him for that dumb deal, what were you thinking?

Diving into risks head-first, despite all the knowledge you possessed of your miserable little world.

But the worst confession you might admit to yourself today is that — you’d do it all just the same again.

When you open your eyes once more, you see stars. Might be the rubbing you provided them, or the pupils you’re staring into. They are drenched in enough pain to fracture every teeny tiny bit of your soul.

Desolation swims in your waterline, but you don’t dare to blink; wait until it’s gone back. It proves hard when he keeps looking at you like that.

Almost impossible when he asks, “What do I do to make it right?”

The answer has always been the same, and he has never liked it. What else can you do but to repeat it over and over again, hoping for it to sink in one day and trigger change?

“You open up,” you say, “you tell me how you feel. What you feel.” Your chin trembles; you pull the evening air through your nose. “You stop keeping secrets from me and tell me what’s wrong.”

“I have never opened up with anyone as much as with you.”

And the worst truth is that he means that. No hint of hesitation and deception in his eyes.

It breaks you that this is the most he’s ever been able to disclose. What happened to him that forced him to bury every revelation in his ruptured heart?

His fingers slither to your cheek. He keeps the balmy palm under your ear, as he’s always liked to do. So many habits you caught; all of them pricking your skin now.

“Why have you never before?” you question, hoping for answers. Any of them. “To anyone else?”

His expressions change, much as you expected — feared.

The hand on your face moves a tiny inch, somewhat restless and uneasy. His exhale is desperate. And you, still clueless and suddenly anxious, prod, “Can you tell me?”

Hope trickles through your skin and into his — because for a moment, he looks like he can. There’s hesitation in his stare, but his veiled thoughts seem to sneak to the forefront of his mind.

You’re close, you think.

Unimaginably close to figuring him out.

But then, all the sparkle withdraws again. Like a lightbulb shutting off, his eyelids droop again, and he utters, “I can’t.”

God.

“Why not?”

“Because it hurts.”

“I want to help you, Jungko—”

“You can,” he hastily promises, fretful, as if you’re slipping away again — and maybe, you think, you are. “Just not now. Please just.” He downs the clump in his throat. “Let’s fight through this, because I want you to be able to help me, too.”

Fuck.

Why is this worse?

Wanting the aid, wanting the support; wishing for relief but not being able to accept it.

His lips draw closer, pillowy when they graze yours. Stalling the kiss as he mumbles against your mouth, “Can we fight through it?”

You don’t answer; drop your head to the side. A flicker of your old stars returns, but then it dies again; much like a candle in the wind.

He steps back slowly. Carefully. His chest deflates as he asks, “Is it… because of Hoseok?”

Hoseok?

That foolish conversation you had at the movies; his insecurity and the hints of jealousy. Has he been thinking about it?

Hoseok.

Unbelievable.

Of all things plaguing your mind, Hoseok is the last to keep you away from Jungkook. No. Fucking no.

“What?” you voice louder now, slightly piqued.

But he immediately retreats, kissing his teeth as he assures, “Nothing.”

You’re not done, though.

“No,” you tell him, “no, it’s not him. If it was, I’d chosen him years ago. And last year, I wouldn’t have come to the party but rethought his offer. But— Jungkook, fuck, I’m standing here with fucking you, because you never tried to fix me. Just… you just accepted me. Lived through every fucking day with me.”

He’s surprised. Expected the burst as much as you.

“I—”

A single pronoun escapes him before you interject again.

“It’s not because of Hoseok. It’s because of me. And because of you.” Your breaths are irregular when he caresses your jaw. Your thoughts are jumbled. “It’s because the hurt sits too deep to think about this now.”

“I… I know.”

“I can’t think about it, or anything. Or about you.”

Your forefinger presses against his chest, but his touch doesn’t falter. He keeps his palm planted on your face, another one joining on the other side as he repeats, “I know. I know.”

You’re agitated.

Want him away but closer. Silent but confessing his innermost wishes.

So bewildered, unable to make sense of this. Because what’s happening? Where are the two of you going?

Since that very frat party, what road were you on?

You don’t know. And maybe you shouldn’t think about your timeline. How you developed and how you got here.

But you can’t help it when his thumb comes back to your lips, parting it, preparing for another bittersweet kiss.

Like he always does. Like he did months and weeks ago.

Or…

That very night after the unspeakable humiliation, when he parted from you.

No matter how much you’ve forgotten, you still remember that time’s farewell.

The towel didn’t dry your clothes faster, but you were thankful for the gesture.

Jungkook rubbed your half-damp hair, insisting on helping, and the summer and its heat did the rest. Your back faced the wide bathroom mirror; you didn’t want to look at your miserable reflection anymore.

Eun was standing outside — her folded arms and the tapping finger spoke volumes, and her squinting eyes sought the assholes who’d ruin your night for you.

According to her, she’d already seen you with Jungkook; and not one to spoil your first good night in ages, she’d stayed away, instead looking for a certain blacked out Park Jimin. He was already home again, she said.

Now that you were leaning against the sink, she was seething on the other side of the door. Ready to bring you home; ready to thrash a couple people’s heads, only resisting because you’d told her to.

“Are you done?” you heard her from outside.

You looked up at Jungkook. You didn’t quite understand his willingness to stay with you, but you appreciated it. Stared at him with big, questioning eyes as he said, “Almost.”

“Eun,” you mumbled through the door, surprised when she heard you; hummed. “Could you get my stuff? Just my purse and cardigan.”

No hesitation.

“Where is it?”

“Attic. I forgot it there.”

She didn’t say much; grumbled something and then stormed away, once again leaving you with the kind presence in front of you.

In some way, you hoped you weren’t going to see him again. He was popular on campus, and you were a joke. The rich, little girl who made an idiot of herself at a private frat party.

If he wanted to keep his reputation, he wasn’t going to cross ways with you again either.

Right?

“People are so dumb,” he said, vexed as he put the towel away. “That was an absolutely inhumane thing to do. Thought we’re outta high school.”

You scoffed. “Are we ever?”

Jungkook shrugged his shoulders, shaking his head. Maybe he felt the need to reassure you a little more, because he said, “They’ll forget about this in a day or two. Fuck them and keep living.”

Huh.

It was such a harmless statement, wasn’t it?

But… you weren’t used to it.

What you knew were strategies to help your image; to drown the rumours and delete online humiliation, which would undoubtedly happen again this time. You knew of staff that spoke to journalists or pacified magazine publishers.

But not of encouragements to forget about it and live on.

“Thank you,” you said, timid and quiet.

The way he stood there, leaning back, looking at you. Waiting for you to finger-comb all knots out of your hair… you had to say something. So you did.

“I think I told you so much today, because I needed it out. And you said all the things I needed to hear, so… I truly do feel thankful. For everything.”

More of the dialogue is broken. Your diary didn’t delve into details of the bathroom scene; all leftover pictures your written words evoked today are fragments now.

Like how he looked at you.

A bit of surprise, mixed with endearment. A smile that followed and a nod; one step closer and then another.

Or the tilted head and the tired doe eyes. The thumb that lifted to your lips, parting them — you didn’t know back then that he liked this tiny detail, and that you’d grow to love it, too.

And you recall the way he moved closer.

Leaving a gap between his own lips and then settling them between yours. Unprovoked, unannounced.

Softly, slowly. No craze, no insanity.

Just a touch. Fingers on your jaw, mouth moving just a little.

And then, him backing away again, bringing the night-long conversation to an end until you met again that fall.

“Go home and be well,” he said.  “Fuck everyone else, okay? If they can’t treat you right or love you the way you wish, then just fuck it all.”

You felt hazy and warm. More sober than before, but drunk on confusion.

Something told you that he wasn’t just talking about the immature public down in the garden, but everything you’d confessed on the roof, too.

Hoseok.

You simply voiced, “Huh?”

“She will be loved, right?” he asked one last time. You smiled; the giddy feeling was unmistakably present. “For sure one day.”

Nostalgia is a bitch.

It’s supposed to be a sepia feeling. Comforting and sweet. It shouldn’t hurt like this.

The memory is poignant; you want it back, but you don’t want to trudge through the pain again. You want this to be over. Want to dive through the agony and surface to a better time.

If fate and the world let you, with him by your side.

Is it too much to ask for? You don’t know.

“Can you ju—”

You look at him immediately.

The same doe eyes you know — soft, tender, dry but despondent. There’s not a single tear in sight, but his words and voice still break. The fear in his pause smashes your heart into smithereens.

“Just… once,” he begins, “could you look at me like that again?”

“…Like what?”

“Like you didn’t stop falling for me.”

Still. Everything stays still.

You don’t think you could ever look at him like you stopped. You can’t imagine you’re staring at him right now like you ever did. How do you make clear to him that you orbit around him?

You keep standing still. Not an inch moves; your heart might give out.

Words fail you when his hope collapses and his shoulders drop. A deflating chest, a sigh of dispiritedness; and then, his touch is gone.

He nods slowly, a hand sinking back into his pockets. Clutching the strap of his bag, he steps away, keeping your gaze for a moment before he turns around.

His falling head makes you sick to the stomach; the way he’s walking away, no other word uttered, is gut-wrenching. You know he’ll text you again; thank you for the present at least.

You are so certain he will.

But you hate how this played out. Hate that nothing is resolved.

And maybe it’s that loathing towards this very outcome why you don’t want to leave just yet. No matter how this might end — whether you part or find your way back to each other again.

There’s just one thing you somehow want to remind him of again.

“That night at the frat party… last year,” you start. He halts in his steps, moving to face you. “We were dumb to treat it like nothing.”

He blinks at you.

“It’s where it started, don’t you think? And it’s where we should’ve been truthful with what we wanted already.”

“Why are you saying that now?” he asks.

“Because I just remembered that… you kissed me back then, too. You kissed me like you didn’t want me to leave.”

It’s when your tale already started. Pointing at one outcome: no matter what hurdles, you were meant to end here together, but without the pain, as one unit.

It was clear back then. It should’ve always been clear; break ups were redundant. You know — does he, too?

His gaze feels heavy on you. The silence lingers, tension mounting as he takes in your answer. Doesn’t say a single word until your face is hot and your heart is bursting.

Maybe you’ve pushed him away, wounded his heart. He looks… disoriented. Have you said too much? Or not enough? Did you utter something not true at all?

False.

Because a moment later, his features change; endless longing as clear as the sky when he speaks again—

“Angel…”

Your breath catches; every damn piece of you implodes.

“Stay the night.”

alllllright :’) worth the wait? :’’’) i’m sorry if not but YAY if yes !! tbh, more things were supposed to come to light, but the chapter was already too long, so i had to split it. you shall find out more and get some relief in ‘cmi9: blue’ !! another reason i focused on the flashbacks more was bc… i need us to process the big reveal >:) how was it? what do you think?

as always, thank you so much for supporting this series. it means a shit ton to me that you guys are still here and loving these two as much as i do. as per usual, this one required all my brainpower and my free time, too; so if you liked it or want to say literally anything, please keep interacting with the series – motivation to work on this is always boosted by you guys tremendously !! so please like, reblog (on desktop since the post’s so big!!), comment aaaand send an ask !!! i shall answer them all this time >:O

thank you and i love you. here’s to more <3

[berryhobii]

Late For Work (jjk x reader)

Pairing: Husband!Jeon Jungkook x black!female!reader

Word Count: 2,223

Warnings: established relationship(they’re married!), fluff, domestic vibes, Jungkook’s a house husband, tattooed!Jungkook, smut(18+ but I don’t control what you consume), morning sex, somnophilia I guess? He wakes reader up with head. Kitchen sex, oral(m and f receiving), deepthroating, throat fucking, lots of spit, reader’s a whiny and needy sl*t, Jungkook is obsessed with reader(in a sweet way), begging, overstimulation, interrupting phone cliche

A/N: Hi! I’m back! I know I said this would be a Gamer!Jungkook but I kind of went off script a little, heh. There will definitely be a part 2 of this though and there will be actual Gamer JK in that. While I don’t explain reader in this, they are dark skinned. Their skin is described more in part 2. Criticism is always welcomed and I hope you enjoy!

Read Part 2 HERE!

~

When you woke up, it was to him between your legs, slurping up all of your wetness and flicking his tongue against your swollen clit. He managed to wrench 3 orgasms out of you before your alarm rang, that stupid job calling for your attention. Thank goodness you were close to going on vacation. After that, you could spend some much needed quality time with your husband.

He helped you to the bathroom, your legs feeling weak from your orgasms that were still vibrating through your body. Once you showered, did your skincare, and refreshed your hair, you found him in the kitchen, back turned to you as he sliced something on a cutting board.

Bringing your bottom lip between your teeth, your hungry eyes greedily took in the expanse of his bare, muscled back. Each movement caused his muscles to flex, the dark and brightly colored tattoos that stretched across his back shifting. He had recently finished the healing process for his brand new back tattoos—a large dragon spread across his shoulder blades, multiple flowers of different colors wrapped around his ribs, and your favorites were the abundance of clouds with butterflies resting on them. He had lots of little others like that cute smiley face on the back of his neck and that Minnie mouse bow on the back of his right arm he got on a dare after losing to Taehyung. You remember when he came home with it. You had laughed for close to 10 minutes, much to Jungkook’s chargin, his pout never leaving until he got annoyed and bent you over the couch. You still giggled but his cock taught you manners.

He heard you place your purse down on the kitchen island, turning his head to look at you.

“Breakfast is almost ready.”

You came up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist and leaning in to inhale his shampoo. Your cheek rubbed against his soft skin, humming when he relaxed in your embrace.

“Morning head and breakfast? Are you married?”

He chuckled, reaching for another strawberry to slice. “I am. Very happily for 3 years. They’re the love of my life.”

“Sounds like a very lucky person.”

While you couldn’t see his face, you knew he was smiling extra big.

“Eh. They hog all the blankets and can’t sleep unless it’s freezing cold but I guess they’re lucky to have me.”

You rolled your eyes, biting his shoulder blade. He was such a dork.

“They bite me a lot too. I wonder if I’m tasty.”

Your hands began to wander, scratching down his chest and abs until you reached the band of his low sweats. You dipped into the article of clothing, a noise of surprise vibrating your throat when you found he wasn’t wearing underwear.

Your hand grabbed at his half hard cock, beginning to pump him slowly. He inhaled a sharp breath, dropping the knife he held in the sink. Safety first and all that.

His hands gripped at the counter, head dipping low as you stroked him to hardness. When his sweats began to get uncomfortable, he moaned.

“Baby….”

You hummed, pulling away from him to let him turn around. Now that he was facing you, you could appreciate him fully—from his broad chest to his smooth expanse of his defined stomach. Your eyes trailed up to meet his, dark irises staring at you. His gaze made you feel warm all over, those earlier orgasms feeling far away. You wanted more.

Dropping to your knees before him, you grabbed at his sweats before pulling them down. His cock sprang up, the tip leaking precum. You licked your lips, gaze greedy and your throat itching to have him nestled in it.

You gripped him once again, feeling him throb in your hold. Locking eyes with him, you leaned forward to lick at his tip.

“You’re delicious.”

Your stare never broke as you licked him from base to tip. Eye contact was the quickest way to get him to cum. You too. It just made your sex feel more intimate and connected. It also fueled his ego a little to watch your sultry eyes stare up at him as he was down your throat.

After you had slicked him up enough, your hand pumped at him as your mouth sucked at his balls—his most sensitive spot. He tossed his head back, leaning against the counter, a loud moan coming from him.

Gathering saliva in your mouth, you bubbled spit all over his balls. He loved it wet and messy, something you learned after your first few times together. He was always a gentleman during your first times but that quickly changed when you started getting more and more comfortable with him. Your pussy would get so wet and sticky that he couldn’t hold back.

Coming back to his cock, you kissed along his shaft, trailing spit with you, cheeks and chin wet. You took him into your mouth, sucking him halfway in, your hand pumping what you hadn’t gotten to…..yet.

Your tongue licked all around him, cheeks hollowing as you sucked him. His hand grabbed at your hand, hips bucking into your throat. You removed your hand from his cock, instead gripping his thighs, giving him the okay to go hard.

Using his other hand to grab the back of your neck, he began moving his hips in and out of your mouth. You relaxed your throat, allowing him to slip in and out with ease.

“You like that cock in your throat, baby?” His raspy voice talked down at you. You moaned around his cock because fuck yes you did. You could feel your panties sticking to you, the fabric probably ruined beyond rescue.

He pushed your head all the way down, holding you there, nose buried in the hair at the base of his cock. Tears sprang in your eyes, throat constricting around him. Your nails dug into his thighs, leaving red marks in your wake.

When you began to sputter and gag on him, he let you go. You inhaled a deep breath, coughing and trying to pull air back into your lungs. Your bleary eyes looked back up at him, your hand coming to pump at his slick cock again. Sweat dripped down his chest and stuck his hair to his forehead. He looked good enough to eat.

“Give me more, baby.” Tongue hanging out of your mouth, you were ready to take everything he gave you.

Fuck.

A few more pumps of your hand and harsh suck to his tip and he was cumming in your mouth, filling your cheeks. He shivered as his orgasm racked him, mouth dropping open in a silent moan.

You didn’t immediately swallow, letting him regain his breath. You patiently sat back on your heels, bright eyes staring up at him.

His hand reached out to grab your chin, tilting your head up. “Open.”

You obliged, dropping your jaw to show him his release in your mouth. He felt his cock jump at the sight. He couldn’t get enough of you.

“Swallow.”

And you did, opening your mouth again to show him you had obeyed.

He helped you up from the ground, grabbing under your thighs to lift you and place you on the kitchen island. His lips hungrily moved against yours, his hands pushing your pencil skirt up until he could access your thong. His warm hands grabbed both sides of the thin string, giving it one harsh pull and it snapped. He worked at the buttons of your blouse next, careful not to pop any of them in his haste but truthfully, he could care less. Once it was open, he pulled down the cups of your bra, letting your breasts spill out.

You moaned as his hands pinched at your nipples, little sparks going up your back. He pulled away from your mouth, a whine coming from you but it was quickly covered when his mouth sucked in your left nipple. Your hands buried in his hair, humming as he worked both of your nipples to stiff peaks. He bit at the skin of your breasts, further darkening the hickies he placed there just last night. Once he was satisfied with his work, he pulled away to kiss you again.

“Fuck me, baby. Please. I can’t wait anymore.” You were starting to grow more and more desperate. Those orgasms from earlier just weren’t enough. You needed his cock right now.

He smirked at your whiny tone. His cock was hard again, throbbing to be nestled in your warm and tight walls but he had more pressing matters to tend to.

Pecking your lips once more, he bent down slightly until he was level with your pussy. His hands gripped your thighs, pushing them apart to get more access to your dripping heat. You barely had time to balance yourself on your hands before he was diving in, eating you out like a man starved. His tongue licked and sucked at your clit, abusing the swollen bud until your legs were shaking.

His eyes looked at you from between your legs and goodness were you a sight to see. The way your mouth dropped open, your breasts all marked up, and your watery eyes threatening to spill. He could eat you out for hours, not even stopping when you were crying and begging for him to let you rest.

You didn’t even realize how desperate and close you were until that band was snapping and you were cumming all over his face. One of your hands buried in hair, pulling him closer as your head fell back. Your toes dug into his shoulders, almost pushing him away but he remained firm, delivering licks to your clit.

Once you were shaking in overstimulation, he pulled away, licking his lips of your sweet juices.

He stood back to his full height, pulling you closer until your hips hung off the edge of the counter. You felt his cock rub against your sensitive pussy, flinching away a little at the almost painful feeling. But you were so desperate for him that you didn’t care. You just wanted his cock inside you. Now.

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him to you again. Tears fell down your cheeks, bottom lip wobbling. “P-please….no more teasing…”

He could hold himself back anymore either. He pecked your temple, hands digging into the nest of your thighs. “Okay, princess.”

The head of his cock rubbed against your slick folds, bumping your clit a few times making you shiver.

Just as he was about to push in, the loud blaring of your phone broke you apart. Realization struck you, your eyes widening.

“Oh shit! My meeting! I’m late!” You hastily reached for your purse, digging in it until you found your phone. You quickly answered it, apologies falling from your lips.

After you hung up, Jungkook helped you from the island, your legs buckling but he held you up.

You sighed, leaning against his sweaty chest. “Ugh, darn you and your magnetic dick. Why did you distract me?”

He snorted, rolling his eyes. “You stuck your hand down my pants. You started this.”

You growled, biting his pec lightly. “You woke me up. You started this.”

He harshly gripped both of your ass cheeks in his hands. “Do you want me to finish it?” His suggestive tone matched his eyes, his stare sending shocks straight to your pussy. Was that meeting really important? You could just quit your job and live your days with Jungkook’s cock down your throat. You’d clock in faithfully every day.

You whined, pushing him away. “I’m already late. Stop tempting me.”

He gave you that cheeky smile again but let you go, making sure to deliver a slap to your ass as you walked away.

Once you had brushed your teeth again and fixed your makeup and hair, you rushed to the door. Jungkook was already waiting for you with a bagel and your lunch bag. Your heart warmed at the sight of him. He took such good care of you. An idea of a surprise date swirled in your head.

You smiled when your eyes met.

“Here. I packed your lunch and since breakfast got cold, I made you a bagel. Eat the whole thing.”

You walked into his arms, hugging him tightly, his warmth sinking into your skin. “I love you.”

He smiled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I love you more.”

After embracing for a moment longer, you reluctantly pulled away, not wanting to leave him but you knew you had to work.

He kissed away your pout. “I’ll be here when you come back. I promise.”

You sighed but nodded, expecting a final kiss before you finally walked out of the door but instead, his hand grabbed your throat to pull you closer. You gasped at the sudden movement, eyes widening as they locked with his. His smile had dropped, only a mischievous smirk left in its wake.

“And when you come back, I’ll fuck you on every surface in this apartment.”

Your thighs rubbed against each other, excitement bubbling in the pit of your stomach. You were about to say something but you were silenced when he shoved the bagel in your mouth

“Have a good day at work.”

[yoon-kooks]

paired & puppy-eyed | jjk

⛓️pairing: hotnerd!jungkook x popular!reader

⛓️genre: smut, fluff, college!au

⛓️summary: When Jeon Jungkook agrees to be your partner for a class project, he doesn’t realize what that might escalate to until you show up at his door in a teeny-tiny crop top and cling to his tattooed arm like his naughty little kitten.

