#‘oh they just get a mountain dog

[paterday]

I get WHY when we domesticated cats we just made them smaller but I wish the dog thing worked on them too. I want a pet tiger. I think it would be cool. The ultimate warm weighted blanket.

[egophiliac]

WAIT when did he get FANGS

[nemurian]

@bigboobyhalo Your sacrifices have been accepted by the great Dapper. I'm so sorry but I don't think you'll be getting them back anytime soon. Or ever.

[leavingautumn13]

doing a little lore work for my pokemon emerald fic eye of the storm, so here's a sketch page

absol should be weirder.

so should mt. pyre.

[vivienna-vivid]

Y'all, I'm so emo over Yudhisthira today.

[babbyspinch]

randon dog joined me while i was resting on the top point of my hike

[polarfarina]

I am really sore from work I wish riding five hours in the car didn't require having your feet on the ground

[sophiamcdougall]

I am never going to complain about Greek Duolingo again

I mean, I am. But still.

So, as some of you know, my family has been coming to this tiny Greek seaside village for several years. Just over a week ago I came out here with my mum, under the impression that early September, after the height of the summer heat, would be a good time to have a holiday. ANYWAY Storm Daniel had other ideas about that. Locally things are improving (I'm actually really pissed off about the disaster-porn tone of most English-language media coverage, but that's another post). The power is back on, there's running water most of the time, and though the latter is not drinkable, a truck from the government came and handled out free bottled water yesterday. But we are currently kind of stuck. Can't do tourist things. Can't go home. There aren't any local flights out until Saturday and the road to Thessaloniki is still closed.

So this evening, feeling kind of aimless and depressed, I go down to the nearest beach with a couple of binbags and start cleaning up in an effort to at least do something positive. I always try to do this at least once out here and obviously, after the storm, there's a lot more plastic and rubbish than usual.

At some point I find this large, round bit of metal - some kind of machinery part, I think -- that's too big for the bag, so I take it to the bins on its own, leaving the rubbish bag on the beach. And when I come back for it, something among the stones beside it moves.

Specifically, it pulls its head sharply inside its shell

So, meanwhile I've been trying to learn some Greek with the help of Duolingo.

I currently have a 33-day streak and... I have questions. Shouldn't I be able to use the past or future tenses by now? Shouldn't I be able to say "x is like y"? I can't do those things. But one thing I absolutely can say all day long is έχω μια χελώνα : I have a turtle.

This is far from the limit of Duolingo Greek's turtle-related content. "An obsession with turtles" is my mother's characterisation. I can inform you that the turtle is not a bird, and, improbably, that the turtle is drinking milk. I can introduce you to a turtle in company with a horse and an elephant. As far as Duolingo is concerned, it really is turtles all the way down.

Now this, you may be able to see, is not a turtle. It has claws rather than flippers. It is a tortoise. I know there are wild tortoises in Greece: my aunt once rescued a pair of them shagging in the middle of the road -- but that was up in the mountains. I've even seen one myself, but it was also on a road and very dead.

I am 95% certain they don't belong on beaches. There's nothing for it to eat, except, unfortunately, a lot of plastic. Even if it gets off the beach it will immediately find itself on a road where it could get hit by a car. I'm pretty sure it must have been washed down by the floodwater and has been just sitting there, dazed, ever since.

Now obviously the first thing I want to do on encountering this unusual animal is to go and tell my mummy, so I do. The tortoise immediately brightens her day. She agrees that the tortoise is not happy on the beach and needs to be taken somewhere safe. it gets surprisingly wriggly when picked up so we put it in a carrier bag with some grapes and cucumber and go looking for somewhere to rehome it.

We find a path leading up between the houses towards a likely-looking field, but before we get very far a dog in a yard goes berserk and a man's head pops over a fence and demands to know what we're doing. He does this in English, as evidently we're just that obviously tourists.

"I found a tortoise on the beach!" I explain. "We want to find somewhere to put it."

"A what," he asks.

"It's like a, you know," I begin and then to my astonishment I find myself saying... "μια χελώνα"

"Oh! A turtle!" he says.

"But from the land. δεν είναι χελώνα", [it is not a turtle,] I say, as I am worried he will tell me to put it back near the sea where I found it. As it turns out it actually IS a χελώνα, Greek does not distinguish between turtles and tortoises, but I don't know that; I can't even name the days of the week or identify any colours other than pink yet, give me a break.

The man's entire demeanour changes and thaws. He does not worry about my turtle-that-is-not-a-turtle conundrum. He knows where οι χελώνες come from and where η χελώνα μας belongs. He leads us through a gate into a courtyard area.

"[somethingsomething] μια χελώνα," he explains to the assembled onlookers, of whom there are, suddenly, a surprising number.

"ΜΙΑ ΧΕΛΩΝΑ!!!" crows the throng of delighted small children, who are, suddenly, everywhere.

"μια χελώνα!" I agree, accepting that at least for current purposes, that is what it is.

"Μπορούμε να δούμε τη χελώνα σας; [can we see your turtle?]" asks an adorable little girl, shyly, and I understand??

The children fucking love looking at the χελώνα and showing it to them is kind of magical?

I finally put the tortoise down on the grass of this wild area off to the side of the courtyard, and marvel aloud that it is weird that I barely know any Greek except how to say μια χελώνα.

"I think she will soon run off," a kind lady called Aspasia assures me, seeing I remain slightly anxious about its fate. "I don't know why I'm saying 'she'. I suppose because χελώνα is feminine in Greek."

"Yes! I know that!" I exclaim, thrilled.

"Well done!" she says. And also she asks if we are OK for drinking water after the storm and if we need any help with anything and is just generally incredibly lovely and now we know more of the neighbours!

So "μια χελώνα" has just become, by a long way, my most-used and most understood and all-around most conversationally successful phrase in Greek. So I guess I have to admit I was wrong to doubt Duolingo's wisdom: it is correct to be obsessed with turtles. And I concede that prior to learning how to count to ten or to distinguish right from left, the simple ability to yell the word TURTLE over and over again is, it turns out, a crucial element of the responsible traveller's social skills.

(I am pretty fluent in Italian and turtles haven't come up in conversation even once?)

[whateveriwant]

I just read your pregnant wife with 141 but that got me thinking. What about horny pregnant wife with 141

Feel free to ignore this if you feel uncomfortable writing it 

-🍱 (if it’s not taken)

I haven't written smut in ages so forgive me if I'm a little rusty. 18+ only pls and thx (vaginal sex, cunnilingus)

Soap

Hooo boy! Alrighty, here we go

So for starters, that man is PENT UP. Like seriously, he's so backed up, he thinks he can feel it all the way to his esophagus

Since you first got pregnant, it's been nothing but morning sickness, aches and pains, and a total and utter lack of desire on your part

Trust him, he's tried taking care of himself in the meantime, but it's never really gotten the job done since it wasn't with you

But once you enter your second trimester and the desire has come back, it takes everything in him not to ravage you the moment you give him the green light

Why? Well, truth be told, he's scared about potentially hurting you or the baby

You know how he can get in the sack. What if he dents the wee bairn’s poor head? He's knocking (more like pounding) right on the little one’s door after all

You have to assure him that he's not going to hurt you or the baby (and please, never refer to your cervix as a door again)

So he'll start slow and gentle at first, not wanting to be too harsh, but it won't take much to get him back to fucking you hard and rough like you're used to

He's got your knees up by your chest (or, as close as they can get) while he’s drilling into you from above, snarling like an animal

When he finally finishes, it's loudddd, slamming the headboard against the wall, and he pushes his hips as far forward as they'll go while he empties four months worth of cum inside you

Ghost

I'm so sorry to have to be the one to inform you, but you're not getting that man's cock while you're pregnant

It's not because he's overly rough when you make love normally; it's just that he's not willing to take any chances when you're in such a delicate state

However, the man is inherently a giver, so with just enough whining and begging and pleading from you, he'll oblige you to some degree

He'll stick mostly to his fingers or his mouth, maybe a toy or two if you're really needy, but he's generally going to rely solely on his own skill to get you where you want to be

He'll have you recline against a mountain of pillows while he settles himself between your legs, his arms looping around your hips to hold you still for him while he works

But he doesn't just dive right in, oh no siree. The man loves to tease you – kissing your thighs, the inside of your knee, the bottom of your belly first

He'll turn you into a pathetic little thing squirming desperately for his touch, before finally granting you mercy by giving you his tongue

He'll make you cum so hard with just his mouth alone that you'll temporarily lose all thought of that gorgeous dick of his

But afterwards, if you want to return the favor, you certainly won't hear him complaining about it

Oh but trust that the moment the doctor gives the okay after you’ve given birth, he's gonna be all over you, making sure you walk funny the next morning (and the following week after that)

Gaz

Like the other two, Gaz is concerned with potentially putting you and the baby in a dangerous position

But the man is a sucker for your puppy dog eyes, so it doesn't take much convincing to get him to take you to bed

But he still wants to be safe about it, so he researches the best positions for couples to have sex while pregnant

That's how you find yourself in his lap, naked back to his chest, as he sits in one of the chairs he dragged in from the dining room

You're bouncing on his dick, hands braced on his thighs, ass smacking off the hard plane of his lower stomach as you lift up and down

His hands on your hips are more of a placeholder than a guide as he lets you set the pace, just sitting back while you take what you need from him

It doesn't even matter if he cums or not, that's honestly the farthest thing from his mind. All he cares about is making sure you're satisfied in the end

Need him to snake his hand forward, tracing the curve of your belly down, until he's circling your clit in fast, tight motions? Gladly, love.

