#in portuguese its 'cafuné' and boom

[domwitch]

Honestly at this point I kinda want a boyfriend just so I can squeeze him and hug him and hold him and caress him and hold his face in my hands and run my hands through his hair and and and

[daffodilon]

cafuné ii

cafuné - (brazilian portuguese)

“the act of running your fingers through your lover’s hair; among the few words that cannot be directly translated into english”

Pairing: Jungkook / ♀ Reader Rating: E for Explicit Genre(s): 🍭 Fluff, 🔞 Smut,  🍌 (Attempted) Humor WC: 10,448 Warnings: Sexual content, porn with feelings, shower sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex (f receiving), wet and messy, dirty talk, hair pulling kink, definitely some light hand and finger kink, like, jungkook fucking your mouth with his fingers, elements of exhibitionism, elements of possessiveness, excessive use of the word fuck, jungkook naked and soaking wet should be his own warning, baby boy jungkook, and as usual dom/sub dynamics if you squint. Maybe you don’t have to squint that hard. Obligatory warning for me trying to be funny. Un-betaed, but I have done my best to proofread it myself. 

Summary: 

Yesterday you accidentally tripped up. You fell, crashing and burning, stumbling your way through what could probably be called the World’s Clumsiest Confession, letting your roommate, Jungkook, know about your feelings for him. 

Incredibly, Jungkook returns your feelings, and you subsequently found yourself somehow blessed with a lap full of him, kissing you like you’re worth worshiping and grinding against your thigh until he fell apart in your arms at your encouragement. Unfortunately the two of you were interrupted before you got the chance to take it further, and you went to bed alone and unsatisfied, but not before Jungkook promised, beautiful and determined, that he’d make it up to you. 

Today, Jungkook makes it up to you. (And, since you’ve gone about things a little out of order, he asks you out properly to make that up to you, too.) 

If you haven’t read it, here’s part one. I highly recommend it! 

I have also, er. compiled a collection of... visual aids for the shower scene. You’re welcome.

“... Hey. Do you want to go out to dinner?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, sure. Where do you want to go?”

“No, I mean. Uh. Do you want to go have dinner? With me?”

“Yeah, that sounds good, the fridge is basically empty anyway. Maybe we could stop at the grocery store on the way home.”

Jungkook huffs out an exasperated sigh.

“No, I mean, --I’m trying to ask you out to dinner with me. Like, on a date.”

You have to smile at him.

“Yeah, dumbass, and I’m trying to say yes.”

“You- Oh.” He blinks and huffs again, but this time it’s with a laugh, bringing up one hand to rub the back of his neck, as if suddenly shy.

“Come here,” You beckon him over to you, smiling, standing by the counter where you just put the hot water on for tea.

You extend your arms, reaching for his waist as he shuffles forward into your personal space. You bite your lip when you notice his eyes drop to your mouth like he can’t help it, before accepting the sweet kiss he presses there.

You’re the one who called him over, but your heart still jumps in your chest when your lips first touch. You let yourself get lost in it, inhaling through your nose and tilting your head to lean into the hand that finds its way into your hair.

It’s the first time you’ve had the chance to do this since yesterday, and it’s perfect. Just a hint of tongue and teeth, mostly the press of lips and the quietly bubbling excitement of something that’s still so new, new, new.

You break apart after a moment, and Jungkook asks,

“So, just to clarify here, you’re agreeing to come on a dinner date? To... You know. Date me?”

Jesus Christ, he’s cute.

“Jungkook, I am agreeing to date you. Effective immediately. Let’s go to dinner. Do you want it in writing?”

Jungkook smiles back at you big, “No, that’s okay.”

“Okay.”

You struggle a bit to turn around and find yourself a cup, mostly because Jungkook doesn’t seem inclined to let go. So you squirm in his arms until he gets the picture and lets you turn around, but then he pushes forward again until his chest is flush with your back and hooks his chin over your shoulder, so he’s wrapped around you completely. You resign yourself to your snuggly new fate and shuffle around the kitchen after your tea and your favorite infuser with him glued to your back. “Do you want a cup?”

“Yes. please.”

“Green?”

“Green.”

You turn your face toward his and plant a kiss on his cheek, just because you can. Because you want to, and you’re allowed to do that now. The thought calls up those giddy butterflies in your tummy again.

“So where do you want to go for dinner?” you ask.

“I don’t know, I was thinking someplace kind of nice, maybe.”

“Mm. Italian?”

“I like Italian. What about that winery place we were thinking of trying?”

“Are we talking about going out for dinner?” A new voice joins the conversation suddenly. “Good idea.”

“Oh! Tae.” You turn around together to face Taehyung, as he enters the kitchen toting a handful of dirty dishes and moves toward the sink to rinse them. “Did you just eat?”

“No,” Taehyung says with a straight face, moving his empty bowl and chopsticks behind his back. You narrow your eyes at him.

“Are you sure?”

Jungkook speaks up, still attached to your back and refusing to let go. His jaw moves against your shoulder when he says, without an inch of remorse, “Taehyung, you’re not invited.”

Taehyung pushes out his lower lip, and he looks like he’s about to complain, so you fill in, “It’s a date.”

Jungkook nods as best he can without lifting his head.

Taehyung looks from you, to Jungkook, back to you, and back to Jungkook again several times, like he’s trying to tell if this is some kind of prank. Then, suddenly, his shoulders fall back down to a normal place from where they’d been drawn up defensively.

“Oh, Jesus Christ, finally.” He sets down his dishes and makes a beeline straight for you, takes your face in his hands and says, “Thank god,” before planting a kiss square on your nose. While you’re still sputtering, he moves on to Jungkook, taking his face in his hands as well and giving a matching kiss to Jungkook’s scrunched up nose with a wet smack. “Thank fucking god. You two are the worst. I love you both so much. Go enjoy your candlelit evening. I ate all the leftover stir fry.”

You sigh, still pawing at your nose with the corner of your sleeve, feeling a little like a cat trying to have a bath. “I knew it. That was going to be my lunch tomorrow.”

“Sorry. Pick up some more yogurts while you’re out?” Taehyung asks, flashing his teeth and raising his eyebrows, “Please? You’re my favorite roommates and I love you the best.”

“You just said we’re the worst!” Jungkook protests in a petulant tone from somewhere near your ear.

“That’s true,” Taehyung nods solemnly. “Jungkook is no fun to play Mario Kart with anymore. He loses on purpose every time you walk through the living room just to get up and go talk to you.”

“Wait, he what?”