⛓️word count: 4.6k

⛓️warnings: dom!jk, sub!reader, daddy/kitten undertones, dirty talk, reader calls herself a sl*t one time, dick tattoo, many rounds of sex off screen😔

⛓️p&p masterlist⛓️

a/n: if you're looking for the ✨filthy✨ smut version, read paired & pierced from the reader's pov! this one takes place in the same 2 days but from jungkook's pov without explicit smut😔 if you read both, lmk which version you preferred! i personally like this one more bc we get more catdad!jjk heh

Jungkook doesn’t always have a goal for the day, but today is different. He’s running on approximately zero hours of sleep and would love to get a nap in before class starts. That shouldn’t be too much to ask.

Unfortunately for him, that won’t be happening today because there are at least ten girls huddled next to his desk when he walks into the classroom. An onlooker might assume that these girls are gathered around for a chance to win his heart over, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. In reality, there’s a queen bee sitting a foot away from him, and she’s the one everyone’s always drawn to. 

That queen bee is none other than you.

As Jungkook quietly takes his seat, he overhears something about that Loudmouth Jim who sits on the other side of the classroom. Apparently, you were hanging out with that guy at some party. A girl like you can do so much better than Loudmouth Jim who always needs to make everything about him. He couldn’t accept it when his ex broke up with him, so he turned it around on her to make it seem like he was the one breaking things off with her. Now he’s made it his mission to make her jealous by flirting with popular girls like you. Jungkook swears he only knows this because his tattoo artist loves to spill the tea he hears from his other clients.

“Is he as big as they say?” All the girls look so wide-eyed and eager to hear what you have to say about Loudmouth Jim’s cock. They talk about shit like this all the time, and as much as it makes Jungkook want to bang his head against a brick wall, he’s also lowkey disappointed that they’ve never once wondered about the size of his cock. He wouldn’t mind if that seed were planted in that pretty little head of yours.

As it turns out, you haven’t seen Loudmouth Jim’s cock. Thank god. And from what it sounds like, you didn’t want to see it anyway. Good girl. In fact, when Jungkook takes a peek next door, you don’t even look super engaged in the girl talk. You nod along and smile a bit, but you’re a lot quieter than one would expect for someone so popular. It’s kind of cute.

Eventually, class begins and Jungkook lets out a sigh of relief. Now the girls have to cut the chitchat and leave. At long last, he can finally catch up on some sleep. This wouldn’t be an issue if not for the tiny demon kitten that wandered to his doorstep a week ago. Not only does she keep him awake at night by knocking shit down and chewing on his phone charger, but she also haunts him in his sleep.

He dreams of the little fucker swatting her paws against his back and wiggling her tiny body into his hood. When that isn’t enough to get his attention, she starts gnawing on his index finger.

“Hey Jungkook.”

The boy opens an eye and the first thing he sees is you bent down in front of him as if you were about to do something indecent under his desk. He immediately shakes that thought out of his head, though he still has no fucking clue why you’re down there looking up at him with such needy puppy dog eyes.

“Wanna be partners?” you ask him.

Still half-asleep, he looks around the room and sees everyone pairing up and talking about a project of some sort. Fucking hell. He absolutely despises any and all projects that aren’t individual. Even the ones where a super pretty girl is asking to pair up with him. But before he can decline, he notices you checking over your shoulder and sees Loudmouth Jim on his way over. Ah, it all makes sense now. You’re just using him to avoid being partners with that asshole. It’s a matter of picking the lesser of two evils. Understandable.

“Sure, I guess.” As much as Jungkook doesn’t want to admit it, he wouldn’t have had it in him to say no to you anyway. Not with those puppy eyes.

“Good, good.” The smile on your face is too much. Why are you smiling that big for something as small as agreeing to be your partner? It’s really not that deep. But it is really cute. Fuck. See, this is what happens when he doesn’t get enough sleep—his mind develops some sort of irrational softness that won’t go away until he either lets his body rest or rubs one out. He’ll do whatever it takes to get that nasty soft feeling out of his system.

Seeing how the classroom isn’t the best place to have his hand in his pants, he opts to fall back asleep before class ends. Hopefully he won’t be disturbed by any more kitten nightmares.

Ten seconds later, Loudmouth Jim enters the scene, and Jungkook can kiss his nap goodbye. Still slumped over, the sleep-deprived boy listens in on the awkward exchange between you and Loudmouth. Bro apparently can’t take a hint that you want nothing to do with him. Jungkook would step in and tell Jim to fuck off, but he wants to see you do it yourself. That would be kind of hot.

“I’m actually partnered up with Jungkook, sorry,” you say in an apologetic tone. You probably get taken advantage of all the time because of that compassion. There’s no need for you to be so nice to everyone you interact with, and especially not to shallow people like Jim. That must be exhausting.

“That kid asked you to be his partner?” Loudmouth spits. Kid? Jungkook does his best not to snort while pretending to be dead. When he takes a peek, he sees you nod. “And you said yes?” 

You nod again. This time, however, you don’t give him the gentleness you’re known for. With a furrowed brow, you almost look bothered—something you probably feel all the time but never show. It’s so rare to see your emotions out in the open like that. It’d be quite intriguing to see how you look when you’re genuinely happy, sad, mad, horny—

Nope. Jeon Jungkook is not going to let his sleepy mind wander there on a Friday morning. It can at least wait until he gets home.

After Loudmouth Jim is gone, Jungkook sits up and stares at you. Your face has already softened back up. Fuck it. He’s never seen anyone so cute in his entire life, through sleep-deprived glasses or not.

“Why didn’t you just partner up with that other guy? It sounded like he wanted to work with you.” Kind of a dick move of him to ruffle your feathers when he already knows about your distaste for Jim, but Jungkook is genuinely curious to hear what you have to say. And he’s not one to be curious about other people’s affairs.

“That’s not what he wanted,” you say. They don’t call him Bad Intentions Jim for nothing.

“What about everyone else? Aren’t you friends with everyone here?” Perhaps “friends” isn’t the best word to describe the rest of your classmates, but it’s clear that they enjoy being in your presence.

Apparently, you feel a bit more detached than that. According to you, no one’s going out of their way to save you from a hypothetical burning house. Jungkook probably would. But there’s no way in hell he’s admitting something like that. He’d sound like a simp!

“Who would you save?” he asks. Surely you have someone you’d put before anyone else. Anyone would be lucky to be your number one.

“No one.” 

Jungkook knows he shouldn’t feel a certain way about your answer, but he can’t control how his lips curl into the slightest smile. Your response is proof that the two of you aren’t as different as it seems. He might even like you for it.

Heck, he might even offer to do the whole damn project by himself and still give you credit for it! That’s the plan he has cooked up for his antisocial self—until you keep insisting on working together. Something about meeting up on the weekend. Maybe he should stop playing hard to get and just say okay.

“I’m busy.” He immediately hates himself for saying it. That’s his default response for any sort of social gathering, and his dumbass went on autopilot for no reason.

“Busy with what?” The way you flutter your eyelashes at him is both innocent and seductive. Are you actually flirting with him? Because it’s working.

“My newborn,” he utters out of panic. It didn’t entirely come out of his ass, though. The vet did say his kitten is around eight weeks. That’s basically a newborn, and she’s definitely been keeping him busy.

But then your eyes get all big and sparkly. “You have a child?”

How the fuck is Jungkook supposed to respond to that? You’re so excited over a human baby that doesn’t exist, and now he has to be the bringer of bad news. He normally doesn’t feel bad for others, but this makes him feel like absolute shit.

“If it’s easier for you and the little one, we can work at your place?” you offer. Why the fuck are you so gullible and trusting in him, and why is that a huge turn-on for him?

“I was just fucking with you…” he finally comes clean. You look exactly like the surprised Pikachu meme, and yes, it’s adorable. Fine, you win. He gives you his number and address and invites you over. 

All that for a fucking project.

When Jungkook returns home, a sleepy kitten waddles its way over to the door to greet him. She yawns her fish breath in his face as soon as he picks her up for a kiss. Ungrateful little demon.

She doesn’t stop there, either. With a burst of energy and a bushy tail, she flicks her eyes around, looking for a wire to chew on. The computer cords must be quite appetizing because she keeps trying to eat them.

“Hey, that's dangerous, Lucy.” Jungkook peels the kitten away from the wires and sets her down on his bed, but she just runs right back into the danger zone. “Lucinda, you little shit.”

Twenty minutes later, the boy makes a run to the pet store and returns with a few peace offerings. He’s not much of a cat person, so he has no idea what all the young kittens are into nowadays. Hopefully they like mouse toys and pink bunnies.

Like the new father he is, Jungkook spends the rest of his evening teaching the kitten how to play fetch, rocking her to sleep, and tucking her in with the mouse and bunny. Finally, the demon has been tamed.

By the time he gets into bed, it’s already past midnight. He’s exhausted and should probably get some sleep, and yet his mind is still wandering. He can’t quite shake that image of you getting down on your knees at his desk, just begging for his attention. For a second, it looked as though you, the most popular girl on campus, were lusting after his cynical smartass self. The mere possibility of that lures his hand into his pants to address that ache he’s been enduring all day. But before he can get any relief, he hears a set of paws back on the prowl.

Jungkook hobbles out of bed and turns on the light. To no one’s surprise, the naughty kitten is caught red-handed with a wire in her mouth.

With a sigh, he collects the kitty, sits her down in his lap, turns his computer on, and opens up the code for the partner project. It’s going to be a long night.

The funny thing is, the assignment itself doesn’t require much time or effort. What takes up all his time and effort is this silly kitten. She’s adorable but so damn needy. Kind of like you. If you were here to work on the project with him like you’d fought so hard to do, you’d surely be much too big of a distraction. No work would ever get done when you bat your eyes at him and giggle over the tiniest things.

It takes a good few hours between modifying and adding lines of code and keeping an eye on the troublemaker, but Jungkook eventually gets it done before the sun rises. As an added bonus, the naughty little wire fairy has finally worn herself out. She curls into a ball on top of Jungkook’s chest and falls into a deep slumber. The boy is out a minute later.

It’s around ten in the morning when Jungkook wakes up and checks his phone. You’re supposed to drop by sometime today, aren’t you? He wishes he knew when to expect you, or if you weren’t coming at all. It’s up to you to message him, though, since he gave you his number and not the other way around.

Just then, he hears a knock at the door. His first instinct says it’s you. But then he checks his phone again and sees no new message from your unknown number. Surely you’d shoot him a text before heading his way.

It’s probably just the special package of kitty toys he ordered a few days ago. He’d get up to check, but he’s not trying to disturb the little rascal from her slumber. She’s still resting peacefully on his chest, and he’d like to keep it that way for as long as possible.

But what if the package gets stolen? Jungkook spent a lot more money than he’d like to admit on those kitty toys, and he’d be pretty pissed if someone took that away from his child.

Groaning, Jungkook slowly lifts the sleepy kitten off his chest and places her on the warm spot where he’d been lying. She stretches out her tiny limbs but otherwise continues her snooze. Perfect.

The first thing he sees when he opens the door is your bare tummy because you’ve apparently decided to show up at his door unannounced in a micro crop top. It’s so short your pretty tits might pop out if your arms were held above your head. Jeon Jungkook wouldn’t mind seeing a little underboob if that’s the look you’re going for today.

Then he notices you staring at him like he’s a stranger. You haven’t even greeted him yet. He watches as your eyes travel up his bare arm to his face and messy man bun, and then back to his arm. That’s when it hits him. This is the first time you’re seeing any of his tattoos and piercings. 

The quiet studious Jeon Jungkook at school doesn’t look like the type to have a full sleeve or this many piercings. He doesn’t like drawing attention to himself and prefers to keep a low profile. Life is just easier that way. That’s why he always takes his piercings out and covers his tattoos with a hoodie when it’s time to go to class. 

Seeing him now in a muscle tank must be quite shocking to you.

“Why do you look like that?” You have the audacity to point the finger at him when you’re looking that good in your little crop top. “I mean, if I’d given you a heads-up, would you have thrown on a hoodie and removed all your piercings before I got here?”

Oh? You sound kind of upset at the fact that he’s been intentionally hiding his body art in class. Like you’ve been missing out.

“Maybe,” he answers as he leads you inside. Your curious eyes are still glued to his tattoos. You ask why he hides it all, and he mentions his distaste for compliments and small talk. 

He does it to avoid the exact things you’re so good at attracting.

“Fine, I won’t talk about how pretty I think your tattoos are.” You bring out a pouty lip to combo with those puppy eyes. He wonders how you make your pupils so big like that. And what the fuck are you so whiny for? You want to admire his body art that badly? Fine.

“I’ll grant you permission to give one single compliment.” Without a single thought, he lifts his tatted arm for you to grab onto. Your hands are so soft and warm as they slide across each tattoo. It’s in times like this that Jungkook wishes his entire body was covered in tattoos for you to trace with that angelic touch.

After what feels like forever, you still haven’t said your one compliment. It seems like you’re just using this as an excuse to latch onto his arm like his little kitten. 

“Well? Are you gonna fangirl over my tattoos or just keep fondling my arm?” He’d give you a nudge but his arm is too busy being fondled.

“I wish I could see all of them.” Your eyes meet his as your tits press into his arm. The compliment is innocent at face value, but the implications behind it sure as hell aren’t. Oh, you definitely want to fuck him.

If you think you can just waltz into his home with that crop top, drool all over his tattoos, and ask for sex so shamelessly, you’re not wrong. His body is aching to squeeze those tits, to feel just how tight you are, and to make you squirm until you squirt.

“Ooh kitty.” Like an easily distracted toddler, you toss his arm aside and move on to the next toy that fascinates you. The kitten drops her mouse in front of you and sniffs your hand when you scoop her up. Jungkook watches from afar as his own kitten steals you away from him. She even presses her pink nose to your cheek. That little fucker.

Jungkook has to bite his tongue at least five times to stop himself from asking if you’re done playing with his cat. He’d come off as jealous and needy for your attention. Instead, he acts like the mature father he is and puts her to bed in that pink new donut cushion he’d bought for her the other day. She kneads her paws on the bunny until she can’t keep her eyes open anymore and settles into the loaf position. He’s convinced she’s only behaving like an angel right now to impress his lady friend. 

“So what’s this project again?” The boy has no intentions of actually working on the project, but he’d prefer it if you weren’t so focused on his cat.

“You’d know if you were listening!” You turn back to the cat again. He could’ve sworn he heard you whispering something into her triangle ears like, “Your daddy is so useless.”

Hearing that name come out of your mouth is confirmation. Confirmation that you’d be so submissive if he were to spread your legs open and make you his little plaything. And he kind of likes the sound of that.

“I’m just fucking with you again. I already finished it, by the way,” he hums. Since you seem to be the stubborn type when it comes to project participation, he sits you down at his computer with the finished code to prove that daddy is not in fact useless.

He expects you to be all wide-eyed and impressed by his work, but you simply sigh as you run the program. Great. It appears he has yet another ungrateful little thing on his hands.

But then you start adding in a bunch of stuff “for the aesthetic” because although he’s “quite possibly the nerdiest boy you’ve ever met,” there’s still room for growth when it comes to “the fun shit.” And by “the fun shit,” you mean coding in a cat doing some elaborate kpop choreo. 

Half an hour later, you run the final product again and submit it in its perfect form. Aren’t you the nerd here? Quite possibly the prettiest nerd he’s ever met.

“Are you sure that Jim guy wasn’t trying to be your partner just to get a good grade? Nerd,” Jungkook says before face-palming internally. Why does he always resort to name-calling as his way of flirting with people? This is why no one likes him and why he’d rather just keep his mouth shut. He’s going to ruin a good thing with you if he keeps that up.

But to his surprise, you throw the name right back at him with a playful smile on your face. “If that were the case, he would’ve asked for a threesome with you too, Nerd.”

“Not particularly interested in a threesome with him.” But a threesome with you? Sounds interesting.

You call Jim an asshole and don’t deny that you have a bunch of shallow relationships with the people in your class. When the boy asks you about it, you admit it’s intentional. It’s this mindset of surrounding yourself with a lot of different people until you run into the few you click with. 

And while Jungkook can’t relate to having that many connections to his peers, he understands the desire for someone who cares for you unconditionally and makes you want to do the same. He’s been waiting for that person to show up for him too. Idly. At least you’re putting yourself out there.

“Found anyone yet?” he asks, lying down on his bed. He stares up at the ceiling and not at the pretty person sitting less than a foot away from him. You’d joined him on the bed at some point to play with the kitten, but the feline was very quick to abandon you. Now it’s just you and him.

“There might be a boy I’m interested in.” Your voice is flirty and soft. The boy knows he might have a big ego at times, but there’s no doubt in his mind that you’re talking about him. You wouldn’t be on his bed eyeing him like that if that weren’t the case.

With that knowledge in mind, Jungkook decides to tease you some more. “I bet it’s Jim, isn’t it? You know, like a passionate love-hate type thing?”

“Fuck no.” Your face hovers over his like the moon during an eclipse, except you’re much more enticing to look at. He catches your eyes on his lips until they find their way up to meet his gaze. “Never mind, it’s no one.”

Liar.

“Really?” His body suddenly moves on its own, overcome with the lust that had been building up since you first showed him those puppy eyes in class. He pulls you beneath him and holds both of your wrists above your head. He was right. That crop top is indeed short enough to show him some underboob with you in that helpless position. And, much like how you said you wanted to see all his tattoos, he wants nothing more in this moment than to see the rest of you until he’s seen it all. 

Purposely keeping the tiniest distance between his lips and yours, he whispers, “I was under the impression you were kind of into me.”

As the afternoon turns to evening, you’re still at Jungkook’s place, still fondling his arm on his bed, and still obsessed with all the art and piercings that grace his body. The two of you had fallen asleep after getting a few rounds of filthy sex out of your systems, much to the boy’s surprise. He’s used to people leaving right after, whether it’s because the relationship was purely sexual or because it just wasn’t worth his time. You’re different, though. There’s something about you that he wants to keep holding onto.

“Did this one hurt?” You poke the metal sticking out of his eyebrow.

“Not as much as you stabbing me with your finger just now,” he frowns, running a hand through his messy hair. The man bun must’ve come out at some point in the midst of all that hair pulling and wrestling in the sheets.

“You must have really low pain tolerance then,” you giggle with your finger ready to poke him someplace else. But before you can do so, he closes his hand around yours and tucks your pointy finger away to put an end to your antics. “You’re no fun,” you pout.

“Really? You seemed like you were enjoying it when I let you s—”

“Where’s this one from?” You somehow dodge the accusation and free your finger from his grasp to poke the shark tattoo that you now know hides beneath his shirt. You’re so sneaky.

“Someone.” Aka the same artist he gets his gossip from.

“What about the… snake one?” Of course that’s the one that pops into your dirty little head.

“Someone else.” Aka the one he might have slept with a few times before she convinced him that the snake would look good on him there. She wasn’t wrong. “You’re nosy.”

“I’m just asking! Maybe I want a tattoo too!” you squeak. Jungkook has no doubt in his mind that you’d look pretty damn hot with any tattoo anywhere on that body. “Tattoos are attractive, no?”

“Be honest, you only fucked me for my tattoos, huh.” The boy knows this to be false because you aren’t the shallow type, but he just wants to hear what other good things you have to say about him. Because maybe he doesn’t hear that a lot from others.

“Obviously. It had nothing to do with how hot you are, or how easy you are to talk to, or how soft you are for your cat, or how perfect of a pair we made for that project,” you lie with the most charming smile ever, snuggling up as close as you possibly can to his body. Twirling his long hair around your finger, you tuck it behind his ear, and whisper, “I’m such a little slut for your tattooed cock.”

The boy gets yet another urge to tear your clothes off again and feel your bare body connect with his so perfectly. He’s just about to shove his hand into your panties (you gave up on pants after the third time) when you let out a tiny snicker.

“I take back what I said about you not being fun,” you say, lips flush against his neck. “You’re fun to tease.”

Him? Fun to tease? Maybe you’re forgetting about all the teasing and torture he put you through earlier. Maybe you’re in need of a little reminder.

“Hey,” he says in his stern parent voice. You look up at him with those big innocent eyes again. Oh great. It’s clear that you know his weakness and aren’t afraid to exploit it. Just like how his naughty little kitten knows she can get away with anything because she’s too cute to get mad at. “Behave or I’ll kick you out.”

“Oh?” His so-called threat catches your attention enough to get your ass in his lap and your hands tangled in his hair. You let him taste your lips, your tongue, your everything—a sweet taste he won’t ever get sick of. “Do whatever you please to me,” you purr as the soft kisses quickly become an unbearable heat of pure desire.

Between you and his kitten, Jungkook already knows he’s gonna have his hands full. The thought of caring for others would normally irk him, but it’s not like he could ever say no to you or the kitten, even if he tried.

[dashinhfuzzydeer]

☆ 더 나은 절반의 나 ¡ The Better Half Of Me ☆

•ȚĤẸ ƁÉȚŤĘŘ ĤĄĽF ŌF MË•

•MÝ ŞØŰĻMĀŢË•

☆Şøûļmàțẹš☆

/소울메이트 /

A soul mate is someone who you carry with you forever. It's the one person who knew you and accepted you and believed in you before anyone else did or when no one else would. It's the person who carries the other half of your soul. It's the person who is nothing like you yet is exactly like you.

"Doesn't matter of what souls are made of, his and mine are the same"

"You scare me, because I tell you things I can't even tell myself"

[ 《 Sung Jin-Woo 》 ]

¤ He can raise the dead to be his loyal ¤

¤ The hunter who can grow stronger ¤

¤ He goes solo in everything ¤

"Soulmate? I don't need a soulmate"

[ 《 Gojo Satoru 》 ]

¤ He has limitess powers of infinity ¤

¤ A Hunter who is born the strongest ¤

¤ He needs nobody's assistance ¤

"But you do want one, don't you?"

NOTE FOR READERS

This was originally in wattpad but due to personal reasons it's being shifted here.

Unlike original timeline of solo leveling, gates appeared few thousand years ago, other events took place in the same order and time though.

There will be some new characters and Ocs.

[ciellunee]

hey hi hello could u do a fic with toji fushiguro and maybe gojo?

one of them (or both 🤭) with a reader who has a very big attitude. like always making up comebacks, acting like a diva, etc. she also has really great hair and outfits. it can be sfw or nsfw—whichever one works better.