Your thighs may burn and your eyes may water, but there's something about this position that makes him hit so deep that it leaves you gasping for more

Ultimately, your orgasm will trigger his own (nothing gets him there faster than the sound of you cumming), and afterwards he'll help you into the bath where he'll clean and massage your aching muscles better

Price

Unlike the other three men, Price is eager to fuck you the moment you show even the smallest inkling of want

What's that? His poor baby needs him to fuck her right now? Say no more, sweetheart. Hubby's come to the rescue

That man is dicking you down anytime, anywhere he can

Just got done shopping? He'll find a deserted road to pull over on. Just stepped into the shower? Might as well kills two birds with one stone

Really, it becomes a challenge to find where in your house he hasn't had you in these last few months. The kitchen, the garage, the back porch. You name it, he's done it (multiple times, in fact)

But his favorite – oh boy, his favorite without a shadow of a doubt – is when he takes you in front of your bedroom’s full length mirror

He'll hold you up from behind, standing you both on your feet, and just watch as he fucks you nice and slow

Seeing it in profile is fun when he wants to watch his dick slide in and out of you, but he's especially fond of having you directly face the mirror

There's just something about getting to watch you – that pretty face, those juicy tits, that fucking delectable rounded belly – that makes him blow his load faster than a damn rocket launch

With the number of times he's had you like this, you swear, that man of yours is trying to knock you up a second time (But shhhh. Quiet now. Don't go giving him any bright ideas, sweetheart.)

[dorothylarouge]

US Presidents as Dril Tweets

George Washington: another day volunteering at the betsy ross museum. everyone keeps asking me if they can fuck the flag. buddy, they wont even let me fuck it

John Adams: "ah boo hoo hoo i want to post Foul comments to content leaders" Fat Chance, Dimwit. I will annihilate you under bulwark of the Law and God.

Thomas Jefferson: Q: If your post was proven by a counsil of wise men to be racist, or bullshit, would you bar it from the record? A: I do not delete my posts

James Madison: (sniffing a crumpled up one dollar bill i found on the floor of a dog kennel) ah.. thats greenbacks baby

James Monroe: for decades i have traversed the unforgiving mountains and rivers of south america, hoping to catch a glimpse of the fabled "ass downloader"

John Quincy Adams: "This Whole Thing Smacks Of Gender," i holler as i overturn my uncle's barbeque grill and turn the 4th of July into the 4th of Shit

Andrew Jackson: handing Faves over to my enemies is FRAUD !! base, contemptible FRAUD!

Martin Van Buren: Food $200

Data $150

Rent $800

Candles $3,600

Utility $150

someone who is good at the economy please help me budget this. my family is dying

William Henry Harrison: (spends all of 7 seconds skimming some blog posts) yep. just as i knew all along. having pnuamonia is good

John Tyler: fuck "jokes". everything i tweet is real. raw insight without the horse shit. no, i will NOT follow trolls. twitter dot com. i live for this

James K. Polk: thhere is no such thing as charisma, and art is fake. the only metrics by which we must determine the worth of a man are Strength and Wisdom

Zachary Taylor: the doctor reveals my blood pressure is 420 over 69. i hoot & holler outta the building while a bunch of losers tell me that im dying

Millard Fillmore: trying to heal..... please donate to my go fund me... $10 will make me less racist... $100 will make me extremely less racist...thank you...

Franklin Pierce: blocked. blocked. blocked. youre all blocked. none of you are free of sin

James Buchanan: #NationalGirlfriendDay please cherish your gal's.. in honor of us, the single Boys who must sacrifice all companionship to #CarryTheBrand...

Abraham Lincoln: unloading an entire belt of ammo at me with a minigun or some such device will now get you "Blocked"

Andrew Johnson: who the fuck is scraeming "LOG OFF" at my house. show yourself, coward. i will never log off

Ulysses S. Grant: i regret being tasked the emotional burden of maintaining the final bastion of morality and Nice manners in this endless ocean of human SHIT

Rutherford B. Hayes: using the toilet when i hear Our national anthem start to play. i do what i must. i stand tall in complete agony; as shit runs down my leg,

James A. Garfield: too much truth in such little time. feeling the heat cominh down to silence me... signing off........ for now

Chester A. Arthur: i WILL wise the fuck up. i WILL super charge my content for 2017. i WILL get blue check mark

Grover Cleveland: the way i see it, people who come on here and submit content that is not up to par, could possibly be considered the "Villains" of this site

Benjamin Harrison: i help every body, im not racist, i keep myself nice, and when i ask for a single re-tweet in return i am told to fuck off, fuck myself, etc

William McKinley: boy oh boy do i love purchasing large amounnts of Fool's Gold. wait a minute... fools gold fucking sucks. this stuff is no good..!! Fuck !!!

Theodore Roosevelt: IF THE ZOO BANS ME FOR HOLLERING AT THE ANIMALS I WILL FACE GOD AND WALK BACKWARDS INTO HELL

William H. Taft: ah.. the perfect Souffle! cant wait to dig in to t(*EVERY PIPE IN MY HOUSE EXPLODES AT THE SAME TIME, COVERING ME IN SHIT AND BOILING WATER*

Woodrow Wilson: the conflicted supersoldier stares over the horizon as he smokes a cigarette. "war is the most fucked up thing ever." he takes a sip of beer

Warren G. Harding: somebody please Bribe me

Calvin Coolidge: aggressively joyless oaf hhere. painfully obnoxious respect demander checkign in. extremely dim witted frowning man looking for pals

Herbert Hoover: it is really quite astonishing that I have yet to win The Lottery, given how good I am at selecting six numbers and saying them out loud

Franklin D. Roosevelt: ive never heard of this “europe” but it sounds like a big bunch of shit to me

Harry Truman: everybody wants to be the guy to write the tweet that solves racism once and for all because it would look good as hell on a resume

Dwight D. Eisenhower: my "F*&k It!! Let's Go Golfin" t-shirt maintains a tenacious stranglehold on my life. after 1,125 days of Golf my body is twisted, deformed

John F. Kennedy: when you do sutuff like... shoot my jaw clean off of my face with a sniper rifle, it mostly reflects poorly on your self

Lyndon B. Johnson: incredibly handsome , charismatic famous boy credited with ending income inequality after saying that slumlords should be called "dumblords"

Richard Nixon: i attribute the complete failure of my brand to the actions of detractors, oor my “trolls”, as it were, as well as my own constant fuckups

Gerald Ford: shutting computer down until the shitty moods & attitudes can fuck off., if you need me ill be on my other computer, sititng 60° to my right

Jimmy Carter: i warnned you all that bad things would happen if you kept letting your wives wear jeans. AND NOW LOOK! the damn gas prices are up again

Ronald Reagan: spend a lot of time thinking about how sometimes even war criminals can be heroes sometimes... Dont like it? Click the unfollow buttobn

George H.W. Bush: just thought off an idea i believe to be bad ass. lets find the address of the leader of isis, and mail him/ her pieces of our SHIT

Bill Clinton: were at the point now, that when i offer to impregnate my girl followers, people assume my motives are sexual. disgusting, grow the fuck up,

George W. Bush: friday night gathering up together a big pile of things i like to respect (flags, crucifixes ,etc) and just roll around in it ,give kisses,

Barack Obama: my IQ has increased 10 points ever since i stopped tollerating people mucking about, on the time line

Donald Trump: THERAPIST: your problem is, that youre perfect, and everyone is jealous of your good posts, and that makes you rightfully upset.

ME: I agree

Joe Biden: I will shut the fuck up , IF , it will restore the Harmony. I will get on my knees like a dog and make that sacrifice, for the sake of Calm

[ddejavvu]

Your best friend James with no boundaries is such perfect James I can’t even 😩 I feel like after a while James rubs off on you and you don’t even think about it anymore. Like all of a sudden you’re bursting in on him in the shower to ask him a simple question, you’re taking your bra off immediately when you get to his room to get comfy, you’re touching him and being affectionate in ways that is definitely more than friends. And every time James is just doe eyed in love 😍 like you’re my bestie, darling 🥺 Meanwhile Sirius and Remus are watching like 😳 did that just happen? That’s not normal best friend behaviour

"Where's James?" You waste no time in pushing the door to the boys' dorms open, interrogating Sirius and Remus who've occupied themselves with what looks like a mountain of classwork.

