#jimin x rebirth | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chimcess · 2 years ago

Text

Solstice || pjm

Pairing: Jimin x Reader Other tags: Werewolf!Jimin, Witch!Reader, Shifter!Reader, Shifter!Jimin, A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha!Jimin Genre: Supernatural!AU, Werewolf!AU, Fluff, Angst (Very light), Flashback Special, Winter!AU, Holiday!AU Word Count: 11.7k Synopsis: It was a night during Yule when Y/N first saw Park Jimin.

Part of the Birdie Shoppe Series: || Birdie Shoppe Masterlist || While you can read this as a standalone, I do highly recommend reading the series first. It will make more sense and give everything the context it needs.

Chapter Warnings: Fluff, some angst, Jin and Yoongi are sweeties, Yule celebrations, in depth talks about wiccan/pagan traditions, Krampus and Yule cat mentioned, possession, adoption mentions, talks about death, annoying nicknames, these spirits are a bit sus, underaged drinking (Like a sip), We love Wendy, Jimin is cute, This is super PG, Young reader, Young Jimin, I can’t think of anything else so just let me know! A/N: I couldn’t help myself. We’re starting to get flashbacks! I thought it would be fun to dive into the Holiday season in Bangtan, so here we are. This has been roughly edited so I could have missed things. I will hopefully get around to fixing her up when I get more time. I hope you enjoy. Happy holidays!

The pine scent was everywhere, sharp and bright, as I wrangled the evergreen through the narrow door of Auntie's cottage. It had the prickly feel of a real holiday beginning—a bite to the air, a cheerfulness that elbowed its way in despite everything. Auntie's bark echoed from inside, raspy and rough like always, a gravelly sound that could've put anyone else off but was just part of the background to me by now. Jin, beside me, stood as stiff as the tree trunk, his eyes darting nervously as Auntie's voice carried through the room. I was used to Auntie's way; she had a voice that cracked like pinecones, and there was no getting around it. It was just part of the atmosphere.

“Almost there!” Yoona called from somewhere near the fireplace, her voice light and sweet, an antidote to Auntie's growl. The warmth in her tone felt like a comfort that spread throughout the room, softening the prickly edges of everything around us.

With one last push, we managed to get the tree through the door, and Yoona's cheer merged with Aldara's bossy tone, laying out her endless instructions for Yule prep. I could hear Jin’s familiar grumbling beside me—he was never good with Auntie's orders. His father had taken Yoongi out for firewood, leaving Jin's mom to slave over the stove. Everyone else pitched in how they could, but I’d given up trying to keep track of whose job was whose. Auntie, of course, was completely focused on her wassail, going on about how this year's batch would be the best ever—as it always was, in her opinion.

Once we had the tree standing in its spot—a little crooked, but it worked—it was time for my favorite part: decorating it. Yule wasn't Yule without a tree to hang everything on. This year, we'd really gone all out. I dove into the boxes of ornaments, the baskets full of shiny, silly things, and felt my heart swell at the sight of all the pinecones and garlands. I was ready.

Seokjin, Yoongi, and I—we’d been doing this since we were kids. The three of us were inseparable, and Yule had always been the highlight of our year. It was tradition, our families together, no matter what. Tonight, Wendy and her coven would join us around the bonfire, too. Wendy’s group was all women, no exceptions. If you didn’t fit in, you ended up somewhere else—it was that simple. Wendy could be a bit intense, but we all knew that the night wouldn’t be the same without her or her coven’s songs and laughter.

I grimaced at the sight of last year’s dried orange garland—the one Hoji had thankfully replaced with fresh ones. Jin's dad, Taejin, helped us make our julbock goats each year—Auntie called them symbols of rebirth, though I never quite understood the full significance. They looked like whimsical straw toys to me, but Auntie was wise, and what she said went. I didn't need to understand everything to love it.

Jin drifted off to the kitchen, helping his mom with the feast, just like he did every year. He loved cooking as much as I loved decorating the tree. Auntie and Yoona were busy at the table, smudging the place with rosemary and cedar—rosemary for the strength we’d need to get through winter, cedar for protection. The scent filled the air, mingling with the pine, and it made me feel like maybe everything would be alright, despite the uncertainty that sometimes crept in.

“Did you make anything new this year, Twitch?” Yoona asked, her smile soft as she tied another smudge stick.

“Of course I did,” I said, pulling out my latest creation. “See?”

I held up a pinecone I’d turned into a hedgehog—cranberries for the eyes, a little bit of red ribbon tied around its middle. Auntie didn’t usually like my little crafts, but she’d said this one was cute enough to keep. Yoona’s eyes lit up, and I smiled, the warmth of her approval filling me up like hot tea on a cold morning.

“Twitch,” Yoona said, her tone affectionate, “you’re the best at Yule.”

“Isn’t she?” Hoji chimed in from the stove, her hands busy kneading dough.

“The only one who actually likes getting the tree ready,” Auntie muttered, barely looking up from her smudging. “Speaking of which, Rae, you should finish up—Dee’s coming soon.”

Cordelia was the head of Wendy’s coven—I’d always thought she was Wendy’s aunt, but Auntie had told me not to ask. Apparently, it was impolite. It was one of those mysteries I was content to leave unsolved.

“Is Thelma coming this year?” Yoona asked, and I could hear the hope in her voice. Yoona always had a soft spot for Thelma.

“Doubt it,” Hoji said, sighing. “She just had a baby.”

“She found a baby,” Auntie corrected, her eyes glinting with amusement.

“What’s the difference?” Yoona wondered aloud, and I tuned out after that, focusing on my ornament.

Thelma was from the swamps and had always seemed odd to me—her laugh was too loud, her stories too strange. But Auntie liked her, even wrote her letters every week. I couldn’t figure out why, but I supposed Auntie knew things about people that I didn’t.

Yoongi and Jin’s dad got back just before the sun dipped below the horizon, having set up the bonfire out back. It needed to last for twelve days, and they'd need more wood for it—which meant another trip tomorrow. Maybe I’d tag along if Auntie let me; I loved the crisp air of the forest in winter, the way it felt like the whole world was holding its breath.

The feast was massive, as always—meats, stews, and desserts piled high on every available surface. Everyone brought something to share. After we ate, the bonfire would be lit, and we’d sing and dance until we couldn’t keep our eyes open anymore. Auntie would join later, in her bird form, fluttering around us like she always did. Jin and I were the only ones who understood her when she was like that, and even then, it wasn’t easy. Her bird language was all whistles and chirps, and half the time, we had to guess what she meant, but I loved it anyway. It made her seem even more magical, if that was possible.

“Auntie?” I called, fiddling with a star I was making for the tree. The gold paint was still wet, and it smudged a little under my fingers.

“Yes, Bibbles?” she answered, not looking up from her smudging.

“What’s a Santa Claus?”

“A nicer, less real version of Krampus,” she said, her voice warm with laughter. “Why do you ask, little raven?”

I shrugged, tying a ribbon onto the star. “I just don’t understand. Don’t they believe in the Goddess?”

“They do.”

“So why don’t they celebrate her?”

Taejin spoke up from across the room, his voice steady and kind. “Some of them celebrate like we do, some of them celebrate Christmas, and some celebrate nothing at all. It’s not up to us to judge, Crow.”

“Celebrate nothing?” Jin called out from the kitchen. “How do they do that?”

Taejin chuckled, shaking his head. “They just do, son. Everyone’s got their own way.”

“Stupid tradition,” Yoongi muttered beside me, fiddling with his own ornament, a wooden fox that had seen better days.

“Min Yoongi!” Yoona scolded, her hands on her hips. “You better make up for that attitude tonight!”

“Yes, mom. Sorry, mom.”

“Honestly,” she said, shaking her head. “Why can't you be more like Twitch? She loves Yule.”

I flushed, using a bit of magic to lift the star to the top of the tree. I’d always had a lot of nicknames—“Twitch,” “Crow,” “Bibbles.” Yoongi, though, always used my real name. It made me feel… something. Something I didn’t think too much about, partly because I was too embarrassed to even tell Auntie.

Yoongi was my friend. Wendy liked Yoongi. Not me.

Why would I like him?

Yoongi joined me on the floor, sensing my unease. He always struggled with social gatherings, which was why he avoided big parties. But now, he was here, sitting beside me, holding my hand as we admired the tree. The scent of pine filled the room, and for a moment, everything felt just right. This was my favorite time of the year—being surrounded by the people I cared about most.

“Did you make anything this year?” I asked, my voice soft.

“Yeah, did you?” he replied, his eyes twinkling.

“I always do,” I said with a smile. “What did you make?”

Traditions varied among witches, and we each had our own special contributions. Auntie always crafted altar items for everyone, each piece so perfectly tailored it felt like magic. Taejin and Hoji made candles and sage bundles for the adults, while the kids got sweets. Wendy’s coven brought salts, purified water, and crystals from faraway places. Jin, of course, didn’t contribute much, except for the things he made just for Yoongi and me. Yoongi, on the other hand, loved cooking—he made jams and preserves with his grandmother, Gran, who preferred to spend the holidays in quiet solitude. And me? I made jewelry.

Auntie adored my necklaces, bracelets, and earrings. This year, I had even made anklets for Wendy’s coven, hoping they’d appreciate the gesture. Each piece was crafted with care, infused with the spirit of Yule. I didn’t want to offend anyone—especially not Krampus.

“Apple, orange, and cranberry preserves,” Yoongi said, a hint of pride in his voice.

“Three kinds this year?” I looked at him, surprised. Yoongi usually stuck to apple—his favorite.

“I wanted to try something new,” he explained, shrugging. “I liked them all.”

“And I tried making anklets this time,” I added, feeling a little shy.

“Wendy’s family is weird,” Yoongi said, his lips quirking up in a small smile.

“Yeah, but so are we,” I replied, laughing softly.

The aroma of food drifted in from the kitchen—Yoona had just pulled the turkey from the oven, and Yoongi’s eyes lit up at the sight of the ham. Auntie would sip wassail all night and indulge in sweets; she never ate meat, unlike Griselda. Not that it ever stopped me from enjoying a large slice of turkey breast. I caught Jin’s eye across the room, and we exchanged a knowing look—we were both thinking the same thing: the feast was the best part of Yule.

Shiloh’s chatter with the birds outside was a familiar background hum, her voice mingling with the wind as it swept through the trees. She’d stay outside tonight, where she felt most at home, perched high up among the branches, her laughter echoing with the other creatures of the forest. I found her amusing—always had—especially since she only interacted with us when it was absolutely necessary. She was an enigma, comfortable in the wild, speaking the language of the birds, always just out of reach.

The evening dragged on, the bonfire crackling in the distance, its warmth drifting towards us in waves. Auntie’s laughter filled the air, a bright sound that seemed to draw everyone in, mingling with the voices of the other witches as they joined the festivities. Auntie was always the heart of it all—her laughter, her determination, her resilience. She made the most of Yule, braving the cold and the crowd, her strength unwavering. Watching her, I felt a swell of pride, a sense of awe at how much she gave to all of us, her love and her magic woven into every moment.

I looked around the room, feeling a warm wave of contentment roll over me. The tree stood proudly in the corner, its branches gleaming with the ornaments I’d spent hours carefully hanging. The twinkling lights reflected off the glass baubles, casting soft glimmers across the walls. Yoongi’s hand rested in mine, a grounding presence amid the chaos. Despite the strangeness of our traditions, the sense of unity in our gathering was palpable—everyone playing their part, our lives intertwined in ways that went beyond mere family or friendship.

“I see Cordelia and the coven!” Taejin’s voice cut through the hum of anticipation, his face bright with excitement as he pointed out the window.

The house erupted into action. Everyone scrambled to set the table, the room buzzing with the frantic energy of last-minute preparations. Auntie collected presents with her usual flair, stacking them with a flourish that made it look easy. Hoji and Yoona wrestled the Yule log into the fireplace, their laughter ringing out as they struggled to get it just right. Yoongi fussed over the last-minute details of the food, checking the ham and adjusting the plates of bread and cheese, while Jin and his father cleaned up as if their lives depended on it.

I murmured a quick prayer to Lilith for a blessing and a brief winter, knowing Auntie trusted me to handle this with precision. It was a small thing, but it mattered. As I finished the prayer, a loud knock echoed from the door, sending a ripple of excitement through the room.

The party was officially underway. I couldn’t help but notice Thelma’s absence—a small silver lining, to be honest. Her son was a handful, always running around and causing trouble, and I’d been dreading having to keep an eye on him. She’d decided on a quiet night at home, which secretly relieved me. I’d promised Auntie I’d bring her gifts and food tomorrow, though I wouldn’t be joining Yoongi—a small price to pay for a little peace tonight.

Plates of food clinked, glasses filled with wassail, and laughter echoed through the cottage. Wendy’s coven arrived with a smorgasbord of dishes—pies, roasted vegetables, cakes. They even brought their version of a Yule log—more cake than firewood, really. Wendy explained that their tradition involved sticking candles into a log and burning them, due to fire hazards. It was unconventional, but the cake was a hit nonetheless. The sweet scent of cinnamon and cloves filled the room, and I could see the other witches sneaking bites whenever they thought no one was watching.

“What time’s the bonfire?” a blonde girl asked, her hair bouncing with every word.

“After dinner and the gift exchange,” I replied, my eyes scanning the room for Auntie.

“Oh!” Her eyes brightened. “I’ve got something for you and Yoongi!”

“And Jin?” I raised an eyebrow, knowing how these things usually went.

She waved her hand dismissively. “I’m not fond of him.”

Not surprising. Jin’s complaints about Wendy’s “sour attitude” were well-known. I suspected there was more to it—some sort of love triangle, perhaps. Wendy seemed to like Yoongi, who didn’t reciprocate, and Jin had a soft spot for Wendy that he tried (and failed) to hide. I kept my theories to myself; Auntie had warned me against meddling, and I had to agree—getting involved would only make things awkward.

“I forgot,” I said, taking a hefty sip of wassail, the warm spice comforting as it went down.

“Do you think Yoongi will like it?” Wendy asked, her voice a little unsure, her eyes darting over to where Yoongi was fussing over the food.

“What’s the gift?” I asked, genuinely curious.

Wendy put down her fork, her expression suddenly serious. She’d mentioned recently that she was wearing a bra now, while I still wore kids' clothes. It made me feel small. Wendy was beautiful and popular—except with Jin—and sometimes it felt like I was just her shadow. Auntie always said that inner beauty was what mattered, but I knew better. People noticed looks, and Wendy had them. Yoongi’s indifference to her seemed foolish.

“It’s a new pot I bought. He likes cooking, right?”

“He’s a kitchen witch,” I said, nodding. “He’ll appreciate it—maybe not in the way you’re hoping, but he’ll appreciate it.”

That seemed to calm her, her shoulders relaxing slightly. Yoongi might have preferred something more personal, but he’d find practical use for the pot, especially during Yule. I glanced over at Jin—his scowl was hard to miss, his eyes fixed on Wendy. I rolled my eyes, deciding to ignore it for now.

I looked out the window. The sun had barely set, and it was time to get things started. I set down my plate and moved to gather the gifts. Auntie, ever perceptive, saw me and began rallying everyone for the exchange. Despite the cramped space, the festive spirit filled every corner of the room. We all hoped for a bright spring, and with the warmth surrounding us, I felt reassured.

The gift exchange was always my favorite part—everyone’s personalities shone through in the presents they gave. Yoongi gifted me apple butter—my favorite, not marmalade. Jin, true to form, gave me a sweater and then took it back, insisting we swap so he could keep the one he actually liked. I gave necklaces to my two best friends—pressed flowers for Jin, healing crystals for Yoongi. Wendy was thrilled with the anklet I’d made her, immediately tying it around her ankle and showing it off to her coven sisters.

Wendy’s gift for Yoongi went about as expected. He thanked her but wasn’t exactly over the moon. She’d given me a painting of a magindara—a type of mermaid, with flowing hair and shimmering scales. It was beautiful, vibrant, and easily my favorite gift of the night, even though the other gifts—bath products, altar supplies—were nice too. It felt like she’d seen something in me, something magical and different, and I loved it.

In no time, we were outside, preparing for the bonfire. The night was cold, but the fire roared, sending sparks flying into the sky.

Auntie had to excuse herself to shift, her form melting seamlessly into that of a large, white bird before she soared over to perch on Hoji’s shoulder. The transformation was mesmerizing, a reminder of her deep connection to both the human and spirit worlds. Auntie was as indispensable to me as Yoongi—her strength, her laughter, her love. She was the anchor that kept us all together.

We huddled by the bonfire, watching the flames lick upwards, wild and unruly. Jin stood close to his mom, just as he always did, his eyes following the dance of the flames with a distant look. Wendy, standing beside him, seemed intent on provoking him, her voice sharp as she teased him about something I couldn’t quite hear. Jin’s responses were just as biting, his irritation clear, though there was a playful edge to his words. They bickered like this every year, and I found comfort in the predictability of it.

A gentle tap on my knee made me turn, and I looked over at Yoongi. He sat beside me, his eyes soft with concern, his dark hair falling across his forehead in a way that made him look younger, more vulnerable.

“Are you going to be alright?” he asked, his voice barely audible over the crackle of the fire.

I nodded, though I knew why he was worried. My gifts were unique—they connected me to the forest and the spirit realm in ways that even Auntie couldn’t fully understand. I could talk to animals, I could scry, but my most significant gift was mediumship. Auntie had always said it was rare, that only one other witch she knew of had possessed it, and even then, their abilities had been far weaker than mine. I was the only one who could communicate with spirits before my full ascension. But it wasn’t without its challenges. Sometimes I lost control, blacking out and waking up deep in the forest, disoriented, with no memory of how I’d gotten there. That’s why Yoongi was worried—especially during the full moon, when the veil between worlds was thinner, and the spirits more restless.

“You sure?” he pressed, his eyes searching mine, his fingers tightening around my hand.

“I… don’t know,” I admitted, my gaze dropping to the flickering flames. The fire seemed to dance in time with my heartbeat, its movements erratic and wild. “It’s hard to say. I think I’m fine.”

“Let me know if you start feeling off,” he said, giving my hand a gentle squeeze, his warmth a comfort against the cold.

The conversation ended there as Taejin stood up, raising his mug high. It was time for his annual speech, and the crowd fell silent in anticipation. Taejin spoke with a deep, resonant voice, his words carrying over the crackling of the fire. He talked of tradition, of family, of the strength we found in one another. I cheered where expected, my voice joining in with the others, but my eyes remained fixed on the bonfire. The flames—they unsettled me. There was something about them, something that made my hands tremble, like they were a reminder of something I couldn’t quite place, something just out of reach.

“Y/N,” a voice whispered, carried on the wind, just for me.

I shook my head, closing my eyes for a moment, pleading silently for the spirits to leave me be. I just wanted to enjoy the fire, to enjoy this moment with my friends and family, without the weight of the spirit realm pressing down on me.

“Can this wait?” I thought back, my thoughts reaching out, hoping they’d understand.

The silence that followed felt like an answer, and I sighed in relief. I turned to Yoongi, giving him a small smile, hoping to reassure him. He laughed, though it was a nervous sound, and he didn’t let go of my hand. We sang songs, our voices blending with those around us, the warmth of the fire wrapping around us like a blanket.

“Hark!” we all cried. “Hear the children sing!”

Yoongi spun me around, his eyes twinkling, and I found myself in Jin’s arms. He laughed, lifting me off my feet for a moment before setting me back down. We jumped and sang with the others, our voices rising to the night sky, our laughter mingling with the music.

“He is here this Yuletide time! A-dancing in the home-fire flames!”

I looked up, smiling as Auntie flew in joyous circles above us, her wings catching the light of the fire, her clear voice soaring over the rest. We danced for what felt like hours, the laughter and singing echoing through the forest, the warmth of the fire wrapping around us. I imagined Patteo, my closest bird friend, watching from his perch high in the trees, waiting for the day we could soar through the night together, just like Auntie.

“Aye, Snatcher!” Cordelia’s voice rang out, her laughter bubbling over as she waved a large mug in the air, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

That nickname brought back memories of my mischievous past—stealing shiny stones from her garden, convinced they were enchanted. I’d earned myself a week-long punishment for that one, and she still hadn’t let me live it down. I grinned, the memory as vivid as if it had happened yesterday.

“Yes, Miss?” I called back, my smile widening as I made my way over to her.

“Could you make more wassail? We’re out,” she said, her tone half-serious, half-amused, her eyes twinkling.

Of course. That was why Yoongi disliked Yule—there was never enough wassail, and Cordelia and her coven always seemed to drink it all before anyone else had their fill. Beside her, Yoona rolled her eyes, clearly sharing in the frustration. No one really liked that part of the evening. Hoji offered to help, but Auntie’s wassail recipe was a closely guarded secret, and I was the only one who knew how to make it just right.

I headed to the kitchen, gathering apples and oranges, the scent of the fruit filling the air as I set to work. Auntie had already made a big batch of cider earlier, but I needed more apples to get the flavor just right. Wassail was like mulled cider, but Auntie’s version was special—it was richer, spicier, the kind of drink that warmed you from the inside out, that made you feel safe, even on the coldest nights.

As I worked, peeling the apples and slicing the oranges, a shiver ran up my spine. I paused, my knife hovering over the cutting board, my breath hitching. I was always attuned to spirits, always aware of their presence, and right now, I could feel them. They were close, closer than they’d been all night. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, to prepare for whatever awaited me.

“I’m sorry…” a gentle voice whispered, barely audible, as if carried on a distant breeze.

-I jolted upright, my vision swimming with colors that blurred and twisted together, making it impossible to make sense of where I was. The world around me seemed to disappear, replaced by a high-pitched ringing that filled my ears, a sound so loud it felt like it was going to split my head open. I tried to move, to ground myself, to push against the strange force pulling at my senses, but my limbs felt heavy and uncooperative, as if they weren’t my own. The ground beneath me was cold and unyielding, and I struggled to understand what was happening, my thoughts slipping away as quickly as they came.

