#my original plan all along | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

voyter · 2 months ago

Text

STAGED FOR THE SEASON .. ( 정국 / JJK ) !

pairing. jeon jungkook x fem!reader

going back home for the holidays meant facing his ex — the one he still couldn’t let go of. determined to win her back and spark a little jealousy, he brought you along… as his fake girlfriend.

⟡₊ ⊹ CHRISTMAS SPECIAL !

word count. 18.3k words warnings. fake dating au. angst. friends to lovers. jk not over his ex. FLIRTING !! TENSION !! jungkook comes to his senses a lot in this. angst. lots of teasing. smut. unprotected sex. oral (both!receiving). quiet sex hehe. munch jk again sorry i love an eater. a little male masturbation. he looks at her while he strokes it bites lip. dom!jk (still a sub enthusiast tho). oh did i mention angst ?

ana's notes. merry christmas in february !! im crying THIS IS SO EMBARRASSING. i swear this was originally supposed to be posted in december, but i ended scrapping after scrapping. that led to the writing taking much longer than i thought it would and i actually still hate this LMFAO but i did not spend all that time on this just to not post it. so here it is. just .. here JUST TAKE IT. next fic will make up for this mess, i promise x

Jungkook was a wild individual, his life practically a highlight reel of impulsive decisions and stories that somehow always ended with him escaping a war. From his childhood to his teenage years and everything in between, you’d heard your fair share of them — events so absurd that you sometimes questioned if they were even real.

But as wild and ridiculous as those stories were, nothing could have prepared you for what he was saying right now.

“I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend for Christmas.”

You froze, staring at him in pure bewilderment. It was so random — like, literally, what the fuck?

The two of you had been lounging comfortably on your couch, a shared blanket draped across your laps as you caught up on each other's lives. The conversation had been perfectly ordinary. He’d just asked about your holiday plans, and you’d told him you were spending your holiday break from work in your apartment.

And then he said this, like it was nothing.

Now, judging by the way you were looking at him — eyes wide, utterly dumbfounded — Jungkook couldn’t tell if there was a ghost standing behind him or if his question was genuinely out of pocket.

Jungkook shrugged, his expression unreadable. “Well?”

You blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of his words. Is he okay? “I’m sorry?”

“Look, I know it sounds crazy, but just hear me out,” he said, sitting upright in one swift motion, his previously slouched posture disappearing as if the words themselves had straightened his spine. “I’m going home for the holidays, and you know how my mom is close friends with my ex's mom, right?”

“Mhm…” you hum slowly, even though you already know where this is headed.

“Well, my mom invited her over on Christmas… and Misa’s gonna be there,” he says, the words spilling out like a reluctant confession. His gaze shifts to the floor, as though the hardwood could offer him some kind of solace or escape from your reaction. There’s a slight edge to his voice, like he’s bracing himself for your judgment, and his fingers tug at the thread on his jeans.

“Kook…” Your voice drops to a quieter tone, heavy with exasperation, before a sigh escapes your lips.

Now, you’ve heard that name a few times. And each time you did, it felt like an unwanted stone hurled into calm waters, rippling outward until it disrupted everything.

You didn’t dislike Misa herself — how could you, when you’d never even met her? What you couldn’t stand was the effect her name had on Jungkook. It wasn’t just sadness or nostalgia that overtook him; it was something deeper, something heavier. Like a wound that had never fully healed, her name had the power to knock the air out of him, leaving him raw and vulnerable every time.

The first time you heard of Misa was through Jimin and Taehyung. According to them, Jungkook and Misa had been childhood friends who started dating in high school. But that love didn’t survive graduation. They were heading to different universities — she to Ulsan, and him in Seoul — and while Jungkook had begged her to make it work, she never wanted to do long distance. It was practical, maybe even logical, but it had wrecked him.

Jungkook never pursued relationships after her; he didn’t see the point. Love, in his eyes, was a gamble he wasn’t willing to take again. Instead, he sought out fleeting connections with girls he found attractive, indulging in temporary pleasures without the weight of commitment. It wasn’t fair, and deep down, he knew it. But as messed up as it was, he couldn’t stop himself.

Because he didn’t want to love anyone else.

Love had burned him once — left him raw, scarred, and reluctant to open that part of himself again. It was easier this way, safer. No expectations, no vulnerability, no chance of heartbreak. Just meaningless hookups that kept the loneliness at bay for a little while.

“You already know what I’m going to say,” he says quietly, his voice subdued yet heavy with expectation.

“Yeah, I do,” you snap back, unable to hide the sharp edge in your tone. There’s a bite of attitude behind your words, frustration simmering beneath the surface.

And of course, you do. He wanted you to come with him, to play the part, to make her jealous. Everything Jungkook did seemed to circle back to her. Every action, every thought, every breath — it all revolved around Misa. She was an unshakable presence in his life, even in her absence, consuming his every waking second.

And that’s what stung. Not for yourself, but for him. Because she wouldn’t have broken up with him in the first place if she thought about him the way he still thought about her. If she cared even a fraction as much as he still does.

You could only stare at him, your expression a mixture of pity and quiet disappointment. He had so much to give, so much love that could be directed toward someone who might actually deserve it. Yet here he was, stuck in a loop, still thinking about someone who chose to let him go.

“I know,” he says softly. And the worst part? He really does know. He knows exactly what you’re thinking because he’s heard it all before. And it frustrates you to no end because knowing and doing are two very different things.

You’ve never held back from telling him exactly how you feel. As one of his best friends, you had every right to be upset about it. Watching him go through girls like they’re disposable wasn’t just reckless; it was self destructive. You’d made it painfully clear how detrimental it was for him to still be hung up on his ex, and even more so to avoid meaningful connections altogether. But despite your blunt honesty, Jungkook has never made an effort to truly change.

He never takes the time to get to know the women he hooks up with — it’s always a simple fuck and go. It’s a vicious cycle that leaves no room for growth or healing. But Jungkook’s stubbornness is both his armor and his downfall.

Before you could scold him, you catch yourself. You take a breath, reminding yourself that emotions, especially Jungkook’s, aren’t something he can just flip on and off. Instead of letting your frustration bubble over, you pause, choosing empathy. You let yourself step into his shoes, imagining the weight he must carry, the way old memories cling like cobwebs in the corners of his mind.

Jungkook has always been there for you, through thick and thin.

Now, it was your turn to return the favor.

“I’ll do it,” you said, finally breaking the heavy silence.

His head snapped up so fast you flinched, half expecting him to pull a muscle. His hair bounced with the sudden movement, and his eyes were wide, shining with a mix of disbelief and cautious hope. “Really?”

“This is very stupid, Jungkook,” you replied, your tone firm but tinged with a resigned gentleness.

“It is,” he agreed without hesitation, nodding like a chastised child. Because he knew you were right — it was stupid, immature even. The two of you were grown adults for crying out loud, and here he was asking you to fake being his girlfriend just to get under his ex’s skin.

You only sighed, the weight of your decision settling over you. “Then I guess we should lay down some boundaries,” you said, your voice steady, though your stomach churned with unease.

His face lit up with a bright, almost childlike smile, his eyes sparkling with hope. He still couldn’t believe you were agreeing to this. “Right-”

“I’m not kissing you,” you interrupted, your tone firm.

The joy drained from his face in an instant, replaced by pure, unfiltered horror. “What? No one is going to believe us if you don’t let me kiss you!”

“Then we’ll just say we aren’t comfortable with PDA,” you countered with a shrug, as if it were the simplest solution in the world.

“I always kissed Misa in front of our parents!” he argued, a faint whine creeping into his voice.

“Then we’ll say I’m not comfortable with PDA,” you shot back, emphasizing your words. “Kook, I just don’t think it’d be appropriate.”

He sighed, his shoulders slumping as he reluctantly nodded. As much as he hated the idea of limiting the act, he understood where you were coming from. The last thing he wanted was to make you uncomfortable. “Fine. Can I at least kiss you on the cheek?”

“Yeah,” you said, offering a small smile.

“Great,” he replied, perking up slightly. “We must be touching at all times. I was always very clingy with Misa, so it needs to look natural…”

You almost grimaced at the thought. You let out a long sigh, nodding reluctantly. “Fine. Touching at all times. But keep your hands where I can see them.”

“Relax,” Jungkook said with a grin, leaning back smugly. “I’m not a perv. Maybe we should practice-”

“If you touch me, I will hit you,” you cut him off, glaring.

Days after your little agreement with Jungkook, you found yourself sitting in the passenger seat of his car, the heater humming softly as it worked to fight the cold winter air that seeped through the windows. The trunk was packed tightly with your bags, a visible reminder of the journey ahead, and the winding highway stretched endlessly before you under the dull gray sky.

Initially, the plan was simple: head to Busan on Christmas day, just in time for dinner. But Jungkook’s mom insisted that you both arrive a day earlier to rest after the long drive. The suggestion didn’t bother you — in fact, it seemed practical. Yet, it also meant one extra day to brace yourself for the moment you’d stand beside Jungkook as he faced the girl who broke his heart.

With an acrylic nail caught between your teeth, you stared out the window, taking in the scenery as it changed around you. It didn’t snow here; the air was crisp, the breeze carried faint traces of salt from the sea. The bustling cityscape of Seoul was a stark contrast to the quieter, more laid back atmosphere of Busan. You found yourself admiring the differences, marveling at how a different part of Korea could feel so distinct yet familiar.

The person beside you was lost in thought, grappling with something entirely different.

In just about a day, Jungkook would come face to face with the girl he once swore was the love of his life — the one who had ruined love for him. Nine years ago. Almost an entire era of his existence had passed since they last saw each other, back when he was just a seventeen year old kid. She had been the center of his world once, and even after she broke up with him, she still lingered in his mind.

During the midst of the long drive, you’d fallen asleep. The steady hum of the car and the rhythm of the road had cradled you into a peaceful slumber. But as the journey came to an end, so did your nap, when you felt a gentle pressure on your arm.

Your eyes fluttered open, meeting the soft glow of the garage door in front of the driveway. You blinked a few times, your vision adjusting to the new surroundings, before pulling your headphones off your head.

“Sleep well?” Jungkook’s voice broke through the haze of sleep, his smirk evident even before you looked at him.

“Mmm, sitting up and with my neck bent? Slept so good,” you tease, a sarcastic smile pulling at the corners of your lips as you stretch your stiff limbs.

Jungkook rolls his eyes, but there’s a playful edge to his response. He presses the button to turn off the car. “Let’s go inside. I’m fucking beat,” he says, his voice casual, but the tiredness in his tone betrays how much he’s ready to be done with the drive.

You stretch one more time, a satisfying crack running down your spine as you unbuckle your seatbelt. You glance out the window, your eyes falling on Jungkook’s childhood home. It’s a beautiful house, its exterior glowing warmly under the lights, casting long shadows.

It’s a home that likely holds countless memories for him. You can almost imagine the sound of laughter, of family dinners and the warmth of his parents’ love. The kind of place where so many moments, both small and monumental, are tucked away in corners.

“Coming?” Jungkook calls, his voice carrying a teasing edge. You snap your head toward him, catching the sight of him leaning down, his head poking just enough from the car door so he can see you clearly. His mischievous grin matches the playful tone in his voice. “Or you gonna sleep in here some more?”

You raise an eyebrow, your lips curving into a smirk. “Keep fucking with me, and I’ll drive your car back home and leave you here,” you warn, voice dripping with sarcasm.

He clicks his tongue in mock frustration, rolling his eyes dramatically, clearly amused by your threat. “Girl, hurry up,” he retorts, the playful irritation in his tone betraying how little he actually means it.

You chuckle before you grab your purse and swing the door open. The cold air rushes in, sharp and biting against your skin, but you barely notice as the playful tension between the two of you lingers in the space between the car and the house.

You shut the car door with a soft thud before making your way to the back of the car. Jungkook is already there, pulling out the suitcases like it’s second nature — his sleek black one in one hand and your unmistakeable pink one in the other.

“I could’ve got it myself, you know,” you say, reaching out to press the button that automatically closes the trunk.

“Sure you could’ve,” he quips without missing a beat, effortlessly balancing both suitcases as if they weigh nothing. “But I can’t have my girlfriend going around carrying her stuff. That’s what I’m here for.”

You roll your eyes, shaking your head, though the smile tugging at the corners of your lips betrays your true feelings. You two weren’t even inside yet and he was already playing boyfriend. “You’re annoying.”

Jungkook merely smirks, adjusting his grip on the luggage with practiced ease. "Yet, here you are," he teases, his tone dripping with playful arrogance. Without waiting for a reply, he strides past you, carrying both suitcases as if they weighed nothing. Of course, he wasn't just dragging them by the wheels; Jungkook wouldn't dare let them get scratched up. He doesn't even glance back as he says over his shoulder, "And you can't say that to me. I'm your boyfriend, remember?"

You let out a soft laugh, biting back a retort, and simply trail after him, the cold breeze nips at your cheeks as the warmth of his playful energy draws you closer.

The sun had just dipped below the horizon not long before you woke up. The neighborhood was peaceful, a stark contrast to the buzz of the city you were used to. It felt like time moved slower here, as if everyone respected the rhythm of each other's lives. The only sound came from the faint crunch of pavement beneath your Uggs, a small echo that followed you as you walked behind Jungkook toward the front door.

Jungkook reached the door first, the suitcases set down on each side of him as he pressed the doorbell. The sound of the melodic chime was faint but clear, cutting through the stillness of the night. You barely had a second to process it before the door swung open.

The first thing that hit you wasn't the warmth of the house or the inviting scent of cinnamon, pumpkin spice candles, or the faint pine from the Christmas tree you could see in the distance.

No, it was her.

The woman who opened the door was stunning. She stood there, framed by the doorway, dressed elegantly in a red blouse that complemented her bold, perfectly applied red lipstick. Her silky, dark hair fell in long waves around her shoulders, each strand catching the soft glow of the porch light. Her skin was radiant, practically glowing, free of any signs of age or stress — you just knew her husband didn’t stress her out.

"Ah, finally! I was wondering when you'd be here," she exclaims, her voice warm and inviting as she immediately pulls Jungkook into a hug.

"Hi, Ma," he chuckles softly, his tone affectionate and familiar.