"He's in the shower, you can- wait for him on his bed-!" Sirius watches as you beeline for the bathroom, standing to stop you when he realizes you're about to walk in on James.

"Y/N, don't-!" He tries, but you've nudged the door open, and you don't stop there. You make for the shower curtain and Sirius stands frozen in his spot, wondering if he's going to be fired as the group's official guard dog.

"Jamie?" You call, sticking your head between the shower curtain and the wall. James turns where he'd been unknowingly showcasing his broad, muscled back, soapy and lathered with suds.

"Oh-! Y/N, hi," He grins, working a sponge over his side, "What's up?"

'What's-' Sirius turns to Remus, mouthing an echo of your words in confusion. Remus has nothing to offer; in fact, he looks weary as he sits back in his seat and listens.

"Do you think I can borrow your scarf today? The girls 'n I were going to Hogsmeade but it's really cold, and I think I lost my scarf in the forest."

"Yeah, 's in my trunk, bird," James nods, conversation flowing easily despite James's lack of attire as he bends lower to scrub at his thighs, "Y'know where my trunk is, yeah?"

"Under your bed?" You confirm, and he nods again.

"Get the boys to help you drag it out, m'love,"

"Right. Thanks Jamie," You grin, leaning in to kiss the soaked skin of his cheek. He grins brightly, letting his own lips press to your much drier face.

You leave the bathroom once more to be met with Sirius and Remus's mildly disgruntled expressions, and they stare at you like they hadn't heard James's request for grunt muscle.

"Can you... help me with his trunk? He said I could borrow his scarf." You repeat, pointing timidly in the direction of his bed.

"Why don't you just take his boxers, too?" Sirius's nose wrinkles as he grimaces, "I bet they're jealous you see his dick more than they do."

[cu7ie]

💋 big mouth ☆ ～('▽^人)

⠀⠀✿`` content warnings : gojo can't shut up. cervix fucking. switch reader and gojo. (gojo gets dommy at the end.) porn w/o plot. dirty talking, throat fucking, handjob, face humping, a lot of cum bc i said so nyeh nyeh, oral (dick-sucking/pussy licking), big dick gojo (and he knows it), reader has experience, gojo a little less so. stamina, gojo has it, you don't. cursing (lots of it). name-calling (both sides), afab reader. raw sex minors do not interact! 3.8k words Y'ALL.

⠀⠀✿`` author note : gojo cock is good. based as fuck please talk to me about gojo cock <3 also i fr think hes so annoying hes never quiet!! in my mind he so blah blah blah blah blah during sex . even if he dont like u he blah blah blah. also if you like my porn, reblog it! oh yeah!!! and leave comments omg... this fic got so away from me, idk how long it is its just so much fucking porn- also! @enchantedforest-network partner! join us hehehe

Gojo has a bit of a talking problem.

He's a blabbermouth at the best of times, and maybe in any other situation would you appreciate his insight. He's good at making mountains out of molehills, take your nothing and make it something; even when it's as mundane as the weather, he'll draw up his own storyboard and play all the different actors - reporter, news anchor, cameraman and "Satoru, coming to us live with the forecast,"

and at first it's charming, right? It's what endears most people to him; what attracted you in some respects. Bordering on bit of a god complex, Gojo's always been effortlessly confident; disarmingly charming; handsome to the point of aggravation. He's never a dull moment, always gives it his all, extra even when he's lazy.

But you thought maybe, just maybe,

if you shunt his pants down till they bunch around his ankles, and licked his cock from shaft to tip,

would he shut up then? Would he allow you a moment of silence (relative, because the sound of you sucking all up on his dick is decidedly extremely loud) to let your hair down, let your head bob back and forth, tongue slurping on the underside of his cock while your lips are wrapped firmly round the middle of his shaft?

"You really like sucking my dick, don't you?"

No. The answer is no.

His face has broken out into a smile, and you don't know if he's giggling out of incredulousness or nervousness - but you are surprised that all his blood hasn't gone to his dick, cause his cheeks are red. His hand cradles the back of your head graciously, sweat sliding down his nose because he has to crane his neck to ogle you.

"C'mon. You can take more of it inta your mouth - suck. Fucking suck." His hips shifty as you work your way towards the base of his shaft, and you chose to ignore the comment, what with cock in your mouth and all. He's gotten mouthy before, not like this, but it's nothing you can't handle.

See, Gojo's kinda ... easy. He can act all hard to get - er, mysterious and what not, but he's like any other aloof man with a pretty face. Afraid of gettin' close and not knowin' what to do with it. It, you know, -

And you do, but he keeps fucking up your rhythm by trying to fuck your hand. You give full strokes, rotating your wrist and pumping steady and quick, trying to look Gojo in his eyes as you're doing it, where as his gaze is dead set on your point of contact. "You're just a dog aren'tcha? Hump, hump, humpin', away." Your smile curling at the corners, at how easily he's giving himself to you. He's dripping pre,

His fat fucking cock. Thigh clenching, pussy watering, eye-widening kind of fat. Shit is so big can't even hold itself up, so you tell him "I can hold that for you," and he pants out as he nods rapidly, "Yes, please do." You get to jerking his cock and he's a whiny little bitch. "Faster" this, "More" that, moving your hand up and down his cock like you don't know what you're doing.

"Back up Satoru, I got this."

"Look at you - you're fucking panting."

And you think you'll get away with it. Get just grunt or a sigh in response. But of course his motorboat mouth starts going on...

"Yuh ... you're good, but, " He attempts nonchalance in a cherry tomato cosplay. Red red red all over. "You're holding out on me..." His tongue lolls at you playfully, and you decide anything not singing your praises wasn't worth hearing. He opens his mouth to say something else.

Your stutter your stroke (effectively cutting him off,) working your way to the head and massaging it between your thumb and forefinger. Sweat is pouring from Gojo's forehead. He's hiking his leg further apart on the couch so you have more space to touch him, your body snaking over his thigh, getting close enough for him to be able to feel your steady breaths on his cock. "Fuck! Stop - haah.." He groans like you're working him. You most definitely are. "Stop teasing.."

"A blowjob?" You purse your lips, ponder it over. "Think you'll be able to make it to the fucking?" Your breathing gets closer, and you feel him throb in your hand. "You sure seem excited! Just don't blow your load down my throat, save it for my pussy." You're teasing, licking your lips and pressing a sloppy kiss to his mushroom head. You could swear it'd gotten a little harder than before.

Only in those moments could you have recognized you gave the man a little too much power. When your pillowy, spit slicked lips wrapped around his throbbing cockhead, licking up the pre on your eager tongue, looking down and breathing deeply through your nose. He can hardly keep himself from lifting his hips and trying to pop through the other side of your throat with the damn thing!

Now, he's just a boy too big for his damn britches. He knows you give good head because of the way you move your tongue and jerk off whatever you can't reach, but it's not good enough head. He's big, sure, but for someone who talks like they fuck n' suck on the regular, something about the performance is feeling a wee bit lackluster...

And while you're busy thinking about how you got here, he's impatiently jutting his hips against your face.

"You listening to me?" His finger teasingly taps at your forehead, getting you out of your train of thought. "Don't tell me - I've already fucked your brains out? Maybe you're just a lil' cock-drunk. Got a remedy for that..."

He thrusts his hips and the rest of his dick tucks itself snugly into your wet warm mouth, head brushing past your uvula and nestling comfortably in your throat. You can't see the way your throat bulged a little, but you most definitely feel it. You make a noise, half-choke-half-whine, and he laughs gaily at the way his balls pap your chin. "Ah? You said something?" He peers down curious, your nose mingling well with the fluffy little hairs at the base of his cock.

You don't forget to breathe, although your eyes tear a little from his size. Your jaw and throat are being stretched to capacity, but you remind yourself 'through your nose'. It's fine for a bit longer - you bob up and down in relatively uninterrupted peace, til Gojo's hand on the back of your head gets a little too comfortable. "Just a little more... suck a little harder..."

Your face burns and you clutch at it, staring at him your the gaps in your fingers as he tucks into your pussy like it's supper. He's alright at it. He doesn't do it like all he's seen is shitty porn - he's really ... getting in there, actually. Oooh.... Ohh..

He starts trying to take over your flow, his grip firm enough to start bobbing your head up and down all on his own. Like your throat is just some fleshy, tight hole to fuck. Kinda makes your pussy drool, but that's besides the point. "Oh fuck.."

You moan and take it. Let him hump up into your mouth as his musk sorta clogs your nose. He's moaning so loud it drowns out most other cohesive thoughts in your mind, the plumpness of his balls cushioning your chin a little every time he tugs your head down. He's muttering stuff you can barely hear over the sound of sucking.

"Pretty baby. Here's to hoping you'll never suck anyone else's dick this good again.... holy shit..."