The world seemed shrouded in haze, colors merging, shadows shifting. Shadowy figures appeared and then disappeared, slipping away before I could grasp them. I blinked, trying to clear my vision, trying to focus, but it was like I was underwater—everything distorted, everything far away. The acrid stench of smoke filled my nose, mingling with the metallic tang of blood. It clung to my senses, made it difficult to breathe, difficult to think. Pain throbbed behind my eyes, growing more intense by the second, a steady, relentless pounding that seemed to reverberate through my entire body. I cried out, my voice cracking, clutching my head as if I could push the pain away, curling in on myself as the world spun out of control.

“What’s going on?” I barely heard the voice, distant and muffled, as if coming from somewhere far beyond my reach. “What is it?”

“A girl, obviously,” came another voice, equally distorted, the tone skeptical, almost disbelieving. It sounded closer, but my mind couldn’t piece it together, couldn’t make sense of what they were saying.

The ringing slowly, painfully began to fade, replaced by the muffled sounds of the world around me—voices, footsteps, the crackling of something nearby. My head still pounded, the pain a fierce, constant presence, my hands pressing against my temples as if I could physically push it away. I could feel hands on me—small, insistent hands trying to help, tugging at my shoulders, my arms. My body ached, every nerve screaming for relief, but I didn’t have the strength to push them away, to do anything but whimper.

“Call mama,” urged the first voice, a girl’s voice, filled with worry, her words barely cutting through the haze.

“No way,” the second voice shot back, defiant and sharp. “She’d tell Chief Ahn, and he’s a real bastard to outsiders.”

“Then who do we call? She needs help,” the girl insisted, her voice wavering with fear, her desperation almost palpable.

I whimpered, the sound raw and broken, the pain swelling again, fear gnawing at me. Where was I? How had I ended up here? The confusion made everything worse, the fear of being lost beyond Bangtan’s boundaries, far away from Auntie. My heart pounded, my breaths coming in short, panicked gasps. I needed Auntie. I needed to find her, to feel her warmth and hear her reassuring voice. The uncertainty, the disorientation, the feeling of being untethered and lost—it gnawed at me, made me want to cry.

“Oh! We can get my big brother!” the girl said suddenly, her voice brightening with hope, as if she’d found the perfect solution.

“Namjoon would tell Chief Ahn, Nayeon,” the boy replied, his tone exasperated, as if they’d already had this argument a thousand times.

“Then what about your brother, oppa?” Nayeon’s voice was almost pleading now, her fear breaking through.

The boy sucked in a breath, and for a moment there was silence, heavy and uncertain. Then, he made a decision. “Hyung!” he called out, his voice filled with determination, his feet moving quickly, the ground crunching beneath him.

I heard the patter of small feet running away, the sound growing fainter and fainter with each passing second, until all that was left was the girl beside me, her breathing quick and shallow, her tiny hands still clinging to my arm. My eyes fluttered shut, my eyelids heavy and impossible to keep open, and I felt myself slipping, falling into a dark, uncertain place that seemed to stretch on forever.

“Don’t worry, miss,” Nayeon’s voice whispered, her tiny hand wrapping around my pinky finger, a lifeline in the dark. “Oppa’s getting help.”

I jolted awake, gasping as the cold of the forest floor gripped me like a vice, the chill seeping through my clothes and settling deep into my bones. The world around me was a chaotic blur of shadows and muffled sounds, the sharp, penetrating ring in my ears drowning out everything else. My head throbbed relentlessly, a deep, pounding ache that made it hard to think, to focus. I tried to push myself up, my fingers digging into the cold, damp earth, but my arms gave out beneath me, and I collapsed again, the rough ground scraping against my cheek. Fear and despair surged through me, tears spilling down my cheeks as I began to sob, my body trembling from both the cold and the overwhelming sense of helplessness.

I thought of Auntie—her warm, dimpled smile, the bright orange turtleneck she always wore to add a touch of festivity to her otherwise blue wardrobe. We’d even made matching tops this year, stitching on little embroidered stars along the sleeves. The thought of my once-pristine, pumpkin-colored shirt now smeared with dirt and grime made me cry harder. I imagined Auntie’s face if she saw me now, and the thought only made the tears come faster, my sobs echoing into the silent forest.

Something wet nudged my hand, the sensation cutting through my despair. I flinched, startled, my heart lurching as I tried to focus, my vision still blurry from tears and disorientation. Through the haze, I saw a massive silver wolf sitting before me, its fur shimmering faintly in the moonlight. Its eyes were dark and penetrating, too intelligent to belong to a mere animal. This was no ordinary wolf—it was unnaturally large, exuding an aura that spoke of something more, something powerful. I stared at it, my heart pounding, waiting for it to make a move, my breaths coming in short, panicked gasps. When it only looked at me with an unsettling calm, its eyes locked on mine, I shut my eyes again, my tears flowing freely as I wept.

I had to be in Foxglove Village’s territory. Auntie always talked about the wolves and their pack politics, about their power and the shifting alliances within the forest. But I had never paid much attention, always tuning out whenever the conversation turned to politics or territory disputes. The wolves had taken over after the foxes left, and now they were the strongest pack in the region. Auntie had said something about shifting and hierarchy, about alphas and betas, but it had all seemed so far removed from my life that I never bothered to learn more.

Another wet poke, this time with more urgency, as if the wolf was trying to get my attention. I opened my eyes again, the tears blurring my vision, and saw the wolf had laid its nose gently on my hand, its dark eyes watching me intently. I could feel its warmth against my cold skin, and I took in its features—the long, unruly fur, the sheer size of it, the way its ears twitched slightly at every sound in the forest. It was a wolf, unmistakably, but there was something more to it, something almost human in the way it looked at me. I instinctively flinched away, crying out weakly, my voice breaking into pitiful squawks that mingled with the wind. A gust of cold air followed, making me shiver uncontrollably, my teeth chattering.

The wolf pressed its body against mine, its fur warm and soft, offering shelter from the wind. I hesitated, then reached out, tentatively patting its head, my fingers brushing through the thick fur. The wolf didn’t move away; instead, it nestled closer, its warmth enveloping me, radiating a surprising comfort that made the fear ebb, if only slightly.

“Thank you,” I murmured, my voice trembling, barely more than a whisper. My throat felt raw, my words shaky, but the wolf seemed to understand. It nudged its nose against my head, a gentle gesture that made something in my chest loosen, the tight knot of fear unraveling just a bit.

“My name’s—” I hesitated, my voice catching. “I’m Bridd.”

It felt strange to use the name, like an ill-fitting coat that didn’t quite belong to me yet. Auntie Aldara was the true Birdie, the one with the power and the knowledge, and I was still just an apprentice, waiting for my turn, for the day I would grow into the name. The animals in the forest knew me by name, but the shift hadn’t happened yet. I wasn’t truly Bridd, not the way Auntie was. Still, I had to be careful; nothing in this forest stayed secret for long.

The wolf nodded, a small movement that made my breath catch. It understood me, truly understood me in a way that went beyond mere animal instinct.

“Can you turn into a person?” I asked, my voice hopeful, though I wasn’t sure what I expected.

The wolf shook its head, a slow, deliberate movement.“Please?” I pleaded, my voice cracking. “I really want to go home.”

The wolf simply settled back down, its gaze unwavering, ignoring my plea. Frustration bubbled up inside me, hot and sharp, mixing with the lingering fear. It was one thing to be rescued, but another entirely to be left here, in the middle of the forest, with no way to get home. Wolves and their ilk were notoriously uncommunicative, and this one seemed no different.

“Fine!” I snapped, pushing myself up despite the pain that lanced through my body. My muscles protested, my head spinning, but I was determined. “I’ll find my own way back!”

The wolf rose to its feet, watching me with those dark, intelligent eyes, its steps perfectly matching mine as I stumbled forward. My irritation grew with each step, my pace quickening in an attempt to outpace it, to prove that I could do this on my own. But the wolf kept up effortlessly, its presence a constant reminder of my own weakness. It nudged its nose against my shoulder, a gentle push that almost made me lose my balance. I shrugged it off, determined to stay mad, to cling to the anger that kept the fear at bay.

Suddenly, the wolf stopped, its ears perking up, its body tensing. I looked around, my eyes scanning the dark forest, but there was nothing—no movement, no sound, just the rustling of leaves in the cold breeze. A shiver ran down my spine, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. I called out for the wolf, my voice trembling, a note of fear creeping back in.

“Wolf! Wolf!”

The wind howled in response, a low, mournful sound that seemed to echo through the trees. My eyes caught sight of something on the ground—a ring of mushrooms, small and pale, forming a perfect circle. My heart sank as I recognized it—a fairy circle. I took a cautious step back, my eyes wide, my breath catching in my throat.

“Wolf,” I whispered, my voice barely audible, “We need to be careful. We’re close to fae territory.”

“Yeah, I know,” a voice replied, calm and clear.

I spun around, nearly tripping over my own feet in my haste, my heart leaping into my throat. A boy about my age stood there, his eyes glowing with a strange, predatory gleam. He was tall and impeccably groomed, his silver hair catching the moonlight, his posture relaxed, almost casual. As I looked at him, recognition dawned, and a wave of relief washed over me, my heart slowing its frantic pace.

“Wolf!” I exclaimed, rushing toward him, tears of relief streaming down my face, my vision blurring once more.

The boy did not embrace me in return. Instead, he placed his hands on my shoulders, holding me at arm’s length, his expression unreadable.

“That’s not my name,” he grunted, his voice low, pushing me away gently but firmly.

“Then what is it?” I asked, confusion mingling with my relief, my brow furrowing.

“Park Jimin,” he said simply, his gaze steady, the predatory gleam in his eyes softening.

I wracked my brain, trying to place the name. Auntie had spoken of the pack, had mentioned their names and ranks, but I’d tuned out most of the details, too caught up in my own world. Standing here now, face-to-face with one of them, I felt a pang of ignorance, a sense of regret for not paying closer attention. I resolved to learn more once I was safely home.

“Is that important?” I asked, my voice hesitant, hoping he wouldn’t be offended by my lack of knowledge.

“Not really,” he smirked, the corner of his lips quirking up. “So, what are you doing out here?”

“Oh!” I blinked, the events of the night rushing back to me in a disjointed blur. The smell of wassail, the chill of the forest, the voices of the children. I had been possessed, taken over by something beyond my control, but the details were blurry, fragmented. The memory of the children’s voices came back to me, and a deep fear gripped my heart, a sense of dread that made my skin prickle. Something terrible was coming, I could feel it, but I couldn’t grasp what it was. My vision was clouded by red eyes and a trembling lip.

“No,” Jimin said, his voice urgent as he stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. “Please don’t cry again.”

“I want to go home,” I wailed, the words escaping before I could stop them, my voice breaking, my body trembling with the force of my fear. I wanted Auntie, wanted her warmth, her reassurance. I wanted to be anywhere but here, in this strange, dark forest with the memory of those red eyes haunting me.

Jimin remained silent, his gaze steady as he watched me cry. He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to comfort me, and somehow, that made it easier. The memory of the red eyes loomed over me, a shadow that wouldn’t leave, and all I wanted was to be with Auntie again. I needed her more than ever.

“You’re the Bridd, right?” Jimin asked suddenly, his voice breaking through the fog of my thoughts.

I looked at him, puzzled, my tears slowing. His question was so blunt, so unexpected, that it felt like a slap. I shook my head, the movement slow, confused.

“No.”

“But you said you were,” he said, his brow furrowing, his confusion evident.

“Well, that’s my name—almost, anyway.” I sniffled, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, my fingers still trembling.

“What?” he asked, his confusion deepening, his eyes narrowing slightly.

I laughed, the sound shaky, almost hysterical, finding the situation absurdly humorous. I knew we weren’t supposed to talk about true names or their significance, but his confusion was oddly endearing, a reminder that not everything had to be so serious. I wiped my tears again, the laughter fading into a small, tired smile.

“It’s complicated,” I said, my voice softening. “Let’s just say I’m next in line.”

Jimin nodded, though he still seemed puzzled, his brow furrowed in thought. My fear began to wane, replaced by determination that settled like a steady flame within me. I knew these woods better than anyone. I had grown up here, exploring every nook and cranny, climbing trees until Auntie called me back, and following the paths that wound through the heart of the forest. If I could figure out where we were, I was confident I could get us home.

As we walked, I sniffed the air, trying to catch a scent that might hint at our location. The forest was unnervingly quiet—the usual rustle of creatures in the underbrush and the songs of birds were absent, as though the entire forest was holding its breath. I knew we were far from the swamps, the earthy scent of wet soil and stagnant water noticeably missing. Nor did I hear the distant crashing of waves against the shore. My best guess was that we were on the west side of the forest, near Foxglove Village. The path from here would be long, full of twists and turns, but not impossible to navigate.

“We’re west, if you were wondering,” Jimin said suddenly, his voice cutting through my thoughts.

I looked at him, surprised. “How can you tell?”

Jimin shrugged, his gaze sweeping across the shadowy woods. “The wind smells different here—drier. Plus, the moss on the trees grows thicker on the north side. My father made me memorize all these things when I was younger. I guess some of it stuck.”

That was useful information. If we were west, then we were closest to Morla’s cave, somewhere near the Pixie Coves. The Pixies were notoriously tricky, and I wasn’t in the mood to deal with their games tonight, not with Jimin here. Bringing a wolf into pixie territory felt like inviting trouble, and I wasn’t about to take that risk.

I mulled over our options, thinking through every possible route. East was out of the question—too many fae and fairies, their territories a labyrinth of traps and mischief. South would take us too far, away from any familiar landmarks. North seemed like the only viable route, though it meant battling through thick underbrush and facing whatever dangers lurked in the darkness. Jimin’s presence might complicate things, but I couldn’t let him down.

“You’re thinking very hard about this,” Jimin observed, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Yes,” I admitted, glancing up at him. “I know these woods well, and I don’t want either of us getting hurt.”

“We could go further west and around,” he suggested, his eyes following the line of trees that stretched into the distance.

“Ha!” I let out a dry laugh. “The pixies wouldn’t let you leave if you stepped foot in their territory. They’d have a field day with a wolf.”

Jimin hummed thoughtfully, nodding. “And east?”

I shook my head, explaining the dangers, the fae courts that lay in that direction, their penchant for trickery. Though Jimin didn’t seem entirely convinced, he followed without further argument. I didn’t need to prove myself to him, but I could tell he trusted me, and that trust made my heart swell. He seemed important, more than just another wolf in the pack. There was something about him, something that made me feel protective of him. As we moved forward, I sent a silent prayer for his safety and well-being, hoping Lilith would watch over us both.

As we pressed on, the forest seemed to grow thicker, the branches reaching out like skeletal fingers, the underbrush dense and tangled. Thorns and brambles tore at our clothes, scratching at our skin, leaving thin red lines in their wake. I winced with each step, muttering curses under my breath, my fingers brushing against the fresh scratches that stung in the cold air. The forest seemed determined to test us, to make each step harder than the last.

Magic was the only thing that could ease the pain, and so I began to hum softly, the melody familiar and comforting. A small, lively flame appeared, dancing on my palm, its warmth immediate, spreading through my fingertips, up my arm, and into my chest. It lifted my spirits, a bright contrast to the darkness that surrounded us, a reminder of the power I carried within me.

“Whoa,” Jimin whispered, his eyes widening as he watched the flame flicker and dance, his expression one of awe.

I grinned, holding my palm up, letting the light illuminate our surroundings. Magic was said to reflect the nature of its user, and mine had always been lively, playful, like a child eager to show off. Auntie’s magic was different—more controlled, more deliberate, each spell woven with care and precision. My flame was wild, untamed, flickering in and out of existence as if it had a mind of its own.

The light revealed a small clearing up ahead, and I led Jimin through it, the flame lighting our way. We emerged on the other side, where the forest seemed to come alive again, the rustling of leaves, the distant hoot of an owl, the wind whispering through the trees. I chuckled to myself, imagining Jimin’s presence scaring off every animal in the area, his scent too foreign, too dangerous for them.

“Jimin,” I said as we trudged on, the ground uneven beneath our feet, “do you ever feel lonely in the forest?”

He shook his head, his gaze distant. “No. Why?”

“I just thought…” I glanced ahead, the trees growing thicker, their branches intertwining. “It must be sad to have the forest run away from you.”

Jimin was silent for a while, his steps slowing as he seemed to mull over my words. The thickets were dense, unforgiving, the branches catching on our clothes, the underbrush making each step a struggle. But we kept pushing forward, our breaths misting in the cold air. I admired his determination, the way he moved with purpose, even when the path was unclear. He was brave, braver than I’d given him credit for. I sent another silent prayer to Lilith, asking her to watch over him, to protect him.

“Bridd,” Jimin called, his voice breaking the silence.

I turned to look at him, my smile soft. “Jimin. What’s on your mind?”

He hesitated, his cheeks flushing slightly, then asked, “What kind of bird are you?”

I laughed, the sound echoing through the trees, light and carefree. It was such a simple question, but the way he asked it, the way he looked at me, made it endearing.

“I’m not really sure,” I admitted, my laughter fading into a smile. “Maybe a raven or a sparrow. Something small, but quick.”

Jimin smiled, a small curve of his lips, his eyes softening. “Then we have a lot in common.”

A flicker of warmth bloomed in my chest, spreading through me, and for the first time that night, I felt a little less cold, a little less alone.

As the night deepened, the forest seemed to close in around us, the darkness thick and impenetrable, the only light coming from the moon above, its pale glow filtering through the branches. We trudged through the underbrush, our steps muffled by the fallen leaves, the silence of the forest broken only by the occasional snap of a twig beneath our feet. The forest was both a haven and a maze, offering challenges and comfort in equal measure. It tested us, pushed us to our limits, but it also sheltered us, wrapped us in its embrace. The journey was far from over, but with Jimin by my side, I felt a glimmer of hope, a sense that maybe, just maybe, we’d make it through this night.

I closed my hand, snuffing out the flame that had danced across my fingertips, the warmth fading as the light disappeared. My fingers ached, the strain of holding the flame for so long finally catching up to me. The flame had been a small joy, flickering on my skin like it was performing just for me, but now it was time to let it rest. “We don’t shift until the old Birdie passes on,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant, though the thought of the shift, of what it meant, made my chest tighten.

“Interesting,” Jimin said, nodding thoughtfully. “Wolves always shift, but our wolves don’t really reveal themselves until the ceremony.”

I nodded, though I wasn’t entirely sure what he meant. The idea of my bird being a separate part of me—connected yet distinct—was still something I was figuring out. I assumed Jimin was talking about his own transformation—what kind of wolf he’d become. Looking at him now, it was hard to believe he wasn’t destined for something important. He had that quiet, confident air about him, like someone who was born to lead, even if he didn’t see it himself. Anyone who thought otherwise was clearly not paying attention.

“Do you have any idea what kind of wolf you’ll be?” I asked, genuinely curious, my eyes meeting his.

Auntie had always spoken highly of the wolves and their families. I knew the Jung family and the East Kims—they supplied goods for the pack and were always courteous, always respectful. Auntie seemed to hold them in high regard, and I trusted her judgment. Besides Jimin, this was my first real interaction with a wolf. He was a majestic silver creature, even in human form, and I could only imagine the weight of his pack’s expectations.

“Probably a beta,” Jimin said, his voice laced with uncertainty, his gaze dropping to the ground. “My family’s never had an alpha or a male omega. I don’t think that’s going to change with me.

I bit my lip, sensing that he was probably right—at least, that’s what everyone else likely believed. But there was something about Jimin, something that made me think he was more than just a beta. He had this quiet strength, this resilience that seemed to radiate from him, something vital and powerful that I couldn’t quite put into words. I had a feeling he was destined for greatness, even if he didn’t see it yet. Feeling protective of my new friend, I sent a silent prayer to Lilith, asking her to watch over him, to show the world his true courage, to let him shine in the way I knew he could.

Somehow. I felt very strange, but I was positive I knew more about this boy than he did.

Maybe frostbite was eating my brain.

“Looks like we’re getting close,” I said, my eyes catching the familiar symbols etched into the bark of the tall pines. The sigils were simple but distinct—swirls and lines that marked the boundary of Seokjin’s territory, symbols that had been carved by generations of witches to protect and guide. Relief washed over me, knowing that we were finally nearing the safety of familiar ground.

The trees here grew closer together, their branches intertwining overhead, casting long shadows across the forest floor. The underbrush was thick, and the scent of pine hung heavy in the air. Despite the chill of the night, there was something comforting about the familiar path, the way the symbols seemed to glow faintly in the moonlight, guiding us home. I could almost hear the distant sound of laughter and singing, the echoes of the Yule celebration drifting through the trees.

“We’re in Seokjin’s territory now,” I added, glancing at Jimin, who was walking beside me. The walk from here would take no more than fifteen minutes, maybe less if we hurried. I stole a glance at him, noting the way his eyes scanned the trees, his shoulders tense as if expecting danger to jump out from the shadows. He was already watching me, his gaze sharp and attentive. I offered him a gentle smile, hoping to ease some of his worry.

“Bridd,” he said, my name escaping his lips in a hesitant whisper.

I stopped, turning to face him fully, the soft crunch of leaves underfoot breaking the silence. “What is it?” I asked, my brow furrowing in concern.

Jimin looked down, his hands clenching at his sides. He hesitated, as if searching for the right words. Finally, he let out a shaky breath, his eyes meeting mine. “I don’t think I can go any further,” he admitted, his voice barely audible.

I tilted my head, puzzled. “Why not?” I asked, my heart sinking at the uncertainty in his voice. We were so close, and I didn’t understand why he would want to stop now.

“Chief Ahn said—” Jimin began, his voice trailing off. He stumbled over his words, his gaze shifting to the ground, as if he couldn’t bear to look at me. He started again, explaining the rules that his Chief had imposed on them, rules that were meant to keep the wolves away from witches, to maintain a distance between their kind and mine. The way he spoke, the sincerity in his voice, made it clear that he genuinely believed he wasn’t allowed to approach witches, that he was crossing some invisible line by being here with me.

