#made uncomfortable beyond vague awkwardness in the months and/or years I’ve known them he’s the single outlier here and I don’t want

[the-dragonlich]

The weird thing about having a general sense of apathy and/or melancholy as your default emotion is that it makes you really slow to process the actual emotion you feel so by the time you realize what you’re feeling you’ve already been stewing in it for days to maybe months

[smoochkooks]

—lost stars, part 2 (m.)

⟶ pairing: jeon jungkook/reader

⟶ genre: smut, angst, bits of fluff, (troubled) idol au, childhood friends to lovers

⟶ word count: 20k

⟶ summary: in dead hours of the night he stumbles upon the bars, reaching, searching, trying to feel something, for once forget about consequences and taste the bittersweet freedom. between sips of addiction and faint touches of nameless lovers he finds you again: his own long-lost star on a blackboard sky.

⟶ warnings: explicit sexual content, soft dom!jk but also bit possessive!jk, sub!reader, oral (f receiving), praise kink, jk calling oc his pretty girl, unprotected sex (stay safe kiddos!), creampie, implicit car sex, mentions of infidelity, smoking, both oc and jk are emotional mess sometimes.

✔ read part one here!

a/n: i’m sorry i keep you waiting for so long but it’s finally here. as i promised, by the end of october. this story has a really special place in my heart, i’ve had it in my drafts for over a year now. i hope you’ll enjoy it!

Twenty-two. No, twenty-three. Or maybe it was actually twenty-two? Jungkook starts counting again.  

Various, different certificates are aligned on the wall in front of him, every single one dedicated to the same man, sitting across the table with crossed arms and stern expression. It’s rather obvious his ego reaches far beyond the printed sheets of paper with his name written in swirly fonts. They are here just to make an impression, to fool people into believing that the pastel blue shirt he’s wearing and expensive watch on his wrist are the outcome of his hard work.  

He opens his mouth to say something, but it doesn’t reach Jungkook’s ears. He starts counting again; this time the number of letters on the first certificate.

“What do you suggest we should do then?”

The man whose achievements in marketing and public relations Jungkook currently attentively analyzes, is Lee Ilsug, or at least that’s what those diplomas indicate. To be honest, Jungkook couldn’t care less about his name or the list of accomplishments that made him be employed here.

He’s new in the company, that’s certain. Jungkook didn’t have to deal with him before but Yoongi had the unpleasantness though, when he needed to deny the rumours going all around the Twitter about his slightly too close friendship with a female singer he had collaborated with.  

Quoting Yoongi, Ilsung was pain in the ass. 

“The photo is blurry. It’s debatable whether it’s Jungkook-ssi or not.” Another voice, this time female, cuts in. Jungkook remembers her face fleetingly from some PR meeting he had attended before. It looks like she’s now Ilsung’s assistant. “I checked SNS. Fans are on Jungkook’s side, they don’t believe what that girl had written, which is a good situation for us to interfere and release a statement.”

“What do you think, Jungkook?”

It’s Sejin. He was the one who contacted Jungkook about the ruckus in the company that has been going on since morning. The case is simple: on the day he did his walk of shame out of your apartment, he stopped to light up a cigarette that happened to be another one of his cardinal mistakes he’s made in span of 24 hours. What started with getting the temptation and alcohol got better of him and sleeping with you, ended with someone taking a picture of him while smoking.

It’s truly a miracle the photo’s quality is moderately vague. His mom always tells him he was born under the lucky star but for Jungkook it’s more like fate was playing hide and seek with him. This time, he managed to blend into the shadows in time.

Ilsung clicks his tongue. It’s not a secret he hates his job yet cherishes the money he earns. He pushes his thick-rimmed glasses up his nose and leans over the table. He’s close enough for Jungkook to notice the fresh cut from shaving on his cheek and a small, golden cross hanging on his neck. 

He raises his brow, eyes trained on Jungkook. Cold, emotionless. Clearly, his ambitions don’t end on dealing with some idol’s reckless shenanigans. “Well? What’s on your mind, Jungkook-ssi? We are ready to release the statement denying rumours about the incident in an hour.”

Jungkook bites the inside of his cheek. “But that will be a lie then. I did smoke, it’s me on that picture.”

Next to him, he hears Sejin clearing his throat uncomfortably. “Jungkook, I know it’s unfair but we can’t let it affect yours or boys’ reputations right now. We are a month before the comeback.” he says and no matter how much he tries to make it sound neutral, pulling the ‘what about the rest of the members?’ card is usually the last straw to bend Jungkook.

Jungkook releases a long sigh at that. He feels unworthy. He let down his brothers again, made them worry about him countless times before and that’s what he offeres in return: disappointment. He cannot risk his bandmates’ good name because of his incautious behavior. They sacrificed too much to be where they are now to lose it over a silly scandal.  

“Do what’s best for the team.” he decides after a while.

Once he’s out of the office, his thoughts drift instinctively to you. Do you already know about the mess he created? Do you even search through social media, looking for the updates about him? No, you wouldn’t go there, he tells himself. He’s almost sure. He hopes those revelations won’t ever reach you.

Sejin breaks his chain of thoughts, stepping into the elevator after him. “What were you even doing in that part of the city so early?” he asks, staring at Jungkook’s reflection in the mirror.

“Does it really matter?”

Sejin’s features soften a little. He’s been with them practically since the beginning. Seen their best and worst, always by their side even when the whole world seemed to be against them. Piggybacking Jungkook out of the practice room because he complained about his feet being sore, joking behind the stage about trivial things when no cameras where around. They trusted him. And he’s never stopped believing in them.

“I told you that million times before. You are allowed to lead your life the way you want, Jungkook. I know how you feel, but as a public figure you have to be extremely careful, first and foremost. People don’t forget, nothing ever disappears from the Internet,” he says, or rather repeats the same mantra he’s been telling them since they broke into the mainstream and started being overly recognizable. “I am here to protect you but I won’t be able to do that if you don’t take care of yourself first.”

He places a strong hold on Jungkook’s shoulder and squeezes reassuringly. Jungkook releases a sigh and the door slides open behind them. “Thank you, hyung.”

“Always, Jungkook-ah. I’m feeling like a father of rebel teenager now.” Sejin laughs lightly to clear the heavy atmosphere, making Jungkook snort.  

“Hey, I’m twenty-two!”

Sejin ruffles Jungkook’s hair, ignoring younger’s grumbling protests. The walk into the spacious parking lot of the company and Jungkook suddenly stops in his tracks.  

“Does Bang already know about this?“ he asks matter-of-factly, although he’s sure what the answer will be. The confirmation he needs comes with a nod from Sejin. “Is he pissed?” he adds then.

Sejin raises his brows, looking down at him. “His golden boy let him down, what do you think? He might not be mad but he’s sure as hell disappointed.” He gestures to his car and Jungkook follows him without a word, imagining his boss’ sour expression next time he sees him. In Bang’s self-made ranking he’s sitting at last place right now probably.  

“Want to grab a proper breakfast with me? I’ve been called into the company while I was in bed. I didn’t even have time to finish my coffee.” Sejin offers, pulling Jungkook out of his thoughts.

“Okay.” Jungkook says, hopping in Sejin’s car. “You’re buying?” he asks, mustering a snickering smile even though he’s definitely not in the mood for joking.

Sejin rolls his eyes, fastening his seatbelt. “Don’t you think you own it to me for saving your ass once again?”

“But I’m your rebel teenager kid, remember?” Jungkook pouts. When he sees Sejin hesitating, he opts for another strategy. The one that never fails. “Rock-paper-scissors?”

“Deal.” 

Tonight, Jungkook pulls up in front of the club you’re working in with his car. It’s Friday night and he recalls you saying you work here every two weeks. He counted the days three times. There’s no way he made a mistake. He’s sober. And he has no intentions of getting drunk.  

You’re surprised when you see him. You haven’t spoken a word for a whole week since he walked out of your apartment. He seems happier when he approaches you, flashing a bunny-toothed smile like nothing ever happened. Maybe he’s good at pretending. That’s exactly what you told him to do - act like the night he stripped you bare and fucked you silly was merely a mirage.

In a way, you’re relieved he makes everything seem ordinary, even though it’s anything but normal.

He waits for you to finish your shift. Tells you he drove here with his car and your eyes involuntarily widen. When you’re standing in front of his black Mercedes Benz, you can’t help but gawk.  

“I don’t even want to know how much money this cost.” You take in the all-polished, black glory of his car, muttering “Holy shit” under your breath.

Jungkook chuckles to himself, gesturing for you to get in. You do it without a word, making yourself comfortable on the leather seat. If he manages not to make things awkward, you can do it to, acting as though he isn’t a well-known persona in your country with an addiction for unhealthy lifestyle.

He starts the engine and drives in the direction of your neighborhood, humming to himself the tune playing in radio. It’s awfully domestic, the way he navigates through the streets like he knows them like the back of his hand although you’re aware he’s glancing at his phone once in a while to check the directions. You catch yourself watching him from the corner of your eye with curiosity, biting your lip to suppress the urge to ask him million questions at a minute. Instead, you let him do whatever he has in mind. You can’t ruin this, you remind yourself.

Later that night, you’re sitting in his car in the darkness, parked on the rundown parking lot where no one’s standing expect for you. The only source of light is coming from the single street lamp nearby, illuminating delicately Jungkook’s features in dim, yellowish lighting.  

He doesn’t say much. He fumbles with the hem of his jacket almost absentmindedly and you know him well enough to sense there’s something plugging his thoughts. You call his name and he turns his head to the side. It’s too dark for you to spot the tiredness on his beautiful face, too dark to read from his eyes and find all the needed answers in them.

“Is everything alright?” you ask and it sounds awfully loud in a small space of his car. Despite the silent promise you made to yourself about keeping things between you civil, you can’t help but interfere.

Jungkook then whirls on his seat so he can face you fully, flashing you a smile meant to throw all your former worries away. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just wanted to sit with you for a while like that, if you don’t mind.”  

If anything, it doesn’t cure your concerns but you shove it to the back of your head for now. Nodding at his words, you fall into the distressing silence. The street lamp nearby goes out and if it wasn’t for the digital dashboard in Jungkook’s car, you would have been surrounded by darkness completely.  

Jungkook chuckles under his breath and you follow suit. The sudden change in the atmosphere should be taken as a sign to abandon this damned parking lot and go somewhere else, but he looks like he has other plans in mind. Hearing the soft whisper of your name, you start feeling like it all was meant to happen. Him appearing in front of the club, the lights going out and enabling you to read the true emotions from your faces – it’s all like fate is again playing tricks with you.  

You don’t know who moves first, crossing the invisible oceans between you and reaching homeland, but the next thing you feel is his lips on yours.

He tastes like the non-alcoholic beverage he drunk earlier, mixed with faint bitterness of his beloved cigarettes and something akin to mint, yet you’re drowning in it, in him, in the warmth of his breath on your wet lips.

You feel the world spiraling in front of your eyes, despite your soberity. You’re moving automatically; leaning into his touch and accepting the kiss with raw passion, welcoming his tongue in your mouth willingly. It should be alarming how good it feels to have him like this, in your arms, teeth scrapping your neck until you’re writhing in your seat. Breathless, he takes the hint, maneuvering your body until you’re straddling his lap.  

It feels dangerously familiar. You know what’s going to happen next, when he unzips your jacket and places his hands underneath your sweater, relishing in the way you shiver at the coldness of his touch. When he sinks his teeth in your neck and withdraws seconds before leaving a blossoming mark. Yet you make no vow to stop him.  

From this exact moment, it’s just a blur of hushed whispers, broken moans and quick caresses that leave you yearning for more. Jungkook acts like he knows your body inside and out, thrusting his fingers knuckle-deep into your heat until you’re keening and begging him for more. And he gives it to you with earnest, coaxing you into an orgasm with one last, final flick of his thumb on your sensitive bud.

Jungkook groans when you palm his bulge through the material of his pants, but he’s too desperate to feel your wetness around him to let you tease him any longer. When you sink down onto him, all of your rational thoughts fly away with the breathy moan you let out in unison with his choked gasp.

It’s fast and ragged, chasing the high that it’s both forbidden yet so craved. And it hurts, when tears well in your eyes, when you’re at the brick of pleasure and you know there’s no way in the world you’re going to experience a desire so raw and overwhelming with anyone, ever again. It hurts when Jungkook picks up the pace and fucks into you with ferocity and anger, because the world is unfair and he’s a slave in the system in which freedom means fucking you dirty in his car when it’s dark out.

And he hates it, hates it so much when you unveil in front of him, whimpering his name hoarsely and tightening around his cock deliciously. He swallows every sound you make with his mouth, clenching his teeth because the pleasure is right there, but he needs an extra push to throw himself over the edge. It’s his name on your lips and the whimper of “Inside, please” that finally makes him snap.

Then, there’s only guilt and laboured breaths. In his self-made list of mistakes, you’re aiming for the top.

Grocery shopping has never been your favourite thing to do.

You would never quite enjoy doing it, not due to the constant anxiety of forgetting about buying something even if you make a list of products beforehand, not when you don’t have enough money to buy a little extra than needed (thanks to the dear capitalistic world we live in).  

Right now, you’re standing in the middle of an aisle with cereal, trying to look as much casual as possible so people passing by wouldn’t suspect you to be a wanna-be thief. The cause of your distress sits at the very top shelf and there’s no way in hell you’ll manage to snatch that Reese’s Puffs without knocking everything over.  

Defeated, you raise your hand to take your second option (good, old Corn Flakes), but a familiar voice coming from the right stops you in tracks.

“Need some help?”  

Twirling on your feet, you’re now standing face to face with Kihyun – Minho’s friend from work. Smiling sheepishly, you nod. “I do, actually. Can you pass me these ones, please?”  

You feel stupid asking that but fortunately, Kihyun doesn’t seem to mind your awkwardness. You talked to him briefly a few times before thanks to Minho, who took his friendship with him as far as to go on a double date together.  

“So, how are you?” Kihyun asks, placing the cereal box in your cart.

“I’m good, thanks. I assume you’ve been also doing well,” He raises his eyebrows at that and you clarify, “Minho told me you got promoted lately. Congrats, chief Yoo.”

“Ah, yeah, thank you,” There’s a tiny bit of pink covering the apples of his cheeks when he waves his hand dismissively at your comment. “But it’s not that big of a deal.”

“I’m sure working in a homicide department is a big deal,” you say. “And I heard it requires some extra shooting training as well.” you add, alluding to what Minho has told you the day you read the message on his phone from someone named Soyeon.

To your surprise, Kihyun furrows his brows in a manner that could only mean he’s confused. “I don’t know what you mean by that.”  

Hiding your astonishment with a light laugh, you explain, “Don’t you go to the shooting range with Minho after work? He told me so a while ago.”  

Something akin to realization crosses Kihyun’s face. He shakes his head. “Yeah, we went there together once or twice but recently he’s training there our new recruit, Soyeon.”  

His words punch you right in the guts. Minho lied to you. He wouldn’t come up with that shitty excuse if he didn’t have something dirtier to hide, right? Maybe you’re exaggerating, but he certainly hasn’t been truly honest with you for a while now. It must be a reason behind his strange behavior.

“Are you okay?”  

For a moment you’ve forgotten you’re in the middle of the grocery store with your boyfriend’s friend. Shaking yourself off your unpleasant thoughts, you send Kihyun an apologetic smile.  

“I’m sorry. I just remembered I need to go to the pharmacist’s and they’re closing soon so I gotta hurry now.” you lie. He doesn’t look like he entirely bought your story but nevertheless, he bids you goodbye.  

You leave the store with half-empty shopping bag, raging headache and a torn heart.

They say silence can speak more than any exchanged words.  

It hovers in the air, heavy and overwhelming, a tension primed to snap at any moment yet it has never happened before. There’s always quiet, no hushed sentences, half-lies or stuttered confessions leaving quivering lips.  

Sometimes you wonder when will you have enough. When will you be able to resist, to say you’re hurting so bad it aches right in your heart, like there are tons of bricks lying on your chest, suppressing your breathing. And maybe this is the night.  

A few unread messages on your phone, next one popping up and the screen lights up. 

[1:23pm] jungkook:

i need you  

It pains, a dull ache and suddenly there isn’t enough air in the room.   [1:24pm] jungkook:

please  

He never begs. It doesn’t suit him. There is too much pride and power inside him to crawl in front of you, to fall to his knees and plead. Yet, you falter, shaking fingertips typing a quick response. When brain screams fuck you, you don’t deserve me, a sight of him makes all the rational thoughts go to hell.  

He stands in your door, slender body leaning against the frame. You haven’t seen him for a while, a week or maybe two. His skin is pale, sheer and delicate you worry it might break if you trail your fingers over it. There are bangs under his bloodshot eyes and you know he had trouble sleeping again. It hurts seeing him like this, beautiful and broken but you’ve always loved picking up the damaged pieces.

He smiles, a lopsided smirk you know oh so well, a dark amusement because here you are, pliant under his gaze, vulnerable under his every command.  

“Hello, doll.”  

It’s the ‘doll’ that makes you grimace. Nickname he uses only when you’re stripped bare for his liking, bend to his will. It means he’s been drinking. Probably the expensive whiskey you hate the taste of so much when it lingers bitterly on your tongue after each swipe of his mouth against yours. “Will you let me in?” he then asks although he already knows the answer.

It’s cruel of him how he uses your weakness. You hate seeing him like this, hate when he’s thrown apart and you’re the only one who knows how to fix him. That’s why you move away from the door in a silent invitation, biting your lip when you see his slouching posture and unsteady walk.  

It hurts when you help him sit on your bed and he smiles at you lazily, in all his beautiful yet broken glory. You almost don’t recognize him. It’s not your Jungkook. Your Jungkook would never drown his misery in alcohol, he would never sit in your room barely conscious, smelling of cheap bars and cigarettes.  

But you accept your fate the way it is.  

“I need to sober you up a little. I’ll go get you a glass of water, okay?” He hums in response, although you’re worried it might have not reach his ears at all.  

Jungkook looks up when your back, accepting the water and drinking it with eagerness. “You’re too good to me, you know that right?” he slurs a little once he’s done. “I don’t deserve you.” he adds after a moment, cupping your cheek with his unoccupied palm.  

You squeeze your eyes shut because you fear you might break down in front of him if you look him in the eyes. He strokes your skin, murming “I’m so sorry” all over again.  

You stay like that for a few beats of silence, breathing in each other’s presences until you hear Jungkook’s phone buzzing in the pocket of his jacket. Taking it out, you see ‘Jimin-hyung’ written on the screen. “Your friends are worried about you.” you murmur, nudging his side.

“Tell them to go to hell.” You hear him muttering under his breath. Sighing, you decide to exit the room and answer the call.  

“Jungkook? Where the fuck are you?!” Jimin’s angered, thick with Busan dialect voice rings in your ears, making you flinch. “You should’ve at least answer my text once so I would know you’re okay!”  

Mustering the courage, you take a deep breath and say, “Hi, it’s Y/N speaking. Jungkook’s friend.”  

There’s a pause on the other side, until your hear Jimin clearing his throat. “Oh, hi. Is Jungkook maybe with you?” he asks and you smile to yourself involuntarily noticing how his voice has changed once he realised he’s not speaking to his friend.  

“He is. Drunk, but in one piece.” you reply, sparing a glance at aforementioned Jungkook who’s now slumped down on your bed, probably fast asleep.

Jimin sighs with relief. “That’s good then. You know, we got into a little fight today and he suddenly disappeared without a trace, and we are right before the comeback so–”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to explain anything to me,” you interrupt his rushed rambling. “I’ll take care of him.”  

“Thank you, Y/N-ssi. It means a lot.”  

‘’I’ve been taking care of his ass practically since we were kids, so it’s not a big deal for me,” you chuckle lightly, even though you’re definetely not in the mood for jokes. “Well, maybe not in that way but still.”  

“I know. He told me about you.”  

Your eyes widen. “He did?” you ask, failing to hide the surprised tone of your voice.  

“Yeah, he did. When he first told us he met his childhood friend accidentally in the club he got drunk in, we didn’t believe him at first. But then he slowly started opening up more about you and even showed me some picture of you and him when you were kids.” Jimin says. “You know, Jungkook hasn’t been himself for quite a while. He kept pushing us away but ever since he met you, he’s started smiling again. Please, promise me you’ll never hurt him.”  

You release a shaky breath. “I promise.”  

It’s easy to promise such thing. Because you’re for sure going to end up being hurt first.

It’s your alarm that wakes you up the next morning.

The sight of Jungkook is long gone, the only proof he’s been here in your bed last night is an empty glass on your bedside table and a small note written on the napkin.  

Thank you for everything. I really don’t deserve you.  

Jungkook.

Sheets have gone already cold underneath your fingertips where he laid beside you just hours ago. You didn’t get much sleep the night, watching his beautiful, pale features illuminated by the moonlight slipping through your window. He looked so peaceful with his chapped lips slightly parted and in that moment, you couldn’t think of any reason to hate him and what he’s doing to you.

Later, when you’re finally out of uni, you come home and take a quick shower. It’s Wednesday and Wednesdays are reserved for your small dates with Minho. The guilt you’re feeling while getting dressed and fixing your makeup is eating you from the inside. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you almost don’t recognize the shallow of a girl you’re seeing.  

You are not a bad person, you keep reminding yourself, then why did you sleep with him that night? Let him crawl into your bed again and again after?

Minho waits for you outside in his car. He’s taking you to a new Thai restaurant and you manage to hide the frown on your face, because your dear boyfriend forgot you don’t like this type of food.  

“You look pretty tonight, babe,” he says once you’re inside, waiting for your orders. You smile at him briefly. “It’s really been a while since we went out together, hasn’t it?”  

At that, you nod curtly. It’s true, you haven’t seen each other last week at all. Minho ditched your usual Wednesday date in favor of staying at work for something important. It happened second or third time this month. You feel like you don’t have right to be mad at him. If anything, that’s what you deserve for lying to him behind his back.

The rest of the evening goes smoothly. Your food arrives, you act like you don’t feel nauseous chewing on your pad thai and trying to break out the taste with red wine. Minho babbles about the new Netflix series he’s started watching and you’re pretending to be intrested. Wednesday date at its finest.

Then, when you’re about to pour yourself another glass of wine, Minho stops you with his hand on yours. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something,”  You fight an urge to roll your eyes. He wants to discuss serious matters? What a change. “We’ve been together for eight months. My parents keep asking about you.”  

“Oh,” you blurt out. To hide your anxiety, you force out a breathy laugh. “So, what about them?” you ask, however you already know what the answer is going to be.  

“I thought we could visit them soon in Daegu over some weekend when you don’t have work,” he proposes, squeezing your hand as if to calm your nerves. It’s not doing much to put you at ease. “My mom has already started making plans what food she should make. They’re really excited to meet you.”  

You feign a smile. It should be a natural progression for couples to take things at a time, step by step but you can’t help but feel uneasy. Minho wants his parents to meet you, the girl who lets a certain raven-haired boy play with her heart and mess with her head. In a sick game where both parties are out of reach, you’re terribly losing.

“I’d love to meet your parents.” you say finally, almost breathless.  

“You don’t look very excited.” Minho comments with a smirk and you know he’s joking but the lump in your throat only grows.  

You smile meekly. “I’m just nervous, that’s all. What if they won’t like me?”  