Eventually his grip lets up a little. It allows you more freedom in your movement for a bit. Though your jaw starts hurting sooner than later, so you give his balls a little pinch and he finally lets you up to take in a big good gulp of air.

His voice is a little shaky. "That was ... fuck ... that was nice." Your voice is a little raw, more croaky when you respond, "Just nice?" flicking his balls in irritation as you take huffing breaths. His cock twitches, shiny and coated in saliva, your drool dripping down over his sack - altogether one of your prettier pictures. "Y'know... what'd make that blowjob just a bit better?" He breathes like he missed oxygen, his sigh half content and mostly wheedling as one hand creeps towards the base of his cock, and his other gets comfy on your ass.

"You wanna fuck, Satoru?" He feigns a gasp, his mouth popping into a little surprised 'o' shape. His face can't belie his excitement, his palms clasping together almost comically before he realizes what he's doing and stops.

"Where could you have ever got that idea from...?" He says, jerking his cock a little and pointing it up to the sky. "Get over here." He pats your cheek with it. You're not against the idea, but Gojo hasn't impressed you enough yet. You poke it away with your finger, sitting up and shuffling out of your underwear. There's enough space on the couch that you can flop onto your back, looking at Gojo from between your legs, pussy pretty and glistening with your arousal.

The way he looks at you makes you squeeze down on absolutely nothing. Flustered yet wild like an animal, apprehensive like he's never sucked a clit before.

"Head first, then we fuck."

"Oh?" Gojo starts fighting to get his shirt off his head, scampering forward so fast he nearly falls into your pussy lips. "Easy boy! Down, down..." You mutter, his fingers digging into your thighs and spreading them clumsily. The aforementioned effortless confidence of Gojo seems to break away into something more sincere and somber when he lowers himself down to kiss your clit. The way he chooses to maintain eye contact throughout makes your heart flutter, and you get a bit of slick on his lips on accident.

His tongue darts over it. "Itadakimasu."

"Oh my fucking god..." Your chest almost deflates at how serious he is, nodding like he's bowing before going in with his tongue.

"Mmf..." Your sigh flutters out of you, becoming a full blown moan as his mouth firmly suctions over your clit and little labia, licking firmly and decisively. Like all of a sudden he knows what he's doing. His attention is most often directed towards your clit, suckling on it and making your thighs twitch. You push them against the side of his head but he forces you to spread them wider again, just to fuck a finger or two into you first.

Your pussy makes a little schlick noise, readily accepting him in the hot warmth of your cunt. "That's a good sign.." He meanderingly strokes his chin. "Take dick that well too?" Your head perks up, teasing underlined with irritation.

"Course. Now suck please, I liked you more with a mouth full." You smile shakily and Gojo seems to laugh in kind. Your smile is cut off by a gasp and shudder as Satoru firmly presses his finger into your wall, lifting his mouth to get a better look at your pussy as he's stretching it open. "M'sorry, did I cut you off?"

He licks the remnants of you from his damp lips, two fingers slowly thrusting in and out. All you can do is sigh, one legs flopped off the couch and the other slung over the back of it. He's alright at this. Not as good as him giving head, but it's not terrible either. Maybe you just like seeing him be quiet for more than a second.

His fingers feel like they're looking for something. First he's pushing down, and when you only grunt in response, he starts gently feeling around for that little pocket of sunshine...

"Up." You whimper, aroused but irritated with his finagling. Your hand slides down the front of your stomach, pressing softly on a spot right before your lips start and where your hair would begin to grow. "Around th-there... You got thaat?-" If his grin is anything to go by, he most certainly does. First he presses up into it like it's a button, which makes you squeak and yelp and clutch the couch, bracing for impact. Then he slowly opts you into the pleasure, trying to apply the right kind of pressure to massage a couple moans out of you, your juices coating his hand and dripping to his wrist.

"Oh, oh.." He winks cheekily as you sling your leg over his lap, positioning his cock till it's brushing up against your pretty lips, pre-cum dripping from the head of his cock as your warmth beckons him further. "...save a horse..." He sighs happily as you sink down onto him.

"Hey - don't turn my couch into a slip n' slide now." You groan, clenching down on his fingers like you mean to squeeze the life out of them. "Need - I need more." You snort when he tries to go for a third finger. He clues in quick.

"Dick? I gotchu, don't even worry about that." He tries to slide atop you to complete this jigsaw, but you got a different idea in making these pieces all fit. You push him backwards with your foot a little, getting up off your back in one motion. He backs up to allow you space, clocked in to your movements just a tad.

"Oh my God Satoru." You groan out as the tip of his cock stretches you out, your pussy sucking him up so so greedily, like you'd been waiting all night. "What... don't like my banter babe?" Gojo grunts and your brows furrow, his hand jumping to your hips and steading you when you swoon.

"N-no... Just ... aaaah .." You squeeze his shaft and he actually honest to god chokes on air. "Just - oh fuck - just shut up for a sec. Let me have thissss..." You're halfway down now, Gojo gently coaxing you further and starting to rock his hips.

Pulling up with ease and sliding down further on his fat shaft with effort, Gojo stretches you open so good your legs keep trembling, your breathing hurried even after a couple minutes - and while Gojo seems to be enjoying himself (very, very much so), he's smiling up at you and your effort, very plainly amused. Sweat starting to trickle down your forehead, you're sat wondering what's so funny.

"Yeah yeah yeah. Go on - I'm definitely not stopping you." He sighs deep, his head lolling over the couch as you start lifting yourself up and down, your hand reaching up and going for your nipples. He's too focused on your wet pussy to pay you mind for a bit, but then he's drawn to them, hypnotized. He pulls on your left with his fingers, nibbles on your right with his teeth.

"Oh!" Gojo's blue eyes flick up, wrinkled at the corners. "Mno teef?" He says, still attached to your nipple. The vibration makes you laugh, more of his cock pressing into you as your muscles relax. "Teeth is ... teeth is fine." Gojo resumes his plucking. He lets you use his cock a little like a dildo. In fact, he kind of reminds you of a perfect Ken doll. Smooth muscles you can run your hands over, nice built shoulders, pornstar dick...

"Nuffin..." He mumbles around your areola, going back to sucking and scheming. Whatever. You focus on bouncing on this cock.

...

Opting to do most of the work probably wasn't the best decision. Your legs are championing through, but you're pretty tired, and after figuring out Gojo's dick is big enough to meet your cervix you've been having the time of your life. Sometimes you get too tired to lift yourself, so Gojo is oh-so-very helpful in grinding up into you, smearing his little pre-cum kisses up against your cervix.

"I'll even do all the work." His grin was smarmy, but you didn't clock it at the time. It's cute and still makes your pussy throb, so "Go," you say. "Go off, babe."

You're gonna cum soon. Gojo notices how tight you get when it's about to happen. His take over is a little subtle, but you're so interested in reaching that stiff peak, that tightening in your stomach, just chasing, chasing, chasing,

Gojo thinks, "like a dog." He smirks into your chest. Your cursing abruptly cuts into his thoughts, however -

"Shit! - fuck fuck fuck - ugh!" Every word is punctuated by a last effort of raising and falling, raising and falling, raising, and then being pulled. Gojo tugs your hips down and your pussy spasms as your body jerks.

"Satoru!" You yelp reflexively before something like a whimper weasels itself from your lips. You tighten around Gojo and it hurts a little because he's so thick, but you moan into his shoulder unbothered. A little broken, voice horse, but mostly unbothered. Til he starts moving his hips again.

"The fuck?" You stutter, a little caught off guard as you're suddenly shifted, up and down not from your own movement, but Gojo's rabid humping. "I'm almost there - soo close - can we keep goin', pretty please?" He grinds his hips into your orgasm terribly slowly, trying to get your brain to clock into overtime.

He carefully saws himself in, making your back arch at the sensation. He slides your knees apart and holds the back of them firmly, tugging you the rest of the way onto him. The meandering pace of sex before is tossed to the side.

And regret isn't quite the right word, but you'll feel something a little like it in a second.

"Whatever you say."

Your body is boneless, so it's pretty easy for Gojo to scoop you up, though it doesn't surprise you any less. Says there's not enough space on the couch for him to spread his wings, so he lugs you back to his cozy little room, and plops you onto his bed. Towards the edge of it, so your legs dangle off as he positions himself in front of you, holding his cock at the base - which now looks angrier than before. Instead of the blushy pink dusting it at the tip, it's a deeper, aggravated red now - slapping against your cunt like this motherfucker has places to be. "Open uppp~"

You were fucking Gojo before. Now he's fucking you. Any apprehension, slow-to-start bashfulness, gone with the wind. Once the head pushes past your entrance, a good five inches of cock go alongside it immediately after. Gojo's hiking your legs onto his shoulder's as he watches your eyes suddenly blow wider than saucers, laughing genuinely at the break in your nonchalance and worn facade.