Hey! I hope you're doing good✨️ enjoy reading and keep requesting♡

Bratty reader x jjk men

Includes - Toji fushiguro, Gojo satoru

Tw⚠️- contains NSFW 🔞 minors dni

☆Toji fushiguro☆

At first, he's charmed by your attitude. Nobody ever dared to talk to him like that, but you, you were different.

You're gorgeous. He's in awe of the way you present yourself. From your hair to clothes, your figure and personality, everything is charismatic. Cherry on top is that attitude of yours. You know just what to say. Sometimes, it hurts his ego, but mostly, he enjoys that cute little smirk you have with every spicy comeback.

"Tojiiii, you always have to work on weekends," you whined. 'Some people need to work in order to earn money princess, unlike some who'll laze around the house munching on chips and then complaint they're getting fat.' He shot you a devilish smirk.

"Funny how you're still living under my roof when you work, and I laze around" getting closer to his ears you whisper - ' talk to me like that again and you'll be sleeping on street'

Acting like a brat? He'll make sure he punishes you.

◇NSFW◇

Toji fushiguro doesn't play when it comes to punishments.

He knows how to knock some discipline into your bratty self.

Will pound you from behind and makes you look in the mirror while you continually repeat- "I'm sorry daddy, I've been a brat!"

Degradation is toji's kink. Asks you to repeat things like 'who's sl*t you are' and makes you beg for forgiveness.

Fucks you hard all night until you pass out from all the orgasms you've had.

"Next time make sure your cu*t can keep up with your mouth princess"

☆Gojo satoru☆

Satoru is fun loving when it comes to you. He adores you so damn much that it doesn't matter how bratty you get sometimes.

One thing everyone knows about satoru is that, he's a very jealous man. He knows you're gorgeous. Your shiny locks, elegant clothing and beautiful skin....everything about you makes him crazy.

"Babyyyyyyy!! I miss your cuddles, you're always so busy" satoru groans. 'I can stop working as soon as you stop leaving your damn work unattended' you shrug.

"You're so mean I bet utahime would treat me alot more sweetly" he smirks. He's petty and he knows that. 'And I am pretty sure Kento would be my ideal match. He never complaints, always have my back, he's a great cook and above all......he's so hot!'

This was enough to throw satoru off the table. You're a mean brat and he NEEDS to cater to that.

◇NSFW◇

"Yeah?? Want to cum babygirl" your moans are slippery and eyes filled with tears. 'Toru ple-please' you whined.

Satoru edges you the whole night, reminding you who he his. "You're always so wet for me"

Asks you to moan his name louder and louder so that you know who's making you feel so good. Loves it when your mind breaks and the only thing you can think about or speak about his him.

"Weren't so sweet a while back? You think kento can take care of you like this? You think kento can make you feel like this? You think kento can make this cunt throb this much?"

Edges you to the climax multiple times but removes his hands until you cry and beg for his forgiveness.

I'll let you cum once I feel you're truly sorry. Till then....let's see how much this pu*sy can endure.

Tags- @brunette-bitch77

[lazysnowtiger]

Someone Special

"Get ready by tomorrow Megumi-chan! You are going to meet someone special!" Gojo spoke as he bragged into his ward's room without permission.

"What the hell?! Learnt to knock will you!" The teen you yelled out in surprise as he sat up on his bed with his book on his lap.

"My house, My Rules" the blindfolded man declared with hands on waist and a smug smile on face.

"Ugh, now who is this person?" The teen asked with a annoyed expression, really wanting to end his sensei.

"Well, as I said, someone special. And to be particular, someone who will be your teacher for a while" The Six Eyes user informated his student.

The High-Schooler raised his brow in curiosity and asked "someone who will teach me? What will he teach me that you can't?"

"You ask too much questions, get your things packed up for few months! You will be leaving for South Korea Tomorrow!" The Infinity Bearer replied as he spined on his heels, turning around and walking towards the door.

He stood at the entrance holding the door lock as he turned his head and spoke with his usual smile "what I can't teach you is your Ten Shadows Technique, no one even in zenin clan, but I know someone who rules the shadows, he can teach you very well".

Saying that he left closing the door shut leaving no room for more questions from the Shadow User.

Megumi groaned at his sensei's attitude as he layed on the bed and looked at the ceiling thinking.

"Rules the Shadows? That's a bold statement. Who could it be?"

[httpknjoon]

her majesty | jjk

plot | This is how the rumors began between a princess and a rockstar.

words | 615

genres | fluff, humor/crack, modern royalty!au, celebrity!au

pairing | rockstar!jungkook x princess!reader

note | this one happened months after my last update!! enjoy reading <3

main masterlist | drabble series

Sweet September’s Jungkook Posts His Cover of The Beatles’ Song, Her Majesty

Spoiler alert: It might be dedicated to someone *royal*

Last night, the lead vocalist of Sweet September shared a thirty-second song cover on his Instagram account. The said video only shows Jungkook wearing a white button-up while playing an acoustic guitar in what his fans claim is his kitchen. Within just twelve hours, the video reached almost twenty million views and was posted on various social media sites by his supporters. Some fans claimed that the song was meant for someone *royal*.

In the clip captioned with a crown and yellow heart emojis, Jungkook sang The Beatles’ Her Majesty. The song was a hidden track in the band’s eleventh album, Abbey Road. 

Earlier this year, fans noticed the attendance Princess YN of Zafiro made at two of Sweet September’s concerts during their Denim Jungle tour. In the first one, she was seen with her sister, Princess Astrid. For the second one, the crown princess was spotted by a few fans in the band’s performance in New York just a day after the Met Gala. She was said to be seen wearing a particular ID only given to staff and special guests.

Many sources told E! News that there are sightings of the princess and the rockstar together in various places.

“I saw Jungkook approach Princess YN during the Met Gala.” an anonymous Twitter user posted. “He stayed and chatted with her until she left with her assistant.”

Another source stated, “Although Princess YN and Jungkook are both busy with their different lives, they really try to make time for each other. He (Jungkook) liked the princess before he even met her, That’s why he really took the chance when he saw it.”

It’s no secret to Sweet September fans that the lead vocalist has his eyes set on Princess YN. It was revealed years ago when each band member was asked about their ideal type and celebrity crushes.

“Oh, mine is totally not from the entertainment industry.” a nineteen-year-old Jungkook answered.

“Yeah, JK. We all know it’s Princess YN–” Mingyu was then cut off by Jungkook’s forced coughs.

Back to the song cover, Jungkook can be seen smiling as he sang the lyrics. He even smiled wider while singing the last line,

“Someday I'm gonna make her mine, oh yeah. Someday I'm gonna make her mine.”

The rumor between you and Jungkook was still new and growing when the song cover was posted. Various articles were later posted from numerous media sites with the same rumor topic. It’s a piece of surprising news for everyone since it involves a royal princess and a famous rockstar. With this, supporters of Jungkook’s and yours had mixed reactions to the ongoing rumor.

@/DENIMBLUE: so they are really dating?????

@/ynandastridslay: lol this rumor going around abt princess yn is just impossible.

@/jeonswatch: i just know jungkook is kicking his feet giggling twirling his hair when he heard that song before

@/sweeties09: omg so maybe my sister is not lying when she said she served jk and that princess in a mcdonalds drive thru 🤠

Replying to @/sweeties09

- @/carminwoojung: EXCUSE ME WHAT???

– @/gigglysun: abi when did she told u that???!?

— @/sweeties09: it was like after the band’s performance in new york months ago

@/ZafiroPrincessesFan: The King and Queen would never let the Princess date a rockstar. It’s just totally against the tradition. #.FakeNews

@/goldencrown: wth are these rumors??? Jungkook is dating louise right?

@/PopCrave: Netizens spotted Princess YN’s official Instagram account liking Jungkook’s latest Instagram post before unliking it an hour later.

Replying to @/PopCrave

- @/user90249853: someone’s finger slipped lmao

– @/bluemoon04: not her forgetting to switch accounts 😭✊

taglist rules

THE PRINCESS AND THE ROCKSTAR TAGLIST

@heartjiminie @rbrm094 @rjsmochii @jjkreblog @sugaslittlekookies @saintsugar @alpha-mommy69 @natalia-rmnva @stupendouscookiehumanmug @yoonjinhusbands @lilliankoo @gxtwllsn @snkyuv @canyon-lwt @hiii-priestess @jksgirlhere @bbtsficrecs @jnk-pop @jjeonjjk7 @tokkiggukie @kooliv @oopscoop @hani0407 @taebae19 @yunki-yunki-yunki @hellbornsworld 

PERMANENT TAGLIST

@dunixxd @cixrosie @jksjx @embrace-themagic @buttvi @starbtslove @missseoulite @vanntaesworld @kenqki @imajinthis @stopeatread @seolaquotes @greyrain23 @chimchimmarie @petalsofink @jayhope88 @moonchild1 @laylasbunbunny @nikkiordonez12 @misshale21

[kookslastbutton]

in your arms ༓ jjk (m)

✑ Summary: You wake up next to your boyfriend for the first time since moving in with him.

Pairing: boyfriend!jungkook x girlfriend!reader

AU/Genres: pwp, smut, fluff, established relationship, one shot

Rating: M, 18+

Word Count: 1,680

Warnings: cussing, jk teasing oc, soft pouty jk, of is restless sleeper which makes jk lowkey sad, sexual content

sexual warnings: dom!jungkook, sub!reader, morning s*x, kind of rough s*x, unprotected s*x (Don't be like them!) , d*try talk, m*ssionary, b*gging, b**b kink?, sl*t calling once (tame)

Now Playing: A Thousand Years

A/N: needed dometic koo after listening to piano guys play thousand years. I have not seen Twilight but I like the sound track lol. Hope you enjoy! 💞

"You snore." Is the first thing he says to you, eyeing you from the other side of the bed. He's downright adorable with half his face tucked behind the fluffy comforter.

"I do?" You roll on your side. The soft linen brushing against your skin reminds you of your bare state. Last night was the first time you spent the night at Jungook's since moving in. He was a little eager to get you in his bed to say the least.

Jungkook nods in response, eyes still barely peaking out from the covers.

"But...I don't." You smile sheepishly. Many things you're known for doing in bed but snoring was not one of them. You're sure of it. "I definitely don't," you repeat in disbelief. "You're being a little shit again aren't you?"

A grin slowly spreads on your boyfriend's face—his eyes revealing all. What a menace as always. His playful spirit makes you giggle.

"Did you sleep okay?" You yawn and rub your tired eyes.

Jungkook shimmies himself closer to you. His nose is inches away from your the nape of your neck. "No," he says. "You were so far away from me the whole night."

The comforter he was tugging on earlier is now folded under his arm. From this angle, you can trace every muscle on his inked arm, so you do, with the tips of your fingers. "I'm sorry koo, I'm such a restless sleeper. I didn't kick you did I?"

Since a child you've never been able to sleep in one position. You were always starfishing, flopping from side to side, or genuinely just in the twistiest pretzel-like positions possible. Now and then you'd punch or knee at the bed too, depending how vivid the dream you were having was. That's why for the majority of your life you've slept alone.

Jungkook on the otherhand could sleep anywhere in the same position. All he needed was a good grip on his blankets or in this case, you, and he'd fall fast alseep until the morning. But you were not an easy one to snuggle with, causing him to pout until all hours of the night.

"I'm okay, but can we try cuddling or spooning again tonight? Wanna fall asleep with the girl of my dreams in my arms." Your heart does about ten somersaults. Ever since you hit 6 months, Jungkook's been begging you to move in with him and now that you've finally agreed, he's been coordinating your new living conditions down to the last detail.

He's also stopped refering to the apartment as his—it's now our apartment, our haven, our home.

You remove your hand from his arm to fluff through his messy hair. Something about the silky texture makes you unable to stop yourself. Jungkook likes it too. "Of course we can." Your face drops a few shades. "But I'm not sure if it'll be any different from last night. I might hurt you."

In that very moment your boyfriend props himself up on an elbow and leans himself over your body just enough for you to fall on your back. "No you won't," he insists. The same inked arm curls around your waist, pushing your chests together. "I'll hold ya down this time."

Your cheeks warm up from the gesture.

"What's got you blushing doll?"

"Just that you're everything I was hoping for and more." You wrap both arms around his neck, his lips ghosting over yours. "I love you so much." It's hardly a whisper but Jungkook has no trouble hearing.

"You know I was thinking similar," he says, placing a light kiss to the side of your neck. You hum. This will likely be a regular occurrence now that it's Jungkook you'll be waking up to every morning. His affection knows no bounds.

"You're all mine," he continues, tracing circles on your waist with his thumb. Even with the blankets shielding your naked body from his, you feel every imprint of his touch. "I'm all yours, too. And even if you do end up kicking me in your sleep, I'll alway be back for more because I'm in love with you....just try not to kick my dick though, that would kinda be a bummer for both of us." He shoots a quick wink and you snort.

"Sorry," you cover part of your face. "That was so ugly of me." Jungkook's heard you snort a thousand times but you've still a little self conscious about it.

"Its cute."

"Stop, you dont have to say that."

"It's cute because I like making you laugh and seeing you happy make—"

"Makes you horny." You finish the sentence, cackling at his suddenly doe-eyed expression. "I can feel your erection on my thigh Kook."

"Oh," he looks down at himself. Did he think he was being smooth and all trying to hide it and all? You're boyfriend's cute but a good liar he is not. "Well can I stick it in or not?" He looks at you again, expectanty.

"Kook!" You just had sex last night and to be honest you're a little sore from it as well as flopping around in your sleep all night.

Jungkook however is imposible to refuse with his pouty lips and big, ferocious eyes. He simultaneously wants to cuddle you to death and fuck you silly every second of the day. You ask him which he wants to do, he will always want both....at least twice in one go.

"I'll make it quick, promise. And it'll feel good too."

Once you give the okay Jungkook climbs on top of you from under the sheets. You spread your thighs, allowing him to slip in—which he easily does given the fact that he wasn't the only one all worked up.

"Fuck," he breaths above you, hands gripping the mattress on either side of your head. "Such a perfect pussy you know that? Always so wet for me."

"Yes Kook," you let out a small whine. Jungkook's dick always makes you so full so fast. "Fuck me."

"You want it huh?" He teases even though it's him who started this. "You want my big cock to stretch your tiny pussy? Make you scream? Say you want it baby. Need to hear it from you."

You concede to your boyfriend and tell him how much you want it. "Mhm please, need your cock Kook. Want it so bad, want it to make me come, please."

"Greedy little thing aren't you," he seethes, thrusting into you at a slow pace. "Just got fucked three times last night and still want more. What does that make you hm?"

"A slut." Jungkook growls when the words leave your lips. He ends up fucking into you faster, loving the sight of your breasts bounce up and down at the quickened pace. You move to grip onto both boobs but he growls again, letting you know his obvious disapproval.

"Wrap your legs around my waist," he grunts. "And don't you dare think about covering yourself up. Wanna see every bit of you."

You do as he says and he sinks further in you, cock finding that sweet spot at the same time. "Fuckfuckfuck," he chants. "So needy aren't you? Swallowing my cock like it's nothing for your pussy. Who taught you how to take cock this well huh?"

"Jungkook!" You scream when you feel the knot get stronger in the pit of your stomach. You boyfriend smirks and starts kissing up and down your neck.

"Say it again. Who taught you to take cock this well?"

"You—you Jungkook, you did. Please, gonna come soon." You claw his muscular back, knowing your high is about to come swift and fast. You hope to god he lets you come too. Last night he made you wait and wait. You had to keep begging him until he was fully satisfied. You squirted a lot and it was hot but you can't do that again so soon.

"Come for me baby," he coos. "Show me what I taught you back when all you knew how to do was give head. Gonna soak my cock now aren't you? I'm already so wet from your slick, fuck."

"Jungkook—oh god," you moan one last time before finally releasing. Your boyfriend let's out a deep, breathy groan and continues to thrust into for the sake of his own high. "Kook, please, please tell me you're close. It's almost too much."

"Shit just hold tight for me a little longer baby, I'm so close." He fucks into a few more times then spills himself into your warm cunt. You both bask in post-orgasmic blish until your boyfriend leans his head down to capture your lips. It's a bit of a sloppy kiss but still fiery and passionate.

He slips off you after a minute or two of making out, hair sticking to his forehead. "I'm so glad you said yes to moving in."

"What? You just want me here for the sex?" You pant, playful glimmer in your eye.

Jungkook shakes his head. "Of course not." You move to rest your head on his shoulder. "The sarcasm's nice too."

You roll your eyes. You'll be doing this all over again tonight. Maybe he'll be able to keep you in his arms tonight this time—you truly hope.

A/N: thanks for reading! Lmk your thoughts 💞

Masterlist

no reposting, copying, or translating my work– © kookslastbutton

[katerina-marie]

Don't Go Slowly, Tell Me If You're Lonely (Series)

Chapter 1

Gojo Satoru x Reader & (past) Geto Suguru x Reader

Your relationship with Geto Suguru came to an end somewhere between the day of his betrayal and the day of his death. Your relationship with Gojo Satoru began somewhere in the midst of it all, even without you realizing.

WC: 6.2k

Content: Canon Divergence, Gojo x Female Reader (referred to as such but left descriptively vague), (past) Geto Suguru x Female Reader, Geto's canonical death, friends to lovers, angst, eventual happy ending, fluff later, reader is a sorcerer (left vague tho sorry), SFW (may change in later chapters idk), no use of y/n. More notes below.

Chapter Count: Chp 1, Chp 2, Chp 3, Chp 4, Chp 5, Chp 6 (Final)

Notes:

Product of an angsty Suguru Tik Tok. I have roughly five or so more chapters thought out for this, but that is subject to change as none of it is written yet. Canon events are loosely followed from Hidden Inventory and JJK0, but future events (Shibuya/Kenjaku) will not happen.

I've taken liberties with JJK canon/timeline for this fic. While not explicitly mentioned in the story, reader, Gojo, and Geto are all 20/21 with Nanami and Haibara being a year younger when the hidden inventory arc starts. There would only be 5ish years between HI and JJK0, and then another year or two between JJK0 and present day JJK where Megumi, Yuji, and Nobara are at the school (their ages stay the same and I’m sorry cause I know that wouldn’t fit with the changed timeline, but they will most likely only ever be mentioned through conversation in this story).

------------------------------------------

Chapter 1: Don't Go Slowly, Tell Me If You're Lonely (For the Sake of Understanding)

September 

“Suguru?” 

The dial tone was constant and unyielding, just as it was with the previous four phone calls. 

Unanswered. Ignored. Avoided. Did it happen gradually, the pulling away of a boy who sat nestled in every major part of yourself? You could recall your last conversation, only a few days prior, and it was stilted in a way they hadn’t ever been before. 

“Suguru?” 

His reply was delayed, as if the distance that separated the two of you actually affected how quickly your words reached him. There were currently hundreds, maybe thousands of miles in between each of your current locations on Earth—missions and curses…they never gave consideration to lovers or their quarrels—and for the first time, the distance felt detrimental and significant. 

“Hm, yes?” 

“I said, ‘I love you,’ and hopefully I’ll be home in three or four days. We’ll spend that evening together, yeah?” 

In the silence, all you could think was ‘he’s slipping, he’s slipping, he’s sl — ,’

“Sure, I’ll see you then.” 

Had his voice always been so tired and hollow? Had he always felt so distant and uninterested in the words coming out of your mouth? You were used to his rapt attention and soft affirmations in your conversations, always letting you know that he was focused on you. So when, in the last year, had Suguru become a shell of himself? You should have known, and your conscious would tell you that your level of intimacy (‘girlfriend’ felt like such a lackluster term for what you were to him, but your relationship hadn’t progressed further yet to earn you any other title) demanded you be aware of the moment things began to crack and crumble. All you knew was this: that there was the murder of a girl with a purpose that had been determined years prior—whose fate had changed under his watch—along with the brief but insurmountable amount of time that Suguru believed his best friend was also dead. 

Gojo Satoru. A close friend he was to you, once maybe out of obligation to your partner in the beginning, but there had been enough time to have built a friendship of your own over the years. Surely, now that you took a second to consider the situation, he would know what to do. 

“Satoru,” you mumbled, “I should call, Satoru.” 

And yet, the dial tone remained unrelenting. The A/C unit of your hotel room hummed under the bottom edge of smoke-beige curtains, and the muffled slam of a door down the hall caused you to jump from your seat on the edge of the bed. The phone remained tightly clasped in your hand and it pushed just hard enough against your ear that pain began to erupt from where the post of an earring dug into your skin. 

“Suguru?”

——————————————

Your phone rang an hour after leaving the hotel room to begin your journey home. It was in the middle of a foreign airport, your clothes were sticking to your skin after the rushed shuffling through security, and Shoko had just told you that Geto Suguru was currently wanted for the murder of 112 people and his subsequent defection from jujutsu society. 

“Is he…does anyone know where he is?” The question slipped out quietly as you dropped into a black leather seat and dragged your suitcase in front of you so you could lean your elbows on it. You took a quick glance up at a screen and tried to decide if “Gate 7” was truly flashing in the top right corner or if it were the building tears in your eyes that were starting to blur the number into a different shape entirely. 

“No, he hasn’t been located, and he’s not responding to our phone calls either. Not even Gojo’s. Have you—,” 

“No.” You let out a wet laugh and the man in the seat next to you cast a long sideways look in your direction before getting up and moving a couple seats away. Did you look so distraught that the idea of possibly spending hours on a plane next to you was so unappealing? Another stare from a woman in the seat across from you and the tear-drop shaped spots appearing on your pants convinced you that you were better off not knowing. 

“I’m so sorry,” Shoko began, and for the first time, her voice brought none of the comfort and healing it usually did. “We debated telling you and waiting until you touched down back home, but Gojo figured you’d…”

Shoko trailed off without any other indication of what considerations for your feelings were taken into account during their discussion, and all that you could respond with was a shake of your head and a hushed “no, no.” You couldn’t decide if you were grateful to know immediately of what had transpired instead of being surprised with the news upon arrival home, or if you were appalled at their thought that sitting trapped in a plane with hours to despair at the unbelievability of it all was the better suited alternative.

A flurry of sudden motion and shuffling around you jolted you back into awareness, and you realized with a sudden panic that your plane was beginning to board. Your only connection to what was going on was about to be severed. You stood with the others and began the slow march to line up at the terminal. 