“I’m sure they’re gonna love you. You don’t have anything to worry about.” he dismisses your concerns, reaching for the wine bottle to pour himself a glass. “I’ve got one more thing to tell you. I know it’s a lot for one evening but I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it for weeks now so since we have this opportunity now, I’m gonna use it.”  

Color drains from your face. What else is there to converse about all of a sudden? Biting the inside of your cheek, you give him a sign to continue.

“I’ll go straight to the point. I want you to move in with me,” The bomb explodes and you nearly drop your wine glass to the floor. “I know it might be a lot for your but I really, really want to see you every day in my bed. My apartment is big enough for both of us but once I get the promotion my boss talked to me about last week, we can look for something fancier.”  

You stare at him blankly. First his parents, now this? Minho from the beginning of your relationship was the one who liked to take things slowly. He didn’t kiss you until your third date, he waited unnecessary amount of time to have sex even though you told him over and over again you were more than ready to do it with him.

The sudden rush feels weird. As if sensing your discomfort, Minho clears his throat and asks, “Don’t you want to move in with me?”  

You notice the subtle change in his voice, the way he’s not as enthusiastic as he was a minute ago but you shove it to the back of your head. “I’m surprised,” you respond neutraly. “And of course I don’t mind living with you. I just thought you wanted to take things slow.”  

Minho clicks his tongue. “This has nothing to do with that. I’m not asking you to marry me, Y/N,” he chuckles but you don’t mirror the sentiment. “I think it would be more comfortable for you to live with me than your current cubby-hole.”  

He’s already irritated by your reaction and you know it’s better not to poke the bear but those three glasses of wine down your throat give you enough courage to disagree. “Your place is further from my university and work. Not to mention I have a five minutes long walk to the underground now and it would take longer for me to get there in your area.” you point out.

“You can get a driving license then finally.”  

You frown. “What do you mean ‘finally’? You know damn well I can’t afford it now with the job I have and student loan. We talked about it before.”  

Minho is aware that with your current financial situation you’re barely making ends meet and you can’t let yourself have another, bigger expenses. But you’re fine on your own, you don’t mind living where you do because that’s the result of your independence. You showed your parents you are able to study and work without their extra help. You’re proud of yourself for that.

“Now you’re literally making excuses. Just say you don’t want to move in.”  

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” you try to reason. “I’m not ready for such a big step yet. I need more time to think about it.”  

Minho snorts, rolling his eyes. “What else is there to think about? Either you say yes or no!” His raised tone catches attention from the family sitting nearby and they send curious glances in your direction.

“Stop being so loud, please. We are in a restaurant for God’s sake.” you whisper-shout.  

“Do I look like I give a fuck?” he snorts, obnoxious and annoyingly snarky.

You stay quiet for a moment, debating whether you should give up entirely and hang a white flag or wait for the atmosphere to clear on its own. But you’re so, so tired. Tired of being lied to. Tired of always having to choose your words carefully and bending to his will.  

“You know, I met Kihyun the other day at grocery store,” Minho doesn’t seem much interested in your inquiry, still deeply frustrated with your tantrum. He simply hums, unfazed. “I congratulated him on his promotion. He for sure needs to visist shooting range more now, doesn’t he?”  

Minho arches his brow. “Yeah, I told you he goes there with me and that new recruit.”  

It’s ironic, how easily he can lie to you straight in the eye. But you’re strong enough now to fight back.  “That’s interesting actually, because Kihyun said something totally different.” you say languidly, watching your boyfriend narrowing his eyes.

“And what is that?”  

“He said you’re going there only with your new recruit, Soyeon. The one sending you messages on your private phone.”  

Minho gapes at you for a few short seconds and then, bursts into laughter. “What are you trying to insinuate here, honey?” he asks.  

The petname sounds mocking this time. Ignoring his lighthearted approach to the situation, you dodge a bullet. “I’m not insinuating anything yet. I just pointed out that you lied to me.”  

“Lied? That’s bullishit. I would never lie to you.”  

“But you did, Minho. The day I asked you who Soyeon was after reading the message on your phone. You said you’re visiting shooting range with her and Kihyun after work sometimes. Turns out it’s just you and her after all. Isn’t that a lie?” you press.  

Minho doesn’t like being backed into the corner. When you confronted him first, he thought he had everything under control. Now, he’s losing it and he isn’t used to being that helpless.

“So what? Maybe I told you that so you wouldn’t freak out and think I’m cheating on you. Because that’s all it is about, right? You think I’m fucking someone behind your back.” he snaps, making you wince.  

“I didn’t say that.” you counter but there’s no use for that. You stepped into the lion’s den.  

He aprubtly stands up from his chair and the cutlery on your table clutters. “You know what? I’m done. I’m not in the mood for your bullshit anymore.” He withdraws his wallet from the pocket of his jacket and throws a few bills onto the table.  

A bitter chuckle escapes your lips. “Your’e leaving? Just like that?”  

“Yeah. Are you going with me or not?”  

You shrug your shoulders. “I guess someone has to finish this bottle. It would be a shame to waste such expensive wine.” you say, mustering a sarcastic smile.

Minho doesn’t utter anything more to you. He nods and exits the restaurant, leaving you sitting by the table alone. Despite the stares, hushed whispers and an urge to run away and hide from the audience, you stay a little longer and drink up that damned bottle of wine until there’s no droplets left inside.  

Once you’re outside, you inhale greedily the fresh air. Your head spins a little and you’re debating whether to take an Uber home or just walk thirty minutes on your own to sober up a little. You choose the latter.  

You don’t know what makes you dial his number. You’ve never done that before. He was the one calling you in the middle of the name and begging without words to tend his wounds. Tables have turned, and here you are.  

You call once, twice. After the fifth attempt you give up, showing your phone into the pocket of your coat. As the first tear rolls down your cheek, you realise he would never be there to pick up your pieces.

Three missed calls from: Jungkook

[11:11pm] jungkook:

I’m so sorry y/n. I couldn’t pick up the phone cause we had late practice  

Please call me back. I’m worried

Two missed calls from: Jungkook

[11:36pm] jungkook:  

At least text me if you’re okay

Please  

[11:39pm] me:

I’m fine

[11:39pm] jungkook:  

Thank God

You sure you don’t wanna talk?

[11:41pm] me:

Maybe next time

[11:41pm] jungkook:

Okay  

Night, miss grumpy  

You’re sitting in your favourite cafeteria, typing furiously on your laptop the last paragraph in your assignment. Your philosophy proffesor has been a bitch lately, telling you to write essays about the most uninteresting stuff she could possibly think of. And here you are, writing about Hegel’s triads, reminding yourself the semester soon will be over and so will be your mandatory philosophy classes.

Taking a moment to sip on a caramel macchiato you ordered, you notice a message popping up on your lockscreen.  

[10:45am] jungkook:  

Do you have time now?  

I need to tell you sth  

It’s been two days since your date with Minho. You’re still mentally flogging yourself for calling Jungkook that night repulsively because of your tipsiness. In that exact moment, he was the only person on your mind you could talk to. Once the fresh air cooled down your emotions, you realised how stupid your idea was. 

With slight resistance (and raced heartbeat), you type a response. 

[10:46am] me:  

I guess  

[10:46am] jungkook:  

Great. I’m gonna call you now

Eyes widening, you stare at your phone. What is so important that he cannot just text you instead? Not even a minute later, you hear buzzing. Exhaling shakily, you answer it.  

“Hi, Miss Grumpy,” Jungkook says and you could tell by the tone of his voice he’s in a good mood. He sounds like the old Jungkook you know well. It’s a pleasant surprise. “What’s up?”  

“You called me to ask how am I doing?”  

Jungkook chuckles and something inside you flutters hearing that. “And what if I did?”  

Rolling your eyes, you respond, “Let’s just say it’s unusual of you. Shouldn’t you be at some dance practice right now?” you ask.

“We just ended a company meeting. And this is exactly the reason why I’m calling you.”  

“Should I be scared?”  

”Not at all. I’m gonna move straight to the point,” he says and your pulse involuntarily quickens. “Are you free next weekend?”  

You bite your lip. There’s a part of you that wants so bad to counter with “What? Do you need a booty call?” but you don’t let your facade break that easily. Instead, you tell the truth. “Yeah, I am.”  

“Would you like to go with me to Busan then?”  

You nearly spill the coffee onto your laptop. “Oh.” You can’t quite hide the surprise in your voice. You would never expect him to propose you such thing, yet here you are.

It’s been a while since you were home. Not like you don’t want to see your parents, it’s actually the opposite. The reason you haven’t been in Busan for months is simple: you don’t have extra cash on the side to afford a two-way train ticket.  

Sensing your bewilderment, Jungkook takes your silence as a sign to explain further his sudden proposition. “Our company gave us few days off to relax before final comeback preparations so I decided I could go home,” It’s what he says and unsure of what to answer with, you only hum in response. “You told me some time ago you haven’t seen your parents since Christmas so I thought you might accompany me.”  

Something squeezes in your chest hearing that. You fail to hide the smile creeping on your features and despite the many obstacles that should be a warning sign for you to say no, you find yourself reminiscing in the idea of spending a weekend at home with Jungkook. Just like old times.  

“Okay. I agree.”  

Upon hearing your response, Jungkook breathes out a sigh of relief to the phone. “I thought you would ditch me.”  

“Excuse me? Who do you think I am? I wouldn’t miss an opportunity to eat my mum’s bulgogi.”  

You can’t ignore how you’re feeling, cheeks flushed and a silly smile stretching on your lips. But there’s still that bugging thought present at the back of your head, reminding you of your illicit affair and every mistake you’ve made so far. Maybe agreeing to a small trip down childhood memory lane is one of them.  

Right now, sitting in a cafeteria and talking on the phone with Jungkook about the details and your mum’s cooking skills, you pretend like you’ve turned back the time and everything else is a mere drawback to deal with later.

“I can’t believe I agreed to do that.”  

That, is a blatant lie. You know damn well why you’re standing on the pavement in front of the building you live in as Jungkook pulls up with his high-priced, straight-from-the-salon black Mercedes. Something ignites in your lower stomach at the mere memory of what you’ve done there inside last time.

When he exits the car, you disregard as best as you can the aloof feeling in your chest, seeing him adjusting his bucket hat further down. This is the life he’s living, you remind yourself. If he wants to minimize the risk of people with preying eyes recognizing him.

Dressed in all black, he comes up to you and lifts his head up. That’s when you see him fully for the first time since he stumbled through your drunk and barely conscious. He smiles widely approaching you, not an ounce of uncertainty in his movements when he wraps his arms around you in a bear hug.  

“What’s that for?” you mumble.

“Just missed you.”  

He smells like the flowery fabric softener you know he likes. It almost lulls you into paying no mind to the thumping of your heart against your ribcage and redness blossoming on your cheeks.  

It almost makes you forget he’s not yours, and you will never be his.  

You’re the first one to withdraw, stepping away. “You’re such a sap.” It’s the first thing that comes to your mind to say after such intimate moment  – twist it into something without depth and meaning you’re so afraid of facing.

He shrugs, still smiling. “I’m just happy we’re going to spend some time together with our families.”  

You know he is. Jungkook has always been a family person. Moving out at a ripe age of fourteen paradoxically strengthened the bond he has with his parents and brother.  

He picks up your bag from the ground and throws it into the trunk next to his. Getting into the car, you mutter, “You know, I tweet ‘eat the rich’ every two days but you are safe from my hatred for high class as long as you drive my ass with this expensive car to Busan.”

Jungkook chuckles, starting the engine. “Thanks for your kindness, love. Good to know I’m pardoned.”  

“Jokes aside, I mean it though. I might want Jeff Bezos to rot in hell but at the same time I think you deserve that money because I know you worked hard to achieve it.” you say, buckling your seatbelt.  

He spares you a quick glance and arches his eyebrow. “I didn’t know you are actually a fellow comrade Y/N, Miss Grumpy.”  

“Oh, boy. Follow me on my private account. You’ll see then how radical I can get.”  

You earn another laugh from him and you find yourself getting more and more comfortable in the situation, sitting in his car and venturing onto a weekend trip to your hometown. The perspective of spending a couple of hours with Jungkook in the same car doesn’t seem to bother you as much as it did the whole week before.

Tapping the unknown rhythm on your thighs, you reach to press what you think might be the radio button. Your aren’t good with modern technology, so you smile triumphantly to yourself, hearing the first tunes blasting from the speakers. 

The slow pop-ballad ends and radio host announces next song as ‘fan favorite’. You look out of the window for a short while just to be brought back to the reality by the sound playing in the background. You know this song more than well.

“No. We are not listening to this.” Jungkook reaches to change the radio station with a speed of light, but you swat his hand away.  

“Jesus christ, stop being so dramatic. I love Blood Sweat and Tears! It’s a masterpiece.” you protest.

“I thought you don’t listen to our songs.”

You gasp, placing a hand on your chest. “Excuse me? I’ve been to your concert twice, dumbass. And I’m saving up money for another.”  

That, is true. You like listening to BTS not because of Jungkook (though he might one of the reasons you fancy them) but it’s their music and message in general. Now, since they’re over their badboy phases and objectifying women in every ‘love song’, you’re fond of them even more.

You start humming Namjoon’s part when Jungkook cuts in. “Okay, then. Who’s your bias?” he asks.  

You don’t miss the way he seems to grip the steering wheel tighter. Of course he would be that petty to ask you this. To entertain yourself a little, you quip, “Take a wild guess.”  

“It has to be Jimin-hyung.” he says right away.

You shake your head. “Boo. Try again.”  

“Namjoon-hyung. You bit your lip when he started rapping his part.”  

“That’s bullshit. Namjoon’s hot but not my type. And you should keep your eyes on the road, buddy.” Placing your fingers on his chin, you turn his head away.

Jungkook sighs. “Who is it then?”  

“Taehyung.”  

Hearing your response, he snorts. “I should’ve known that.”

“And why is that?” you ask, trying to hide your amusement.

“Because he’s the most good looking from us all. He dresses stylishly,” You could tell by the tongue in his cheek you’re irking him right now. Adding to the irony, Taehyung’s part in the song comes blasting from the speakers. “He has a nice, deep voice.” Jungkook adds and before he can name another positive trait of his friend, you chime in.  

“Is somebody jealous?”  

Though you’re clearly making fun of him, he decides to chuckle like he doesn’t give a fuck anyway. “Jealous? Of Tae? Please. I have no reason to be.”  

Smirking to yourself, you find his demeanor too entertaining. “That’s good then. Because I think you’re handsome too. And I love your voice when you sing.” you say, turning your head to the side to observe his reaction.  

No matter how much he tries to hide it, clenching his jaw and giving you an eye roll, there’s no use for that. The blush covering his cheeks gives him anyway. His agony ends with one last beat of the song.  

Hiding a yawn behind your palm, you lean back onto your seat. Last night you didn’t get as much as you’d like to and your four hours long drive to Busan seems like a great opportunity for a compensatory nap.  

Drifting off to sleep, the last thing you remember is Jungkook’s hands on the steering wheel and his soft voice humming the song playing in the radio.

“Hey, sleeping beauty, wake up. We’re almost there.”  

Slowly opening your eyes, you’re met with familiar-looking streets of your hometown, Busan. You jerk abruptly, straightening your posture. “Why didn’t you wake me sooner?” you ask, looking to your left at Jungkook.  

He shrugs in response. “You looked like you didn’t want to be waken. And trust me, I know what it feels like to be brought back to reality from a good nap too early.”  

You don’t dwell on that more. Instead, you look out of the window, greedily drinking in the city. You’re now driving through downtown, passing by shining skyscrapers. Both yours and Jungkook’s houses are situated in a more peaceful area of Busan, closer to the sea. That’s why you spent most of your childhood and teenage days there as long as the weather was merciful.  

Spring has always been your favourite time of the year but spring in Busan hits different. You don’t have an occasion to sit by the sea and watch the sky burning in orange and red in Seoul. Here, where you used to grow up, spring is the cherry tree blossoming, your mum planting vegetable seeds in her small garden behind your house, you and Jungkook smoking cigarettes underneath the pier while the sun hides  behind the horizon.

“Did you tell your parents you’re coming?” Jungkook’s voice pulls you from your thoughts.  

“No, I didn’t. I want it to be a surprise for them.”  

“Oh, that’s cute.” he comments curtly and turns right. You’re approximately thirty minutes until you reach your destination. “I need to talk with you about one more thing before we get there.”  

You focus your sight on him, however he seems to avoid your eyes. You give him a sign to continue. “Go on.”

Jungkook rubs his forehead with his hand and then sighs. It’s a nervous habit of his, you recognize. “I just want to apologize for causing you so much trouble. Not only last time but in general,” He stops at the red light and cocks his head to the side to look at you. “I acted like a complete dick and you don’t deserve to be treated like that. I’m sorry for everything. I thought this small trip here would be some sort of redemption for me, I don’t know.” The lights turns to orange, then to green and he focuses his eyes on the road again.

Reaching over the gearshift, you place a hand on his thigh to get his attention. When he peeks at you with the same, round, sparkly eyes you’ve grown to adore, all you can do is smile softly. “I’m okay, Kook. If that’s what you need, I don’t mind helping you. If only it means you’ll be okay too.”  

Perhaps he notices the sadness in your eyes when you say it. Perhaps he can tell your smile is not the happiest he’s ever seen. If he does, he chooses to stay silent. Instead, he nods. Taking his action as a sight to withdraw, you straighten on your seat.  

“There’s one more anything, actually,” Jungkook adds after a while.  

“What is it?”  

“You’re invited to a party.”  

“What party?” you ask, brows furrowed.

‘’We are celebrating Junghyun’s engagement.” he says casually.

Eyes widening, you let out a shocked gasp. “What?! Your brother got engaged?” 

Jungkook sends you a look. “Jealous, buttercup?”  

You roll your eyes. “I told you I had a crush on your brother when I was ten. It’s been twelve years since then. Twelve!” you exclaim, but he only smirks in response.  

The reason you liked Junghyun as a kid was simple: he was your best friend’s older brother. He was just there yet unreachable at the same time.  

(And he didn’t have as many pimples as Jungkook.)

But Junghyun getting married? That is a news to you. You clearly remember him telling you one day he would never form a serious relationship before he reaches thirty. Looks like he made up his mind.

“I’m just pleasantly surprised he decided to settle down. Junghyun has always been more of a free soul when it comes to dating. I even remember your mum throwing him a tantrum during barbecue because of this.” you say.

“Honestly, I’m not that shocked. You should’ve seen him looking at Hyerin during our Christmas dinner. This boy is whipped.” Jungkook chuckles.  

“Your parents must be happy.” you comment absentmindedly.

He nods, the corners of his mouth stretching in a small smile. “Yeah, they are. They really like Hyerin. And considering they won’t be getting grandchildren anytime soon thanks to my line of work–” he trails off, “–they are even happier that hyung is settling down.”  

The air seems heavy now inside Jungkook’s car. He said an obvious thing you were aware of but something aches in your chest at the thought.

You will never understand why there’s so much stigmatization surrounding idols dating other people. Wanting to be loved by someone is a natural, human need. Prohibition won’t magically stop them from catching feelings.  

But there’s also another side of the story – the one Jungkook referred to. In his line of work even if there are no obstacles, it’s hard to maintain a long-lasting relationship. And he knows that.  

You still remember vividly his first girlfriend. Her name was Eunbi and she was one of their manager’s daughter. Her dad used to take her to the MV sets, introduced her to the boys because she was a fan of them. And that’s how she met Jungkook.  

Jungkook, age seventeen, was too shy to hold a proper conversation and keep eye contact with a girl at the same time but somehow, him and Eunbi got along pretty quickly. They shared a sympathy for the same video games and for Jungkook back then it was enough to fall head over heels for her. She was his first kiss as he told you (”First real one, because I don’t count that peck Jisoo gave me in fifth grade as a kiss.”)  

After that moment you decided you’d never like Eunbi. Not because you were furiously in love with him, no.

You just didn’t want to see him form such a close bond with anyone else but you.

Their fairytale love story ended when Eunbi’s father found out about their secret randez-vous. Jungkook sulked for a week and then eventually got over Eunbi.  

(And he was again texting you about that video game you had no interest in but you pretended to be a good substitute for Eunbi and her nerdiness you lacked.)

“What are you thinking about?”  

You’re standing on the red light again. Glancing at Jungkook, you find him staring right back at you. “I’m wondering whether I’m invited to the wedding.” you lie.

“Of course you are. I’m sure hyung is going to do it officially tomorrow,” he answers with a grin. “I think Taehyung is coming too. He loves weddings.”  

Narrowing your eyes, you reply with a saccharine sweet voice, “It’s about time you introduce me to your bandmates. Especially Taehyung-oppa.”

“Oppa?”

You bite your lip. There’s no doubt you did that on purpose. You find it rather amusing to see Jungkook so worked up over such a silly thing. You wonder how far you can go before he finally snaps.  

Smirking to yourself, shrug your shoulders. “The light’s green. Watch the road, Kookie.”  

Jungkook huffs, shaking his head. It’s approximately fifteen minutes until you reach your destination. “I’m sure you will be delighted to meet him.” he says with enough amount of sarcasm for you to know he’s irritated.

“Oh, I will be over the moon.”  

“Good.”  

“Amazing, even.”

You hope he doesn’t notice you failing to maintain a serious expression.

You moved with your parents to your new house in Busan at the age of eight, two ponytails, overalls and sparkly sneakers every kid wanted to have adoring your small frame, a look of pure concern worrying your childish, chubby features. 

It was a quiet neighborhood, on the suburbs of the town, a row of similarly looking terraced buildings and small gardens in front of them, every single one akin to the other. There was nothing distinctive about the area, it screamed dullness and tedium but for years you have grown to call this place home.

You know every corner here inside out. A local grocery store owned by a lovable, elder woman known as Miss Kim, who always has spare candies underneath the counter for children who come to buy something for their parents. Next to the store, there is a florist’s. Your first, high school part-time job. The intense smell of roses makes you nauseous to these days.

There is also your primary school, huge backyard behind it with a run-down playground. You never minded it though, spending there probably too much time for your parents liking. Many memories were made there. First, innocent childish peck placed on your cheek from a 6th grader named Jinyoung. Twisted ankle, tears, pain and regret because you decided to jump off the highest step of the climbing frame one Friday afternoon after classes. A punch to the face of school’s bully Dongin, who called your new pair of Converse trainers ugly.

It was exactly fourteen days before the end of August when you met Jungkook.

You had been living in the new house for almost a month but still felt too insecure to explore the neighborhood. Most of your time you were spending inside, missing your old friends and reading books to distract your attention from the approaching start of the second semester in school.  

It was probably one of the last scorching-hot days of the year and you were sitting in your garden alone, family’s cat named Leo purring on your lap, when all of a sudden a ball bounced on the grass right in front of you, landing perfectly at your feet and almost scarring Leo to death.  

And then, you looked up and saw him.

A pair of big, black doe-like eyes hidden behind a fringe of onyx hair staring at you through the fence curiously. The boy was not much older than you, probably around your age. He was wearing a striped football t-shirt with some popular team name.  

You fidgeted slightly on the pavement where you were sitting, glancing at the boy shyly like you didn’t know why he was looking at you so intensely. You noticed a small scar on his left cheek, his knees were bruised, splashed with dirt just like his sneakers.  

“Can you give me my ball?” he asked suddenly, startling you.  

Your eyes widened. Of course he would talk to you, you scolded yourself, he wants his ball back.