“... And you never side with me against Jungkook like you used to. When I say, ‘Yah, Jungkookie, you’re working out too much, roll your sleeves back down,’ you used to take my side but now you just get all blush-y and mumble-y, and make excuses why you need to be in the kitchen when Jungkook gets out of the shower after he gets home from the gym.”

All you can do is splutter nervously, “What? When have I ever-”

“And don’t even get me started on that.” Taehyung rounds on Jungkook again.

He’s trying to wag his finger accusingly but he’s wearing, for lack of a better description, what appears to be a My Little Pony crop top, so the effect is a little ruined. It’s unclear at a glance whether the shirt in question was actually designed to be a crop top or simply a normally fitted shirt for a significantly more child-sized person.

To be clear, it’s actually extremely cute on him. Most things are. It’s just not particularly threatening.

He steamrolls on, clearly having a lot to say on the subject. “Do you go to the one gym in the world that doesn’t have showers? Why are you waiting until you get home to shower anyway? I’ll tell you why. It’s because you like to walk in the door all sweaty and make sure she’s watching before you fill up your water bottle in the sink and flex while you drink it. You’re the worst. Both of you. But I forgive you. Because I love you. Buy me yogurt?”

Taehyung reaches the end of his tirade so abruptly it leaves you in a mild state of shock, but not so shocked you can’t at least defend, “I spend so much time in this kitchen because I like it here. This is my kitchen. I cooked that stir fry you just ate, Kim Taehyung.”

“Yeah, and I shower at home because there’s, um. Better water pressure,” Jungkook pipes up.

“Sure,” Taehyung says, grinning wide enough to let you know he doesn’t believe you in the slightest. Then his expression softens, “Congratulations, both of you. I mean it.” He looks from one of you to the other, and turns to go.

“Love you, too, Tae,” Jungkook calls after him.

“Sorry Taehyung. Thank you, we do love you,” You echo.

He waves a hand in acknowledgement without turning around, disappearing the way he came.

“... Do you really lose at Mario Kart just to come talk to me?”

“Not ever, once in my life,” Jungkook asserts staunchly and without a moment’s hesitation. “Do you wait around for me to get out of the shower on purpose?”

“Taehyung is a snitch and I am going to get him back.”

Jungkook laughs and uses his grip on your waist to spin you around and kiss you.

“I knew you liked the muscles.”

You run your hands over his biceps and squeeze gently, and Jungkook obligingly flexes a little, just for your benefit. You swallow hard.

“They’re... fine.”

He laughs again.

“I do feel a little bad. Taehyung may or may not have been the one to deal with the brunt of my late night breakdowns about you.”

“Kind of him not to bring that one up just now.”

“Very kind,” He agrees.

“Who knew he was pulling his punches back there. Want to bring him home some food?”

“I will take tiramisu in a to go box, thank you!” Taehyung’s booming voice comes carrying from not at all that far beyond the doorway.

Jungkook winces. “Oh no.”

You chuckle at his consternation. “Oh, yes.”

“Oh, yeah,” Comes the Kool Aid Man impression from right around the corner.

Jungkook closes his eyes and lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Goodbye, hyung,” he says in a pointed tone.

Silence greets you both. “... Do you think he’s gone?”

“Who cares?” You shrug.

“I care.”

“You do?” You raise an eyebrow. “Well. That wasn’t what it seemed like, yesterday, when you-”

“Oh my god,” Jungkook yelps, as soon as he catches on to exactly what direction that sentence was headed, silencing you with one sweaterpaw and an expression of panic on his face.

Your shoulders shake with barely controlled laughter.

“Shut up!” he squawks, breaking into a higher register. “Oh my god. We are not going to talk about this right now. Are you going to shower before dinner?” He changes the subject quickly. You nod, looking up at him with mirth in your eyes. “Okay. Okay, you go do that. And then change into something nice.”

Jungkook steers you around, pushing you towards the bathroom determinedly, refusing to lift his hand from your mouth until you’re safely over the threshold and standing in front of the bathroom sink. “Come get me when you get out?”

All you can do is laugh at him some more and nod again, and he closes the door behind himself, looking flustered. It fills you with satisfaction to know that you put that flush on his face.

It’s been approximately thirty minutes when you hear three quick knocks on the door in the middle of shaving.

“Hello?” You call, “Hang on a sec, I’m just-”

--The door begins to open, and with a lurch of panic you realize Jungkook must never have locked the door. “I’m in the shower! I’ll be-”

“-It’s just me.”

“... Jungkook?” You squint through the steam and the frosted glass of the shower doors. The drafty rush of air from the moment he let himself in pricks cold against your skin as warm air escapes before he closes the door behind him.

“You’re taking forever in here.”

Recognition softens the sharp edge of the panic of being walked in on, but only so far. You are still naked in the shower, after all.

“What are you doing?” You blink hard a few times to clear your vision, trying to see what the blurry shape of him that moves around the bathroom is up to.

“I’m taking a shower with my girlfriend.”

“Jungkook!!” You squeak, at the same time as the shower door slides open without warning and a very naked Jungkook steps over the edge of the bathtub to join you. “Oh my god, give me a little warning, first! What the fuck!” You protest, trying to hide your blush, doing your best to cross one arm across your chest and conceal yourself by crossing your legs with what you hope is subtlety. Your right hand still grips your shaving razor.

Jungkook only laughs at you.

“I was starting to get worried there wouldn’t be time for me to take my shower, too. Will you let me get my hair wet? I’m getting cold over here.”

You step around him carefully, letting him have a turn under the warm spray, facing you. He closes his eyes and lets the water cascade over his face, sighing. You can’t help but notice the goosebumps that cover his exposed skin, and will yourself not to look down, heart thudding steady at a mile a minute.

But then, “Don’t be shy,” He says softly, with his eyes still closed. “You’ll make me feel shy.”

“O- Okay. I’ll um. Do my best,” You tell him, forcing yourself to let your hand fall from its protective place on the opposite shoulder and put the razor down while you’re at it.

Jungkook raises his arms to push his hair off his forehead, brushing it out of his eyes and smoothing it back over his scalp with his hands, muscles bunching in his arms on either side of his head.

Christ.

He’s so casually breathtaking, it’s unfair.

It makes you itch to touch, so you take a breath and just... do. You reach out, resolving to focus on him as opposed to yourself and not to overthink it, and let your hands find his shoulders, smoothing over the skin and catching the water.

You find as you do so that he seems to let out a breath as if he was holding it, relaxing some more under your touch and letting his arms fall down to his sides again.