“Shoko, I’m about to board my plane but please—,” A sob cut you off, and you knew that you were further from finishing that sentence than you were from the one person you yearned to be beside at that moment. A heavy ache settled in your stomach at the thought. Suddenly, there was a realization that some great reconciliation was to be made in regard to who Suguru was to you before this point and what he would be now and going forth. In no possible scenario did you see yourself emerging totally unscathed. 

Shoko was silent for a moment before offering some reassurance you didn’t really hear and then muttered a quick goodbye. Between that minute and the next, you had boarded the plane, stowed away your suitcase, found a seat next to the window, and picked a spot in the sky to stare at lest the environment around you remind you of how trapped you were. 

“Suguru?”

——————————————

“Suguru!” 

Screaming your boyfriend’s name from across a crowded street wasn’t what you had envisioned when you thought of your return home, even after the news had broken. But time hadn’t let you attempt to catch up before it decided that the person you treasured most in the world was to continue unraveling on a schedule you had no hope of following.

You had barely taken your first steps out of the airport onto paved sidewalks when your phone rang again. The ringtone could only play its first few chimes before you had it up to your ear with a breathless reply already on its way out. 

“I found him.” 

Shoko sounded neither relieved nor any more worried than she had when the two of you had spoken hours earlier, but you didn’t have a chance to question her further before she set your whole being on edge. 

“Suguru confirmed the reports, and I’ve called Satoru already.” 

For a split second, dread filled your limbs and you stumbled in your step that took you from a standstill to a sprint. Why did the thought of Satoru confronting your boyfriend offer anything other than utter relief? 

“Where are you? Shoko, please tell me where you are, and I’ll be right there!” 

‘Right there’ had you struggling against the hold Shoko had on your shoulders as you watched from a distance as Suguru and Satoru stood opposite each other. People weaved in and around the two, unaware of the danger, the devastation, of the complete dismantling that was occurring just beside them. 

“Suguru! Suguru, Suguru, Suguru!” Your screaming seemed to have no effect on him, and you would have lied and told yourself that he just couldn’t hear you, but the disdainful stares of the oblivious people all around kept you from denial. 

Suguru remained placid as he stood and took the brunt of both yours and Satoru's desperate calls to bring him back. He looked so much like the boy you had fallen in love with, but then again not at all the same. His hair was different. Half of it laid unbound against his neck, though the piece that framed the left side of his face still hid the corner of his eye. You stared at him, and you weren’t sure if you were trying to commit every inch of him to your memory or simply beseeching him to spare just a glance in your direction. Had his cheeks always been so gaunt? Did the delicate skin under his eyes always bruise purple like they were now? What else had been missed in the last year that could be counted and added to this moment? 

Before you could damn yourself further for missing the signs of Suguru’s slow deterioration, the raising of Satoru’s arm had your whole existence narrowing until it was just the two of them in frame. The sound of your heartbeat thudding in your ears faded. The warm feeling of panic that had started in your chest, radiated down your arms, and made your fingers feel numb blended in with the shuddering of Shoko’s chest against your back. All the background noise—the clack of dress shoes on concrete, the whir of car engines flying by that also shuttered the view in front of you, to the incessant wailing of your boyfriend’s name—suddenly ceased as two of Gojo Satoru’s fingers began to close in on one another. 

“Satoru!” 

One day, Gojo Satoru would be brave enough to remember what it felt like to hear you lament his name. He could recall fondly and effortlessly how his name and the one of his best friend could slip so seamlessly, interchangeably, from your lips. But now, when he swore you were moving your mouth though nothing else but his name came out, it would haunt him in his dreams, his memories, and everything in between. 

“Satoru!” Urging, demanding, and shrill. 

Do it, do it, do it. 

“Satoru!” Pleading, shrieking, and broken. 

Please, don’t do it. Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it.  

Satoru’s fingers remained a hairsbreadth apart, and Suguru’s back turned as he walked away with nothing more than an unaffected wave over his shoulder. Shoko still trembled, Satoru’s face crumpled, and your heart and mind had broken into pieces that scattered far beyond your reach.

All the while, there would be a day upcoming when all of this would have to be condensed into something that was capable of being understood.

Today was not that day. 

——————————————

December 24, Years Later

Did your footsteps have to echo what your heart was chanting? 

Suguru, Suguru, Suguru. 

Your walk to the communal lounge of the Jujutsu High-Tokyo campus was different, in some ways, from usual. Familiar stone scraped at the bottom of your shoes. Acrid smoke still hung in the air, and pieces of wood and rock falling to the ground could be heard echoing from where buildings and walls were left in ruin. The fading orange of a winter sunset was dipping below the remaining trees, leaving behind a night that was dark and dreadful and devastated. 

Suguru, Suguru, Suguru. 

And then you were here, at the door you had to open and walk through before any number of questions you had could be answered. With a deep inhale, you took your first step forward to pass over the threshold and the room that was full of people, though couldn’t be considered noisy, went silent. 

Principal Yaga stood in a corner to the right with a cell phone at his ear. Nanami sat at a table with his spotted tie loosened around his neck and his suit jacket thrown over the back of his chair in an uncommon show of haggard exhaustion. Behind him, Shoko was washing her hands in a sink where the water swirled with something pink. You jerked your head to the left to avoid having to process the sight further, but what you looked upon instead didn’t spare you any relief. 

The underclassmen, Maki, Panda, and Inumaki, hovered around a loveseat where Okkotsu sat slumped with his head in his hands. All four of them were covered in varying degrees of debris, bandages, and scant traces of blood. It made you feel a little better to think that’s all Shoko had been washing off in the sink. 

What didn’t help ease the knots in your stomach was the way Okkotsu never raised his head to acknowledge the entrance of your presence—a contradiction to his normal deferential behavior—but also how the rest of the eyes in the room all looked at you with varying degrees of emotion. None were malicious, but unnerving nonetheless. 

Pity, unsureness, sorrow, regret, and condolence—,

Your sharp inhale was enough to make a person or two flinch, but no one else moved and you were left to contemplate whether fleeing to solitary misery would hurt less than receiving answers about what had happened tonight.

Before you could decide what to do, the door to the back of the lounge slid open and Satoru stepped inside. His bandages around his eyes were off, and he was looking at you in a way he never had until now. How you were supposed to interpret that look and what it could even mean…well, you didn’t have the slightest clue, and that would be the final blow to your being. 

You had already lurched back to reach for the door when Satoru called your name, and you were slow to turn around to face him. When you did, he used his head to nod to the garden through the door of the lounge in a bid to get you to follow him before exiting the room the same way he came. You took a deep breath and gave a helpless search around the room before following after him into the night. Someone had the grace to close the door behind you. 

The two of you walked a few steps into the garden, and while it did nothing to ease the turmoil you were feeling, the vastness of the night sky and coolness of the air was preferable to the atmosphere in the lounge you were just in. When you and Satoru finally came to a halt, you weren’t close enough to touch, but if you tried, your fingertips would just miss the fabric of his uniform. You waited for him to speak, swallowing once, twice, a third time to try and clear the tension out of your throat. Your hands began to tremble, and a stinging burn rushed up through your nose to prick at the corners of your eyes. 

With only a whisper of clothing as a warning, Satoru’s hand reached out to cup the back of your neck and draw you into his shoulder, his arms capable of closing the distance between you without requiring him to step nearer. His other hand settled between your shoulder blades while yours loosely gripped the fabric at his ribcage. The embrace only lasted another second before he was pulling away with a gentle squeeze around your arms and letting his own drop to his sides. 

“You’re aware of what led up to all this tonight, correct?” Satoru asked, gesturing vaguely to the campus surrounding you both. There was no preamble from him and you watched as his eyes flicked between yours.

“Yes,” you nodded, “I was there in the city with everyone, Satoru. I saw you leave, and once everything finished I stayed after to check on everyone from Kyoto before coming back here.” You let your eyes wander around over Satoru’s shoulder, and you could just faintly make out a persisting plume of smoke in the distance. 

“He was here,” you continued, no more asking him a question than you were stating what you already knew, “and this was him?” Even though it was meek, your voice didn’t crack. 

Satoru hummed out an affirmation, not needing to clarify what you said in order for him to know that you were referring to the damaged state of the school as a result of Suguru’s presence.

“Alright,” you started, firm and as prepared as you could make yourself in this moment, “where is he?” 

Satoru carried on without acknowledging the question you asked. “Some of the damage is from him fighting Maki, Panda, and Inumaki, but most of it is from his fight with Okkostu and Rika after the others became too injured. I arrived just at the end.” 

It was here that you started to feel like you were listening to his words from somewhere outside your body. There was an outcome that you were waiting to learn of, and you knew you either needed to ask a question or make some kind of noise or movement to prompt him to go forward. But really, your head felt like it was full of static and you couldn’t begin to piece the words together to make them sound even remotely coherent. 

The end, the end, the end, the e–,

“The end?” You asked on an exhale, stunned when you saw Satoru’s chin quiver just once. You realized then that you hadn’t ever really taken the time to study the world’s strongest sorcerer. Did the blue of his eyes always reflect even the dimmest of light, or was there something else that caused them to swim as they did now? He stood rigid, but then again Satoru always held himself up to his full height, unbothered by the weight that sat on his shoulders and unencumbered by the threat of a physical blow. Maybe now that you could notice, as you saw how his head hung slightly and weariness lowered his stature, it was apparent that the time Satoru spent constantly guarding his person never allowed for the same courtesy to his mind. You wondered if the vulnerability of it, of how he sacrificed himself to the heavy weight of emotional torment, was what eventually managed to dim the spirit of the person in front of you right now. 

“Suguru’s dead. ” 

One day, you’d look back and wonder if you already knew what was going to come out of Satoru’s mouth. The news had the ground beneath your feet tilting in different directions in a way that threatened the contents of your stomach, and it did expel the air from your lungs in a pained-sounding moan. But it didn’t send the electrical current of shock through your body that you were waiting for. You’d suspect that you were aware of it from the moment you set foot on campus, that the tension in the air and the stiffness of everyone in the lounge had been direct indicators that the worst had occurred. Perhaps you knew, but needed Satoru to deliver that blow in order for it to land. 

You struggled to find a way to think past the roaring in your ears, so you tangled your fingers together in order to dig your nails into the skin on the backs of your hands. When the pain didn’t register and the blood welling up underneath them didn’t scare you into looking away, you fixed your gaze up on Satoru’s eyes in a desperate attempt to pull yourself out from inside yourself. They were wide in concerned alarm from whatever he saw on your face.

“God, so…,” you heaved a breath and closed your eyes to try and focus on getting your thoughts into something more than garbled syllables, “so that’s why Okkotsu looks the way he does…in there? He, uhm, he ki—,” 

“No.” Satoru pulled his bottom lip under his teeth and rolled his head back to look up at the sky before returning back to you. Did he feel the same trepidation that snaked under your skin and knocked at your chest? Did your eyes reflect back to him the pleading that was going on in your head? To who, though? Certainly, the time for bargaining was long past. “No, Okkotsu didn’t kill Suguru. He wounded him…badly. But Suguru was able to retreat in the haze of the smoke and I…he…”

He what? Suguru? Okkotsu? If allowed, the endless possibilities of “what if” would steal whatever peace remained from you, and if closure wasn’t something granted to you, you would respond in kind. 

 “What, Satoru? He what? You have to be clearer. You have to tell me, for the sake of my own understanding.” 

The sliding of the lounge door caught your attention and interrupted whatever Satoru was going to say next. You glanced over, watching as Nanami stepped out from around the door, shut it, and leaned back against it with his arms crossed over his chest. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Satoru giving him the faintest nod and you wondered if he had asked him to come out here. The reason wasn’t quite clear to you yet, but you stared at him, trying to figure out what part the blonde-haired sorcerer was about to play in all of this. 

Ever present Nanami, stoic as he was strong, but soft spoken and never cruel for cruelty’s sake. Always maintained rigid self control and composure, even in the face of his best friend’s death. He was steady and stable, easily beat against but never yielded, made to never move under such intense pressure. 

The thought had you turning back to Satoru, perplexed about what Nanami’s presence might be implying. What was about to come out of Gojo Satoru’s mouth that made him think he wouldn’t be enough for you? Or—in an even worse consideration—that he was about to become too much for you. 

“I found Suguru after his fight with Okkotsu in some obscure corner of campus,” Satoru whispered, and you dared not move or breathe as you waited for his next words. “I found him…and I killed him.” 

You had to hold a hand up to your chest, right between your breasts and over your heart as it began to rise and fall with the rapidness of your breaths, if only to ensure that it kept beating as every second ticked past the next. You felt your mouth drop open, felt your throat vibrate with some wounded noise, and watched as Satoru held out his hand to you, immense regret tightening his features, along with glistening tears clinging to the tips of his eyelashes. What hurt more though was the memory of Satoru’s arm reaching out like it did now, some years ago on the day Suguru left, his fingers trembling as they inched towards each other in his best friend's direction. You wondered—painfully, regrettably—if that’s what Suguru saw too right before it all went dark, and the sight of it was enough to send you staggering backwards. Someone caught you with large hands curling around the tops of your shoulders and—,

Oh, that’s what Nanami was for. 

Taking advantage of your friend behind you, you wilted backwards against Nanami’s chest and sobbed, neither of you unnerved by the ugly gasping of it. The hand that wasn’t still clutched against your body in the hopes of keeping yourself sealed shut shot up to grasp at Nanami’s forearm in an effort to abate the buckling of your knees. Because in front of you, the honored one stood a few feet away from you with eyes made empty and full of loss, and you struggled to reconcile which one of you were owed more the space to fall apart. Perhaps it was you both, as grief in situations like this happened to be a great equalizer, and you considered, as your friend stared at you with pained hopelessness, that maybe—certainly—Satoru was entitled to his own moment of sorrow in front of you. The thought lent sturdiness to your stance and you pushed forward off Nanami and used the momentum to propel yourself into Satoru. You worried briefly that maybe the two of you wouldn’t make contact, that he wouldn’t allow you into the space of him, but your arms landed around his neck, your chest met his, and his hands pushed you past any remaining distance. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice shaking and hands hovering infinitesimally over your hips before they settled against you. All you could do was shake your head against his shoulder. There was no question about how equally wounded Satoru was. Where you now mourned the forever plans that once existed in the bright eyes and easy laugh of a man since gone, Satoru had the honor of shouldering the burden of knowing he was the one who snuffed those plans out, though the fault could be no more placed on him than it could you. Did he wonder as he waited for you, whether you would blame him for the duty in which he owed the world protection from people like Suguru? Where he would always be the one to know what it was like to take away the life of his best friend, did he worry about how you would look at him once you knew? Did you confirm his fear when you fell away from him? For a time, did Satoru bemoan the physical loss of Suguru and wonder if he would have to do the same for you when you couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes anymore? Satoru might have been the one who made you something akin to a widow, but Suguru’s choices and decisions were what put the two of you here, who really held responsibility for the damage inflicted on the two people he had valued most. 

You squeezed Satoru a little tighter and then tilted back some so you could peer into his face. 

“Don’t be sorry,” you said, shaking your head at him when he opened his mouth to protest, “at least not to me.” A weak smile pulled at your lips as you did your best to reassure him and the spasming of his grip at your waist. You didn’t have the energy to explain to him the depths of emotion that swirled around in your head. How you didn’t blame him, but regretted the situation Suguru thrust the two of you in. How you would never leave him to carry this alone, but that you would need time before looking at him didn’t make your heart throb with painful memory and imagination. Or how the two of you would be forever connected by the loss of someone so important to each of you in vastly different ways, but that you wanted nothing more than to flee from his presence now. 

So you moved away from him, trailing a hand down his arm because you could and because you didn’t know what else to do for him. You kept stepping back, already turning to retreat back the way you came and ready to seek solace in the privacy of your room. To do what, you weren’t sure. To cry, you guessed. To distract yourself enough that you didn’t replay every single second of the last few years over and over in your head so you could pick every word and touch between you and Suguru apart. Whether that was for the sake of your own memory or to try and figure out that which couldn’t be solved was unbeknownst to you. In the depths of your grief, maybe you would wonder what the last moments were like for Suguru. Did he think of you? Consider what he had done to you and to Satoru? What were the last words to come out his mouth? Were they for you or for—,

You whirled around from your spot halfway back to the lounge door and caught sight of Nanami placing a heavy hand on Satoru’s shoulder. 

“Did Suguru say anything to you?” Your voice carried out clearly on the emptiness of the night, but Satoru didn’t turn in your direction, nor did he hardly move. “Did he…did he have anything for you to tell me?” 

Satoru was still until he eventually twisted his head towards you just enough so he could look at you from the corner of his eye. They were guarded, maybe the slightest bit afraid, and you held your breath in anticipation. 

“No.” 

You deflated and were unsure how to feel about his answer. You had hoped, thought, that maybe having Suguru’s last words for you would bring about some relief for the burning heartache that had started at some point in the last hour—the last couple of years—but you had also been hesitant to receive one more thing to occupy the scant emotional bandwidth you had left for everything that Suguru was. It would be one more thing to keep you up at night. On the other hand, the fact that your lover had left the world with nought an expressed thought or word for your condition left a blistering bitterness to swell within you. Insignificant were you not, but maybe to Suguru, in his last moments on Earth, you were to him. And that thought was enough to tip you into the realm of excess, surefly filled and overflowing with enough contemplating and pondering and general overthinking to last the rest of your life. 

So you turned away from Satoru and Nanami and walked back through an empty lounge and out the door from which you came earlier in the evening. The night was still dark and devastated but relatively silent, the noise of utter ruin having mostly ceased. But your shoes still scuffed against stone and tiny pebbles skittered away from under feet, skipping and tumbling with every step you took. 

Suguru, Suguru, Suguru.  

——————————————

“You were lying.” 

Nanami’s tone was no more judgemental than it was inquisitive, but nothing about him seemed to press Satoru for answers that he wasn’t yet ready to give—or understood himself. He did lie. He wouldn’t deny that. But under no circumstances was he prepared to tell you what his best friend, your other half, had told him in the minutes before his death. They replayed tortuously in his head as he tried to make sense of it all. Satoru would have to speak them to you one day, and the fear of doing so brought the same panicked apprehension he had felt as he watched you try and hold yourself together as he had told you about Suguru’s death. As he waited for you, he had imagined every which way your face could have pinched and drawn up in enraged despair as you threw yourself against him to beat as his chest, to wail in his arms as you cursed his existence before finally retreating in a similar fashion as how you did just moments ago, but perhaps with less acceptance and  a goodbye that would prove final in its anger. You hadn’t reacted that way, of course. You had fallen against him in sorrow and with a barely concealed need for comfort as much as you were ready to give it to him, and he had been filled with desperate relief at the feeling of you and how you hadn’t shied away from him. But maybe that was to come later one day, after Satoru spent time considering what was said and implied by Suguru’s words, and felt brave enough to share them with you. Surely then you wouldn’t have the same patience for him as you did tonight. 

“I was.” That was all he said back to Nanami, refusing to elaborate on the specifics of something he owed to you and couldn’t yet come to terms with himself. Thankfully, Nanami simply nodded and glanced in the direction of your departure. 

“I’ll check on her in the morning,” he offered, betraying no emotion or thought to the idea, but Satoru had a feeling it had something to do with how you had done the same for Nanami when, a few years ago, death had come for Jujutsu High and taken Haibara with it. Neither man said anything else as they departed, Nanami heading your direction towards staff lodging and Satoru leaving to walk aimlessly along crumbling corridors. His head spun, and he remembered. 

Satoru had heard Suguru before he came upon him, dragging his shoulder against stone walls and mumbling nonsense to himself until it came to an abrupt halt as he spotted Satoru a ways in front of him. It was painful to take in the sight of his best friend, covered in blood and viciously mangled, but looking so achingly familiar. But the ensuing conversation, a mindless back and forth of words that meant much and nothing at all proved that the person in front of him wasn’t the same as he remembered. 

“Tell me, do you have any last words?” Satoru had asked, a simple opportunity given to the man sitting in front of him, yet he cursed the universe for his lot in life, the unfairness of it all bittering the taste of his mouth and landing heavy in his chest as Suguru spoke back to him. 

“She's yours now, it would seem.” 

Satoru couldn’t ever say he had been rendered speechless before, but he choked on his own spit as he recoiled from Suguru’s words. He grit his teeth as he felt his face scrunch in anguished rage. 

“God, Suguru! You can’t just—that’s not something you—!” What came out in a fit of bewilderment was followed by more jumbled sputtering before Satoru could mind his tongue again. “You don’t just say that! You can’t pass ownership of her like an object. Not like this, not ever!” 

Suguru just chuckled, out of breath and clearly fading, and leaned his head back against the wall. “Doesn’t make it any less true.” 

“It does!” Satoru shouted, panic and desperation lacing his tone,“She doesn’t want me! She would want you to come back, to make amends and live your entire life trying to repair what you broke. You don’t get to decide our future for us!” 

“Consider it a dying wish,” Suguru said calmly, and Satoru wondered if anything else someone could ever say would hurt as badly as that (a picture of you flashed unbidden in his mind). 

“She would rather have you—I would rather have you!”

“You haven’t exactly said ‘no’, Satoru.”

His words pinned him in place and Satoru was stunned into silence. His friend’s dying delusions were no better for his psyche than considering what Suguru implied would mean for him. Satoru had never let himself think so far, to entertain a thought about his best friend’s girlfriend in any other way except strictly platonic. Sure, no one could ignore your beauty, and a couple times Satoru had silently envied what Suguru had and he did not—intimate companionship, physical comfort and pleasure, and the eagerness for a future with someone, all that could be had with a friend but on levels not belonging to such a term. However longed for, it was never with you strictly imagined, just a simple yearning for something of his own. 

“No,” Satoru managed, “not like this. Not without her consent, and certainly not in place of you being alive.”

Suguru made a motion similar to a shrug, or what one would look like if half of his shoulder wasn’t missing. “If you insist.”

“Do you not have anything to say to her? To leave her with?” Satoru beseeched on your behalf, hoping Suguru would tell him anything else to pass on to you other than his attempt to give you to him. Satoru would get his last words with Suguru, and it was all the same too much and not enough. He wondered if you would feel the same.