When you didn’t answer immediately, he continued, “I kicked my ball here by an accident. Can you give it to me?” He pointed at the object lying at your feet.  

You nodded and picked up the ball from the ground. You threw it over the fence, so it landed directly on the other side.

“Thanks.” the black-haired boy said. “I’m Jungkook, by the way. What’s your name?”  

“___.” you responded and the boy, Jungkook, grinned at you friendly, showing his bunny-like smile. He looked cute.  

“Bye, ___! See you tomorrow!” he beamed and headed back to his house.

Tomorrow. He wanted to meet up with you and what? Play football? You were petrified, as the eight-years-old girl should be after hearing such thing from a boy.

And just like he promised, Jungkook visited you the next day. He took you to that playground behind your new primary school. You came home with bruised legs and splotches of dirt on your skirt, to your mother’s dismay.

You also came home with a content grin plastered on your face and a new friend.

Unexpectedly, Jungkook appeared to be a pleasant company and you found yourself enjoying his boyish bickering while fulfilling the rest of the summer break doing things your old friends would consider inappropriate for a girl.

You never thought you could be friends with someone like Jungkook. He was a boy, for God’s sake, and your eight-years-old-barbie-phase-self absolutely despised boys. But months passed quickly and you both found yourselves stuck to each other sides. Something in your relationship simply clicked.

The neighborhood you grew up in isn’t a suburban area but it definitely seems more peaceful than busy streets of downtown. You pass by local church, miss Kim’s store and the big, luxurious house owned my Gwon family you dreamt of living in when you were a kid.  

And then, approximately two hundred meters further, there is your house.  

“Here we are.” Jungkook says, pulling up at his parent’s driveway. They left the gate open, anticipating their son’s arrival.  

Jungkook hands you your belongings, offering you sheepish smile. “I thought that once you unpack and eat dinner, we could go to the beach together,” he says, scratching the back of his head. “Of course, only if you want to.”  

You don’t give his proposition a second thought. “I’d love to.”  

He grins in response and you take it as a sign to leave and finally meet your parents. From the distance you see your mother in the garden, dressed in her usual clothing – black and red checked shirt and cropped denim pants she wears while gardening.

She doesn’t notice you yet, too busy pulling weeds from her precious tulips. You know her better not to creep behind her like that, so you take a deep breath and shout, “Eomma! It’s me!”  

She stands up and twirls around to face you. Her eyes visibly widen, like she actually thought her mind is playing tricks on her and she might have misheard you.  

“Good Lord, Y/N, sweetie, is that really you?” She throws away her gloves and jogs up to you, enveloping you immadietly in a bear hug. “I missed you so much. Why didn’t you say anything you’re coming?”  

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” you mumble. “Jungkook took me with him.”  

At that, your mother pulls away. She arches her brows. “Jungkookie is home as well?” she asks, earning a nod from you in response. “You’re talking with him again?” Her voice is laced with apparent bewilderment but that’s exactly what you expected her reaction to be like.  

Your mother is aware you and Jungkook haven’t been keeping in touch for three long years. She was basically your only source of information about him (besides Twitter) thanks to her close friendship with his parents.  

“That’s quite a long story. I will tell you everything later.” you say. Well, maybe not entirely everything. You’re for sure going to miss out the parts you’re not proud of.  

Your mother doesn’t press you more about it. Instead, she puts her arm around your shoulders and pulls you to her side. “It’s your lucky day sweetie, because we have your favorite bulgogi for dinner. Honey, come here quick!” she shouts and you chuckle, hearing your father responding with: “What is it again?”.

The door to your house creak open, revealing your flustered dad. His expression morphs into a genuine smile when he spots you. “Is it really my daughter or are my eyes deceiving me?” he asks.  

‘’Your eyesight is fine, appa. It’s really me.” You come up and give him a small hug. He was never the affectionate type of parent but once you moved out, he let his facade break a little.  

From where you’re standing now, you have a clear view of Jeons’ house. Here, fourteen years ago, sitting on your porch, you met Jungkook for the first time. You see his window upstairs, alligned perfectly with yours. You wonder if he’s already there, inside, unpacking in his blue-painted childhood room.  

(What if it isn’t painted blue anymore?)

“Come on, let’s go. You’re probably starving.” your mother says, pulling your mind back to the present.  

Walking into your house, all you can think about are his tears-filled eyes when you were bidding him goodbye almost ten years ago in his blue bedroom.

It takes you more or less thirty minutes to reach the bay.  

When you were younger, you used to ride there by bikes practically every single day during summer. You loved sitting on the beach and observing people enjoying their time; swimming in the sea, kids building sand castles and their mums trying to relax among childlike chatter and the smell coming from nearby fishmonger’s store.

It was Jungkook who discovered the spot underneath pier. His curiosity only a twelve-year-old can posses led him there one day after school. At first, you were rather reluctant to go and didn’t mirror his excitement but once he actually showed you it, you changed your mind completely.  

It was a perfect place to hide from the world. You called it a ‘temple’ because it really felt like no one beside you knew about its existence, and that’s what made it sacred to you. When Jungkook moved away you were left to go there by yourself. Without him, it always felt like it was something missing.  

Right now, sitting here feels like you’ve you’ve turned back the time.  

It’s like you’re eighteen again, running away from the whole world, starting your own rebellion with a cigarette caught between your lips and sun disappearing behind the horizon. Listening to the songs Jungkooks had saved on his old iPod and catching up with everything that happened during the last few months when he was absent in your life. 

When you were eighteen you didn’t even know how to smoke properly, blowing out the fume too quickly and stiffing a cough so Jungkook wouldn’t laugh at you. Now it’s a different story.

Looking at him from the corner of your eye, you notice how much he’s changed physically over these five years that have passed. Gone is the baby fat on his cheeks, replaced with sculpted jawline and prominent nose. His hair is longer, falling on his forehead. There’s more piercings on his ears, an expensive watch wrapped around his wrist.  

He looks breathtaking. It never occurred to you before just how beautiful Jungkook really is up close, when there’s no flashing cameras around and make-up covering every imperfection on his face with concealer.

This is your Jungkook. The same one whose competitive nature never let you win any of his computer games, who called you after their debut showcase with quivering voice, who always treated you as his equal even when other boys were making fun of him for being friends with a girl. Your Jungkook, who’s too good for this world to be treated so unfairly.  

“I think Minho is cheating on me.” you blurt out.  

It’s been sitting on your tongue for weeks and now you finally let the words slip. You don’t see his reaction but from the sharp intake of breath you assume it’s not something he’s expected to hear from you.

“Few weeks ago I read a message on his phone from some girl asking when he will be free next time,” you continue before you could stop yourself. “He’s been meeting with her alone behind my back this whole time and I didn’t notice anything until now.” A pair of arms wrap around your frame. Jungkook presses a fleeting kiss to the crown of your head. “I don’t even know if that’s true or I’m overreacting but I just can’t understand how he can lie to me one day and the next propose to move in with him.”  

You don’t realise you’re crying until you feel Jungkook hugging you closer to him. You burry you face into his chest as sob after sob shakes your body. “Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he whispers, stroking your hair. “I’m here.”  

Few minutes pass until you calm down, wiping your tear-stained cheeks with your hand. Jungkook offers you a tissue and you thank him with a small smile. You can only imagine how ridiculous you look right now, with smudges of mascara underneath your eyes and red nose. Not a sight for sore eyes.

“I’m sorry. I just needed to get it off my chest.” you say after a moment.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, Y/N. If you need to talk about it, I’m here for you. I’m still your friend, right?” Jungkook asks, meeting your eyes.

You nod, although he’s anything but friend for you. “Right.”  

Because friends don’t console each other with burning touches on bare skin. They don’t give into carnality and submit to pleasure, putting it before everything else.  

From the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook’s jaw clenching. “I’m gonna kick his ass when I meet him.”  

Before you could stop yourself, you mumble, “He should probably kick yours, too.”   

Jungkook visibly stiffens, hearing your words. He avoids your eyes, staring down at his lap instead. You wonder what he’s thinking about now. Does he regret his actions? Do you regret letting it happen? No matter how much you know you did wrong, there’s a part of you longing for more. Because with Jungkook, you felt alive. Minho could never compare.

Reuniting with Jungkook after three years made you realize just how much you needed him back in your life. You actually stopped being mad at him the moment he stood in your room for the first time that night, disheveled and sleepy.  

You could love him. Perhaps you’ve always did. But he cannot give you more. Nothing besides bitter-sweet pleasure between the sheets.  

It’s Jungkook who speaks first.

“I might not be the best man in the world but I would never, ever hurt you like Minho does,” he says and you know he means it. He stares at you intensely. “You do believe me, right?”  

“I do.” you whisper truthfully.

He then leans closer and when you think he might actually kiss you, he places a small peck on your forehead. ‘’Good,” he murmurs, still inches from your lips. “Come on, let’s go. It’s getting late and I can practically hear my mum already complaining she doesn’t have enough time to spend with her son.”  

You nod aabsentmindedly at his words.

There’s a tough conversation for you to have once you’ll be back in Seoul again. Finding out about Minho’s lies was a point of no return for you. It made you realise you’ve been on this path with your relationship for a while now, missing signs or not paying enough attention to the details.  

But what is even more disturbing to you, is that you didn’t let Jungkook warm your bed out of simple frustration or heartache. You did it because you wanted him. And that thought scares you the most.

The first thing Jungkook hears in the morning when he wakes up is the high-pitched chatter and the clutter of pots coming from the kitchen.  

He sighs to himself, staring at his blue ceiling. The clock on his bedside table reads 10am and at this rate, it looks like he won’t be getting any more sleep, not when his mum and soon-to-be sister-in-law are making a fuss downstairs preparing for the party.  

The strong smell of homemade food invades his senses as soon as he enters the kitchen. He spots his mum putting something in the oven, her usual red and white polka-dot apron adoring her form. Hyerin is right next to her, busy cutting some vegetables and listening tentatively to her mother-in-law’s babbling.  

“Good morning.” Jungkook says in a groggy voice followed by a yawn.  

“Morning.” Hyerin quips, flashing him a smile.

Jungkook’s mother barely acknowledges his presence, too busy moving around the kitchen and making sure nothing is burning or overcooking. Feeling the first rumble of his stomach, Jungkook opens the fridge and stares blankly at its contents.  

Miss Jeon runs her house by the rule the more, the better when it comes to preparing food for special family occasions. Hence why there’s so many different type of products lined up in front of him, just begging to become a remedy for his empty stomach.  

“Nu-uh, don’t even think about it!” she chimes in, closing the fridge in front of Jungkook’s face and crushing his dreams about having egg toasts for breakfast. He stares at her with confused expression. “Order yourself something for breakfast, please. We need kitchen to ourselves right now.”  

Knowing better not to argue with his mother, Jungkook sighs in defeat and opens the food delivery app on his phone. He chooses the first option that comes to his mind that won’t take too long to make and slumps down onto the couch.  

“Eomma, where’s dad and hyung?” he asks, debating whether to turn on the TV or not. He decides on leaving it silent.  

“I sent them to the grocery store. They should be back in two hours,” she responds. “Hyerin-ssi, please make sure to keep an eye on the soup. I’ll be right back!” The door to bathroom slams behind her and Jungkook chuckles under his breath.  

“Is she giving you hard time?” he asks Hyerin once he knows his mother cannot hear them.

Hyerin looks up to peek a glance in his direction. “Your mum is a lovely person, really, but she can be… a lot sometimes. Especially when she’s stressed.” she says, smiling coyly.

“Tell me about it.”  

She lets out a laugh that quickly dies down when aforementioned woman emerges from the bathroom. Instead of heading straight to the kitchen, she makes her way to Jungkook. “What are you planning to do after breakfast, Jungkookie?”  

Jungkook shrugs because honestly, he hasn’t given a thought it yet. “I don’t know. Maybe I can help you with something here.” he proposes, although cutting onions and cabbage is the last thing he would like to do.

Fortunately, the grimace on his mother’s face tells her she’s not quite fond of his proposition. “Oh, no, no, no. We’re perfectly fine on our own with Hyerin-ssi. We don’t need extra pair of hands. Why do you think I told Junghyun to go with dad?” she asks rhetorically with raised eyebrows.  

Of course Jungkook knows why. Kitchen is his mother’s kingdom. No one steps a foot there while she prepares food unless she permits it herself. Today she’s even more uncompromising about it because it’s the first time Hyerin parents are meeting Junghyun’s. It’s the matter of making a good impression as the host.  

“Maybe you could call Y/N and ask her what her plans are? I’m sure she won’t be very busy.” Jungkook’s mother prompts and he feels like he’s ten again, bored on Saturday and wondering what to do with himself. Then, an idea pops in his mind.

“Yeah. You’re right,” he agrees. “I’ll call her.”  

Maybe a literal trip down memory lane is everything he needs to feel like himself again.  

As predicted, at first you welcomed his idea with a little bit of qualm, yet you said yes nonetheless.  

And now here you are, hanging out together at the playground behind your old primary school. Getting there wasn’t an easy task, it required some parkour abilities and jumping over the fence because the place is apparently being locked on weekends now. Ten years ago it used to be your life estate on Saturdays.

You’re currently sat on a swing, watching Jungkook doing pull ups. You have a nagging suspicion that he chose to go on with his daily workout routine right now on purpose but you’re not better yourself, doing rather poor job at ignoring the way his hoodie rides upwards with every move he makes, revealing his toned abdomen.

“Okay, I’m done.” he grunts, letting go of the bar. He plops down on the other swing next you with a heavy exhale. “How many was it?” he then asks, referring to the number of pull ups you were supposed to keep a track off.

For a moment you forget you’re supposed to answer, eyes focused on Jungkook’s throat as he chugs down the whole water bottle.

“Hmm?” he repeats and you quickly snap out of your trance.

“I lost count.” Truthfully, you didn’t even make an attempt to do so. You were too distracted by the act itself to pay attention to anything else, let alone do basic math. Now you do understand all these girls going crazy when they get a glimpse of his sculpted body.

Jungkook rolls his eyes in response and starts swinging himself back and forth. It you recall correctly, he lost one of his front baby teeth here, jumping off the swing.

“I thought a lot of would change here after so many years. But it looks exactly like I remembered it.” he says, slowing down to a halt.

You nod at his words. Apart from a little painting and renovations done here and there, it’s like it all got stuck in time. You’re about to add that your mother told you the infamous principal Choi is still consistently running the school, but Jungkook doesn’t let you vocalize it.

“Wait,” He stands up suddenly and walks to the seesaw swing. You furrow your brows as he crouches on the ground and attentively observes the object, presumably searching for something. “A-ha! Here it is! I knew it still would be there.” he exclaims excitedly after a few seconds.

Confused, you come up to him. “What are you doing?”  

“Look,” he says, pointing at the wooden base of the seesaw. At first glance you don’t notice anything but as you get closer, you see what he meant.  

Jinyoung + Y/N = ♡ engraved on the swing.

“Oh my god.” you groan, covering your face in embarrassment.  

Jungkook ignores your whining and actually snaps a picture of his finding. “You know what’s actually funny? It was me who did this because you didn’t have enough strength.” He giggles, making your cheeks heat up in bright shade of red. “I stole my dad’s pocket knife for it. Such a shame your love story lasted only a week.”  

“I’m not listening to you!” you announce and quickly come back to your previous spot on the swing.

Jungkook doesn’t give up easily though, enjoying tormenting you with your pre-teen love life. He follows you, asking, “Wasn’t he your first kiss as well?” You keep your mouth shut, avoiding his eyes. He then clasps his hands. “Yeah, I remember now. Sixth grade. He kissed you here, am I right?”  

You wish you could wipe off that smirk from his face.  

“I never liked Jinyoung,” he continues, sitting down next to you on the second swing. “But I always wanted to have that black range rover his dad drove.”  

Your face heats up even more at the mere mention of Jinyoung and his dad’s car in one sentence. Jungkook can make fun of your silly crush as much he wants, but he doesn’t know one thing.  

That your little infatuation had a sequel.  

Taking a deep breath, you lean closer to him and ask, “Wanna know a secret?” He sends you a curious look and nods. You brace yourself for what is about to come. “I lost my virginity at the back of that range rover.”

Jungkook chokes on air. His eyes widen in pure shock and you have to fight an urge to laugh at how ridiculous he looks right now, gaping at you with mouth wide open. “What the fuck, Y/N?! Tell me you’re joking, please.”

You sigh, shaking your head. “I wish but unfortunately, that’s true. We went to the same high school and somehow… our paths crossed together again.” you explain.

“And you decided to fuck him in his dad’s car?”  

“No, dumbass. We were dating. For whole six months.”  

Jungkook sends you a look. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“It’s not like we were talking back then,” you reply sheepishly, toying with the edge of your sweater. Suddenly it’s hard for you to meet his scrutinizing  stare. “You stopped responding to my messages a little before I started dating him.”  

The atmosphere between you tenses. Jungkook’s expression morphs from astonishment into guilt and you curse yourself for ruining the mood.  

Jinyoung is just a mere memory, one of many mistakes you made during your teen years. He wasn’t anyone special to you anymore, he never had been. Not even when he deflowered you on the backseat of his dad’s car one night after some party. You were too drunk to care and too inexperienced to do more than just lie there and take it. With your skirt hiked up and blouse mid-open, wondering if Jinyoung was just as clueless as you when it came to sex or he simply didn’t know how to pleasure women.

What Jungkook doesn’t have to know, is that you jumped into the relationship with Jinyoung to fill the void your best friend created three years ago with unanswered messages and never returned calls.  You were lonely in high school, you couldn’t manage to form a close bond with anyone after Jungkook. You hoped Jinyoung was good enough for a replacement.

“What about you then?” you ask to clear the atmosphere. “I told you my secret, now you reveal me yours.”  

To loosen up the tension a bit, you decide to play the quid pro quo card. Partially out of curiosity, but mostly because you feel like you’ve exposed yourself too much in a short period of time. It will only be fair if he gives you the same in return.  

Jungkook smiles bashfully. For the person who had done many dirty things to you before, he sure looks shy now. “I was nineteen as well. She was a friend of a friend, four years older than me. We met a party, flirted a little and one thing led to another,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. “I’ve never seen here after that. She tried to contact me but I just… I didn’t want to commit to something more.”

Is he ready for more now? you wonder silently. The question stays at the tip of your tongue though. You can’t wish for more when everything he’s able to provide is a few, quick moments of blissful relief between the sheets when sun goes down.  

But what if you want more? What if you’ve always, subconsciously, felt like you belonged together but universe decided to split you apart? What if you’ve always been in love with your best friend?  

The realization hits you like a tsunami. All these years, you spent denying your feelings for him. And when there’s a chance for you act on them, you back away. 

Because even if he’s now inches from you, he seems out of your reach.

By the time you gulp down your third glass of champagne, Jungkook’s brother’s engagement party is in full swing.  

Junghyun and Hyerin didn’t invite many people to celebrate. It’s a small, family gathering. Your parents were invited thanks to the almost twenty-years-long friendship with Jeons, which started when you moved into the new house next to theirs.  

Jungkook looks painfully handsome dressed in black suit pants and emerald green button-up shirt. His raven hair is styled the way you like the most, parted in the middle and revealing his forhead. You, on the other hand, are wearing a simple, long-sleeved navy blue dress you’ve had on multiple occasions before but it’s still your top go-to garment when you have nothing else to put on.

“Have I told you look great tonight, buttercup?”  

Turning around, you’re met with Junghyun’s smiling face. Of course he would approach you with his childhood nickname for you that used to make your heart flutter.

Besides his hair color, there’s little resemblance between him and Jungkook when it comes to appearance. While Jungkook took a lot after their father, Junghyun is almost a cardboard copy of their mum. Even their characters are two polar opposites. Junghyun is the more outgoing, boisterous type but Jungkook still tends to act introverted towards strangers.  

And paradoxically, it’s the younger brother who’s making a career in entertainment industry.

“Shouldn’t you be complementing your fiancée instead?” you ask, accepting another glass of Martini Junghyun hands you.  

“As you can see, she’s busy being interrogated by my mother.”  

From the corner of your eye, you see Hyerin nodding along to whatever miss Jeon is telling her right now, expressively gesturing. It’s her brand to do so. Your father says that she talks with her mouth and hands simultaneously.

“I’m sure Hyerin-ssi went through it already when they were preparing food together earlier today.” you joke.

Junghyun chuckles, having a seat next to you. He sends quick, supportive thumbs-up to to his girlfriend when she glances at him from the spot she occupies on the couch. You can’t help but coo at the sight.

“So,” you quip, “when’s the wedding?”  

“Next year in August,” Junghyun answers. “You’re obviously invited as well.”  

You smirk around the champagne glass. “I wouldn’t miss seeing my childhood crush getting married.”  

Junghyun laughs at that, throwing his head back. After a moment he adds, “It’s funny though, how you were gushing over me when the boy who had heart eyes for you was right under your nose.”  

You arch a brow. “You mean Jungkook? He had a crush on me?”  

“If course he did. You were the only girl who talked to him and moreover, you always helped him with his homework and you know how bad he was at algebra,” Junghyun says, sending you a knowing look. That much is true. Jungkook did suck at Math and could not, for crying out loud, interact with girls. “If he could, he would’ve taken you with him to Seoul all those years ago.”  

Your eyes involuntarily drift to aforementioned boy, standing with his father in the kitchen. They are looking at something your dad is showing them on his phone, probably pictures of the car he recently renovated.  

(A classic Chevrolet Camaro 1969. For all you know it looked like Damon’s car in Vampire Diaries.)

You can see Jungkook’s eyes growing big as he stares down at the screen. Obviously, he’s genuinely amazed with what he sees. You can only hope your dad won’t try persuading him to sell his luxurious Mercedes and buy something vintage instead.

“Why didn’t ever tell me that?” you ask, your voice quivery. You take another gulp of your drink to soothe the emotions bubbling in your chest and you barely succeed.

Junghyun shrugs his shoulders in response. “Would it change anything? You were thirteen-year-old kids back then and he was moving out to another city to make his big dream come true.”  

Pursing your lips, you nod. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”  

You don’t know exactly what Jungkook feels for you right now. Back when you were teenagers, it was just a fleeting attraction. Perhaps he thought about you this way because you were a girl who liked spending time with him.  

“I know him giving up your friendship was a dick move but you have to believe me that this boy has been really lost these past three years. Now he’s trying to find himself again, to become a better version of himself,” Junghyun remarks. “He needs his best friend to help him do so.”  

Turning once again to look at Jungkook, you catch him staring right back at you. He flashes a cheeky grin and completely fails winking at you. You’re lips automatically stretch into a smile seeing his goofiness. You like that side of him. It suits him.

“I think I need to go save my fiancee from my mother.” Junghyun whispers, catching you off guard. He follows your line of sight and smirks to himself. “Go talk to him. I’m sure your dad wouldn’t mind snatching Jungkook for a bit.” Unlike his younger brother, he lands a perfect wink.

Like beckoned, Jungkook approaches you when Junghyun leaves the table. “Aren’t you a little sad he’s getting married, buttercup?” It’s the first thing that night he says to you.  

Fighting an urge to snort, you ask, “Aren’t you tired of being jealous I chose Junghyun-oppa as the object of my affection and not you when we were kids?”

Jungkook bites the inside of his cheek, manifesting his irritation. You relish in it even more now, having the knowledge he used to pin after you. He ignores your witty retort though completely.