"I should have answered you properly earlier." He says, brushing a stand of sweat slicked hair away from your forehead. He leans down so close, lips a little touch and go, the intention in his eye serious and cutting. With the movement, the last couple inches of cock fill you out, making you eep! But not breaking his focus in the slightest. "I want to fuck." He drags his hips molasses like, till the head is back at your entrance. He slides it back in smoothly, earnest chuckle overshadowed by your pitchy whimper.

"But I assume you got the memo - so," The sound of skin slapping against skin resumes, his pace almost breakneck. His balls slap against your ass with such ferocity it makes you yelp the first time, whimper the second, moan the third. Gojo seems more serious now, the balls in his court and the way you squeal and reach out for anything to hold only spurs him on further.

And are promptly cut off by a vigorous pounding, the sounds of your own moans, and an downright visceral embarrassment when you realize this is the second time you're cumming and in spite of all your fucking and sucking, Satoru hasn't even came once. And as if hearing your thoughts, Gojo's playful expression closes in - his brow furrows as each roll of his hips gets more decisive.

"Pussy tryna close up shop?" He mutters near your ear when you clench on him a little too tight. "You tryna break my dick or something? I know it's good, but you can't keep it -" You don't know if your sigh is from pleasure or exasperation.

"Gojo, please." He tweaks your nipple and makes you squirm.

"Ohhhh, I see how it issss. It's Gojo now?" With every drag of his words he slows down dramatically, dragging his cock along your walls so painstakingly sensual it makes you want to scream. "What happened to Satoru?"

You start placatingly. "Satoru, I-"

After a moment, his hand comes over yours, your fingers weakly folding over his. His pumps grow harder, but slow down, his eyes clamped shut as he looks up, and -

"I'll try to make this one a two-fer." He speaks with that same smile in his voice, and you're two far gone to offer a groan or snap in response. "Y-yeah. Cum, Satoru - I wanna, I wanna cum," His eyes dart up to yours, and it's a little hard to hold his stare, but you manage.

"Yes yes pretty baby. You'll - we'll cum. Soon... real s-soon."

Your muscles feel tired, used from your last orgasm and forced to prolong operation just to take more dick. It's harder to take the full length of his shaft, your tummy flipping and your mind beyond fuzzy and fucked out. But you hold out. Just a little bit ... longer.

His thrusts start getting sloppy. The bruising piston of his hips edge off their intensity, and -

You're cumming again. Your legs are shaking and your ass feels a little numb and you're clenching so so so hard, for dear fucking life-

"Fucking hell!" Gojo bites his tongue, and pumps into you for the last time.

"Good." You gasp. "That was good." Satoru runs a thumb over your clit, teasing.

He heaves sighs like he's moved mountains, but really he's just offloading hot cum from his throbbing nuts, pressed into you very closely before going entirely still. You thought you were full before? Now you're kind of... bursting. Is that the right word? Feels that way. Gojo does a full body shudder and stretches his back out, trying to fuck his load you before he's even came it all out.

There's so much that it spurts around the sides of his dick and you can feel some of it slip out, run down your thighs, and you quiver one last time before feeling strength leave your body. Satisfaction blankets over you, a nice, full-bodied comfort. When Gojo slides out, he spurts a little cum on your tummy, the rest of it oozing out of you slow.

"Haha," His voice is a little raspy, like yours now. He arches a brow before he bends down, planting a loving kiss on your lips.

"Just good?"

[yanderenightmare]

TW: NSFW, noncon/dubcon, step cest, none of reader's holes are safe

fem reader

Thinking about step-daddy who only married your mom to get closer to you... who thinks an unruly brat like yourself needs his firm hands and teachings to set you on the right course.

You can't believe what’s happening – can’t believe his words.

Your mind is caught in a frenzied state of denial and panic as he forces you down on your bed after you'd told him to get the fuck out of your room when he walked in on you getting dressed to go out, standing there in only a dainty set of panties.

You brace your hands against his broad chest as he bears down on you – trying to create space for you to breathe but achieving little else than if you’d been trying to lift a mountain.

He’s too big and too heavy – too strong.

He doesn’t even bother restraining your fists – not even when you start banging them against him. It’s as if he doesn’t even recognize the assault – busy burying his face in your cute cleavage, nuzzling the soft mounds with sloppy kisses and his bearded chin.

“Stop it!” You hic through tears – sobbing now that the pursuing events dawn on you, coming crashing down, wreaking through your brittle head at the feeling of your panties being tugged down your thighs – flimsy lace splintering before getting ripped off.

He disrupts your cry with a firm hand, taking hold of your chin – and you fall still in wait. 

“You' gonna let Daddy eat your pretty pussy out if you know what's good for you…” His lips brush yours with the vile threat while his other hand cups your bare cunt – whispering ruggedly, “Or I might just have to put you over my knee.”

You’re frozen beneath him – eyes shimmering with gloss, staring up into his impossibly dark stare – feeling leveled under the burden of his threat.

“What’s it gonna be, sweetpea? Y’gonna behave for Daddy? Or am I gonna have to use my belt on you?”

You stay still, and he takes it as your answer – smiling at you before placing a quick kiss on your cheek. 

“That’s Daddy’s good girl~”

Leaning back, he wrings his shirt off over his shoulders, revealing his bulky chest of curls and worn skin before throwing the article aside and looking back down at you with drunken eyes that give you shivers. His old muscles are flecked with age but no less brutal to behold – all intimidating enough to make you swallow thickly.

“You can cry out all you like, pretty girl~” He grins as he takes your thighs in his hands – lifting them, spreading them, then pushing them flat down against your chest – tipping your cunt up to his mouth. "A good girl knows how to scream." His breath is ticklish on your exposed sex. “But the only words I wanna hear come out of your mouth is – yes please, daddy – more please, daddy – and pretty please, daddy, can I cum?”

You whine when he licks a stripe through your folds – dark eyes glinting at the sound, chuckling hotly under his breath.

“Walkin’ ‘round my house dressed up like a little slut – teasin’ me all day long.” He gruffs. “Tch – this pretty cunt’s gonna get what you’ve been beggin’ for, and you’re gonna take it with a smile – understand that, little lady?”

Your toes are immediately curled, gripping the air for purchase as he buries his face in your muff. And he’s messy with it – spitting, then slurping it up again – splitting the lips to suck your clit, then pressing a deep kiss into it – tongue flatly running over the pearl, lapping at it like a dog. All with a heated glare – hungry like a starved animal – eagerly set on your face.

You squeeze your eyes shut to avoid it, lip caught between teeth – trying to stifle all moans.

But the folded position he has you in presses you free of air – soon leaving you to pant out like a silly bitch in heat – thighs wanting to squeeze shut but kept pinned and trembling in the harsh grip he has on them.

“Oh~ look at yah~ my little slut~” He hums between licks, a grin still slickly plastered on his face – mustache glistening with drool and arousal. “Must feel good to make you tremble like that – does my little girl wanna cum?”

You whine, trying to shake your head in denial – but the pressure builds whether you want it to or not – squeezing tight like a fist in your gut, desperate to unknot.

“Better ask for Daddy’s permission, or I won't be happy.” He adds, giving your thighs a pinch – hard enough to make you yelp – sure to leave bruises.

“Ah – no.”

You don’t want it – you curl your head to the side with a grimace.

You feel gross – reeling as his tongue circles your hotspot, unable to deny the tickle in your gut – recognizing the blossoming, knowing you’d soon bloom.

“Mgh," You whine. "Yes, please! I need – can I please cum?!”

“Call me Daddy.” He demands, talking into your cunt while nuzzling his nose against your clit.

“Please, Daddy – please, can I cum!”

Another chuckle makes you shake – almost impatiently – before he purrs, “Sure, baby – go ahead – make a mess~” 

He gives your clit one last harsh suck before sticking his tongue inside you, deep with a grin, while feeling you tremor on it, tasting your sweet release like it was a victory.

You throw your head back and your chest up – whole body quaking – trembling at the thrill pulsing from your core, zipping along each limb – leaving you feeling cottony and numb from the pleasure.

You pant with softer moans when it dissipates – still feeling twitchy.

Hooded eyes with teary lashes fall from the ceiling to his face – then regret it.

The shame washes away all pleasure – making your sweat go cold.

But if he sees it, he doesn’t care. “That was beautiful, baby girl~” He moans instead, eyes still keenly set on you.

You cringe, chagrined as he kisses your slit once more – tonguing the slick opening and humming at the sweet taste.

He finishes you with a sharp kitten lick flicking off at your clit – then releases your thighs. Pulling you with him as he got up on his feet by the edge of your bed.

“C’mere – on your knees.” His fist wraps your hair – tugging your head back. “Open wide and tongue out fo’me. It's my turn.”

Your brows cinch, feeling your scalp sting from the grip, making you timidly obey.

He groans at the pretty sight – looking so cute with that dewy glow on your cheeks – plush lips wet and welcoming – pink tongue trembling in eager wait of him.