You cradle his face in your hand and are overcome with a rush of endearment as he nuzzles your palm and leans into the touch, and slots open his eyes to read your expression.

“Can I wash your hair?” You ask him softly, carding the fingers of your free hand through the wet strands.

“Mhmm,” He nods, blinking water out of his eyes, voice a low rumble that sends tremors through your very bones. “If you want.”

You want, all right.

You want.

You swallow hard around the lump your heart makes in your throat, and tamp it down as best you can.

You reach for his shampoo, only to be arrested by his quiet noise of dissent. “Can you, um.” He pinks slightly under the spray of hot water. “Can you use yours on me instead?”

“Mine?”

“I like the smell. You don’t have to.”

“No, that’s okay. We can use mine.”

You lather your hands in your favorite fragrant shampoo, managing to remember at the last second that you don’t need as much product for him as you’d use yourself, and start to work the sudsy mess gently into Jungkook’s hair, pulling him towards you and out from directly under the shower head.

A look of absolute peace crosses Jungkook’s face, and he lets out a happy sigh as you massage his scalp with your fingertips, the gorgeous scent filling your noses.

The smell of this shampoo accounts for approximately ninety percent of the reason you buy it, something like lemon, like jasmine, like roses, or lilies maybe. Light and beautiful with a gentle musky scent underpinning it all, grounding the rest of the floral notes in something quietly sultry.

And maybe... if you’re being honest, you’ve been a drugstore shampoo girl most of your life, but then one fateful day you received a sample in a bag of freebies. You tried it out once, and, yeah you were impressed with the smell, but you had every intention of using it up and going back to your old shampoo after... until later that day you leaned over Jungkook where he sat working on some project or other to ask him something.

He must have caught a whiff of your hair, because he got an odd look on his face before stammering out, “You, um. Smell really, really good, today. Whatever, uh, whatever you’re wearing.”

And what could you do then? After that glowing endorsement, you had to go out and buy the full sized bottle, and the conditioner with it. You didn’t have a choice, as far as you were concerned, even though you’re pretty sure your bank account shed actual tears over it, which is weird, because it’s primarily an abstract concept and lacks tear ducts or the emotional ability to grapple with the idea of loss.

Anyway, it’s been a feature in your shower ever since.

None of that matters, now, though, because now you have Jungkook with you, right before your very eyes, melting into putty in your hands in real time, and five minutes ago he called you his girlfriend for the first time and you’re, perhaps, possibly, potentially not over it.

You send up a silent prayer of thanks to the incredibly intimidating Sephora employee with the red extensions for dropping that sample in your bag before moving on with your romantic moment. You really came through for me, girl. Amen. Let’s get back to what’s important.

What’s important is the freckle under Jungkook’s lip. You may be nearsighted, but his face is pretty damn near right now. His mouth is directly in your line of sight, and it is begging to be kissed, from where you’re standing.

You ask, “Ready to rinse?”

Jungkook nods, a close-lipped smile on his face. You guide him back under the water, gently coaxing his head this way and that and keeping up your scalp massage until all the suds are washed away, leaving only silky clean tresses and the fresh scent of citrus and flowers behind.

Then you crowd in and close the distance to attend to the freckle under his lower lip, and then his lips properly, because they’re right there, and then the tip of his nose because there’s water droplets there.

Jungkook huffs a laugh at this behavior and brings his hands up to your sides, gripping your arms and smoothing his thumbs over the skin, and that’s when you realize how cold you’ve gotten, standing on the other side of the tub and engrossed with more important things than your own comfort.

But Jungkook’s hands are warm, and the contrast has you shuddering, so you don’t fight him at all when he pulls you even closer, even when you feel the rush of sensation that accompanies your stiff nipples brushing the bare skin of his chest, because he radiates heat. Even when you sense the unmistakable press of his length between his legs against your hip.

You just push forward until the negative space is shoved aside and there’s no gap, no air at all between your body and his, and let go of the tension you’ve been holding inside. Tuck your face in the crook of his neck. Just breathe him in. Feel yourself relax a little further.

“How are you finding the water pressure?” You ask against his neck, just to be a shit.

A snort from overhead.

“Phenomenal, thank you for checking in.”

The smile steals over your face without your permission.

You graze your teeth over the skin at the junction of his neck and shoulder, just to feel him shiver, before dropping a kiss on the same spot and taking a step away briefly to squeeze conditioner into your hands, next.

His eyes on you the entire time makes your face burn, but you’re trying to ignore it. You told him you’d do your best, so by god you’re gonna fucking try.

Smoothing the same scented conditioner through his hair is the work of just a couple minutes, and when you’re done, you allow him to spin you around and trade places, until you’re in the path of the spray again.

“Your lips were starting to turn blue,” he explains. “I can’t take you out to dinner with pneumonia.”

“Thank you,” you tell him appreciatively. “Frankly I’m shocked we haven’t run out of hot water, yet.”

“God, no kidding. What were you even doing in here that was taking so long?”

“I was shaving!” You reiterate defensively, feeling your voice pitch a little higher. “Men have no idea what women go through in the name of soft legs, I swear to god. Sugar scrubs, waxing, shaving, lotions and moisturizers, electric depilatory treatments? Do not open this can of worms, Jeon Jungkook.”

He’s gazing at you openly with a wide, happy smile on his face, and he does not look at all apologetic for giving you a hard time.

“Okay, I won’t. Do you want to finish while I soap up, and then get out of here? Before, I don’t know, the winery closes and we have to have our first date at a twenty four hour McDonald’s?”

“You are a brat and a menace, Jungkook.”

“So, yes?”

“... Fine. Yes, okay.”

Luckily, you’ve already done one leg. You get Jungkook to pass you your shaving cream and take up your razor again, and begin to work the other one, starting at your ankle, focusing below the knee for now.

You’ve made some limited progress, having achieved an acceptable standard of smoothness over a small section of your shin when Jungkook makes a shocked noise and you whip your head up to look at him, wide eyed with worry.

“What? What’s wrong?”

He pauses, his upper body dripping with foaming bubbles from the soap he’s been vigorously scrubbing with for the past minute. “Nothing, I just... oh my god, you can’t see what you’re doing.”

“What?”

“You’re, like, shaving by feel.” He gestures with the bar of soap in his hand, “That’s why this takes you so long. Oh my god that is so dangerous.”

“What? I can see, kind of. There’s lather here and there’s no lather here. I took my contacts out, I’m not blind.”