“Want to get out of here for a while?”  

Your heart skips a beat. “Where?” you blurt out, looking around the room for any place comfortable for you to stay in for a while.

“Isn’t it obvious?” When you raise your brows in question he adds, “To your house, of course.”  

“But–”

He shooshes you with a finger on his lips. “No buts, Miss Grumpy. It’s been ages since I’ve been in your room. Do you still have that Edward Cullen’s poster above your bed?” he asks and this time, you actually land a punch to his arm.

Downing the rest of your champagne, you get up from the chair. “Shall we?”  

“Ladies first.”  

“I still can’t understand why did you really hang a poster of some pale dude above your bed.”  

You’re climbing up the stairs to your room, and Jungkook is in the middle of his rant about Why Twilight Has Ever Been A Thing. You’re ten seconds from pointing out his teenage female crushes one by one, starting with IU just to rile him up.

“It’s just weird for me,” he huffs upon taking one last step to the top.

You whip your head to send him a glare. “Do you really want me to say the same thing about your fans worshipping your posters?” you ask, eyes narrowed. “You’re out of their reach just like Edward Cullen was out of mine when I was fourteen.”

He points his finger at you. “But he’s a fictional vampire and I’m real.”  

“Exactly!”  

You leave him with that, eyebrows scrunched in confusion, and open the door to your room.

“So you did get rid of him after all.”  

Nothing really much changed in your childhood room since you moved out four years ago. Your walls are still painted in lavender but the posters are long gone, much to Jungkook’s dismay. There is a bookshelf with all your favorite positions (Twilight included) standing directly next to the desk which is now pearl white, just like the rest of your furniture.  

Before you can say anything, Jungkook plops down onto your bed. “You still got them though,” he murmurs and you glance in his direction, waiting for him to elaborate on what he means. He raises his finger to the ceiling. “Those yellow stars that shine when it’s dark. You have the same in your apartment in Seoul.”  

“Oh, yeah,” you awkwardly reply, looking up. “I put them there so I can have something reminding me of home.”  

Truth to be told, you are a sentimental person. The very best evidence of your heart’s weakness is the corkboard with old photos in your apartment. As cheesy as it might sound, it gives you a sense of comfort.

Jungkook hums at that and pats the spot next to him with his hand. “Come lay with me.” he proposes.

“Why?” you ask, although you sit down on the bed anyway.  

“Because I want you to,” he grumbles and places his palm on your stomach, pushing you to lay flat. “There you go.”  

It reminds you of old days, how you used to lay down with him like that on your bed and just do nothing, simply staring at the constellations on your ceiling in silence or speaking about trivial things.  

Life was much easier back then, when there was no cameras flashing around and capturing every move your best friend makes. When you were just two kids with head full of dreams and dragging on forever doing your Chemistry homework. When you were each other’s beginning and end, yin and yang, sun and moon and the starry sky above you.  

It slips off your tongue eventually, what have you been meaning to ask him since the beginning of your illicit affair. And now it seems like you’ve finally reached the point of no return. “What are we, Jungkook?”  

You turn your head to the side, staring at his right profile. His chiseled jawline, black lashes ghosting the skin of your cheeks. He opens his eyes slowly, focusing his sight on you but you quickly look away.

“You know damn well that we aren’t just friends anymore. Maybe we’ve never been,” You sit up straight from your position, finally gaining enough courage to face the matter. “You can’t play with my emotions like that and expect me not to catch any feelings for you. You’re confusing me so much, Jungkook. I don’t think I can go on like that any more.”  

You feel his palm on the small of your back, comforting and bringing you a brief wave of solace. He follows suit, getting up from his position as well. “Look at me,” he murmurs and you jerk your head to the side. You don’t want him to see you like this again - vulnerable and exposed. “Please, ___.”  

It’s his pleading voice that makes you succumb to his request. Hesitantly, you accept his touch on your cheek and meet his doe eyes, two black charcoals shining in the dim lighting of your childhood room. He has the same look in them as you saw the first time he kissed you. If the teeth worrying his bottom lip are anything to go by, you could mistake it for nervousness.  

“I shouldn’t feel that way about you,” Jungkook finally says. “I shouldn’t wake up with an urge to text you because if I didn’t, my day would be incomplete. I shouldn’t picture us doing mundane things like cooking ramen in your apartment or picking you up from work,” he recites, voice laced with an emotion you can’t quite put the name on. Or maybe you do.

It’s longing.  

“I shouldn’t imagine us being together because I can’t give you all of these things, ___.” Lone tear slides down your cheek and he catches it with his thumb. “I’m so, so sorry.”  

You’re shaking your head, because no, he shouldn’t apologize for the world’s unfairness, for wanting to have more of you, of freedom. “Jungkook–” you start but he’s quick to interrupt you.  

“I told you this before and I’m repeating it now: you deserve so much better than what I can give you, ___.”  

He tries to distance himself, to back away and leave because that’s what he’s a master of but you beat him to it, extending your index finger and poking him right in the middle of his chest. “Now you listen to me, Jeon Jungkook,” you urge, not caring about your tear-strained cheeks and shaky voice. “I’m a very stubborn person, and you know that. If I wanted to leave you, I would’ve kicked you out of my apartment the day your drunk ass stormed back into my life.”  

He smiles sheepishly, putting a strand of hair behind your ear. “And why didn’t you do that?” he asks, his palm not leaving your cheek.  

“Because more than anything, I’ve never stopped caring about you,” It’s almost a whisper. “No matter how hurt I was, I couldn’t let you slip away from my reach again.”  

And then he’s leaning even closer, lips almost touching yours yet it feels like it’s not enough. It’ll never be. “___,” he murmurs your name softly, breath smelling of champagne hot on your skin. You feel dizzy, drunk on him. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”  

You both know it’s a white lie, that as soon as you’re back in Seoul the reality will brutally kick you in but you let yourself for a moment indulge in this fantasy – that you’re his and he’s yours. You’re on the opposite sides of the spectrum, yet you cannot be separated.  

And you need to hear him say it.

“Promise?”  

Jungkook seals it with a kiss, the one that leaves you breathless and pliant in his arms, blindly reaching for him and pulling him closer with your hands on his neck. “Promise.” he whispers, eyes trained on yours.

For now, it has to be enough.

Then, as if he can’t hold himself back any longer, he dives in for more, hands finding purchase on your hips. He’s tugging you closer until you’re perched on top of his thighs, feeling the hard flesh flexing underneath your weight. It feels familiar; that funny, pulsing sensation building up in your core when he swipes his tongue over your bottom lip to meet yours. It makes you tangle your fingers in his black locks and pull, just to hear him groan into your mouth.

But there’s another pressing matter on your mind and before you can go any further, you’re pulling away from his lips with a light smack. Jungkook doesn’t take the hint though, anchoring your hips over his crotch.

“Wait,” you mumble in between kisses, biting down the moan that almost tears from your throat when he uses the grip on your body to grind down on him. “What about the party? What if parents will come home and–”

“Shhh,” He silents you with a peck on your quivery lips. “They won’t. The party has barely started. And even if they do come home, you’ll just have to be quiet, right?” Something about his tone makes you nibble on your bottom lip to suppress a whimper. He sees it, and leans down to kiss your throat. “Can you do that for me, baby?”  

“Mhm,” you mewl, angling your neck to give him more access. He sucks a mark right above your sternum and it almost distracts you from asking him one more thing. “Jungkook,”  

He licks a stripe up the column of your throat and looks at you, lips shining with saliva. “What is this?”  

Despite the urge to kiss him stupid right here and there, you cup his cheeks and repeat the same question that led you to this very moment. “What are we?”  

Jungkook looks like a living sin with his blown out pupils and disheveled hair yet his gaze is nothing less than affectionate. He brings one of your hands to his lips and places a kiss on your knuckles. “Whatever you want us to be,” he responds, sincere. “You know I never give up without trying.”

You nod, a small smile dancing on your features. “I know.”  

He captures your mouth in another kiss, like he’s trying to prove his statement with actions; sucking, biting, kneading your supple flesh just right. Suddenly there’s too many clothes separating you and your fingers grip his silk shirt in faint attempt to satisfy your yearning to feel him fully.

As if reading your mind, Jungkook stops mid-decorating your neck with yet another red mark. “Get up and take off your dress for me, baby.” he says, all soft but still demanding enough to make your knees wobble. As much as you love the dominant side of him, you’re enjoying this new-found softness of his.  

You comply to his request in an instant, raising from his lap to a standing position. Your fingers travel to your backside and pull the zipper down. Your dress falls on the floor with light thud, leaving you in your underwear. It’s matching but not your best pick nonetheless; simple black lace bra and cotton panties. Jungkook doesn’t seem to mind though, two antsy hands gently pulling you closer to him until you’re in between his thighs.  

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, leaning down to press a feathery kiss on your belly. You let out a shaky sigh, trying to avert your gaze away from his burning stare but he destroys your attempt. “Don’t shy away from me now.” A squeeze to your hip is a warning. You give in, looking down just to see him smirking right back at you.  

“I won’t if you take off your clothes as well.” you challenge despite your trembling voice.

He gets up, towering over your figure. “Undress me then.” Your shaky fingers reach for the buttons, opening one by one. He watches your movements attentively, lets you run your palms over his broad chest. His silky shirt joins your dress on the floor as you fumble with his belt buckle.  

There’s something intimate about this moment. It’s not the first time you’re seeing each other naked yet everything feels new, unchartered. You’re exploring each other again, mapping your bodies with subtle touches and observant eyes. 

Jungkook strips off his slacks, steps off his shoes along with socks. He sends you a cheeky grin. “Now we’re even.” He swallows your giggle with his mouth, not wasting any more time and pressing you against his body.  

You moan when you feel his erection touching your hip. He uses it as an opportunity to slither his tongue inside, each experienced lick making it hard for you to follow his tempo. You go lax in his hold, letting him snap your bra open. He maneuvers your body until you’re laying on your back and he’s straddling your waist.  

“So pretty,” he marvels, palms caressing your breasts. Your nipples harden under his ministrations, breathy moan escaping your lips when he pinches them. “Such a pretty baby.” he repeats, lost in touching every part of you he can reach.

Jungkook peppers kisses on your belly, hands travelling to your thighs. He leans to kiss you on your panty-clad mound. You mewl at the sensation, unconsciously sliding your legs wide open and giving him more access to your center. “Can I eat you out?” he asks, continuing mouthing over your pussy. When you don’t answer him in time, he slaps your thigh in reprimand. ‘’Hmm?”  

“Please,” you whimper, mind send into overdrive. Minho rarely went down on you and you almost forgot how good it feels to have someone’s mouth on you.

Jungkook grasps your underwear and pulls it down your legs, revealing your dripping pussy to his hungry eyes. His breath tickles your folds, sheets grasped tightly between your fingers. Jungkook kitten-licks your pulsing clit, eyes trained on your face to see every small reaction he emits from you.

“Jungkook,” you keen, hips rising to chase after his mouth.  

He nibbles on your thigh playfully, flashing you a sly smile. “What do you want, doll?”  

It’s the ‘doll’ that makes you whine pitifully at him. He relishes in it, sucking your clit into his mouth as an apology for his teasing.  You whimper, “Please, I want more. Give me more.”  

‘’Demanding, are we?” he snorts but complies anyway. No matter how much he loves hearing you beg, he enjoys eating you out more. He covers you your pussy with his mouth, tongue swiping over your sensitive numb. He licks up clean your soaking slit, not missing a single drop of your pearly arousal.

He groans at the taste and throws your legs over his shoulders. He pulls you even closer to him until his face is burried between thighs. Your fingers wander to his hair on their own accord, threading into his silky strands. After a harsh suck he abuses your clit with, you pull. It spurs him on even more, a groan mouthed against your pussy causing even more slick to drip down your opening. 

“Tell me how good it feels.” he mumbles, glancing up at your face. You focus your sight on him, his chin is shining with translucent substance, hair tangled and sweaty against his forehead.  

“So good,” you mewl.  

“Yeah? That good?” Jungkook asks, tone almost mocking. You’re now only nodding in response, your cunt pulsing with a need to release. “Can you cum for me like this, baby?” he mouths along your folds.  

“Please, please,” You’re nearly crying, tears pricking in the corners because the pleasure is too much to bear. Your clit throbs, eyes rolling to the back of your head. “Oh my god–Kook!”  

“Good girl,” He rewards you with two slender fingers pushing inside your pussy, searching for that one stop that makes your insides flutter. “My pretty baby, tastes so sweet for me.” he rasps before licking a stripe up your cunt.

His digits slide even deeper into you. It sounds sinfully wet but you don’t care, accepting whatever he gives you. And give does he, plunging his fingers repeatedly inside and flicking his tongue against your bud – a perfect symphony to finally send you over the edge.

“There you go,” he murmurs, feeling your walls tightening around his fingers. More juices leak out of your hole and he drinks them up eagerly. “My pretty girl doing so good for me.”  

He prolongs your orgasm until you stop him with a breathy whimper of, “’m sensitive.”  

Jungkook gets up to hover over your shaking body. He opens your mouth with a deep, wet kiss. You taste your arousal on his tongue, feeling no longer foreign and eliciting a moan out of you. His length presses against your hip, hard and straining his briefs. With a surge of boldness you reach down, rolling his underwear off his body. His cock slaps against his abdomen, curved tip leaking precum.

Nibbling on your bottom lip you watch as his hand encloses around his member, giving it a few pumps. He groans, head thrown back. Your eyes focus on the sweat dripping down his sculpted body all the way from his neck down his chest. Jungkook is a sight for sore eyes– slim waist, toned thighs. Everything about him is mesmerizing.  

He settles between your legs, cock prodding at your folds. “You sure?” he asks, searching for your eyes.  

You don’t answer him verbally this time and he doesn’t press about it. Instead you open your legs even wider, a small smile dancing on your features as you nod. You’re welcoming the stretch with a drawn out moan. He pushes himself inside slowly, until he’s flushed against your pelvis, his neatly trimmed pubic hair tickling your skin.  

“Fuck,” he curses, hands coming up to grip your sides so tightly you’re sure they’ll leave fingertip bruises. “You’re so perfect, baby. Made for me.” He leans to press a kiss on your mouth, tongue lazily lacing with yours. It’s messy, saliva trickling down your chin but you don’t care, reciprocating with vigor.  

Jungkook pulls away and places one last peck on your cheek. “Ready?” he murmurs.  

You couldn’t be more than. “Ready.”  

He picks up the pace, blindly reaching for your legs to make you encircle his waist. You’ve never fucked in this position before, with him so close to your face you could practically taste the sweat dripping off his body on your lips. He relishes in having you like this, palms caressing every square inch of your flesh. 

‘’God, I missed having you like this, doll,” he grunts. He props his hand next to your head and it gives him leverage to hammer himself faster into your cunt. “Do you like how I’m fucking you?” he asks and you keen in response. He doesn’t seem to be satisfy with your reaction. “Too fucked out to speak?” You hear him chuckling evily into your ear.

“Shit, Jungkook,” you whimper, throwing your hands over his neck. His skin his hot and slippery under your touch. He rams himself even harder into you, hips never losing the rhythm. You feel the pressure building up in your abdomen already, reducing you to mewling mess underneath him. “I-I love it. So, so much.” you stammer out.

“Yeah?” he prompts, fingers slipping down your belly to toy with your clit. “Love how my cock is fucking you?”

“Yes, yes–fuck,” you chant. “So good.”  

He loses himself in you, in the way how tight you feel around his cock. He tells you this, spits filthy obscenities into your ear and punctuates it with deep strokes inside you. He wants to have you like this forever, keep you to himself and hide from the whole world.  

It’s selfish of him to think that way but he can’t help it, not when you’re moaning so pretty when he tightens his grip on your waist and rails you harder into the mattress. Not when you’re there when he needs you, when you’re his lifeboat bringing him back to the land (sanity).  

He wants to see you smile for him, because of him. Wants to call you his. And that’s what he asks you to, begs in stranded voice. “Say you’re mine,”  You’re shaking your head, tears threatening to spill from your eyes but he needs to hear you say it even if it’ll be just this once. “Please, tell me you’re mine, ___.”

Your whole body shudders from pleasure. You open your quivery lips but nothing comes out of it except for a broken whimper of his name. “J-jungkook–”

“Please,” he pleads once again, entangling your hands from around his neck and pinning them over your head instead. “Say nobody will ever make you feel this way. Fuck you until you cry,” he continues, fingers circling your nub with ferocity. “Fucking say it!”  

You sob, pleasure rippling through your body and throwing you off the edge. “I’m yours,” you whisper hoarsly, staring into his dark orbs. “Yours, yours, yours!” you repeat, creaming his cock with your release.  

“Fuck,” Jungkook groans and you don’t know it’s because of your confession or your walls constracting around his member. Maybe it’s the mixture of both. “You’re mine just like I’m yours.” he spits as the orgasm approaches him, shuddering through his whole body. He comes with a call of your name, spilling himself inside.  

You whimper at the sensation, your arousal mixing with his and dripping from your hole. Jungkook lets go of your wrists, pressing a peck on each of them. His palm cups your cheek and he leans down to kiss you. It’s lazy, your mouths barely moving but it feels good anyway.  

He’s in the middle of pulling his softening cock out of your core when you hear your mum’s voice.  

“___, honey, are you here?” She’s downstairs, approximately forty-five seconds from reaching your room.

Jungkook sends you a panicked look. “Go lock my door!” you hiss. 

He obliges quickly, naked butt jogging across the room to twist the key. You can’t help but giggle as he tiptoes to the bed again. He puts a hand over your mouth and murmurs, “Shhh, be quiet.”  

Your mum’s heels clink on the stairs. Few seconds later she’s knocking on your door. “___, are you there?” she asks. You’re praying she won’t twist the handle because in that case you’ll have a lot of awkward explaining to do. Fortunately, she gives up. “I guess they went for a walk.”  

By ‘they’ she means you and Jungkook who’s currently stifling a laugh against your shoulder. “Well, maybe not for a walk but something equally energy-draining.” he whispers. You elbow him in the stomach, making him chuckle even harder.

When you hear the door to your house closing, you let out a breath of relief. “I knew fucking in my childhood bedroom wasn’t a good idea.”

Jungkook smirks. “You sure about that?” he teases, squeezing your hip. It makes you roll your eyes but you don’t hide the smile on your face afterwards anyway.

Jungkook reaches for your panties and rolls you onto your back, carefully cleaning you up and then himself. He tucks you beneath the covers, encircling your body with his arm. You relish in the heat radiating of him, pressing your cheek right where his heart beats.

“You’ve never told me what would be my biography’s title.” Jungkook says after a moment.  

You smile to yourself, fingertips drawing patterns on his skin absentmindedly. “I’d call it ‘Lost Star’.” you answer.  

“Because I’m a troublesome celebrity?” he chuckles and you shake your head.  

“Well, of course you can interpret it like that but for me it has more of a metaphorical sense,” you explain. “You’re a star, like those on the sky, which got lost and came to Earth instead. That’s why you’re so special. Because you’re out of this world.”  

“I’m no special,” Jungkook grumbles, pouting.  

You sit up from your position to look him in the eyes. “You’re wrong, Jeon Jungkook. And I think I’m not the only person who thinks the same,” you urge. He meets your gaze and you realise how young he looks right now. Young and boyish. “You make thousands of people smile because of your music. That’s a special ability to me.”  

He flashes you a small smile. “I’ve never thanked you for believing in me from the very beginning.” he says, cupping your cheek in his palm.  

“Always.”  

You drift off to sleep with his voice humming softly in your ears.

[4 months later]

“Bangtan Sonyeondan are currently at the Incheon International Airport, leaving for their upcoming world tour. Their first show will be held this Saturday in Los Angeles and–”

You walk into the living room and sit on the sofa, staring at the pictures Korean press took of Jungkook and his bandmates while they were departing to US. They are dressed in their casual clothing and you know the fans are going to freak out seeing Jungkook’s hair has gotten long enough to tie it in a man bun. You’re almost sure the news have already spread on Twitter.

The TV is too big for your liking but Jungkook insisted on buying it anyway. You can almost see the pimple on his cheek he woke up with this morning. It makes you smile involuntarily.

Rest of the design in his–now yours as well– apartment was mainly your idea. He bought it without telling you because he knew you would freak out. And you did, obviously, call him crazy. But he didn’t mind. Told you he needed a space for himself for a very long time and now he has someone to share it with.  

The house feels empty without him. It’s too spacious for one person and when he’s not around, you feel like intruder. But you’ve put on your big girl shoes this morning after a passionate round of love making and teary-eyed goodbyes. You won’t slip them off until he will come home to you in two months.  

He promised he would show you Paris and London. You know he will keep that promise, although you aren’t sure you’ll be able to make it with your new job. After breaking up with Minho, Jungkook encouraged you to try sending your drafts to different publishing companies. And one of them responded positively.

You check your phone–your smiling face meeting you on the lockscreen. Jungkook’s smooching your cheek, but prying eyes wouldn’t be able to tell it’s him from that angle. His last text message is from fifteen minutes ago.  

[5:55pm] jungkook:  

We’re departing in 20 minutes  

I’m missing you already so much:(

You reply, although he’s probably fast asleep like he always does during flying.  

[6:01pm] me:  

Miss u too!!

And you mean it. You’re missing him when he’s at his dance practice, when he’s in the studio. But it has to be enough for now.  

The dates he takes you for have to be in the confines of your apartment. You can’t go for a walk and hold his hand or kiss him in public. He said you needed to wait for the tour to end to discuss publicly announcing your relationship. You’re wondering what’s better: forever hiding or being judged for every step you take.

You’re a strong girl, he once told you. And you’ll continue being one. For the two teenagres on the beach smiling to the camera in the framed photo next to your TV.  

However long it takes.  

[illfoandillfie]

Future Management

Pairing: Roger x Reader

Summery: Roger rewires your mind

Warnings: Smut!, Bimbofication/intelligence play, Hypnosis/trance state, drinking, tickling, oral (m and f receiving), protected sex (yes you read that correctly there’s actually a condom in this one wtf), mentions of spanking/restraints/blindfolds/degradation/public sex but not explicitly, a bit of dom!rog sub!reader, thigh riding.

Words: 6969 (N I C E !!)

Inspired by: Future Management by Roger Taylor (oh my god that video im hhhhHHHhh this song really makes me feel some kinda way)

A/N: So Bimbofication has a bunch of different connotations for different people. For some the emphasis is on the physical shape of a stereotypical bimbo – think big boobs and blonde hair and a valley girl accent - which can lead into body modification stuff. For some it goes hand in hand with hypnosis and mind control. For some it’s about intelligence play - turning a smart person dumb. There are a bunch of different ways to play with this kink and different things to get out of it, especially when you start mixing the different aspects together or connecting it to a dom/sub dynamic. I’ve gone with an interpretation that aligns with what I personally find hot about bimbofication, mostly focusing on the turning a smart girl into a dumb slut/sex object aspect (though I’ve also included a little hint of the physical appearance) using some light hypnosis stuff as gateway to the “bimbo state”. I am by no means an expert in hypnosis (or anything), I just have a passing interest and think it’s kinda hot. A lot of the hypnosis part of the script was inspired by THIS podcast episode which discusses bimbofication/intelligence play and ends with one of the hosts hypnotising the other to make her dumber (it’s a really interesting discussion and FUCK that hypno scene at the end oof its hot). 