She pulls back slightly, just enough to plant a kiss on his cheek, her smile widening as she takes a moment to admire her youngest son. Her eyes then shift to you, and her expression brightens even more. It's as if she already knows you, her warmth extending effortlessly as she steps forward and wraps you in a hug without hesitation.

You glance up at Jungkook over her shoulder, and he's already mouthing a quick, sheepish apology behind her back. Caught off guard, you freeze for a moment, but the comforting scent of her home wafting from her brings you ease. You lean into the hug, letting her warmth envelop you.

She pulls back just enough to look at you, finding your hands and holding them. “Oh, it’s so nice to finally meet you,” she says softly, saying your name in a tone that feels so sweet, so genuine, that it tugs at your chest. Her gaze is filled with awe, as if she’s seeing someone she’s already heard so much about, and the kindness in her eyes makes you smile despite yourself.

"It's nice to meet you, too," you chuckle softly, your voice warm and genuine. Her kindness is infectious, and you can't help but feel at ease. "Thank you for having me over," you add, meaning every word.

"Oh, of course!" she exclaims, her excitement bubbling over as she grabs your hands tighter. "I'm so glad you could make it. It's been far too long since I've seen this one with someone."

"Mom," Jungkook says, his tone edged with a mixture of embarrassment and impatience, ready for her to end her swooning.

"Alright, alright," she relents, though the affectionate smile on her face doesn't waver. Releasing your hands, she gestures toward the doorway with a gentle nudge at your shoulder.

"You two must be tired. Let's get you inside."

You step forward as she guides you in, the warmth of her gesture matching the atmosphere inside. Jungkook stays a step behind, standing at the side of the doorway to let you and his mom enter first.

The moment you step inside, the welcoming heat of the house envelops you, melting away the lingering cold that clings stubbornly to your layers of sweaters. With a quiet sigh of relief, you slip off your shoes, letting the warmth of the carpet floors guide you further in. Each step feels like an invitation, the comforting atmosphere drawing you deeper into its embrace.

The living room greets you with a cozy glow, the Christmas tree taking center stage. It's adorned with ornaments, from handmade crafts to glimmering baubles, all illuminated by warm string lights that cast soft reflections onto the nearby walls.

The kitchen's dim lighting spills softly into the space, complementing the golden ambiance. Picture frames hang on the walls, each one a memory.

Mrs. Jeon dismisses you both, urging you two to go upstairs and wind down before dinner. You and Jungkook hum in acknowledgment before he starts up the stairs, his hands gripping the handles of the luggage. You follow closely behind, your pace matching his slower one as he hauls the bags up. The steps creak softly beneath your weight, and your eyes wander to the walls, taking in the baby pictures framed and lined up with care.

“You were such a cute kid,” you tease, a fond smile curling your lips. “What happened?”

Jungkook glances back at you, feigning offense. “Don’t act like I’m ugly now.”

“I didn’t say you were,” you reply sweetly, trailing just behind him.

“So, I’m not ugly?” Jungkook asks, setting his suitcase on the ground before turning the knob and pushing open the door to his bedroom.

“That’s also not what I said,” you reply, a hint of amusement in your tone.

He picks up his suitcase again, carrying it into the room and placing it neatly beside your pink one. “Kind of is,” he teases, his words drawn out as if savoring the moment. “Keep it up, and I might start thinking you have a crush on me.”

“Ugh,” you groan dramatically, scrunching your nose. “You wish.”

He chuckles, the sound light and carefree, as he strides over to his nightstand and flicks on the lamp.

The warm glow washes over the room, casting a nostalgic ambiance. Your eyes sweep across his childhood bedroom, taking in the details. Posters of anime characters and superheroes still cling to the blue-painted walls, a testament to the boy he once was. Shelves crammed with trophies, medals, and action figures line one side of the room, proudly showcasing his accomplishments and hobbies. In the corner by the window sits a desk, cluttered yet organized, as if it had been left untouched since his teenage years. It’s clear Jungkook’s mom hadn’t touched his room all these years, preserving it like a time capsule of his youth.

"I guess one of us is taking the floor," you remark, breaking the silence as you shut the door behind you.

Your eyes flick to the bed in the center of the room, the blue-and-white striped comforter tucked neatly over the mattress. It's spacious — easily big enough for two.

Jungkook turns toward you, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. "Yeah, I'll take the floor," he says, his tone light but certain, as if he's already resigned himself to the discomfort.

Despite all the teasing and playful banter you two always fall into, moments like this remind you of who Jungkook truly is: thoughtful, selfless, and entirely too earnest for his own good.

“Are you sure?” you ask, your voice quieter now, tinged with hesitation.

He nods firmly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You return his smile, stepping closer to the bed and carefully placing your purse on the neatly made comforter. Sharing a bed with Jungkook wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world, but it still felt like a line — one you weren’t entirely sure either of you wanted to cross.

The brief tension in the room dissolves as Jungkook clears his throat, shifting the atmosphere back to something more neutral. He moves to unpack his suitcase, crouching to place it on the floor, his hands working through the neatly folded clothes inside. You lower yourself onto the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping slightly beneath your weight.

Grabbing your own suitcase, you busy yourself as well, the sound of zippers and rustling fabric filling the space. The simplicity of it feels grounding, a quiet prelude to the whirlwind you both know is coming.

The rest of the evening unfolds seamlessly.

After unpacking, you and Jungkook join his parents for dinner, the warm glow of the dining room making everything feel cozy and intimate. The food is delicious — homemade and hearty — and the conversation flows easily. You find yourself genuinely enjoying their company, feeling more at home than you expected.

After dinner, you help clear the table despite Jungkook’s insistence that you relax, and his mother beams at you in gratitude. By the time you and Jungkook finally head upstairs, your stomach is full, your cheeks are sore from smiling, and a comfortable warmth lingers in your chest.

While Jungkook was in the bathroom, unwinding for the night, you stood in his bedroom, slipping into something more comfortable for sleep.

Reaching behind your neck, you unclasped the last of your accessories, your fingers brushing over the familiar chain. And that's when you felt it — the delicate metal snapping apart in your hands.

Your breath hitched as you stared down at the broken necklace, your heart sinking. The piece that had been passed down to you, the one that meant so much, now lay in two fragile halves in your palm.

“No!” you exclaim, your voice sharp and panicked.

Jungkook appears in the doorway within seconds, his brows furrowed with concern, his hair falling into his eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asks, scanning the room as if preparing for the worst.

“Oh, nothing, sorry,” you pout, holding up the broken chain in your hand, the delicate locket dangling from your fingertips. “My necklace just broke.” Your tone is softer now, but the frustration and sadness are evident.

Jungkook steps closer, his expression softening as his eyes fall on the piece of jewelry. “Let me see,” he says, his voice calm and steady.

You hand him the chain, its links split cleanly apart, and the locket, small and aged, but clearly well-loved. His fingers brush yours as he takes it, inspecting the damage with a gentle touch.

“I’ll get you a new one,” he offers without hesitation, his voice firm with intent.

You shake your head, though you can’t help but smile at his kindness. “Thanks, but it’s okay,” you say, your voice carrying a bittersweet note. “It was my grandma’s. She gave it to me before she passed.”

His gaze shifts from the broken chain to your face, his expression softening further. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice low and apologetic.

“Don’t be,” you reply quickly, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. It’s a feeble attempt to deflect, and you know it. So does Jungkook. He’s perceptive like that — always has been. But instead of pressing the matter, he lets it slide, his silence a quiet mercy.

You walk toward your toiletry bag sitting on the dresser, rummaging through it in search of your lotion. Behind you, Jungkook sneakily pockets the broken necklace without a word.

Without hesitation, he heads for the closet, his movements fluid and unhurried as he retrieves a couple of comforters, draping them over his arm.

He drops the bundle onto the floor beside the bed and crouches down, carefully arranging his makeshift sleeping area. The soft rustle of fabric fills the room as he spreads one comforter out as a base, smoothing over the creases with practiced ease.

“You really don’t have to do that,” you murmur, your voice gentle as you settle onto the bed, watching him.

Jungkook glances up at you, a small, reassuring smile tugging at his lips. “It’s fine,” he replies, the simplicity of his words carrying an unspoken certainty.

You observe him as he finishes setting up, his movements unbothered, almost second nature. When he finally stretches out on the floor, arms folded behind his head, he looks far too relaxed for someone who willingly chose the hardwood over the comfort of the bed.

“Comfortable?” you ask, raising a brow, your tone laced with amusement.

“As comfortable as the floor can get,” he jokes, running a hand through his hair with an easy grin.

You shake your head, chuckling softly, but the warmth spreading through your chest lingers — a quiet appreciation for his effort.

The room settles into a comfortable silence, the muffled hum of the night pressing in through the walls. The faint scent of fresh linens mingles with the soft sweetness of your lotion, wrapping around you like a gentle cocoon. You tug the covers higher, the warmth seeping into your skin as your gaze drifts downward.

Jungkook lies sprawled out on the makeshift bed, his face partially illuminated by the dim glow of the bedside lamp. The golden light casts soft shadows along the sharp angles of his jaw, highlighting the quiet ease in his features. There’s something unreadable in his expression, but the calmness about him is infectious, settling over you like a lull.

“Mom told me she likes you a lot,” he says suddenly, his voice low and steady, breaking the stillness.

You blink, momentarily caught off guard by his words. “Oh, really?” you ask, aiming for a casual tone, though the slight waver in your voice betrays your curiosity.

He nods, resting his head on one hand, his dark eyes locked onto yours. "Yeah," he murmurs, his voice soft yet laced with amusement. "She said I should treat you well… so I don’t lose a good thing."

His words linger between you, unexpected yet undeniably warm. A surprised smile tugs at your lips as heat creeps up your neck, spreading faster than you’d like. You glance away, attempting to play it cool. "That’s really sweet of her," you say, keeping your tone light despite the flutter in your chest. "But how exactly are we going to break it to her that your beautiful, amazing, perfect girlfriend… isn’t actually your girlfriend?"

Jungkook huffs a small, disbelieving laugh, his eyes narrowing slightly. “We’ll figure that out soon,” he says, voice low and certain. “For now… don’t worry about it.”

You wake up abruptly, blinking against the morning light streaming through the curtains. Your mind feels hazy, and you can’t quite piece together the moments before you fell asleep. Sitting up, you glance toward the floor, only to find Jungkook’s makeshift bed empty and disheveled.

Right on cue, the door creaks open, and in walks Jungkook. Your breath catches in your throat. His hair is damp, droplets clinging to the strands and dripping onto his broad shoulders. A towel hangs precariously low on his hips, barely covering enough. His tattooed arm, ink running from his shoulder down to his fingers, flexes as he pushes the door shut behind him. Your gaze betrays you, trailing down the contours of his chest, his toned abs glistening with water droplets, and further down to the deep V-line teasing just above the towel’s edge.

“You’re awake,” he says, his voice casual as if he isn’t standing there half-naked and looking like a walking thirst trap.

“You’re naked,” you mock.

He glances down at himself, running a hand lazily down his abs, a motion that only emphasizes his physique. “Nope, I’ve got a towel on.” His lips curl into a smirk as he meets your gaze. “Why? You tryna see more?”

“Jungkook!” you exclaim, heat rushing to your face as you yank the blanket over your head, effectively shielding yourself from the sight.

“I’m kidding!” he laughs, his voice rich with amusement, and you can practically hear the grin on his face.

After a moment of muffled indignation, you peek out from the safety of your blanket. Jungkook has turned to his dresser, his back muscles shifting and flexing with every movement as he searches for clothes. You hesitate, your gaze lingering longer than it should, admiring the way the morning light outlines the definition of his shoulders and back.

“Are you done staring, or should I pose for a picture?” he teases without turning around, his voice laced with playful smugness.

You groan, throwing yourself back against the pillows. “Unbelievable.”

He chuckles again, pulling out a sweater and jeans. “Relax. I’ll get dressed in the bathroom.” He tosses a wink over his shoulder before heading back out, leaving you alone to cool down your burning cheeks and racing heart.

The room feels quieter once he’s gone, but his presence lingers in the charged air, heavy and undeniable. You throw the blanket off with a sigh, sitting up and running a hand through your hair, trying to push away the thoughts swirling in your mind. His teasing smirk, the droplets of water trailing down his skin, the way he stood there so casually — it was all too much.

You stand abruptly, the need to escape the confined space overwhelming. The cool floor beneath your feet grounds you slightly as you make your way to the door. Heading downstairs feels like the only option, the only way to clear your head and put some distance between yourself and the overwhelming presence of Jungkook.

The staircase creaks softly under your weight as you descend, the faint hum of morning activity filtering up from the kitchen. The smell of coffee drifts through the air, warm and inviting, a contrast to the storm of emotions brewing inside you.

The open space of the living room feels like a relief, but the image of him lingers in your mind, unshakable. You take a deep breath, your steps slower now as you reach the kitchen, hoping the steady rhythm of the house will settle the tension knotting in your chest.

But even as you move through the familiar space, you can’t help the way your thoughts betray you, replaying the moments upstairs. The sight of him, so effortless, so... distracting. You shake your head, trying to push it all away, determined to focus on anything else as the morning unfolds.

As you make your way to the kitchen, the sound of someone moving around greets you. Mrs. Jeon is already up, a warm smile on her face as she spots you. "Good morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?"

You hesitate for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, I did. Thank you."

Her smile widens, and she hands you a steaming mug of coffee. "Good. Jungkook's not giving you a hard time, is he?"

You laugh softly, shaking your head. "Not yet."

Oh, he definitely already was. But she didn’t need to know that.

She chuckles softly, the sound warm and familiar, as you take a sip of the coffee she brewed for you. You savor the drink, the warmth spreading through your chest, and just as you’re about to compliment her coffee making skills, Mrs. Jeon speaks first, her voice breaking the silence.

"So, I assume you know who's coming over tonight?" she asks. Her gaze meets yours briefly, a knowing look flickering in her eyes.

The question catches you mid-sip, and you lower your mug slowly, nodding in quiet acknowledgment. You haven't fully unpacked the weight of what's to come tonight, but denying it feels pointless now.

Mrs. Jeon's expression softens, the corners of her lips curving into a kind, almost maternal smile. "I'm sorry, honey," she says, her tone gentle but sincere.