“You are blind. I have personally witnessed you mistake Tae for me before with your contacts out.”

“Oh my god, one time! You’re the same height! His hair was dyed the same color as yours for a while! You share pajamas sometimes! It was a reasonable mistake to make.”

“Technically, Tae is taller than me, but I’ll take it. Give me that.”

“Give you... what? No! It’s not dangerous, I’ve been shaving this way since I was thirteen years old. I know what I’m doing. You, on the other hand, do not.”

“I bet I can help. We can make this go faster.”

“Jungkook...”

“Please?”

Jungkook has apparently figured out that you’re weak at close range. He crowds back into your space, making sure you can clearly see the puppy dog eyes he levels you with when he murmurs, “Let me help?”

And then he starts to sink to his knees, and then the panic starts to set in.

Oh, holy shit. His hand is wrapped around your lower thigh, not far above your knee, but high enough to scramble all your thoughts. And now his face is level with your midsection, and he looks up at you to maintain eye contact, expression open, hopeful, and faintly challenging. Like he’s daring you to tell him no.

You take a deep breath.

“It’s just me,” He said when he walked in. “Just me.”

It’s just Jungkook.

Jungkook, who sleeps with his mouth open and unironically enjoys Justin Bieber.

Jungkook, who handles you like he’s holding the whole world in his arms.

Jungkook, with his bunny smile and his big heart and his sparkling eyes.

Jungkook, who told you yesterday he’s in love with you.

With you of all people. You don’t know how you managed it. You’re not going to ask. You’re just going to hang on with both hands and be grateful.

On one hand, there is no “just,” when it comes to him. On the other hand... the implicit trust and safety you feel when he’s with you is enough to keep you afloat in the ocean of anxiety and insecurity you occupy.

He says he loves you. You trust him and therefore you have to believe what he told you was true. And therefore there’s no reason to be self conscious.

You hand him your razor.

“If I come out the other side of this looking like Edward Scissorhands I reserve the right to retaliate as I see fit. If I don’t get out unscathed neither do you, got it?”

Jungkook accepts his victory with a satisfied smile and a kiss pressed to the crease of your hip that makes you jump.

Jungkook just laughs at you and cautions, “Don’t do that when I start.”

“I’m,” You start, and then find you need to swallow a couple times in order to be able to get the sentence out. “I won’t. It was just a reflex.”

“Got it all out of your system?”

“Mhmm.”

“Okay.”

He shifts his weight to one side, so that he’s down on one knee, like a parody of a proposal, which you don’t think about, not even for one second. You certainly don’t notice the way the soap on his torso drips down over his abdomen, or between his legs, while he’s otherwise occupied. Certainly not.

Jungkook’s fingers dip behind your knee to encourage you to lift your leg, and with the hand with the razor between his thumb and forefinger he uses the other fingers to tap his elevated knee, shaking his hair out of his eyes and blinking a few times, telling you wordlessly to prop your foot up. You carefully settle the arch of your foot over his knee, balancing with one hand on the shower wall.

Most of the shaving cream has rinsed off while you were talking, but he just grabs the can and lathers up a new palmful of foam. Glances up at you.

“You trust me, right?” He smiles.

It knocks all the air out of your chest like a sucker punch to the gut. This distinct lack of oxygen leaves it notably difficult to speak so you just... nod.

Because you do.

Trust him.

Body, mind and soul.

Too much, probably.

Then, carefully, he presses the razor gently against your lower leg, and drags it with even pressure all the way up to your knee. He pauses when he gets there, flicks his wrist to dislodge the pile of foam, rinses the razor head under the running water and repeats the same action, a little to the left.

You remind yourself to breathe.

He doesn’t go over the same areas twice, as you would if the razor was in your own hand, but whether that’s because he can actually see the hairs with his stupid perfect vision, or because you have better technique after all your years of shaving, remains to be seen. You sniff to yourself. You’ll be the judge of this little experiment.

To his credit, he does seem to know he needs to go top-to-bottom, against the direction the hairs grow, for the closest shave. (A skeptical voice in your head says, maybe he just saw you doing it that way, and he’s copying you. That’s also possible.)

In what you have to admit is record time, he’s finished. Carefully navigating your knee, cautious not to nick the skin with the sharp blades, all the way around your calf, fingers pressing little divots into your skin to persuade you to rotate your ankle this way and that.

He wraps both hands around your lower leg, then, dragging his fingers up and down, smoothing away the remains of the shaving cream and feeling for stray hairs.

He seems to find one or two places where stubble catches the pads of his hands, and he picks up the razor again to thoroughly remove them.

“See?” You chide from above, unable to quash the urge to be childish, “You’re using feel, too.”

He looks up at you, and when you catch his eye, you stick out your tongue.

Jungkook appears not to expect this and laughs in what could either be surprise or disbelief, then retorts,

“Maybe. But you can’t deny I’m faster. And anyway, maybe I just wanted the excuse to touch you.” He smiles, sneaky and self satisfied, mouth pressed to the inner side of your knee, having rinsed the majority of the soap away.

Your carefully measured breathing stutters, hard.

You flick him in the forehead admonishingly, in the fervent hope it won’t show.

“Jeon Jungkook, I can’t believe you had ignoble intentions.”

“I have nothing but ignoble intentions. I’m all ignoble, all the time. Can I keep going?”

You roll your eyes, but find yourself nodding anyway.

The process continues.

This time, he soaps up your upper leg and his fingers graze the crease of your inner thigh, brushing your bikini area before sliding briskly back down toward your knee.

You forget how to breathe for those few milliseconds.

His gently trailing fingers tickle, skin sensitive, and it makes you feel like squirming. You try not to.

Jungkook is done shaving your thigh quicker than you were prepared for, and before you know it he’s setting the razor aside, cupping his hands to catch a pool of warm water and smoothing them over the freshly shaved skin, rinsing away the remaining lather from your hip all the way down to your feet. He repeats this motion two more times, until he’s satisfied he hasn’t missed any spots and the soap has disappeared down the drain.

You’ve been working hard this whole time to keep your thoughts chaste and minimize your body’s physiological reactions to having the man of your dreams, on his knees, utterly naked, soaking wet, between your legs, and running his hands all over your bare skin.

It’s been an effort, you’re not going to lie.

All aforementioned effort goes to waste immediately when he bends forward to plant a kiss on your shin, only to relocate his lips an inch higher after a moment, over and over until he’s kissing his way up your leg past your knee and continuing on to lavish increasingly open mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, letting your foot find purchase again on the floor of the tub and scooting forward on his knees, following the path your inseam would take if you’d been wearing jeans. The catch is you’re very, very much not wearing jeans.