Also big thanks to @somekindof-cheese @idontbelievethiss and @dtftomholland for being my betas and giving me some great feedback!!

Taglist: @ezmina98  @vee-ndetta @atomic-watermelon​ @kellypenac​ @labessieisallama​ (i hope none of you mind being tagged in this, couldn’t remember if you’d asked to be tagged in all my fics or just the RRL ones lmao, let me know if you wanna be removed from the list!)

To the world at large you are a well-respected, intelligent, and accomplished woman. You graduated university top of your class and head of multiple extracurricular groups. After uni you’d found a job that you loved, working in a law firm, gaining attention as you rose through the ranks and became a prominent attorney. Two years ago you’d thrown it all in to start your own non-profit organisation that aimed to reduce the growing rate of homelessness. It was challenging work but rewarding and you loved it. You’d appeared as a guest on news panels and talk radio programs to discuss the issue and campaign for support which had made you, if not a household name, certainly a recognisable figure in the community. Which is how Roger knew you when you first met. Of course, you’d known him too – how could you not?  

You’d run into him at bar, most of your friends having ditched you for the dancefloor or whoever they were hoping to take home. That wasn’t really your scene though so you’d intended to finish your drink and then head home. Before you could leave, he was in front of you, introducing himself and apologising for the interruption. “I wanted to congratulate you on your work, what you’re doing is incredible,” he said earnestly, “the world needs more women like you. More people like you.”   “Thank you, that’s very kind of you to say,”   “I’ll leave you to your drink now, have a good evening,”   “Wait,” you said, surprising yourself, “this seat’s free if you want to join me,”  

That introduction sparked a conversation which lasted hours. For the rest of the night you were wrapped up in each other entirely, the flow of conversation never stopping as you covered every topic under the sun – politics and music and food and literature and everything in between – without any awkward pauses or uncomfortable silences. You found yourself hanging on his every word, blown away by his quick wit and intelligence, and that cheekiness that permeated his very being. He kept both your glasses topped up as you talked, well beyond the point where all your friends had left, until eventually he invited you back to his place. You hesitated, the first hitch in your conversation all night.   “You okay?” Roger asked after you were silent for a little too long.   “Yeah. I just, don’t...know...”   “Don’t know if you want to come home with me?”   “Yeah.” You nervously chewed on your bottom lip. “That’s okay, you don’t have to. Just figured, we’re having such an amazing night, why should it end now?” he said with a slight shrug, “It does kinda surprise me that you’re unsure about it though.”   “What d’you mean by that?” “Nothing bad I promise.” he chuckled, “Just that you’re so sure about everything else. Don’t really seem like the type to not know your own mind.”   You exhaled a single breathy ‘ha’, “About everything else you are correct. Not so much with this sort of thing.”   “Well, at least let me drop you home.”   “That would be nice, thank you.”   “You’re welcome.” He stood to call a car since neither of you were in any state to drive, “The offer still stands by the way, if you do decide you want to. You’ve got nothing to lose.”   You laughed as he threw you a wink but his words stuck with you, looping through your head as you waited for him to return.  

Roger led you out into the street to wait for the car, placing his jacket over your shoulders when he noticed you shiver slightly. He leaned against the brick wall of the bar as you chatted in soft voices until the car arrived. Once you were both tucked away in the back seat, safely hidden from prying eyes and cameras, Roger leaned towards you. His hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb sliding softly over your cheek. Your eyes darted to his lips and then back up to his eyes.  “At the risk of ruining an otherwise great night, I’d really like to kiss you.” You nodded, the closeness of your bodies already releasing a colony of butterflies in your stomach, their fluttering only getting faster as he moved closer still. His lips were softer than you’d been expecting, his hands rougher as the one remained on your face and the other rested gently against your arm, though you should probably have realised so many years of drumming would leave their mark. You rested your hands against his shoulders, gradually slipping one up into his hair as he deepened the kiss.   Well, shit, if this is how he kisses...   You blinked your eyes open as he broke away from you. No one had ever kissed you like that before and there was only one thought running through your head. Roger’s voice. You’ve got nothing to lose.   “Take me home with you,” you said softly but decidedly, throwing caution to the wind. Roger grinned and indicated the change of plans to the driver before pulling you into another kiss.  

Neither of you even contemplated stopping the whole way to his house, only breaking apart briefly to fall out of the car and hastily climb the steps up to his front door. Even then, his hands remained on you – lightly tracing over the small patch of exposed skin on your back where your shirt had come untucked from your pants. Clutching Roger’s arm, you leaned in to kiss along his neck as he fumbled with his keys. You felt very unlike yourself but it wasn’t an unwelcome difference. You’d never felt such a connection with anyone before. Never found anyone quite as irresistible as you found him. You were glad you’d agreed to this, vaguely recalling the rumours you’d heard about how capable Roger was with women and deciding you could use a little capable. When he finally figured out the keys he ushered you inside and lunged for your lips again, pressing you against the wall as he found them.   You’ve got nothing to lose.   It was the only thought you had time for as his hands slid down to cup your arse, pulling you tightly against him, and he began kissing down your neck, making your breath quicken. He pushed his jacket from your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor in the middle of the hallway as he found his way back to your mouth, and began walking you through the dark house towards his bedroom. You hit the edge of the bed faster than you’d been prepared for, falling backwards with a giggle and a soft thud. Roger laughed as you scooted backwards towards the centre of the bed, and followed you, slightly more gracefully than you managed. Moonlight streamed through the partially open curtains, bathing you both in a soft light that made him look somehow more gorgeous, and you couldn’t quite believe this was happening. Hovering over you he began unbuttoning your blouse, his lips wandering over your sternum and down towards your chest. You moved to unfasten the buttons and zip on your pants, trying to speed up the process.   “Someone’s in a hurry,”   “Want you so bad Roger. Been a while since I did this and god I need it.”   “How long’s a while?” he paused midway through pushing your shirt down your arms.   “Umm... Months, not sure how many.”   “Christ. If you wanna slow down...”   “Don’t slow down.” You leaned up to kiss him again, to show him how eager you were, “Just don’t try anything too crazy, I’m a little out of practice.” You pulled your shirt off and throw it to the floor. “Noted,” Roger said as he began tugging your pants off and dropped them to the floor as well, “I’m gonna make sure the wait was worth it though.” He lowered his head towards your thigh and you couldn’t stop the giggle that bubbled up in your throat.   “Oh, you’re ticklish!” his face lit up in cheeky delight as he brought his hands up to your sides, making you squeal and writhe as you tried to escape the sensation. Every twitch of his fingers pulled more laughter from you until you were panting and struggling to say his name, begging him to stop. “You’ve got such a cute laugh,” he said as he removed his hands from you, dropping a small kiss just below your bellybutton as you tried to catch your breath, “can’t wait to hear what you sound like moaning.” You could feel him smirking as he left another kiss, lower than the first, on your skin and you let out a breathy whine. He kissed lower still, leading down to your still clothed pussy and the small wet spot that had appeared over the course of the night, as you pushed yourself up on your forearms to watch. When a kiss landed over the top of your clit your hips bucked and when he wrapped his lips round the wet spot, sucking the soaked material into his mouth you whined again. He was clearly enjoying teasing you, the tent in his pants more obvious with every passing moment.  “You want some help with that?” you indicated his noticeable bulge but Roger told you to hush. “I’m not the one that’s gone without for months. Just lie back and let me take care of you.” With that he finally tugged your underwear down your legs, and you let your head fall back against the pillow.  

Roger didn’t hesitate, pushing your legs further open as he dived in to lick your pussy. He took his time, covering almost every inch of you with his mouth, listening to your whines and whimpers so he could find where you were most sensitive, but steadily avoiding your clit. When he sucked one of your lips into his mouth you moaned and he made sure to repeat the action, sending a jolt through you each time. You were already babbling about how good it felt, breathless words rolling off your tongue with no rhyme or reason, bleeding into each other and the moans that followed, when he began to tease your entrance, pushing his finger tip in and letting it slip back out as you tried to clench around it.   “Aren’t you just so needy,” he said as he sunk his finger into you, deeper this time, and let it slip out again, “haven’t even touched your clit and you’re already close to cumming for me,” he continued to finger you slowly, pushing deeper each time until it was buried knuckle deep in your core. Then he began again, adding a second finger, as he returned his mouth to your wet folds. You whined his name as the pit in your stomach began to ache with the need for release, and put your hand on the back of his head trying to press him closer. Roger scissored his fingers inside you for a moment before he brought them to a complete halt. You whimpered at the sudden change but didn’t have time to reprimand him as he finally brought his mouth to your clit, flicking his tongue back and forth over it. It felt fucking incredible but the pressure wasn’t consistent enough to push you over the edge.   “Oh fuck. Roger I’m so close,” “I know, can feel you clenching round my fingers.”   You bucked your hips again, trying to get the friction you needed and felt Roger laugh, his breath ghosting over your pussy.   “Want to hear you scream my name when you cum. Let everyone know who makes you feel this good.” He pressed his tongue against your clit before sucking it between his lips, at the same time he made a come-hither motion with his two fingers. Within seconds you were coming undone, moaning his name loudly, as per his request. He held you there, blissed out beyond belief, eyes closed as you rode out the orgasm, quivering slightly as his fingers twitched inside you.   “So was that worth waiting for?”    You blinked as you came back to reality and found Roger looking up at you, his head resting against your thigh as he drew random patterns over your stomach.   “You realise It’s been months since I last had sex not since I last had an orgasm, right? Like, I do know how to masturbate,” a pause, “But yes, well worth it,” you conceded with a smile.   Roger flashed you the cockiest grin you’d ever seen, “told you so.” He crawled back over you and you could taste yourself on his lips as he kissed you hungrily, “and by the way,” he said breaking the kiss, “you masturbating is something I would be very interested in watching. But right now, all I want is to be buried in your gorgeous cunt. The way you felt around my fingers, fuck, want you on my cock so bad.”   You hummed as you kissed him, “Think I can make that happen,” you said before rolling the both of you over so you were leaning over him.   “Condoms are in the top draw” he pointed at his bedside table as you hurried to undo his fly and pull his pants and underwear down his legs.   “I’ll get it, you get those clothes off.”   “Yes ma’am,” he said, already ripping his shirt over his head. You saw it fall to the floor as you dug around the draw, followed by the sound of him kicking his pants off his feet. His cock was already standing at attention when you got back to the bed, tearing open the condom wrapper with your teeth.   “Might have to take this a bit slow,” you said as you rolled the condom down his shaft. Roger nodded as you took hold of his cock to line him up with your entrance. His breath caught in his throat as you slowly sunk down on him, taking your time as you adjusted to the unfamiliar and complete fullness.    “Christ, fuck,” you swore under your breath as you took him a little deeper and paused again.   “Stole the words right outta my mouth,” he grunted, squeezing your hips, “fuck, you okay?”   “Told you I was out of practice,” your laugh turned into a moan as you lowered yourself the last inch or so, sheathing him fully inside you. Roger moved his hands to squeeze your breasts as your breaths turned to pants. You slowly began rocking your hips, the room filing with your gasps and whines as you picked up speed.    “Fuck, want to be buried in your cunt forever.” he gasped out as you began raising and lowering yourself on your knees, needing more more more.  “Roger, ohh god, rub my clit, please,”   He didn’t need to be told twice, letting one hand drop down where you needed it. His touch sent a shiver down your spine and your back arched as his name dripped from your lips again. This only encouraged Roger who sped up the furious circles he was making on your clit. You felt yourself hurtling towards another orgasm as your pussy clenched.   “Gonna cum soon,” Roger’s hips jerked up as he grunted his warning.  “Same,” you said as you leaned forward to suck a hickey onto his collarbone. It wasn’t much longer before he was calling out your name as he hit his climax, and pulling you into yours with his fingers still on your clit.  

You collapsed on your side next to him, still breathing heavily. Roger left the bed long enough to dispose of the used condom before he was back, pulling you against him and throwing the covers over the two of you.   “I’ll call a cab in a moment,” you said, voice thick with exhaustion.   “Don’t be daft.”   “Not gonna kick me out?”   “Course not. Jesus, what d’you take me for.”   “Good. I’m too comfy to move anyway.”   “Good. I like having you in my bed.”   You hummed as his arms tightened around you and you felt him drop a kiss to the back of your neck. You could feel your eyes drooping but fought off sleep for as long as you could, not wanting the moment to end. Letting your fingers trail softly over Roger’s hand which was flung over your stomach, you listened as his breathing slowed and became deeper. Smiling into the pillow you finally let yourself succumb to sleep.  

When you woke up you were alone and slightly confused by your unfamiliar surroundings.   Oh, fuck...  Things started coming back to you as you took in the clothing still littering the floor. You hurried to dress yourself in yesterday’s clothes and then made your way out of the room, wanting to find a phone to call a cab from. You found Roger first, following the sound of the kettle through the house to the kitchen. He was standing over the stove, back to the doorway and you allowed yourself a moment to look him over in the daylight before you caught his attention.   “Morning,”   He whipped around at the sound of your voice, “Morning. I was gonna bring breakfast up to you.” He held up the spatula he was clutching as proof of his intentions.   “Thanks, but I should probably get going.”   “Already?” You were surprised by the note of disappointment in his voice.   “That’s how this sort of thing normally works, isn’t it?”   “Told you last night I’m not gonna kick you out.”   You hesitated.   “It’s a free meal, love, might as well stay. Nothing to lose.”   There were those words again. They reverberated through your head and you found yourself sitting down. Roger smiled as he turned back around to the stove, shuffling fry pans and plates around as he served the breakfast.   “I hope bacon and eggs are okay,” he said as he placed your plate in front of you.   “Brilliant,” you suddenly realised just how hungry you were, not having eaten properly since lunch yesterday.   “Dig in, don’t wait for me. Tea?”   “Yes please. No milk, two sugars.”   “Can I ask you something? About last night?”   “Yeah,” you said, a forkful of food halfway to your mouth as your stomach began to twist with nerves.   “What made you change your mind?” He put the tea down in front of you, “You were going to go home and then you changed your mind. What was it that convinced you to stay?”   “You’ve got nothing to lose. You said that to me and I realised you were right.” You shrugged as you brought the fork to your mouth, “Plus, no one had ever kissed me like that before.”   “I was giving you my A game, had to impress you.”   “I was worth A game?”   “Course, couldn’t give such an incredible woman less than that”   “You flatterer,” you laughed, “It had been a while though, I probably would have been happy with C game.”   “Well I didn’t find that out till later did I.” He took a sip of his tea, staring at you over the top of his cup. “Out of curiosity, why had it been so long? Something to do with the lack of A game kissing?” he teased.   “I mean, it was a factor.” You could hear the indignation creeping into your voice and willed it away, “Not everyone has mountains of groupies after them.” So much for no indignation.   “No need to get defensive,” Roger held both his hands up, palms towards you, “wasn’t judging.”   “Sorry. It’s a bit of a sore spot is all.”   “No, you’re fine. I shouldn’t pry.”   “Truth is I haven’t dated much. And none of the guys I did date were any good. Recently it’s just been easier to put work first.”   “Does that mean I’m the best you’ve ever had,” his cocky grin from the previous night was back and you couldn’t help but laugh.   “Yes, but it was a very very low bar.”   “I’ll take what I can get.” He looked you over, seeming like he wanted to say something else but wasn’t sure how, “I had the best time with you last night and I was thinking y’know...maybe this doesn’t have to end here. Let me take you out tomorrow night on a proper date.” “Let me guess… I’ve got nothing to lose?” you laughed.   “That a yes?”   “Yes.”  

You left Roger’s place a little while later, heading home to sink into a hot bath and relax, and barely thought about anything besides him until he picked you up the next night. Your first official date went well – dinner, drinks, making out in the car before he dropped you home. You invited him inside but he wanted to prove he was interested in you for reasons besides that, instead leaving you with lips tingling from a long deep kiss as he departed, and the immediate need to masturbate. He took you out again the next night and again two days after that. Before you knew it, you were three months into your relationship, spending more and more time with him. You introduced him to your friends and family and met his in return. To the outside world you were still the same intelligent and accomplished woman, but now you also had an enviable relationship which seemed to get you more attention than your work did, though Roger was always the first to brag about it. He loved showing you off, telling anyone who’d listen about your work, pulling you into conversations so people could see you were just as bright and self-assured and brilliant as he’d told them you were. More than once you found yourself in a deep discussion with someone he’d been talking to, and caught him staring at you like he’d never seen anything more beautiful. It made your chest burst every time. The way he celebrated every aspect of you, cared enough to ask about your day and pressed for details about your job. Even when you disagreed about something, he’d hear you out, maybe with an eye roll, but he genuinely cared about your thoughts and opinions.  

Which made it easier to take yourself less seriously and loosen up a little. Your work was still incredibly important and something you cared deeply about, but now that you had Roger it was easier to admit you’d been spending too much time at the office. Using it as an excuse to avoid the terrifying unknowns of life and the impending future you hadn’t been able to imagine. Where before the question ‘where do you see yourself in five years’ would have caused anxiety that led to a week’s worth of overtime and insomnia, now you were able to confidently say, “I might not know but I hope it’s with Roger.” You smiled more around him, laughed more. He could turn you into a silly giggling fool with one look, and that was the most freeing feeling you’d ever experienced. You had nothing to prove to Roger. You didn’t have to make him see you how you wanted to be seen, like you’d had to do within your studies and work, because he already saw you as wonderful. And frankly you liked the person you were with him more than you’d liked the person you were alone.  

And then there was the sex. You’d never believed people when they talked about the incredible sex they were regularly having. Never understood why everyone made such a big deal about it. In your experience it wasn’t worth it. Roger had quickly changed your mind. On your third official date he agreed to go back to your place but you’d spent most of the night talking about sex rather than actually having any. The topic of your limited experience had come up again and Roger was trying to gauge what you'd already tried.   “Yes, I’ve sucked dick before,” you rolled your eyes as you stood to fill your empty wine glass, waving it round as you spoke, “not my favourite thing ever if I’m being honest but no one ever complained about my techniques.”   “Hand job?”   “Is that a request?” You raised your eyebrows and took a sip of your wine.   “Stop trying to get my pants off, love,” he laughed, “You’re the one who keeps saying you’ve never had good sex, ‘m just trying to find out what you have had, so I can decide how to blow your mind next.”   “If you really must know, all the guys I’ve been with were fairly bad at it. Only two of them made me cum regularly and even then it was a one and done situation. You did more to blow my mind on our not-quite-a-one-night-stand than anyone else has.”   “Keep talking like that and you’ll give me a big head.”   “As if you don’t already have one.” You dropped yourself into his lap, giggling at the small ‘oof’ of surprise he let out, and wrapped your arms around his neck.   “Alright, alright. So, what’s the kinkiest you’ve done then?”   “Does being eaten out count as kinky?” “God, are you serious?”   “No, I did convince one of them to spank me once which was fun. Hinted that I might want to try more, being tied up and stuff, but he wasn’t into it.”   “Christ, no wonder you gave up on dating,”   “I wouldn’t say gave up, just put it on the back burner.”   “Well it’s a good thing you met me then.” he said, looking up into your eyes, “I’d be very happy to tie you up, and stuff.”   A shiver ran down your spine at the suggestion, “Really? You’re into it?”   “Oh, love, we are going to have some fun. You’ve got -”   “Nothing to lose,” you finished before leaning down to kiss him.”

The longer you were together the more you found yourself thinking about sex. It was like meeting Roger had flipped a switch inside your brain, set off some sort of chemical reaction that made your blood run hot and your skin tingle with the need to be touched. Suddenly you cared about sex, wanted it, even dreamt about it. You had years of bad sex and dry spells to erase and Roger was only too happy to help. To his credit he never rushed you or pushed you to try things you weren’t comfortable with and he always made sure you were safe as he slowly opened your eyes to new things. It started out small, a light spanking one night, since you already had experience with it and liked it. He used it as an excuse to question you more about what else you’d be interested in trying, promising to reward you with another hit for every answer you gave him. At first you’d felt self-conscious, especially when asked to describe what you’d fantasised about. But soon enough he’d had you admitting to everything you’d ever wanted to try, desperately trying to earn another spank as you slowly dripped onto his knee. And then he’d praised you for answering so well and god you could have cum from that alone, the three fingers he'd pressed into you were just a bonus.  

Your answers gave him ideas for what to try next. Adding handcuffs or blindfolds when he fucked you, calling you degrading names while you tried out words like Sir or Master for him, testing how they felt on your tongue and deciding which you liked. Pulling you into public restrooms and other secluded spaces because you admitted that the danger of being caught was a turn on. He’d use your own ideas against you until you were begging, often times for more. He was particularly fond of bringing up the fantasy you’d had of being turned into a silly, giggly, dumb slut – empty headed and eager to please. It was something you’d developed a penchant for back at uni, a fantasy you turned to when the pressure to be smarter than everyone else got too much, though you’d never actually told anyone about it before. The idea of him knowing – of anyone knowing – your desire to be a brainless bimbo was terrifying and exciting and every time he mentioned it you got goosebumps and butterflies. He’d lean in close to your ear, running his hands through your hair, and tell you that a good slut had no use for her brain. That you should just let it go. What could you possibly have to think about besides being pretty and filling your holes however he wanted? It was so easy to sit and listen, let his words fill your head until there wasn’t room for anything else, just the need to please him. It was your favourite release when work was stressful and tough, and for the last week that’s all work had been. Between the land deal you were trying to organise taking longer than you’d planned and the constant juggling of calls to contractors for quotes and calls to estate agents to renegotiate terms, everything was getting to be too much. You just needed to forget about everything for a little while.  

So, when Roger got home that evening, he found you waiting, wearing the tightest, skimpiest clothes you owned – a skirt that only just covered your lace panty clad arse, and a low-cut singlet over a bra that pushed your tits together, plus the tallest heels you owned. It was the sort of outfit you only wore when you wanted to be his brainless toy. It helped you drop into your new role faster, helped your brain melt away.   “Everything okay?” He asked as he pulled you into a hug. “Yeah, just need a break. If you’re up for it?”   “Course, love. You know I love playing with my bimbo doll.”   You hugged him tighter, trying to convey how much you loved him with one gesture, already feeling slightly tingly. He led you to the couch, sitting you down to face him.