Frustration bubbled up inside me, hot and sharp. Chief Ahn’s control issues were starting to get on my nerves. The wolves had their own ways, their own customs, and I respected that, but this—this was different. This was about control, about keeping people apart, about drawing lines where none needed to be drawn.

“Chief Ahn doesn’t rule these woods,” I snapped, my voice sharper than I intended. I planted my hands on my hips, my gaze unwavering as I stared at Jimin. “These woods belong to the witches, to the spirits, and to anyone who respects them. Now come on, let’s make sure Auntie hasn’t had a heart attack worrying about me.”

Jimin blinked, taken aback by my sudden outburst. For a moment, he looked like he was about to argue, but then something shifted in his expression. A flicker of amusement crossed his eyes, and the corners of his lips twitched upwards in a faint smile. He let out a sigh, nodding slowly. “Alright,” he said, his voice laced with a hint of resignation. “Lead the way.”

He made no further objections, falling into step beside me once more. I knew Auntie would give me an earful later, that she’d scold me for bringing a wolf into our territory, for breaking the unspoken rules that kept the peace. But that was a trade-off I was willing to make. I liked Jimin—his quiet strength, his kindness, the way he looked at the world with a mix of curiosity and caution. I liked his company, and I wanted us to finish this journey together. I wanted him to see our Yule log, to watch the firelight dance in his eyes, to hear the songs and feel the warmth of the celebration. I wanted him to dance around the fire with me, to share in the joy that Yule brought, even if just for a little while.

The path grew narrower, the underbrush thicker, but I pushed on, my steps confident, my heart set on getting us home. The trees seemed to open up before us, the air growing warmer, the scent of smoke and pine filling my senses. I could see the faint glow of firelight in the distance, the flicker of flames through the gaps in the trees, and the sound of laughter reached my ears, growing louder with each step. We were almost there—almost home.

We reached the clearing sooner than I had expected, the familiar sight of Auntie’s house coming into view. The party was still in full swing, laughter and chatter filling the crisp winter air, echoing across the field. The bonfire blazed at the center of the clearing, flames dancing high into the sky, sparks bursting and floating upwards like tiny stars. The warmth of the fire contrasted with the chill of the night, and I could hear the distant sound of music, the strum of a lute, and the rhythmic tapping of feet.

I scanned the clearing, but there was no sign of Yoongi, Seokjin, or Wendy. Instead, I spotted three familiar figures frolicking in the field behind the house, their movements carefree and light. A pang of surprise rippled through me—no one had noticed my absence, no one had paused to wonder where I’d gone. The moon hung high overhead, glowing silver against the deep indigo of the sky. Hours had passed since I’d wandered off, and yet the festivities carried on, uninterrupted, as if nothing had happened.

“Only Aldara,” the wind whispered, the words barely audible above the rustling leaves.

Either Auntie had covered for me, or the spirits had somehow altered everyone’s memories. I hoped Auntie hadn’t worried too much, that Lilith had reassured her of my safety. I took a deep breath, trying to calm the flutter of nerves in my chest. Regardless of what had happened, I needed to get back to her. I needed her to see that I was safe, that I was alright.

Jimin, who had been walking beside me in silence, glanced at the clearing, his gaze settling on the dancing figures. He watched them for a moment, his expression unreadable, before turning back to me. “That looks like fun,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

I shifted uncomfortably, my gaze dropping to the ground. “Yeah, it is,” I replied, my voice quieter than I’d intended. “I love Yuletide. It’s always been my favorite time of year.”

Jimin nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “We celebrate it at our house too,” he said, his tone warm. “We burn our yule log in the fireplace. It’s not as grand as this, but it’s nice.”

I laughed softly, a genuine smile spreading across my face. “That sounds lovely,” I said. “I thought your people celebrated Christmas.”

Jimin scoffed, shaking his head. “No,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement. “A few of the humans do, but they don’t speak for us. We have our own traditions, our own way of celebrating the season.”

I nodded, a sense of understanding settling over me. There was so much I didn’t know about the wolves, about their customs and beliefs. But in that moment, I felt a connection—a shared appreciation for the magic of Yuletide, for the warmth and joy it brought.

We stood in silence, watching the fire blaze, the flames casting flickering shadows across the snow-dusted ground. The warmth of the fire reached us even from this distance, and I could feel the heat against my skin, a comforting presence in the cold night. Jimin would need to leave soon, to make it back to his territory before dawn. I hoped he wouldn’t encounter any trouble on his way home, that the spirits would watch over him, guide him safely through the woods.

“Tell those two kids who found me that I’m grateful,” I said, breaking the silence, my eyes still fixed on the fire.

Jimin nodded, his expression softening. “I will,” he promised, his voice gentle.

Auntie’s voice called my name, her tone urgent, and I turned, my heart skipping a beat. The large white owl was perched on a low branch, her eyes gleaming with concern, her feathers glowing in the moonlight. Relief flooded through me, and without thinking, I rushed over to her, wrapping my arms around her in a warm embrace. The familiarity of her presence, the scent of pine and herbs that clung to her feathers, overwhelmed me, and I didn’t realize I was crying until I felt the tears on my cheeks, hot against the cold night air.

Auntie nuzzled against me, her wings brushing my shoulders. “You’re safe,” she murmured, her voice soft, filled with relief. “I was so worried, little raven.”

“I’m okay,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “I’m alright, Auntie.”

Auntie pulled back slightly, her gaze shifting to Jimin, who stood a few paces away, watching us with a mix of curiosity and uncertainty. She perched on my outstretched arm, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Let him know I appreciate him,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. “I’m so glad you’re safe, and I owe him for that.”

I turned to Jimin, relaying Auntie’s message. He bowed deeply, his movements slow and deliberate—a gesture of respect from a wolf. Auntie returned the bow, her expression softening, the tension in her posture easing. Jimin rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks flushing slightly, and I felt a pang of sadness. I wished he could stay, wished he could be a part of the celebration, even if just for a little while.

“He needs to get home, Rae,” Auntie said gently, her eyes meeting mine.

I nodded, feeling a sense of finality settle over me. Auntie nuzzled me one last time before spreading her wings and soaring back towards the fire, her silhouette disappearing into the night. I heard Heji’s joyful exclamation as Auntie landed, her laughter ringing out, and I couldn’t help but smile. Yuletide was always magical, always filled with warmth and light, and a part of me wished it could last forever. Though Auntie would eventually become a forest spirit, I cherished every moment of the four years we still had left together. Each Yule, each celebration, felt more precious than the last.

I turned back to Jimin, my heart heavy. “Thank you for helping me,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Jimin smiled, a sheepish expression crossing his face. “Anytime, Birdie,” he replied.

I chuckled softly, a hint of sadness in my voice. I wished I could share my real name with him, wished I could let him in on that secret part of myself. But instead, I shook my head, letting the moment pass. The flame that had been dancing on my fingers flickered and died, the warmth fading as the light disappeared. It was time to repay his kindness, to ensure he made it home safely.

Rolling up my sleeves, I took a deep breath, focusing my energy. “This might feel a bit strange,” I warned him, my voice steady, “but it’ll get you home in no time.”

Jimin’s eyes widened, a mix of excitement and apprehension flashing across his face. “Are you using magic again?” he asked, his voice filled with wonder.

I nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. “Stand still,” I instructed, my fingers already beginning to trace the symbols in the air, the familiar hum of magic thrumming beneath my skin.

I began to sing the incantation, my voice weaving through the night air, the melody soft and lilting. I pictured the forest floor where I’d been lying earlier—the trees towering above, the damp grass beneath me, the chill of the wind, the direction of the fairy circle. I wove these elements into a perfect mental image, my fingers moving in a fluid motion, drawing a door in the air before me. The door shimmered, the edges glowing faintly, and with a gentle push, I opened it, the magic humming in response.

Jimin’s jaw dropped, his eyes wide with awe as he stared at the shimmering doorway. It was clear he had never seen magic like this before, never witnessed the true power of a witch. I gestured for him to step through, giving him an encouraging nod.

Jimin took a deep breath, his brown eyes meeting mine one last time. “Happy Yuletide,” he said, his voice filled with warmth.

“Happy Yuletide,” I replied, my heart swelling with emotion.

With that, Jimin stepped through the door, his figure disappearing into the glow. The door vanished, the light fading, leaving only the dark forest and the distant sound of laughter.

The clearing around me was alive with noise and energy. Taejin was singing loudly with Yoona, their voices blending together in a spirited harmony, while Heji laughed at Auntie’s antics, her owl form perched on Yoona’s shoulder, hooting and flapping her wings dramatically. Wendy and Seokjin were bickering, as always, their voices rising above the rest, filled with equal parts annoyance and amusement. The bonfire crackled in the center of the clearing, its flames reaching toward the sky, and the scent of pine and roasted meat filled the air, wrapping me in warmth and comfort. I couldn’t help but smile, feeling a sense of contentment wash over me. This was home—my family, my friends, and the magic of Yule all around us.

I stepped out from the treeline, the crunch of snow underfoot, and made my way toward the heart of the celebration. The firelight flickered, casting golden shadows across the clearing, and the laughter of my loved ones filled my ears, wrapping around me like a blanket. The clearing was busy, everyone caught up in the joy of the moment, and I felt myself relax, the tension I’d carried with me since the forest finally melting away.

Suddenly, Jin dashed past me, laughing loudly, his eyes sparkling with mischief. Right behind him was Wendy, her face flushed with frustration, her hair flying wildly as she sprinted after him. “Jin! You get back here!” she shouted, her voice carrying over the noise of the party. She saw me, her eyes lighting up as she skidded to a halt, raising her arms in a dramatic gesture of victory. “Birdie!” she called, pointing at Jin. “Tell this brainless nitwit to give me back my sandals!”

Jin turned, still running, a grin plastered across his face. “Finder’s keepers!” he shouted back, his voice teasing. “You know the rules, Wen.”

Wendy growled, her eyes narrowing. “I’ll show you ‘the rules’!” she said, charging after him again, her feet pounding against the frozen ground. Jin dodged her effortlessly, his laughter ringing out as he took off like a rocket, his long legs carrying him across the clearing in a matter of seconds.

“Jin, you’re such a brat!” Wendy screamed, shaking her fist at him. “Give them back, or I’ll call Krampus on you!”

“Ha!” Jin called over his shoulder, his voice full of mock fear. “You’ll have to catch me first! Besides, I’ll send the Yule Cat after you!”

I couldn’t help but laugh at their antics, the joy of the moment washing over me like a wave.

“Are you alright?” a familiar voice asked, soft and steady. I turned, and there was Yoongi, standing beside me, his eyes watching me closely. His face was expressionless, but I could see the concern in his gaze, the way his brow furrowed slightly as he took me in.

I let out a breath, feeling a wave of relief at his presence. “I’m okay,” I said, giving him a small smile. “Just a little confused. Did anyone notice I was gone?”

He nodded, his gaze flicking toward Auntie, who was now perched on Heji’s shoulder, her eyes never leaving me. “Aldara told them you were visiting the animals,” he said, his voice low. “But I didn’t buy it for a second.”

“Definitely wasn’t Patto,” I said, shaking my head, my lips curving up in a smile.

Yoongi hummed thoughtfully, his eyes flicking back to the clearing. “What team are you on?” he asked, his voice teasing, his eyes glinting with mischief.

I grinned, feeling a rush of warmth in my chest. “I’ll be team Wendy,” I said, my eyes searching for Jin, who was still dodging Wendy’s attempts to catch him. “She could use the help.”

Yoongi chuckled, his eyes softening as he watched me. The sound of his laughter, low and melodic, seemed to chase away the last of my fears, the memory of the red eyes fading into the background. I reached up, patting Yoongi on the head in a playful gesture before spinning on my heel and sprinting off after Seokjin, the cold wind biting at my cheeks. Yoongi let out a loud yell, and before I could react, he tackled me to the ground, both of us collapsing in a heap of laughter.

“Get off!” I shouted, shoving at him, but he only grinned, his midnight-black hair falling into his eyes. I managed to wriggle free, spitting out a mouthful of his hair as I stumbled to my feet.

“Wendy!” I called, cupping my hands around my mouth. “I’m on your team! Yoongi’s a traitor!”

Wendy’s head snapped up, her eyes widening in surprise before a grin spread across her face. “That scurvy dog!” she shouted, pointing at Yoongi, who had just managed to stand up, brushing snow from his clothes. Wendy tried to catch up to Jin, but as usual, she was outmatched by his athleticism, her short legs no match for his long strides.

“Enough with the pirate talk, Ningyo!” Jin called back, his voice teasing as he dodged around the bonfire, his eyes twinkling with laughter.

“You can’t even spell that!” Wendy shot back, her voice breathless but determined, her eyes locked on her target.

I laughed, the cold wind tousling my hair, the scent of pine filling my senses. Everything felt right, even with the lingering dread of those red eyes at the back of my mind. I tilted my face to the sky, the first snowflakes of the season beginning to fall, drifting down from the heavens like tiny blessings. I closed my eyes, a prayer forming on my lips—a prayer for Lilith to hear, to watch over Jimin and guide him home safely.

“Happy Solstice, Jimin,” I whispered into the night, my words carried away on the wind.

Wendy’s shout cut through the air, snapping me back to the moment. “B! Get him!” she yelled, her voice filled with determination.

I grinned, setting my sights on Jin, who was weaving through the crowd, his laughter echoing in the night. I managed to catch up to him, lunging forward and tackling him to the ground. We both fell, collapsing into a heap of laughter, our breaths coming out in visible puffs of air.

Wendy ran up to us, her face flushed with triumph as she snatched her sandals from Jin’s grasp, giving him a few well-placed swats for good measure. She flopped down beside him, her laughter joining ours, her eyes shining with joy.

Yoongi settled in next to me, his expression soft as he watched us. I leaned back, resting my head against his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his presence, the steady rise and fall of his breath. We all sat there, our laughter mingling with the crackle of the bonfire, the snow falling softly around us, blanketing the clearing in a gentle glow.

The New Year was just eleven days away, and I felt at peace. The darkness of the forest, the red eyes that had haunted me—they were still there, lingering at the edges of my mind. But in that moment, surrounded by my friends, the warmth of the fire, the laughter and joy of Yuletide—I felt safe. I felt like everything was going to be alright.

Taglist: @greezenini @jimin-neverout@adventures-in-bookland @canarystwin

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foxymoxynoona · 2 years ago

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DRABBLES

I want many but I'll throw some out there for you to choose

Amended JK with his newborn baby, getting to experience being a baby dad for the first time.

Penguin!Koo and Rana...possibly having a bub? 🥺 I just know Jungkook would be a fretful mess and Rana cool as beans (though imagine the role reversal)

And new potential drabbles -

Spaceship captain reader x alien Hoseok + soulmates = 'I question fates decision sometimes, you know?'

Fae Lord Jimin x human reader = 'you will not touch her'

God of death Taehyung x Goddess of memories reader = 'because death is eternal'

Ok, I'm going to wind up writing a few of these but I'll keep linking back to this post so you get credit for your ideas 😉 But the first one is ready!

TITLE: Regretful Eternal & Yours Characters: God of Death Taehyung x Goddess of Memories Reader + 'becaues death is eternal' Word count: 4990 CW: general discussions of death, afterlife, sad regrets, memories of sex, some language

“Taehyung!”

The God of death closed his eyes and let out a deep, weary sigh as his name echoed in that voice down the corridor. He hazarded a glance at his collection of KAWS stuffies lined up on the back shelf of his office. He’d been told the familiar cartoon characters with Xs for eyes were “macabre,” “weird,” and “juvenile.” Maybe the last god of death relished being a soulless dark villain but Taehyung liked having some personality, thanks. He’d been doing this for hundreds of years now since the last guy vacated. He wanted his office space to reflect that he still had some of his personality left; go ahead, crucify him for it. The stuffies were not going to help him with the obvious storm headed his way.

“Taehyung,” that voice snapped once again, now standing annoyingly in his doorway. Hard to believe he’d once orgasmed to the sound of that voice saying his name, though decidedly less sharp and more moany than the way you said it now.

“Yes, my darling?” he drawled, turning slowly to face you.

“Fuck off with ‘darling,’ I’m not your scribe dropping pens in front of you for attention,” you scoffed, rolling right into, “Four. Four souls were signed off by you in the past mortal hour as headed for the rebirth loop without my approval. You can’t just forget my signature–”

“It’s a very easy signature to forge,” he snickered, recalling the way he used to sign your name. With his tongue. On a very intimate part of your body.

Not that he wanted to remember that or anything, but it was better than remembering anything else.

Rage left you stuttering incoherently for a moment –he could remember other times he made you do that, if he cared to– before you shouted, “Well it’s not your job! And if you don’t cut that shit out–”

“You’ll what? Go above my head?” He grinned. “I’m the god of death, darling, there is no above me.” You’d once told him how classy and romantic it was for him to call you that.

He still knew precisely how to push your buttons. His ego about his title, slightly higher than yours as the Goddess of Memories, had always been a splinter in both your professional and private relationship. Blind fury welled up inside you that he’d resort to such a taunt, but you channeled that into the one place you could get him: bureaucracy.

Because it actually was a problem if he was sending anyone for rebirth for whom memories still lingered in the world. It was your job to make sure that didn’t happen. One baby born who looked oddly like someone else could be chalked up to “strong genes” or “uncanny coincidence” but if it happened too much, you wound up with people asking too many questions, and then the system could break down completely, there’d be mass panic, the Fates would fire you all and your own immortal souls would be disintegrated into nothing. The world could only handle so many accidents, really only one major and obvious reborn soul, and that spot belonged to Keanu Reeves –all because Taehyung had lost a bet to Charlemagne centuries ago, the idiot.

No, you would not specify which one was the idiot.

Ok, fine, it was both.

“Don’t make me go to the Fates,” you countered, because while they might be sideways in heirarchy, they were in fact the only ones who could pluck the strings to fix the mistake that was either Taehyung’s existence or promotion.

Taehyung rolled his eyes but lacked a witty comeback.

It left you space to notice the tablet propped on his desk with the signature screen open.

“Oh my Titans are you fucking doing it right now?!” you cried, diving forward at the same moment he did. He grabbed for the tablet but he’d pushed back too far in his chair when he wanted you to notice his manspreading and hopefully trigger a memory of his dick (it did not) and his fingers barely brushed the device as you pulled it away. Sure enough, a quick scroll higher showed it was the sign-off for another rebirth, one neither reviewed nor approved by you. “These have to go through my department! You can’t just rebirth everyone! What the fuck is your problem?”

He knew his eyeroll would infuriate you as he insisted, “I was just about to forward this one over to you.”

“Like fuck you were.” You ignored his insistence and opened the file up onto his wall screen. You crossed your arms and watched the life moments play before you, realizing quickly that these were the highlights and lowlights of an old man’s life as marked by Taehyung’s team as “life defining.”

“You nitwit,” you scoffed, “You’re looking at the highlights and lowlights to determine eligibility?”

“Don’t doubt the skills of my team–”

“I’m sure they’re great at your job, but they can’t do mine. Get out of the chair.”

“No. You can sit,” he said, leaning back and motioning to his lap.

“It’s been two hundred years, give it up already.”

His face slid into a scowl, “Give what up? My chair? Not on your life.”

“I don’t have a life. All I do is work,” you scoffed, quickly masking the personal complaint with the addition, “Because somebody’s been fucking it up and making more work for me.” You waited. You gestured for the chair.

With a sigh, he slapped a button on his desk and demanded another chair, “make sure it’s smaller than mine.” A moment later his assistant sprinted in, pushing it along. They settled it by Taehyung, bowed, and then fled.

“What happened to Tiff?” you asked, referring to Taehyung’s previous assistant who’d definitely been trying to seduce him and, you suspected, probably succeeded.

“Fired her. Used too much teeth,” he shrugged. You didn’t even get a word shouted before he snickered, “I’m kidding. I don’t fuck subordinates. She quit. Said it was too depressing down here.”

“Oh.”

Yeah, that seemed to happen a lot. You worked in two of the most depressing departments of the entire Underworld, after all. Staff turnover was high. That was a thing Taehyung had enjoyed about your relationship, that you got it, both the stresses of the job, the loneliness, but also the joy of a well-managed passage at the end of a mortal life, the beauty of rebirth or release, the two of you waxing poetic about eternal cycles–

Not that he was interested in remembering that. He grinned, recalling instead the way your nails had traced red shapes into the skin of his back as he split you open–

“Stop that,” you huffed.

“What? Something bothering you?” he smirked, knowing full well that as the Goddess of Memories, your access to any memory recalled –especially right in front of your face– was yours to witness. Not always with your permission. Taehyung in particular had always been very good at getting under your skin and into your mind. Which led to some pretty mind blowing orgasms but also–

He snickered under his breath, like he knew he made you think of something good. He snickered like he didn’t understand the pain that came in the end. You don’t think he ever did understand that. God of Death and all that. No sentimentality about The End. Just a fact of eternity.

Despite your annoying thoughts, you were typing, searching, scrolling the whole time, peeking into interactions that jump out at you here, scouring school days and dates and days both good and bad at work. The man’s life had largely been one tragedy after another strung together by mundanity, but not the kind of tragedies that left a lasting impression on anyone except the one enduring them. No remarkable news coverage that sparked an author. No car crashes that changed someone’s outlook on the fragility of life. No major work accomplishes that inspired his colleagues. He’d been laid off and wound up in a retail job where he remained just mediocre enough to not get fired. When he retired, no one noticed.

“See?” Taehyung said, gesturing to the screen. “There’s nothing. He died without leaving a mark on the world in any way. Literally no one remembers him. He didn’t even have a nurse at the end who–”

You shake your head, “You don’t know anything about memory. You just know…”

“What?”

“Sex and death,” you say, brushing him away with a flick of your hand. “The impressions we leave aren’t always obvious. A face can linger in someone’s mind for the most innocuous reason–”

“But it has to reach a certain threshold to disqualify them from rebirth–”

“I know the rules, Taehyung. I’m good at my job.”