“No, there’s no need to apologize,” you reply, doing your best to sound steady, even as a flicker of unease gnaws at the edges of your composure. “It’s… really okay.”

“Surely it isn’t,” she says softly. “If circumstances were different, I wouldn’t have put you in this situation in a heartbeat.”

Her words hit you harder than you expect, stirring emotions you weren't prepared to confront. It's like a sudden weight pressing down on your chest, an ache that you can't quite place. You swallow hard, the once comforting warmth of your coffee now tasting bitter on your tongue.

"Thank you," you murmur, your voice soft and measured. Your gaze falls to your mug, fingers curling tighter around it, as though its warmth might quiet the unease swirling in your chest. After a pause, you add, "I really appreciate it, but as long as Jungkook’s okay, I’ll be okay."

Mrs. Jeon hums, the sound warm and heartfelt, a quiet acknowledgment of your sincerity. “You’re a good one,” she says, breaking the silence. “Jungkook’s been through a lot over the years. Seeing him happy like this... it makes me happy, too. So, thank you — for being there for him.”

The words strike a chord, and you feel a sudden, sharp pang of guilt twist in your stomach. You glance up at her, her kind eyes meeting yours, and it takes everything in you to keep your composure. She believes you’re the reason for Jungkook’s happiness, that your relationship with him is real, and the weight of that misunderstanding feels heavier than ever.

“It’s nothing, really,” you say, though your voice wavers ever so slightly. “I care about him a lot and he’s always been there for me, too.”

She offers a genuine smile, her expression warm and inviting, but before she can say anything more, the soft creak of footsteps descending the stairs catches both your attention. You glance toward the staircase just as Jungkook comes into view, his presence commanding.

He’s dressed casually yet somehow manages to look effortlessly put together in a beige knitted cardigan layered over a plain white tee, paired with light-washed baggy jeans that hang perfectly on his frame. His hair, still damp from his recent shower, clings to his forehead in soft strands.

The morning light streaming through the windows catches the subtle sheen of water in his hair, making him look... warm, almost domestic in a way that feels oddly intimate. He steps forward, sock-covered feet brushing against the floor, and suddenly, it feels like the air in the room has shifted.

"Speaking of the devil," Mrs. Jeon teases, her playful smile accompanied by a raised eyebrow in your direction.

You let out a soft giggle, as you lift the mug to your lips. The warmth of the coffee spreads through you, rich and comforting, a small distraction from the nervous flutter in your chest. It's delicious, just like everything else she's prepared since you arrived, a subtle testament to her care and hospitality.

"Oh, talking about me already?" Jungkook's voice pulls your attention as he strolls into the kitchen.

"Only the good things," Mrs. Jeon replies warmly, turning to grab a mug from the cabinet. She reaches for the coffee pot and fills the mug, steam curling into the air. "Good morning, sweetheart."

"Morning, Ma," he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly from sleep.

Then, without warning, Jungkook steps closer, wrapping his arm casually around your shoulders. Before you can react, he leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek, the soft warmth of his lips lingering far longer in your mind than on your skin.

If Mrs. Jeon weren't standing right there, you would've shoved him away playfully. Instead, you do the only thing you can — lean into the moment, letting the weight of his arm anchor you in this charade.

Mrs. Jeon's smile doesn't falter as she watches the two of you, her gaze warm and affectionate. She hands the coffee to Jungkook, who mutters a soft thank you before taking a sip, his arm still comfortably draped around your shoulders.

He’s good at this — too good. The way his smile comes so effortlessly, the way his body instinctively leans into yours as though it’s second nature, makes it almost impossible to remember that this is all just an act, a carefully crafted part of the plan.

You thought this would be easy. After all, Jungkook had always been just Jungkook to you — a friend, a constant presence, someone familiar and safe. But now, with the memory of his bare torso lingering stubbornly in your mind, your cheeks flush at the worst moments, and your thighs press together involuntarily when the thought sneaks back in.

Mrs. Jeon moves gracefully around the kitchen, her voice warm and full of life as she talks about plans for the day. You nod and hum in agreement, but your mind is far away. Guilt churns like a storm in your chest, heavy and unrelenting, rising anew every time Mrs. Jeon sends a kind, approving smile your way.

When she looks at you, it’s with such pride, as though she’s thrilled her son has found someone like you. And for a fleeting second, you almost wish it were true. You wish you could live up to the image of the person she clearly thinks you are. But you’re not. You’re just playing a part in a story she doesn’t know is fake.

Jungkook’s hand rests casually on the back of your chair, his fingers brushing against your shoulder lightly, as if to remind you that he’s there. The touch should be comforting — it is comforting — but it also sets your nerves on fire. The warmth of him, so close, so steady, only makes the tightness in your chest worse.

The room is suffocating despite its cozy charm. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling breakfast mingles in the air, but it’s not enough to drown out the heaviness in your heart. Still, you press forward, past the discomfort and the guilt. If nothing else, you remind yourself, you’re doing this for him.

What was once a quiet, serene home now buzzes with warmth, laughter, and conversation. The lively energy catches you off guard, and before you can fully take it in, a high-pitched voice squeals through the air.

"Kookie!"

Your attention snaps to the source just as Jungkook's face lights up, his entire demeanor shifting into something softer, more playful.

"Jihyun!" he calls back, crouching slightly and stretching his arms wide open in anticipation.

A little girl, no older than four, comes bounding into view. She's dressed in an adorable red blouse and a denim skirt, her two space buns bouncing as she sprints toward him. Without hesitation, she flings herself into his waiting arms, colliding with him in a way that makes him stumble back a step with a playful groan.

He lifts her effortlessly, holding her securely against him as she giggles wildly. "I missed you so much," he murmurs into her shoulder, his voice tender and full of adoration.

"Me too!" she replies, her small arms wrapping tightly around his neck. The pure joy in her voice makes your chest ache in the sweetest way.

You can't help but smile as you watch the interaction, warmth blooming in your chest at the sight of Jungkook so effortlessly in his element. The way he holds her, talks to her, and grins from ear to ear — it's a side of him you don't get to see often, and it's undeniably endearing.

She pulls back slightly, her tiny hands still gripping Jungkook's shoulders as she admires his face with a bright smile. You can't help but admire her in return — her big, glossy boba eyes are so reminiscent of Jungkook's that it makes your heart squeeze. She's adorable, with a lively sparkle in her gaze and a face that's impossible not to love.

Jungkook glances at you, catching your gaze as he tilts his head slightly, silently beckoning you closer. You step forward, your hand naturally resting on his bicep as you meet his gentle smile.

"Nini, say hi," Jungkook coaxes softly, bouncing her in his arms just enough to make her giggle.

The little girl turns her attention to you, her eyes wide and curious as they meet yours. For a moment, you're captivated by the way they seem to shine, full of wonder and mischief.

You give her a warm smile and a small wave. “Hi," you say softly, your tone as gentle as the moment feels.

Her lips curl into a shy grin, her eyes crinkling at the edges as she mimics your wave and chirps, "Hi." Her voice is small and sweet, and you feel your heart melt instantly.

"This is my Nini," Jungkook says, his tone affectionate as he presses a kiss to the top of her head. He then introduces you by name, emphasizing it just enough for her to catch on.

She tilts her head slightly, testing the sound of your name on her lips. Her tiny voice repeats it, and the way she says it with a soft lilt makes you smile even wider.

"Good job," you say gently, your voice full of encouragement. "You said it perfectly."

She beams at the praise, her little giggle filling the space as she snuggles into Jungkook's chest. He scrunches his nose, fingers lightly tickling her sides, drawing more laughter from her tiny frame. The sight is endearing — so much so that it disarms you completely. This isn't the Jungkook you're used to seeing. It's a domestic, almost paternal side of him that pulls at something deep within you, leaving your thoughts to wander places they shouldn't.

You know better, but your mind betrays you. There's something about the way he holds her so effortlessly, the way his smile reaches his eyes, that stirs a warmth low in your tummy. Whatever the reason, the thought of Jungkook as a father, with kids of his own — and worse, the intrusive idea of them being your kids — leaves your face getting all hot.

Still, the thought lingers in the back of your mind, unwanted and insistent. You try to focus on anything else — the hum of conversation in the other room, the clinking of plates — but all you can see is the way Jungkook glances down at her, his love for her so visible it practically glows.

"What's up, bro!" a man exclaims, striding up to Jungkook with an easy grin, pulling him into a tight hug. Jihyun squeals, sandwiched between the two of them.

"Hey," Jungkook greets, patting the man's back with a grin of his own.

The man’s focus shifts to you, his demeanor softening into something more formal but equally welcoming. His eyes light up with a polite curiosity, and he steps forward, extending a hand. "Hi, I’m Junghyun, Jungkook’s brother."

You take his hand, matching his smile with one of your own as you introduce yourself. His handshake is firm yet warm, the kind that immediately puts you at ease. There’s a quiet confidence in his manner, one that seems to run in the family.

“It’s really nice to meet you,” he says, his smile lingering as if he’s sizing you up in the most good-natured way possible.

“Likewise,” you reply, your voice steady, though there’s a faint flutter of nerves in your chest — meeting Jungkook’s family feels like crossing an invisible threshold.

Jihyun squirms free from Jungkook's arms, her little body wriggling with determination until she finally escapes his grasp. The moment her feet hit the floor, she reaches for you, her tiny fingers slipping into yours. She tugs at your hand — gently at first, then more insistently — as if she has something very important to show you in the living room.

"Thief!" Jungkook calls after her, feigning offense.

Jihyun only giggles, her mischievous little laugh filling the room like music. She glances back at him with a playful grin before tightening her grip on you and pulling you forward, eager and excited.

She leads you to a cozy spot on the carpet where a toy tea set is laid out, its bright colors inviting. She sits, pointing to the space across from her. As you settle down, your gaze flickers to the woman seated near you. She cradles a baby in her arms, her beauty striking but softened by the warm smile she sends your way.

“Would you like some tea?” Jihyun asks, her voice carrying the kind of serious charm only a child could muster. She holds up the tiny porcelain teapot with both hands, her expression adorably earnest.

You play along, grabbing the delicate toy teacup and its matching saucer, holding them forward. “Why yes, I would love some,” you reply, your tone as playful as hers.

Jihyun’s giggle is pure delight as she mimics pouring tea, her little hands moving with exaggerated precision. You both lift your cups and take pretend sips, the air between you filled with laughter and the sweetness of a make-believe moment.

The woman beside you watches the scene unfold with a soft chuckle, her baby gurgling quietly in her arms, adding its own tiny contribution to the cheerful atmosphere.

“You’re really great with kids,” she says, her tone sincere and appreciative.

You glance over, returning her smile with one of your own. “Thank you. I’ve had my fair share of babysitting over the years.” Your gaze flicks to Jihyun, who’s now meticulously arranging plastic pastries on the carpet. “She’s absolutely adorable.”

“She is,” the woman agrees, a soft laugh escaping her. “Though she can definitely be a handful when she wants to be. But she gets away with it because she’s cute.”

You chuckle at her playful tone, shifting your gaze to the little one nestled in her arms. “And what about this one?” you ask, nodding toward the baby.

“Much calmer,” she replies, glancing down at the tiny bundle in her arms with obvious affection. “At least for now. Ask me again when he starts walking — then I might have a different answer.”

You chuckle, the warmth of the moment settling around you like a cozy blanket. Your gaze drifts to Jihyun, who carefully lifts her teacup to her teddy bear's snout, her tiny hands steady with concentration. The sight tugs at your heart, a soft smile playing on your lips.

"I'm Yeona, Junghyun's wife," the woman says warmly, her smile reaching her eyes as she shifts the baby slightly in her arms.

You return her smile, introducing yourself as Jungkook's girlfriend. The words feel foreign on your tongue, but not entirely unnatural.

"I've known Jungkook since he was a teenager, and I haven't seen him with someone in a long time. I know you're probably tired of hearing this by now, but we're genuinely so happy to have you here."

You tilt your head slightly, a soft warmth spreading through your chest at her sincerity. "Thank you, I'm happy to be here," you reply, your voice gentle but genuine.

The baby in her arms suddenly coos, little arms flailing as his tiny face scrunches up with curiosity. Yeona glances down at him and then back at you. "Do you wanna hold him?"

You blink in surprise. "If it's alright?"

"Of course!" she says, carefully moving to hand him over.

You extend your arms, palms open, as she passes the baby to you. His tiny weight settles against you, warm and soft. He doesn't cry or fuss, his wide, innocent eyes locking onto yours. Instead, he lets out another coo, his small hands curling in the air as if reaching for something unseen.

“Do you want kids?” Yeona asks, her tone casual but curious.

The question catches you off guard with its directness, especially since you’ve only just met her. Yet, there’s no malice or prying in her voice — just genuine curiosity. It’s a question you realize no one has ever bothered to ask you before. Oddly enough, you appreciate her candor.

“I do,” you admit, your voice soft but certain.

“Good,” she replies with a knowing smile. “Because I know he does too.”

Before you can form a response — before you can explain that you and Jungkook aren’t quite what she thinks you are — Yeona rises gracefully from her spot on the carpet, heading toward the kitchen.

You exhale, a mix of emotions swirling in your chest. That’s when you feel it: a familiar warmth pressing against your back, a weight that immediately grounds you. A chin rests lightly on your shoulder, and a hand — adorned with tattoos you’d recognize anywhere — reaches forward to gently touch the baby’s nose.

Just then, the baby in your arms fusses, his tiny hands swatting at Jungkook’s fingers as if to protest the playful intrusion. Jungkook chuckles softly, his breath warm against your ear. You glance back at him, a playful glare in your eyes.

“Stop it,” you whisper with mock sternness, shifting the baby slightly to soothe him. But Jungkook only grins, clearly enjoying the little moment.

The thought of leaving this — leaving them — in a few months presses heavy on your chest. This family dynamic, this love and connection, feels so genuine. And yet, deep down, you know your place here isn’t meant to last.

But the warmth of Jungkook’s presence, the ease of the laughter surrounding you, makes it harder to remember that this is all an act. A role you’re playing, despite how genuine it feels. Despite how often they tell you how happy they are to have you here.