“Just need a break from all that noise in your pretty head, don’t you?” His voice sounded different to when he’d first come in, softer and calmer but more authoritative, “all that stress from work. Just need to listen to my voice and slowly sink deeper down, away from your brain, away from everything bad and stressful. And the more stressful things are, the more worries and noise in that silly brain, the faster you sink down down down until you can’t remember anything anymore. Down deeper, where there’s nothing to lose. Where there’s no need for big words. Where the only thing that matters is being a good doll for Sir. Pleasing Sir. Because pleasing Sir makes you happy and horny, doesn’t it?   “Yes,” you sighed softly, a wet spot already beginning to form as you stared into his eyes. “It’s so simple, so easy, isn’t it my pretty, silly, slut. So simple and easy to leave your mind behind.”   You breathed deep as Roger’s hands glided through your hair, gently smoothing it back, his fingernails running over your scalp and down down down to push it behind your ear.   “That’s right, just relax. You’ve got nothing to lose by listening and relaxing. Thinking about how fun it is to be simple and easy.”   Your eyes were shut, though you didn’t remember closing them. You felt Roger’s hand move further down your hair, splitting it into sections, running his fingers through it to smooth it out.   “You like being simple and easy, don’t you? Simple and easy and fun and dumb. My pretty, silly, bimbo.”   He was winding your hair round his fingers, moving slowly and gently, sending tingles down your spine as you took another deep breath. A whimper dropped from your lips and you could almost feel your mind emptying with every word he spoke, letting go of the day, the meetings, the harried phone calls, the forms you had to sign. All of it was so unimportant compared to his voice.   “And d’you wanna know the best part about you being like this?”   “Yes.” If you’d been able to think properly you would have said your voice had changed too. Higher pitched than normal. Brighter and bubblier.   “The best part about you being simple and easy and fun and dumb, is how hot it is. How wet you get. Isn’t that right?”   “Yes,” you giggled, “hot and wet.”   “Good girl,”   You giggled again, his praise making what was left of your brain feel mushy and happy. Roger chuckled at your giggly, giddy response, letting his fingers slip out the bottom of your hair and onto your arms. You shivered at his touch, face breaking into a smile.   “Feels good being touched when you’re like this. Simple and easy and fun and dumb. You want me to keep touching you?”   You whimpered, “yes,” breath coming out in pants as his hands slipped down your arms, setting your skin aflame.   “Yeah, you like that. Got nothing to lose by being touched. Just feels good.”   “Yeah, feels so good,” you giggled and you heard Roger chuckle in response.   “Open your eyes for me, wanna see your pretty eyes,”   Your eyes shot open and you beamed at Roger.   “You like when I compliment you, don’t you?”   “Yeah,” you giggled again, feeling bubblier and lighter now that you could see his reactions. His hands had slipped down to your own, tracing patterns softly over your skin, between your fingers, tapping over your nails.   “Like, when I tell you how cute you sound right now, all giggly. A silly, giggly slut.”   Your response was so predictable, Roger was smiling even before you started to giggle again.   “How do you feel, love?”   “Ummmm, fuzzy. Happy.”   His hands slipped further, landing on your thighs and slipping over your knees, making a wave of arousal roll through your body and a soft whine roll off your tongue.   “Yeah? Do you remember those four words I used to describe you earlier?”   You thought for a moment, furrowing your brow as you searched for the right words, “dumb?”   “Yes, that was one of them, do you remember the other three?”   “Umm,” you stared at Roger, mouth slightly open, “horny?”   Roger laughed again.   “Dumb and horny.... and... easy?”   “That’s right, but horny wasn’t one of the four words.”   “Oh,”   “But that’s okay, you feel horny, don’t you? D’you want me to tell you the four words?”   You nodded fast. “Simple and easy and fun and …?”   “Dumb!”   “Good girl.” He leaned in, brushing his nose against yours as you laughed again, “And now that my pretty bimbo doll has nothing left to lose, all dumb and mindless, what does she want to do?”   "Ummmm,”   “What is it?”   “I want to suck your cock, Sir,”   “Is that so? Thought you said you didn’t like sucking cock.”   “Noooooo, I love sucking your cock Sir.”   Roger looked so amused by your answer you couldn’t help but giggle, even though you didn’t quite understand why. All you knew was you wanted to please him, that pleasing him made you feel good.

As soon as you heard the jangle of Roger unbuckling his belt your mouth fell open and your tongue stuck out. He moved around so his leg was stretched out down the length of the couch, his other hanging over the edge, with you kneeling in between. Slowly, his eyes glued on you, he unzipped his fly and pushed his pants down his hips enough to let his cock spring free. You waited patiently for his word, watching as he grasped his shaft and lazily stroked along it. Your mouth was almost watering as your desire to lick and suck grew, drowning out everything else.   “God you’re cute. Practically drooling. Ready to show me what a desperate cockslut you are?”   You hummed, replacing Roger’s hand with your own, wrapping it around his base as you kitten licked at his tip. He sighed softly as you took him into your mouth, relaxing further into the couch, and you felt a small burst of pleasure pulse through you. It spurred you on and you sunk lower, taking more of him, before rising back up to swirl your tongue around his tip. He groaned and you were hit by another jolt between your legs. Every noise you pulled from him set you on fire, the pit in your stomach tightening, your cunt dripping, only encouraging you to suck harder and take him deeper. His fist tangled in your hair, holding you down as you gagged around him. Looking up with watering eyes you could see Roger had dropped his head back, his lips silently forming words he couldn’t get out, lost in the sensation of being in your throat. It was enough to make you moan and redouble your efforts, bobbing up and down faster, working him as deep as he could go.   “Fuck, Y/N” Roger choked out, “gonna make me cum soon,”   You released him with a pop, unable to stop the grin the crept onto your face.   “You like the idea of me cumming down your throat?”   “So much, Sir!”   “What about the idea of you cumming?”   “If that pleases Sir, yes”   “You’ve been such a good doll, think you deserve the reward. But only after you’ve swallowed all my cum okay?”   “Promise, Sir,” “That’s enough talking now, wanna hear you gagging instead,” he tapped your head and you leaned down, letting him slip all the way back down your throat. His grip returned to your hair, pulling you up and then pushing you down again, showing you the speed at which you should be moving. You fell into rhythm, breaking the pattern every now and then to hollow your cheeks around his tip or lick along the underside of his cock or gulp for air, before finding the rhythm again.   “So close, fuck, so so close,”   Your movement was suddenly halted as he pressed down on the back of your head, making you choke. You tried to move, needing another gasp of air but he held you down as he came, coating your throat with hot spurts of cum. You swallowed every drop he gave you, your body surging with the electric knowledge you’d pleased him so much, tingling from head to toe.  

“Did you enjoy yourself?” He sat up, brushing his fingertips over your cheek.   “So much, Sir! I love your cock,” you giggled, leaning forward to drop a quick peck to the head, “love drinking your cum.”   “And you’re so good at it. My pretty, cocksucking doll. Do you still wanna cum?”   “ummm, yes?” You didn’t really care if you got to cum, you just wanted to make your Sir happy.   “I’d like to watch you cum,”   “Then yes!” another giggle.   “Then why don’t you sit that cute cunt right here,” he patted his thigh, “and show me what a good slut you are.” You settled yourself over him, hitching your skirt up in the process, so you could grind against him, still wearing the skimpy panties you’d picked out. A moan escaped you as you rolled your hips and Roger placed his hands on them, to keep you pressed firmly against him as you rocked yourself closer to your release. You were already so worked up it didn’t take long for you to reach the edge, whimpering as Roger’s grip tightened. “That’s right, cum for me,” His permission was all you needed to let yourself fall over the edge with a gasp. You felt so light and happy, buzzing with pride and the knowledge that your Sir wanted to see you fall apart. You shuddered and fell forward as the orgasm washed over you, leaning your forehead against Roger’s chest. He wrapped his arms around you, pressing his lips to the top of your head as you shivered through the orgasm.   “So beautiful,” he was playing with your hair again and you hummed at how good it felt. “That’s right, just relax, listen and relax and come back. Nothing to lose by coming back. Back to who you were before. Who you are. So simple, so easy to come back. Relax into it. Relax back into yourself. Letting go of the bimbo. So easy to come back to your mind.”   You took a deep breath as you returned to yourself. More aware of everything around you. The salty taste of Roger’s cum on your tongue. The warm, wet feeling between your legs. The scent of Roger’s cologne as you breathed deeply. You sighed contentedly as the giddy, giggly lightness you’d felt slowly faded and the real world came back to you. Roger’s eyes found yours as he tilted your head up, searching them for anything amiss.   “Hey,” he said softly rubbing your arm soothingly, “how was that, you okay?” “That was exactly what I needed. Thank you.” You pecked him on the lips. “You’re very welcome. You wanna talk about work?”   “I’ll tell you about it later. Right now I’m,” you shifted slightly, still straddling his thigh, “still a little worked up actually. Race you to the bedroom?” Roger’s lips slammed against yours as he held you tightly, the kiss heated and hungry, “who need’s a bedroom when there’s a perfectly fine couch here. Time I repaid you for the fucking fantastic blow job.” You squealed as you found yourself on your back, Roger pulling your soaked underwear off hurriedly.  

To the world at large you were a well-respected, intelligent, and accomplished woman with an enviable relationship. And you were. All that and more. But you knew, and Roger knew, that deep down you were just a silly, giggly, dumb slut, who loved sex and craved cock and lived to please. Just a pretty bimbo who had no use for anything besides her Sir. And really, what more could you possibly want.  

[yoonjinkooked]

lockdown | (m) - Chapter 2

moodboard by @flajka

pairing; jungkook/female OC genre; college au, strangers to lovers, smut and tiny bit of fluff too, humor ofc rating; explicit words; 6.209

— synopsis; Eunhee is in trouble and facing a deadline - in comes curly haired jungkook to save her life, make her laugh and maybe, just maybe, fuck her brains out. When the two end up locked in a building overnight, who knows what will happen? 

warnings (for this chapter): cursing, OC still really wants to murder Tae, banter, cute Kook, slightly cocky Kook, an abundance of sexual tension, mentions of sex, drinking, mentiones of an ex (Seokjin)

A/N: I didn’t think I’d finish this this fast. Next chapter will be more challenging but i’m ready for it - i’m not sure if you are. Next chapter will be pure smut. 

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

“So, this folder is basically… Your paparazzi photos?”

I have tried to rationalize it and sure, the guy does have a reason behind it but at the end of the day, he’s just a guy with a camera, taking photos of people who are not aware of it, more often than not.

He shakes his head at my words and chuckles. “You are making it sound a lot creepier than it actually is. I am the official photographer. Whenever a student enrolls our college they need to sign a bunch of papers. It has a clause about campus promotional photos or something like that, which makes this very much legal,” he explains.

“True, very true. Doesn’t make it any less creepy through,” I joke, mentally high-fiving myself when he actually laughs this time around. I needed this comfort prize after my miserable attempt from earlier.

“You know, boss lady, these are the only photos you have,” the stupid hood is covering his face too much for me to see his expression but he sounds… cocky. “I wouldn’t complain about them too much if I were you,” he adds.

“I’m not complaining,” I lift my hands up in surrender. “I’m just saying it like it is. Paparazzi.”

“Art.”

“Whatever floats your boat,” I say, laughing in relief when I realized he did not take me seriously. I was walking a dangerous line between joking with him and genuinely making fun of his profession, which is not something I want to do. The same way I wouldn’t enjoy being called a tabloid internet researcher instead of a journalist-to-be, I doubt he would enjoy being called a paparazzi. I did it in good humor and despite the earlier awkwardness, he was going along with it now.

“On a more serious note, I’m not sure how many of these can be usable,” he points at the monitor. “I hope you will have enough. You can just go through them and select the ones you deem usable.”

“That was supposed to be your job!”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?”

Bless him for turning around. If only for a few seconds, I have a chance to actually see him properly. He is very good looking, that was obvious from the get-go. His facial features are either childlike or very manly. His jaw is as sharp as one of the knives I bought recently and yet his nose looks beyond boop-able. Jeongguk, with a hood covering his face and all, is a ridiculously good looking man.

He’s looking directly at me too and it feels like this is the first time tonight he had done so. It doesn’t last long enough for me to actually feel uncomfortable or alert but my heart went berserk once again.

Calm down, woman. He’s here and he’s hot and it’s not the end of the world.

“Let’s do this then,” I nod towards the monitor.

Jeongguk could not specify how many photos he has to offer but the folder told me it carries 3000 photos. Of course, some of them are far from perfect but with 3000 photos at our disposal, I can only hope we can select 100 or so decent ones, to go with the 24 he brought to me earlier.

Without much commotion, Jeongguk and I start working. He starts his laptop as I transfer all the photos to Hobi’s PC. Then, he transfers them as well and one by one, we go over them. As soon as I find one that I think can be usable, I read out the number, he finds it and goes down to editing. Soon enough, he is unable to keep up with me and I need to write down the numbers as he manipulates the photos to perfection. We work in silence and in about half an hour, we have 10 photos ready to go.

Knowing that my ass is most likely saved, I have a chance to relax and actually pay attention to his work. He truly does have an eye for it, that much is painfully obvious. Guilt takes over me as I realize I have never paid much attention to photography. It’s simply not something I would focus on unless it is closely related to my work. I’ve always known Taehyung and Jeongguk, or as he was known before this, G.C.F guy, were good but this truly is something else.

He has a talent to capture people in that moment, that one moment, when no masks are worn and no fake smiles are shared. Looking at photos of random students, some of whom are vaguely familiar, some of whom are my friends and others I am sure I’ve never even seen before… It’s almost scary how he can capture that one moment with such precision. I could never do that, I just know it.

“What?” Jeongguk’s voice startles me. I look at him in confusion and he points at the photo. “You have been staring at it for like a whole minute. What’s wrong with it?” he asks.

“Nothing,” I shake my head. “It’s perfect. I mean, look at her – she looks tired but genuine. The smile she has is genuine. No matter how little sleep she had the night before, no matter how many tests she had that day, she cracked a genuine smile and you caught it,” I keep my eyes on the girl in the photo. I know her face but her name escapes me – I doubt I’ve ever even talked to her. A complete stranger to me, yet I can imagine her entire story in this photo, this one photo, because Jeongguk was at the right place, at the right time. He is, very literally, capturing perfect little moments.

“Sounds like you understand photography better than you think.”

I turn to him, already expecting my heart to do its thing and sure enough, when I see barely a hint of a smile on his face, the bastard betrays me and starts beating faster.

This is what happens when the only men you communicate with on a daily basis are either teachers or friends whom you could never be attracted to, despite them being ridiculously attractive. It is high time I get laid. Maybe then my heart would stop overreacting.

After this particular moment, I decide it might be better to be quiet. Does that make everything awkward? Sure it does. But it’s pretty darn better than actually giving myself the chance to talk, only to end up blurting out something along the lines of ‘I think you’re hot’. My ‘for work’ spotify playlist is good enough to make the entire situation bearable, as we nod our heads to the rhythm.

On and on we go, until I am suddenly looking at myself.

“Oh.”

It’s a photo of me and Seokjin. I can’t be sure when it was taken, but my short sleeves and the fact we haven’t been together for months now tells me that it was probably at the start of the school year. We are walking hand in hand, both smiling. Jeongguk captured a beautiful, genuine moment.

“Well, you are the ‘it couple’ of our campus,” Jeongguk shrugs.

“Were,” I correct him. “This is obviously an old photo. Seokjin and I are no longer together. Haven’t been for months,” I explain and watch as he nods in understanding.

“That explains the recent lack of photos of the ‘it couple’,” he jokes and I roll my eyes, knowing that unfortunately, he isn’t the first person to give us that title.

Seokjin and I spent two good years together. We were in the same circle of friends. Both focused on our studies and not so much about party life. As a couple, we made sense. But time passes and feelings fade, one thing led to another and suddenly, after two years of being in a solid relationship, I was single. There was no drama, no hard feelings and no bad words. Just two people going their separate ways.

“Keep an eye on Namjoon,” I give him a knowing look. “If he plays his cards right, maybe, just maybe, he has a chance with Hyejin. They could take Seokjin and me any day.”

“Debatable, but I’ll keep that in mind,” he tells me. For reasons unknown to my sanity, I find this incredibly funny and of course, I let out the most embarrassing snort laughter I could have possibly mustered. I don’t even bow my head in shame – that ship had sailed a while ago. “Okay, I’m starving. I’m gonna go and buy us a pizza. While I’m away, you can keep on selecting the photos you want,” he tells me as he flings the backpack onto his back.

“Can you like… promise me you’ll come back and not just run away?” I ask. It’s stupid, I know it is. Even if he is planning to leave me to fend for myself, he obviously isn’t going to say it to my face. Sadly, I am the kind of person who needs reassurance more often than not. I really need it now.

“Of course I won’t run away,” Jeongguk laughs and finally, for the first time tonight, he pulls the hood away from his face. Despite the office’s shitty lighting, I can finally see him well. His face is stunning, absolutely stunning. Clear skin, beautiful round eyes, cutest nose ever, cheeks that puff up when he smiles, like he is doing right now. “Here. I’ll even offer this. Pinky promise,” he lifts his right hand and offers me his extended pinky.

“Shit just got real,” I deadpan and I think I melted a little bit on the inside when he started laughing. “Pinky promise for life,” I link my pinky with his own before remembering an important detail I have overlooked. “What kind of pizza are you getting?”

“Pepperoni with extra cheese, duh,” he says it like that is the most obvious thing in the world.

“I like you more with each passing minute, Jeongguk,” I conclude.

“Right back at you,” he smiles for what feels like the tenth time in the last minute. “I’ll be right back. Get those photos ready so we can fix this shit,” he tells me, let’s go of my pinky and off he goes.

I am left giddy, smiling like a fool and fighting an overwhelming urge to giggle. Tonight is making me feel like a teenager with a dumb crush and strangely enough, I don’t think that I dislike the feeling. I haven’t truly focused on an attractive male since Seokjin and I were in the flirting phase. Jeongguk is… interesting. Very good looking and nice enough to catch my attention. I don’t know more than that but I wouldn’t mind finding out. Or maybe we could end up taking a different direction, with him giving me a decent fuck before we forget all about each other. Would that be a shame or would it be worth it?

For the love of everything Eunhee, focus on your work. There will be time for flirting and fucking later.

“Hey,” Jeongguk startles me when he walks back inside the office.

“There is no way you are Flash.”

“No, the door is locked,” he laughs. “Could you give me your keys?”

“What door?” I frown, confused. He literally just walked through a very much unlocked door.

“This part of the building. The big glass door? Eunhee, why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, but I am already on my feet and running out the office.

“I don’t have a key Jeongguk,” I yell back as I run towards the door. I get to it and I try to open – nope, locked. I try to jiggle it open, which is as stupid as it is useless. The door remains there, unopened, as if it is mocking me, us. I don’t have the strength in me to ride out another wave of panic.

“It’s not the end of the world,” Jeongguk tells me. “We can’t get pizza but we have the vending machine. And by the time we are done, we can call Namjoon or Tae. They’re at Jimin’s party, so they will definitely be awake. They can come and get us out in no time when we are done,” he reassures me.

“Jeongguk, Namjoon doesn’t have this key either,” I sigh in defeat as I turn my back to the door to face him. “And seeing as none of us who work here all the time have the keys, I doubt Taehyung has them either. I suppose we can try to call campus security, maybe they have a spare key but if they don’t, we’re stuck here until the cleaners stop by.”

“When do the cleaners stop by?” he asks.

“Last time I pulled an all-nighter here, they showed up around 6AM,” I tell him before looking at the clock hanging on the wall right behind him. “That means we are stuck here for… seven hours.”

“Not the end of the world,” Jeongguk shrugs casually. “We have a lot of work to do anyways. A pizza would have been nice but we won’t starve in six hours. I say we focus on getting the magazine ready for printing and then just like… nap or something.”

If I wasn’t running low on energy already, I would have taken this situation seriously. If I were my usual self, the campus security guards would already be on their way here to lock us out. But at this point, at with Jeongguk being so casual about it, I no longer have any shits left to give. Besides, as he had pointed out, we have hours of work ahead of us. Chances are we would have been stuck here with or without the door being locked.

And maybe, just maybe, somewhere in the back of my mind is the thought that this might be the only chance I will ever have to spend an extended amount of time with this guy who is making me into a nervous, giddy teenage girl. Not the worst way to spend a few spare hours.

“I agree,” I sigh and force a smile at Jeongguk. “Let’s get back to work and then we’ll figure it out.”

Until 1AM, we are working mostly in silence, listening to music and occasionally chatting about casual things – usually the people in our selected photos, whether we know them or not and how if we do.

“What made you chose photography?” I ask him. I am slowly growing bored, seeing as my work was already done – I am now waiting for him to edit the selected photos. Of course, I’m not just sitting around doing nothing. Hobi’s design still needs to be finished and one by one, I am transferring the done photos as soon as he finishes them. Right now, however, I am waiting for the next one.

“I don’t know, really,” he shrugs, not even bothering to look away from the monitor as he does his editing magic. “I suppose getting a solid camera for my twelfth birthday was a turning point. Back then, I wasn’t so attached to it but I remember my parents insisting that I should be the one to take photos whenever we would travel somewhere. They said my photos always turn out the best. Then as I got older, I discovered work by other photographers. I suppose that was it.

“Are there any photographers in particular that have peaked your interest?” I ask.

“Well, Ansel Adams is an obvious answer,” he chuckles. “It depends on the genre. Testino is the best when it comes to fashion photography but that was never my thing – doesn’t make him any less brilliant. Annie Leibovitz too. I can throw out a few names but I doubt you’d know them – same way I don’t know if I could name a handful of journalists. Adams, Robert Frank and Cartier Bresson would be my favorites.”

“I feel uneducated,” I admit. “I know so little about it.”

“Hey, I just told you I doubt I could be able to name a few journalists,” he chuckles. “We all know the things we are interested in – that is very normal. But what about you? Why this? Why editing, journalism, writing?”

“I wanted to be a novelist for the longest time,” I confess. “Before I could really get into it, I realized that maybe journalism might be my thing. My dad is a journalist. It would be idiotic of me to say that I wasn’t influenced by that in some ways. I saw the good and bad sides of it and decided to go through with it anyways.”

“What are the bad sides?” he asks.

“Well, it depends on what one chooses to focus on. If you are an investigative journalist and dedicate your life to uncovering corruption and crime, it can range from death threats to actually being murdered in cold blood. My dad’s an expert in analytic journalism, which means no death threats but he was away a lot. It was never ideal but it could always be worse.”

“And what about you? Which area do you want to go in?” Jeongguk asks. It’s been such a long time since I’ve seen someone take a genuine interest in my soon-to-be profession. I feel flattered.

“Honestly, I have no idea,” I admit. “Ideally, I’d like to work in investigative journalism but the side effects of it sometimes just seem like too much for me. Not to mention that with how the media is evolving, I’m not sure that would put the bread on my table. By the looks of it, I am bound to end up working as a blogger for a fashion magazine or something like that. Maybe I’ll end up being an editor, if I work hard and have luck on my side.”

“You never know,” Jeongguk tells me. “Hard work will get you places. You seem dedicated and intelligent. Although your music taste is slightly questionable,” he adds. I am about to ask why he would diss my music taste but to my horror, I recognize the song that is playing – I can’t remember the name, don’t know the artist but the singer is singing about how she is horny, horny, horny, horny tonight.

I just close my eyes, trying hard not to laugh when I hear him laughing at my reaction. I struggle to keep a poker face, but I manage. “Let’s just pretend this did not happen.”

“Nah, I will remind you of it whenever I see you in the years to come,” he jokes.

“Whatever, it’s a solid song,” I roll my eyes jokingly, enjoying this kind of teasing. He’s getting more and more comfortable around me and I am enjoying it. The more he talks, the more I realize how funny he really is. “You’ve heard my spotify playlists – you know me better than most people do.”

“True, music can tell you a lot about somebody,” he agrees. “But if I’m being honest here, your playlists only raise more questions.”

“Such as?”

“Well, it went from heavy emotional damage with Lana Del Rey,” he starts counting on his fingers. “We had a callback to teenage emo phase with ‘Fall Out Boy’, took a quick turn with ‘Whitesnake’ and now we ended up with 90s dance music about horniness. The question that is practically jumping out is what the hell you were smoking when you created such a mess of a playlist?” he asks through laughter.

“Shut up,” I jokingly punch him on the shoulder. “I was running on coffee and a lack of sleep.”