“I know you are,” he grumbled. You ignore the almost compliment and continue to dig. You start to look in the corners of the deceased man’s life, at the people who bought things from him off Craigslist, at any stores he went to frequently enough to become a familiar face. He donated to the Humane Society regularly, but only money, not time. His primary care doctor had died a few years before and he’d bounced around since then. He bought his prescriptions off the internet. He lived in an apartment but paid his rent by check and his landlord couldn’t recall the old man’s face, just was angry when he discovered the man dead after he was late on rent because there’d been no loved one to haul away the old man’s things which delayed his ability to clean and relist the apartment.

“Give up?” Taehyung asked. “There’s nothing.”

“There’s always something, at least something that delays– you can’t just send people to rebirth directly–”

“There isn’t always something and you know that as well as I do,” Taehyung argued. You hated that he, too, was awfully good at his job. Which made these forged signatures even more infuriating because it wasn’t like him at all! Usually he respected the system, considering he’d help build it!

Was he seeing someone again and it had him distracted? He was rushing through work to go see them? That made sense, it had been a long time, so far as you knew, and when Taehyung went into something, he went all the way in…

You looked and looked for something that wasn’t there as Taehyung grew increasingly frustrated before he finally reached forward and tapped the screen to bring up the signature form again, the waiver for you to officially sign that would release this man’s soul back into the queue for rebirth. How long it might wait there was the call of another department based on your needs and the priorities of other gods and departments.

“There’s nothing,” he said to you, but quieter this time. While he loved to tease and antagonize, his goal wasn’t actual embarrassment; he could read you like a book, annoyingly fluent, and predict you’d be frustrated not to “win” with this man.

You let out a deep sigh and conceded only, “This doesn’t happen as much these days.”

“Hm.”

“Fewer tenant farmers crawling off to die alone in their huts and get eaten by wildlife,” you mused. “Fewer towns wiped out by invaders down to the last child. The internet has changed things, people have the chance to make meaningful connections even beyond their daily circle–”

“Yeah but anonymously,” Taehyung countered. Skatá, he missed having these deep arguments with you. “Real name and real face: memories have to include those to send you to the after–”

“Do not preach at me about the rules! You of all people!” you shouted, pushing back from the desk in a huff. Then, because you’d been thinking about it lately, you insisted, “We ought to change the criteria. Memory… souls should be able to live on in memory for more than a face or a name. There are so many other ways to leave your mark on the world. There are so many other meaningful moments and connections–”

“If those moments were meaningful enough to allow someone to recognize your soul, they’d be remembered. The rules don’t need to change–”

You rose from your chair, demanding, “So people should be condemned to the repetition, to going back to that damned plane of mortal existence over and over again until they can pull of some connection in that lonely and quick-to-forget world that convinces us they’ve done enough to earn their eternity?”

“It’s not a punishment! It’s just… another chance.”

“Don’t you think it feels like a punishment? Can you really imagine having to do it all over again and again–”

“They don’t remember,” he insisted.

“Exactly. It’s hell. It’s inhumane–”

“Forgetting can be a mercy,” he countered.

For a moment you were both silent. You didn’t want to understand what he meant. You didn’t want to assume it was about you, even though you, too, could read him like a book.

He cleared his throat and shifted in his chair, gesturing as he added, “Besides what’s the record for repetitions, twenty? That’s not so bad.” He’d always admired your deep love for the people, your ‘bleeding heart’ for the mortals, so to speak. It was a thing you had understood in him and he in you, that you could deal with this final moment in their lives, one mortals couldn’t decide on as blessed or tragic but often caused pain and suffering to those who lingered either way, and recognize the importance of your work and also recognize how unknown it was to the both of you.

“Isn’t that worse? They have to start all over, nothing to guide them better this time, no comfort that if this one doesn’t work out, they’ll get another chance, no warning that eventually they won’t. No hint that all they need to do is connect or leave something behind and they’ll be free of their mortal shackles– I mean look at all the stories they invent trying to make sense of it all!”

“It’s funny,” Taehyung grinned. Trying to be funny, because he’d slipped thinking fondly about your passion and devotion to your work and hadn’t resumed thinking instead about your tits quickly enough. There. Now he was smiling, thinking about them. “Look if you have a proposed update to the criteria, I’m happy to read it.”

“Magnanimous of you.”

He wanted to lure you back to talking about the impact of human technology on mortal connection but a sudden glint in your eye had you pull yourself back into the keyboard.

“I’m an idiot,” you murmured, pulling open a separate database.

Taehyung’s brow furrowed as he leaned closer to see what had suddenly captured your enthusiasm.

“Ah…” he sighed as you trawled the ‘Regrets’ database. He had done a cursory search for any regrets of the man’s… but he had not done a search for any regrets about the man.

“This should be a part of every review –and it is if these files come to my office first,” you mumbled. Yes, you were aware he was leaning in a way where he could watch your face instead of the screen. Just like you were aware he kept remembering things completely inappropriate for the workplace. “Also please get laid so you don’t short-circuit every time I’m in the room.”

“What, you think you’re special?”

“Apparently the scent of my shampoo is. Or is it my perfume? You seem uncertain.”

He snorted derisively and looked to the screen at your sudden cry of victory. There, on the screen, an elderly woman who had pined for the man when he was young but never told him. He had died unaware, but she’d carried that longing for him in her heart until it had morphed and solidified into a solid, life-long what if? She’d married and pursued a successful career in novel writing, still published something every few years to this day. Her first novel had recently been reprinted, including its dedication in the beginning:

To my first love and the last time I let fear hold me back. Thank you for inspiring me to always think of what could be and to take the leap for the things I want. And thank you for that piece of bubblegum when I skinned my knee in fourth grade. You were a swell chap, Glenn.

“Ha!” you crowed, pushing up from the chair for the last time. “That’s enough! That book is in print right now with that dedication.”

“It could be any Glenn–”

“But it’s not,” you insisted. “Pull up her file, her memories of him are still there, she’s still living, and she’s no doubt told others the story if she even kept the initial dedication to him. Rebirth denied, eternal freedom granted.” You crossed your arms, gave Taehyung a smug grin, and sank back into the chair to watch and make sure he correctly marked the file. Yes, it was barely passable, you knew that. Yes, he could probably overrule you if he wanted. The woman was likely he only one to remember the man enough and she’d be dead within a decade too; his soul could easily wait that long in the queue and then be rebirthed without any issue. But for right now he had technically passed.

It meant something to you that Taehyung let you have this.

“Yeah but…”

“But what?” you pressed.

“But isn’t it just kind of… sad? He doesn’t even know he still mattered to that woman,” he said. His movements slowed as he dragged the tablet closer and backed out to the correct form. “He died not knowing she felt anything about him at all, or that he had any impact on anyone. Is that really the spirit of success here?”

You fell silent. Taehyung had written those rules; or some of them, the newer ones, since he’d taken over so long ago.

“I just mean,” he continued, “is this the worse punishment? We send him on to eternal freedom, he can see the homage that gave him that release, and in death, this is all he has to show for it. So now he has a regret that he didn’t know this, and maybe his life could have been completely different if he’d known.”

Carefully, you pointed out, “It doesn’t mean it would have been. And you forget how lonely and despairing so many people are. This might be comforting. It’s not like he didn’t know he had no one and nothing at the end. He had the birds he watched from his window and a few TV shows he kept up on. Nothing in his memories indicates he wants to try again.”

“Because you wouldn’t.”

“Of course not! That world seems damned terrible for most of the people in it! Look how hard some people have to fight just to exist, much less make friends and pursue their passions and make any big mark on the world. Their life systems are focused on all the wrong things. They’re so busy telling everyone how to live and what they’re allowed to do and caging it all in with money–”

“Yeah Capitalism was really a victory for the Act of God and Karma department, huh? It always feels like those fuckers went overboard but then you see what the mortals do to each other and...”

“It’s fucked up,” you agreed.

“You and I, we really have the best departments,” he suggested.

“We… do,” you agreed slowly, because there was camaraderie behind the way he said it and you didn’t know why the sudden shift in mood.

“But sometimes… sometimes the act of The End is what makes you realize that you do want another chance. How many final moments have we seen where people begged for it? How many times are those final moments focused on regret? Sometimes people want another chance!”

You blinked at him. You, like so many times before, pretended not to see the memories slipping through the sieve of his mind without either his or your permission –evenings spent in bed yes but also mornings waking up in each others arms; holidays basking in the sun on the beaches of Naxos; arguing over a dinner you made and he would clean up because you had talents that complimented each other; a reason to stop working so damn much, even just to canoodle in his office when something so tragic came across one of your desks that you needed a physical reminder that you were safe, that he was safe, that you had in each other love and support and acceptance. How blessed it had been for you, known to cry at work as you sorted through memories or the absence of them, to find that Taehyung could soothe your heart, but also that he too felt the sorrows that came with the job. You were not alone.

But you ignored those memories, and those thoughts in yourself, because you knew a memory wasn’t a choice. A memory happened. It’s why they were the pure system by which eternal death or rebirth hinged on, because a memory didn’t equal a truth, but it was the fabric of that ephemeral thing, the soul. Your soul consisted of your own memories, of as many lives as you led, which you were free to parse and peruse in the freedom of eternal death, but only once your soul left some piece of itself on earth, in the souls of others. An unearthly form of reproduction, you could say. And you, the two of you, managed the process to keep those frail humans from losing their minds because four identical people were running around, a single fragmented soul now going to confuse and terrorize other souls also afraid of fragmenting, afraid of being incomplete or unwhole. Humans were obsessed with being whole and ‘normal’ and all sorts of boring things, when really they should be concerned with challenge, passion, enthusiasm, and joy.

At least that’s what you’d written in your Masters thesis that had landed you this title. It had gotten you laughed out of a few offices but Taehyung had poured over it multiple times as his fingers lazily roamed your bodies, asking questions as he fed you grapes dipped in honey, moaned about how he loved your mind as he made love to your body–

Memories were not choices, they just were. Taehyung, like this novel writer, was not driven to act by the presence of any of those memories, other than being a cocky asshole about the raunchy ones. That was itself a choice, and it told you everything you needed to know in a clear way, unlike this veiled could-be metaphor.

“Well you’re the God of Death,” you pointed out. “If you think there’s a flaw in the system, you fix it. I don’t know, add a clause that if the person dies with regrets– no, we did that–”

“Yeah, we did that,” Taehyung said. “People are still freaked out about ghosts even though there haven’t been any new ones since I took over and ended that one. Freaky as shit! You think rebirth is bad…”

“Well add the clause. You’re good at dragging things out,” you snorted. You hadn’t meant it to be mean, not really, but it was clear from his face he took it as such. Quickly you added, “I just meant because death is eternal. You’re the god of… The End. The fork in the road.”

“And you’re the goddess of what, holding on until you get distracted by something else and forget?”

“Hey now,” you glared.

“The goddess of letting your feelings alter what you think actually happened.”

“Taehyung!”

“Confirmation bias.”

“Stop that,” you scoffed. You grabbed his hand and pressed his finger to the thumb scan, approving Glenn’s lonely soul for the relief of eternal death, a place where finally his soul could choose for itself when to wake, when to slumber, when to dream, or when to be no more, as a rock or a star or a blade of grass or Nothing.

“There. Now we’re done, ye God of Ego.”

“Ego,” he repeated. “Ego?”

“Well why else are you skipping me and sending these souls back to try again? Admit it, you don’t want to admit that I can see the things you miss about people. You only look at the highs and the lows and you miss the significance, the importance of all those moments in between–”

“I do not–”

“You got so busy you thought a weekly fuck and a nice dinner on our anniversary was enough,” you continued without entirely meaning to. “Do you know why humans remember the things that go wrong on vacation more than the things that go well? Because manufactured connections are false. Picture perfect is a lie. The memories are smooth and they slip away. They aren’t real. Just like we apparently weren’t–”

“Oh don’t give me that bullshit. We were plenty real until you got distracted by Neptune and his glow up. He just got bigger because of global warming, Y/N! He’s still the same Poseidon who cums salt and has crabs skittering through his hair–”

“Gods, you are so jealous! Nothing happened with me and Namjoo– I mean Neptune–”

“Oh, he told you to call him Namjoon, huh?” Taehyung gave his chair a hard shove towards the desk and stomped away.

“Nothing happened. That’s not why we ended.”

“Yeah, you’d remember,” he scoffed.

“You remember too,” you insisted. “I see it in your memories.”

He glared and stormed closer, “No, you don’t, because I don’t think about it because it’s not important.”

“Ouch.” You recoiled.

But his face took on a desperate look as he pleaded, “It’s not important because the fact we ended was the worst part of our relationship. Being with you– the good things were so much more important to me. Are so much more important to me. That’s what I’m saying. You were right about Glenn but I think you were wrong about us.”

“So…” Your brain was scrambled. You tried to think through this sudden confession and couldn’t. “But…”

“I want a second chance,” he said. And crossed his arms and lifted his chin.

“Because of…” You looked at the tablet, as if it would explain to you why this sudden change of heart.

“Because I don’t want to be that novelist and regret never admitting that to you.”

“You just miss the sex,” you tried. He’d successfully knock your feet out from under you. This was not how you had expected this workplace confrontation to go.

“You know that’s not true.”

“You think about it all the time–”

“Well there’s a lot of sex to remember,” he grinned. “But I know you see the other memories I try to block out by remembering the sex.”

You did. Because the most joyful and the most painful memories were always the strongest, the easiest to track and feel. And many of your memories together now inspired both joy and suffering.

He wasn’t alone in that.

“I…”

“It’s ok if your answer is no,” he said, with that crooked smile beneath the soft eyes that had always stolen your heart. He could be so smug and headstrong and stubborn but no one had ever loved you or admired you or humored you the way he had, that wasn’t just a memory, it was the truth.

“You have to stop sending people to rebirth without running them by my department first,” you said, lifting your own chin and leveling a serious look at him. “You don’t know everything. Stop pretending like you don’t need me.”

“I do need you.”

The sentence that stopped your heart –or, you know, would have, if you were a mortal with a beating one.

“I need you to help me improve this system,” he said, suddenly scratching at his hair and looking to the side. “I know I’m not perfect and the world is changing so help me with that. You see the things I don’t see and um, I’d rather you help than just not say anything until it’s too late.”

“Ah.”

“You know, at least give me the chance to fix them.”

“It means you have to actually listen.”

“Yeah, I know.” He glanced at you, eyes going wide, youthful in his ageless face.

“Good. It’s good that you know that,” you said. And tried not to look at the memories bubbling over in his mind but it was impossible to miss them, because they were strong, and they were about you, and the regret and hope were honestly enough to nearly make you sick. It wasn’t helpful that they mirrored your own.

“So…”

“I’d be happy to work on the proposal with you,” you conceded. “Over dinner and drinks. On Friday?”

He grinned and nodded, “Yeah, over dinner and drinks on Friday. At your place or…?”

“In a restaurant, Pluto. Or Hades. Or whatever you’ve got on your door plate right now.”

He drew close and took your hand and grinned, “Nah, babe, you know you’ve always been allowed to call me Taehyung. That’ll never change. You’ve been calling me that all day anyway.”

“Have I–? I thought for sure I–” But you had. Oops. Old habits died hard, and Taehyung was just such a pretty name and, ok, maybe it had always left you a little smug to be allowed to call him that private name–

You cleared your throat and straightened your shoulders to gather yourself, “Then I will see you Friday. You pick the restaurant.” You darted away, loosening your hand, a bit flustered by how strongly he could still affect you when you let him. “And Taehyung… make it a good one.”

“Only the best this time. Good enough for eternity, I swear.”

“We’ll see,” you said, and quit his office, hoping in your heart that would be true.

#taehyung ff #kim taehyung fanfic #taehyung x reader #taehyung/reader #kim taehyung ff #exes to lovers #god taehyung #taehyung fanfiction #kim taehyung fic

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지민 (Jimin) 'MUSE' Highlight Medley BTS BANGTANTV

13 jul 2024 #Jimin_MUSE#지민#Jimin 지민 (Jimin) 2nd Solo Album 'MUSE' 📅 July 19, 1PM (KST) | 0AM (ET) 🛒 https://jimin.lnk.to/MUSE

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지민 (Jimin) 'MUSE' Highlight Medley (https://youtu.be/iLtCSBGdMqU) #지민 #Jimin #Jimin_MUSE

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지민 (Jimin) 'MUSE' Highlight Medley

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지민 (Jimin) 'MUSE' Highlight Medley

Jimin "MUSE" — Tracklist

1- REBIRTH (INTRO) 2- INTERLUDE : SHOWTIME 3- SMERALDO GARDEN MARCHING BAND (FEAT. LOCO (Pre-release Single) 4- SLOW DANCE (FEAT. SOFIA CARSON) 5- BE MINE 6- WHO (Main Track) 7- CLOSER THAN THIS

Descripción de las pistas de 'MUSE':

1- REBIRTH (INTRO) - Género de fusión basado en R&B y gospel 2- INTERLUDE : SHOWTIME - canción instrumental que se conecta con la pista 3 4- SLOW DANCE (FEAT. SOFIA CARSON) - canción de R&B de ritmo medio 5- BE MINE - Canción de género afro-beat 6- WHO (Main Track) - sexy y atrevida, pero profundamente romántica.

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kingofbodyrolls · 8 days ago

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Songs of the Heart (m) | pjm | chap 1: rebirth

Having just settled into a small house on the outskirts of the bustling city, you’re drawn into the haunting melodies of your neighbor’s sad love songs, echoing through the quiet walls day after day. Concerned, you finally gather the courage to knock on his door, unsure of what to expect—only to be face-to-face with Park Jimin, the renowned singer-songwriter whose voice has touched millions. What begins as a simple gesture of kindness soon unravels into something far more complex, as the melodies of his heart beckon you closer.

→ Pairing: jimin x reader (female) → AUs: musician!au (not completely idol!au), single dad!au, slice of life!au → Trope: strangers to lovers / neighbors to lovers → Genres: slow burn romance / fluff / angst / smut / comedy → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 5.6k → Warnings + triggers: nothing much, just heartache and small misunderstandings 🤭 → Read on AO3? [link] → Author’s note: Hi!!! How are you doing?? 😄 I hope you’re as excited about this new series as I am (and I really, truly mean it when I say this might be my last series for a long while… so buckle up, it’s going to be a ride!). Now, before you go thinking I’m just setting myself up for failure, let me be real with you: my last Jimin series didn’t exactly set the world on fire—sigh. But I adore it, like, adore it. (I know, I’m biased, but can you blame me?) Soooo, this time, we’re going for a more “mainstream” vibe. Think heavily inspired by Jimin’s album Muse (seriously, his whole vibe in that is chef’s kiss), sprinkled with some Face flavor, and, honestly, just Jimin being Jimin. Because, let’s face it—he’s my bias, and I’m OBSESSED. Like, full-on crush mode. So, yeah, it’s basically me writing about my ultimate crush 😳 Now, let’s clear the air about the smut—I’m not going all-out with it here (though there will be some spicy moments, don’t worry 😉). Why? Well, I have a sneaky feeling this series is going to do okay (I mean, I adore these characters so much already 🥹, but engagement might be a different story). So, I’m going to save my energy for what really matters to me—the heart and soul of the story, instead of focusing too much on the smut (which, honestly, I’m not as into writing as I used to be). Okay, okay—back on track. I’m super excited to share this story with you, and I really, really hope you enjoy it as much as I do. Don’t forget to tell me your thoughts—whether you love it, hate it, or just want to fangirl over Jimin with me ✨ This whole story (which will be posted every Sunday for the next eight weeks) is for my dear friend @remmykinsff! I hope you’ll love it 💜

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“Why the hell do you have so many boxes?” Yoongi groans, his voice slicing through the quiet winter air as he hefts a particularly heavy one—something he clearly should have let Namjoon handle. His breath fogs up like ghostly clouds, a silent testament to the biting cold.

You stand by the moving truck, arms crossed, the chill curling around you like an unwelcome scarf. The streetlamp above flickers weakly, casting long shadows over the small gathering of your life in boxes. You shiver, not just from the cold but from the weight of this moment—watching your brother Yoongi and your best friend Namjoon haul the sum of your memories into the truck, piece by piece, bound for a new beginning.

It wasn’t your choice to leave; the landlord had pulled the rug out from under you with a sudden hike in rent you couldn’t possibly manage. But this wasn’t just an ending. There was a glimmer of hope in the move—a small house on the outskirts of the city with a garden that you could already see yourself tending, sunlight warming your face. Perfect wasn’t something you’d often dared to dream of, but this felt close enough to touch.

Namjoon heaves the final box into the truck and straightens with a satisfied grin. “That’s the last of it. We managed to fit everything,” he says, his breath visible in the frost-tipped air.

Yoongi, less triumphant, leans against the truck, arms crossed, his usual scowl softened by exhaustion. “Not a lot of stuff, huh? Then why does everything weigh as much as a small planet?”

You roll your eyes at him, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Tiny apartments don’t leave room for a lot of stuff,” you murmur, thinking of your now-abandoned shoebox of a home. What you own might not fill much space, but every piece carries its own story, its own weight. To them, it’s just heavy. To you, it’s everything.

“Yoon, you should really hit the gym more,” you tease, your voice laced with playful scorn, though the grin on your face betrays your fondness. The sibling bond—a language of its own, fluent in jabs and unspoken affection.

“Are you calling me weak?” Yoongi snaps, his tone sharp, but the flicker of indignation in his eyes is almost theatrical. He knows the answer. You know he knows. It’s part of the game.

You laugh, the sound light and unbothered, a knowing glint in your eyes as you glance at his slender arms. “I don’t have to say it, do I?”

Before the exchange can escalate, Namjoon steps between you with a calm authority that feels as solid as the ground beneath your feet. “Alright, easy, you two. I’ll take care of the heavy lifting. Yoongi, you drive.”

Yoongi scoffs, letting your remark go as he shoots you a withering look that doesn’t quite land. He climbs into the driver’s seat with a practiced air of resignation, his fingers brushing over the steering wheel as Namjoon closes the back of the truck with a satisfying clunk.