The sun goes down, and the Christmas lights strung all around the house cast a soft, warm glow that dances across the walls. Their gentle twinkle feels almost magical, a comforting contrast to the slight edge of tension creeping into the evening. The dinner hour is drawing near, and with it, Misa’s arrival looms closer.

But despite the weight of anticipation in the air, Jungkook feels a surprising calmness wash over him — much calmer than he had been just days before. Maybe it’s his niece laughing her lungs away, a sweet distraction that tugs his focus away from the knot of worry in his chest. Or maybe it’s watching you, seamlessly blending into his family like you’ve belonged here all along. The sight of you laughing with his sister-in-law in the kitchen stirs something in him he hasn’t felt in a while — something warm, soft, and a little dizzying.

His gaze follows you as you make your way toward him, a playful smile tugging at your lips. You settle onto the couch next to him, your closeness becomes all too apparent. Your knees are bent, legs resting lightly on his thigh. His arm stretches out along the back of the couch, hovering just behind your shoulders.

The space between you is minimal — comfortable in a way that feels almost... intimate. It’s the kind of closeness that real couples share, a moment so effortlessly tender it catches him off guard.

But he isn’t uncomfortable. Far from it. There’s a quiet ease in how natural this feels, and for a moment, he lets himself savor it. This — whatever this is — doesn’t feel like an act at all.

“Warming up quickly, aren’t you?” Jungkook teases, his big, round eyes glinting with amusement, the soft glow of the lights catching on his lip piercings.

“Well, I’m considered family here, so I kind of have to,” you joke, giggling softly at the way his eyes widen in mock surprise. “No, but seriously,” you continue, your voice lighter now, “everyone is very nice and welcoming.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it here,” he says, his tone softer, sincerity threading through the words.

“Me too,” you reply with a gentle smile, a warmth blooming in your chest that you try not to overthink.

Your gaze drops to Jihyun, who is engrossed in her dolls on the living room floor. Toys are scattered all around her, but she's focused on the one in her hand, turning it this way and that. You can't help but smile softly, your attention anchored to her every movement.

Jungkook doesn't look away. His eyes remain on you, not the child or the cluttered mess around her, but you. He watches the way your expression softens, the way a small, unspoken tenderness lights up your features as you watch Jihyun.

And for him, that's all there is. The conversations buzzing faintly in the kitchen, the faint tick of the clock on the wall, even the weight of the evening ahead — it all fades away.

But then your focus shifted. Your gaze lifted from Jihyun to the new arrivals at the door, and instinctively, his followed.

And there she was.

Misa.

Her hair is different now. Gone is the bold cherry red that once defined her vibrant, carefree spirit, the color she wore like a crown in high school. Instead, her hair is sleek and black, the deep shade a striking contrast to the one he remembered so well. It gives her an air of elegance, of maturity, but there’s still something undeniably familiar about her — the subtle tilt of her head, the curve of her lips when she smiles.

She looks older, more refined, yet still unmistakably herself, as if time had simply smoothed out the edges of the girl he once knew so intimately. It’s like flipping through the pages of an old, beloved book, only to find that some of the words have changed. There’s nostalgia, yes, but also an overwhelming sense of uncertainty that settles in his chest, heavy and persistent.

That smile. The same one he loved for years. Those eyes, the ones that once held his world in their gaze. Her politeness, her grace — they’re all still there, but it’s as though everything else is different now. The way she moves, the way she carries herself. It’s familiar, yes, but also strangely foreign, like he’s looking at someone he used to know but hasn’t seen in far too long.

It confuses him. He should be excited. But he’s not. Because this isn’t the Misa he remembers. This is someone else entirely — someone he doesn’t know how to reach.

When she approaches, he stands from the couch, his hand instinctively reaching for yours. You take it, the gesture both reassuring and strange, and stand beside him as she makes her way toward them.

"Hi," she says, her voice soft, but with that unmistakable warmth he’s always known.

It’s a simple greeting, but it hits him like a wave. For a moment, he freezes. The words don’t come as easily as they once did. She’s standing there in front of him, and yet, it feels as if there’s an entire ocean between them.

"Hi," he responds, his voice a little breathless, as if his mind has been running a marathon trying to find the right words to say.

“It’s been a while,” she says, her smile warm, genuine.

He chuckles awkwardly, the sound forced but heartfelt. "It has. How’ve you been?"

“I’m doing good,” she replies, nodding slightly, her expression soft but sincere. There's a certain calmness about her now, an ease that shows in her eyes, and it hits him all at once — she’s doing well. Without him. Without ever needing him. "And you?"

He nods, but the smile doesn’t come. It’s a stiff, practiced motion, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "Me too."

Her smile doesn’t falter, but there’s a flicker of something in her gaze, something he can’t quite place. It’s fleeting, gone before he can analyze it. Her attention shifts to you then, and for the briefest of moments, he’s left to stand there, caught between the past and the present, unsure of which direction to take.

"Hi, I’m Misa," she says, her tone warmer now as she extends a hand towards you.

You take her hand with your free one, your smile genuine but soft, offering your name as you introduce yourself. Misa’s grip is firm but warm, and she smiles, the edges of her eyes crinkling in a way that reminds you of someone who’s seen the world and learned how to navigate it with grace.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” she says sincerely, her voice calm but warm, like a gentle breeze that carries a subtle weight.

“You too,” you smile, matching her warmth.

You take a moment to observe Misa as she stands before you, and it’s hard not to admit she’s undeniably beautiful. The way her features seem to fall into place so effortlessly, how her smile is radiant but reserved, just enough to pull you in without revealing everything. It’s easy to see why Jungkook was so captivated by her in the past.

Now, seeing her in person, it’s like the last piece of the puzzle has fallen into place. The woman behind the stories, behind the name that always seemed to linger in his conversations, now standing right in front of you.

It’s almost surreal, meeting her. There’s a strange satisfaction in finally putting a face to the name that you’ve heard so much about. The realization settles over you like a quiet understanding. She’s beautiful, yes, but there’s something else too — a softness, a strength, an elegance that feels like it has been built over years of lived experience.

“Well, I won’t keep you two,” she says with a smile, her voice warm but carrying a certain finality. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” you and Jungkook reply in unison, the words almost automatic, yet carrying their own weight as she turns to greet the others. Her presence lingers in the air, the faint scent of her perfume still hanging in the space where she stood.

Jungkook’s eyes follow Misa as she greets the others with that same effortless charm. But it’s different now. The girl he once knew, the one who filled his thoughts with reckless dreams and laughter, isn’t here anymore. The girl in front of him is someone else — someone more polished, more refined, and maybe a little bit distant.

He feels it, that ache in his chest, a tug of something he can’t quite name. It’s like he’s mourning the loss of someone, of a version of Misa that only existed in the past. The way she used to laugh, how she would look at him with eyes full of mischief and warmth. That’s the girl he remembers, the one he never thought he’d lose touch with.

But now, the girl who used to be his best friend, the one he could confide in, is standing just a few feet away from him, and he doesn’t know her anymore. Not really. The way she’s carrying herself, the way her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes when she looks at him — he’s lost that closeness, that ease they once shared. It’s like she's become a stranger wrapped in familiarity.

And it hurts more than he thought it would. He feels it deep in his bones, this shift, this subtle but undeniable change. He thought he was ready for this moment, ready to see her again. But nothing prepares you for the feeling of watching someone you once knew inside and out transform into someone unrecognizable.

Jungkook’s grip on your hand tightens involuntarily, his eyes following Misa as she moves through the room, laughing with the others, her attention elsewhere. His chest feels tight, and the weight of the years spent apart suddenly hits him like a wave. He’s standing here, surrounded by people, but it’s like he’s alone in his own thoughts, trapped in the past he can’t quite shake off.

“You okay?” he hears your voice, soft and gentle. You’re looking at him with concern, and for a moment, it feels like you’re the only thing grounding him in the present.

He swallows, trying to push the tightness in his chest away, but it lingers. “Yeah, just…” He trails off, not sure how to explain it. How do you tell someone that seeing her again feels like losing her all over again? That the version of Misa he’s been holding onto for all these years is gone, and he doesn’t know how to navigate the space between them anymore?

“Just feels… different,” he admits quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, as though saying the words out loud will make them too real. And maybe they already are.

The house grows livelier, the comforting scent of homemade food filling every corner.

Mrs. Jeon and Misa’s mom work side by side in the kitchen, their movements fluid and practiced. They bustle around, chopping, stirring, and laughing at the small jokes they share, not letting anyone near their territory. You, eager to lend a hand, tried multiple times to help, but Mrs. Jeon shooed you away with a gentle but firm hand, her eyes twinkling as she insisted you relax and enjoy yourself.

Meanwhile, Jungkook, his brother, and their father are deep in conversation. Their voices rise and fall in a rhythm that feels so familiar, punctuated by bursts of laughter that echo through the house. Their father’s laughter is loud and boisterous, full of life, as he catches up with his grown sons — talking about everything from their childhood to what they’d been up to since the last time they’d all been together. It’s a rare moment, one that makes the room feel warm and full of love.

You, in contrast, are seated on the floor, a small toy in one hand as you help Jihyun build an impressive block tower. The little one giggles each time you manage to stack another piece, her tiny hands eager to mimic your movements.

Yeona and Misa sit across the room, talking softly between themselves, their conversation a quiet hum against the liveliness of the house. It’s clear they’re speaking about things you don’t fully understand — topics that feel far more mature than anything you’d normally discuss.

They carry themselves with a kind of quiet confidence, a level of poise you’ve always associated with people who’ve been through more than their fair share of life’s ups and downs. There’s a grace to how they both interact, almost as if they’ve mastered this whole adult thing without breaking a sweat.

You can’t help but feel a little out of place. There’s a maturity about them that you can’t quite match, one that makes you feel like you’re not quite there yet — like you’re still fumbling through things they’ve long since figured out. Their conversation, so natural and poised, makes you wonder how much you have yet to experience, how much you still have to learn before you can carry yourself with the same ease.

It’s not that you think they’re better, but there’s something undeniably different about how they present themselves. You wonder if you’ll ever feel as sure of yourself, as poised as they seem to be, or if you’re just going to keep stumbling along, trying to keep up.

"Auntie," Jihyun calls out, her small voice cutting through the noise in the room. You snap your head around, eyes wide, trying to process what you just heard. Did she really just call you that? The word lingers in the air like it doesn’t belong to you, like it's some unfamiliar title you’re not quite sure you deserve.

You stare at her for a moment, trying to make sense of it. Her innocent gaze is fixed on you, her small hand outstretched in an inviting gesture, as though it’s perfectly natural for her to call you that. She tilts her head slightly, her brown eyes full of trust, as she says it again, "Come with me."

A flicker of surprise crosses your face, but there's a warmth growing in your chest that you can’t ignore. Jihyun’s eager smile tugs at your heartstrings, the innocent way she looks at you, as if you’re exactly who she wanted.

You blink a few times, shaking off the surprise, and let a soft smile slip onto your lips. “Did you just call me Auntie?” you ask, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

She nods enthusiastically, oblivious to the impact of the word, her small face lighting up with joy. “Yes! Come with me, Auntie.”

For a moment, you just stand there, processing her innocent certainty. It’s unexpected, yet there’s something so pure about it. You can’t help but feel a twinge of warmth spreading through you, a connection forming in a way you hadn’t anticipated. Maybe it’s the way she looks at you, or how she’s trusting you in this simple, childlike way.

A soft chuckle escapes your lips. You glance around the room, half-expecting someone to laugh or correct her, but when nothing comes, you realize that, for Jihyun, this just makes sense.

With a fond smile, you step forward, your heart lighter. “Okay,” you say, taking her small hand in yours, letting her lead you to whatever adventure she has planned.

Her tiny hands wrap around a few of your fingers, tugging you along with her insistent little grip. You let her lead, smiling softly at her enthusiasm as she weaves through the crowd in the living room and drags you toward the kitchen. When you reach the archway that frames the transition between the two spaces, she halts abruptly, turning to you with wide, innocent eyes.

"Stay here," she commands with all the authority a child her size can muster before darting off again.

Confused but amused, you lean against the archway, watching her scurry away. Moments later, she reappears, this time with Jungkook. He's laughing softly, his brow furrowed as he follows her like he doesn't have a choice.

"Nini, what are you doing?" he asks, his voice tinged with playful exasperation.

She doesn't answer, not until she's positioned him squarely in front of you. Then, she takes a step back, clapping her little hands together as though presenting her masterpiece.

"Mistletoe!" she exclaims triumphantly, pointing above you.

Your jaw drops, eyes immediately darting upward. Sure enough, hanging from the archway is a small sprig of mistletoe, placed there at some point in the evening's festivities.

Jungkook chuckles, his laughter low and rumbling. "You sneaky little-" He reaches out to grab her, but she squeals and darts away, her giggles echoing through the house. She runs straight to her grandfather, climbing onto his lap.

Jungkook's dad grins, his hand resting protectively on her head as she peeks out. "It's tradition, guys," he says with a laugh, his tone light and teasing.

"Come on, this isn't appropriate," Jungkook protests, rubbing the back of his neck. His ears are slightly pink, though he keeps his composure.

"Since when were you so shy?" Junghyun teases, his tone light and playful as he watches the scene unfold. There's a mischievous glint in his eyes, clearly amused by his daughter's antics and Jungkook's uncharacteristic hesitation.

"Hyung," Jungkook mutters, his jaw tightening as he throws his brother a sharp look. But it only fuels Junghyun's grin.

"She's just trying to spread some Christmas spirit," Junghyun continues, feigning innocence but failing to hide his amusement.

Jungkook is respecting your boundary, you know he is. He remembers what you said — no kissing.

But standing here, with his eyes flickering to yours, the laughter of his family around you, and the weight of his presence so close, the rule you set suddenly feels... unnecessary.

Your gaze drops to his lips, just for a second, and you realize the thought doesn't terrify you like it did before. Kissing him wouldn't be bad. In fact, it feels like the only thing that would make sense in this moment.

Jungkook clears his throat, his voice quieter when he speaks. "We don't have to-"

But before he can finish, you take a step closer, your arms instinctively finding their way around his neck. His words falter, replaced by a breath caught in his throat, as your lips press softly against his.