“Jungkook,” you stutter, reaching for him warningly, “Jungkook, what-”

You’re interrupted by your own hiss when he abruptly decides to take a small patch of skin high on your leg, just short of very dangerous territory, between his teeth and tug, closing his lips over the area and groaning softly. Arousal shoots through you for all the world like the first crack of thunder in a brewing storm; the one-two punch of a lightning strike of pleasure that curls deep in your belly and the subsequent answering heat and the slick feeling of wetness between your folds following a moment later like thunder, playing catch-up to the bolt from the blue.

Harbingers of an imminent downpour.

He releases the spot to switch to laving it with his tongue, so, so soft and an immediate contrast to the sharp sting of teeth over the quickly reddening area, and casts his eyes up to meet your gaze, just as you take his hair between your fingers, slippery with conditioner and falling, piecey, into his eyes.

“Is it later, yet?” he asks.

“Is it... what? Later?”

“Yeah, is it later, yet?” When he sees that you’re not immediately getting it, he prods, “I locked the door, this time. I promise.” And then he’s smiling, mischievous, running a palm up each of your thighs and then down again, hands wide and warm, eventually coming up again to reach around and smooth daringly over your ass before drawing away again to repeat the motion from start to finish, while you think.

It actually makes it rather difficult to think, but still, somehow, something clicks with the way he words it.

Oh.

Oh.

You don’t know why you thought you’d have more time to mentally prepare for this actually happening.

And, like he can read your mind, or maybe just like he’s just being his usual, spectacularly kind, considerate self, because that’s just what he’s like, he sits back on his heels and grips your knees, thumbing the sides of your legs gently and says, “You can tell me no. If it’s... if this is too soon.”  

But maybe that’s the thing.

Maybe finding out Jungkook likes you, too, is new.

And maybe remembering, freshly each time, that you can do things like voice those inner thoughts that are less platonic, more, “if-I-tell-you-this-there’s-no-way-you-won’t-know.”

Maybe that’s still a learning process.

But you have been pathetically in love with Jungkook for a long, long time. There have been an awful lot of opportunities for lying in bed, alone with your imagination, trying and failing to get off with the sole aid of your fingers and a faceless figment.

No matter how many times you told yourself it didn’t feel right to think of him in those moments, a real person, an ideal roommate, a good friend, your carefully nonspecific fantasy fails, night after night. It cracks and breaks until it features strong thighs, tan skin, a distinct cupid’s bow, familiar eyebrows, freckles, moles, and leaves you gasping for air, struggling to keep quiet; falling apart so that you can finally drift off to a sleep filled with heartbreakingly realistic dreams.

And the cumulative result of all those nights is... no, you don’t want to tell him no. You have waited and wanted for too fucking long.

Last night after you slipped out of Jungkook’s bed, fled to your own room to dispose of the evidence, re-emerged and pretended to be as unrattled and composed as always for the benefit of company, you found yourself left alone in your own bed again, the phantom press of Jungkook’s lips still tangible on your own mouth. The ghost of his hips crushed hard against yours. Heartbeat erratic with the memory of it all.

You barely slept.

Every instinct you had screamed that you needed to get up and sneak back into Jungkook’s room. His bed. His arms. But you stretched the thin remainder of all that was left of your threadbare self control and stayed rooted in place, all night.

You woke up in the morning, at a reasonable time, like a reasonable person.

You shook off the tiredness, and went to work, like an adult.

But now... right now it’s extremely difficult to call to mind whatever reasoning it was that kept you tethered to your own bed, hot, panting breaths muffled by the back of your own left hand against every vivid memory Jungkook left etched on the backs of your eyelids.

Jungkook and his hands. His mouth. His dark eyes.

His hair fucked up beyond fixing from your hands in it, his lips red and used looking from kissing all sense straight out of your ears.

The sound of his stuttered breathing. His moans.

His expression as he came.

Here and now, you press your lips tight together on a moan that Jungkook nonetheless hears, and he’s looking at you, patiently, but expectantly, waiting for a green light on your terms.

So you do your best to give him one.

“I- Okay. It, uh, can be later, now.”

“Yeah?” And then, one more time, because he’s good, good, good, he asks, “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. I want it. I want you,” You assure him, brushing back his fringe again, letting every overflowing drop of adoration in you bleed into the touch, and leaving it up to hope that he can feel it.

By the look he gives you, you dare to think maybe... maybe he can. You add softly, “Make me feel good, Jungkookie.”

“I can. I will,” He says, sitting up, pressing closer, eyes shining and determined. “Wanna make you feel so good.”

Jungkook nuzzles his whole face into the crease of your hip then, mouthing at your skin in the same way that made you jump the first time, and then adding a press of tongue that has you biting your cheek hard to stifle your vocal reaction.

Taehyung is presumably still home, adrift in the apartment somewhere within hearing range.

You’re not sure how you’re going to survive this with your dignity and the ability to look him in the eye intact, but right now the need curling in your gut is stronger than that worry and you just can’t bring yourself to put a stop to this solely on account of that.

Jungkook murmurs against your skin, “Can you hook your leg over my shoulder?” So you comply, letting him guide you into shifting your weight onto one foot. “Hang onto something,” he cautions.

Jungkook’s mouth travels, measured but eager, closing the distance until his nose presses against your pubic bone and his mouth is centered over your core, at which point he pauses, makes deliberate eye contact with you, spreads your folds with the fingers of his right hand, and at that same measured pace, licks upward and then closes his mouth over your clit in a wet kiss with a tantalizing amount of suction.

The one knee holding you up threatens to buckle almost immediately. You tighten your grip on the shower bar, rocking your hips involuntarily towards Jungkook’s face and whimpering his name.

He looks pleased at this reaction, smiles up at you again to ask, “Yeah?” his two fingers sliding along your lips and between them exploratively. His touch is tentative, and his fingers a little cold, and it makes you shiver.

You hum in the affirmative and reach for his hand with yours, and he lets you take his wrist with a question in his eyes that first clears up with understanding and then immediately clouds over with thick lust when you suck his fingers, wet with water and your own arousal, into your mouth, taking them as far as the second knuckle.

It’s a little besides the point, but just to be extra suggestive you cover your teeth carefully with your lips, tonguing his index and middle fingers separately and then together, leaving no question what you’re implying by the motions, letting his fingertips graze the back of your tongue and then releasing them with an exaggerated pop, only to suck his middle and ring fingers in between your lips and repeat it all over again, finishing with his thumb and lavishing it with special attention, treating it as much like you’d like to treat his cock as you possibly can.