Sighing with a leer, “Such a pretty little thing~” His other hand zips down his fly, pinched free the button, and let the baggy slacks drop to the floor.

Thicker tears pool in your eyes – a horrid burn of humiliation making your tongue feel heavy, kneeling beneath him with your mouth gaping – knowing what was coming.

“This is what you wanted, right – why you've been acting like such a brat?” He pulls your face against the pudgy bulge in his boxer – warm and thick beneath the black fabric with a ripe smell of musk. “You wanna be Daddy’s big fat cock to satisfy all your greedy little holes, hm?”

You don’t close your mouth – the fist ripping your strands from their roots was warning enough to keep you pliant.

“Come on then, little slut~” He started cooing, nudging the sack against your tongue, dipping inside the warm opening. “Show me how much you want it – and don’t look away.” The smile on his face made your guts fold. “I wanna see those pretty eyes beg for it.”

He gives your hair a sharper tug, forcing out a whine from your throat. It spurs him on, making him chuckle – watching your eyes tremble up at him – struggling against his bulbous crotch, cuddling it so cutely, making him twitch.

Rasping out, “Such a needy little whore~” while his other hand dragged the band down.

Your mouth sealed closed on instinct – eyes too – shutting tightly once his cock sprung free. Whimpering when feeling it slug on your face – you tried to turn your head away – but was kept close by the hand fisting your hair.

“Bad girl, I told you to keep your mouth open and your eyes on me.” He sneered, pinching your cheeks open with the other hand – hard enough to make you wince.

You peeled your eyes open again – with tears slipping down your face as you dropped your jaw for him again.

“Playing games like a snotty brat.” He hissed, rubbing his leaky cockhead over your parted lips – smearing his pre on them like lipstick while you shuddered. “Look at you now, mmh~ such a good girl for Daddy~ taking it on your knees.”

He dabbed himself on your tongue, and you had to keep yourself from retching – tasting the bitter salt.

“Mmh~ begging for it like an eager little cum-junkie~” He groaned, lolling forward, cock sliding over the bed of your tongue and hitting the back of your throat in a soft kiss – only with half his veiny shaft in your mouth.

He licked his lips and threw his head back.

“I knew you just needed a firm grip – knew you’d make the most perfect little slut fo’me~”

You gagged when he started thrusting, hands positioning themselves on his sturdy thighs, fingers digging into the muscles as he stuffed your mouth full of his length – weighty balls clapping against your chin where spit started frothing.

He held your jaw in guidance – keeping you steady to receive him.

Throaty moans grated your ears as he abused the wet warmth – looking down at you and how you struggled, unable to take all of him. It didn’t bother him, though – the tight ring of your lips sucking along his veins was enough to make him go crazy.

It felt so right to be throat-fucking your pretty little face; he couldn't believe he hadn't done it sooner – creating such a cute mess all over you – looking so hot on your knees for him like this, with spit and pre cum slicking your face like a young prostitute in the making.

You obeyed as best you could – not used to the size or tempo. You'd given few blowjobs before and never been facefucked. But you figured the sooner you could make him cum, the sooner all this would be over.

He thought about it, too. He could cum down your throat like this, make you swallow – drink his seed like a good whore should.

But the idea is soon replaced by the thought of stuffing your sweet cunt instead – feed your womb his hot load – wear your tight pussy like it was tailored just for him.

He popped out of your mouth, and you coughed before heaving for air – panting – nearly barreling over if it hadn’t been for the grip he still had around your hair. 

Pulling you up by it – his other hand found your throat, and your mouth was taken by his – kissed hungrily with teeth pulling at your lip while tickled by his facial hair.

“Mh- c’mere,” He groaned into your mouth – plopping himself down on the mattress while pulling you along by the neck. “Up on my Daddy’s lap, baby.”

He continues kissing you, with both hands slipping down to squeeze each asscheek, rolling your hips back and forth on him, making your wet cunt grind against the stiff underside of his cock.

You can’t help but make a noise as it licks your sensitive clit, rubbing over it in wet warm strokes. You balance yourself against his chest – hands placed on his muscles – pushing yourself up from slacking against him.

You’re still breathless, left gasping – too weak to fight it when he leans after you, mouth on your tits, sucking your nipples into hardened little peaks.

Your hands go to the hair atop his head, gripping the locks to steady yourself.

He chuckles at the pull, looking up at you while rasping out a filthy “Is my little girl excited to get her little pussy stuffed by Daddy’s cock?” with a lazy grin carved on his face.

And before you can deny it, he’s already confirming the statement.

“You must be – your little cunt is so fucking wet for it.” He cheered. Hand slipping between you to slap his thickness against your slit – rubbing himself between the lips with a mocking pout on his lips. “This poor little pussy, cock-starved and empty~ I know, I know, you want to cum on Daddy’s cock, don’t you?”

He lifts your ass up so that you’re hovering over the tip – using the other hand to angle it against your entrance.

Purring, “Don’t worry, baby~ finally gonna stretch you out nice and tight~ fuck you into size like a proper cock-toy~ fill you up with my hot cum~”

You shake your head and squirm when he begins to nudge the head inside – but both hands place themselves back on your hips, gripping them firmly enough for it to find purchase.

“There we go, ease on down it, baby~ get comfortable~” He coos, even though you’re sinking your nails into the tough muscles of his chest – gasping at the ill sting of the stretch as he pushes you down despite the tight resistance. “Oh, fuuuck – so wet and snug on me~” He sucks his teeth, snapping his hips up to bottom out deeply. “Take all of me, now~ let Daddy bottom out~”

His head hangs back – Adam’s apple bobbing up with his mouth hung wide in a silent moan while you wince – desperately wanting to lift off. 

But he keeps you seated – tensely made to cock-warm him while slowly adjusting to the size – taunt walls rippling along his veins, sucking on it as it settles inside you, molding you to accept its shape.

He squares his jaw, then gives a breathy hum that makes his beard dance – lifting his head to look at where he’s got himself sheathed to the hilt – his eyes lost in it as he sets a slow pace – using both hands to steer your hips, rocking you back and forth with barely any lift to relieve you – keeping himself lodged just as deep – cozily kneading your cervix.

“That’s a good pussy right there – wet and tight and all mine.” He groans, lolling you on him sweetly. “Isn't that right, baby? This pretty pussy belongs to Daddy, doesn’t it?”

He watches your perky tits jiggle for him. Leaning forward, he gives it a suckling wet pop.

“Every inch of this slut’s body belongs to Daddy, isn’t that right, little one?” He demands a little harsher, threatening the nipple between his teeth.

“Ye-yes…” You whimper. 

It’s been a while since you’ve been stretched like that – it’s been a while since your insides have been given any attention at all. When you do it for yourself, you mostly just settle for playing with your clit – happy with one orgasm to take the edge off.

This is touching on more nerves – lighting other fires – different wells – tapping all sources – you’re leaking juices all over him, practically sopping, sucking him in – all but your head overly ecstatic for the attention.

“You wanna cum again – don’t you, my little slut?” He murmurs knowingly, giving your ass a harsh slap while pressing his forehead against yours.

He groans as he picks up the pace – dragging a moan out from your chest.

You want to deny it again like before – but the pleasure allows little else than to be appreciated with heavy shuddering breaths.

“Remember the rules, sweetie. Better beg permission, or you’ll be punished.” He warns.

You spot a grin forming on his lips – sharp like a knife – before uttering the next words.

“Better say, please let me cum on your big fat cock, Daddy~”

You scowl, trying to sneer, “Fuh-fuck you…” but your voice weakens to a whine.

Still, it’s unacceptable.

“That’s not how you speak to your Daddy. Bad slut.” A harder slap cracks across your ass – this time, making you yelp.

Your hair is pulled before you recover – and you’re thrown off his lap. Placed with your knees on the floor and your face in the warm and sweaty seat he’d just been sitting.

He stands above you – using a hand to pin your wrists to the small of your back while another hard smack is given to your already throbbing rear.

“If your pussy won’t follow the rules…” He licks his lips, looking down at the sight of you bent over beneath him, sobbing fat tears from the abuse. “Then this ass is next in line.”

You flinch with the words, eyes going wide. “What?” Already shuffling uneasily, gasping once his heavy hand came back to pet the welted cheek, branded with his handprint, giving it a firm squeeze that had you wince.

“It seems you don’t understand who’s in charge here…” He chided, with a coarse finger settling on the untouched rosebud slicked in pussy-juice, rubbing it slow and steady. “But I bet fucking your tight virgin ass is gonna make that crystal clear.”

“No – please no-” You plead, jostling weakly with your remaining strength – but the digit enters you anyway.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart, but it’s too late to beg now – you gotta take your punishment,” He dismisses, digging knuckle-deep inside your butthole. “But to be honest with you… I was hoping you’d bite back like that.” He gruffs eerily at your ear. “I dream about putting your bratty ass in its proper place every night.” 

His finger twists and curls inside the hole, loosening it a little before skewering another two in. 