The three of you settle inside the truck, and silence slips in, gentle and familiar, as the hum of the engine vibrates beneath you. The radio crackles to life, filling the space with the soft strains of a slow love song. The melody spills out like liquid silver, sad yet hopeful, and the singer’s voice—a perfect blend of sweetness and longing—wraps around you like a blanket against the cold.

Your chest tightens as the words begin to take root, burrowing into the quiet corners of your heart: “Even though I was pitch black, I can’t stop thinking about you all day long. Without you knowing, I want to take one step, then another, closer to you. Stay with you. I will be your reason. I hope this feeling reaches you.”

You stare out the frosted window, the aching beauty of the lyrics mingling with the soft glow of the late afternoon light. The world outside shifts and transforms as Yoongi steers the truck with steady hands, the city’s sprawling chaos giving way to the calm, snow-dusted edges of the outskirts. Frost clings to the barren trees and lonely streetlamps, their icy shimmer catching the fading sunlight like quiet promises.

There it is—your new beginning, cradled in the quiet of the outskirts. The small house stands modestly, embraced by a low, whispering hedge that frames its quaint charm. A tiny terrace juts out at the front, its stone surface dappled with the faint traces of winter frost. You remember the cozy backyard from the last time you visited—a patch of earth waiting patiently for spring to bring it to life.

Yoongi eases the truck to a stop in front of the house, the engine humming briefly before falling silent. The three of you step out, boots crunching softly against the snow-dusted gravel. Your heart thuds louder with each step as you approach the door. It’s a humble thing—made of frosted glass that blurs the world on the other side, catching the dim afternoon light and casting it gently inside. You know that when the sun graces it, the whole entrance will glow like a promise.

Your fingers tremble slightly as you fit the key into the lock, turning it with a satisfying click. The door creaks open, and you step over the threshold into your new home. It greets you with its smallness—barely 80 square meters—but it feels vast compared to the cramped city apartment you left behind. Here, there’s space to breathe, to begin again. And the rent, blissfully lower than what the city demanded, makes it all the sweeter.

You glance at the neighboring house—a touch larger, its lot sprawling wider—but you don’t feel envy. This space is yours. Yours to fill with laughter, with quiet mornings, with life.

Flipping the light switch, the warm glow floods the entranceway. The layout unfolds before you in inviting simplicity. The entrance flows seamlessly into a snug living room, its openness spilling into the compact kitchen. The single bedroom feels intimate but holds a delightful surprise: a small walk-in closet that sets your heart alight with possibility. The bathroom, unexpectedly spacious, feels almost indulgent—a small luxury you hadn’t dared to imagine.

You stand in the quiet warmth of the space, letting it envelop you. Yes, it’s small. Yes, it’s simple. But it’s yours. For the first time in what feels like forever, you’re not just standing in a house. You’re home.

Namjoon brushes past you with a box in hand, his footsteps purposeful. “Where should I put this?” he asks, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of settling dust.

“In the bedroom, please,” you reply, recognizing your own messy scrawl on the side of the box. He nods, disappearing down the short hallway. Moments later, Yoongi follows, arms burdened with lighter boxes this time, his silent stare speaking louder than words. You’re not sure if it’s disapproval or exhaustion—or maybe a mix of both.

Together, the three of you move with practiced rhythm, unloading the truck, the occasional grunt of effort punctuating the soft winter stillness. One by one, your belongings find their way inside, until finally, after an hour and a half, the truck stands empty. Inside, your life now lies in disarray—boxes scattered like misplaced puzzle pieces across the small living room. Thankfully, the heavier furniture already sits snug in its designated spots, thanks to Namjoon’s methodical eye for order.

You all collapse onto the sofa, a symphony of sighs and tired exhales filling the room. The cushions envelop you like a long-awaited embrace, and you lean back, the ache in your muscles giving way to a fleeting moment of peace.

“Do you need help with anything else?” Yoongi asks, his tone more dutiful than eager. You catch the subtext immediately: he’s ready to leave, and who could blame him?

“No, I’m good,” you reply with a grateful smile, sinking further into the plush comfort of your sofa.

But Namjoon isn’t done yet. “Can we make dinner for you before we go?” he offers, sitting up straight as if a second wind has just hit him. You wave him off, declining politely, but he shakes his head, determined. “I saw a grocery store just down the street. Yoongi and I will grab a few things, and then he’ll cook for you.” He’s already on his feet, brushing invisible dust from his sleeves.

Yoongi remains rooted to the sofa, his arms crossed and his expression somewhere between incredulous and annoyed. “You think I’m going to cook for my baby sister?” he scoffs, throwing you a pointed look.

Namjoon doesn’t miss a beat, rolling his eyes like an exasperated parent. “What, are you planning to let your family starve?”

Yoongi’s brows twitch as he fires back, “She’s over thirty. She’s a grown-ass adult. She can take care of herself.”

Your lips part, ready to volley something back, but before you can, Namjoon grabs Yoongi’s arm, hauling him to his feet with an ease that speaks of strength and familiarity. “Come on, Mr. Grown-Ass-Adult,” he says dryly, shoving Yoongi’s coat into his hands while slipping into his own.

Yoongi grumbles under his breath, but he doesn’t fight it. As Namjoon steers him toward the door, he casts a helpless glance back at you, like a cat begrudgingly herded.

“We’ll be back in a moment,” Namjoon calls over his shoulder, his voice brimming with cheerful authority. “Relax. Or unpack. Your choice.”

The door swings shut behind them, leaving you in the stillness of your new home, the faint scent of winter air lingering. You let out a soft laugh, your heart warm despite the cold. Family might be exhausting, but they’re also everything.

Then the door closes, and for the first time today, you’re alone. The silence wraps around you like a fragile shell, amplifying the creak of settling walls and the faint hum of distant life. You sink into the sofa, letting the stillness settle, until your ears catch something unexpected—a faint thread of melody, a guitar’s quiet murmur drifting through the air.

Curiosity tugs you upright, your steps soft against the floor as you follow the sound. In your new bedroom, you pause, pressing your hand to the wall. The music is clearer now, gentle and raw, strings bending under someone’s practiced fingers. Your new neighbor, perhaps? The thought lingers as you drift back to the kitchen, the faint melody becoming a backdrop to the rustle of cardboard and clinking pans. You begin to unpack—the pans your brother will use to cook, the utensils that clatter together like an impromptu percussion. Cooking has always been his way of showing love, and you can’t wait to taste the comfort it brings.

As you move through the small kitchen, time slips through your fingers like grains of sand. You make progress—each box emptied feels like a small triumph. The living room is next, and though you didn’t bring much, your touch begins to transform the space into something warm, something yours.

The sharp chill of winter sweeps in as the front door swings open, announcing Namjoon and Yoongi’s return. Cold air rushes past them, carrying the earthy scent of snow and fresh groceries. Shoes and coats are shed in a flurry of motion, and Namjoon drags his bags to the counter, while Yoongi mumbles something under his breath—his version of commentary that you’ve long learned to ignore. Yoongi grumbles as he hauls two bags into the kitchen, while Namjoon shoulders four with ease, a playful smirk on his face as he shakes the cold from his hair. Your brother dives into the kitchen, already rifling through drawers to find the pans you just unpacked.

As you help Namjoon sort the groceries, you note their choices: fresh greens, vibrant vegetables, sturdy staples like rice, beans, and coconut milk. Practical and thoughtful, as always. Your brother doesn’t waste time, snapping orders your way to chop this and rinse that. Namjoon, wisely, steers clear of the chaos and retreats to the sofa, knowing better than to tempt fate near a knife.

You and Yoongi move seamlessly, a practiced rhythm born of years of shared meals and unspoken communication. The kitchen fills with the sizzling symphony of cooking: onions crackling, garlic blooming in fragrant waves, and the gentle stir of sauces melding together. The aroma wraps itself around you, warm and grounding, a promise of the meal to come.

When the food is done, the three of you gather at your small round dining table. The plates are filled with comfort—steaming rice, perfectly cooked vegetables, and savory flavors that speak of home. Yoongi hums faintly in approval as he eats, his silence a language of contentment. Namjoon, ever the conversationalist, smiles wide as he asks about the neighborhood. You don’t know much yet, but his enthusiasm fills the gaps.

The meal lingers, rich and satisfying, until the plates are empty and the room carries only the faint scent of what was. They stand to leave, hugs exchanged at the door, their warmth momentarily shielding you from the cold creeping back in. As they drive off, the truck rattling softly into the night, the quiet returns. But this time, it feels different. Not empty.

Your home, though still half-full of boxes, feels alive now, touched by their presence. And for the first time in a long while, you feel like you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

Silence settles again, fragile and heavy—except for that faint sound of a guitar, now joined by a man’s voice. It drifts through the stillness, soft and haunting, the kind of melody that reaches into places you didn’t know were aching. From the little you can hear, his voice holds a quiet sorrow, tinged with a beauty that seems almost too fragile for this world. Wrapped in the haze of a full belly and the gentle pull of exhaustion, you sink deeper into the cushions of your couch. The music lulls you, and before you know it, sleep claims you.

When you wake, it’s to the sharp protest of stiff muscles, your body groaning in rebellion. You stretch, long and languid, wincing as you ease into movement. The living room light is still on, casting a warm but tired glow across the scattered boxes. Reaching for your phone, you blink at the screen: Saturday morning.

A sigh escapes you, accompanied by another stretch, your bones clicking softly in protest. As you yawn, the faint strands of music that lulled you to sleep the night before have grown bolder, louder, weaving through the quiet morning air. It’s coming from next door, a melody more insistent now, rising and falling like a tide against your walls.

You pause, half-annoyed, half-curious. Who plays music so loudly on a Saturday morning? Still, it isn’t unpleasant. The sound curls around you, melancholy and mesmerizing, coaxing goosebumps to bloom along your arms.

Shaking off the morning grogginess, you shuffle into the kitchen to make tea, the faint chill of the floor against your bare feet grounding you. As the kettle hums and hisses to life, your attention drifts back to the music. This song, like the one before, carries a sadness that pierces through its beauty, the kind of sorrow that feels personal yet strangely universal.

You sip your tea slowly, the warmth unfurling through your chest, and let the notes wrap around you. The lyrics, muffled but achingly tender, float into your thoughts. A sad love song, you think—heartache distilled into sound.

And then, for a fleeting moment, your mind wanders. Who is your neighbor, and what might they be feeling? It’s hard not to wonder. To play songs like this on a quiet Saturday morning—it speaks of longing, of loss, of someone trying to untangle the knots of their heart.

Exhaustion anchors you to the couch, your body heavy with the weight of weeks spent unpacking, working, and simply trying to adjust. The hours blur together as you let yourself drift, half-lost in the steady stream of music flowing from your neighbor’s house. Sad love songs, one after another, their melodies curling through the air like smoke, filling the silence with their ache. At least your neighbor has good taste; the voice is mesmerizing, familiar, tugging at the edges of your memory. And then it clicks: you’ve heard it before, floating from car radios or playing softly in cafes.

Nearly two weeks slip by, the days stacked like unopened letters. Despite the proximity, you’ve yet to meet your enigmatic neighbor, though their music has become an unintentional soundtrack to your life. Namjoon, ever the social butterfly, has nudged you more than once to pay them a visit. “Just say hi,” he urged, grinning. But socializing hasn’t exactly been high on your list, not when there are boxes to unpack, deadlines to meet, and your energy drained to its dregs.

Still, a seed of worry takes root. The songs haven’t changed—still steeped in longing, still carrying that unshakable sadness. Day after day, it’s as if the house next door is exhaling heartbreak. Maybe Namjoon’s right. Maybe you should go introduce yourself, ask about the neighborhood, and gently check if everything’s okay.

Which is how you find yourself walking up the snow-dusted path to your neighbor’s door, nerves prickling like the winter air against your skin. Their house looms larger than yours, its quiet elegance a subtle reminder of its age and stature. Even the door, frosted glass like your own, feels imposing—a pale barrier between curiosity and the answers waiting behind it.

Your footsteps crunch softly on the frozen ground as you approach. You hesitate, your breath clouding in the cold, before raising a hand to knock. For good measure, you press the doorbell too, its chime echoing faintly into the stillness.

And then you wait, heart thrumming in quiet anticipation.

The music drifts out from the house, faint yet achingly persistent, wrapping around you like the winter chill. You shift on your feet, blowing warmth into your hands, impatient as the cold nips at your nose and fingers. Just as the thought of retreating crosses your mind, the door creaks open.

Your gaze lowers, meeting a pair of wide, brown curious eyes belonging to a little girl. She’s impossibly small, bundled in a sweater too big for her, her dark hair a gentle mess. Her smile, shy but sweet, carries a warmth that momentarily pushes back the frost.

“Hi,” she says, her voice as soft as a whisper of wind through snow-covered trees. She studies you carefully, her head tilting as though trying to puzzle you out.

You return her smile, bending slightly to her level. “Hi, I’m Y/N. I just moved in next door.” A pause, then a gentle laugh. “I was getting a little worried with all the sad music coming from here. Are your parents home?”

Her smile falters, her gaze flickering downward before rising to meet yours again. There’s something heavy in her small expression, far too much for a child her age. “It’s just me and my dad,” she says quietly, her voice tinged with something you can’t quite name.

Your heart clenches at her words, though you don’t fully understand why. She’s so young, so sweet, and yet there’s a fragility to her presence that stirs something protective in you. For a moment, you wonder about her mother, where she might be, what might have happened.

“Is your dad home?” you ask gently, your tone as soft as your smile.

She nods, stepping back into the warm glow of the house. “I’ll go get him. Please wait here,” she says, her words so polite they make you smile again. She scurries off, leaving you at the threshold with the frosty air swirling in around your feet.

As you stand there, you catch glimpses of the house’s interior: the dim light casting long shadows, the faint smell of wood and something floral, and always that music—a bittersweet tune that seeps into every corner.

When she returns, she isn’t alone. A man follows her, his presence filling the doorway.

Your breath catches, your jaw slack as your mind struggles to process the sight before you. You’d expected the father of the sweet little girl to be ordinary, unassuming. But this? This man? He’s a vision pulled straight from the realm of angels.

The first thing you notice is his presence—tall, confident, yet carrying a quiet weariness that tugs at the edges of his posture. He’s dressed simply, but somehow that makes him all the more striking. A plain white t-shirt stretches across his chest, the sleeves rolled just enough to bare sinewy arms, and on his wrist, a faint tattoo peeks out like a secret. His black dress pants sit high on his impossibly small waist, falling loosely down his legs in elegant folds, a sharp contrast to the effortless way he carries himself.

And then there’s his face—soft yet devastatingly sharp, a contradiction of beauty. His jawline is so defined, it looks as if it could carve through stone, and yet his full lips, slightly parted as if mid-thought, ground him in warmth. His eyes—soft brown, tender, and framed by glasses and sleeplessness—pull you in, speaking of long nights and untold stories.

His hair, warm blonde kissed with streaks of brown at the roots, falls in uneven waves, longer in the back. It looks as if it was tousled by the wind or restless fingers, and you can’t help but wonder if he even knows how effortlessly beautiful he is. A few faint birthmarks dot his skin, adding something human to a face that feels otherworldly. As he steps closer, his features soften even more, and your pulse quickens.

“Hi,” he says, his voice a low, soothing melody that sinks into your bones. It’s angelic yet grounded, the kind of sound that lingers, reverberating long after the words are spoken. “What can I do for you?”

For a moment, you forget how to speak, how to breathe, how to exist. All your intentions, your purpose, your very reason for knocking on his door dissolve under the weight of his gaze. You can only stare, unmoored, helplessly captivated.

“This lady said she’s our new neighbor,” the girl chirps beside him, her bright voice cutting through your daze like sunlight through clouds. She looks up at her father with a grin, and he nods, clearing his throat.

He steps closer, extending a hand toward you, the motion deliberate and polite. His hand is warm when it meets yours, soft in a way that belies the calluses at his fingertips—marks of labor, of skill, of a life lived.

“I’m sorry, where are my manners?” he says with a gentle smile, and you realize your heart is racing, thundering in your chest like it’s trying to escape.

“My name is Jimin, and this is my daughter, Hwa-Young,” he says, his voice soft yet resonant, like the distant hum of a melody that refuses to be forgotten. It’s only then that you realize—mortifyingly—that you’re still holding his hand, the warmth of his palm grounding you far too much. With a jolt, you release it, your cheeks burning like embers, the sting of your foolishness wrapping itself around you. This is why you don’t talk to people, you scold yourself silently. You’re a mess. A fool.

The moment blurs, and you barely register Jimin’s words as he politely repeats something—was it your name? Before you can respond, Hwa-Young steps in, her voice clear and chiming with youthful certainty. “Her name is Y/N,” she declares with the pride of someone who’s solved a puzzle.

Jimin smiles, his expression warm enough to melt the frost clinging to your thoughts, and opens the door wider. “Would you like to come inside for a cup of tea, Y/N?”

You nod mutely, words lodged somewhere between your heart and throat. Speaking feels too dangerous; your silence, you hope, can’t betray how tangled your thoughts have become.

Inside, the house welcomes you with a kind of quiet charm. You peel off your coat and shoes, swapping them for a pair of slippers left by the entryway. The hallway leads you into a living room bathed in soft, creamy tones, its minimalist style broken only by the unmistakable fingerprint of family. Children’s drawings hang on the walls in uneven rows, their vibrant colors a stark but beautiful contrast to the muted decor. A small clay sculpture, wobbling slightly on its base, sits proudly on a side table. It feels like stepping into a story—a place where every corner holds a piece of life lived and loved.

Jimin gestures toward the sofa, and you sink into its inviting cushions, the fabric soft against your fingers. Hwa-Young follows, nestling beside you with a quiet familiarity, her presence grounding. From the nearby kitchen, the faint clatter of porcelain and the rustling of tea packets signal Jimin’s quiet movements.

The room feels alive with warmth, not just from the home itself but from the gentle energy of its inhabitants. You take it all in—the way the light filters through the curtains in golden streaks, the faint scent of lavender mingling with the hum of boiling water, and the soft chatter of a child’s imagination as Hwa-Young shows you a paper star she made.

You glance toward the kitchen, where Jimin moves with unhurried grace, and a strange calm settles over you. Maybe, just maybe, this unexpected meeting wasn’t such a mistake after all.

“Are you from the city?” Hwa-Young asks, her voice bright with curiosity, her smile tugging at the corners of her youthful face. You nod, mirroring her smile with one of your own.

“Yes, I just moved in about two weeks ago,” you reply, the words tumbling out like snowflakes in the quiet. “How old are you?”

“I just turned ten!” she exclaims, her voice brimming with pride, her grin wide and unrestrained. Somehow, the innocence in her joy stirs something deep within you, a warmth that begins to thaw the cold edges of your weary heart.

“Congratulations,” you say softly, folding your hands in your lap as if to hold the fragile moment still.

Jimin enters the room, carrying two steaming mugs of tea. He sets them gently on the coffee table, the soft clink of ceramic against wood breaking the silence. With effortless grace, he disappears briefly, returning with a glass of water for his daughter. As he takes his seat in a plush chair opposite you, his presence feels both calming and grounding, like the steady rhythm of a familiar song.

“How are you liking the town so far?” he asks, his voice carrying a soothing cadence, as if he’s accustomed to drawing out answers with kindness alone.

Lifting the mug to your lips, you blow softly on the surface of the tea, the fragrant steam curling upward like a wisp of memory. “I like it so far,” you say, your tone reflective, as though you’re still making sense of this new chapter in your life.

The faintest flicker of realization ignites, and you remember the reason for your visit. You set the mug down, hesitating for a moment before continuing. “I haven’t seen much of it yet. Between work and unpacking, I’ve barely had a chance to explore. But, actually…”

He takes another sip of his tea, and you can’t help but let your gaze linger. The delicate curve of his lashes, impossibly long and casting soft shadows on his cheekbones, draws your attention. His lips—pink, full, and unassuming—meet the edge of the mug, and for a brief, absurd moment, you find yourself wondering how something so simple could be so captivating.

What are you even thinking? You shake off the thought, clearing your throat.

“Ah, yes,” you stammer, a little too loudly. “I couldn’t help but notice…” You trail off, grappling for the right words. “I’ve heard a lot of sad songs coming from your house since I moved in, and I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Like, not…heartbroken or anything?”

Your words hang in the air, an awkward tangle of concern and curiosity, and you silently curse yourself for blurting them out. Was that a question or a statement? Even you aren’t sure.

But then he smiles—a real, genuine smile—and for a split second, his eyes vanish into crescents of warmth. His teeth peek out, slightly crooked, but so charming it nearly takes your breath away. Running a hand through his tousled blonde hair, he chuckles softly, his laugh like a melody in itself.

“Oh, that’s me. I’m the one guilty of all the sad music,” he admits, his voice carrying a quiet confidence that makes you feel at ease despite your earlier awkwardness.

Your brow furrows in thought as you tap your pointer finger against your lips, the name of the voice eluding you. “What’s the name of the artist? I know I’ve heard him on the radio, but I just can’t place it…”

His smile blooms, radiant and unrestrained, his eyes crinkling into crescents of pure light. “That’s me,” he says, a giggle escaping his lips, soft and melodic like the hum of a lullaby.

You blink at him, utterly perplexed, your mind spinning as you try to piece together what he could mean. “Sorry?” you venture hesitantly, hoping for clarity, your confusion painted plainly across your face.

“The artist,” he explains, his voice effortlessly calm and sure, “is Park Jimin. And I’m Park Jimin.”

The name lands in your ears, but it takes a second longer for the meaning to sink in. His daughter bursts into delighted laughter, while you sit frozen, your expression surely something straight out of a cartoon—wide eyes, jaw unhinged, disbelief written all over you.

Your thoughts race, chasing one another in circles. His voice, angelic and hauntingly beautiful, had felt familiar from the moment you heard it. And suddenly, the puzzle clicks into place. The songs—the ones that wrapped around you like a bittersweet embrace—were his. His.

Your eyes dart toward one of the rooms down the hall, where the music had been flowing endlessly up until the moment he greeted you. But now, the silence is palpable, a stillness that confirms your dawning realization. It wasn’t the stereo at all. It was him.