“Whatever you say, boss lady,” he grins at me. “You’re weird but likeable.”

Cue the butterflies. I say nothing but I know, I just know, he can see the stupid grin stretching on my face. I am flattered and he knows it. We are inches away to full-blown flirting and honestly, I love it.

 “Done?” he looks over at me, eyebrows raised.

“Done,” I confirm, leaning back in my chair. “Four years of studying this shit only to have to finish my career as the school paper editor literally 30 minutes before the printing deadline.”

“You’re at the finish line, that’s all that matters,” he shrugs, looking like the textbook definition of the word casual as he makes himself more comfortable on the chair, folding and sitting on his legs. “I’m the only one who knows just how nuts you went these last couple of hours and I’ll never tell.”

“No way I trust you,” I roll my eyes. “We’ve met just hours ago – I’m going to need more than just puppy dog eyes to make me believe you?”

“Puppy dog eyes?” he questions but I just shake my head, positive that the blush in my cheeks speaks for itself.

“I just have one more thing to finish,” I mumble as I scroll down to the credits page, finding the photography section. “What’s your full name?”

“Jeon Jeongguk. Why?”

“Because all the photos we have used tonight are yours,” I tell him as I highlight Taehyung’s name and backspace it into oblivion – that’s the price he pays for nearly sabotaging me inadvertently. And also, I am allowed to do that, since none of the photos are actually his. So, I type Jeon Jeongguk, G.C. F.

“You don’t have to do that,” he shakes his head, suddenly switching back to the shy guy he was when he first knocked on the office door. “I’m okay with it remaining the same.”

“I’m not – it’s your work,” I say as I attach the file to the email addressed to our printers, who will probably murder me for doing this last minute. “And done,” I click send.

“Now we nap?” he suggests.

“Or we can just… I don’t know? Talk?” I suggest.

I don’t know how to say that I want to get to know him better, maybe flirt with him and set the foundation for a chance of a good fuck later down the road, without actually saying it.

“We can talk,” he nods and I could swear there’s a hint of a smirk on his face, but it disappears before I can confirm that it’s not just a product of my imagination and wishful thinking.

There is just something about him, something I couldn’t voice, even if I wanted to. A strange kind of appeal, the golden middle between shy and cute on one side and cocky and hot on the other. The changes between the two make my interest in him grow with each passing minute.

It’s been a while since I simply wanted someone to grab me and kiss me, hard.

And I can’t say it like that because so far, he hasn’t given me a single sign that he’d be up for it. That’s exactly why I want to talk. I want to talk and see where this can go and if I have to pull out some liquid courage to make it happen, I will not hesitate.

“You know, Namjoon has an emergency stash,” I smile when I see how he looks up at me in interest. “In normal circumstances, I wouldn’t dare touch it,” I say as I stand up and head for Joon’s desk, eyes on the bottom drawer. I crouch down; jiggle the drawer two times, like he always does. It’s still a little bit stuck but with one solid pull, I manage to open in. A grin grows on my face – there lies an unopened bottle of Absolut Citron – my safety net for tonight. “I don’t think these are normal circumstances,” I add, waving the bottle and giving Jeongguk a suggestive look. “You up for it?”

“Hell yeah.”

Half a mug of vodka later, I find myself laughing at Jeongguk’s fairly stupid story about how Taehyung once almost set fire to the apartment the two of them share.

“That guy is such a hazard,” I laugh.

“Maybe, but he’s also my best friend,” he comments. “You take the risks.”

“Tell me about it,” I snort. “Try being friends with Kim Namjoon. Not a month goes by without me driving him to the hospital because he injured himself in the stupidest way possible.”

“I always thought the two of you were a thing,” Jeongguk tells me, catching me completely by surprise because that’s just about the last think I expected to hear. “I mean, before I realized that Seokjin and you are a thing. Were a thing,” he corrects himself.

“Namjoon is the last person on this planet that would want to have anything other than friendship with me,” I laugh. “It goes both ways but I have a feeling the guy would rather walk barefoot on legos than have a fling or a relationship with me.”

“Why?” he asks. Simple question, complicated answer.

“He knows me too well,” I shrug.

“Oh no,” Jeongguk laughs. “No way I’m gonna let you cop out of that one. The conversation is finally turning interesting.”

“Thanks.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he laughs. “Now elaborate. Why not?”

Is this a can of worms I want to open? Probably not. “How honest do you want me to be?” I ask anyways.

“As honest as vodka can make you at 4AM,” he smiles and for the hundredth time tonight, I have to fight the urge to coo at him.

“Joon always calls me an overachiever,” I sigh before pausing to think about how to explain what’s fundamentally wrong with me as a person. Sadly, that’s not an easy task. “Even as a teenager, I’d always know what I wanted, I would aim for it and I’d get it. Dedicated, hardworking, obsessive – call it whatever. The problem occurs whenever I realize that I can’t have it all. No one can, it’s normal, right? Not for me. I still go for it, I hit the brick wall repeatedly but I make a crack in it, I pull the bricks out and I knock it down enough for me to pass.”

“That’s admirable, not bad,” Jeongguk interrupts me. “I wish I was more like that.”

“No, you don’t,” I chuckle, pausing to chug some vodka down because I am absolutely not drunk enough for this. “The problem starts when other aspects of your life start paying the price. For example, Seokjin. I could never put him before my work. Never, ever.”

“Isn’t that normal?” he asks, looking confused as he changes his position so that he is leaning on the wall. He is also a solid foot closer to me now and I am not complaining. “I don’t know how the two of you have functioned but isn’t it ridiculous to think that one’s romantic partner should be the center of one’s life?” he asks.

“Thank you,” I nod my head. “I tried to justify it like that. I still believe in that, too.”

“Is that why you and Seokjin are no longer together?” he asks.

“That’s even more complicated,” I let out a chuckle. “It just… it ran beyond the expiration date. I can’t explain it without sounding like a bitch because I was with him for two years and he really is an amazing guy but that just… that wasn’t me. He wanted me to invest more in the relationship and while that is completely fair, it’s not what I wanted to do. That is what made me realize that we were heading nowhere. When you don’t want to make the extra effort, that’s alarming.”

“It’s also the way life goes,” he shrugs. I am impressed and envious of how casual he sees the things that were absolutely not casual to me. “If you think about it, every relationship in your life will either end in a break up or with a happily ever after. Literally, every relationship.”

Shit, he’s right. “I never thought about it like that.”

“I have,” he chuckles. “Whenever I realize it’s going nowhere and it’s not my happily ever after, I end it. That’s why I’m single. It’s easier to just… not date anyone than to tell every single person that yeah, that’s not it. Sorry. Thanks for the time,” he adds and I laugh.

“True, that does sound wrong,” I agree. “I’ve been fighting the feeling that Seokjin’s not for me for a long time.”

“Not good enough?”

“More like too good,” I correct him. “He really is a great guy. Kind, smart, funny. He’s genuinely a good guy and I’d sing his praises for hours but it was just too… I guess boring is the word I’m looking for.”

“He’s a boring guy?” he asks. Wow, he is really interested in this.

“Kind of. Don’t get me wrong, I’m hardly the life of the party myself. But it was all just so… proper with him. Movie dates with an obligatory hand over the shoulder, flowers for birthdays, always red roses. Paying for everything, nice restaurants. If we had stayed together, it would go graduation, engagement, marriage, house in the suburbs and two kids – a boy and a girl. It wasn’t boring, not really. But it was just so… proper. Excitement-less. Always blockbusters, never indie movies. Always seats at concerts, never the pit. Dull conversations – about politics and the economy, never about conspiracy theories or the supernatural. The sex,” I suddenly stop, realizing I may have taken my rant too far.

“A bit boring too?” Jeongguk asks, a grimace mixed with compassion taking over his face.

“Yeah,” I nod my head. “Good but… same. All that I mentioned before, it’s fun, it’s nice but after a while you just… want something that will keep you on your toes a little bit. Not a fuckboy or anything like that but just a guy who can actually say something that might surprise me.”

“I like your way of thinking,” he mumbles, looking away from me and keeping his eyes directly in front of him. “You’re not wrong, about anything. And even if you were, on paper, you don’t need to follow the paper – you need to follow yourself. Yeah, many girls want exactly what you’ve just described but you’re not one of those girls and that’s okay. I have a feeling that you are looking at it as a flaw but it’s really not. If something doesn’t make you feel happy or content, it’s absolutely normal to walk away from it.”

“Thanks,” is all I can mumble, knowing that any other words may not be safe. This is not the direction I hoped our conversation would take but I can’t complain – it’s oddly therapeutic.

“You’re so hard to judge,” he chuckles and turns around to offer me a smirk. “I thought I had you all figured out even before we met. Then tonight, I realized I was wrong. And an hour later, I realized I was wrong again. And just now, I have to admit that I am wrong again. You don’t fit in the typical groups.”

“Okay, you gotta elaborate that,” he chuckles as I urge him to explain. “Come on. Elaborate.”

“Overachiever. I thought that too, at first,” he tells me. “A perfect girl, with perfect grades and a perfect boyfriend. Then I get here and see you panicking and hear your playlist and I figure you’re one of those ‘inner turmoil’ kind of girl who thinks the world doesn’t get her and listens to ‘The 1975’ and Banks and hates men and most women too and just wants to be left alone.”

“Hey,” I reach over quite a bit to hit him on the shoulder. “Don’t diss ‘The 1975’.”

“My point is,” he laughs as he rubs his shoulder jokingly. “You’re not one of those groups. You’re not any of the other groups either. You are… a healthy mix of a few of them. I can’t name them all – I don’t know you well enough. I can’t label you either and that’s kind of cool.”

“Okay, give me an unpopular opinion,” I change the topic in the speed of light, realizing that if he refers to me as ‘cool’ I will pull down his pants and give him the suck of his life. While that is something I would very much like to do, I still haven’t received any signs of him sharing the thought.

“Are you really at a concert if you’re not in the pit?” he laughs and I hit him on the shoulder again, this time simply scooting closer to do that and remaining in the same position.

“Yes, you are,” I laugh. “Pit is better but you can still enjoy a concert if you’re seated. Besides, that’s not an unpopular opinion. Give me something controversial.”

“Androids are better than Iphones,” he tells me and I gasp in fake shock.

“Oh no you didn’t,” he laughs at me. “How dare you diss the apple?”

“Your turn,” he nudges me with his arm.

“Flavored drinks suck,” I mumble as I look at my mug of vodka, my precious koala mug being used for such a shitty drink. “I’m not a drinker. I’m very much a lightweight but if I do drink, I want to taste the drink, not artificial aroma and sugar.”

“Not to mention it tricks you into thinking you’re not drinking much,” he adds.

“Next thing you know, you’re standing up and the world is spinning.”

“Eunhee, I hate to break it to you, but the world is spinning,” he tells me. Another hit on the shoulder and I realize that I am about two hits away from being considered extremely violent.

“Shut up. Your turn.”

“Mint chocolate chip ice cream is awesome.”

“YES!” I startle him with a yell. “Yes! Yes! Mint chocolate chip enthusiasts will rule the world.”

“Wow, if we keep this up you will probably start a revolution,” he laughs. “Do you want to continue with the unpopular opinions talk or do something else?”

Well, what I really want is to grind on him until he has tear in his eyes and is begging me to let him cum in his pants. Or for him to bend me over a desk and fuck me until I see stars – both works for me, really, but it’s not exactly something I can say. I don’t have enough vodka in my system.

“I have a shocking one for you – foreplay is better than sex,” I announce.

“Oh, that is an unpopular opinion,” he nods his head, looking pensive. “May I ask why?”

“Because people, and when I say people, I mean men, underestimate the value of it for a woman,” I tell him. “Some enjoy it very much, of course. But in most cases, they just wanna slide it in and get it over with and that’s not how it works for us, at least not for me. I need that kind of… mutual attention. It doesn’t have to be anything crazy or extensive but like… just making out. Just making out is such a fundamental part of foreplay and sex. It’s not that special – just a kiss with the passion amped up. But god, isn’t it important? Nothing beats that moment of lazy kissing, body to body, gentle touches and squeezes and subtle grinds, all while all the words are left unsaid between the two because they are too busy moving their tongues and biting lips and struggling to breathe properly because a good make out needs to leave your breath hitched and mouth open and… a moan stuck in your throat. A good, solid make out session is a preview into what kind of lover you will have and I’ll be damned but sometimes the trailer is more enjoyable than the actual movie, if done well.”

I stop talking with my mouth hanging open. I have no idea where that came from but I do know vodka fueled it. I stop my rant and struggle to think of a sudden change of topic, trying to ignore the slightly wide-eyed look on Jeongguk’s face that my rant had caused.

It sounded more like a political discussion than make out talk. I need to learn when to shut up.

“Yeah, that’s enough of unpopular opinions,” he lets out an awkward chuckle and I know that this is another moment I will regret in the years to come. “Don’t get me wrong, it was fun,” he chuckles when he notices the look on my face. “But I’d much rather make out with you right now.”

Oh. Oh. Okay. That’s… very convenient.

The tiniest of smirks that graced his face evaporates before my eyes and turns into a frown, caused by my initial lack of response – it’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just that I wasn’t expecting the suggestion. “If you want to, that is,” he mumbles, turning into a nervous mess, nowhere near the hot, straight-to-the-point guy he was literally seconds ago. “If you don’t, that’s totally fine and we can just talk about music and-“

“I want to,” I interrupt him. “I… really want to,” I emphasize the really, knowing that looking a bit desperate is not only honest, but will also work in my favor.

“Get over here,” he chuckles as he grabs my hand and pulls me towards him.

[radicalecks]

So over the course of the last five or so days I’ve come out to my immediate family, which means with one old highschool friend as an exception, I’m now out to everyone close to me on any level who I care to specifically come out to. Earlier today I had a conversation with my dad, and while it’s gone incredibly well with my brother and my Aunt, my dad is (not exactly surprisingly) taking some time to process it and the conversation was kind of somewhere between awkward and uncomfortable. Not negative, mind, but uncomfortable. He asked me a few times over the course of that conversation what being transgender “means” and I... honestly, there were a lot of questions I was prepared to answer, but not that one, not three times in a row, so I fumbled a bit and I don’t honestly know if he was even looking for an answer. But, while I want to give him some time and distance to grapple with this, I... want to give him a better answer to that question. It’s still not gonna be an answer that actually explains it, because this is entirely tied up in personal, subjective experiences and I can’t pull him or anyone else into my head so they can KNOW what being transgender is, or what it feels like or etc. to really know why this makes sense to me. But y’know, maybe it can be of some help to someone who’s trying to understand this. I’m going to send it as an e-mail, but I wanted to write the draft out here specifically for that reason; maybe this can help things.

As a disclaimer, I’m 4 months on HRT and I’ve known for about 6 months total, so I am very much still new to this whole thing. On the one hand, I expect my  perspectives might change and this might not be representative years down the road, but on the other I feel like being this close to the catalytic realization might help a bit. My memories of that first week aren’t cast in amber yet.

So yeah, the draft will be under the cut. Feel free to read if you want, I just suspect this is going to be long and I didn’t want to massively extend everyone’s dashes with my prattling.

Dad, earlier today when we talked, you asked me to try and explain what being trans even is, what it means, and I honestly wasn’t really ready for that question, which I’m sure might’ve made me look undecided or unconfident in a decision/way of being I think we both consider extremely big. I wanted to try and tackle that question again, through text this time ‘cause I can organize my thoughts better when I’m writing, and maybe give a better/more thorough/more satisfactory answer. At the same time, I know this is a lot to process. Believe me, I know that. So, if you think you need more time to reckon with it, then please feel free to read this e-mail later. It’s probably going to run fairly long, for one thing. So, yeah, get to this when you’re ready for it, don’t feel obligated to read it just ‘cause I’m sending it now. It’s the last thing I’ll say on the subject until you let me know you’re ready to talk about it again.

---

The difficulty here, though, is that I’m trying to describe a sensation, a subjective experience that you’ve never had. One of the most common metaphors for the whole thing is trying to describe to someone who’s never broken a bone what it feels like; the best you can do is sort of flail language around and try to get to some sort of approximation. I’ve never broken a bone myself; I’ve watched a couple videos so I guess I imagine in addition to pain there’s probably a lot of really strange sensations that go along with it? I honestly don’t know. It’s... kind of the same way with this. The best I can do is kind of paint a vague, blurry picture of it and hope when that picture is received, it kind of approximates my internal experiences.

Now, I can give you the, I guess in a sense clinical? definition of transgender, which is someone who has a gender identity other than the one they were assigned at birth. That’s a bit of a jargon-filled sentence, I get that, but it’s a bit more accurate than older explanations which talk about feeling like you’re born in the wrong body (not my experience at all, honestly), or other tropes. That said, I don’t think it’s really useful here, so I’m mostly just introducing it to get it out of the way.

I could also talk just in terms of like superficial effects, like the fact that since I realized this, I’m more engaged with the people around me and with all of the communities I’m involved in. I’m being more responsible, I’m trying to take actual steps forward to improve my life, I’m actually dating a girl now! I have goals, I feel like I’m making progress for the first time in a long time. I have a stronger sense of who I am. Some of this is honestly probably kind of incidental, though, and it doesn’t really say anything about what the actual experience of being transgender is either. I mean, I guess it kind of characterizes the realization as a positive event that is having knock-on positive effects in my life, so a net good, but I don’t honestly think “a good thing” is a sufficient explanation. I’ll start there, though: this realization, regardless of the hardships I might encounter in life because of it, has in just a general sense improved my life significantly and given me a sense of drive about keeping that moving. That might not be the experience of every transgender person, and honestly it kind of underscores how lucky I am to be in the position I am, but still. It’s not a negative thing to me.

But I figure the best way I can explain it is by contrasting my experiences before and after. Not really anything in particular I’m doing, but rather the ways I experienced and processed the world at large. This is my vague and blurry picture; this is the best I can do at this point. So! To start with, and this kind of ties in to the fact that I’m actually dating a girl right now; my experience with the idea of relationships and romantic involvement has been historically categorized with a sort of vague and unidentifiable discomfort with the whole idea. The idea of dating was offputting to me, even if there were people I really wanted to date; anything else in that particular category of thought was just so utterly uncomfortable I tried to avoid any discussion of it and just sort of shut down when it came up.

But beyond that, my emotional world as a whole was just dulled. It’s something I’ve only been able to realize since I started hormones, but I literally was experiencing the entire world through like, a thick layer of cotton. The only things that ever really provoked any sort of emotional response out of me were extreme events, but outside of that I just... didn’t have a lot. I’d feel happy sometimes, I guess? But not really anything compared to now. There was also always a sense of aimlessness in my life that I just couldn’t shake. I had basically no ambition in me; I was just going to get a degree eventually and get a job ‘cause that’s sort of the arc of life I’d sent myself on, and in a lot of ways I felt more like a passenger or an observer than an actual participant. That’s all changed; I actually have an inner experience of emotion and a sense of agency in my life, like I can make choices, set goals, and pursue them rather than just listlessly drifting on whatever course life sets before me. I had a couple things I was somewhat passionate about before but I feel like I can actually engage with everything I want to do in a passionate way.

I’ve found community in other people with similar experiences; I feel connected both to them and to the people I’m close to in a way I’ve never felt connected before. Like, I guess the best way to break this down is that, without even realizing it, I had been living life feeling like I was half a person, and I’m whole now, and I’m healing from that. I know (believe me, I know) that being transgender isn’t easy and that I’m probably carving out a fairly difficult path for myself, but I am being entirely honest here when I say that whatever difficulties I face, the positive I’ve already derived and will continue to derive from this transition, this path I’m walking, will vastly outweigh it.

So, yeah, that’s... that’s the best I can do at kind of trying to triangulate in on my experiences. I can’t really explain what it’s like to have that revelatory moment, or what it’s like to “feel” like I’m a woman, any more than you could describe to me what it was like when you shot yourself in the foot or broke your arm. But I hope this, I guess, gets us halfway there?

I’m going to end by also saying that I meant it when I said that this wasn’t going to change anything. I am honestly still the same person you’ve always known; my personality isn’t going to undergo any dramatic shifts off into completely new territory. I still play video games probably too much; I’m still too wrapped up in the world’s issues, and all that; I still like Indian food and pasta and action movies and all sorts of music. I’m still the same person I’ve always been and in broad strokes that’s not going to change. I’ve just been wrong about some aspect of myself for a long time without realizing it, and I’m finally correcting the record. But I’ll always be your kid, and I’ll always love you.

[familyassembled]

The Way You Look Tonight (2/2)

Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter, various

Captain Rogers has a very special request for Jarvis, which brings up some uncomfortable feelings.

part one

“Jarvis?”  

The door was ajar, but Steve knocked on it anyway. “I’m afraid I’ll be unavailable to you for the rest of the day, Captain Rogers,” said Jarvis, moving to push the door shut. “I’ll send you a list of suitable venues in the morning.” 

“You know there’s a whole gym full of punching bags downstairs,” Steve said, putting his foot in the door. “I could show you. It might be easier than--” He looked around the sparse room--bare walls, bare tables, and the desk, in the corner of the room. There was a letter open on it. “This.” 

“I’m aware of the on site facilities, yes,” Jarvis said, flexing his hand before balling it into a fist.  There was a subtle shift that made Steve narrow his eyes and study the other man.  “However, I doubt Miss Carter would appreciate a proposal surrounded by gym equipment.” 

He finally looked up, and must have noticed Steve’s attention, because in an instant he’d returned to normal, his hand once again lax at his side as whatever else had been there was swept aside. Steve shook his head, deciding not to press that at the moment.  “I’m not here to talk about Peggy.” 

“Then I’ll bid you goodnight.” 

“That’s it?  After tearing Stark apart, that’s all I get?”

“It has nothing to do with you, Captain Rogers,” Jarvis told him in a hard tone that Steve decided to ignore, pushing the rest of the way into the room instead.

“That’s a lot of bitterness and anger you’re holding onto, Jarvis.  I get it, I do, but that doesn’t mean I’m just going to let it lie.”

“You wouldn’t--” 

“I wouldn’t what?” Steve cut in. “Understand what it’s like to lose the person you love more than anything in the blink of an eye? To have to move through the world when it doesn’t have her, to need to throw a punch and go after the nearest target? Yeah, I think I do.” 

Mr. Jarvis gave him a careful look.

“Look, I know probably better than anyone here what you’re going through, including wanting to break Stark’s nose,” Steve sighed.  “And it’ll eat you up if you don’t have backup.  You’re the one that told Peggy that.”

“Yes, I did,” Jarvis said, looking down at his desk again.  “But it would appear that Miss Carter is...otherwise occupied at present.” 

Steve blinked.

...oh.

“You think I’m taking her away.” 

Mr. Jarvis swallowed, and looked at his hands. “Things are as they should be. She’s happier than I’ve ever known her to be.”

“You said yes, though, when I asked for your help. Why?” 

“You said it yourself, Captain. Miss Carter deserves the best.”

Steve was quiet for a moment. He liked Mr. Jarvis.  It wasn’t just anyone Peggy trusted, after all, and he’d been there--according to Peggy, sometimes he’d been the only one there--when Peggy needed someone to trust during the year Steve was gone. 

“If you know her as well as I think you do,” Steve said. “Then you know she doesn’t just walk away from her friends, and I’m not going to do anything to change that. I wouldn’t want to.” 

“All due respect, Captain Rogers, but I fail to see how any of this is your concern.”