“What’s there to say?” Suguru said, his voice light, as if the discussion was more about the weather or something else equally mundane. “‘I’m sorry’ seems pointless without action behind it, and there will be none. ‘I love you’ is nothing she hasn’t heard before, and I would call into question the truthfulness of those words in light of my actions if I were her.” It was then that Satoru finally spotted a hint of regret and sorrow on Suguru’s face, but it disappeared only a moment later. “She would not want me as I am now, and there is no going back. The damage resulting from my choices is something the two of you will wrestle with, both individually and together, I suppose. Hence, why I said what I did.” 

Satoru would laugh at the absurdity of it all if it didn’t pain him so badly. Instead, he walked towards Suguru and dropped into a crouch to get eye-level with his friend. His head lolled toward him.

“Damn you for that, Suguru,” he said, “but you’ll always be my best friend.”

Shock fluttered over Suguru’s face before amusement wrinkled his eyes and a tired laugh shook his body. His eyes slid shut and as Satoru stood and willed his arm to move, he desperately wished he could be anywhere else. 

-----------------------------------

I hope I didn't ramble too much and that this made sense! The next chapters shouldn't be as thought/monologue heavy. I can't promise an update timeline, but I will do my best to not take too long. I am writing in the breaks between chasing my toddler around, so patience is appreciated:)

Cross-posted on ao3 as well.

Thanks!

[taegularities]

candles & flames: epilogue | jjk (m)

epilogue

Summary: He wasn't supposed to be yours. His foolery wasn't supposed to target you. This wasn't supposed to happen.

But as you glance into a forever with him… You're happy that it did.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: enemies to lovers, royal!au; fluff, smut ➳ warnings: a weddingggg !! so there’s fluff. so much disgusting fluff :’), lots of cheesing, confessions, wedding day heebie-jeebies, insecurities, comfort!!, tae is cewt, jk is cewt, oc is cewt too... everyone is very sweet, tears, dancing, bickering, teasing, flirting :’), explicit sexual content: kissing/making out, bit of choking, looots of tiddie fondling, bit of harshness, bit of a pain kink, oral (f. & m. receiving), fingering, handjob, mentions of sl*t and wh*re, riding, big dick jk, dom jk, some sub jk again!, mouth-fucking, hard sex, doggy + missionary <3, hair pulling, crying, spanking, clit slapping, praises, manhandling, dirty talk, spit stuff, coming inside her <3, yeah lmk if i forgot something :’) ➳ wc: 19.1k >:) ➳ a/n: god, i was cheesing so hard writing this lol. thank you again for all your support, guys – you made this lil journey unforgettable, and i shall remember these two babies for a long time <3 you can read this as a stand-alone, but i recommend reading the other parts! ➳ a/n2: this is the epilogue and final part to my mini-series candles & flames !! find the mpost below <3

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

When big, brown eyes meet the same pair in the mirror, the notion of Big Days suddenly changes.

No matter how expensive the attire or how exorbitant the ball; none of the appraised events he’s ever attended seem relevant anymore. Why do they fall under the category of luxury anyway; why are they advertised as the grand moments of the season?

Thinking back, Jungkook cannot recall one instance that led to such fluttering emotions.

Embedded in his mind, caged in his heart, gutting him alive.

When he lifts a hand, he realises he’s shaking, and curls it into a fist; no draw of breath is enough to calm his heaving chest.

This.

This is a Big Day, starting and stretching from this moment on. This is what he’d define as life-altering.

How has he never properly prepared for the change he’s about to face, despite living in a society that prioritises and strives for marital bliss?

He’s known for so long that chaos would occur on such a day, after all.

And he’s not talking about the chaos erupting around him. Not the background argument between Seokjin and Taehyung, two pouts delivering one dense argument after another.

He’s referring to the one bringing back his restless habits: feet constantly and repeatedly tapping the ground; teeth worrying his lower lip; nails wounding the skin around his fingers.

Because.

The stress leaves his nerves frayed.

And… What are you feeling right now?

You, always clear-headed and honey-sweet. A calm, weightless soul, like the clouds; a heart made of sugar.

Are you letting down your guard, too? Sitting next to your sister, big eyes staring into your own mirror, as well? Will you step to the altar with a lowered head and twisting guts, or calm while he bursts?

Then again—

You’re emotional as hell.

In hindsight, there have been several moments when you imploded and exploded; harder than him, so maybe you’re—

He shakes his head.

This overthinking — this isn’t him. Or it’s usually not. To be fair, wedding days trigger a shit ton, so no one can judge him, thank you very much.

He straightens his stance; smiles at himself, because it is alright. The two of you will be alright. You want this just as much and—

“Lord Jeon.”

Shit.

The voice sounds scared. Why does his chaperone sound scared?

Jungkook turns with raised brows and a lip jutting out. Dark brown pupils sparkle in anticipation, though tinged with nervousness.

But one thing he’s learned from you is optimism.

Your never-faltering faith in people and situations are addictive and contagious — the nervy tone of the man near the open door doesn’t deter him just yet.

So he smiles faintly, even though the white vest starts feeling tight around his waist. The long, black coat sits cosy on his body, not letting through any air.

He’s ready for the public, but he’s suffocating.

“Hm?” he voices.

To which the elderly, bald man stutters, “Th– uh, the Lady’s sister just came rushing as I stood outside the door and informed me that—”

He hesitates. His tongue licks between his thin lips.

Jungkook’s light smile doesn’t drop, but he could very well be speaking through gritted teeth — that’s how sincere the optimism he adapted from you looks right now.

Seems that it needs time to develop such a mindset.

God. He admires you; commends every upbeat corner of your mind.

But sighing over you won’t make the current struggle any less real.

Because when he emphasises a, “What?”, the chaperone breathes in worriedly, as if he’s scared of hurting Jungkook, and says, “A situation has… occurred.”

So much to patience.

When Jungkook gulps, the corners of his lips tilt downwards. Dumbfounded and confused, hoping for nothing too awful, he repeats, “What?”

Seokjin and Taehyung’s bicker has long stopped. Just as confused, they stand in the corner of the room, in front of the window, soaking in the heat. Synchronised, their hands rest on their hips, waiting for the news.

And the hesitating chaperone delivers it as though it’s the tragedy of the century, “The bride is missing.”

Four simple words.

Far worse than a hopeful, The bride has arrived.

The possibility of this very outcome plagued Jungkook’s nights; even during the ones he spent wrapped around you, he’d drown in his own sorrowful worries. Would wait for the moment you might change your mind.

But he always circled back to hope.

Life did a number on him, and he thought you were the only one he would never lose faith in.

So, into the silence, broken by the chirps and whistles of birds, he lets out a brief laugh. It’s a little panicked, a little genuine. The crinkles around his eyes are real.

But the situation is awkward; so much worse and hurtful when the chaperone’s head tilts.

Jungkook blinks; looks back and forth between him and his cousins. They stare at him speechlessly, blinking back. Reassurances lay on their tongues before Jungkook chuckles again and breathes, “I don’t think that’s funny.”

The man’s eyebrows rise. “Excuse me?”

“Should this be a wedding day joke among my people,” his taut jaw hardens, and he adds, “you’re not being as hilarious as you might think. And I know what good humour is. It’s why I am marrying he— for God’s sake, don’t look at me like that—”

Empathic gazes all around.

It feels like he’s waiting to be beheaded, not have a marriage solemnised.

He puffs out a breath.

This cannot be true.

With a shake of his head, he peels the coat off his shoulders and throws it over the vanity chair. Listens as the man justifies, “I am merely passing on informa— where are you going?”

As Jungkook approaches the door with rapid steps, he turns around one last time; there’s no anger or frustration in his eyes. Just worry.

The urge to find you again. To bring you back.

You want this just as much. He knows you do.

The moments you spent alone, locked in a chamber; brushing a hand over golden cheeks — you told him so many times that you do.

So the ever-yearning man needs to seek out the missing bride, and he knows exactly where she might be hiding.

Brooding, he shrugs his shoulders, and then asks, “What do you think?”

The weather is a blossoming dream today.

Ideal for a stroll or a party. Perfect for a wedding.

Ugh.

It’s what you have been hoping for for a full year; worse in the past couple of days.

Rain is dear to your heart, but it didn’t suit the occasion — people do not usually like it when clouds burst. And they do not know how deeply those tiny drops connected Jungkook and you back when the sparks first flew.

But these events please guests more than the hosts — you’re merely awaiting everything that might follow. So it’s great that things turned out well.

The noon sun is high in the sky, shining through the rustling leaves, and you keep staring up at its radiancy. Somewhere nearby, you hear a stream; its soft sounds calm you a little.

But all of it contradicts the beating of your heart. Your face keeps heating up. And your fingers won’t stay still.

Are you really doing it?

About to walk up to the man you never thought you’d fall for just over a year ago? The royal you despised growing up? Are you truly dressed in all white, sporting long, silk gloves and a gown with stitched-in flower patterns?

You’re…

Close to facing what you define as a forever. Eternally tied to a beating, bleeding heart.

Oh God.

Jeon Jungkook?

Oh fuck; it dawns on you that—

You’re actually doing it it’s actually happening it’s absolutely real—

You fidget with your digits some more, wondering who’ll find you first.

You’re not too far from the wedding hall. They’ll make you out in this wide field in no time; a little longer and you’ll probably register a friend or your sister or your parents calling your name.

Seokjin, if you’re lucky — he’s a tease and a jokester, but he respects you and will most likely only pat your back in reassurance. Your sister taught him that. 

Taehyung, if you’re unlucky.

He won’t let you live this down; he will nudge your elbow and jest throughout your life. It might be too late to hope for any other outcome anyway, though.

But when another man’s voice chimes instead, utterly familiar, way too near to the tree you stand against, you flinch. Nearly shriek.

You hastily walk aruond a quarter of the thick tree, hiding behind it; but he calls your name followed by an endearment, stating, “I caught a movement there. I know you’re here.”

Hastily, you command, “Do not round the tree.”

A pause. Then, “Why?”

“We are not allowed to see each other before the wedding!”

Your hands are a little sweaty under the gloves; your heart is manic behind your chest. And Jungkook’s shenanigans don’t make things better when he clicks his tongue and says, “Yes. Right. Since I haven’t seen you that past year, have I?”

You lower your head, pushing your hands behind your back. Your lips press into a thin line, eyes flitting to the grass next to your feet — or at least, next to the hem of your dress.

The way he must look right now is clear in your imagination. Balancing his body on one leg, toying with his own gloves, head tilted. An eye squinting as the sun blinds him; short dark hair blowing a little in the wind.

He doesn’t like it slicked up, as it should be for a groom; prefers it fluffy and natural, untamed almost. And perhaps you do, too — but you think he would’ve pulled off the elegant look of a royal effortlessly, too.

When you don’t respond, he speaks again.

“Love.” His voice is endlessly soft, like cotton and feathers. Your heart jumps every time he calls you that — when does one get used to true love? “What happened?”

One of your shoulders lifts, though he can’t see it. You lie, “Nothing.”

“You ran away.”

“I did not run away. I just…”

“But you left the mansion.”

The fact sounds a lot more cruel and relentless when spoken like that. On a day such as this, leaving to hide near a stream probably wasn’t the kindest thing to do to an expecting audience and a nervous fiancé.

You fill your cheeks with air and keep it there. Whenever you usually do, he calls you a pufferfish — in that one year of ecstatic togetherness, he’s caught on to a habit or two.

Such as, that unlike the pufferfish, you don’t release poison but guilt.

If he saw you now, he’d probably reassure you — but since he’s out of view, you can’t help but feel regret.

Your voice is teeny tiny, and you shuffle the feet under your dress as you murmur just loud enough for him to hear, “I apologise.”

And back comes a neutral, “Why?”

Like he knew you were going to say it, but still wants to learn the reason for it.

“I must have worried you,” you say.

“Hmm. Admittedly… a little.” You shrink into yourself. “I thought you were running from me.”

Pause — hesitation.

He’s wrong, and you feared he’d draw such a conclusion. So you’re not quiet because you agree, but because you feel bad.

Perhaps he doesn’t catch the memo, because he sounds a little more tense when he speaks again, his voice shakier and more fearsome. 

“Were you?” You shake your head; then grimace, because he still can’t see. “...Do you still want this?”

You look back down. “More than anything.”

“What’s the matter, then?”

You guess this is something that has been established between the two of you.

Whenever one worries, the other softens.

Throughout time, you have discovered sides of Jungkook that eleven-year-old-you would’ve never suspected. You thought he was transparent — a clear asshole forcing you back into your shell.

You didn’t know he covered his face with another mask; and underneath lay what he truly is.

A man who’s afraid of too many things, but who’ll never resent the hope you evoke in him.

So you must have called forth a dozen worries when you left the mansion — and the fact that he’s here, melting for you, nearing you with a gentle attempt to pacify you…

It means a lot more than affection showcased through anger. You’re certain anyone else wouldn’t have held on for so many minutes in succession.

With a red, hot puddle behind your chest, you merely answer, “Scared.”

And his voice is just as mellow as before, “What of, darling?”

You feel like an upset child. Immature and stupid, making yourself small the way you would when your parents scolded you decades ago. Like you’re hiding under a table or in a cupboard again.

But Jungkook doesn’t scold you; no fibre of his being knows how to.

No, you reprimanded yourself.

And those very thoughts rush back into your mind. The palm brushing along the dress’ material soothes your alight nerves a little, and then, you let your distress slip, “I can be very loud. And emotional.”

The answer is immediately; he doesn’t question your declaration with confusion, but gives you a matter-of-factly and firm, “Yes.”

You wait. Of course you’re not a secret to him anymore.

With a sigh, you try, “I do not want to annoy you.”

He should’ve known — he’s had one of these intrusive thoughts, too. His were slightly different; pointing more into the direction of past mistakes.

Scared you might leave; scared you might not want to settle with such a tainted reputation. But you have made abundantly clear that you don’t care, multiple times a day, over the span of a year.

What’s done is done — and the town doesn’t have a choice but to respect royalty.

And who is he to worry if you’re so open to all he’s made of? Accepting all his strengths and flaws?

He’s baffled that you don’t reckon the same vice versa.

So he finally voices, “What?”

“Well…” you say, drifting off for a moment; and then, you start again, “I like sleeping in. I read and write half the day. I do not attend every ball, and… I… want to learn things.”

 You’ve said that before. He’s seen it before.

“I know that,” he responds, undeterred and calm.

You elaborate, “I just. I am scared you might not want such a wife. Even the happiest marriages I have known… demanded the woman to be traditional, and be able to bear children and to know when she needs to shut up and—”

He must say, despite how valid your worries sound, especially considering this very society, your thoughts are outrageous.

If Jungkook has proven one thing to you, then it’s that he doesn’t necessarily swim with today’s rules and expectations either. Or so he thought; perhaps you haven’t quite understood yet.

“I think…” you continue, and he raises his head to the tree, listening. “It just baffles me that you still want me.”

Alright. Enough.

“Why?” Jungkook asks, stretching the world as though you have offended him.

The utter confusion makes your words halt for a second — hope sparks in you. Not that it ever fully died; you are still dressed as a bride from head to toe. And it was you running away. Not him.

But maybe a last confession, one last reassurance is what you need.

So you explain, “Because you’re one of the good things in the world.”

The little chuckle isn’t as subtle as he thinks. When you hear it, your body tenses, your back straightening and your fingernails digging into your palms.

You move your head to the side. The position still doesn’t allow you a glimpse of him, but you think you hear the solace in his voice better.

“Is this really worrying you?” he wants to know. The question is tinged with slight amusement.

You jut out your lower lip; the pout makes you sound like a child when you ask back, “Should it not?”

“Do you understand who you are speaking to?”

It could sound formal if he wanted to. As though he’s talking to staff, to someone below his level; he could make it sound authoritative. Royal.

But no. He’s still entertained, albeit a little concerned, too.

And you decide to jest back, though it comes out too serious when you say, “Lord Jeon Jungkook.”

Which he denies immediately.

“No.” A pause; and when he speaks again, his voice has crept closer. He must be on the other side of the tree trunk. “Jungkook.”

You blink.

He adds, “The man who fell for you, because you didn’t care what he thought of you.”

Different from now. He emphasises it each time you bring up the past; the banters and the wasted time. You used to not give him the time of the day; to you, he was as important as any other human being.

Now that your relationship has shifted, he’s grown far closer to your heart; he’s worth more than anyone else before or after, even though he’s still so painfully human.

So yes, you care. You care what he thinks of you, in the best way possible.

He says, “You did whatever you pleased, yet were so kind. You say I am a good part of this world, but you have always been hopeful and stubborn in the most admiring way. Because you do not know what giving up means. And… I certainly know you aren’t giving up now, either.”

Crickets.

A year ago, you didn’t think he’d be so insightful. So thoughtful.

“I am not,” you agree. “I cannot.”

“Hm?”

“I would not give up on you.”

Jungkook doesn’t answer. Soft steps replace his voice; they’re almost silent on the grass, but you still hear some of his movements. Which prompts you to shut your eyes immediately, pressing your back further into the tree as you warn anew, “Do not—”

“I shall not look if you don’t.”

Huh.

Is this a safe method?

You trust him, but you’re anxious and in utter disorder, too. Just a little more when you hear him right next to you, shoulders probably inches apart, “Close your eyes.”

To which you panic a bit harder, shaking your head as you fret, “Oh God, do not—”

“Stop worrying,” he orders; his voice is so soft — God, you want to rip your eyes open right away. But you endure. “I will not risk bad luck on such a day.”

You breathe.

“So you will close your eyes, as well?” you ask abashed.

“I already have.”

Another sigh of relief.

“...Alright.”

“And you?” His warmth nears your body. You feel it, along with his dangling fingers near yours. You lean back a tiny bit, one with the tree, right before he hooks his fingers with three of yours. “Are you keeping them close?”

He pulls you closer, away from the damn trunk; you whisper, “I am.”

The pad of his thumb runs along the slightly veiny back of your hand. He caresses your skin, and you drop your head to the ground again, suppressing the urge to stare at him until sunset.

You feel a slight tug at your dress; he might have accidentally stepped onto it. But you couldn’t care less when he voices his next suggestion, knocking you out of breath, “We can wait if you need to.”

The patience. It’s the patience and understanding that empties your lungs.

The fact that he is ready to postpone such a day; ready to face public humiliation, disapproving stares, disrespectful murmur.

He prioritises you over every little whisper and every old-fashioned tradition. You circle his mind and occupy his heart; the care for you isn’t new, but it leaves you bewildered each time.

Doesn’t that truly prove that you’re prepared for the future you imagined?

“I do not,” you tell him, “And I want you to be happy. I… want to make you happy.”

You know what he’ll say — he says it to you every day, over and over again. Between kisses and embraces and confessions.

“I am happy.”

Yet, one last time, you make sure, “Are you really?”

The reassurance is immediate. “This is the first time that I am, sweetheart.”

Ouch.

Why does the admission ache? After all you have learned about him and his life, you should be used to this fact, this burden he carries around. 

You think he has healed in large amounts… but you still curse the world and its demons for drenching most of his life in agony. Decade-long misery that you wish you could erase.

The biggest drawback about the past. Nostalgia means nothing when memories remain painful — and the inability to change those moments is a disadvantage in life.

But you know him. And he’s learning — to move forwards and be happy. According to him, he is.

“You genuinely are…” you say.

It’s more a statement than a question, but patiently, he confirms again, “I promise. I won’t change my mind.”

Pause.

You nod again. There are no tears swimming in your waterline, but you still sniffle; scratching a little behind your ear until you finally ask, “How did you find me here?”

When he stalls his answer for a moment, a bird chirps right above your head. It sings a brief song, perhaps communicating with a lover, too — you think it sounds like a nightingale.

The melody matches Jungkook’s voice when he speaks again, ripping out your heart for the millionth time to store it next to his, “You… You once told me you seek shelter at such places.”

You look up, to such a place. Even with your eyes closed, you see the greenery, hear the water nearby. You said that, didn’t you?

“There aren’t any fireflies,” he continues, “so I assumed you must be somewhere along the stream.”

In a hot room, lit by fading candles and caught in stranger sheets, you confessed your love for serene locations like this just once. One single time.

You thought his mind was too clouded by the immediate future, uncertain still as you travelled for the truth. But he listened. Different from so many people you know, nodding along with your words with their mind far away—

He really listened.

You murmur, “It has been so long.”

“I remember,” he argues. “It was a special night.”

It was. And you must admit that… despite the dangers lingering around and the distress creeping up your mind, you want to feel the magic again.

Not that it dimmed. But there was something about the big firsts. The confessions, the kisses, the intimacy. The promise to stay.

That’s what the two of you are — vows and eternity. You’re warmth and comfort and trust. Loyalty and laughter. Maturity but foolery.

The both of you, together, are what you thought were star crossed lovers, only to turn out as soulmates meant to be.

The closeness that binds you is irreplaceable; and despite the bond you’re about to seal, you—

“I do not want to be here,” you say.

He understands, knows you don’t mean it bad. You want to be gone, because solace between four walls where just the two of you bask in each other? That’s what you need.

Not this public gathering, tinged in joy yet strangers’ gazes.

If he wasn’t a royal — if he was just a Lord like you are a Lady, a viscount’s daughter, you wouldn’t have hesitated to celebrate in a small circle. And Jungkook would have agreed.

But you didn’t want to toy with his reputation further. If anything, you want to show the world what he is truly made of; they need to see.

“Me neither,” he confesses, “but. Only a few hou—”

“Jungkook…”

God. It’s becoming harder to keep your eyes closed.

“Yes.”

You ask, “Are you going to cry? At the altar?”

He lets your hand go, brushing it up your arm. You immediately cling to his elbow, seeking his touch to not fall. His words dizzy you with each confession.

Like, “I don’t know. But you make me cry quite often.”

Do you? You hardly recall seeing him tear up because of you. He must notice, because he hastily adds, “Or you would. If I did not control myself.”

“…What do you mean?”

“You… overwhelm me sometimes. In a pleasant way.”

Your mind runs into overdrive. Your eyelids flutter, but you shut them tight again, biting your lip to keep the question in before you do combust.

“So, you really do want this.” Another goddamn pause. Have you overdone it? Too many inquiries? Fear spreads in your chest; you wait. And when he still doesn’t answer, you call, “Jungk—”

“Angel.”

You shrink at the firm tone of his voice. Still gentle, not a hint of anger in it, but so… final.