The living room erupts instantly — dramatic whoops and cheers filling the air. Jihyun squeals in delight, clapping her hands as if she's just orchestrated the most important moment of the year. Her giggles echo above the noise, the proud little culprit reveling in her success.

Jungkook freezes for the briefest of moments, his body tensing under your touch, as if unsure whether to let himself lean into this. But then, slowly, he softens, melting into the kiss. His lips are soft, warmer than you expected, and there's a gentle hesitance in the way he responds — like he's carefully toeing the line, wary of your boundaries but still allowing himself to savor the moment.

The world seems to narrow to just the two of you, the noise of the room fading into a distant hum. His hand slides to your waist, a light but steady anchor, as if he's holding himself back just a little.

You're the first to pull away, a sudden awareness creeping in as the cheers and playful jeers of the room remind you just how many people witnessed that moment. A kiss like that, even if innocent enough, feels a little too bold in front of his entire family. No one really wants to see their son or brother making out with their significant other.

Jungkook looks at you, his lips pink and slightly swollen, cheeks flushed with heat, and his dark eyes still locked on you like you'd just turned his entire world upside down. The intensity of his gaze sends a wave of warmth through you, but you brush it off with a soft laugh, breaking the tension as you glance toward Jihyun.

"You're a little drama starter, aren't you?" you tease, scrunching your nose playfully at her.

Jihyun, as proud of herself as ever, lets out a delighted squeal and climbs off her grandfather's lap, running away from you before you can reach her. You laugh, chasing after her for a moment, her giggles filling the room as she darts behind her dad for safety.

Jungkook stays where he is, still rooted in place, dazed and a little shell-shocked. He watches as you effortlessly transition from teasing his niece to chatting easily with his family, your warmth radiating in a way that fills the room. You blend in so naturally, as though you've been a part of his world forever.

And that's when it hits him — how easily you've warmed up to everyone, how seamlessly you've become a part of his family's dynamic. He can't help the soft smile tugging at his lips as he watches you, his heart full but uneasy, knowing moments like these are only temporary.

Then his eyes flicker to the reason why you're here. Misa sits quietly on the couch, her posture relaxed as she watches the scene unfold with a faint smile on her lips. Her gaze follows you as you playfully chase after Jihyun, your laughter filling the room. The sight of you, so at ease, so vibrant, draws everyone's attention — even hers.

For a moment, Jungkook feels a twinge of something familiar, something that once drove him to the edges of heartbreak. Seeing Misa here, so poised and serene, was supposed to reignite the ache, the longing for what he once had.

But it doesn’t. And he’s beginning to realize why.

The rest of the night flowed smoothly, a seamless blend of good food, warm laughter, and light-hearted conversations that filled the Jeon household.

Dinner was amazing, every dish perfectly cooked thanks to Mrs. Jeon and Misa’s mom. You sat next to Jungkook at the table, his arm brushing against yours occasionally, a quiet reassurance of his presence. Jihyun had insisted on sitting on your other side, her boundless energy keeping you entertained throughout the meal as she chattered away about everything and nothing.

But like all good things, the evening eventually wound down. Plates were cleared, leftovers were packed, and the gentle hum of conversation turned into goodbyes. Tomorrow, you and Jungkook would be leaving, heading back to your lives where the pretense of being a couple wouldn’t follow.

You crouched down to hug Jihyun for as long as you could, her small arms clutching you tightly. The thought of this being the only family event you’d attend, knowing you wouldn’t see her anymore, stung in a way you hadn’t anticipated. She burrowed into your embrace, her sleepy form warm and soft against you.

Her dad gently took her from your arms, whispering for her to give you one last goodbye. Jihyun’s tiny voice murmured a goodbye before she rested her head on her father’s shoulder, her eyes already fluttering shut.

You watched as their car pulled out of the driveway, the taillights fading into the darkness. A frown crept onto your face as a quiet sigh escaped your lips. Jungkook’s hand moved to your back, his touch steady and comforting, rubbing slow circles to ease the weight of your thoughts.

A familiar voice broke the moment. “It was nice meeting you again, truly,” Misa said, stepping closer.

You turned to her, offering a polite smile. “You too.”

Her gaze shifted to Jungkook, a subtle hesitation flickering in her expression before she spoke. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

Jungkook’s eyes immediately darted to you, as if seeking your approval or reassurance.

“Take him,” you said lightly, flashing a small smile in Misa’s direction before meeting his gaze. “I’ll be upstairs.”

As you disappeared into the house, the door clicked shut behind you, leaving Jungkook and Misa alone on the porch.

The silence between them stretched uncomfortably, broken only by the rhythmic chirping of crickets. Jungkook shoved his hands into his coat pockets, his breath clouding in the chilly night air. Across from him, Misa crossed her arms, pulling her coat tighter around herself in a futile attempt to ward off the cold.

“I knew this would be awkward, but I feel like… I owe you a conversation. After everything,” Misa starts, her voice tentative, as if she’s unsure whether she’s even allowed to say this.

Jungkook lets out a humorless laugh, his breath fogging in the cold air. “You didn’t think to do this… oh, I don’t know – nine years ago?”

His tone is laced with sarcasm, but the hurt cuts through it unmistakably. Misa flinches at his words, and for a fleeting moment, guilt flashes across her face, making her look smaller than she usually does.

“I loved you, Jungkook…” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “But we were so young. It was bound to happen.”

“No, it wouldn’t have!” Jungkook snaps, his frustration bubbling over. “If you really loved me, you would’ve made it work!”

Misa’s eyes glisten under the porch light, and her voice trembles as she responds, “You think I wanted to leave you? I couldn’t stop crying for years, Jungkook! But I was seventeen, and I was terrified! Walking away was the best thing for both of us!”

“It destroyed me, Misa!” he fires back, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “You didn’t do what was best for us. You were just selfish.”

“Selfish?” she retorts, her voice rising as she takes a step closer. “Jungkook… we were kids! We lived miles apart. How would that have worked? You think it was easy for me to make that choice? It wasn’t ideal for me either, but it was what would’ve made the most sense.”

Jungkook shakes his head, his hands balled into fists in his pockets. He lowers his gaze to his shoes, his voice softening into a near whisper. “We could’ve made it work…”

“I’m sorry,” Misa says, her tone laden with sincerity. “I really am.”

For a moment, silence falls between them, the kind that feels both heavy and oddly freeing. Jungkook finally lifts his eyes to meet hers, searching her face for something he isn’t sure he’ll find.

“Are you happy?” he asks, his voice quieter now, almost gentle.

Misa's lips curve into a small smile, one tinged with both pride and nostalgia. "I am. I recently finished my last year of med school," she says, her voice soft but steady. "It was... tough, but I did it." She pauses, as if letting herself truly feel the weight of her accomplishment before adding, "And... I'm engaged now, so yeah, I am really happy."

Jungkook smiles — a genuine, heartfelt smile that reaches his eyes, yet beneath it lingers something else, something quieter. A twinge of jealousy, not because he believes it should have been him, but because she has moved on while he remains tethered to the past. But despite it all, he is truly happy for her.

"That's amazing," he says, his voice genuine, though slightly hushed. "I'm... I'm proud of you."

“Thank you,” she says, her tone soft. “How about you?”

His mind races through everything he’s endured since Misa left — the heartbreak, the years of questioning, and now, the realization that he’s no longer the person who once pined for her. “I don’t know…” he finally mutters, his voice distant.

Misa tilts her head slightly, studying him. “Is she not making you happy?” she asks softly, referring to you.

There’s no point in lying anymore.

His response is immediate, but it comes with a shake of his head. “We aren’t together.”

Misa’s eyebrows raise in genuine surprise. “Really?” She crosses her arms, the disbelief clear in her voice. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Jungkook exhales sharply, almost laughing at the absurdity of the situation. "I brought her here because I knew you would be here."

The weight of his confession lingers in the cold night air, his words a reluctant admission of vulnerability. Misa tilts her head slightly, her expression softening as the meaning behind his actions clicks into place.

"Well," she says, pulling her hand from her coat pocket with a subtle flourish, revealing the diamond ring on her finger, "I hate to break it to you, but it didn't work."

Jungkook chuckles under his breath, shaking his head at himself, at the situation, at how ridiculous it all feels now. Misa laughs with him, the tension breaking like the first crack of sunlight after a long storm.

“She did warn me. I guess I should’ve known better,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Yeah, probably,” she teases lightly, her smile softening as she looks at him. “But hey… at least you tried.”

Jungkook nods slowly, his gaze lingering on the door as a faint smile graces his lips. “Yeah… being with her didn’t seem all that bad, though,” he murmurs, more to himself than to Misa.

Misa smiles knowingly, crossing her arms as she tilts her head. “Go for it,” she says softly. “You deserve happiness too, Jungkook.”

He lets out a long sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I just… I don’t want to ruin things between us. What if it’s too much, too fast? What if it’s not what she wants?”

Misa raises an eyebrow, her tone light but firm. “Well, if rejection is what you’re scared of, I’ll tell you right now — that kiss was anything but friendly.”

Jungkook chuckles nervously, his cheeks warming as he shakes his head. “You think so?”

“I know so,” she replies confidently, her smile turning teasing. “Trust me, Jungkook. If you’re even half as obvious with her as you were with me, she knows. And honestly? She probably feels the same.”

Her words hang in the air, filling him with equal parts hope and doubt. Jungkook glances at her, taking in the sincerity in her expression. For a moment, neither of them says anything, the quiet sounds of the night settling around them. Then, Misa steps forward and wraps her arms around him.

He returns the embrace, his hands resting lightly on her back. “Thanks, Misa,” he says, his voice muffled against her shoulder.

She pulls back just enough to look at him, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You don’t need my thanks,” she replies softly, her tone carrying the warmth of an old friend. Then, with a playful smirk, she adds, “Just don’t mess it up.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, the corners of his mouth lifting. “I’ll try not to.”

And then, with one last glance at him, Misa steps away. The sound of her heels clicking against the pavement echoes softly in the quiet night as she climbs into her car. The engine hums to life, and within moments, she's driving off into the darkness, her taillights disappearing down the street.

Jungkook exhales, watching as his breath dissipates into the cold night air. The weight he had carried for so long — the lingering feelings of the past, the questions left unanswered — fades, piece by piece. Misa's departure isn't a loss; it's a quiet closing of a door that had been left ajar for far too long.

He turns back toward the house, the warm glow from the windows beckoning him inside. Jungkook steps through the door, closing it behind him, ready to run toward whatever comes next.

You were upstairs, unwinding from the day. Just as you were about to head to the shower, Jungkook makes his way into the room, closing the door behind him.

"How was it?" you ask, sitting on the edge of the bed, your gaze flicking toward him as he closes the door behind him.

"Good," he says simply, but his tone is distant, as though his mind is somewhere else.

Your brows knit together. "You sure?"

He doesn't answer immediately, his jaw working as if he's chewing over his next words. Finally, he speaks, but it's not what you expected. "Why did you do it?"

You blink, confused. "Do what?"

"Kiss me," he says, his voice steady.

You chuckle softly, trying to lighten the mood. "Everyone was watching us, Kook. And Misa. It would've been obvious if we didn't kiss."

He shakes his head, taking a step closer. "You didn't do it because of Misa, did you?" he says, his tone firm.

You tilt your head, looking up at him, and a small smile curves on your lips. It's playful, teasing, and it's enough to make his heart stutter. That smile tells him everything he needs to know, but still, you say it anyway. "It was just a kiss."

He narrows his eyes slightly, his lips twitching into a smirk. "You said no kissing," he reminds you, leaning in just enough to make the air between you crackle with tension.

"Well, I changed my mind," you reply, your voice light, though there's a hint of something more in it.

"Because?" he presses, tilting his head slightly, his smirk widening as he waits for your answer.

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. "Because it was easier than explaining why we weren't kissing under the mistletoe."

"Hmm," he hums, unconvinced, taking a step closer. He's so close now that you have to tilt your head further to meet his gaze. "That's the story you're going with?"

"That's the truth," you say, holding his gaze, though your lips betray you with a small, mischievous smile.

His tongue runs across his bottom lip as he chuckles softly. "You're a terrible liar, you know that?"

"I've nothing to lie about," you say, your voice steady, though the spark in your eyes betrays your composure.

"Yeah?" he asks, his tone low, challenging, as he steps even closer.

You nod, humming softly, your confidence unwavering.

And then, without warning, he crashes his lips onto yours. The kiss is sudden, stealing the breath right out of your lungs, catching you completely off guard. His hand rests behind your neck, pulling you into him.

For a moment, you freeze, your mind racing to process what just happened, but then instinct takes over. Your hands find his chest, gripping his shirt to steady yourself as you melt into the kiss. His lips are warm, insistent but not rough, like he's been waiting for this moment and isn't about to let it slip away.

When he finally pulls back, he's slightly breathless, his dark eyes locked on yours, a smirk tugging at the corners of his swollen lips. "There's no mistletoe. What's your excuse this time, huh?"

You narrow your eyes at him, your breath uneven as you glare at his teasing grin. "Just shut the fuck up already," you snap, grabbing his face with both hands and crashing your lips onto his again.

He barely has time to react, but when he does, his hands grip your waist, pulling you even closer. He smiles into the kiss, that cocky, boyish grin you've come to know so well. It only spurs you on, your fingers tangling in his hair as the kiss deepens, all the tension, teasing, and unspoken words melting away into something neither of you could deny anymore.

"God, you're bossy," he mumbles, his tone playful but laced with something much deeper.

"And you talk too much," you retort, your voice muffled as you kiss him again, determined to shut him up properly this time.

“Do I?” he asks, his voice a low, husky almost-moan against your lips.

You hum in response, your breath hitching as his fingers trace a featherlight path down your spine. He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, searching, teasing.

“Yeah?” he asks again, tilting his head, that signature smirk tugging at his lips — the kind that tells you he’s up to no good.

“Yes, Jungkook,” you breathe, the impatience laced in your voice only making his smirk widen.

His fingers move to the buckle of your belt, unlooping the strap with agonizing slowness, his knuckles grazing the bare skin of your stomach as he works the metal free. The sound of it sliding through the loops is deliberate, a slow tease, a promise.

“I should really stop talking then, shouldn’t I?” he murmurs, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your parted lips.

“Yeah, you should,” you say with a knowing smile, rolling your hips forward slightly, urging him on.