You hear his throat click as he swallows dry at either the visual or the feeling or both, along with a whispered, “fuck,” and it gives you a distinct rush of satisfaction.

While you’re licking long stripes up each finger, as lewd as possible, you notice his breathing has gone ragged, and that’s when you deem the job done well enough and use your grip to draw his hand down, letting his spit slick fingers trail over your chin, and neck, allowing him to feel the swell of your breast under his fingertips and eventually reclaim his hand.

“Oh, wow. Jesus Christ, you really are going to kill me,” he stammers breathlessly, taking your own hand and kissing the back of it, eyes closed and breathing hard through his nose for a long spell before letting go.

It’s at this point that you offer by way of explanation, “Your hands were cold.”  

Cheeky, and you know it, but it seems to have had the intended effect.

Jungkook is nearly gasping with feverish determination, eyes heavy-lidded with the same need you can see throbs red and hard between his legs.

He moans immediately upon getting his mouth back on you again, sending low waves of vibrations coursing through your nerve endings and making you push back against him and gasp.

His tongue is so soft, alternately pointed while he draws nonsense patterns over your clit, lips spread with his thumb, and flat and broad as he licks fat stripes up and down your center.

He uses his first and middle fingers to apply tantalizing pressure to your slit just outside your entrance, teasing like he might slide inside at any time and it has you biting your lower lip on a whimper.

Then his tongue is back to flitting soft and continuous over the hood of your clit, and his left hand relinquishes its hold on the swell of your ass to splay his fingers over your abdomen, and lend his thumb to gently expose it to his licks directly.

The shock of the sensation is so powerful your hips jerk, unsure if they want to buck into the stimulation or away, but Jungkook winds his right arm tight around you, effectively stopping you from escaping his mouth and the onslaught of fervent licks and kisses. Pleasure surges through your body in acute waves.

“Oh, god,” you gasp, desperate. “Oh, fuck, Jungkook, oh my fucking god.”

Jungkook just looks up at you through his eyelashes, wraps his lips around your clit, and sucks hard enough that his cheeks hollow briefly.

“Fffffffuck!” you cry out, teeth buried hard in your lip to try to minimize the volume. Attempt failed. If Taehyung hasn’t heard you already, he definitely did just now.

Fumbling, you reach behind you to turn off the water. It’s begun to run lukewarm, and if earlier you left it on in the hope that it might cover some of the noise, well, it’s too late now.

You succeed after some scrabbling to stem the flow of the tap and then bury your hand back in Jungkook’s hair, doing your best with your tenuous grip and the leg wrapped around his shoulders to direct him where you need him most, and keep him there.

Jungkook doesn’t protest in the slightest, just moans in approval and redoubles his efforts.

You find yourself moaning with abandon, head thrown back toward the ceiling when Jungkook pulls back a bit, breathing hard. He draws his right hand back around to tease you with his fingers again, slicking one finger at a time in your dripping arousal until all his fingers are coated in it, slippery and clear.

“... Look how wet you are for me,” he says then, voice thick. You let your head fall forward again, hair falling around your face as you train your eyes on him. You can feel it, you definitely are astonishingly wet. You aren’t sure you’ve ever been so wet, with the possible exception of yesterday when Jungkook came in your lap. You had ended up having to change not only your panties, but your jeans as well, having soaked clear through the layer of denim, after all.

The image of him with his face between your thighs and fresh bruises starting to bloom on your skin, mouth red and abused, does nothing to staunch the flow.

“Only you do this to me, baby,” you tell him, feeling more than hearing his sharp intake of breath in the sudden coolness in its wake. The breath he releases then comes out in a shudder, ghosting warm over your core.

Then, “Don’t tell me that if it isn’t true.”

You blink, because of course it is, and then you’re falling all over yourself trying to find the words to convince him.

“It’s true, oh my god, it is true. Nobody has- has ever- oh--”

Jungkook chooses that exact moment to slide one finger home, burying it all the way to the last knuckle inside you without preamble. “Fucking hell, Jungkook. Nobody but you has ever made me so... You don’t know what you- what you, oh god. What you do t- to me,” you stutter with effort as he begins to pump that finger steadily in and out.

“What do I do to you?” he asks, voice much too steady for your liking.

Jesus Christ. All right, if this is the game he wants to play, you’ll play.

You tighten your grip on his hair, wrenching his head back, and take a deep breath.

“The last time I came it was bouncing on a toy, alone, in the dark, in my room moaning your name, Jungkook.”

You watch his lips fall into a pretty, pretty O shape on a moan, blinking hard at the sharp clarity of pain in his scalp and starting to form a mental image.

“Oh,” is all he says, but then he takes that opportunity to slide a second finger in alongside the first, the stretch easy with how turned on you are already.

You’re more prepared this time, though, and you push your hips down on the intrusion, squeezing around his fingers and groaning at how good it feels to be filled.

“Yeah, ‘oh.’ Do you know what, though?” You have to pause and let out a breathy moan through Jungkook beginning to curl his fingers, aiming directly for your g spot and finding it much more easily than he should have been able to, but you power on. “Now that I have a better idea what I’m dealing with, I think I bought a toy too --ah, fuck --too small. Because your cock is b-bigger.” You let your gaze fall to his straining erection, deliberately, making sure he can see you do it.

You kind of can’t believe he hasn’t touched himself at all.

Dimly, you remember an echo of words he spoke yesterday. “I want to make it about you.”

Maybe it’s mean of you to get him so worked up.

A vivid memory presents itself abruptly, Jungkook moaning, asking to touch himself, asking to touch you, asking to come, eventually begging, seeking permission every step of the way. A shudder of arousal ripples through you.

Mean? Maybe. But god, it is fun to rile him up.

Jungkook’s eyes threaten to glaze over, half lidded and dark, dark. Still being so good, still denying himself the relief of any kind of friction. You continue, “It’s thicker, and I bet it would fill me up so-” You’re interrupted by your own moan on a particularly hard thrust, “-Fill me up so good. You make me come so, oh, god, so fucking hard when you’re not even there, baby. I only ever think about you. Can’t... can’t get off unless it’s you. Wanna feel you for real.” By the end of this confession you’re properly gasping, and Jungkook looks painfully hard, dick angry red and curved up against his ridiculously toned abdomen.