“…Yes,” you whisper.

“You are the love of my life.”

…Oh.

The flame in your heart dances with a radiant light. As his words unfurl, something new blossoms in your mind. Despite all the fondness he’s gifted you so far, you have never heard him say such a thing before.

And it changes the beat of your heart for a moment. 

You hold his arm tighter.

And he, waiting a second, keeps rubbing along your upper arm before he says, “You are shaking.”

“I…” You are. The most delicate tremble; it stems from everything good. “I am sorry.”

“No need to apologise. I was…” He huffs, laughing. “A mess just ten minutes ago.”

You swallow hard, still unable to respond much to his words. So he takes over again, carefully moving his fingers up until they touch your chin tenderly; asking, “Are you going to come back?”

There was never a doubt about it. Thinking back, you can’t quite say why you ran away at all.

No doubts at all.

You tell him, “Yes… I will.”

“Then I shall meet you soon, right?”

He doesn’t await an answer. Only pinches your chin between his fingers lightly, pulling you in just a bit before soft, supple lips press against your forehead.

They remain there for a moment; he whispers something unintelligible — perhaps your name. And when his touch is gone, you open your eyes a minute later, only to realise that he has left to wait, too.

The celebration hall is ridiculously sepia.

Brown, heavily decorated walls surround you as you converse with a dozen of guests. Huge lusters hang above your head, properly set tables all around; and if you counted the candles, you’d still be here by the end of the night.

Dangerous, little flames everywhere. But luckily, not many guests bother to sit down to eat.

Most of them wander the hall, ghosting around the dancefloor in the middle where you see children hopping and chasing each other. The groom is still caught up in a conversation with his brother, and against all traditions once again, the big dance got postponed.

Which is probably why no adult is stepping onto the dancefloor — waiting for the newlywed couple to start the party with a sway in each others’ arms.

What you do as you wait instead, is stop Taehyung in his tracks.

An excited man he can be, albeit calm and regal on any other day.

“Where are you going?” you ask, watching brown eyes fixated on the exit.

You think you already know the answer. Judging from the way he has been eyeing one of your cousins the past few days, roaming around during preparation and then sending quiet signals during the ceremony, it’s not hard to guess.

“Catching a bit of fresh air?” Taehyung answers. Odd how his statement sounds like a question; or an ask for permission.

“Is that so? We just arrived, though,” you tell him. His tongue pokes the inside of his cheeks. His stance relaxes as he steps in front of you properly. “The fresh breath of air carries the name Hina these days, apparently.”

His eyes blow wide.

“W—” He laughs; a pleasant, deep chuckle, but not as genuine as you know it to be. “Why would you assume such a thing?”

“Gut feeling. Or perhaps, the conversation I had with her yesterday.”

“Oh,” he voices. He looks around, and you follow his eyes. No one is listening; Hina, of course, isn’t anywhere to be seen. He leans in. “What was it about?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?

Taehyung looks at you with squinted eyes; and when his eyebrows relax, plush lips are dampened by his tongue before he says, “In all honesty, yes. I would like to kn—”

“Tae,” you mumble. You clear your throat when a chatterbox walks past you, and once she’s gone, you say, “I do not need to tell you anything, because you already know. You know as well as I did with Jungkook.”

“Oh my God,” he immediately exclaims. “The two of you are balsam to my eyes, but if it takes me weeks to make up my mind and then another year to speak my vows… I will—”

A boxy grin flashes, but your mouth playfully drops. A roll of your eyes indicates slight, faux vexation, and once he’s nudged your shoulder and laughed it off, you say, “She is from a respectable family. I do think she is fond of you. So.”

You shrug your shoulders, lifting a hand to his collar to fix it, “You both will be fine.”

Taehyung smiles. Whatever euphoria he priorly basked in has fallen a little, his eyes dropping to the ground as he nods. A strand of his pushed-back hair escapes and covers his sight, and you rewind mentally to find out what you said.

They will be fine.

She is fond of him.

She comes from a respectable family.

Oh.

“Taehyung,” you hastily say, and he looks up with a hum, entirely innocent. “I… How have you been feeling?”

“Oh, I… I am good.”

Hmm…

Maybe you should address the topic head-on.

“Good. You see. If there was anything to worry about, I would let you know.” He nibbles at his thick, lower lip. He must have been thinking about this for a while. “A respectable family doesn’t demand another.”

He understands. Looks at you with confusion and some desperation in his eyes. Immediately jumps aboard and continues the conversation as he says, “I… Does it not? Is it not a crucial factor in matchmaking?”

“Perhaps. But I know her parents, and I know that,” you put a comforting hand on his chest; feel him breathe out, “they would rather their daughter lives and dies with a respectable husband than parents-in-law.”

Taehyung remains quiet. So you add, bluntly, “Your father’s reputation won’t stand in your way. It’s up to you.”

His eyes are misty and his expression still fallen. Hope dances around his lips when he lifts them to a tiny smile, but you still see the lingering pain he fought through that last year.

“Thank you,” he says.

When his shoulders drop, it looks like a burden falls with them.

“I understand. It is alright, we… I reckon we expected such a showdown one day. I mean,” he shakes his head, clears up, “We didn’t know about the scandal, or the bribing, but he was never the softest soul around. And I never condone cruelty, so… finding out about it changed my opinion about him.”

Which is… terrible.

No child should suffer through such a thing; not with one mere parent left.

You feel so incredibly sorry for him; as though it was your fault. Even though you surely know it wasn’t.

What brought you freedom trapped the brothers in ache.

You ask, “And… Seokjin?”

The question seems to lift the mood, because Taehyung laughs, nodding into a random direction over his shoulders. But you spot the older man immediately.

His hopeful eyes are scanning the crowd, looking for the desired girl, and when he finally spots your sister, you see him sigh a breath of relief.

Taehyung jokes, “He has been distracted these days.”

You laugh. Seokjin walks over to her, bows and offers his hand. She places her fingers onto the gloved palm; her smile suggests that she’s gotten used to him. Of course she has.

Similarly to Jungkook and you, those two had a year to learn about each other. Officially, he is still courting her, but you know what the reality truly is. He will propose soon.

You guess they did not let themselves get this far due to your own wedding. To focus on one event first. Perhaps something might happen tonight?

Sweet.

Talking about it.

Taehyung delivers a tiny bow in the middle of your conversation, rushing forth despite your protests. And a second later, you realise why.

A familiar voice, dulcet and clear, breathes against your ear. A lock of your hair blown into your face, you blink; your body immediately tenses when you feel his presence close.

He will never stop having this effect on you.

“Did I scare you?” Jungkook voices; when you look at him, he has his hands behind his back and his head angled.

Pretty.

“Did you want to scare me?” you ask back.

“Perhaps a little.”

You shrug a shoulder. “Then I shall just say yes. You are one scary man.”

You know that if you were alone, he’d wrap his arms around you, move you left and right. He’d plant pecks under your ears and on your neck, travelling up to your cheek to whisper how sweet he finds you.

But he does none of it here. His fingers surely twitch to reach out, but his self-control doesn’t waver; instead, he only chuckles and asks, “You won’t happen to agree to a dance if a scary man asked?”

“Hmmm…” you say, lifting a hand to his. “I will agree. But only because I must.”

An eye-roll later, he pulls you to the dancefloor, voicing a little, “Great.”

Once Jungkook entered the hall, you already heard the chatter quiet down. But when you move to the middle of the room elegantly, hands raised and smiling at whoever you pass, dead silence falls around you like a cloak.

If the doors weren’t heavy and the windows thick, you’d hear nature singing outside.

But you don’t shift your focus to the birds or the people or anyone else when you finally turn towards him and place a hand on his shoulder.

You have danced with him so many times, but… the very first dance designated to no one but you… such pressure.

Jungkook must sense your nervousness, because the palm on the back of your hand closes the gap between your bodies only barely. But you feel it; grateful for the softness when he says, “Keep looking at me. You and I, we’re all there is.”

You and I.

A unit formed in every life, you are certain.

“Yes,” you mumble the moment the strings emerge in music.

When the dance begins, you firmly lock your eyes with his as he demanded. The movements he pulls you in are graceful immediately; floating across the polished parquet floor overwhelms you for the first few seconds.

Careful to not step onto your intricate gown, you engage in slow, precise steps. It takes a moment until you’re used to the rhythm and the melody; and once you are, the breath you let out eases how you move.

“Too much?” Jungkook asks through the music.

You shake your head as the refined gestures continue, clutching his shoulder and hand tighter.

“No,” you admit, “just right.”

The steps are slow anyway — you can keep up with them. And his tender touch on your back, holding you cautiously, like a guardian, serves as a reminder of safety.

“What are you thinking?” he asks.

Nothing. Or everything.

“That…” you start, indulging in a graceful spin, beautiful twirls. “That you feel oddly human.”

Jungkook clicks his tongue; his thumb brushes over your gown. You feel the goosebumps right under its material.

“Did I not so far?” he wants to know.

“More like an idea,” you admit quietly. You wonder whether he can hear. “So this…” You move down to his arm, press into it. Holding him, in flesh and blood. “This feels real. And good.”

Your footwork synchronises, seamlessly transitioning from one step to another. An enchanting display of harmony and unity. The onlookers’ gaze is present, but you don’t register it much anymore.

“Yes…” Jungkook’s eyes radiate affection, communicate passion as he admits, “I think I understand what you mean.”

You flash a smile.

The atmosphere is serene, despite the tight gown and the crowd gathered around you. A minute later, more couples join you on the dancefloor — the sense of romance trickles through to other pairs, ultimately creating a spirited ambiance.

But you remain in your own intimate world with him, eternalising timeless love in each other’s arms.

Usually, it is demanded that lovers or dancers maintain a respectful distance between each other — but when everyone around you drowns in their own dance and the focus falls from you just a little, you can barely help it anymore.

The moment Jungkook’s hand pulls you a little closer, you let out a tiny gasp. Gravitate towards safety and his embrace. There is longing in his eyes and unspoken desire on his parted red mouth.

The arch of his upper lip invites you. And the tongue resting unmoving aches for you.

No one will ever provide such immense delight, contentment and protection.

Overwhelming happiness.

It feels like the two of you can stay connected like this until the end of your lives; and after that, transcend the idea of death.

Which reminds you…

“Jungkook,” you call.

“Yes.”

The dance nears its conclusion, so you hurry with your confession. Closing into the embrace, your movements become slower, more tender, and you say, “You asked me once… if I thought we’d find each other again if we were reborn.”

He remembers, because he nods immediately. Lets your hand go to put it under your ear. Who cares who watches?

“Yes?” he asks.

You swallow the clump in your throat, putting all affection in your words; a dramatic pause follows as the final notes echo, and eventually, you admit, “We would. I know we will.”

The music dies.

You don’t know what answer you expect from him when his gaze melts endlessly. He’s a puddle against you, bones liquifying as much as yours.

In this moment, you know he feels the overwhelming amount of devotion, too, but his words add to the rapid heartbeat behind your chest, “And I know that I’d fall in love with you each time.”

And that’s it.

You part from him, bow elegantly. You acknowledge the applause from spectators, grinning ear to ear; register one last, tender statement that he brings, for your ears only.

“I cannot wait for tonight to be over.”

Tonight ends three hours later — but tonight doesn’t truly end at all.

When the cheers sound outside the hall and you step into the expensive, elaborately decorated carriage, dusk has barely settled in.

The embroidered seats upholstered in rich fabrics feel soothing to you, like Heaven after all those hours of standing and walking around.

It’s actually done. You and him, married; a couple forever bound.

The event put you in a spotlight — but you can barely believe you’re a wife now.

Everyone is sending you off with bright smiles, waving cloths and shouting your names when the royal carriage finally moves. Some people point to the horses transporting you away; you understand. Their harnesses are beautiful.

Jungkook smiles as you wave to your family and strangers; and sometime during your departure, a hand pushes between your bodies to slide your fingers into it.

You throw a soft glance towards him. Expecting silence or a smile; but what awaits you instead are sober, self-aware words.

“I have never been celebrated like this,” he says.

Damn it.

Part of your heart breaks. The crowd outside lessens the more you leave the location. The growing quietude allows you vulnerability, passion as you tell him, “You look content.”

“I feel content.”

You nod. Look at the wide field and the setting sun when the carriage hits the path, embarking on a short journey.

Then, your eyes shift to the lavish embellishments and carvings inside the vehicle; they truly are pretty enough to command attention and respect. But here, barely anyone is around.

Now that you think about it, you remember why you chose such a far-away place to celebrate at all.

“Jungkook,” you say. You shift in the soft seat, cuddling closer to him until your shoulders touch. “You don’t need to be celebrated, you know?”

His gaze wanders to your delicate face. Your eyes are as big as his.

“Hm?” 

“I think that… it means a lot more to be admired by a handful people than to be sucked up to by a thousand. Do you understand?”

You drift into this tone every now and then. It’s your way to scold and lecture him. But your voice and words never invalidate his feelings or make him feel and look stupid.

You have this way of expressing your thoughts and of making him understand.

A gentle tone that he can only nod to, but that makes him want to hold you close, too.

“Are you one of those handful people?” he asks, a bright smile making you cock an eyebrow.

You nod down to the hand that clutches yours and the overwhelming dress covering your body. Gesture towards your surroundings as you admit, “I honestly do not think so.”

A lopsided smirk. Wrinkles around his eyes. Tiny dimples over his lips and in his cheeks.

Your heart thaws.

Swaying with the movements of the carriage, you finally place your head on his shoulder. Jungkook immediately lets your hand go, slinging an arm around you and presses you close.

He feels good. Pleasant.

You can stay like this for an hour or two.

Which reminds you.

You’ve wanted to ask all day, so you spit out now, “Would you think we made the right decision?”

“Huh?” he voices, looking at your hair. “By getting married? I would hope s—”

“No. By moving away.”

“Do you… not want to?”

“That’s not it. I would follow you anywhere,” you let him know, staring ahead. Through a gap, you see the smooth road ahead. Entirely empty. “But I wanted to know what you think.”

Because the decision to leave the town and move into a large mansion hours away materialised only a few weeks ago. It’s the place he was supposed to wander to, the one he’d prepared before you drifted closer to him last year.

You were firmly against the idea at first — until he reassured you that he never used his uncle’s money for the foundation. For anything, for that matter.

It was family wealth; something his father left him when he died.

You contemplated for mere hours before you nodded; you truly didn’t care where you landed. Your family would be a little less than three hours away — you’d endure the voyage to visit them regularly.

And what else was holding either of you in the town?

Friends? Yes, perhaps. Jungkook maybe even less.

But pain is bound to that place; and you’re open to starting afresh.

Yet, you’re curious.

“You know,” Jungkook begins, “Junghyun was asking me the same. Back in the hall,” you feel his head nod, and his voice in his chest when your head drops against it, “he was discussing details with me. Having my things moved and the house decorated as we wish.”

“I am sure we will like it the way it is.”

“Yes, but… as my older brother, it’s his responsibility to worry.” He laughs. “Just formal things. It was no reason to delay the start of the party.”

You simper, moving a hand to his knee, and say, “I understand, though. My sister had a billion questions, as well. It must be scary to part from siblings you had close all your life.”

“Must be.”

“So… you still stand with your decision?”

“I do as long as you do, too.”

“Of course. A life away from pressure sounds delightful. I cannot wait to meet new people.”

Jungkook’s constant snicker is a melody to your ears; accompanied by a beautiful expression that you see once you lift your head again. Close to his lips, you beam, questioning sweetly, “What?”

“Your optimism and enthusiasm for humanity are remarkable.”

“That sounds like it’s a bad thing.”

“No,” he shakes his head immediately. “I admire it. Makes me want to kiss you.”

Your heart soars. What a mawkish, little confession; but you can’t help but feel faint.

With a hand on his thigh, fingers tapping against it teasingly, you raise an eyebrow, shrugging as you suggest, “Do it, you coward.”

But all he kisses is his teeth, taunting you, and you are close to protesting before he says, “Uh-uh. Rest now. You will not get much of it tonight.”

You puff out a mocking breath, attempting to push him away from you; but his hold around you is firm, amusing when he pulls you back in and kisses your temple.

His words may sound like a harmless joke; nothing new, considering how dual his personality tends to be.

But when you reach the big, white mansion, spacious enough to get lost in and prepare for the night…

You soon realise that he wasn’t exaggerating after all.

A light, earthy scent wafts towards you when you enter the chamber designated to you.

It surrounds you in layers; beeswax candles are set everywhere you look except near the sheets. You have never seen so much spent money in a room at once; and the luxurious, yellow candles aren’t the only indicator for wealth.

The curtains look heavy. The bed is high. Flowers stand on the small, round table in the corner and outside the window, handmade tapestry dipping the room in more royalty.

Jungkook, still at the threshold, asks, “What do you think?”

You look around. And then, you murmur, “It is… a lot, for sure.”

An understatement.

It’s beautiful. But a reminder of your status, too.

It’s where they — everyone — expect you to consummate the marriage, to seal the deal officially before diving into the trials and tribulations of love. The lush space you’re standing in the middle of is supposed to pull you into just the right mood.

But they don’t seem to know that you need none of this.

The rules of society hardly matter now — in fact, the intimacy that draws you together started long before you even knew you’d surely marry him.

And now that you’re here, greeted by warm, soft, burning light and rose petals strewn across the bed, you certainly do not think of the expectations on you.

Of what everyone awaits as he shuts the heavy door behind you, waving off the chaperones and maids and other staff. Of what people might be thinking right now as he wraps an arm around your waist.

Or of what they might be talking about tomorrow when he covers the skin of your face with his palms. As warm as the flames, tugging you close to him.

Accompanied by a placid voice that whispers, “I’m yours now. Officially yours.”

“And…” Your touch immediately slithers up his arm, lightly to his elbow when he leans in, inches closer. “I’m yours.”

And then, finally, he kisses the thirst off your lips wordlessly.

You still smell like flowers to him, taste like champagne. His senses jumble up when all of you mixes with the gentle breeze through the open window — whoever did that, thought things through.

He might have suffocated in the heat here; the summer’s and yours.

The flickering candlelight adds to the ambiance as you walk backwards, past it and towards the mattress.

Jungkook keeps pushing carefully, a tender mouth humming against yours. His lips are warm and soft, inviting and just right, like a key to its lock. Tongueless and sweet.

Your steps synchronise until you fall onto the satin sheets, still surrounded and trapped by your wedding dress. And as much as it allows, you shift backwards in the bed; and he follows like a predator.

Kneels on the high bed. Comes closer until he’s sitting in front of you.

Half laying on the bed, you look up at him. He’s as golden as ever; vibrant and beautiful, filled with adoration and disbelief. Your eyebrows lift in innocence; you inhale his features.

And that’s when something changes.

Has he seen something in your eyes, too?

“What are you thinking?” he asks again.

“Nothing,” you admit. It’s true. “Nothing at all. I am just happy.”

He nods; knuckles and the back of his fingers swiftly brush along your cheekbones. “You should be.”

You deserve it, he always says. And he’s worth it just as much, you counter.

So you ask, “Are you, too?”

A second hand on your other cheek. He lifts your face by your chin, tugging along your body until you’re facing him. You sit on your legs, your gown spread, and his knees move until you’re caged between his legs.

“I’d be such a fool if I wasn’t.” And coming from someone who’s lived his life in despair… This lets your heart grow thrice its size. “Look at you.”

He swipes your hair over your shoulder, glad your maids helped undo all braids. He would have tangled up your mane for sure — the pins and complicated knots would have ensured that.

All that holds your strands together now is a white, silken ribbon; one he finds at the back of your head, undoing it slowly. And all you hear is a little, “Pretty”, before he’s pulling at the strings of your gown, too, steadily.

Different from your own fingers when you imitate him, subtly quivering hands opening the buttons of his vest.

Noses touch when his face draws closer, but he doesn’t kiss you yet. Only brushes along your arm when your dress falls off, merely the corset and underwear remaining. The way his digits caress you makes you hold your breath.

How he tilts his head and places a featherlight kiss to your neck; then to your shoulder.

You shiver.

“You want this, yes?” Jungkook breathes against your skin; he must be seeing the goosebumps.

Half ticklish, half amused, you laugh — but when he doesn’t chuckle with you, you understand that he’s being serious.

Instead, he explains, “It was a tiring day. We can move this to tomorrow. We could talk now, or just…” He pecks a sensitive spot on your neck, and you recoil. “Go to bed.”

You don’t answer. You gulp when his soft lips skim your shoulder; your fingers reach to his hair, pulling him closer.

It's enough of an answer, but he still orders gently, “Speak now.”

But as the tip of his tongue ever-so-slightly touches your jaw, all you manage is a tiny, quiet, “Kook…”

“Hm?”

It’s a subtle hum, but it makes his mouth vibrate against you.

And you plead, “Please keep going.”

That green light is all he needs to kiss you again. More fervently this time, right from the start, crashing his rosy lips against yours.

You nearly fall back, but he holds you in place, pushing his tongue through the seam of your lips until it connects with yours. It’s hot and wet, skilled and diligent.

And he’s getting lost.

Drinking up your sounds, lapping up your taste. A hand at the small of your back, the other between your shoulder blades.

Barely breathing through your nose, you feel air leave your head; your face is burning up, and the breeze does not ease any of the fire.

He tastes like whiskey. A little like nature, and a lot like eternity.

You already miss all of it when he parts from you; his words and tone are impatient when he whispers, “Turn around.”

A brief glance throws a question at him. But placing all trust into his gentle palms, you oblige; pleasantly cared for when he brushes a finger along your back, undoes your corset.

You stare at the wall and the bed frame — despite this room and mansion’s cost, it looks too feeble for Jungkook’s nature. You don’t want to destroy your marital bed on the first night.

But…

You do.

He lets a hand wander over your tummy and your chest; halts over your breasts when the corset finally falls, squeezing just a little. And then, he brings it to your neck, fingertips pressing under your jaw lightly to push you back against his chest.

A kiss lands under your ear; your insides somersault when he praises, “You are gorgeous. So gorgeous.”

The compliment, lustful and raspy, affects you differently now than it did hours ago. At the wedding, with a safe distance between you and numerous pairs of eyes ogling at you, his statements made your heart jump.

But now, with his body against yours and a hand under your jaw, the organ shoots to the sky.

“You are,” you respond as you reach to his collar behind you, shakily mumbling, “take this off.”