His fingers move with purpose now, popping open the button of your jeans before dragging the zipper down. His hands, warm and firm, press against your hips as he kneels slightly, hooking his fingers into the waistband and peeling the denim down your legs. The fabric pools at your ankles, leaving you in your underwear, the cool air against your skin a stark contrast to the heat radiating between you.

Jungkook’s grip on your hips tightens as he pulls you effortlessly to the edge of the bed. A soft giggle escapes you, a playful attempt at resistance as you nudge him with your foot, but he catches your ankle with ease. His thumb traces over your skin, a slow, deliberate motion before he dips his head, pressing a featherlight kiss to your ankle.

The warmth of his lips trails up your calf, each kiss slower than the last. His hands glide along your legs, fingers pressing into your thighs as he moves higher, his breath hot against your skin. A shiver runs through you, anticipation building with every unhurried touch.

Pausing at the inside of your thigh, he lets his lips linger, the heat of his breath sending a ripple of want through your body. His fingers hook beneath the waistband of your underwear, dragging the fabric down inch by inch, his eyes fixed on you the entire time. The room feels smaller, the space between you charged, heavy with something unspoken but undeniably felt.

He takes his time, savoring every inch of exposed skin, as if committing the moment to memory. Your body hums under his touch, muscles tensing in expectation. His hands, his lips — every movement feels intentional, like he’s unraveling you piece by piece, without a single word spoken between you.

He leans back in, his lips grazing your skin as he presses another lingering kiss to the inside of your thigh, the warmth of his breath ghosting over you and making your muscles tense in anticipation. His fingers dig into your hips, holding you firmly in place as his mouth finally descends, lips parting to taste you without hesitation.

The first brush of his lips against your clit is teasing, and when he seals them around the sensitive bundle of nerves, the contrast of heat and the chill of his lip piercings sends a sharp jolt through you. A strangled gasp escapes, your back arching instinctively as pleasure pulses through you.

Your fingers weave into his hair, brushing the strands back to get a better view of him. His brows are furrowed in deep concentration, like a man savoring his favorite meal, every movement of his tongue precise, every suck deliberate. His grip on your thighs tightens as if he’s anchoring himself to you, determined to keep you right where he wants you.

Your thumb traces over the scar on his cheek, a gentle contrast to the heat pooling in your core. “Much better,” you tease, your voice barely above a breath, though the playful lilt doesn’t go unnoticed.

At that, his gaze flickers up to meet yours, dark and laced with something dangerous. His eyes lower in a silent warning — one you barely have time to process before he hums deeply against your clit, the vibrations sending a shockwave of pleasure straight through you. Your body jolts, fingers tightening in his hair, but he doesn’t let up. If anything, he redoubles his efforts, dragging you even deeper into the fire.

You push your hips further into his face, desperation guiding your movements, and he welcomes it — welcomes you. His mouth works you over with relentless hunger, tongue flicking and curling, lips sealing around your clit with dizzying precision. His nose presses into you, dragging against your cunt with each movement, and you know he probably can't breathe.

But Jungkook doesn't give a fuck.

If anything, he buries himself deeper, groaning as he drowns in you, hands gripping your thighs like he never wants to leave. He's proud, eager, insatiable — wholly unbothered by the thought of suffocating between your legs. If this is how he dies, he'll do it happily.

You throw your head back, biting down on your lip to stifle the moans threatening to spill from your mouth. The pleasure is overwhelming, your body trembling beneath his relentless tongue, but you can't risk being loud — not with Jungkook's parents somewhere in the house.

The walls are thin, far too thin, and the last thing you need is for them to hear what's happening behind this closed door. Your gasps come out shaky, uneven, each one catching in your throat as you fight to stay quiet. But Jungkook isn't making it easy. He hums against you again, the vibrations shooting through your core, and when your fingers tighten in his hair, he only doubles down, eating you like he doesn't care if you get caught.

Despite Jungkook's reckless determination to die between your thighs, his body betrays him. He suddenly pulls away, chest heaving as he gulps in deep, heavy breaths. His face glistens with your slick, flushed from the lack of air and the heat of the moment. His ears burn red, lips swollen and glossy, eyes dark with raw hunger. But he doesn't waste a second — he leans back in, stealing one more kiss from your throbbing core before standing.

His hands go straight to his belt, fumbling in his urgency, fingers nearly trembling as he rips it off. His pants and boxers are shoved down in one swift motion, and his cock springs free — thick, flushed, the pretty pink tip leaking evidence of his arousal. It stands tall, curved slightly, twitching as he wraps a firm hand around the base.

A groan of relief slips from his lips as he strokes himself, his head tipping back for a moment before his gaze locks onto you again, hungry and unashamed.

"That hard from eating some pussy?" you tease, smirking as you watch him.

Jungkook lets out a breathy laugh, shaking his head as his grip tightens around his cock. "You should be honored. I nearly nutted in my fucking pants doing that." He steps closer, lips curling into a smirk of his own. "Take your shirt off."

You smirk, tilting your head slightly. "You first."

Jungkook huffs out a playful scoff, rolling his eyes, but he listens. With one swift motion, he reaches behind his back, gripping the fabric of his sweater before yanking it over his head and tossing it aside. His toned chest and arms flex with the movement, muscles rippling beneath his inked skin. The sight alone makes your stomach clench with anticipation.

But what really gets you is the way he immediately wraps his hand around his cock again, resuming his slow, deliberate strokes. He's getting harder, impossibly so, the veins along his shaft becoming more pronounced. His eyes stay locked on you, dark and hooded, drinking in every inch of your body like he's imagining all the ways he's about to ruin you.

"Your turn," he murmurs, voice thick with desire.

You take your time, dragging out the moment as you lift your sweater over your head, letting it drop to the floor. The cool air prickles against your skin, your bare shoulders exposed, but your bra still remains, teasing him just enough.

Jungkook's jaw flexes. His thumb swipes over the tip of his cock, spreading the precum leaking from his slit, but his patience is thinning.

"All of it," he commands, voice firm. There's no room for argument.

You reach behind your back, fingers deftly working the clasp of your bra. The moment it unhooks, the straps slip from your shoulders, the fabric going slack against your skin. With a slow, deliberate motion, you pull it off completely and let it drop to the floor, joining the rest of your discarded clothes.

Jungkook's breath stutters. His strokes slow for a moment as his eyes drink you in, dark and full of heat, pupils blown wide with unfiltered desire. His tongue swipes over his bottom lip, jaw tightening as he exhales sharply through his nose.

Feeling like a third wheel between Jungkook and his cock, you slip off the bed and onto your knees before him. His brows furrow slightly when you wrap your fingers around his wrist, guiding his hand away from his aching length. His cock twitches in the cool air, glistening with precum, and you don’t hesitate — leaning in, you drag your tongue slowly from the thick base of his shaft up to his flushed, leaking tip.

A sharp breath escapes him, his chest rising and falling in anticipation. He lets you take control for a moment, but then, instead of letting you simply pull his wrist away, his fingers slide down to lace with yours, gripping your hand in a silent, desperate plea. Your lips part, taking him in, your tongue swirling over the sensitive head before pressing flat against the underside.

“Fuck… gonna- make me fucking cum already, baby,” he groans, voice thick with pleasure, his grip tightening around your hand.

But just as he teeters on the edge, you pull off with a wet pop, a teasing glint in your eyes as you look up at him. His cock twitches in protest, a string of spit connecting your lips to his flushed tip.

“Want you to fuck me,” you murmur, voice laced with need.

Jungkook exhales a shaky breath, a smirk curling at the corner of his lips. “Yeah?”

You nod, biting your lip, heat simmering between you.

His jaw flexes as his eyes darken. “God, you have no idea how many times I’ve thought about fucking you.” His grip on your hand tightens briefly before he lets go. “Get on the bed, baby.”

Your heart pounds as you stand, climbing onto the mattress, anticipation thrumming through your veins. He doesn’t waste a second — his lips crash against yours, the force of his kiss sending you toppling onto the bed. His body presses flush against yours, a delicious heat radiating between you as he deepens the kiss.

Jungkook pulls away from the kiss, breathless, his forehead nearly touching yours as he looks down between your bodies. His hand wraps around his cock, stroking himself slowly, teasingly, as if grounding himself in the moment. But then, he stills.

“Fuck, I don’t have a condom, baby,” he murmurs, voice tight with frustration.

You reach up, cupping his cheek, thumb brushing over the flushed heat of his skin. “It’s fine,”

His dark eyes flicker up to meet yours, searching. “You still sure?”

You groan, your patience hanging by a thread. “Jungkook, if you don’t fuck me right now, I’m never talking to you again.”

He chuckles, before finally giving in. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your thighs, holding you open as he guides himself forward, the thick, swollen head of his cock pressing against your sopping entrance. He teases you first, dragging the tip through your slick folds, spreading your arousal before finally pushing in with a slow, deliberate thrust.

A sharp gasp rips from your throat as he stretches you open, inch by inch, your walls clenching around him as they struggle to accommodate his sheer size. The delicious burn of fullness has your back arching, your thighs trembling around his waist as he buries himself deeper. Your nails bite into the inked skin of his shoulder, desperate for something to ground you.

“Gosh, you’re so big,” you moan, voice breaking as pleasure swirls in your stomach.

Jungkook groans, his head dropping for a moment before he lifts it, watching the way your body takes him in. His jaw clenches, restraint evident in the way his fingers tighten on your thighs.

“You can take it,” he murmurs, voice thick with desire. “I know you can.”

He presses in further, inch by inch, until he bottoms out, the head of his cock nudging deep inside you. A deep, guttural moan escapes him as he stills, giving you a moment to adjust, his thumbs stroking over your skin in a silent praise.

"Okay, you can move," you whisper, your breath shaky with anticipation, giving him the green light.

Without hesitation, Jungkook pulls back, the thick head of his cock dragging slowly out of you, the wetness between your bodies creating a squelchy sound that fills the room. He pauses for a breath, then pushes back in, the pressure of his thick shaft sliding into you with a deep, satisfying thrust.

Your body trembles with each movement, the slickness between you amplifying the sound of him sinking into you, the heat building in your core as his rhythm deepens. His hands grip your thighs tighter, the tension in his muscles visible as he focuses on every inch of you, filling you completely with each stroke.

He leans down, capturing your lips in a desperate, hungry kiss, his tongue sweeping against yours as his fingers dig into your hips. His lips trail lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, along the sensitive column of your throat, until he reaches your collarbone. He latches on, sucking at the delicate skin, leaving a mark that he knows will be there in the morning.

His thrusts grow quicker, rougher, his grip on your waist tightening as he pounds into you. The bedframe slams against the wall with each movement, the rhythmic banging growing louder, impossible to ignore.

"Fuck," Jungkook grits out, a mix of pleasure and panic flickering across his face. You feel too good — too warm, too tight, too perfect — but reality crashes in. His parents are near, and the thought of them hearing what's happening in the bed he used to sleep in as a kid sends a chill down his spine. Without hesitation, he pulls out, breathing heavily as he grabs your hand. His dark eyes flicker with urgency as he tugs you up. "Get up,"

Confused, you obey nonetheless, your legs still shaky as Jungkook leads you across the room. He drops down onto the chair by his desk, spreading his legs slightly, his dark, impatient gaze locking onto yours. He holds his hands out, palms open, a silent command.

"Come here," he murmurs, guiding you with a tilt of his head.

You hesitate, glancing between him and the chair. "You serious?"

Jungkook huffs, his jaw ticking. "You want my parents to know we're fucking in here?" His fingers flex, beckoning you closer. "Hurry up, babe. A few more bounces, and I got you."

You sigh, but the heat in his eyes makes it impossible to say no. Stepping between his legs, you plant your hands on his broad shoulders for support before straddling him.

His hands immediately find your lower back, one strong arm keeping you steady while the other wraps around the base of his cock, guiding himself against your entrance.

A shudder runs through you as you sink down onto him, inch by inch, until you're seated fully in his lap, his cock buried deep inside you. His grip tightens around your waist, his fingers digging into your skin as he takes control, lifting you slightly before helping you bounce on him.

The familiar coil of pleasure tightens in your stomach, overriding everything else — the growing cramp in your leg, the sharp pressure of your knees pressing into the hard wooden chair. None of it matters. All you can focus on is chasing your high, the way his cock fills you so perfectly, the delicious friction driving you closer and closer to the edge.

But Jungkook's attention is elsewhere. His eyes are locked on your tits, mesmerized by the way they bounce with every movement. His tongue darts out to wet his lips before he leans in, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth. A sharp gasp escapes you as he sucks greedily, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud. His hands slide up your back, pressing you closer, desperate to feel as much of you as possible.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging at the dark strands, while your other hand grips his shoulder for support. His groan vibrates against your skin, sending a shiver straight through you. The heat between you is unbearable, all — consuming, and you know neither of you will last much longer.

Jungkook's hands roam lower, squeezing your ass before delivering a sharp slap that makes you jolt. He grips both cheeks, spreading them apart as he helps you move, guiding you up and down on his cock with a firm, steady hold.

His own breaths are ragged, his restraint hanging by a thread as he watches you unravel above him.

"Fuck- M'gonna cum!" you whine, your voice breaking, the desperation in your tone making his cock twitch inside you. The pleasure is too much, too overwhelming, and you can't contain your volume.

Jungkook reacts instantly, his mouth leaving your tit as his hand flies up to cover your mouth, muffling your cries before they can slip past the walls. You moan helplessly against his palm as your orgasm crashes over you, your walls clenching around his cock in tight, pulsing waves. Jungkook groans, his brows furrowing as he feels you squeeze around him, the sensation almost pushing him over the edge.

"Keep going for me, yeah?" he rasps, his voice thick with need as his fingers dig into the fat of your ass. He thrusts up to meet your movements, the rhythm growing more desperate, more frantic.

You nod, eyes fluttering shut as you hum against his palm, your muffled moans vibrating against his skin. The way he fills you, stretches you, has your entire body trembling.

"Yeah, make me cum, baby," he groans, his head falling back against the chair, jaw clenched tight as he teeters on the edge.

His hand slides from your mouth to your hip, his grip tightening, fingers digging into your skin as he takes control. He guides you faster, his thrusts growing more desperate, more erratic, chasing that final, dizzying high.