“Yeah. Yeah, want that.” Jungkook’s eyes are glinting with steel, eyelashes clumped together with water, gazing up at your face. “I want it. Wanna make you come.”

“You’re gonna, Jungkook, baby, fuck, I- oh, god. I’m close. You’re gonna make me come. Just don’t, oh fucking shit don’t stop!”

Jungkook broaches your entrance with a third finger, burying his face in your mound at the same time and lapping at your clit with devastating pressure. He plunges his fingers in and out at tempo with the motions of his tongue at first, making you choke on a cry.

He pulls back again after a minute, directly contradicting you begging him not to stop, but it’s in order to switch to curving all three fingers mercilessly against your g spot and tell you, “Want you to say my name,” in the darkest tone of voice you’ve ever heard out of him.

“Jungkook,” you whimper immediately, almost more out of reaction to the buildup of pressure in your core, threatening to peak at any moment, than out of obedience, but maybe it’s a little of both.

“Mhmm,” he says, kissing your clit and making you jolt on his arms and gasp. “I think you can be louder, though.”

“Jungkook, Jungkook wait-” you start, only to cut yourself off with an honest-to-god wail, as he starts to jackhammer his wrist, pounding your most sensitive spot until you fall forward, leg nearly giving out and leaning all your weight on his shoulders. The sound of it is obscene, squelching noise mortifyingly loud in the small, echoing space, and it feels so fucking good you can’t even find it in you to be embarrassed, the filthiness of it just turns you on more.

You feel yourself about to lurch headfirst into your orgasm when Jungkook says, eyes glued to your face, “Look at me. Go ahead and let Taehyung hear you. The neighbors too. Let them know how fucking good I make you feel and exactly who’s doing it to you.” And then he bends forward and sucks your clit into his soft mouth and hollows out his cheeks, and you can’t help but give him exactly what he asks for, just like always.

“Jungkook! Jungkook, that’s so good, oh, fuck, fuck fuck fuck Jungkook, Jungkook!”

You come with what feels like all the force of a particle collision at CERN, the kind that propels protons at each other to create controlled replications of the big bang. Is that too much of an exaggeration? It doesn’t feel like one to you. You’ve never come that hard in your fucking life. It hits you like a fucking truck.

It leaves you shaking with aftershocks, gasping, and sliding down the side of the bathtub to the floor with Jungkook, and he eventually withdraws his fingers but won’t take his mouth off you, following you all the way down, easing your way by supporting your weight and going straight back to suckling mercilessly at your oversensitive cunt and laving it with broad licks once you’re flat on your back, as your hips jerk involuntarily and you babble at him to stop while he chuckles, self satisfied.

You drag him up your body to kiss you on the mouth, chest heaving and slowly regaining the ability to see with, like, colors.

Gradually it comes to you that you’re murmuring out loud in between kisses, making Jungkook blush and tuck his chin, saying things like, “Baby, you’re so good for me, so incredible, I’m so lucky. My good boy. My knees feel like they’ve been replaced with jello. You’re beautiful.”  

And Jungkook is saying, “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. Jesus christ, you’re unbelievable. I can’t believe you’re mine.”

“I am, I’m yours,” you reply immediately. “Are you kidding? That was amazing. You’re never going to be able to get rid of me after this.”

“Mm. Good,” he says, kissing down your neck. “Because I’m not finished with you yet.”

“Oh, god, that was greasy.” You groan, but it comes out in a laugh.

He presses one last kiss on the slope of one of your breasts, holding up his right hand, covered in creamy slick from your release.

“You put on quite a show.”

You think you know what’s coming, and you’re still aroused enough to moan and flatten out your tongue for him when he brings his fingers up to your mouth and proves you right. It’s absolutely filthy, and you’ve leaked so much it drips down Jungkook’s palm all the way to his wrist.

You make sure you don’t break eye contact, lapping all the way from his wrist to the tip of his middle finger, and when he growls and grips your chin with the same hand, kissing you hungrily, you let him, helplessly turned on. It leaves sticky streaks where his fingers gripped you when he lets go. When he breaks the kiss again you suck his fingers back into your mouth, letting him fuck them down your throat until you almost gag, and your eyes water.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, and in the afterglow of your orgasm, you’re happy to let the praise wash over you. He kisses you soundly, and even though you imagine his tongue must be tired, it brushes against yours, indulgent.

“I can’t believe you didn’t touch yourself that whole time,” you mutter against his lips.

Jungkook smiles, looking quietly proud of his self restraint but he plays it down when he simply says, “Told you. Not about me.”

“Mmm. You’re going to ruin me for anyone else, Jeon Jungkook.”

“Then I guess you’re stuck with me,” he replies, and that... that sounds pretty good to you.

“Will you let me suck you off?” You ask, looking up at him, hovering just over you.

Jungkook’s head falls back, wet hair brushing his shoulder blades, before shaking his head firmly, as if it pains him to do it.

“Nope. We’ve been in here long enough as it is. I might as well have let you shave by yourself because this hasn’t saved us any time at all.”

“... All right, first of all, all of this was your idea. The shaving, and the... everything else,” you trip over your sentence, back to blushing.

“Oh god, this again? You’re shy on me again?” Jungkook teases, sitting up and reaching out a hand to help you to your feet. You’re still a little wobbly, but you find your balance with your hands on his forearms.

He saves you from needing to reply, also conveniently redirecting the conversation away from how any time-wasting activities, or actions that led to them, were, in fact, his fault entirely, by turning on the shower again with no warning whatsoever, dousing you both unexpectedly in cold water, which makes you yelp and Jungkook tense up reflexively.

His grip on you turns iron and a shit eating grin crosses his face. He refuses to let you squirm out of his arms and escape the icy first few minutes of the water heating back up. He at least seems to be taking the brunt of the onslaught, but you’re still subjected to the cold. You’re struggling with all your power, but you might as well be trapped in a vise.

“Jungkook!! Jeon Jungkook I am going to kill you. I am going to take this bath towel and I am going to strangle you with it. I will leave your body where they will never find it and I will cut off your testicles and mail them to your mother. Don’t make me do that, I actually love your mother. She’s a godsend. Don’t make me, Jeon Jungkook. Jungkook!”

And Jungkook just... laughs, his whole body shaking with it, and adjusts his grip so that your arms are trapped against your sides, hugging you to himself and in the process dragging you further into the spray.

Unfortunately, you probably wouldn’t take your threats seriously if you were Jungkook, either, considering you were giggling and gasping through your entire delivery.