And he, as an answer, rubs the hem of your long underwear between his free fingers; throws back, “You as well… Want to see all of you.”

Whatever is left, you strip out of bit by bit; your bodies never separate, soon bare, and you wonder how you managed to slip out of them without parting at all.

The community doesn’t realise it, but this is far from your first night with him — yet, all of this feels different. A little more humbling, a bit more timid, because this time, he’s your husband.

Husband.

He won’t become a fleeting memory — his body will keep changing. He’ll sport wrinkles decades later, the darkness of his hair fading to a grey one day.

But his heart won’t change. Neither will yours — relationships and touches might.

And you’ll witness all of what’s still uncertain to you; in a future you can’t see but that leaves you hopeful.

What an astounding realisation.

His touch is sweeter than before; and the eyes you see once he turns you again, watching you fall onto your back, look different, too.

You tremble — whether from the breeze or from him, you cannot say.

Somewhere in the depth of his pupils, you see a spiral. It keeps spinning endlessly; you want it to keep hypnotising you, but Jungkook doesn’t grant you more than a moment to glance at him.

You know that’s how tonight will play out — he will take his time. You’ll be here, under him for hours… even once he’s done, you know he won’t truly be done.

The blissful torture starts with a brief descend of his body. Kisses scatter along your torso. Giving into the usual automatic reaction, he stops at your tits for a second, sucking in your nipple before he licks a stripe between your breasts.

And then, tummy, waist and hips skipped, a quick shortcut to your cunt. You know what he’ll do. And it’s the worst, most enticing thing he can do.

You immediately wince under this touch, wriggling the lower body he pins back against the bed without a second thought. It’s a tiny action he has planned, but you already beg, “Don’t stop this time…”

And he, playfully oblivious and menacing as ever, looks up to you with big puppy eyes and hums, “Hm?”

“Jungkook—” you choke, slight protest in your voice; but not truly.

Because you still let him entangle his fingers with yours; don’t move away, allow him to drop low enough to inhale your scent. The tip of his tongue peeks out between his lips, and you watch as it leans to your clit in slow motion.

Just a short touch before he digs it between your folds and eventually flattens it to lick a languid stripe back up to your clit. He comes back to your pussy just once: wraps his mouth around one side, tugs at the fold gently and then lets it fall into place.

Already drenched and yearning for more.

But he’s evil — of course he doesn’t continue; instead, he’s back where your eyes sparkle in anticipation and frustration.

“What’s wrong?” he dares to ask, soothing your restlessness as he rubs a hand up and down your sides.

Filters thrown out, you spit, “Want more. Right the hell now.”

“...What do you want?”

“You,” you emphasise with a slight lift of your head.

He doesn’t resist when you place a hand on his cheek, another on the nape of his neck, and pull him in. His towering cock brushes against your legs for a moment, long enough for you to realise that he’s aching as much as you.

His stamina and patience last longer than yours — that is, until you twist the moment, working towards endless whining and begging from his side.

Which means… you need to do something.

You dart out your tongue to lick at his lower lip, and then add, “You. On my tongue.”

When he tenses, you feel it against your body. Pride floods your veins; you don’t know if he’ll ever get used to this. To the fact that you want him like this… or the fact that you can make him feel desired like this.

Relatable.

He is very much the reason for your newfound confidence, too.

But the fog you want to envelop him in won’t quite emerge just yet; Jungkook is developing his very own ideas in his whirling mind. And they’ll keep you trapped under him for now.

“Fine, then,” he only voices before you feel a sudden tug at your body.

You gasp when you find yourself inches down the bed, away from the bed frame that he shifts towards, pressing his back against it. 

Craning your neck with an open mouth, you look up at him; he looks so much larger from this point of view. His length seems angrily firm from here; and he is broad, lean, hungry like a hunter in the jungle.

“The staff will laugh at me in the morning,” you murmur, licking your lips wet as he inches closer, “I will not be able to speak.”

“I’m afraid so.” Each thigh settles next to your face, and you take a deep breath at the sight hovering above you. “Might be a smile-nod-wave day then, I assume?”

You lift a hand, tickling his hardened balls with the tip of your forefinger. He reacts with the lightest groans immediately, leaning back from your touch and fisting his dick instead.

“A pleasant first day,” you tease.

You bite your lip and lift your head when he angles his cock. Not the most comfortable position, but at least it quenches your and his thirst.

Both your hands come up to the thick shaft he pumps, and the moment you touch his skin, he lets go. You move your head to the side when mere inches remain between your mouth and his length; a sad attempt to catch a few last breaths.

Because his legs are still in the way, his body ready to destroy; you want to grant him the same, lustful torment.

So you start moving your fingers up and down. You twist your wrist, caressing the entire shaft from tip to base, thumbing at the first glimpses of the leaking liquid.

“Fuck,” you hear from above. A single curse that stretches into a groan, impatient when you circle the sensitive head and brush along the wet slit. “Oh, fuck.”

Enduring too much, he brings a hand to your chin, moving your head back into position and then shifts a little again. For a moment, his knee hits your hair; a sharp pain spreads on your scalp, and you yelp.

An immediate apology sounds from above, legs backing away as he says, “Oh God. I need to learn to do this without hurting you.”

The pads of his fingers push against your head — he isn’t reaching the part that aches, but… you commend him for his intentions.

“I am sorry,” he murmurs; when you open your eyes, he’s shaking his head. In the faint light, you see the guilt in his eyes.

He is so incredibly sweet.

You catch his wrist gently, telling him, “I barely feel it anymore.” He still looks at you in utter worry; as though he cut off one of your limbs. “I really don’t!” you promise; and then, you angle your head again, and add, “Now put it in, dear Lord of mine.”

That’s what breaks him.

Jungkook can still not take the formality of his life seriously. It’s a mere title for him — if his and your wealth didn’t bestow such luxury, like this mansion, upon the two of you, he might care even less.

So it’s not a surprise to you when he rolls his eyes and laughs, voicing a tiny, “Fool.”

You don’t respond; instead, you finally open your mouth, tongue wide out. He moves the still rock hard cock that slapped back against his tummy down until the head floats over your shiny lips.

Unabashed, you push your head off the bed just a little, lifting your tongue to a mole. And you don’t fall back onto the mattress until his balls dangle in your face, his veiny hands pressing his cock down to tap it against your already open lips.

And then, he’s finally pushing it in—

“Mmmh,” you make.

You anticipated this today; the moment you stepped into that big, fancy carriage, riding away from the bigger, fancier wedding location, you knew you wanted to end tonight like this.

Momentarily, you twirl your tongue around the tip; you’re used to the slight salty taste. Not just once, you’ve swallowed every tiny bit of it… but you are more than certain that he won’t let you today.

Your chest rises hard when he shoves in more of him, along the flat of your tongue, back to your throat. Already gagging, you feel your eyes water.

A glance up to him, and… there it is.

That expression.

The furrowed eyebrows, the single drop of sweat along his temple, travelling to his jaw. The concentration in his eyes and the flexing abdominal muscles. Parted, pink lips; the lower one quivering just a little.

You want to speak, but it’s impossible with your mouth stuffed.

So you only hum, vibrating around him; and instead of you, he says, “Leg-tapping when it becomes too much, yes?”

You nod. The action forces his cock in and out again, creating friction, and he moans with a closed mouth before his hips draw back — and then in again.

He fucks into you as much as you can take, allowing himself to lean forwards to balance his body. A hand presses into the mattress next to your waist; even with shut eyelids, you feel his arm tremble.

Your nose might break if he falls now.

But your worries mean nothing — because for a full minute and longer, he holds his weight. Even manages to travel his other hand to your tits; much expected.

He pushes in, stealing your breath and then moves the flesh in circles. Nimble fingers take a nipple captive to pinch, and you mewl around his hardness. Tears from behind your eyelids immediately spill out.

It took a lot less today to make you cry.

And he loves it.

Because he moves back up, never leaving your tits; squeezing hard enough for you to groan again. The vibration of your sounds drives him insane, and he halts, pulling his hips back before he snaps them back in, reaching as far as your breath control allows.

A free palm wipes at your cheeks, and he remarks, “This is only the beginning. Do not sob the sheets wet.” He lets out a shaky breath when your tongue draws patterns on his dick. “Shit… I am far from done with you.”

Oh.

God, the cocky warning — you shouldn’t find it as alluring as you do.

You doubt anyone has ever had such an ungodly wedding night before.

Because most people barely understand their partner’s desires and needs just yet.

The fact that this is the one of another thousand times dawns on you again — apart from the romance of tonight, you can’t help but think that you want him stuck in the back of your throat forever.

“No complaints. No whining,” Jungkook speaks on, still fucking into you in smooth motions. “Despite the tears, you do not stop unless I tell you to, huh?”

His voice is especially deep right now. You can’t do anything but nod like his private whore.

“Thought so,” he says. His signature statement.

You will die. But you cannot die alone.

So you hollow your cheeks, sucking harder, pushing your head into the bed and letting it bounce back repeatedly. He feels so good, so firm inside you. Using your mouth, using your body; holding your tits to keep himself in place.

You gag loudly when one of his snaps ends up reaching too deep, producing enough saliva for it to trickle down your face. Your tears might not wet the sheets yet, but your drool will.

And just when you inhale through the nose, blinking away the stray tears that keep falling into your hair, he pulls back.

Spit connects your soaked mouth and the shiny girth; in the light of the candles, you see the popping veins, coated in your drool, so beautifully.

Jungkook wipes the obscenity off your mouth, separating the thick string and hunches over to separate your legs and coat your already wanting cunt in your own spit.

When he rounds your body on his knees, you slide your body up the bed again; this is it for losing your voice for now. He wants to move on.

Swamped digits paint a dirty trail up your stomach, and then come back to your swollen nub between your legs. You angle one leg, allowing him easier access. It’s a subtle movement, but he enjoys every single motion that suggests readiness; suggests craze.

He takes your face between the fingers of his other hand firmly, a thumb running along your lower lip.

“You are so much filthier than I always expected you to be.” When you look up in submission, he nods towards your gaze and adds, “You might just be deceiving me with those pretty little eyes of yours, no?”

You don’t get a word out. You wish you could throw out snarky remarks like this, but you can’t. Not because you cannot think of one.

But because your throat feels battered.

You gulp.

Take in the thumb when he pushes it between the seam of your lips. He presses it onto your tongue, spreading your own taste along the wet muscle. And then, his body is descending, mouth aligning with yours; and suddenly, he’s kissing you again.

His thumb retreats, sloppy sounds echoing off the walls. The kiss is passionate yet wild, renders you breathless but longing for more.

A wish your mind whispers in vain.

Because he moves to your jaw, French kissing it before it’s your neck’s turn. Teeth trace your veins until they stop –– and when he bites into your flesh harshly, your back arches off the bed.

Your little whine is melodious to his ears; he knows you love it just as much.

You have a slight fondness for his harshness — for the tiny pain he inflicts on you. You’ve worried him one too many times.

But then again, you always assure that it riles you up, too.

And who is he to not cater to you every whim?

His fingers caress your folds delightfully, never dipping in. You keep lifting your hips towards him, much to his entertainment; and to make it worse, he admits, “I wish I could fuck you right now. I know I could slip just in.”

“Y–you wish?” you stutter, hearing a hum from him before you say, “Then do it.”

“You know I won’t.”

“Of course…”

You nearly screech when the unoccupied hand darts up to your neck, pushing you down into the bed. This is the point of no return — an animal fully awakened. 

Eventually parting your pussy, rubbing along its length yet never dipping into the entrance, he asks, “This is so… Do you feel that?” 

You feel him. You feel all of what he gives.

The finger prodding at your hole. The feeling of utter, embarrassing wetness.

“Here.” His soiled hand comes back to your mouth before he tells you to lick and spit onto it. The palm cups your pussy a moment later; and without a warning yet slowly, he drives in one finger. “How is that?”

You wind on the bed as half his body moves to nearly touch your torso. His face is right above yours, lips almost kissing as you whisper, “Good. Not good enough…”

“We have the entire night.”

“Life,” you correct.

A quiet chuckle reverberates against your mouth, and he simply voices, “Yes. Life.”

As another finger gets added to the fun, he buries them to his knuckles; you hear the squelching sound, feel the heat in your face that it causes. You’re always so shamefully ready for him.

One of your hands slams onto the bed next to your body when he pulls his digits out and rams them back in. The action is hard, but so agonisingly slow.

Something velvety rips under your touch. You look at your misdeed, barely choking out a tender laugh when you see what it is.

Jungkook stops and follows your gaze; you hiss when he pulls out, but giggle again when he asks, “What happened?”

“These,” you say, lifting the torn rose petal. “Did you order the staff to put these here?”

Jungkook shakes his head, reaching for the petal to feel its softness between his fingers. He smiles down at you, amused by the temporary distraction. You are one of a kind.

“Of course not,” he tells you, “but they might have wanted to add to the mood.”

“Well… It was not such a bad idea.”

“No?”

“I think you will like fucking me on th—”

“Don’t,” he warns. He inches back from you, as if to escape. Only when he settles between your legs, do you understand that he isn’t running away but diving deeper into you. “Do not say that or I will batter this,” he pinches your clit just a little, “gorgeous cunt of yours.”

“You keep threatening,” you challenge. “Empty promises, if you ask me. Why do you not go ahead and prove that your words aren’t just…” You watch as he forces your legs apart. Sporting a hard jaw, he looks down at you dangerously. “Blank.”

“Blank, yes?” Jungkook repeats. A lopsided smirk graces his features as he falls onto his tummy, breathing against your pussy. “Why don’t you give me a couple of minutes?”

“I shall give you— oof.”

He breaks your attempt at a coherent sentence when he places a sweet peck against your clit. Harsh fingers dig into your thighs, lifting them off the bed and onto his shoulders. You cross them behind his head, trap him there.

Holding eye contact, he bends his arms under your legs, gripping them at the beginning of your thighs to hold you in place. His fingers are long enough to reach your pelvis and nub.

No escape, is what he means.

You don’t want one anyway.

Not when he parts your folds and connects his flat tongue with your dampness. Moves to push back the skin around your clit; then circles over it so fucking gently, as he likes to do.

“What?” he mumbles against you, knowing very well what your moans mean.

Or what your shut eyes, the throw of your head to the side signify. How transparent you are when you crumple up the sheets until it hurts. Destroying a few more rose petals.

Yes, he wants to pound you into the sunset on those breathtaking flowers.

His head comes up again and he moves closer. You let your legs fall against his back gently; your juices coat a bit of his chin when he looks at you and says, “You really do taste like heaven every time, do you not?”

He nudges your clit. Whispers a little, “Outrageous.”

And then, he buries himself back into your arousal. Drinks you up, laps up all he causes. The tip of his big nose keeps tickling your bundle of nerves, doing absolute wonders, and you close your leg harder around his head before he pries them open again.

A rapid flitting of his tongue and another messy kiss follow before he looks at you in warning, never leaving your pussy as he shakes his head, as if to say to not do this. 

But said shake moves his lips and tongue, too. Elicits goosebumps and another, “More.”

You feel too fucking worked up.

You catch a glimpse of wet, glistening lips, working diligently; and you don’t know what it is about that picture. About that red mouth enveloping your sex…

But it pushes you over the edge fast.

Because when his thumb returns to circle your clit and you imagine what the skilled movements of his lips and tongue must look like — the knot loosens.

“M’good,” he mumbles, his voice muffled by your leaking pussy. “Mmphh—”

He licks you through your high; slaps your clit gently, forcing your back off the bed. Like a snake, you wind and wiggle, but the arms around your legs hold you firm against him.

Until the waves subside.

One last peck.

A golden body comes to tower over you again. His bicep flexes deliciously, his jaw sharp; his girthy length still stands tall, his tip angrily red.

Every ridge of his member waits to penetrate your pulsating walls — but for now, he only shoves three fingers into you for a second. You’re sensitive, wincing, still calming down.

Lost in your head.

But you still hear it when he tuts, “So wet. Slides in just like that.”

“Fucking do it, then,” you curse between rapid breaths, reaching for his wrist to pull him in. “Do it, you coward.”

Ah. Yes.

It lights something in him — you know.

Not because it provokes him, but because he finds it hot.

You’re under his mercy and still spitting out such remarks. Disguising your desires and impatience as bickering.

It is irresistible. And so adorable.

“May I? You still look…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. Only lets his gaze wander up and down your body; and when you look at him, you grit your teeth, snarling through them, “You may.”

“Oh goodness. Fine. Let’s feed you then.”

You can’t help but let out an amused huff, accompanied by a roll of your eyes.

Wiping the damp tresses from your cheeks, he separates your legs again, wrapping a fist around his dick anew. He leads it down, slaps it against your pussy, rubbing up and down.

Your folds encase the tip, but he doesn’t push inside just yet. Waits a little instead, bringing back the curved, heavy cock to your pelvis.

You hate him.

Even more so when he finally does push in, only a couple inches. Just the head. And then opts back out. Already playing with your nerves, he dares to say, “I could come just like that.”

To which you warn, “Stop it.”

Humongous, brown eyes look at you in innocence. Like he was lost in another dimension and has fallen back into reality…

And then, he finally says, “I apologise. I will attempt to be serious.”

But you’ve had enough. You’ve been doing this for long; enjoying it for so long. But it’s your turn now—

“Lay down,” you command.

The order is sudden. You reckon he was about to wreck you inside out; but the finality in your voice is nearly scary, authoritative. Freezes his movements and pulls a short, “Huh?” out of him.

“Lay down,” you repeat. “You are driving me insane. Lay down, I need to…”

Perhaps it’s the readiness in your voice. Or maybe, the fact that his mind is puzzling together the pieces… because the way you look at him — he knows you want to get in action.

For just a little at least.

So he obliges. Nods and then drops next to you, looking up at you as you straddle his body.

You settle around his knees as you make yourself comfortable, eyes glued to the unswerving hardness. When you lean in to touch it, it jerks against your palm, sensitive to the touch… deprived.

Fully aware of the answer, you ask, “What was that?”

“You know what it was. Go easier on me today.”

“As you did on me? You like to play around, do you not, Lord Jeon?”

He is infuriating, truly. Just because he gives you these gigantic eyes, begging with that large, slick cock, he thinks you’ll falter, doesn’t he?

Well. Not a quite stupid thought.

You have waved the white flag before. You know you will this time, too, because all you’re working towards is…

Unfiltered lust; a final connection of your bodies, after all. And he just won’t give it to you, because yes, Lord Jeon likes to play.

You bring both hands to his dick, pressing your palms lightly into his balls before rubbing them up his length. The tender massage elicits a deep, intriguing groan out of him; the way he throws his head back is beautiful.

That’s what he usually sees. The grasping of sheets and the arching of backs.

So pretty when his hourglass body pleads for more.

“What do you want, Kook?”

With effort, he sneaks his fingers onto your hand. Moves it along his shaft, a little harder and faster, and touches his head with his thumb.

Fucked out and breathless, he whispers, “Touch me more.”

“Touch you where?”

Once more, his fingers grab onto the tip, lifting it off his tummy as his strained voice requests, ”Here.”

“Like this?” 

You circle the tip again. He loves when you do — more than once, you’ve seen him explode by hand action only. Such bliss.

“Mhmmm, no—” Jungkook says, opening his eyes once to look at you.

His mouth forms an ‘O’, and he pushes out irregular breaths. Little beads of sweat form on his forehead. 

“No?” you ask.

“Not enough is… what I wanted to say.”

Fuck, he’s delicious like that. You won’t be able to hold back as long as you might like.

But you’ll try.

Intentionally, you trap your lip with your teeth when he touches your waist. You do him one better; bring the palm to your tits to cover one, simultaneously bending over to latch onto his neck.

You feel the squeeze when you leave a wet kiss on that pretty mole of his, making yourself home as you test his limits. Jungkook isn’t as much into neck kisses as you are — you know that.

But he’s into impatience and torture.

Like the one you provide when your tummy rubs against his cock, rolling your hips over his legs; your cunt feels the flexing of his thighs. You know he’s imagining far worse — or better — than mere grinding. 

“You are more cruel than me, I need you to know,” he says, but you cannot be bothered by the beseeching tone in his statement.

Instead, you deliver one brief kiss onto his lips and lean back again. Gather spit in your mouth and lift his cock towards you, letting the blob drop onto the slit. And then, you rub the pad of your thumb over it, spreading out your saliva.

He groans, nails digging into your tits so hard that you suck in air sharply, nearly choking. The touch drops to your hips, and you smile, tell him, “Sensitive much?”

Jungkook laughs; it’s cute and quiet. So endearing.

Different from his words, though.

“Just wait, you minx. Just wa—”

“What was that?”

He must not have expected your body to drop so low. For your lips to enclose the bright tip, eliciting hisses and sounds you can’t quite identify.

“Enough now,” he snarls through gritted teeth. God. 

He will split you in two — you already know.

“Fine. You are right,” you say, “I have had enough, as well.”

Which seems to relieve him.

Because his body relaxes, the rippling muscles unflexing. You shake your head at his neediness before you stop again — fuck, you must look exactly the same when he has his way with you.

Good. Enough.

You mount him further, shifting forwards. Carefully, you take his ready cock into your hand, putting inches between your bodies to lead the hot shaft to your throbbing cunt.

And when you do… the familiar feeling of stretching you out returns in full glory.

Another phenomenon you will never get used to.

It burns for a moment, but pleasure washes the pain away all too soon. Your dripping core, ready since the night began, might be a reason for that.

Because after the initial splitting, it’s smooth sailing. Long, never-ending sailing, though.

Your legs tremor as you allow him to stuff you to the brim. You sink and sink until you’re sitting on your throne, ripped apart inside out. 

His heavy breathing matches yours when he whispers, “Go on.”

As expected, he reaches to your ass. Jiggles it a little, creating a movement against his firm balls. His lips are dry again, and he delivers a long, languid lick to them, seeking your attention.

“You are too big,” you tell him. You can barely breathe.

“You have said that before,” he teases. Now that you’re wrapped around him, he has you at his mercy. Almost. “Do you need help?”

“No!” you defend, placing your hands against his toned chest. “No.”

“Good. Then go on, I beg of you—”

The words are stuck in his throat when you move. Slowly pulling away before falling back onto him. Your eyebrows crease, your body burning hot.