“Make you cry as I turn you into a good little butt-slut for me – get this sweet hole to gape for my cock to fill it up.”

He puts you in a headlock after pulling his three fingers out of your stretched opening – letting go of your wrists in favor of reaching under you to play with your pussy as he bullies his bulbous cockhead into the tight ring while you cry. With nails biting into your palms and your poor gushing cunt clenching around nothing.

He enters slowly, giving it shallow thrusts to fuck it open before feeding it another fat inch. Rubbing your clit between gritty fingers as he sinks inside you – burying his shaft within the snug walls of your tight ass as your hole gives in to his size, swallowing him up until he’s kissing your stomach with his heavy balls squeezed flush against your cunt.

“There you go, my little anal slut~ That’s Daddy’s brat getting taught her place!” He gives your butt another firm slap as he starts dragging out and stuffing you right back up again. “Getting her naughty ass spanked and propped with cock like a little whore~”

The fat arm squeezing your neck and the fingers swirling your clit make your head cloudy – even as your ass screams from the pounding, your cunt begs for the attention – milking nothing as it weeps with slick, running down your thighs into a little pool where you kneel.

“Aah- Daddy…” You moan through a sob. “Please…” Whimpering while you throttle his cock with your taunt ass, all but fucking yourself back on his shaft as he keeps rubbing your clit in steady patterns that have your cunt kissing the air. “Daddy, please – please let me cum…”

His chuckle is lazy and grating, feeling your cute ass swallow his cock all on its own.

“Y’know, only a real whore cums from having her ass fucked, right?”

You can’t help but buck your hips, shaking your ass like a slut as his fingers pick up the pace and rub your bundle of nerves in quicker circles. Begging, “Please…” 

“Oh, what a filthy little girl~ bent over like a mindless animal, fucked in her tight ass.” He patronizes. “Okay, my sweet little slut~ I’ll let you cum – but only after I hear you Say, please, Daddy, can I cum on your big fat cock~”

You’re too close to refuse. Desperation lacing your cute moans, “Ah – Daddy, please – mh-please can I cum on your big- ah – fat cock, please, Daddy please~”

He shoves three fingers in your cunt at that, curling them into your soft spot each time he pumps them inside, finger-fucking the sloppy hole until it spurts, making you scream while you squirt, drooling on your sheets like a mind-broken mess as your thighs and ass shake from the release.

“Good whore~ Remember to say thank you.” He mocks.

“Th-thank you – thank you, Daddy~” You mewl out cutely before he sticks all three slick-glossed fingers inside your mouth – fucking the tired opening as you pant out dewy moans around them, sucking them clean of your mess.

He keeps a steady rhythm, continuing to ream your poor butt until it's his turn to cum.

“Such a good slut~” He slinks out of your pummeled ass and slaps his wet cock against your face where you rest against the bed, all sweaty and dumb from your orgasm. “Come’ere, cum-baby, tongue out as you look up at Daddy~”

He smiles, smothering you between his fat thighs while his balls cover your face, pulling back to tap the tip on your lips.

“Here it comes!”

White ropes lash your tongue, leaving a bitter taste – bejewelling your face with pretty pearls that melt down your smooth skin like drying paint on a canvas.

He groans as he tugs the last few spurts out of his balls, wiping the messy cockhead on your tongue.

“Aw, I gotta have a picture of that. Daddy’s little cum covered whore on her first day of training~”

He holds your chin, rough-handling your jaw between strong fingers as he angles your face to meet the flash of his phone.

Grinning as he sing-songs, “Say, all my holes belong to Daddy~”

Your expression is still dumb, softly blinking up at him with one eye weighed down with his cum, simply mouthing the words back to him. “All my holes belong to Daddy~”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Deku, Kirishima, Enji, Aizawa ♡ JJK – Nanami, Geto, Toji, Kusakabe, Shiu ♡ HQ – Daichi, Kuro, Ukai

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[badjokesbyjeff]

A wealthy man was ordered by his physician to go away to the mountains for a rest. He went home, told the members of his family what the doctor had said. He said, "While I'm away, I don't wish to be annoyed by letters or telegrams; in fact, I don't want to receive any news of any kind." So he went away and was gone about six weeks.

He returned to the city very much improved in health and very anxious for some news from home. He got off of the train at the depot, was met by his servant, and the following conversation ensued:

Man: Well, Henry, how is everything at home? Is there any news?

Henry: No, sir. There ain't no news, sir. Everything is just about the same as it was when y'all went away. Nothin' happened. No sir, there ain't nothing happened, there ain't no news.

Man: Well, you know, I'm just dying for some word from home now. You can tell me any little thing, no matter how trifling.

Henry: No sir, there ain't no news. There ain't nothin' to tell you, sir. Except... there's just one little thing. Since you've been away, your dog died.

Man: Oh, my dog died, eh? Well, that's too bad. What killed the

dog?

Henry: Well, sir, the dog ate some burnt horseflesh. And that's what killed the dog.

Man: Ate burnt horseflesh? Where did he get burnt horseflesh to eat?

Henry: Well, sir, you know, your barn burned down. And after the fire had cooled off, the dog ran in and ate some of the burnt horse- flesh, and that's what killed the dog.

Man: Oh, my barn burned down, eh?

Henry: Oh yessir, yes indeed, the barn, that's all burned down.

Man: How did the barn catch fire?

Henry: Well, sir, you see, a spark from the house flew over, caught on to the barn, burned the barn down, burned up all the cows and the horses, and after the fire had cooled off, the dog ran in and ate some of the burnt horseflesh, and that's what killed the dog.

Man: Oh, then my house burned down too, eh?

Henry: Oh yessir, yes indeed, the house, that's completely destroyed.

Man: Well, how did the house catch fire?

Henry: Well sir, they had some candles burning in the house, and one of the candles caught onto the curtain, and the curtains caught onto the roof, and the spark flew over and caught onto the barn, burned the barn down, burned up all the cows and the horses, and after the fire had cooled off, the dog ran in and ate some of the burnt horseflesh, and that's what killed the dog.

Man: You say they had candles burning in the house where I have gas and electricity? I never knew there was a candle in the place.

Henry: Oh yessir, yessir, they had the candles there. They had the candles burning all around the coffin.

Man: The coffin? Who's dead?

Henry: Oh yessir, yessir, that's another little thing I forgot to tell you about. Since you've been away, your mother-in-law died.

Man: Oh, my mother-in-law died, eh?

Henry: Yessir, yessir, she's dead all right. You needn't worry about that.

Man: What killed my mother-in-law?

Henry: Well sir, I don't know exactly what killed her sir, but around the neighborhood, they say it was from the shock of your wife running away with the chauffeur. But outside of that sir, why, there ain't no news.

[ozzgin]

Santa baby are you really there?!

*hears a voice in my backyard*

FUCK SKIN WALKER

- you make Yan skinwalker i’ll do anything to get a skin walker to love me … yes I am 100% mentally stable

I'm not sure if you had something horror-esque in mind, because my immediate idea was Reader accidentally getting cursed and continuing her life completely unaware with a ""dog"" everyone is freaked out by, but she finds it cute. So more like dark comedy vibes. You be the judge. :D

Disclaimer: I have changed the name to Shapeshifter as to not delve into potentially offensive takes on native folklore. Thank you for informing my European ass.

Yandere!Monster x Reader [Shapeshifter]

On your last hiking trip, you've stumbled upon a helpless, lost dog. Or rather, it stalked you down to your cabin and spent the night in front of your window. You didn't have the heart to abandon the poor soul and so you brought it home with you. Strange things have been happening ever since and no one knows how to tell you that the monstrous coyote-like creature might be to blame. You're oblivious to everything.

Content: female reader, dark comedy, monster romance, reader is cursed and proud

It wasn't your intention to return home with a new pet. Some might say it was written in the stars, this fateful encounter of yours. You had finished packing your supplies for a day-long hike, vehemently refusing to join your group of friends that would be guided around by a native. They’d warned you many areas of the mountainous forest were supposedly cursed or haunted, so you just scribbled the limits on your makeshift map and promised to stay on the main trails. After all, this was your chance to commune with nature. As the sun begun to set, you wondered if going by yourself was indeed a smart idea, given your lack of spatial awareness and difficulty to navigate maps. You flipped the piece of paper several times, deep in contemplation. Could it be that you’ve reached the forbidden lands? You quickly surveyed the area: based on the stuffed rag dolls hanging from old branches, and the animal skulls arranged in patterns among patches of burnt grass, it was very much a possibility. Perhaps the improvised slab that said “Stay away” in dripping crimson letters should’ve been enough of a warning, but you assumed they’d just been creative with trail markers.