“I swear to god, if you think you’re still getting your dick sucked now you have got another thing coming,” you warn with as much gravity as you can summon up while your teeth are chattering.

“No, no, I told you. I don’t need that. I don’t have to get off every time I get hard. Do you know how many times I would have had to get up and leave when I’m spending time with you if I felt like I needed to follow through with it every time I popped a boner?” (... And, like, is ‘awww’ the right way to react to that, or?) “That was like, lowkey the point of this.” He gestures with his head toward the shower head. “Haven’t you ever heard of a cold shower?”

Slowly, you ease up on squirming. The water is approaching a reasonable temperature now. You slump against him, energy depleted entirely.

“... Still gonna kill you.”

Jungkook kisses your forehead.

“Okay. Can you do it after you help me rinse this conditioner out of my hair?”

You push out your lower lip, lifting your head to look up at him petulantly with your eyebrows drawn, pouting as hard as you can to communicate your displeasure, but nod.

True to Jungkook’s reasoning behind standing under the freezing water, his erection has flagged considerably, although maybe it would have been more effective for him if you had wiggled a little less the whole time. He’s gone from angry, almost purple-red, and rock hard with the veins popping desperately, to something closer to half hard, a slightly less aggressive shade of red.

Still mouthwatering. Despite what you said, you’d still love to get your mouth on him.

Jungkook clears his throat, “Do you think you could not, like, look at it like that. You’re making it hard to... hard. You’re making me hard again.”

You snap your eyes back up to his face, feeling your whole face heat up.

“Sorry! Sorry. Um. Conditioner. Out. Right.”

You take his face in both hands and guide him to tipping his head back, letting the warming water cascade over his hair and angling it to avoid getting any in his eyes, which slide closed while you work.

When your fingers first find his face, both your hands and his skin are cold, but they warm gradually.

Your fingers slide easy and soft through his hair, utterly silky after having left the product in for so long.

Jungkook hums, happy, when you scritch your fingernails gently over his scalp.

You’re beginning to notice a trend, here.

“You’ve got a little bit of a thing for having your hair played with, don’t you, baby?” you jibe lightly.

Jungkook doesn’t miss a beat in retorting without bothering to open his eyes, “Yeah, well, you seem to have a bit more than just a little thing for playing with my hair. What a coincidence.”

“How serendipitous,” you concede, smiling and giving in to the magnetic pull that drags you to his lips for a brief kiss.

You’re feeling a little floaty, a little high, a lot lucky. A lot blessed.

Together you rinse off thoroughly, taking turns, before shutting off the water for good.

You take a moment to send up a silent apology to mother earth for the water that was definitely wasted during the time you and your boyfriend spent canoodling in the shower.

In your defense, the amount of water wasted in one shower for two people is outrageously outweighed by the volume of waste produced by the corporations responsible for fast-tracking global warming, but that thought doesn’t really serve to ease your guilt by much.

Jungkook jumped into your shower without remembering to bring his own towel, so you share the one you keep on the rack. Jungkook unceremoniously flings it over your head, blocking out the light and completely obscuring your vision, and then with his fingers scrunches the towel on either side of your head to gently wring out your hair, gradually bunching the fabric in his hands until your face is back in view, making a hood out of it and squishing your cheeks together when you try to glare at him.

“Cute,” he coos, making a goofy face to mimic your smooshed one, dripping water onto the floor all the while.

“Death wish,” you mutter, otherwise resigning yourself to being squished with only a deep sigh in protest. When he’s satisfied with mushing your cheeks and finally lets go, you ask, “Hey, do you think we can pick up some butter while we’re at the store? I know we aren’t out yet and it’s not on the list, but there’s a cake recipe I want to try out, and once I use the butter we’ve got for frosting, there won’t be any left.”

“What? Nooo, the grocery run can wait.” Jungkook protests.

“But why?”

“It’s not part of the date! Errands are not romantic.”

“Why can’t it be? Grocery shopping can be romantic.”

Jungkook snorts.

“Can not.”

“Sure it can! We’ll go together, you can hold my hand the whole time.” You wiggle your eyebrows, voice lilting, doing your best to paint a picture for him, “It’ll be domestic and adorable. We can get a cart and I’ll sit in the basket with my arms out like this and you can push me around and I’ll pretend like I’m flying. Romantic! Now that,” You punctuate the word with a forefinger to his sternum, “-Is a scene that could be in a Ryan Gosling movie.”

Jungkook considers this proposal with his eyes narrowed. He has been known to enjoy a Ryan Gosling movie.

“Why can’t I be the one who flies?”

“You?”

“Yeah, me.”

“But you’re heavy. And you’re the one with the big muscles. Perfect for pushing.”

“I wanna fly,” he insists.

You give in, all too easy, as soon as he levels his big, sad eyes at you, which he may or may not even mean to do.

“... Okay, okay, fine. You can sit in the shopping cart and I will push your beefy ass around. So we can do the grocery trip? Maybe on the way home? They’re open late.”

“Well... I guess we do owe Tae some yogurts. Especially after what he just heard,” Jungkook smirks.

You shove the towel in his face.

“Oh my god!” You exclaim, indignant, “That was all your fault!”

Jungkook just laughs, catching the towel before it drops to the floor and beginning to dry his own hair without an iota of shame.

“Hell yeah, it was.”

“Oh my god, don’t,” You reach out in retaliation, trying to land a thwack in the general area of his pecs somewhere and he dodges you with infuriatingly little effort.

Then, “All ignoble, all the time.” He’s laying the dialect on thick and quirking his eyebrows, and you can’t help but snort, against your will because you’re trying to stay stony faced.

That’s it, and then you’re both off, laughing uncontrollably and struggling to breathe between bouts of giggles.

Finally, when you’re both dry, the problem arises of how to make it back out into your respective rooms to get dressed without putting dirty clothes back on and with only one towel between you.

Jungkook solves the issue by wrapping the towel under his arms and then wrapping himself snug around you behind your back, warm as a space heater. He arranges the towel carefully to obscure you from above your breasts to just above mid-thigh, and waddles you both through the bathroom door, back to front, out in a cloud of steam through the living room, past Taehyung’s emphatic middle finger, and into Jungkook’s room, where you let Jungkook disentangle his arms and drop him off with a quick kiss.

He smells intoxicating.

He smells clean.

He smells like you. You shiver.

You reclaim the towel, slip back into your own room, and begin to prepare for the night ahead.

Something tells you there’s a chance you might not have to sleep alone tonight.

You bite your lip, alone in your room, and smile.