In your haze, you bring your thumbs to his nipples, rounding them before pinching them slightly. It cannot be an intense touch, but Jungkook still hisses; you move to his shoulders, pressing his body down.

“Jungkook…”

“I know—”

“Fuck, I…” you croak, looking down with a shuddering lower lip. “I would let you do anything to me.”

“Is that so?”

God. You shouldn’t have said that.

“Will you let me help you, then?” he tries; he’s slier than he looks, that man. Annoyingly cooing, he slaps your ass hard, and then says, “You look so exhausted, darling.”

Your face heats up more than before.

Exasperating.

You lift your body, drop again. And when your legs threaten to give in, eyes rolling back at the intrusion of the gracious package, you give up eventually.

No. He feels too good to move on your own. You keep buckling.

So you finally pant out your exhaustion, and say, “Help me, then… Fuck, do it.”

And it seems he doesn’t need more than that.

He grabs onto your arms that balance your weight, pulling them away from his chest and to his head. You fall face forwards, almost slamming into him, but catch yourself midway.

Which does nothing, because a moment later, as you bury your fingers in his hair, he tugs you flush against him, wrapping one strong arm around your body without a single gap to escape.

“Hold onto me,” he says, and you do. Ready for your mind to splinter when his hold nearly crushes your body. “You would let me do anything to you, huh?”

Shit.

He jerks his hips up… slams into you recklessly.

You let out an uncontrolled whine. Spread your legs, fucked up when he grips one of your thighs and bruises your flesh. Only to then whack your ass again, helping his motions as he moves it up and down.

“You fucking knew what you were saying,” he breathes, and you press your lips into a line, though never able to suppress your moans. “My cock to tear you apart… that’s what you want me to do to you, is that not fucking right?”

Shit, shit, shit.

“Jungkook—”

“Say it,” he demands, pounding into you from below. Fucking hell, he reaches so deep within you. You feel all of him; every single vein, every damn rim. “Say that you are a brat on full purpose.”

“I… I am,” you admit, your voice loud, driven insane by the relentless plunges from the start. Air is sucked out of you when he lifts your head by your hair, grunting when you clench around him. “I wanted you… your cock to ruin me, I—”

Words dwindle.

That’s it. That’s what you needed.

The start of oblivion.

Because when the heat builds, your body weakens more. And when he notices, he pulls your head close — you let him.

The kiss he plants against your lips is hard, his moans loud enough for you to assume he’s ready to let go. But he’s pounding into you, the way he did the very first time and a lot of times after. His stamina is incredible — you know you aren’t done yet.

For a moment, his thrusts are enough for you to hold onto him to not bump against the bed frame. The eagerness and friction makes you drool.

Because God—

His cock truly fits into you perfectly. Every bit penetrates your walls so wonderfully, the ideal curve massaging against the harsh, walnutty spot.

Your eyes roll back into your head.

“You—” Jungkook starts. His body is sweaty against yours, burning. “You’ve never been so drenched, my love.”

You will never get used to this. To him. To every name he calls you.

Be it sweetheart, love, angel or slut.

You’ll be anything for him.

Your mouth hangs open, your fingers holding onto his bicep. Delirious, you beg once more, like a mantra, ”More.”

Which he grants immediately. Propels his thick length into you with punctured thrusts, making your tongue dart out. You must look so deranged — and once you realise, you close your mouth again, pressing it into his broad shoulder.

A moment later, his hand pushes against your scalp. Grabs a patch of your hair tightly, tugging a little as he pounds into you; you think he’s about to scold you for muffling your sounds—

But when he speaks, you realise that your man has tired himself out. Poor boy. Always outdoing himself.

Because he says more to himself than to you, “Not yet. Cannot finish yet…” Of course not. You can already not walk anymore — not that you still won’t take more of him, though. “Turn around for me again. Hands against the frame.”

And you do. Hiss when you feel the loss, your pussy empty; the muscles of your inner walls still contract.

But he doesn’t let you suffer for too long — as soon as you’ve spread your legs, hands pressed against the cushioned frame, a heavy hand lands on your ass. He squeezes the flesh a little too hard, out of control when he pushes back in to the hilt.

Your body weakens.

He feels… so fucking good.

You cannot believe you married him. That this very man loves you. That he will spend every night, every day between those walls with you, coaxing moan after moan, high after high out of you.

Shit, this cannot be real.

You feel his pelvis against your ass when he’s slipped in. Easily, effortlessly; no hindrance and no issues.

For all he knows, you could take his cock and all of his fingers at once. You’re a waterfall down there.

“I am…” he begins. He looks down to where you connect, spreading your ass cheeks for a better view. “I am all the way in like this.”

You feel it… not an inch untouched.

“I know, I…”

He interrupts, “Does it feel good?”

So good.

Other women would sell their souls to spend each filthy moment with him. Stupid intrusive thought, but you sincerely hope he’s never made anyone feel the way he makes you feel. And vice versa…

“Mhmmmphhh, fuck… yes,” you manage, wiggling your ass to feel more of him.

It triggers a reaction from him; because pretty much automatically, he fucks into you once. Hears your sweet, broken sounds. More consequent strokes, more desperate, infinite, cute noises.

You never shut up. Not in bed, not outside; you will keep him entertained until the end of love and life.

Fucking hell, he adores the fuck out of you.

How could he not? How could he not with such a delicate soul holding his heart?

Keeping him close to you; locking yourself in his chest; emanating support, affection and endless courage. Being with him meant enduring cruel whispers — and you fought through all of it.

”Those who fear or disrespect you, simply do not know you.”

That’s what you always say.

And now you’re here — still with him, in his very grip, never running away but always running towards him.

Lucky. He is so fucking lucky.

He leans forwards to kiss your back, fucking into you again. A little less harsh now, though his pace is slowly picking up. And just when he’s about to straighten his stance again, you say, “Touch me, please.”

Gladly. 

Jungkook wraps an arm around your tits, lips back to your shoulders. Wet kisses planted against them, you moan, delighted by the ablaze nerves, the way he knows exactly which spots to touch.

And slowly but surely, he’s piledriving into you. You jolt forwards each time until he softens his pace — and then back to heavy panting when he finds his energy again.

“Jungkook, oh my G—”

“I know. I know, sweetheart, just…”

Just what?

You don’t know. Your screams overshadow his words, eat them up.

And your yelling only intensifies when he pushes your legs together, indulging and drowning in the beautiful sound that falls out of you so suddenly.

It’s new. Mind-numbing.

Your feeble arms give in and your upper body falls, leaving your ass in the air. His hand snakes to the front, touching your clit lightly; and when he sees you in this very position, an idea forms in his mind.

“I think,” he starts. You’re still heavy breathing, only registering bits of what he’s uttering. “I know something you might enjoy.”

Through your daze, you ask, “...What?”

“We can try…”

And then, he’s gently pushing you down, flat onto your stomach before pulling your bottom back up a little. The cock that half slipped out moves in again; your cunt is aching by now, but keeps demanding more.

And… with the promise he just delivered, you fear for its life.

Once he’s bottomed out once again, his hands settle on your ass. He closes your legs around his shaft, and then moves until his own thighs trap your body; pulling out slowly and then all the way in again.

And suddenly—

Every untouched spot, every nerve inside you burns up. 

The lack of a gap between your legs feels like a miracle. The ridges of his cock penetrate you in the most effective way you have ever felt, and the silky, soft sheets rubbing against your clit offer further stimulation.

All of it combined… you think you lose your mind.

“Oh God,” you mewl, fingers immediately grabbing your pillow.

And then, you hear him ask, “Good?”

“I… oh, I—”

“I thought so.”

You’re baffled. If he wasn’t fucking you up like this, you’d widen your eyes in shock, study the science and magic behind this position. Instead, you only spit, “...How did you…?”

“No space,” he immediately answers through huffs, “more… friction. You can let go now, angel.”

And like that, he continues wrecking you. A little harder with time, but calculated and carefully, feeling all the warmth between your walls. He kneads your ass, parts it, watches how the slick length disappears… and reappears…

So wet. So shiny. You are so incredibly soaked.

And the view. Fuck. Fuck, does that look—

“I wish you could see this,” he says through your cries, shaking your head when your nether lips spread wide. “Gorgeous.”

More rubbing against the sheets and rose petals — you are losing your goddamn mind. But then he creates a gap between the mattress and you eventually, starting to draw regular patterns around your clit.

And that’s it.

That’s fucking it.

Your moans grow in volume, brief but effective, dangerous to him. High-pitched as he fucks you closer to your high; and then, the orgasm that finally rolls over you, blinds you for a full minute.

Your head starts circling around its own axis; if you were standing now, you’d fall over for sure.

In violent waves, you unwind hard, sounds muffled when his hand reaches to your mouth and covers it for a couple of seconds. Then, his fingers wander down, rolling over your lower lip as you call syllables of his name.

The first time with him, you tainted the bed. Internally, you’re still sending apologies to Jiyoo.

This time, your bed remains a little drier, and yet, his cock is coated in arousal. And your ass is bruised when he slaps it one more time, uttering, “You sounded more beautiful than ever.” He moves to your ear, nibbling your earlobe, “Did you hear?”

“No,” you mutter with a feeble shake of your head. “You left me too busy seeing stars.”

He titters, brushing a comforting palm over your back.

His cock remains steady and hard inside you until you’re calmer; so when he pulls out and helps your trembling body turn around, you keep your legs apart. Fully expecting him to keep going. 

But instead, he brings his veiny hand to his veinier cock, starting to pump as he aims for your stomach.

And when you’ve realised his intentions, you shake your head hastily and immediately, voicing, “No. Put it back in.”

Which makes him stop in motion — confusion spreads on his visage, his shaky voice fucked out when he asks, “What?”

You reach to his dick, leading the tip to the spot under your belly button. Your entrance is too far away, so you suggest quickly, “Keep going.”

He is still puzzled.

Says, “But you are done.”

“And? You are not.” You wait a moment. Let the information sink in… and then, something in his eyes lights up. You nod in affirmation, once again pleading, “Please, put it in and finish.”

Though, he’s not yet done arguing.

“Are you…” He shakes his head. “We can wait. It might be risky.”

“Yes, I know.” You understand. It’s why you practised so much care this past year. You found it hard to stay apart — but in hindsight, you were lucky nothing happened. But now… “I want this. I do not care about the… consequences unless you do. Please, Jungkook.”

Perhaps because you’re married now, and it’s bound to happen one day. You want this.

And it seems he has been on the same page as you for a while — because the moment you mumble the confession, he starts glowing. As if he waited for this.

Melting and in love, he moves back, shifting his cock back to your pussy. The head pushes in easily once again, and he demands, “Say that again.” Inch by inch, he moves in. “Say my name like that again.”

You feel stuffed.

Groaning, with a thrown back head, you hardly manage, “Kook…”

“Keep saying it.”

The word keeps coming out with difficulty when you obey — the arms that wrap around you feel safe. Intense, pushed under your body, palms on your shoulder blades.

Like you’re his anchor.

You cup his tender face, touching his lips, and then pull him into tonight’s possibly one last kiss.

His breath is hot against yours, his rhythm faltering when you widen your legs. You clench on purpose, and he gasps against your lips; you keep kissing him, keep him there. Breathless.

And he mumbles with his mouth on yours, “Y–feel so good—”

You respond with another tender kiss. Seeking his tongue before you switch to a dozen pecks. Telling him, “And you.”

“Pretty…”

Nonsensical words fall out of him; he can barely see you right now. Too focused on how you feel, on how tight your walls feel whenever you clench.

He’s working towards the end — and you help him as you say, “Jungkook… darling. Let go.”

And paired with how you push your hand through to your pussy, closing your folds tight around his cock to make them tighter, you don’t think he needs a lot more.

You raise your hips to him, and he grips your waist hard; pumps into you with hard, pointed strokes. No resistance, gliding into you swiftly, broken calls of your name following, eyes squinted shut, mouth open, sweat wandering down—

Jungkook groans so deeply you feel his chest vibrate against yours; balls deep inside you until—

He finally spills. Shaking. So vocal.

Just once, he pulls out, and then pushes in again with a moan. Empties himself entirely and then lingers… stays until the hardness subsides.

He places one delicate kiss against your swollen, bruised lips; throws a sweet gaze towards you, pushing your hair back. And when endurance finally falters, he collapses half on you.

His breaths are still heavy and stagnant; his heart beats wild against your equally unsteady one. And through exhaustion, you ask, “Are you alright?”

“Mhm.” You card your fingers through his dark, damp mane. Soothe his fatigue along with yours as he murmurs, “Just can’t move. I apologise.”

“I cannot move, either. My legs feel numb,” you say.

You laugh, and he follows with his own breathy chuckle. He kisses your shoulder and praises, “We did well.”

“It was wonderful. Please do applaud my final idea.”

His snicker grows a little louder at your commanding, proud tone, but he doesn’t say anything in response. Instead, silence lingers for a moment, comfortable until you state, “You are getting softer inside.”

“Yes,” he confirms, “it… feels strange.”

Oh. What?

Does it…?

For all you could guess, you thought he knew exactly what such a phenomenon would feel like. Carefully, shielding your heart and your mind, you ask, “Yes, I… but it was not the first time for you, was it?”

With all those silent, hidden affairs, he must have done everything already, for sure…

Guess you are lucky that nothing more beyond temporary intimacy happened with other women, either. You do not want a child standing at your threshold one d—

“It was,” he interrupts your thoughts. Oh… you did not expect this. “This was my first time doing this. Very new.”

“I…” You hesitate. Lick your lips, staring up at the ceiling. The candlelight is dimmer now, though just a little. The expensive wax still burns well. “I did not think I would see you experience something for the first time.”

It is a risky statement. Not very appropriate for a wedding night.

But he reacts to it perfectly; lets your insecurities fade bit by bit, filling you with fondness and hope as he lifts his head. He looks at you tenderly; he has those permanent stars in his eyes that never die.

“No?” he whispers. He tucks your hair back, though gravity pulls it back to the bed. Places a palm on your cheek. “Only everything.”

Your pupils shake a little, and you lift your eyebrows with the question, “What?”

He sighs, as though trapped in a dream. The pure, unfiltered devotion is apparent in every touch and embrace.

When he tilts his head, tired eyelids almost shut. Yet, keeps looking at you, memorising you for the moment; as if he’s not yours for eternity. When he smiles, Jungkook-esque crinkles surface around his eyes; dimples in his cheeks.

All of his emotions are visible at that moment.

You did not expect he’d ever experience something for the first time with you — only everything.

Like,

“I have never been in love like this.”

It’s the lovely breeze through the open window that wakes Jungkook on the first morning.

The shiver forces his eyes open slowly, still sleep-drunk and exhausted. Yesterday’s socialising and late night activities truly thrashed his body and soul.

He will need a few days to recover from it all. And he’ll need you.

This honeymoon might just be ideal to wind down from the last days and the past year; the idea of your words, your lips and your body so ultimately close trigger a spark in his chest.

Only right now…

You’re not there when he reaches to the other side.

You waking and getting up before him is a rare occurrence. And considering how he bent and tossed you around last night, he didn’t think you’d slip out of your dreams before noon.

But. No.

The room is empty. And the search for you is taxing.

Not because he is mad at you or anything, but because the mansion proves too huge. With the rest of his family around and years that allowed familiarisation, the prior estate started feeling small to him at some point.

Nevermind that it was probably larger than this one. But the lack of knowledge of these corners and rooms have his head spinning.

He clings to his robe as he feels the chaperone's steps behind him, other staff greeting him with a bow, his title and his name. The smile he flashes immediately garners everyone’s sympathy, but the question in his eyes never falters, either.

“Have you seen her today?” he keeps asking.

An alarming number of rejections follow, and just when he reaches the main staircase on the first floor again, does someone point towards the open balcony overlooking the garden.

Stupid.

Should’ve thought of this earlier.

With a thankful nod, he steps into the summer morning; the sun isn’t as high as he expected just yet — it cannot be noon yet.

And there you are — hunched over the railing, bent beautifully. Your hair flutters in the gust peacefully, and for a moment, he halts right at the threshold.

Is he going to be greeted by such a sight every day?

With summer blooming in front of you and inside him. Picturesque, unreal.

The smile creeping onto his face is a pure reflex; and the way his body moves towards you automatic.

You feel his touch on you before you hear his steps. Two arms sneak around your waist, and you straighten your posture a little. His chin settles on your shoulder, and he sounds deep and groggy when he says, “Good morning.”

“Morning,” you mumble back, “I apologise for leaving. Did not want to wake you.”

“Don’t apologise for that,” Jungkook remarks, his last word swallowed by a yawn. He blinks away the morning tears. “You should rather apologise for making me wander the mansion like a ghost.”

You laugh. “I should indeed. I worried I wouldn’t find my way back either.”

He looks over your shoulder, down to the flowers and the garden. Suggests, “Maybe we should put a ladder here. Climb down to face the entrance without struggling around half a dozen staircases.”

“Sounds like a foolproof way to break your bones.”

“Foolproof, at least. Do you have a better idea?”

“Hmmm,” you hum, thinking, craning your neck and closing your eyes when he sways your bodies and kisses your jaw. “We could pin signposts at every corner in the house.”

Jungkook cackles against your neck. “A beautiful way to brag about our wealth, isn’t it?”

“Beautiful, at least.”

“Or,” Jungkook voices, a hand under your breasts, pulling you in, “we could just stay in bed.”

“Forever?”

“Forever.”

“I fear you will have to work at some point. You might not be a Duke, but you are responsible for the little village now,” you say.

That was the agreement. That’s what he and his brother settled on. The two of you would move, but in return, to make himself useful, Jungkook would finally take up a few responsibilities.

Like tending to the village you see from here, far down. Quiet and serene.

Jungkook nods, agreeing, “Yes. But we are on our honeymoon right now.”

You sigh when his kisses continue, lips ridiculously soft and plush against your warm skin. You put a palm over his hand, leading it to the swell of your tits until his thumb brushes the clothed flesh.

And then, you say, “You do make that apparent, yes.”

“Apologies.”

The minutes pass in giggles and wild heartbeats. Your discussions are sweet and tender; menacing and dirty. A palette of a hundred different, vibrant colours.

It’s always been hard for the two of you to take yourselves seriously; whenever the world isn’t throwing hurdles at you, you find joy in little things.

But when your breaths calm down and the laughter dies, you use the moment to voice what you have been pondering all morning.

No hurdle; yet, a sincere thought.

“Jungkook… I was thinking.”

Your words come out ominously; you immediately shift back to him, pulling his arms closer around you. Squinting into the sun, you lean your head against his, and say, “It might be too early to think about this, but— If we ended up having a daughter one day…”

His body tenses against yours. You know he’s always wanted this — he likes to talk about such things. Paints scenarios of himself as a father; of things he’d do, or of what he’d give them that he didn’t receive in his childhood.

You’ve had these conversations a few times, and the results always turned out wholesome.

I’ll teach them singing and painting, if they want to.

I’d be damned if they ever felt the absence of a parent, ever.

Do you think they’ll trust us?

“If we did,” you try again, clearing your voice, “what if we called her Suhana?”

Jungkook doesn’t respond. Doesn’t move a muscle. You wait a few seconds, half a minute, look at the trees and the hills far away.

And when he remains silent, you move your head towards look at him, unwrapping his arms to turn to him. Your back presses against the cool balustrade, and you take his cheeks into your hands.

His smile is gone, replaced by a slight pout. Distracted eyes misty when you lift his face. They glimmer; there’s melancholy and grief in his stare, mixed with healing and hope.

“Was it a bad idea?” you ask.

“No,” he says. Moments like these pull out that tiny voice of his. Like he’s a child, tender and vulnerable, worth protecting with your life. “No, it is a good idea. A very good idea… Just… unexpected.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No,” he echoes, “don’t be. I never thought of it this way, and the fact that you did… really…”

He cannot quite express it. And how would he?

How does he tell you that you reach deep within him with your words alone? That thoughtfulness isn’t anything he’s used to.

So far, he’s mostly only known people who benefitted from everything he did, or who prioritised their own reputation and life. Nothing wrong about being a bit selfish.

But being cared for… isn’t that crucial for a human being, too?

To feel loved and tended to. To realise that you’re never alone, that someone will always care, and that you will never be a sole wandering soul in this world.

How did it take him more than a decade to understand?

Because since his father’s death, no one has ever come close to what that man provided. To the love he gave, despite his strictness, always knowing the right thing to say; the right thing to do.

You’re his opposite. You give without demanding anything in return, always tender like an actual celestial being fallen from above. But you gift him the same warmth.

Every damn day.

A large hand travels underneath your ear, a thumb rubbing your jaw. Tears don’t fall when he holds them back hard; eyes look at your formidable form; lips yearning, yearning, yearning.

He inches closer until your foreheads touch, and despite the dryness on his cheeks, his voice is shaky when he opts to speak.

Five words, carrying his heart and laying it open.

“I love you. So much.”

You grab his wrist. Press into it with a smile, standing at a royal balcony like the world around you is empty. Like there aren’t people waiting inside, waiting for you to come out.

Or staff wandering around the garden, tending to the flowers.

Right here and right now, the two of you are all the world ever birthed.

Jungkook’s eyes close when yours do. You inhale when a sudden wind ruffles your hair, holding onto him; trembling the next moment.

Not because of the breeze, but because of the kiss that follows.

Jungkook always knows how to verbalise his emotions without saying a word. 

The controlled movements of his lips suggest fiery desire. The press of your bodies against each other means affection and tenderness. How he holds you close and tilts his head to deepen the kiss…

He encapsulates all the profound love he cannot express in words.

The one he feels when he backs away and smiles. And the one flooding him when he realises that brightness surrounds you round the clock.

Be it the sun or candlelight.

But when you tell him that you love him, too, he understands that neither the glowing star above nor the flickering flames will ever burn as bright as you.

HOW DID WE LIKE IT !!! oh my god, i miss them already. it doesn’t feel like i started this series just 4 months ago... and i can’t believe it’s over :’) thank you so much for supporting it/me all this time. y’all probably already know how much i struggled with this one (especially since i was sick writing most of the epilogue rip fksdjakf), but it was an amazing experience and your love for it made this experience unforgettable. so yeah.. i love you 👑🤍 

and as always... if you liked it, don’t forget to like, reblog, comment, and to come and talk to me. i absolutely love reading through your messages and reactions and you boost my motivation like no one else <33