Your walls flutter around him, the sensation pushing him closer, pulling him under. His breathing turns ragged, his muscles tensing beneath you as pleasure coils tight in his core.

"Fuck- just like that," he grits out, his hips snapping up to meet yours in a final, desperate push.

A few more bounces, and he breaks, a deep but quiet groan spilling from his lips as he comes, his release shooting hot and deep inside you. His hands squeeze your waist, holding you down against him as he rides out his high, every pulse of pleasure leaving him breathless.

You push his damp hair back from his sweaty forehead, your fingers combing through the strands with gentle care. His chest rises and falls beneath you, still heaving from the intensity of it all.

Leaning down, you press a soft kiss to his lips, slow and lingering, a big difference to the desperation from moments ago. Jungkook hums against your mouth, his hands sliding up your back, holding you close as he melts into the kiss.

When you pull away, his eyes flutter open, laced with exhaustion and something softer — something tender. A lazy smile tugs at his lips as he exhales a satisfied sigh.

"All this over some mistletoe," he teases, his voice still slightly breathless.

"The drama," you drawl, rolling your eyes playfully as you tease him back.

Jungkook chuckles, the sound deep and warm, vibrating against your skin. His arms tighten around you, pulling you impossibly closer as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. His lips brush against your damp skin, pressing a lazy, lingering kiss there.

His cock softens inside you, but neither of you move just yet. The heat of the moment has faded, replaced by something quieter, something softer.

“Oh!” Jungkook suddenly exclaims, his eyes lighting up as if he’s just remembered something. “I got you something.”

You shift off of him, settling on the edge of the bed as he moves to one of the drawers. His movements are purposeful but unhurried, fingers sifting through its contents before he retrieves a long, slender gift box. He turns, extending it toward you with an expectant look.

“You didn’t have to,” you murmur, meeting his gaze as you hesitantly take the box from his hands.

“Just open it,” he insists, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

With a soft breath, you lift the lid, and your heart stutters. There, nestled inside, is your necklace — whole again. The delicate chain, once broken, gleams under the soft glow of the bedside lamp, looking as flawless as the day it was first given to you.

Your breath catches, fingers hovering over the pendant before carefully picking it up. “Kook…” you whisper, eyes lifting to his.

“I know how much it meant to you, so I got it fixed this morning,” Jungkook says softly, his voice laced with warmth. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

Your chest tightens, emotion welling up as you blink back the tears threatening to spill. His thoughtfulness, the effort he put into something so personal to you — it means more than words can express.

A watery smile spreads across your lips as you rise to your feet, wrapping your arms around his neck. You kiss him, a soft press of your lips against his. Then again. And once more, lingering just a little longer this time.

You were glad you came. Even if the initial plan to make Misa jealous had failed, it didn’t matter anymore. Because, in this moment, with Jungkook, this might just be the best Christmas of your life.

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook fanfic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook imagine

4K notes · View notes

thecoochiefairy · 13 days ago

Text

74. onyankopon.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 14.5K word count. blackfem!original character, onyankopon, basketball player!onyankopon, sweet!onyakopon, dominant!onyankapon, arrogant!onyankopon, unprotected sex, creampie, vaginal penetration, lil bit of sweet talkin’, creaming, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, kinda aggressive dirty talk, oral [f], nasty sex chile, just a fine ass black man, minors aren’t welcome!

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ i think i like this one. i’m not sure yet, hehe. inspired by one of my fav comfort movies, just wright. + i think of it won’t stop by sevyn streeter when i think of this fic. love you. bye.

(was having a hard time w/ links this time w/ black couples so sorry for that. you get the point. visual. visual. visual. )

HEARTBREAK ANNIVERSARY PLAYED ON A LOOP WITHIN HER SPEAKERS. Being stuck under the covers was never the plan for today—but she was in a funk.

Her eyes peered over the olive green plush of her comforter, acrylic nail swiping across the screen of her phone as she mindlessly scrolled on social media. She refused to do what became a habit at this point—but damn, did she want to.

It’s unfortunate that she did it anyway.

Clicking on the previously searched profile, she goes onto the page to see a new picture had been uploaded. That familiar smile, arm wrapped around a faceless figure, dark hair spilling through his fingers as his hand sat on her lower back.

ALL MINE, it captioned.

Her vision locked along the screen, noticing that her sight began to blur. She hated crying. She felt like her tears weren’t deserved, yet she wanted to release them anyways—she felt weak.

When the phone suddenly buzzed, her eyes caught sight of a familiar number. She couldn’t keep ignoring calls. Parting out a sigh, she pressed the phone to her ear.

“Yeah?”

She tried to sound as normal as possible, wiping her eyes with a quiet sniffle. Allergies were her planned excuse if she was questioned.

“I know you’re not crying right now.”

That’s exactly how she expected her friend to respond. But she wasn’t going to give the satisfaction of admitting how embarrassed she was. So she replied with, “Allergies.”

A long, exasperated sigh echoed before the feminine voice replied, “You should know by now that I know when you’re lying”

Ama.

“You’ve been out of it for weeks—Cooped up in your apartment, calling into work. You’ hiding from that nigga or something?”

She rolls her glossy eyes, deepening herself within the covers as she mutters, “No.”

“You can’t stay in bed forever,” Ama sterns, “How long has it been since you ate? Look—I know you’ over there with that cornfed ass, but that doesn’t mean you can’t eat a lil’ more!”

That actually gets a weak laugh from her. She runs a palm along her cheek as she sighs, “I’m not too hungry, Ama.”

“So you’re really not finna’ come to my momma’s barbecue?”

“You want me to come to your momma’s barbecue all sad and shit? Yeah, no. I’m good on’ that.”

“You know my momma gon’ kill you if you don’t show up. So I suggest you get off your ass, fix your face and—don’t make me grow wings and fly into that window.“

She could hear Ama shuffling in the background, meaning she was on the way. Her friend was entirely serious about dragging her out of bed, and Ama’s mom would kill her for not showing up.

She adjusts her body to sit up against the bed, sighing as she replied, “So you tellin’ me I gotta get cute? Who gon’ be there—Lance Gross? Jalen Hurts?”

Ama sighs, “Unfortunately, no. You’d think Usher was coming with the way my momma set shit up. I think she’s all excited for Onyankopon to be back home.”

Onyankopon.

That wasn’t a name she heard too often. Ama made it a habit not to mention her brother, as she spent years behind his shadow, always being known as his sister and nothing more. He was the star of the family. It didn’t help that he was recently signed to New Orleans’ basketball team, and a well known face within the city. She was the only girl that didn’t squeal when Ama mentioned who her sibling was—but it might’ve helped that she also had never met Onyankopon.

She raises an eyebrow, “Your brothers back in town? I thought the Pelicans had a press run?”

Ama sighs, “Chile, they did. But he told me that they’re having playoffs down here in a couple weeks— he’s been craving to play a game in the boot. I’m sure he also can’t wait to tap some southern ass. Slut.”

She chuckles, “Don’t act like you ain’t excited to see yo’ brother, Ms. Fraternal Twin.”

“If I wasn’t driving, I would smack you. You’ always tryna use our bond against me. Point is, you better be standing outside your door in the next forty-five minutes or I will get violent.“

“That’s why I’m finna’ get back in bed.”

“Yeah, okay. Do that and see what happens.”

“Bye, Ama.”

“Bye!”

If one thing Ama was right about, she did need to get out of bed. The time rushed by as Ama yapped while she got dressed, talking all the way up until they made it back to her mom’s place. It was exactly how a family cookout would look—two story house, a baby blue color painted along the wooden roof and walls. The smell of hot dogs, burgers and fries wafted in her nose as she squinted from the sunlight, standing next to the bucket of drinks as she waited for it to be refilled with bottles of water. The longer she went without eating, her stomach growled.

Seeing her friend's family was different from her own—playing card games, from old jams to bounce remixes, to routined line dances—the energy was enjoyable, and she didn’t have the urge to check her phone again. She felt at ease.

“You still ain’t finna’ eat?” Ama questions, holding a plate up to her face as she stood beside her friend, nose deep into a plate of jambalaya.

She shakes her head, “I need water. It’s hot as hell,” she huffs, fanning a hand above her face.

“You’ so dramatic—“ Ama starts, halting as she follows the sound of tires screeching in front of the house, “—Oh, there he go’ with the water.”

Their eyes follow to the blacked out H2 Hummer, large wheels rumbling the ground as it leans atop of the curb. Two bodies step out of the car, her eyes familiar with one of Ama’s cousins, Shaun—but seeing her brother was a different story.

Neatly braided cornows to the back of his head was the first thing she noticed, his lineup as sharp as his jaw. Brown skin shined under the sun like iridescent honey, tattoos cascading across his muscular frame, all the way up to his cheekbones. Love was written in cursive above his eyebrow, full lips a dark pink beneath his goatee and facial hair. Rings cladded along his thick fingers, muscles flexing beneath the fitted white tee he wore with navy blue basketball shorts. 74 glittered around his neck, his number meaningful in every room he walked in—he was fine.

“Took you long enough,” Ama rolled her eyes, “Everybody finna’ die of dehydration!”

He’s already walking towards the cooler, effortlessly dropping bottles into the ice water. A slight smirk curls from his lips as he replied, “You’ aight. Me and Shaun’ was tryna’ roll up before we got back, you know momma don’t play that shit.”

His voice was deep, yet smooth—velvet almost.

“You ain’t supposed to be smoking anyways!” Ama reminds, “You’ got playoffs in a couple of weeks—they don’t drug test y’all?”

“Yeah,” He starts, plopping a few more bottles into the ice, “I got the next two weeks to do that, you act like I won’t be straight by then.”

He glances beside Ama, raising an eyebrow as he questions, “You don’t speak or sum’?”

She blinks in reply, realizing the question was for her. Her eyes travel down to the cooler before she points to herself—“Me?”

“Nah, the nigga standin’ by the tree—Yeah, you.”

His sister then scoffs, “She’s just not used to seeing big ass niggas like you.”

“Bro—stop talkin’ to me,” He warns. His glare stays in Ama’s direction before softening his gaze back onto her friend, “You got a name, you?”

“Nuh-Uh! Nope. She don’t! Don’t be tryna’ push up on my friend. You got bitches all over New Orleans for that,” Ama interrupts.

She scolds in reply, “Ama—lawd, I’m good. Chill.”

She then scans him up and down, noticing how big he was in comparison to her. She’d only seen him on TV, and only ever heard the amount of shit his sister talked about him. She honestly didn’t think she’d ever meet him, and maybe that’s why she suddenly felt so insecure.

But if only she could see herself.

Her bistre skin was like chocolate melting beneath the sun, midnight black hair slicked back into a low bun out of her face—edges styled along her forehead in perfection, small flyaways curled along the back of her neck. Feline eyes tilted above her full lips and freckles he could only notice as he observed her. But the star of the show was her eyes—a deep cobalt, giving her an almost villainous look. But nothing was more pure than her angelic face.

She gives a small wave, wanting to smack herself at the childish gesture as she softly introduces, “I’m Blue.”

Her voice was quiet, but sweet.

“Blue. I like that.”

Ama interrupts the moment, “Don’t be complimenting her, my friend know’ she's bad!”

The way her name rolled off his tongue made a chill run through her spine—she had to pull it together.

Onyankopon steps closer to the cooler, his eyes flickering back to hers as he questions,”You don’t drink?”

“Hm?” Blue raises an eyebrow, “Oh— No, I don’t. It’s easier to drink water. I mean, you should always drink water— If you’re dehydrated, of course. but if you’re hydrated you should be fine—“

She stops herself, realizing that she’s rambling.

Blue clears her throat, playing with a curl along the side of her face as she blows out a flushed smile, “…Yeah.”

God—she wanted to dig herself into the nearest hole.

Blue adjusts herself a bit, now feeling entirely naked under the snug white tee she wears, showing off her midriff and heart shaped nipple piercings, denim washed jeans that clung to the harsh curve of her ass, orchid sandals along her French tipped toes. She was pretty.

“Oh hell,” Ama groans, “I thought you said you wasn’t’ a fan?”

“I’m not—“

Ama shakes her head, “Anyways, Blue’s an athletic trainer—she be around you niggas all the time. So I don’t know why she even actin’ like this. You’ making my friend uncomfortable, Onyankopon!”

Her rambling was cute—refreshing, to say the least. He lets out a small chuckle, finding it a bit endearing as her brown cheeks went warm.

“Oh? You’ an athletic trainer?”

“I just work with college students,” Blue shakes her head, “I’m still working on my masters to move into professional athletes.”

“She used to play ball too,” Ama adds, “Better than yo’ ugly ass.”

He subtly flexes his jaw in annoyance of his sister, but the mention of her playing ball piqued his interest.

“What position?”

“Um—point guard. Like you,” she clears her throat, “It was back before I graduated,” she ends with a weak smile.

He raises an eyebrow, his fingers itching towards the silver piece around his neck.

“Why you’ all shy about it? Don’t be, I like that shit. You was nice onna’ court?”

It seems like the conversation becomes more intimate. As Ama gets distracted with her cousin that walks up, Onyankopon leans closer—Blue has to tilt her head up to get a good angle of him.

His body smells of a cocoa musk, and the scent clings along her senses, almost trying to coax her in. She was never this silent with anyone, her chest feeling heavier by the second.

Blue then replies, “Are you?”

His teeth flash a bit with the question. Her words were just a slight jab, but he appreciated it.

“I’m him, ain’t I?”

His fingers finally make their way to his necklace, pulling the silver up a bit, the numbers glistening in the sun as it reflected into her eyes.

“You tryna’ front like you ain’t never seen my games?”

“Ain’t nobody tryna’ front,” she confirms, “I watch more of the WNBA—you niggas get whatever y’all want even if you play around on the court.”

He shakes his head, a faint grin stretching from ear to ear, “You’ cute. You know that?”

His compliment makes her go stiff. Her lips part open a bit, but she doesn’t speak, unable to find any words to say back.

“You ain’t watching the right niggas,” He smacks his lips, “So what—a nigga gotta’ play for yo’ heart or sum’?”

Don’t get her wrong—Blue enjoyed a little flirting. But just in that millisecond, her mind trails back to someone else charming her with just their words, and that’s how she ended up with her first heartbreak.