“Daddy, show her a song!” Hwa-Young pipes up, her small voice brimming with excitement as she hops off the couch and scampers toward a room. The door is ajar, revealing a glimpse of equipment and scattered papers.

Jimin’s smile softens, his eyes meeting yours with a gentle invitation. Without a word, he rises and gestures for you to follow. And as though caught in a spell, you do, your curiosity pulling you forward.

His studio is a world unto itself—a symphony of black and white, sleek lines, and personal chaos. Guitars in all shapes and sizes line the walls, their polished bodies gleaming under soft light. A microphone stands at attention, its cable curling like a lifeline to the scattered pages of sheet music littering the desk and floor.

It’s not just a room; it’s a glimpse into his soul, a sanctuary of sound and vulnerability. You can’t help but let your gaze linger, taking in the effortless beauty of it all.

Hwa-Young leaps onto the couch with a boundless energy that only a child can muster, the cushions bouncing under her weight. She pats the spot beside her, a silent invitation laced with an innocent warmth. You accept, settling in as Jimin crosses the room with a quiet confidence, his every movement purposeful yet unassuming. He retrieves an acoustic guitar, its wood glowing faintly under the soft overhead light, and perches on a nearby stool.

“Play her that new song, dad,” Hwa-Young beams, her voice lilting with pride and affection. She leans back into the couch, her tiny frame dwarfed by its embrace, but her presence fills the room.

Jimin nods, a soft smile tugging at his lips, and then his fingers meet the strings. A single strum reverberates, low and tender, a sound that seems to dissolve the walls and pull you into a different world.

And then he sings.

His voice flows like a stream over smooth stones—gentle, searching, yet laced with a fragile ache. Feather-light and haunting, it brushes against you, delicate as a whisper yet powerful enough to root you in place. “We never met, but she’s all I see at night.Never met but she’s always on my mind.Wanna give her the world,And so much more.Who is my heart waiting for?If every day I think about her,Yeah, every day of my life.Then tell me why I haven’t found her.”

Each note hangs in the air like a secret meant only for this moment, for you, for the stillness that has settled over the room. Your mind empties, swept clean by the sheer beauty of his voice, each syllable carrying raw emotion that you can’t help but feel, though it’s not your story to claim.

You watch him, this man who pours his heart so freely before a stranger, as if vulnerability were as natural as breathing. His fingers dance over the strings with practiced ease, but it’s the weight in his voice—the yearning, the quiet pain—that lingers in your chest.

A flicker of a question rises, unbidden, as you take in the scene—a renowned singer-songwriter, his talent unmistakable, living humbly in this crappy and cheap neighborhood. Why here? Why this place, when his voice alone could carry him anywhere? But the question dissipates as quickly as it forms, lost in the tide of his music. At this moment, none of it matters.

→ Permanent taglist: @nora12379 @jeonsbabygirlsworld @fancypeacepersona @ktownshizzle @pjmxxjm @ajoonniice @kookiewithluv

→ Series taglist: @13-manggaetteok @mima795 @hnnnjm @flaneuseonthestreets @miniesjams32 @graydolan12

→ Author’s endnote: soooo?? Tell me everything! What do you think about Jimin? Is he stealing your heart yet, or is it his adorable daughter who’s totally got you wrapped around her tiny finger? 👀💜 And don’t even get me started on what’s coming next... are you excited? Nervous? Ready to cry?? Because trust me, the next chapter has all the feels™. Let’s hear your thoughts—I’m dying to know!

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soft4gguk · 3 years ago

Text

to build a home | chapter seven

Pairing: Jungkook x reader. ceo!jk + dilf!jk x nanny!oc

Genre: strangers to lovers. angst. loads of plot. fluff. smut.

Word count: 13k (if u saw the post where i promised this one wouldn’t be 10k like the last one, no u didn’t 🤫)

Warnings: oral sex (m & f), deepthroating (did i say pj jk? my bad, i meant bj jk 😌), soft!dom jk, sub oc, fingering, everything is v wet, v graphic, dirty talk, protected penetrative sex, lil bit of cockwarming, they’re so smitten w each other through it all, loads of kissing <3, loads of lovin’, lil bit of angst but it has a happy ending, so much fluff, they’re so domestic, JUNGKOOK IS A DREAM, oc has 0 filter, shirtless jimin making coffee?, i think that’s it <3

Author’s note: i truly hope u enjoy this one <33 sorry for making it so long i got carried away and also!!! this is what happens when y’all put the image of dilf jk in those see through pyjamas in my mind and send me audio porn, ok? i go crazy!! i love u guys, sm. thank u for the love always!! i’m sending it right back paired w a million kisses ur way, as per usual. <3333 xxxxx

This is a work of fiction. Please respect the members and their privacy. x

Texts in bold + italic resemble a recollection of past events.

Chapter Seven

“Tap into your awareness. Take a deep breath, feel the warm light spread all through your body – a golden hue that starts at the top of your head all the way to the tip of your toes. Bask in it, welcome the peace into every inch of your temple. Feel it in your core, that warm light – that tingle-”

You bring your steps to an abrupt halt.

“Bro, really?” You stare at your screen in disbelief, as if the sweet voice that was attempting to coax you into a peaceful headspace would apologize for how oddly arousing you found her meditative practice.

You pull at the string of your headphones, with more force than necessary for, you know, emphasis – shortly followed by a groan, all powered by frustration.

The worst kind of frustration there is.

“You know what I do when I’m really horny?” Lucy’s question snaps you out of your sulking.

You stay quiet for a couple of seconds, debating whether you want to know the answer to that or not. Today had been stressful enough – a long, slow Monday that had marked the highest temperatures the Summer had seen. A historical heatwave, they called it. Though your heat came less from the fact that the Earth is so polluted it reaches the 40s and more from your activities the day prior.

You decide to venture into her potential advice. “Tell me, Senpai.”

“I have sex with Jimin.” She simply shrugs, voice relaxed as she takes another lick of her strawberry iced lolly. You wince at how lewd she makes it look.

“You had sex for the first time like- yesterday.”

“Wrong. I made love for the first time two weeks ago.”

“My bad, Aphrodite.”

“You’re just bitter because I’ve had sex in your boyfriend’s house and you haven’t.” Her smile is roguish and you can’t help but return it, consequently shoving a pillow her way.

“You’re so bad. So, so bad.”

“The mattress had great elasticity, by the way. Like crazy comfortable. Like- oh! Duh. Like a hotel bed!”

You groan, throwing your head back in frustration. “I don’t know what hurts the most – the fact that I want to know how comfortable his mattress is or that… he’s not my boyfriend. He’s not my boyfriend and therefore we have to take it slow. We have to be good, Lucy. We can’t let another playroom gate unfold.”

“I think playroom gate was totally healthy.”

That’s her new thing, preaching about the importance of a healthy sex life.

“Fuck, I know. I didn’t even know sex could feel like that. And we didn’t even go all the way.” Your breathing starts picking up, chest heaving slightly at the sole memory.

“Okay, okay. I’ll give you actual good advice. From a former virgin to a newly rebirthed one-” you narrow your eyes at her, another pillow ready to swing in her direction. She just giggles. “Meditate.”

“Meditate?”

“Yup. It really helps you relax and focus on the now. Consciousness and all that.”

“I am consciously horny. Now.”

She laughs. “Where’s Herbie?”

Herbie, also known as your vibrator.

“I don’t want Herbie!” You throw your hands up in defeat, sighing as they come down.

You’re fully throwing a tantrum, you’re aware. But you can’t help the tension that builds all through you. The way something in your lower belly drops like quickfire when you all but think about his face – his hooded eyes, glassy over how on edge he was. The red of his lips. The mess you’d made of his hair from running your hands through it, tugging whenever he had your hips bucking and your legs closing around his big, strong ones.

Here we go again.

Another groan.

Lucy gets serious all of a sudden, straightening up in her place on the couch. “Well, ___, then you’re gonna have to revaluate this whole taking it slow. Or, I don’t know, get on your knees and pray. Maybe he'll show mercy and, you know, whilst you’re at it...”

Meditation sucks.

Okay, you’re being dense.

Meditation as to treat sexual frustration sucks. Yet you keep gravitating towards it because for one, you already paid for the overpriced app subscription and two, it’s good white noise. It’s your third day in this torturous journey to tuning into your higher self who, presumably, is less horny and more collected. A true being of light. You decide to complement your spiritual practices with a nice walk – making sure to get out of the bus a few stops prior so you can collect yourself with the aid of some movement and fresh air until you have to come face to face with the very root of your distress.

You smile. That’s all it takes, really. One brief second of him crossing your mind. Fuck welcoming peace. Jeon Jungkook is so much better.

You pick up your pace, your whole demeanour giddying up at the fact that it’s only approximately twenty minutes until you see him again. Him and Soori, hand in hand as she practices her walking – big round eyes and puffy cheeks coming up to greet you, her little button nose scrunching up in excitement. Her expressions are a carbon copy of her father’s, whose face takes on the same motions at the sight of you.

When you finally make it to his front door, you can feel the excitement settling in your chest. It makes you think about how lucky you are – to be able to come to them.

You ring the doorbell and wait for a minute, smile adorning your face as you hear the door unlock from the inside as it begins to swing open. You take a step forwards, voice ready to chirp out your usual greeting for Mrs. Chae.

The words are caught in your throat as the door comes to an open and you’re met with Jungkook, a bright smile on his face as he holds Soori in his arms, her smile growing so wide it makes her pacifier slip from between her mouth.

All of it is unexpected – from having him open the door for you, to seeing him first thing in the morning and taking in his enthusiasm.

Jungkook is halfway out the door, free arm outstretched, ready to welcome you in it.

“What are you wearing?” Your words make him stop dead in his tracks, confused.

You just stare at him, unabashedly scanning your eyes through his body. He looks fresh out of the shower – hair silky and soft and a soft expression in his face that tells you he’s well rested. He looks good, that’s not it. What’s it is his outfit, if it can even be considered as such. He’s wearing a mesh, see-through olive green set. The short sleeve shirt and pants so sheer they leave little to the imagination as your eyes fall from the dark ink you can make out on his shoulder to his black briefs. The first couple of buttons in his shirt are undone and so is your sanity.

“Wha- oh. My pyjamas? It’s a cozy morning. We’re cozy, you see?” He motions to Soori as he says this and you take in her cute lilac sweatsuit, a soft pair of bunny slippers on her feet as they swing back and forth frantically. She smiles at you, letting you know she wants to be in your arms – almost surprised herself that she gets to see you earlier than usual.

“You sleep like that?”

“No, I don’t. I sleep-” but Jungkook doesn’t finish that sentence, for both of your sakes. “It’s a lounge set, now can you come in?”

You step inside, a chuckle escaping your lips. “A lounge set. That is so presump-” but before you can finish your witty remark, his arm snakes around your waist and his lips collapse against yours in a soft, gentle kiss. “Jung-,” you gasp, “what are you doing? Where’s Mrs. Chae?”

“She’s away. On vacation,” he says, lips still grazing yours. He places one last chaste kiss, smiling a little at the way you pout, still confused. He pecks your cheek before he finally says, “good morning.”

It’s going to be a long, long day.

“Morning,” your voice is a dreamy whisper, chest still flushed to his. Soori taps on your shoulder repeatedly, a bit more forceful than usual as she lets out a little whine, demanding your attention. She’s still getting used to having to share it. “Hi, princess. Good morning. How are you?” You take her from him as she jumps in your arms.

“Ouch,” he brings his hands to his chest dramatically, “so she gets all the morning love?”

“Now I see where she gets it from,” you tease, making him scowl at you. “Good morning, lounge princess.” You coo at him, pinching his cheek.

“Do you not like it?” He says, gaze dropping to take a look at his clothes as if he hadn’t just picked them himself.

You hold back a laugh, but your smile gives your amusement away. “It’s… different. You can rock it, though.”

He pouts. “You’re mean.”

“Naaaa,” Soori says, taking you by surprise.

“Yeah, Soo. Tell daddy.” You walk away as you say this, making your way to the kitchen.

He’s about to protest on your use of the forbidden word but his brain fails him, currently working at a solid 3% of its normal capacity. He opts for engaging in baby talk. That always helps. “Don’t flatter yourself. Everything is Na nowadays. We fall into the same category as the giraffe, the rubber ducky and… whatever’s edible, really.”

“So, are you working from home today?” You ask, strapping Soori in her high chair. Jungkook got a head start on her breakfast already and she waits patiently for it.

“Yeah. I pulled crazy hours yesterday so I told everyone to take it easy today. I still have a bunch of contracts to look through but, no meetings.”

“Ah, explains the fit.” You say, eyes glued to the apple you’re slicing.

He rolls his eyes, but walks towards you nonetheless. “Hey,” he towers you from behind, hands resting at either side of your body on the counter. “I missed you.”

“You saw me yesterday.” You mock nonchalance but he can hear the smile in your voice you hide from him.

“Well, yeah, but- I missed you. Like being able to hug you. And stuff.”

“And stuff,” you mimic, a playful tone to your voice.

“What did you put in your coffee this morning? You’re extra witty today, baby.”

Baby.

He hasn’t called you that since Sunday and your brain can’t grasp just how weak the pet name makes you. How you can physically feel your knees weakening, the way they write in poems and love songs.

Adoration with two pumps of horny, Jungkook. That’s what I put in my coffee.

You turn around, sheepishly smiling at him. His grin widens when he sees the light blush to your cheeks, arms leaving the counter and taking a step back. You miss his proximity already. “Nothing,” you sing-song, “I missed you, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He smirks before his head lowers, his lips on a journey to find yours.

Soori shrieks, pointing at her apple as she lets out her infamous, “Naaa.”

You turn to her and Jungkook takes a step back.

“Sorry, Soo. Coming right up.” You tell her.

You go back to slicing her fruit and Jungkook plates her eggs, cutting them into tiny pieces as he does the same with the toast, lathering some avocado on top.

“Sorry,” he says, avoiding your eyes. “We should probably…,”

“Behave. Whilst, you know, I’m on the clock and everything.” You finish his sentence for him, pressure so evidently swimming in the air, it could cut a diamond.

“Yeah- yes. Also… we should, you know. Take it slow.”

“Yeah,” you agree, voice casual but there’s a strain to it. “Sunday was just… a tiny mishap. Good, but- a mishap.”

“Yes. I mean, I don’t regret it-”

You turn to him, frenzied eyes meeting his. “Neither do I.”

“But we should probably go back to our programmed schedule of… taking it easy. Slow is good.”

“Slow is great.”

“Yeah,”

“Yeah.”

Slow is, to put it lightly, hell.

You’ve been tip-toeing around the sexual tension that follows you like a shadow wherever you go – physically and mentally.

Yet, besides the gruelling desire for him that you can’t help but welcome all through your body you can’t really ignore how it doesn’t just stop at that. It’s the closeness you crave – in more than just the physical aspect of your relationship. Or more so, your situationship. That also has your head looping in a frenzied, uncontrollable train of thought.

You can’t shake just how much you enjoyed having him sweep you in his arms and press your lips to his – Soori in his hold, the both of them welcoming you with bright smiles and a sense of home. One that you’ve tried to tame down from inside your chest since the morning. You feel foolish, but it’s inevitable – the way you thought something had drastically shifted inside of him. That he’d changed his mind, not really caring anymore about someone finding out. Not his friends, not Mrs. Chae, not a potential neighbour passing by. It’s a stretch, in all ways fathomable. Because in reality, you know that slow doesn’t stem so much from what people would think when they realize he’s engaging in more than professional affairs with his nanny; but more so from the fact that opening up, to you, to the world, hell – even to himself – is still dreadful to Jungkook.

“Naaa-na?” Soori blabs, shoving a fistful of noodles that overflow from her little hand your way.

“No, baby. Those are noodles.” You tell her, smiling sweetly and leaning your face on your hand as you stare at her.

“Nanana,” she half sings, half states – shaking her head as she gives you that signature bunny smile.

You can feel your heart seizing up in your chest. She looks so much like her dad.

“Hey, bun. You look so much like your daddy when you smile like that.” She just stares at you, giddiness not faltering once as she continues to eat her noodles. “You’re so cute, just like him.”

You gave your heart to Soori far before Jungkook began occupying it, too. She was so easy to love – wide eyed, curious and even though she never lost that easy spirit of hers, you could see how much the situation was affecting her. She would cry, sometimes for long stretches of time, inconsolably sobbing into your shoulder as you rocked her back and forth, attempting to put her down for her nap. Her eyes would tear up and her little body would shake in your arms and the process was exhausting enough to carry its essence throughout the day. At times, Jungkook would walk through the front door, finally back from work, and she would fall into his arms, a new wave of tears threatening to spill from her glassy eyes. She would stare at her dad, quivering chin and tucked bottom lip, as if wondering if he’d leave again in a matter of minutes.

You didn’t realize just how affected she’d been until you overheard Jungkook, Hobi and Kenny that night after the inauguration. The bitterness in his words when he claimed Ira didn’t love Soori enough to stay.

It was then that you grasped it, the severity of the reality she was living through when you stepped into her life. It made you want to do things differently back then. If you’d known, you would’ve been able to understand just why she dreaded being put into her crib during nap time – fighting sleep in your arms until her little body gave in. She couldn’t just be left there, always needing to fall asleep in your arms. She would toss and turn, whining when she saw you walk away. It made sense to you why doorway goodbyes would be filled with tears and how when Jungkook came back, instead of excitement she would feel relief – followed by a new wave of fear he’d leave again.

You stare at her – really look at her. A happy baby. Easy-going, loving and trusting. A peace about her that sometimes startles you when you leave her to play by herself for a couple of minutes and realize she’s awfully quiet; only to find her in her own little world, quietly babbling to herself and her ever-growing family of plushies. She’s got giggles and tickles and shrieks whenever she sees any sort of animal on the tv – real or animated.

She’s good, you think. She healed.

You know her world is small. Her hours seem shorter, days breezing by as she seems to grow up with every passing minute. Yet you can’t help but think how time truly did wonders for her.

Time and love.

You truly hope time is just as good with Jungkook.

Time, and yes – love.

By the time it takes you to get Soori cleaned up from lunch and into pyjamas, cozied up and tucked in bed, it’s nearing half past one. Jungkook hasn’t left his office since the morning after breakfast time was done for Soori, which is odd because he always makes sure he’s with her for lunch whenever he’s home – even if it’s just to make her a bottle and put her down for her nap. What’s even more worrying is he hasn’t eaten since either, and with his breakfasts consisting of coffee and whatever nibbles he can get out of Soori’s – it’s even more concerning.

You tidy up the kitchen, scroll through your phone aimlessly and when the clock marks 2 pm you worry enough to make your way to his office, gently knocking on the door in case he’s really submerged in something or on a call of some sort. When a couple of seconds go by and there’s no reply from the other side of the door, your overdramatic brain begins crafting stories of the worst-case scenario.

“Come in,” he says, making you sigh in relief.

You open the door, stepping inside and gently closing it behind you. “I thought you were dead.”

That makes his eyes snap from his computer to you in a millisecond, brow raised and a playful smirk adorning his features. “That’s extreme. Where’s Soori?”

“Napping.” You reply, walking closer to his desk.

“Shit- already? I lost track of time.”

“You have really bad eating habits.” Your voice is monotone, casual.

“I love it when you speak your mind,” he says, tone not entirely sarcastic. His eyes are glued back to the screen of his computer. “Hey, can you help me with something?”

“Me?”

He hesitates for a second, looking up as he says, “yes, you.”

“I don’t know how much I can help with whatever goes on at the other side of this desk but, sure.” You say as you make your way towards him.

“Why’d you say that? You’re very smart.”

His comment flusters you. “Tell me how I can be of service then.”

“I’m writing this speech for a charity event we’re hosting next week and, I don’t know. I feel like it sounds very impersonal. Sort of like- a template. I don’t like it.”

“Ah. Then yes, I can definitely help.”

“Come on, Maya Angelou. Time to shine.” He says, rolling slightly to the side on his big leather chair so you can take a better look at his computer, a half-written speech on the screen.

You lean forwards, hands resting on his desk as you bent some, eyes fixed on the document as you scan through the words, analysing them. He feels slightly exposed. He also feels an intractable impulse to sit you on his lap. Not to necessarily do anything too sinful just – hold you.

He decides to be gentlemanly instead.

“Here, sit down-” he begins, body halfway up as he begins to stand. You just wave your hand at him in dismissal, murmuring a string of no, no’s. You look very focused and Jungkook decides to leave you be, sitting back down on his chair.

From what you can take, it’s a charity event to gather funds for a school for blind and disabled children. It’s heartfelt and compassionate, at times a bit informal even. It makes you smile, thinking about how much it feels like you’re reading a journal entry – written by none other than Jeon Jungkook.

“It’s good. I see what you mean, though, by trying to make it less impersonal. But I don’t think it’s impersonal at all. Whenever you want to transmit feelings whilst keeping your tone formal you do need some certain balance, though. Just so it doesn’t lose the tonality that makes up a speech. So, here- may I?” You say, fingers dancing close to the keyboard.

“Yes, yes. Of course,” he says.

You get to work, giving him pointers, asking him to write the sentence so you can twitch it a bit – expanding his vocabulary with fancy words that only end up making the speech more sincere. Approachable, as you say. By the third paragraph, he’s pretty much got it – having perfected it and added enough for it to be up to his standards.

“Thank you. I’ve never finished writing anything so quick in my life,” he tells you.

“You’re welcome. You should eat something,” you smile at him but it’s in a slightly patronizing way that makes his chest flutter when he realizes you worry about him.

“I will, I just- have to go through this one contract,” he returns.

“I thought you said you told everyone to take it easy today?”

“Yeah, them. Not me. It’s enough of a treat to be able to stay home, though.”

“Is the contract really long?” You’re stalling, not wanting to leave his side just yet.

“Yeah, look.” He places a stack of papers in front of him, bible-thick.

Your eyes widen. “Holy shit.”