“That’s just it, I am concerned.  This is a dark road your heading down, if your outburst back there is any indication--”

“It’s none of your concern,” Jarvis repeated, a razor edge to his voice. “I’m not about to take another man’s pity, Captain America or not.”

“It’s not about pity,” Steve snapped.  “Losing someone that important, that’s not something to pity.  That’s something to sympathize with, something to--”

“I didn’t ask for your help,” Jarvis snapped, standing and heading for the door.

“You didn’t ask anyone else, either,” Steve shot back.

“For what?” Jarvis demanded, spinning around to him.  “To listen to me wax maudlin in the late hours, to hold my hand and tell me it’ll be alright?  How will that help?  Because the fact is, Captain Rogers, it won’t be alright.  No one is coming with a time machine to bring my lost love back.  So you’ll have to excuse me if I find your ability to sympathize a bit hard to swallow.”

“Jarvis--”

“I had one good thing left, in a form I never expected, and now--”  He stopped, taking a deep breath.  “Now she has more important things to worry about, or will shortly.  That’s the fact of it, and something I’m learning to deal with, so I’d prefer you not attempt to derail that progress simply to make yourself feel better for taking care of the poor widower.”

Steve nodded a little as several things became clearer.  It made sense why Jarvis all but ignored him if they weren’t talking about proposal plans, it wasn’t about any sort of friendship between them...it was Jarvis’s last farewell to Peggy.

“You know that radio recording, the one from the movie?” he asked quietly, and Jarvis frowned at the apparent non sequitur.  “I dunno how Tony’s mom managed it, or maybe his dad.  But those were my last words to Peggy.  That was supposed to be it.  I was going to down in...a blaze of glory.  Well, not so much a blaze, little too icy for that.  The point is, that was supposed to be it.  We both knew it.  It was our goodbye, even if we never said it.  And then I woke up to a world completely changed, alive...but I still missed our date.  By about seventy years.  It’s not the same, I know it’s not.  And yeah, I’m...beyond happy that I got her back.  But that doesn’t change how incredibly angry I’ve been at...everyone.  At Fury for finding me, at myself for surviving, at Peggy for disappearing and at Howard, for all his genius, not being able to find me before she was gone.  I was furious at the world for being so stupidly inconsiderate, taking away everything I had, everyone I cared about and the world I knew, and not being kind enough to let me go too.  So you can be as angry as you want, I’m not gonna stop you.  But that doesn’t mean that I’m going to quit reminding you that there’s still people around.  The ‘one good thing’ you have left is still here, and I’m not going to be the one to take her away, because as much as it might confuse you, she needs her relationship with you just as much as you do.  As much as she needs me.  Probably more, really, cause she’ll need someone she can complain to when I inevitably screw something up.”

“She can complain rather boisterously,” Jarvis agreed, and Steve snorted.  “You know, when I told her that...she was dodging bullets and implosions and...incredibly ineffectual and disrespectful coworkers.  I’m just...a bit lost, which is quite a different thing.”

“You really think she’d say that?” Steve asked, narrowing his eyes.  “Cause I don’t.  I think she’d call you a fool for even thinking that.  And, personally, I’d agree.”

“I’m glad to hear you think so highly of me, Captain Rogers,” Jarvis said, but there was a hint of smile at the corners of his mouth.

Still, Steve was serious when he replied, “I wouldn’t be standing here if I didn’t.”

“You know I’m quite certain Anna would have agreed with you as well,” Jarvis told him, and Steve went still.  Jarvis never offered up information about his wife, not without prompting.  “She often claimed I was...overly sentimental.  But I’m fairly certain she didn’t mind, because she’d smile when she said it.  She had...the most beautiful smile.  And there are times...when I can’t help but think about the fact that I’m never going to see her smile again...and I can’t breathe.”

Jarvis looked down quickly, but not before Steve caught the tell-tale brightness of his eyes.  He reached out, clasping the other man’s shoulder firmly, and Jarvis took a shaky breath.

“My apologies--”

“Don’t do that,” Steve told him.  “Don’t apologize for that.  There isn’t anyone here who would fault you for missing someone you love that much. There isn’t anyone here who hasn’t lost anyone they loved.”

Jarvis nodded, then took another deep breath.  “I’ll take that under advisement, Captain Rogers.  But if it’s all the same, I’d really rather not talk about this anymore just now.”

“Sure,” Steve said, taking a step back.

“I do...appreciate your efforts.”

“Anytime, Jarvis. Really.”  Steve glanced around, wondering for a moment what to do with himself. He wasn’t totally ready to leave Jarvis alone, but was at a loss for what else to say now.

“Captain Rogers,” Jarvis said, saving him from having to come up with a random topic for discussion that wasn’t painful.  Steve looked back at him, humming in question.  “Remind me...you said you missed your date with Miss Carter…” 

*** 

Peggy didn’t know whether or not to be proud or exasperated. 

Spies though they were not, Steve and Mr. Jarvis excelled at being frustratingly vague about their not-entirely-secret plans. She’d caught them whispering in corners, only to jump guiltily apart when they noticed her. She’d seen them tossing each other sidelong glances, and heard them cease whispered conversation whenever she entered a room. She’d even caught them passing notes like schoolchildren once, but never had she been able to glean even a single clue as to what they were after.

She could’ve had it out of them if she’d really wanted, she supposed, but they were so earnest.

It seemed akin to spoiling a child’s birthday present. 

It was nearly two months later when she arrived back at her small room to find three things laid neatly on the bed: a red dress, a pair of shoes, and a handwritten note that said Ground floor. Eight o’clock on the dot. 

Peggy glanced at the clock. It was a quarter past six. 

The handwriting on the note was Steve’s; the dress was almost certainly Natasha’s doing.  The shoes were red and heeled and made for dancing, and when she checked, precisely her size. 

Well. What were they up to? 

An hour later, Peggy was running a hand over her hair, adjusting a bobby pin here and there and smoothing imaginary wrinkles from the dress. There was a fluttery anticipation in her stomach, a sort of not-quite-nervousness that kept curling her mouth into a smile. This - was different. She’d had two years of dancing around Steve, quiet smiles and almost-kisses and his particular brand of awkward flirting. There had been muddy battlefields, the smell of blood on the air, and courting loss almost as much as each other. Two years of knowing what they were, and would be eventually, and waiting for a dance that never came. 

Then, six months of being properly his--of his unguarded smile when she entered a room, and the way he didn’t seem to believe his luck when he realized that he could kiss her anytime he liked, now. These days they had whole afternoons with nothing to do, where he dragged her through New York by the hand just to show her something else that had changed, or something that hadn’t. There were even a few slow, sleepy mornings, with Steve’s breath leaving a shivery warmth against the back of her neck as she woke, his arm thrown across her stomach as he slept.

And now this. 

It was half past seven before she was ready to go, and another twenty minutes spent fidgeting before she finally decided to descend the stairs.

At 7:50, Peggy stepped out of the glass doors to the tower to find a sleek, black car waiting on the street. It didn’t look to be one of Tony’s cars--in fact, if she’d been able to wager a guess, it looked like something more out of her time. When the front door opened, she half expected to see Mister Jarvis scrambling to open the door for her, but instead a red head ducked out of the driver’s seat, and Natasha, in a sharp chauffeur’s uniform, grinned at her and moved to open her door.

“Natasha, what on Earth…?”

The other woman smirked, but there was real warmth and just a bit of mischief behind it. She pulled the door open, and gestured for Peggy to climb inside.

“I heard you had a date,” she said. “Thought you might need a ride.” 

*** 

It was a feeling Peggy was slowly getting used to, that eerie sense of knowing where she was, but not. As they wound their way through the streets of New York City, she did have the peculiar feeling that this route was something that ought to be familiar to her, but for the life of her she couldn’t place it.

“This is your stop, lady,” said Natasha, pulling to a stop. She grinned at Peggy in the rearview mirror. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Natasha,” said Peggy, as she reaching for the door handle. “I’m not sure that’s even possible.”

It was nothing like what she expected.

The car was stopped outside a small urban park nestled between two other buildings, with vines creeping up the walls on either side, and two rows of small trees surrounded by tables and chairs. Small fairy lights decorated the trees, and everywhere the faint noise of rushing water, because at the very back of the park stood what appeared to be a giant, man-made waterfall, lit from the back and giving off a soft, yellow glow.

The entire thing was fenced in by a small gate, giving the impression that she was looking at something out of a fairy story. It took Peggy a full thirty seconds of staring to realize that Mister Jarvis stood next to the gate.

“I’m surprised, Mister Jarvis,” said Peggy as she approached, taking in everything around her, “that your ear is still attached to your head.”

“I was motivated,” he said dryly, reaching for the door handle. “I’ve this very stubborn friend, you see. Very difficult to surprise.”

“Sounds like an absolute menace.” Peggy said, tilting her head.

“You’ve no idea.”

They chuckled for a moment, and then he shook his head.

“You weren’t fooled.”

“Oh I knew you were up to something, Mister Jarvis,” she shrugged off her coat, and without asking, he took it from her arm. “I’ve still no idea what.”

The corners of his mouth turned upwards in the slightest of smiles as he pulled the gate open.

“Enjoy your evening, Miss Carter.” 

*** 

Every glance caught something new: the glimmer of candles on some of the most distant tables, a soft melody coming from somewhere she couldn’t place, and at the very back, a long silhouette she’d know anywhere, facing towards the waterfall.

Her feet carried her towards him automatically. He had to have heard her, but still he didn’t turn.

“What is this place?” she murmured.

“It’s the Stork Club,” said Steve. He turned then, and smiled softly; Peggy’s breath caught in her throat. “Or it used to be.”

Oh, Steve.

He was waiting in his dress uniform. In all these months of adjusting to newer and more relaxed everything, of t-shirts and blue jeans and a world that prized comfort, Peggy had almost forgotten what a figure he cut in sharp, pressed army green. Silhouetted against the backdrop of the lit waterfall, with his face caught in candlelight, Peggy’s stomach fluttered and twisted.

“Steve, this is--”

“Only seventy years too late,” he said, swallowing hard and looking up at her earnestly. He reached out a hand. “But I said I’d be here.”

Peggy’s eyes burned. “Oh, darling--”

She took his hand, and he tugged her close.

“I still don’t know how,” he murmured.

She tucked her head underneath Steve’s chin, and moved his hand to her waist. “I’ll teach you.”

Peggy let her eyes fall shut, and they danced.

True to his promise seventy years before, in the beginning, the music was slow. Her senses were full of him: the faint smell of soap and aftershave, the wool of his jacket against her cheek, and the way his fingers strayed from her hip, sometimes, to draw idle patterns on her side as they moved together.

Whether by design or happy accident, a few faster numbers did make their way onto the speaker, and Peggy found herself laughing and smiling through dancing lessons. Steve, ever the determined student, only stepped on her toes a time or two before he got hang of it, and by the time half an hour had passed it might’ve been 1945, for all she knew or cared.

“You’re quite the dancer, Captain,” she said when he twirled her against him, flush with the cold night air and faint exertion. “You’ve not been holding out on me, have you?

“No ma’am,” he responded. “I’ve just had a very good teacher.”

She reached up to pull his head down next to hers, sliding her fingers up his arms to his shoulders, her fingers playing at the skin at his collar. A slow smile spread across her face as she watched him shudder--it was a small, secret thing she’d learned about him these last months, a thing only she knew, and she delighted in it.

“Peggy--”

“Captain Rogers,” Peggy said in a conspiratorial tone, leaning close.  “Just now I could think of better uses for your mouth than talking.”

A few more idle sweeps of her fingers along his hairline and she was sure she had him; he sucked in a breath and she felt his fingertips brush her jaw as he leaned forward--but just as soon he was there he was gone again, reaching around the back of his neck for her hands.

“You’re distracting me,” he laughed, pulling her arms from around his neck and holding her hands between them. “This is important.”

She might’ve frowned (it was not, as Steve would later claim, a pout, she did not pout) because he scrambled for an explanation.

“I brought you here to ask you something.”

“Anything.”

“It’s, uh,” Steve cast his eyes towards the ground. “It’s a pretty big anything.”

It was only then that she noticed that Steve’s pulse raced underneath his wrist, and that his skin was faintly pink under the light from the waterfall.

“Steve?”

“You remember that night in the pub?” he asked, looking down at their joined hands.  “The one after Bucky died?”

That was an odd change of tone. Peggy examined him worriedly, but he only seemed lost in memory.

She relaxed a bit when she saw him smile.

“I never had much, you know. Just Mom and Bucky. And then, you know--lost Mom while I was at school, so when Bucky died I didn’t have…anything.  Except you were there, when you didn’t have to be, and you told me I wasn’t alone.

“I, uh.”  He took a deep breath, his eyes meeting hers again. “That’s when I knew.”

She frowned again, shaking her head a little in confusion.  “Knew what?”

“That I wanted to marry you.”

She knew it was going to happen a beat before his hand slid into his pocket, half a second before he folded one of her hands into his, and bent, on one knee, in front of her. Peggy’s whole body flushed warm at the look on his face--wide-eyed, reverent, and just a little bit terrified--as well as the ring nestled in the box he’d popped open--a gorgeous but not ostentatious solitaire set in a band of white gold or platinum.

“Oh--”

“One of the first times we ever talked I told you, uh,” he sniffed, and Peggy squeezed the hand she was holding. “I told you I was waiting. I just--I need you to know it was you I was waiting for, and that I’m it--I mean, not me, that you’re it, you’re -”

Peggy let out a wet laugh, running her thumb over the knuckles of his hand. “Ask me the question, Steve.”

He looked up at her, so earnest it made her heart ache.

“Peggy, will you marry me?”

She sank down to her knees beside him, in a park where The Stork Club had once been, and laid her forehead against his.

“Yes,” she said, and the word broke on a smile. “Absolutely yes.”

Steve beamed at her as he slipped the ring on her finger, then tipped her head back--and then they found uses for their mouths other than talking. 

*** 

Edwin made his way to the gym again after ensuring Miss Carter found Steve successfully.  He’d found himself there a few times in the past months when he felt his hold becoming precarious.  On the front, the medics had said that the worst injuries were ones you couldn’t feel anymore.  He supposed that could likely be translated to mental health as well, but after weeks of feeling like an exposed nerve, the emotional numb that had taken over had been a blessing.  If he could only get it to stick.

He understood that Miss Carter and Captain Rogers had no intention of leaving.  He didn’t really harbor any lingering bitterness toward Steve--then again, he hadn’t been really aware of how much there’d been before the captain had brought it up, so who could say.

The point was, he was happy for Miss Carter, that she was getting the things she so richly deserved with a man who’d proven more than worthy of her.  But it didn’t stop the feeling from coming on that his skin didn’t fit quite right over his bones once he was alone again, or the images of unending isolation in one form or another.

Whatever he’d had in 1946, every relationship he’d counted on, was changed or gone, and there was nothing he could do about that.  There was, however, something he could do to a punching bag.

Tonight, however, it wasn’t proving to be the distraction it had.  It took several minutes for him to realize it hadn’t been anyone here who drove him to a physical outlet, but the person who wasn’t.  He kept thinking of the crisp morning air, high above the city, the colors of the sunrise bleeding into the sky; of blue eyes shining brighter than any diamond could hope to achieve, of laughter songbirds envied, of soft whispered words of love that had been branded on his heart.

He was dimly aware of his punches becoming more purposefully violent, but he didn’t have it in him to care. That morning, they’d promised each other forever, but now it was nearly six months to the day that she’d been gone. ‘Until death do us part’ had come entirely too soon, as it turned out, and Edwin wasn’t sure he’d ever stop being angry about it.  It was a fire that burned him constantly from the inside out, present even when the numbing depression acted as a weak insulator. Tonight, he felt the the flames licking at every nerve ending, and black hate at the loss and the man he’d blame until the day he died choking him--

He stepped back from the bag suddenly, drawing a harsh breath into lungs that burned as his control fractured.  His head snapped up at a small noise nearby, and he made an effort to reign himself in when he saw Clint watching him warily.

“Thought I might find you down here,” the other man said in an easy tone.  “Cap popping the question to Peggy and all.”

“How did you--Natasha,” Edwin realized.  “I was under the impression that she was rather good at keeping things to herself.”

“Oh, she is,” Clint said conversationally, wandering closer and reaching for the athletic tape.  “She can hold out under pretty much any torture devised. I have some...unconventional methods for getting information out of her.”

“Noted,” Edwin said, arching a brow.  “Although I’d wager a guess that it’s more to do with you.”

Clint shrugged. “Depends on her mood.  You okay?”

“Fine,” Edwin said, looking down at his hands and willing them to stop shaking.  He sniffed and lifted one to tug his ear.  “I’m quite happy for Captain Rogers and Miss Carter.”

When the other man stayed quiet, Edwin looked up again to find Clint watching him, head tilted to one side.  After a moment, he shook his head with a click of his tongue.

“Just because you want to believe it doesn’t make it less of a lie,” he said, moving past Edwin.  “If I was you, I’d be punching a lot more than a bag.”  He leaned to the side, stretching, but straightened again with a sigh when he glanced back at Edwin.  “It’s a shitty situation, and no one can fix it.  Being pissed that time doesn’t stop, that people can still find ways to be happy when you’re miserable, that nothing you do changes the fact that she left, it sucks, but it’s natural.  So toast your friends, because they deserve it, but don’t lie to me.  You deserve that.”

Several things struck Edwin from this speech.  For one, he was positive it was the most words he’d heard Agent Barton string together at one time in six months of knowing him.  Two, there was an odd relief in being told not to lie about not being happy.  Finally…the words “she left” echoed in his mind.  His wife didn’t leave, but he realized that Clint probably hadn’t even noticed the slip.

In any case, Edwin didn’t relish the idea of being alone with his ghosts again, even while fire still burned through his veins.

“I wonder, Agent Barton,” he said slowly, “if I might still be able to take you up on that offer for...tips.” 

*** 

Part of the planning had involved reserving a room at a nearby hotel to go to after the proposal, if it all went to script.  Steve just didn’t want to share her right away, and if the predatory look she’d given him as she stripped him of his dress uniform was any clue, it was the right call to make.

(Predatory Peggy made a run for top spot in his favorite flavors of her, but then his favorite flavor of Peggy tended to be whichever one was kissing him at the moment.)

In the morning, he made rainbows dance around the room when the light caught the diamond on her hand, and she giggled between moans.

(Giggling Peggy became his new favorite immediately, because that flavor meant that she was truly, undeniably happy.)

“Eventually, we’ll have to return to the real world,” Peggy murmured as checkout time beared down on them, but her fingers still combed lazily through his hair.

“As far as I’m concerned, the real world can wait until after the honeymoon,” he told her without opening his eyes, and smiled a little when the giggle found it’s way to her lips again.

“To get to the honeymoon, we have to plan a wedding.”

“There’s a courthouse two blocks away.  Give me twenty minutes.”

The giggle gave way to a laugh, then, and she pushed at his shoulder playfully.  “You’re not getting off that easy.”  She turned serious when he opened his eyes, and he reached toward her to brush the hair back from her face.  “After everything...this is something I want to celebrate.”

“Me too,” he replied, kissing her quickly.  “Alright, have it your way.  Let’s go face the music.”

“It’s not as if the music is Taps, Steve!”

“No, but Tony’s at the tower,” he said darkly as he sat up.  “There’s a few modern songs that he might decide to go with that are...not polite. At all.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she laughed.

(If he had his way, laughing Peggy would be a constant flavor for the rest of their lives.)

When they did finally arrive at the tower, everyone was lounging together in the common area--including, to Steve’s surprise and delight, Mister Jarvis.  The former butler looked more relaxed than Steve had seen him yet, although he was still seated as far as possible from Stark.

Baby steps.

“Look who the cat dragged in,” Nat drawled when she caught sight of them, smirking.

Jarvis glanced at them, then stiffened a little with an awkward cough.  When he turned, Steve’s brows shot up at the shiner he was sporting.

“Mister Jarvis, what on earth happened to your eye?” Peggy demanded.

“I...managed to hit myself with a cupboard door,” Jarvis said, tugging at one ear.  “Very clumsy.”

She arched an eyebrow, scanning the group.  “Would this be the same cupboard door that apparently hit Agent Barton in the jaw?”

“It’s a very big door,” Clint said evenly.

“Clearly,” Peggy replied dryly, and Steve looked down to hide his smile as he shook his head.  He was a little surprised that going a round with Barton was what got the fussy butler to even out, but that was something to explore another time, when his mind wasn't totally wrapped around the woman at his side.

“I trust you had a good evening, Miss Carter?” Jarvis cut in, thankfully, effectively distracting her with a pointed look at her hand.

“I...did, yes,” she said, flushing a little and smiling.  “Very good.  Erm…”

She trailed off, looking up at Steve uncertainly, and he cleared his throat as he turned back to the group.  “Peggy and I are getting married.”

“Oh my gosh, that’s wonderful!” Pepper burst out, jumping up from her seat and hurrying over to hug Peggy. “Oh, let me see--wow...that’s...that’s gorgeous.  Tony, you should come see this.  They’re getting married, she’s got a ring and everything, after only six months of being here.  Isn’t that wonderful?”

Steve brought a hand up to his mouth, trying to cover his laughter at her icy tone in a cough without much success.

“Uh, yeah, baby, that’s...that’s great,” Tony said, hurrying over.  “Yeah.  I mean, I think it’s important to remember that they’ve been together, what, seventy years?  I mean, I think, relatively, we’re not doing that bad--”

“I am not waiting seventy years,” she told him, then turned back to beam at Steve and Peggy.  “This calls for champagne.”

“I think I liked you better as a Capsicle,” Tony muttered as Pepper danced away into the kitchen.

“Hey, all I want to do is marry the woman I love,” Steve said with a shrug.  “If that makes your life uncomfortable for a while, well, that’s just a bonus.”

Tony followed after Pepper, muttering darkly, and Peggy shook her head at Steve with a sigh.  He only grinned at her before looking up again as Jarvis approached.

“Congratulations, Captain Rogers,” he said, holding out a hand to shake Steve’s.

“How many times are we gonna have to go over this?” Steve asked with a long suffering sigh as he took the other man’s hand.

“Too many already, I fear,” Jarvis said with a smirk.  “Steve, then. You’ve certainly chosen a partner that is truly above compare.”

“Yeah, well, I’m just lucky she said yes,” Steve replied, winking at Peggy as he released Jarvis’s hand.

“Exceedingly lucky,” she told him, lips twitching and eyes dancing at him before she looked back at Jarvis.

“Congratulations, Miss Carter,” he told her.  He seemed to hesitate a moment, then bent down to kiss her cheek gently.  “You deserve every bit of happiness this world can grant you.”

“Thank you, Mister Jarvis,” she said, eyes glistening.

“Champagne!” Pepper sang out as she returned with a tray of glasses.  “Come on, come on, everybody gets one.  Even you, Bruce, come on.”

“I don’t really--”

“Yeah, I know, but they’re engaged, you can do one toast,” Pepper said in a tone that even the Hulk wouldn’t be able to argue with.

“Well, when you put it that way,” Bruce said, sharing a smile with Steve as he took a glass.

Steve glanced between Jarvis and Clint as they shared a look, Clint holding his glass up a little. Jarvis nodded almost imperceptibly, then lifted his glass and cleared his throat.

“To old friends and new,” Jarvis said.  “To new beginnings.”