You didn’t have the time to panic. Just as you were furrowing your eyebrows in a final attempt to decipher the map (at the time upside-down), your ears picked up a faint shuffle of leaves. Further away stood a dog, its glossy eyes fixated on your form. A lost puppy? It seemed to be on the larger side, but then again some breeds grow rather fast. You lowered yourself and patted your knees, whispering diminutives in an effort to call the animal over. It remained in place, staring quietly. Alright, then. You focused on finding your way back instead. Every now and then you'd turn back and see the dog, motionlessly eyeing you at a constant distance. Oh, dear. Was it lost? Frightening affair.

Back at the cabin you told the others about your discovery, with a hint of worry in your voice. You hoped the little pup had found proper shelter. You'd expected a similar reaction coming from your friends, but one of them suggested: "What if it was some shapeshifting monster? There's many legends and stories from the area." Everyone laughed and you joined hesitantly, mildly annoyed by the lack of empathy. That night you barely slept, twisting and turning under the heavy feeling of being watched. You woke up tired and nervous, dragging your feet towards the window for some fresh air. That's when you saw the same forest creature, fully awake and tall in its glory, positioned before your room. This was no coincidence. You had been plagued by the guilt of abandoning a vulnerable quadruped and you weren't about to continue as a passive observer. You strode out without a word and lifted the large dog with a huff, carrying it back in to figure out the transport logistics.

Thus started the unexpected companionship. To you, it's a lovely tale of two lost souls finding one another. Most people seem to disagree. Can you blame them? The rescued puppy you often speak of is, in the eyes of everyone else, a monstrous beast by all definitions. It resembles a coyote more than a dog, but even this description is too gentle. The fur is always raised threateningly and the protruding clusters of fangs remind one of the anatomical anomalies displayed in museums. The eyes, oh, the worst of all perhaps, bottomless depths that pull you in until you run out of air. The creature stares with the all-knowing gaze of a human. "Don't be rude", you snap at whoever dares to point these details out. "It must be a mixed breed or something."

Their persistence is truly ridiculous. You've even had guests run out in panic, claiming the dog stood on its back legs and whispered in a language unknown. Or that its shadow would morph into a grotesque man with claws and crooked antlers. Or that they've found it hunched over your sleeping form, its spine twisted outwards with jagged peaks breaking through the wild fur. Rubbish, all of it.

Strange things have been happening, no doubt, but your adopted fur-child has no blame to carry. You've been trying to distract yourself, going on dates and occasionally bringing potential suitors over. They all vanish overnight, nonchalantly leaving an empty, ruffled bed for you to wake up to. "Am I just unlucky?" You sigh, running your fingers through the coarse fur of your dog. It lowers itself under your touch, visibly enjoying the affection. For a split second, it glances out the window. By the time you come out of your depressed slump, the birds should've finished feeding on the remains. He made sure to tear and grind everything fine enough to not leave any marks behind.

That's how curses work, after all. He didn't expect, however, that you'd be utterly unaware of it. He has to give you the credit, not many people become stalked by an ancient curse and continue their life in blissful ignorance. Even more, for them to just casually pick up the haunting entity and bring it inside their home willingly...You're, uh, certainly a special one. Hence the change of plans. He was supposed to torment you into an early grave, but he's grown rather attached to your bizarre antics. And you do provide some damn good chin scratches. He's therefore satisfied with causing anguish and destruction to anything and anyone in your immediate vicinity instead. Since you've been complaining about the resulting isolation...

You wake up with a gasp, wiping your drenched forehead and checking the sheets. The dog is curled next to you, although its head is now tilted in your direction. "O-oh. It might be the loneliness talking...but I had the strangest dream." How troubling and embarrassing. Your beloved pet had turned into a deformed, monstrous man instead, pinning you down and hungrily grazing your skin with his sharp teeth. Your fearful protests eventually turned into shameless moans, your frail body at the mercy of the mysterious beast. It unfolded so vividly that your core feels sore. You stretch a sheepish hand towards your pet and abruptly stop halfway, noticing the marks diffused into your wrist, like violet smudges of watercolor. What the hell did you do last night?

The dog buries its head under the sheets and nuzzles its snout into your soft flesh. Heh. How many more disappearing guests will be needed for you to figure out your situation? He does find your obliviousness terribly amusing, as well as your willingness to clutch onto him despite his unsightly appearance. He was feeling particularly cheeky and thought of giving you a little scare, only to be once again taken aback by your neediness. He has to wonder who exactly is trapped in this situation, because your reactions to everything he does are frighteningly tempting. Maybe tonight he'll finally let you know, just as you're about to come undone beneath his heaving body. Something like, hmmm. "By the way, love, this isn't a dream." He could even add a little "woof" to tease you more.

[taegularities]

colour me in: palette | jjk (m)

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

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

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

DAY 1

“Bunk beds… Fu. Cking. Bunk. Beds.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…How?”

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

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

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

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

“Do you have a better idea?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Notice everything.

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

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

But…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, as if you could forget.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lucky, knowing that somebody could actually care so much.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do one of your three sixty spins.”

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

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

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

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

So you ask, “You okay?”

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

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

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

Honestly—

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

“Okay. Lean back now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, you should buy it.”

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Excited doesn’t do this feeling justice.

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

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

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

You squint into the distance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My lips are sealed.”

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

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

Well, fuck. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And I meant it.”

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

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

That he came back.

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

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

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

There’s no debate about this.

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

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

Something to fight for… someone to fight for.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Friendship.

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

Tonight, it’s gimbap.

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

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

Or so you thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You ask, “Hey. Do you play?”

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

“He plays all the time,” Taehyung corrects.

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

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

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

“I do, actually! How do you know?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I adore you.”

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

“I would say I enjoy…”

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

“Now hold on—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Right.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How do you know?” you wonder.

“You talk like you do.”

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

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

“As much as I remember.”

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

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

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

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

“You’re all okay with that?”

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

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

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

“Wise men say, only fools rush in…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love. Yearning. Affection uncurbed.

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

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

You could fall asleep. You could fall deeper.

You never knew you could.

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

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

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

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

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

“With what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The end of the night begins with an argument.

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

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

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

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

“You did not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve really done a number on him.

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

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

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

“Kook?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm…”

“I miss you, too.”

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

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

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

Pretty damn shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I… I was saying you feel so warm.”

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

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

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

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

“Oh… glad to be of service then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because.

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

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

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

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

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

“There’s a raili—”

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

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

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

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

“Mhm… So very much.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eventually descending into dreams of you, too.

DAY 2

The air is much colder up here than you thought.

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

You knew that early on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Okay… okay.

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

Scream.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Uhh…

“Is that a good idea?” you mumble.

“It could be.”

Could be? And if it isn’t?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Okay, you can do this much, at least.

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

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

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

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

You’re above the foggy clouds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s just so pretty.”

“It is.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…Do you already have something in mind?”

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

“Ha. I wouldn’t want you to.”

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

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

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

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

“Sounded super urgent, though.”

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

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

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

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

You.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course. Always.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you, angel.”

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

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

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

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

Mouthing something.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just confirms that I have your blessings.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s it.

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

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

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

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

“Ah. Even cuter than you and Tae?”

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

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

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

“The most precious, right?”

“Isn’t she?”

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

No, fuck it. Fuck the universe.

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

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

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

“It sounds just right,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, Eun.”

“Here you are.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I was looking for you,” he says.

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

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

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

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

Oh. Oh…

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

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

Jungkook knows. Jungkook understands.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Isn’t this another cliché?” he asks.

“How so?”

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

“What? I won’t.”

“How do I know that, though?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fu—”

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

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

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

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

The image makes you choke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Beast—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A moment like this suffices.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jeon Jungkook… are you proposing?”

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

“Well, that cancels it out.”

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

Butterflies, butterflies, butterflies.

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

Ugh, he drives you mad. Into absolute insanity.

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

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

DAY 3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Apparently, he can’t either.

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

“You told me.”

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

You laugh. “Ah? Why?”

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

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

“Well, I guess so, but—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, now you ruined a perfect surprise.”

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

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

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

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

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

“She will be, for sure.”

“I’ll even hang them to dry myself.”

“Yeah?”

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

“Nothing, just…”

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

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

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

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

“Hmm… Do I look like I do?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, the way he touches your heart…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not yet. I wanna see you wind.”

“Why…? You’re so mean—”

“Just now. Come on. Look at me.”

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

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

This man… this man…

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

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

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

“I…”

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

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

“Right… so that’s how it is.”

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

Huh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…M-maybe.”

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

“Don’t… do this to me.”

A smug chuckle. “Sorry, bae.”

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

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

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

“So? I’d still be having mine.”

Thought so.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine. There’s time.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Glad to hear.”

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

“Mhm… especially to you, right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I…”

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

“I’m okay… I’m so okay—”

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

“I want to see you.”

“How did I…”

“Kook—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh…

That’s what he—

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

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

The only source of light in this darkened room.

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

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

Your existence in his chest, your eyes in his.

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

“I… I want you to…”

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing, but bliss bliss bliss…

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry…”

“What? No. It looks… it feels so…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…Great idea.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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