He snorts, head thrown back as it turns into laughter. “Yes – holy shit, alright. What’s even worst, look at the tiny font” he says, skimming through the pages.

You gasp, a bit more dramatically than intended. But it doesn’t stop there. “I’m sorry you have to sit through agonizing paperwork,” your voice is sweet and you bring your hand to his head, giving him a soft pat. Or at least that’s the original intention.

He keens into your touch, leaning his head to the side slightly. So, inevitably, you find yourself carding your fingers through his hair – caressing softly. It’s an innocent touch, you know it and Jungkook knows it, too. So, he pushes all impulses aside and gives into it. it’s comforting to say the least and soon enough he’s returning the affection with a harmless touch of his own as he runs his knuckles down the soft skin of your free hand that rests at your side.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice low as he tries to remember exactly what he’s agreeing on.

“Still, you need to… recharge. Fuel and all that. Unwind,” you don’t mean for the last word to resemble a whimper but you can’t really stop it as it leaves you.

“Mhm. Your company helps though,” he says, sweet words matching his sweet face yet highly contrasting to the shadow that casts upon his gaze. Eyes dark with a hint of a glimmer in them.

“T-that’s good. I’m- glad. I can, um, get you something. To eat, I mean. You know, bring it here.” You offer, brain convincing you your voice sounded way more collected than it actually did.

He smiles. “No, that’s alright. Thank you, though.”

He just looks up, staring at you with that side smirk that makes your bones feel like jelly, bringing your hand closer to him as he laces his fingers with yours.

“You’re welcome.”

He simply hums, thumb caressing your hand ever so softly.

Slow. It’s written in both your gazes as your eyes lock with his, only missing them when you blink, a slow motion that makes your eyelids feel heavy with every passing second.

Slow. The same way he pulls you closer. Close enough to step between his legs before you instinctively fall into his touch completely, sitting on his lap.

Slow. Just like your touch as the hand that isn’t still intwined in his cups his cheek, stroking softly – slowly.

Slow. In the way he smiles, face relaxing as he leans into your touch, eyes closing as he basks in the feeling of your hands on his skin.

Slow. Like the words that fall from your lips as you say, “let me take care of you.”

Jungkook sighs, eyes fluttering once, then twice before he nods. Rationality catching up with him way too slowly to deny you.

Your hands snake past the collar of his shirt, eyes locking with his as he shudders under your touch. Your nails scraping lightly at the warm skin on his shoulders before you dig your fingers into the flesh. He tenses for a second before his whole body finally relaxes, melting into the chair as he lets out a faint moan – hand firmly squeezing at your hip before it lands on your ass.

“You know – it’s growing on me,” your fingers dance over his chest, nails brushing softly as they land on his sternum, “your lounge set.”

“Is that why you want to take it off of me?” He asks, raising his brows, a lopsided smirk forming at his lips when he feels your fingers work his buttons undone.

You let out a soft chuckle. “Not necessarily.”

“Hm, fine,” he lets outs a soft whimper when you release the last button, pausing for a second to take in his reaction before your hand travels upwards, running over his toned abdomen. His skin is so tan – so golden, you salivate at the sight. “I’ll believe you.”

His pretty eyes fall shut, lids heavy as his focus fixates on the way your hands feel as they run through his skin – like wood to a fire, only making his own flame burn brighter for you. Hotter. Your hand settles over his chest, right on top of his heart and he’s positive you can feel it beating in your palm as his breathing starts to pick up at the promise of you.

Jungkook’s brain isn’t necessarily going places of where said promise will land. In fact, he didn’t really know what your words entitled when he agreed to them. But it sure as hell shocks him like a punch to the gut when he feels your touch faltering, hand falling lazily on his lower stomach as your movements follow and he immediately misses your proximity. In slight disbelief and disappointment, he opens his eyes, mouth instinctively forming a pout that doesn’t quite see completion when he sees you shifting your weight onto the floor, settling between his open legs. He nearly chokes on his spit, the peaceful trance your touch had him on long lost as you bite your lip, eyes pleading what your words don’t. You’re waiting – that innocent look masking your sinful thoughts as you leave his fate in his own hands.

And once again, Jungkook can’t deny you. Not when you look like that. Not when he’s craved you since the very moment he had his first taste of you – of that one thing he didn’t know he wanted so much. The one thing he dared think rationality could triumph, only to be hit with the realization that whatever magnetic pull draws you to him is bigger than him and all his self-control combined. So, he lets his hand cup your cheek, fingers closing around your jaw, skimming through your skin until his thumb presses on your bottom lip. You never once shift your gaze from him, even when his own travels to your mouth as it parts slightly, enough to let his thumb hook itself between your teeth as your tongue circles around it. His face contorts in pleasure, upper lip tugging up before his teeth pulls his bottom one in.

You lean forward, fingers running teasingly over the waistband of his pants.

He hisses, tummy caving in at the feeling. “Don’t tease,” he warns.

“I’m not. Just going slow,” you say, faux innocence lacing your tone.

His laugh is throaty and it hitches in his chest when he feels your palm close around the outline of his clothed cock. It throbs and thickens in your hold as you squeeze, gripping him firmly, a moan escaping his lips at the sudden contact. The sound lands right in the pit of your stomach and your fingers hook inside the waistband of his pants, tugging his briefs along as you drag them down until they pool around his ankles. His cock jerks as it sits across his pelvis and a deep groan ripples straight out of his chest as your hand wraps around it and your tongue licks a thick strip from base to tip before you’re hollowing your cheeks and sucking frivolously around the head.

“Ngh- fuck, baby. Fuck.” His voice is strained and raspy, hand tangling in your hair as he tugs on it slightly.

He feels even bigger around your mouth than he did in your hand, sitting heavy on your tongue as you rasp for air. Your hand pumps at his shaft, stimulating the places your tongue can’t reach as the tip moves in rapid, controlled movements over his frenulum, making him gasp – the airy little sound lilting at the end, turning into a moan.

Jungkook’s jaw clenches, breaths coming out erratically and his chest heaves as your mouth closes around his cock once again, head picking up pace at the push and pull of your mouth – the back of your throat tempting his tip more and more with every thrust.

“Like that, baby. Fuck. Take it all,” and that’s enough incentive for you to sink your warm mouth all the way in, making his cock pulse as you gag around the head a couple of times before your throat closes around it in swallowing motions. His mouth parts in a silent moan, eyes fighting to stay open as he feels the way your mouth suctions around him, sending him to heaven and back. He’s never seen anything so heavenly take on a lewd act like this – sin in your eyes, and sin in the way you moan in utter pleasure when you finally release his cock from the tight constraints of your throat, gasping for air as thick teardrops fall from your eyes all the way down your pretty face.

His thumb swipes them away. “You’re doing so well, baby. You’re so good, so fucking- mmm,” his praises are interrupted as you wrap your tongue around his tip, circling languidly as your eyes look up at him, pleading him to go on. “Feels so fucking good. You look so pretty with your mouth around my cock, angel.”

You moan, the vibrations making his hips buck and tighten his grip on your hair as you lower yourself on him all the way, repeating that same menacing action, only this time with more intention – determined to have him unravelling under you, milking his cock and taking him impossibly lower as you move your head in sharp little thrusts, accommodating him until your gag reflex is non-existent.

“Shit- don’t stop, don’t stop- you’re gonna make me cum, ___.” His head is thrown back, eyes tightly shut as he bites onto his lip with enough harshness to level him back into the moment, forcing him to look at you again. You’re a fucking sight to behold – that much his head can grasp in its hazy, fucked-out state. It confuses him slightly, how he can feel that tug in his heart whenever your eyes meet his and you hold his gaze, your pretty lips wrapped around his fat cock like the dream that you are. The way it makes his heart rate pick up until he can feel it travel to his stomach, the feeling lacing around the tight knot that forms there as he begins to tip over the edge.

That’s what makes him lose it – the total adoration he feels for you right this moment as you work his cock with your warm, wet tongue, reading him perfectly and complying. Completely surrendered to aiding his pleasure, his responsiveness only adding to yours. That insane need to feel you closer going beyond the physical as your connection deepens and he can feel it. He can see it in your eyes and he has no hints of a doubt you see it in his as you return that same adoration his gaze holds. His cock kicks against your tongue and he hisses out a moan, head falling to the side as he takes you in, mouth agape as that knot snaps inside of him.

“Baby, baby,” he warns, tapping his fingers gently on your cheek. You simply sigh, mouth full of him as you take him impossibly deeper. “Oh fuck. Ffuck- I’m cumming, I’m-”

You can feel the way his cock spurts string after string of his release, straight into your throat, cock twitching as you milk him – his moans only enticing you further as you swallow every last drop. Your tongue licks at his crown as you give his shaft languid pumps and his head falls forwards, mouth parted in awe as he rides the bliss you’ve just bestowed upon him. He’s absolutely wrecked but he doesn’t want you to stop – not even as his body cringes in oversensitivity and he’s whimpering, the hand in your hair tugging slightly as he pulls you away. He stares at you, intently.

“That was so good, baby. You’re so good,” he tells you, fingers caressing at your scalp.

“Koo,” you whisper, gasping slightly as he stands up, holding you by the arms as you follow and your knees give out once your feet touch the ground.

“Yes, baby?” His voice is low as he walks you backwards until your hands grip at his desk, one of his legs snaking between yours and pushing them apart until you’re sitting on top of the cold surface.

“I-I like to be good. For you,” your voice shakes, demeanour taking on a submissiveness that you find inevitable when he has you like this – legs trembling even though he hasn’t even touched you yet.

“Is that so, baby?” You nod. “I know you do. And you are,” he says.

“Y-yeah,” you sigh.

“And you know what?” He asks, fingers cupping around your face.

“W-what?”

“Good girls get rewards.”

You moan, audibly and loud, right in his face – lips parting as his grip around your jaw tightens. “Yes, please. I want you. I want you so bad,” you cry.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Yes.”

He brings your face closer to his, lips pressing against yours in a needy, sloppy kiss, tongue slipping inside your mouth and licking at your own as your teeth clink, heads leaning to the side. So wanting – so deeply surrendered to your impulses and the very root of your desires.

It lasts a good minute, the two of you bubbled up in your little world – the same one where boundaries come to die and slow takes on a new form. Where little exists besides you and him.

And the way it starts – slowly, tentatively – is not the same way it ends, as you’re abruptly taken out of the moment. The bubble bursting in a split second as both your phones ding repeatedly, the baby monitor notifying you Soori is in the early stages of waking up, signalling you have approximately three minutes to make it to the nursery before she’s fully awake.

“Fuck.” You say, hit with reality.

“It’s okay. I’ll go get her, don’t worry.” He reassures, his hand on your face taking on a softer touch.

“Okay. I’ll be right there in a minute.”

“Take your time,” he says before placing a soft peck to your cheek.

Slow is hell, yes. Even when it’s heavenly.

You do as he says and take your time in the bathroom. You comb through your hair, brush your teeth and even re-apply your mascara; you’d made a mess of it with his cock down your throat and the hefty splash of cold water you threw on your face as to calm down the buzz that still ran through your body.

The ache between your legs beats you, though. No idea on how to even begin to tame it down. At least not in an appropriate way.

You stare at the mirror – finally presentable from the outside but a whirlwind of chaotic sexual frustration on the inside that doesn’t really escape your eyes. You try to remember the breathing exercises feel-the-tingle-in-your-core lady has been trying to teach you for the past three days. They work – your heart rate finally calming down and breathing steading back to normal in inhale and exhale motions. You still feel the tingle in your core, though – and not the spiritual one.

When you finally make it out of the bathroom, the house feels eerily quiet and you assume Jungkook and Soori are in the kitchen. You fix your dress, taking a deep breath as you begin to make your way to them.

“Heeey,” Jungkook coos at Soori when you step into the kitchen. “Look who’s here, baby.”

Her big, round eyes are red and she sniffles back some crocodile tears, rubbing her little hands on her eyes.

“Hey, what’s wrong, princess?” You say, rounding the kitchen counter until you’re finally face to face with her.

“She woke up a little fussy. I think she had a nightmare.” Jungkook explains, lips smooching at her temple.

“Oh, no, baby girl. Do you want cuddles and Animal Planet?” You ask her and the soft of your voice is enough for her to fall straight into your arms. You hug her to you, gently swaying her from side to side when she nuzzles her head in your shoulder.

“I’ll be right there; I’m just heating up some noodles.” He tells you and you nod, making your way to the living room.

You get her nice and comfy, propping her up in the middle of the couch in her favourite pillow – the one she used to lay on when she was smaller, having now outgrown the habit as she becomes more mobile. She loves it nonetheless, though, and she lays on her side, face nuzzling against the plush fabric as she brings her pacifier to her mouth. Her fingers play with her little ears – something you notice she does to soothe herself.

You turn the Animal Planet on, relieved when you see today’s special is a documentary on sea turtles. Soori friendly – no lions devouring emus, as much as she seems to not mind it. You run your fingers over her silky hair and smile when she sighs at the feel of the comforting gesture.

Jungkook joins the two of you a minute later, sitting next to Soori as he watches the documentary intently – seemingly immersed in the importance to preserve the sea turtles. He slurps his noodles and you’re ashamed to admit the noise is doing you zero favours – everything just triggering that ball of tension in your gut.

“So,” he whispers when he’s sure Soori is fully engrossed in The Animal Planet. “Slow is hard.”

You scoff at the irony his sentence holds and Jungkook can tell you’re wind up. Not necessarily angry, just… frustrated.

“Yeah, you don’t say.” Is all you return, eyes still glued to the screen of the big TV.

“Are you… okay?” He asks and you hate how it immediately registers in your brain – what he’s referring to.

“Yeah, but can we please not talk about it?”

He doesn’t miss the way your thighs rub together for a second before you’re crossing your legs, breath picking up a notch. It sends a jolt straight to his gut and then south.

“I’m sorry, ___,” his voice sounds fallen and when you meet his gaze you notice his face is, too.

“It’s not your fault, Gguk. It’s okay. I just think that, maybe we should… figure this whole slow thing out because we seem to be awful at following whatever unspoken rule it entails.”

“Yes. Yes, I agree. That’s why I was thinking that maybe… we could go on a date.” His words are firm, like he just came up with the world’s brightest idea.

“A date?” Your voice gets that dreamy nature that characterizes you so well and, in that moment, he genuinely believes he has, in fact, come up with the world’s brightest idea.

“Yes. We said we wanted to get to know each other. I don’t think we’ve had much time to do that. And I want to do that – so, so badly, ___.”

“Me too.” You admit. “But I mean… how will that help? If anything, I think it’d just worsen our… situation regarding the slow.”

“I think that it’s a good step towards the right direction. Also, a good opportunity to actually take it slow – just enjoy each other’s companies. I like talking to you. I can do that for one evening, no problem.” You don’t miss the way his features soften, cheeks blushing at his sudden outburst of honesty.

You smile. “Okay, we can do that.”

“Why don’t you come over on Saturday? Soori goes down at 7. You can come over at 7:30 – I’ll cook.”

“Noodles?” You tease.

“Whatever you want, baby.”

“Done deal.”

Saturday rolls around faster than you’d expect considering the things we look forward to the most seem to be the furthest away. But, to your luck, this one breezes in – welcomed by none other than Elton John himself as he serenades you into wakefulness.

“Elton,” you say, still half asleep. “I’m going on a date today.”

You have a smile on your face, bringing the covers over you and cozying up in the warmth of your bed.

Your eyes snap open.

“Elton, I’m going on a date today.”

This time the statement takes on a less dreamy pitch. In fact, you sound straight up terrified. You can feel the butterflies take on their routine flight in your tummy – fluttering more erratically than usual.

The thing about Jungkook is that he has a way of making things feel so right. Your mind automatically eases itself around him better than with any failed attempt at meditating. When he says things, it’s always in such a reassuring manner – you used to think it was just the dad in him coming out. But in reality, you’ve realized he simply embodies confidence through and through.

When he suggested you two go on a date you didn’t hesitate once. And even though you tried to suppress it, you felt like a silly little schoolgirl at the prospect of seeing him in such context. On a date. Just the two of you.

It still feels right. So good. You’re excited, you are. But you also can’t help but feel nervous.

“Oh God, Elton. Help,” you don’t necessarily know why you’re asking for help but you’re also talking to Elton John, who keeps blasting Tiny Dancer through the speakers of your phone so, the cause was hopeless from the beginning. “Oh my God. What do I wear?”

You sulk for a minute longer in bed, finally deducting that the prior does no good.

It’s just a date.

In his home.

The one you’re highly familiar with.

It’s just Jungkook.

Fuck. It’s Jungkook.

You get out of bed, giving your head a little shake to finally wake your body up, deciding to finalize it with some coffee. You can smell it already – only a few steps away in your tiny, cozy kitchen, brewed by the heavenly hands of your loving best friend.

“Lucy Lu-” the sight before you cuts your song short as you yelp in surprise, definitely not expecting to see a shirtless Jimin behind your kitchen counter, coffee pot in hand.

“___!” He greets, shooting a big smile your way as he pours some coffee into your favourite jar, making you frown.

“Hi…,” you shouldn’t be surprised, he is dating your best friend after all. But you’re (secretly) dating his and this is all too close for comfort.

He’s talking but you’re not listening, too enthralled by your own train of thought. You only register his last words. “– Like Ggukie.”

“What.” It’s not a question.

“Um… your coffee? Iced Americano, right?”

“Oh. Yes. Yes. Thank you, you didn’t have to.” You say as you take the coffee from his hands, your favourite jar back in your possession.

“Headed to the library?” He asks, sipping on his warm cup of coffee.

“Yeah, in a little bit.”

“Was that Tiny Dancer I heard?”

“Yup. It’s better than Marimba.”

“You do have a point there,” he gives. “What are you doing later? Wanna catch a movie with us?”

You don’t lie.

You hate lying.

Not because you think lies will send you straight to hell the way your mom made you believe when you were growing up.

Simply because you do it so badly.

“No.”

“No?”

“I don’t want to catch a movie with you guys.”

“Oh,” Jimin is confused and it’s evident all over his face. You’ve never been anything but nice to him – in fact, at times it takes him by surprise just how nice you are.

“Yeah, sorry. I just hate the movies.” You add, because of course, why not make it worse with another awfully executed lie. Who hates the movies?

“Oh. Well, we can do something else? Maybe grab some dinner? Drinks? There’s this new pizza place Lucy has been wanting to try-”

“No, I’m… tired. From the week. I think I’ll have an early night tonight. Thank you for the offer though!” You slur the last of that sentence before you’re downing your coffee. Jimin winces, that’s definitely gonna kick in way too fast.

“No worries-”

“Gotta go get ready! Bye!”

You scurry the short steps back to your room, closing the door abruptly once you’re inside.

Jimin laughs.

He can’t help but wonder just why you would tell Elton John about your mysterious date tonight yet avoid telling him at all costs.

You and Jungkook’s front door have been through hell and back together. You can’t even begin to count the number of feelings your face has perfectly mirrored right in front of this very door.

Your eyes turn to the doorbell. You huff, laughing a little to yourself as you think of the first time you stood outside his home – in total awe, yet absolutely crucifying his use of top-notch technology on something so mundane like a doorbell.

You feel nervous. But you also feel so, so happy.

You don’t understand just why it’s taking you so long to press your finger into the screen and ring for him.

Because the anticipation is sweet, your heart tells you. Because you put on your favourite dress tonight – just for him. Because waiting the minute between ringing the doorbell and finally seeing him is going to be torture in the best way possible. Because you could write ten thousand poems on this moment alone.

You ring on the doorbell.

You let out a long exhale, swaying back and forth a little as you wait.

Your aforementioned prediction was wrong. It takes him much less than a minute to open his front door.

“Hi,” you tell him, voice sweet and an even sweeter smile following.

He doesn’t care that he’s probably acting a fool right now, just standing there – staring. He does it anyways. You look so beautiful. So soft and gentle. Your dress is silky, a pastel green colour that looks so good with the tan of your skin. It falls past your shoulders, tying at the middle of your chest. It’s a bit shorter than the ones he’s used to seeing you in and your duality hits him once again. Your hair cascades over your shoulders in soft curls – also a new sight for him.

He can’t help it when he speaks his mind.

“You are so beautiful.”

It’s not you look so beautiful in Jungkook’s book. No. You’re just beautiful and he wonders why he doesn’t greet you like this every day.

“So are you,” you tell him, a soft giggle passing your lips as you grow shy at his words.

His dress shirt is white and clean, but it takes on a more relaxed feel with the collarless fit and the soft blue of his jeans.

“Come in,” he says, stepping to the side as you walk inside his home. He notices you’re holding a knitted, yellow mesh bag. “What’s in there?”

“Oh!” You begin, excitedly. “I got Soori some books from the library. These are great to learn new words. And I got us dessert.”

“Thank you,” he presses a kiss against your lips, growing soft over the fact you still think about Soori, even when today is about you two.

“You’re welcome. Do you like peaches?”

“Yes, why?”

“Peaches and cream!” You say, bringing the bag closer to his line of vision as he makes out the plump shape of them.

“Don’t tell me you’re a fruit for dessert type of person.”

“Hey, they’re in season.” You argue, that pout he loves back on your lips. “Plus, don’t even start with me. You’re a cheese for dessert type of person.”

“What’s wrong with cheese for dessert?”

“I’d try to explain it to you but it’s a lost cause considering you’re also a lounge set type of person.”

He laughs, loud and airy, making your heart flutter at having that effect on him.

“I’m a sweet things for dessert type of person.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You joke as you follow his lead to the kitchen, hand in his. “It smells so good. What’s for dinner, Chef?”

He clears his throat. “Crispy honey orange glazed salmon.”

You gasp. “Oh me, oh my.”

“With my famous oven roasted rosemary potatoes,” he says, walking you closer to the oven so you can see them cooking. “Oh. And a kale and walnut salad.” He winks.

“Oh my God, you can actually cook.”

“It comes naturally,” he brags. “Well, that and a hidden passion for The Cooking Channel.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do. Like me any less for it?”

You chuckle, walking closer to him. “Not one bit.”

Your kiss is soft, like your arms in his hands when they caress your skin. And for the first time since you’ve agreed on slow, Jungkook actually enjoys it. It makes something jump at his insides when he thinks about how it feels like tonight, he has all the time in the world with you.

“I thought we could eat outside? The weather’s so nice.”

“I’d love that.”

You help him plate the food – garnishing it a little the way Lucy has taught you and he gasps in surprise, genuinely paying attention as you ramble on about the wonders of little green leaves and how you like your food more when it’s photogenic.

“Please, stop reminding me you grew up with the internet,” he tells you, closing his eyes dramatically as you tell him about your secret food rating Instagram account.

“Do you like me any less for it?” You ask, mimicking his previous words.

“Not one bit,” he kisses you. “But stop reminding me.”

You laugh. “Let’s eat, dad. You’re lucky I don’t rate my friend’s foods – you’d be breaking under pressure right now.”

Even though he laughs at your remarks he doesn’t miss the way you say friends.

He doesn’t know exactly what feelings the word stirs inside of him but he finds himself pondering on it for a little longer than usual. Technically, he is your friend. It’s a twisted thought, all things considered, but he can’t really deny it.

Why does it make him feel slightly uneasy, then?

The set-up is simple but you don’t miss the romantic atmosphere that clouds upon the space.

Jungkook’s backyard is illuminated by dim, yellow lights. Besides the blue water of the pool that you can make out at the far end, not a lot picks up colour, enclosing the two of you in a comforting darkness. Two tall, white candles sit in the middle of the table – shining direct light onto the two of you, shadows dancing with the flames.

The food is delicious and the wine is rich with hints of sweet cherry and even though you’ve never gravitated towards red it slowly becomes your favourite – forever tied up to this memory.

“Why literature?”

Your answer comes without hesitation. “Why love?”

“Is all literature a work of love?”

“To some extent.”

“But some of it is about pain. Life. Loss. Anger.”

“All emotions romanticised in order to tell a story.”

He looks at you for a moment but you don’t shy away from his gaze once. He likes the courage you take on when you talk about the things you love.

“Do you write about me?”

That does it, eyes lost for a second before they fixate on the slow dancing flame of the candle in front of you.

“I do.”

“In what romanticised emotion?”

“All of them,” you sigh.

He smiles. “I wish I could write about you.”

“Why?”

“I think I’m understanding it now. The need to encapsulate memories in order to not forget them.”

“When a memory is good it never truly fades.”

“Yes, but when it feels like this you want to hold on to every last detail.”

“I’ll write about it. I’ll write enough words for the two of us.”

After dinner, you two take on different tasks to tidy up the kitchen as fast as possible. It’s nice, the conversation you had at the table never lost – just a more casual continuation of it.

Jungkook is funny, kind. At times he speaks with the wonder and softness of a weightless soul and your heart is still trying to digest that information – the notion that he is so lovable tugging at every last string.

“Wanna watch a movie as we eat your peaches and cream?” He asks, passing you a clean plate as you dry it with a towel.

“Keep up the attitude and I will eat them all.”

He chuckles. “What do you want to watch, baby?”

“Something scary.”

That takes him by surprise. “What?”

“Yeah!”

You begin reciting all of your favourite horror movies to him – a keen interest for the psychological thrillers.

“Ooh, ooh! Should we watch The Orphan? It’s about- no. I’m not telling you. I’ll ruin the whole thing,” you say.

He stares at you for a minute, slightly dumbfounded. “We can watch whatever you want.”

“The Orphan it is!”

Jungkook has never felt more on edge throughout a movie in his entire life.

And for someone who claims to love spooky movies (your words, not his) you sure do jump and shriek a whole lot through the majority of the film.

But, like a teenage boy, Jungkook enjoys how scared you get – taking advantage of it and wrapping you in his arms, keeping you safely tucked in his hold.

Your legs are thrown over his lap and your head rests on top of his chest and you’re all over. You’re all over and he loves it all. The way you smell and the way your voice resonates on his chest as you comment on the movie. The way your skin shivers when his hand moves mindlessly over your arm at times. It all feels so good to Jungkook. So right.

By the time the credits roll in, darkening the screen and the room, your bodies are tangled together. As the movie reached its climax, Jungkook’s body had fallen on top of yours, legs lacing around your own and head resting on top of your chest as your fingers ran through his scalp gently.

“That was wild. You watch this for fun?” He asks, body not moving an inch, completely melted under your touch.

You yawn, giggling a little at the way his words are muffled by the way his cheek presses on your chest. “Hey, you got really into it towards the end.”

“Yeah, because the orphan was a thirty-two-year-old, whack-out-of-her-mind loonie!” He looks up at you. “You sleepy?”

“A little. I should probably head home.”

“How are you getting home?”

“I’m taking the bus,” you tell him, fingers falling from his hair to his cheek.

“It’s late…,” his face softens. “You can always stay here.”

You pause for a second. “You sure?”

He is. Tonight proved a lot to Jungkook. New depths attached to his feelings that he slightly shies away from – the intensity throwing him aback. But nonetheless he gets a glimpse of them and at surface level. He enjoys them.

It also proved that you guys can be close without tempting slow in a dangerous way. I mean just look at the two of you – bodies lost in one another without crossing any lines.

“Yes, I’m sure.” He gives you a tender smile, his warmth leaving you as he gets up from the couch, hand outstretched for you to take. “Come on, let’s get you some warm clothes. We can watch The Cooking Channel to rub The loonie Orphan off.”

You stand in the middle of his closet, a bit overwhelmed by its grandness. You are shit at dimensions but you’re pretty sure it’s bigger than your room.

“How many black and white shirts can one person own?” You ask, eyes widening as he changes into sweatpants and an oversized white shirt.

“Just pick something already, baby.”

“You pick. And it’s okay if you want to give me your least favourite shirt – I’ve done that with my friends, too.”

There goes that word again.

He brushes it to the side, standing in front of the tall railings and rummaging through his clothes

“Here,” he says, passing you a soft, white hoodie and matching sweatpants.

“Thank- is this Balenciaga?”

“___, just put it on. Let’s go to bed.”

You oblige, discarding your dress and stepping into the sweatsuit, rolling the waistband a couple of times until they don’t fall around your hips, basking in the coziness of the oversized sweatshirt around your frame.

He stands in front of the sink, passing you an extra toothbrush and squeezing some toothpaste over the bristles before he does the same with his own.

You two just stand there, brushing your teeth and staring at each other on the reflection of the mirror, smiling quickly before both your eyes divert – suddenly shy at the intimacy of the action.

He’s done first, pressing his lips on your cheek before he exits the bathroom, letting you know he’s going to check on Soori one last time before bed.

Once you’re done, you rinse your mouth, staring at yourself in the mirror for a couple of seconds. If you let it, your mind will roam to faraway places, digging into every corner this moment holds. You don’t let it. Simply taking it for what it is and letting yourself enjoy it.

His bed is big and you don’t really know which one is his side so, a little dubious, you opt for simply sitting right in the middle of it, crossing your legs as you fidget with your fingers – waiting for him.

When Jungkook steps inside his bedroom, he makes a mental note to remember this sight.

He likes it a little too much, he realizes.

You smile at him when you see him and he returns it, walking towards the bed.

“Which is your side? Are you a one side of the bed person or an in the middle or a don’t really care-” you’re rambling, a tell-tale sign that lets Jungkook know that you’re nervous. He laughs, making you pout as you stop talking.

“Left side. You?”

You shrug. “I like the middle.”

His knees sink into the mattress as he walks himself closer to you.

“It’s all yours,” he says, coming to hover over you.

“T-thanks,” you look up at him, eyes meeting his.

“You’re welcome,” he tucks a strand of fallen hair behind your ear, his touch sweet. “You’re so pretty.”

“You’re really hot.”

Your honesty makes him laugh. “Is that all there is to me?” He teases.

You roll your eyes. “It’s not and you know it.”

His smirk is playful, contrasting the sweetness in his features. “You’re really hot, too.”

“Jungkook…”

“Tell me, baby.”

“I-I think we should play The Cooking Channel a-and go to bed n-now.”

He inches closer as you shuffle your body backwards slightly.

“Or what?”

“I’m not gonna want to stop.”

Out of every answer he could’ve expected the boldness of your choice of words falls far in the list. He raises one eyebrow at you, cocking his head to the side.

“I like you, ___. I like you so much.”

“I like you, too.”

“And I don’t want to stop either.”

Your hands fly to his stomach, fisting at the soft fabric of his shirt with force, pulling him towards you until he falls in between your legs, arms quickly holding his body from crashing against yours as they press on the mattress at either side of your head.

Once he’s got a steady hold on his body, he lowers his head to yours, lips finally finding your own – kissing you slowly and deep, savouring every stroke of your tongue as it finds his. Your fingers tangle on his dark locks, using the leverage to push him closer to you, every touch letting him know just how much you want him – how much you need him.

He pulls away, smiling a little at the way you whine when he does. His hands fly to the hem of his hoodie, pulling it up as you pull your arms over your head, making it easier for him to slide the fabric off of you. You’re not wearing a bra and it’s a pleasant surprise – one he doesn’t waste a second on as his lips close around your nipple, hand kneading at your other breast. Your back arches, a fistful of hair in your hold as you tug harshly, lost in pleasure. He hisses at the feeling, a deep groan following as he circles his tongue over the perk flesh.

Your hips raise from the bed, rutting into his as your desire begins to unravel further – a build up so slow until it snaps, bursting inside of you all at once, manifesting all through your body as it grows headier for him. He moans as your hips push into him once again, lowering his body to yours and pushing until you can feel every inch of him – legs spreading wider as you chase that friction, feeling his big cock thickening against your clothed pussy. You can feel his impressive girth and length even over the layers and the contact, paired with his incessant assault on your tits, has you moaning and squirming under him.

“Jungkook- please,” you beg, hazy minded.

He looks up at you, dark eyes meeting yours. “What do you want, baby? Tell me.”

“Y-you, please. Just- I need you.”

“You got me, baby.”

As soon as those words leave his mouth, his body begins to lower – lips attached to your skin as they travel from your chest, down your stomach that caves in at the feeling of his tongue as he trails a path of open-mouthed kisses until they finally reach just above the waistband of his sweatpants. His grin widens as he notices the scrunched-up fabric. You look down at him, wishing you could humour him yet too lost in how the sight of him between your legs like that will be engraved in your mind forever. You whimper – he looks so sinful, tongue running over his bottom lip as his eyes darken. Your hips buck involuntarily.

“Easy, angel.” He says, the timbre of his voice so deep it has you clenching around nothing.

You nod, lost for words as the anticipation builds up, making you grow excited as his fingers hook inside your pants. He brings your legs up as he comes to stand back on his knees, tugging at the fabric until they’re finally off and he’s discarding them, throwing them mindlessly to the side. Your legs are outstretched over his torso and his head turns to the side before he’s kissing your calves. Your chest flutters at the tenderness of the action, that gentleness never leaving him.

His hands run down the back of your thighs, sending goosebumps all through your body as you fidget under his touch, a faint whimper falling past your lips. He places your legs back on the bed gently, feet pressing on the mattress as your thighs fall open instinctively. He stares at you and there’s something in his gaze you’ve never seen before – a hunger that intimidates you, making you shy away from his darkening eyes, closing your legs quickly.

“Why do you hide, baby?” His hands rest on your knees, thumb running over them softly.

“I’m- embarrassed,” you say timidly.

“Why?”

“I-I’m so wet.”

“Oh, baby.”

He doesn’t miss another beat as his hands work your legs open, falling back to the bed on his stomach when you comply. You’re wearing a pair of silky white panties and once he comes face to face with your covered mound, he can see the wet patch that adorns the middle. He bites his lip, running a knuckle over it tentatively, pressing softly on your clit. He’s pleased when you squirm, hips circling under his touch, the prettiest moan escaping your lips.

“Let me fix it,” he says, looking at you.

You nod, carding your fingers through his hair, tugging on it a little as the air grows thick around you. Your panties follow the same fate as the rest of your clothes, joining the pile somewhere on his floor.

Jungkook moans. He moans when your legs open up for him, pussy in full display – lips plump and glistening from your build up arousal. His lips press over your slit in a soft but firm kiss that escalates as his tongue comes past it and licks a wet stripe right over your entrance all the way up to your clit, parting your folds open for him.

“Oh my God,” you cry, hands flying up, fist closing around the pillows.

You taste so fucking sweet on his tongue, your juices already dripping down his chin as his lips close around your clit, sucking on it until your legs are closing around his head and your hips are rutting against his face. He pulls away, a lewd sound resonating past his lips as your little nub throbs at the loss of his mouth. He parts your legs further, giving you a warning look as he does so. He settles back down between your legs, making you yelp as his tongue teases your entrance, pressing further with every lick between your folds.

“You’re so sweet, taste so fucking good,” he says, mouth never leaving your cunt.

“A sweet things for dessert type of guy, huh?” You muster one final ounce of wittiness before the feeling of his middle finger sinking into you has you crying out in pleasure.

“The sweetest fucking thing.” The sound of his voice right against your pussy mixed with the squelching as he attacks your heat doubles as pornographic, and has your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

He adds a second finger after a couple of pumps, mercilessly sucking on your clit – your walls swallowing his digits further with every stroke of that spot inside of you that has you dangerously close to the edge.

His fingers slide out of you, coming up to spread your pussy open for him until he can see your clit pulsing, swollen and exposed for him. You whine when he softly blows over it, the feeling so intense you’re afraid it’ll have you cumming in a second if he keeps it up. But Jungkook shows mercy – lowering his head and closing his lips perfectly around your engorged clit. You can feel it so much more intensely, every quick suck as he keeps your folds parted, giving him better access to that bundle of nerves.

“Oh- oh my fucking God. I’m gonna cum- fuck, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop-”

You’re a mess, feeling delirious as you feel your body tensing at the wake of your orgasm.

“Do it, baby. Cum all over my tongue,” he coaxes, shoving two fingers inside of you as he wastes no time hooking up and pressing them against your g-spot as he feels your walls fluttering around them. “Cum all around my fingers.”

Your eyes snap wide open at the sudden intrusion and it’s about a second later that your orgasm spreads all through you in waves – pleasure settling in different parts of your body as you shake, pussy closing around his fingers in fast little pulses, so intensely he can feel it against his tongue. His movements never stop, pace only picking up as you cum, hard and loud.

“T-too much,” you say, body twitching as you begin to come down.

His body settles back between your legs, hands softly cupping your cheek as your body finally relaxes, falling into that post orgasmic bliss. He kisses you – slow and sweet, adding to the overall high that takes over you. You feel so good – every inch of your skin tingles slightly, mind still cloudy from the pleasure.

“Jungkook,” you purr and he hums against your mouth. “Fuck me. Please.”

“Fuck, baby. Those dirty words don’t match that pretty face,” he says, face falling to the crook of your neck as he breathes heavily.

There are many things Jungkook wants to do to you right now. About a thousand different ways he’d take you – especially when you sound so compliant, totally surrendered to him. But right now, he just wants you close. He wants to feel your body under him, to be able to run his hands all over it as he elicits those pretty sounds from your lips. He wants to be able to swallow them all.

“I’ll give you whatever you want,” he hums against your lips.

“Off,” you say, tugging at the hem of his shirt.

His body comes up, weight resting back on his feet as he takes his shirt off. He looks so soft like this – so dreamy. You don’t miss the way his demeanour changes, how that smirk turns into a lazy smile as he runs his hand down your leg until it lands back on your cunt. He fucks two of his fingers into you, the action has more intention this time as he scissors them inside of you, spreading your walls open for his cock. He bites his lip as he watches your face contort in pleasure, his dick jerking inside its restraints in anticipation.

He pecks your lips as his fingers slide out of you, crawling towards the edge of the bed as he comes to a stand. Your arm stretches in his direction, missing him already, pout forming at your lips as you beckon for him.

He chuckles softly as he bends over, rummaging through the second drawer on his nighstand. He stands back up, closing it with his knee as he throws a single foil packet and a bottle of lube on the bed.

You reach for both, your fingers playing with the condom wrapper as your eyes never leave him – watching intently as his fingers hook on the waistband of his sweats, pulling them down alongside his black Calvin’s, promptly kicking them out of the way before he’s crawling back to you.

He finds that spot back between your legs again, eyes locking with yours before he’s kissing you. You lean your head to the side, happy with how familiar you’ve grown with the rhythm of his lips. It’s intoxicating – the way it feels. So addictive as you push your tongue past his lips, running it over the back of his teeth, biting on his lip, sucking on his tongue. You’re greedy – needing to feel around him all.

He pulls away, settling back on his legs as he reaches for the bottle of lube, lathering some down the length of his middle and ring finger before he’s pushing them inside of you once again.

He presses on that spot, particularly sensitive after your previous orgasm and you hiss, hand closing around his wrist. “Stop, stop. You’re gonna make me cum again.”

“What’s so wrong with that?” His lips tug at the side of his mouth in a loopy grin.

“I want to cum around your big cock, Jungkook.”

“Fuck,” he presses on your spot again, “I love your filthy little mouth.”

You moan, eyes closing shut as you frantically pat on the bed at your side, looking for the condom you’d discarded on the sheets. Once you finally find it, you bring it to your mouth, pressing down on the round shape of the latex as you tear it open with your teeth.

“C’mere,” you purr and his body falls on top of yours once again, fingers still thrusting in and out of you slowly.

He whimpers when your small hand wraps around his cock, eyes falling to take in the sight. You pump at his shaft languidly with one hand, collecting his precum and spreading it around his length before your other one lowers, rolling the condom on, pinching at the tip slightly as you secure the latex around his base. He reaches for the bottle of lube once again, popping it open with his teeth before he lathers a generous amount onto his cock and down your slit, spreading it with his fingers. You’re so wet it’s starting to feel uncomfortable, but you know you’re going to need all the help you can get as your snug walls accommodate to his size.

His body lowers to yours, legs opening your own further apart as he lines his cock over your entrance.

“Ready, angel?”

You nod, arms snaking around his waist. “Go slow,”

“I will, baby.”

He kisses you one last time, lips hovering above yours as he begins to sink the head of his cock inside of you. You wince against his lips, the burn spreading all through your core as you take the first couple of inches. His thumb circles around your clit, easing the tension that builds around your body, helping you relax around him.

“You’re s-so big, Koo.” Your voice is a faint whisper that gets lost in between soft mewls.

“You’re doing so good, baby. So fucking good for me.” His voice is soft but strained and you can tell it’s taking all the strength in him not to ram into your tight cut as your walls swallow him in with every inch he sinks into you.

He’s so thick and you feel so full, arms tightening around his waist and toes curling at the sharp pain of having him fully inside of you as he bottoms out.

“Oh, f-fuck. You feel so good around me, fuck.” He praises, lips pressed to your cheek as his breath quickens.

You kiss him, hips raising up after a while to meet his and he hisses into your mouth at the feeling, pulling out slowly only to thrust back into you as he begins to spread you open with his cock with every push and pull. The pain starts to dance around with pleasure as his pace picks up, both your moans getting lost in one another’s as his forehead presses onto yours – face to face with every single expression and every little sound his thrusts emit out of you.

“I l-love your cock. I love your cock s-so much, Jungkook. Fuck- God,” your words drag out, pausing every time you feel him impossibly deep, his tip hitting against that spot perfectly and you moan out his name every time his cock pistons into you, pressing against it.

Your little pussy is so wet and warm – only getting tighter the more Jungkook fucks you open and it dawns upon him in that very moment that he’s officially tasted you, has you in a way that will make it very difficult not to crave you constantly. Want you, always.

“Ffuck, baby. Mine. This pussy was made for me.”

His words make you free-fall right into your second orgasm of the night – ripping inside of you so suddenly and with such ferocity it has the both of you gasping. Your mouth parts in a silent moan, throwing your head back in utter pleasure. He groans as he feels the way your fingernails press on the warm skin of his back, the sharp pain trailing all the way down until your hands land on his ass, pressing him deeper into you.

“Fuck, what was that-” He hisses in total disbelief, so lost in your pleasure. You clench around him once more as he sinks deep into you. “F-fuck I’m gonna cum, baby. You’re gonna make me cum.”

“Cum for me, please. Please.”

Your eyes are glazed over, tears falling from the corners as you look up at him. He loves how receptive you are – how pleasure takes on every part of you. He loves how your face mirrors exactly what he’s doing to you and he loves the little whimpers that fall in between your words when you’re begging for him. When you speak your mind – filthy little words coming past your red lips, so swollen from your teeth and his sinking into them.

You watch him, fighting with your heavy eyes to stay open as his face scrunches up in pleasure and a raspy moan leaves his lips, breaths coming out in frantic little puffs as he rides the waves of his orgasm and spills into the condom – so much fucking cum you swear you can feel it.

“Oh my God,” he speaks against your neck, the vibrations sending shivers down your body.

Your fingers play with the soft hairs at the back of his neck, your other hand running lazily over his back as his body grows limp on top of yours. He feels heavy but you don’t mind it, enjoying his warmth – wanting nothing more than to have him this close for as long as you can.

You smile, listening to the little sounds he makes as his body relaxes and sleep begins to tempt him. He’s so warm, so soft as he lets you hold him like this. It almost feels like his two bare hands were taking a hold of your heart, cradling it ever so tenderly and squeezing it all at the same time.

He’s still inside of you and he knows it’s only a matter of seconds before he’s going to have to pull away. So, he lets himself enjoy whatever eternity those seconds hold, nuzzling his face on the crook of your neck – lips right against it and all it takes is a soft pout for them to press on the soft skin.

He feels safe in your arms.

It’s then that you realize that all this time you were separating two things that walked hand in hand, together.

Jeon Jungkook is peace.

And you welcome it.

what just happened lol? i’m fucking screaming. I truly hope u enjoyed!!!!!!!!! pls they’re falling in love right under our noses. in this country home of sex n love n magic. do let me know what u think bc i love loving on u guys back <3333333 thank u for making it this far w me! it means the world <3

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