She shakes her head, “I heard you got plenty to choose from—you should be fine getting benched by me.”

He narrows his lids, noticing that her expression grew more distant. There was a shift. An airy chuckle escapes his throat, glancing down at her with low eyes.

“You’ cold as hell. That’s cool.”

“I know it is. Can you back up off me now, 74?” she raises an eyebrow, azul vision flickering along his face.

He takes a second, staring at her facial features to memorize them. She was interesting to say the least.

Finally, he steps back, “My fault, Mama.”

Ama interrupts at the perfect time as she calls, “Yo’! Momma wants you to come carry the other grill outside, Ony!—And I told you leave my damn friend alone—fifty feet, nigga!”

“Damn—Fifty feet is crazy,” Onyankopon chuckles, glancing down at Blue, “We was’ just talkin’, huh?”

Blue tilts her head a bit, trying to push down the smile that wants to grow on her face as she replies, “…Mhm.”

“I’m finna’ start counting!” Ama threatens, her hands now on her hips.

“You gotta’ calm down,” Onyankopon groans to his sister, looking back once more, “Let me know when you tryna’ have me as yo’ point guard, Blue.”

Before she could respond, he was already walking away. She’s able to see his full frame—the muscles in his back flexing within his arms, leaving Blue just how she introduced herself—Quiet.

She tries to distract herself for the next hour. Her eyes glanced over to Onyankopon every few seconds, noticing something new about him each time. The open faced grills within his mouth, the stud within his nose, the lyrics and verses along his neck and arms. Fuck.

Her eyes couldn’t help but trail back to her screen, absentmindedly clicking onto social media. That was until her phone was snatched from her fingers.

“Ama!”

“I’m saving your mental, girl,” Ama replies, holding the phone up to her face as she types, “Don’t make me delete Instagram.”

Blue sighs, “You know that nigga is in a new relationship already?”

Ama sighs, tapping on the picture of him with a nameless figure wrapped around his arm.

“He never had loyalty, you know that. Stop fuckin’ with these ball players and find you a lawyer or some shit.”

Blue felt stupid. To have fallen for someone she knew had the reputation of careless acts—what else did she expect? But he made her feel like she was important. That she was different.

“I’d rather be by myself. A lawyer might lie even better than a ball player,” Blue murmurs, digging her fork into the piece of cake she’d had her attention on, Ama finalizing her words as she agreed, “That part.”

Everyone watches as the younger men make their way towards the basketball court within the driveway, Blue’s attention pulling back to that damn smile as Onyankopon’s silhouette moves past her.

He questions, “We finna’ hoop. You gon’ watch yo’ man?”

“Who?” She scrunches her nose.

“You heard me, girl. Quit playin’.”

Blue turns to Ama, “Why yo’ brother won’t get off me? Didn’t you say he got bitches to choose from?”

Ama shrugs, “He tryna’ be cute, and you blushing—I’m mindin’ my business.”

She then stands from the table, a mischievous smile across her face, “I gotta make sure my uncle doesn't break his hip on this court. You comin’?”

“Watchin’ yo’ uncle possibly fall and break all his ligaments? Lemme’ grab my cake,” Blue chuckles, standing with her food as she follows behind.

Everyone crowds around the court as the family game begins, but it’s unfortunate that Blue can’t stop watching Onyankopon—especially when he keeps howling each time he makes a shot.

This was her first time seeing him on the court, and to say that he played how he looked on TV was an understatement. To her dismay, he had bragging rights. The way he easily dodged and maneuvered around the court, his height gave him a slight advantage as he easily made shots to the rim.

“You see me? You like that?” he calls, his attractive face more threatening each time he calls out to her, “You gon’ have a seat right up in the boxes watchin’ me!”

Ama replies back, “She don’t’ see shit but yo’ hoe ass bullying your family on the court. Stop playing like this a championship, stupid!”

Onyankopon smacks his lips at his sister, catching the ball before dribbling up the court again. But the person he was up against this time, was not as easy—the cousin he always played with, who was just as good as him. He had quick reflexes, almost magic as he stole the ball out of Onyankopon’s palms, making his way towards the rim, dunking the ball against it.

“Oh—we playin’ forreal? Aight.”

They’re still playful with one another along the court, but that didn’t make the game any less serious. Both men were good at stealing the ball from each other. The family watched in entertainment, yelling and calling out moves as if it were a real game. Blue couldn’t help the small laugh she released. Damn, he was good.

Everything was going well—until it wasn’t. Onyankopon’s cousin shifted his body a little too quickly into him, harshly knocking his shoulder to where he tripped over his own legs, crashing into the ground before he could catch himself. Everyone knew something was wrong the moment he grabbed his knee, a pained look against his face.

It’s as if Blue sobered up in that moment, her eyes widening slightly as his cousin bent down in front of him with panic, “Yo—Ony, you good? Shit—I’m sorry.”

“Fuck—” Onyankopon groans, clenching his jaw as he attempts to sit up. He wanted to hide the immense burn he felt rushing through his entire leg, but he was in pain— His knee was locked.

The entire court was immobile. It’s as if no one wanted to panic, but panic all at the same time. A single voice called over the silence as Ama exclaimed, “Blue!”, rushing around the court towards her brother.

Blue was right behind her, dropping herself towards the ground as she immediately reached for his knee. He jerked at the touch as she softly whispered, “I’m sorry,” keeping her palms in place, even as he tried to push her away.

“You have to tell me what hurts, Onyankopon.”

“It’s—” He starts, hissing between his teeth as she kept her hand on the swollen part of his leg, “—Fuck, it’s my entire leg. From the top, to the ankle.”

Everyone around them grew nervous. She could hear the worry in Ama’s voice, and she could see tears forming in her eyes as she called for her father.

Blue didn’t need anyone to freak out. She turns towards her friend, “Ama—go inside with Shaun and grab an ice pack, okay?”

If Ama’s panic wasn’t helping the situation, a shriek coming from the front of the house makes it all

the more worse—Onyankopon’s mother tosses the pan of meatballs within her hands, nearly falling down the stairs as she rushes over to the court, “Oh my goodness, my baby! Oh lawd—What happened?—Who hurt my baby?!”

“I did something stupid, Ma’! Quit fussin’. Lawd, I’m fine,” He manages to groan out.

His body was sweating, the veins in his neck going rigid as he fought to keep his composure—each time Blue’s palm slid across his skin, he wanted to scream.

Blue places his arm on her shoulder, huffing as she lifts herself and his weight along her body. She manages to say at the same time, “Just lean on me, okay? Don’t put any weight on it.”

Onyankopon could hear the slight wheeze in Blue’s breath as his mother started to yell, “Get him on the bench! Where’s the ice pack—Where’s Ama?!”

“I can try to walk, Blue—ion’ need you hurting yourself tryna’ help me.”

“What happened to all that flirting you was’ doing earlier—You don’t wanna be close to me no’ more?” She questions, distracting him as she takes another step towards the house.

A painful chuckle pushes from his lips. He had been trying to show off—and look where that got him. It was almost pathetic.

“Your name really Blue, forreal’?”

Her lashes flick up to him, the sunlight cascading within the ocean of her pupils. She then raises an eyebrow, “You’ really injured yourself tryna’ impress a girl?”

It wasn’t supposed to happen—but it did. Onyankopon blushes, the warmth across his face growing with embarrassment as she calls him out.

Finally, he answers, “Yeah, aight. You got it.”

When they finally get him inside, the previous outburst of Onyankopon’s mother turns into an all out tantrum, up to the point where she kicks everyone out. Throughout the chaos, all Onyankopon could think about was the softness of Blue’s hand in his—the way each time he looked back at her, she squeezed his fingers, giving a soft smile. He thought about her as she sat across from him, and even at the hospital when she’d already left.

Why couldn’t he get this girl off his mind?

Standing in front of his condo the next day wasn’t in Blue’s original plans. When Ama told her that his condition wasn’t looking too good, regardless of how overly flirtatious he was—she felt bad. And being the empath she unfortunately was, she was now standing in front of his door, bifold glass seeing right into the tinted foyer of his home as she stepped in.

Sleek black interior accompanied paintings hung above the minimalist styled furniture. Her curiosity came to a halt as she heard a couple of voices at the end of the hall, making her way to where they followed, but slowing down when she heard the conversation.

Onyankopon sat along the bench of his indoor gym, frown locked down to his knee wrapped in gauze as the doctor continued to speak to him.

“It seems you’ve torn your PCL.”

“And what does that injury intel?” His father questions, “Is that the same as tearing your ACL?”

“Not as severe, but still just as bad. With rest and rehabilitation, you could be back playing within the next two months.”

Two months?

His father shakes his head, “Hollon’—He has playoffs in four weeks. He just signed a contract with the Pelicans, he can’t miss that. Two months isn’t plausible—Is there any way we can speed up the process?”

“Pops.”

Onyankopon’s voice is a warning, already frustrated with the news he receives. His father wasn’t helping that.

The doctor sighs, “Well, it’s not that easy. Onyankopon would need extensive physical therapy if he wants to be ready for the playoffs. If he doesn’t take the right precautions, he could risk tearing his ACL, and he’ll have to sit out for a lot longer—or in the worst case, have a career ending injury. If he listens—”

His father cuts him off.

“I’ll get him in the best goddamn rehab in Louisiana—We’ll make it work.”

That’s when they all hear a phone ringing. Blue curses, immediately cutting off the sound as she looks down to her screen. She blows out a breath as she peeks to the other side of the wall, seeing all three men looking over at her.

“Sorry,” she softly greets, “I um—was just bringing Ony something—I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“You can come in. It’s aight,” He tells her, his gaze flickering over her form.

She notices a scowl along his face, seemingly irritated from this conversation. She couldn’t help but take account of his shirtless appearance, eyes wavering over the strength he holds in the broad frame of his back, muscles structured beneath his intricate tattoos.

The doctor looks away from his father, looking back to Onyankopon as he questions, “Do you want to take that risk?”

His jaw flexes at the question. He didn’t want to ruin his career by possibly hurting himself more, but he also had a family to be successful for. He didn’t have a choice.

“I’ll be ready by’ playoffs.”

The doctor sighs, unable to argue with his decision. He then says, “We’ll find the best athletic trainer for you. But if you feel your knee worsening—you’ll have to consider sitting out.”

That’s when Onyankopon catches sight of Blue again. She looks as if she’d just come from the gym— indigo baby tee and yoga pants hugging her curvy figure. Square glasses tip on her freckles nose, curls out her face from a matching headband.

That’s when he says, “I want her.”

Her eyebrows raise. Blue frowns, “What?”

Onyankopon looks at his father as he continues, “She used to hoop back in college. Now she works with athletes— I need to play shit safe and get someone good.”

Blue’s frown deepens, “Onyankopon—I can’t accept that. I’ve only worked with college athletes—I don’t even have my masters!—“

“I trust you.”

His voice holds no hesitation, his piercing gaze meeting her eyes as he promises, “I will do what I have to do. But I want you to be the one to get me there—can you do that?”

He can see the hesitance along her face, the baby pink box she holds tightening under her fingers.

Onyankopon looks towards his father as he dismisses, “Lemme’ talk to her, Pops.”

Both men exit, their footsteps growing quiet as they leave them in silence, Blue’s face nowhere near convinced on this idea. But instead of him immediately reeling back the conversation, he scoots off the bench as he questions, “What you’ got me?”

She looks down to the box, now feeling a little childish.

“Oh—um—I knew you were upset with everything that happened yesterday, so—I got you a lil’ cupcake at this bakery by my house. They put a basketball on it?”

She lifts the box towards him, “I just…wanted to make you feel better,” she nervously giggles, lifting the desert towards him.

A grin slowly curls onto his full lips. He chuckles for a second, “You only being nice to a nigga ‘cause he hurt—that’s cold,” He shakes his head, standing to his feet, the muscles in his arms flexing with each motion.

She notices that as he makes his way over to her, Onyankopon places his weight on one leg, limping on the other. He takes the box from her fingers, his hand grazing Blue’s in the exchange, catching the softness of her palm again. Warm. That usual blush appears along her face as he opens the box, staring down at the small cupcake topped with a basketball.

“You should be using your crutches,” she looks behind him, seeing as they lean along the bench.

“C’mon, Mama. I ain’t even hired you yet and you trippin’—quit all that,” he smacks his lips, “I’m tryna’ have you feed me.”

She looks around, “Feed who? The grown man standing across from me?”

“Lawd, here you go with that attitude. I liked when you was playin’ soft,” He murmurs, breaking the cupcake in half, reaching a piece out to her.

She looks down at his hand, sighing as she reluctantly takes the other half from him. Her lashes flutter as she blinks, “You’ serious about this? Me getting you ready for ‘playoffs?”

“Yeah.”

This close, Blue can smell his cologne again—the mixture of spice and cocoa. His cologne combined with his natural musk was intoxicating. He notices how she swallowed her nervousness, his lip tipping upwards for a moment before he asks, “I make you nervous or sum?’”

“Save that for your groupies,” she dismisses, “I’m not here to fuck around with you, Ony. You’re not gonna blame me for making your injury worse, meaning you need to be serious about wanting to be back on the court by playoffs.”

He hums at that, “I like when you tryna’ be all professional. It’s cute. What you’ need me to do? Beg? Get on my knees?”

“The knee you don’t have?” She fires back, “Yeah—aight. I’m gone,” she grabs for her bag, “You’re not taking this shit seriously.”

“Blue,” He calls, letting out a long sigh as she begins making her way out, “C’mon, girl. What I’ need to do?”

“Call your father and have him find you a rehab center.”

She disappears behind the wall—but the front door shutting is what really signifies that the conversation had ended.

“Blue—Yo!”

She was gone.

He groans, sucking his teeth as he grabs one of the crutches in the corner. This was gonna be a long four weeks.

𝓐ᥫ᭡

THE SUNLIGHT WAS PEACEFUL AS SHE SAT ON THE BLEACHERS. Blue was finishing off another week in her work schedule, ending a therapy session with one of her students who was now scattering across the court at practice with the rest of his team. Multiple men passed the ball, talked shit to each other, pushing and shoving along the court as they played an unserious game. Seeing the smile along their faces made her realize how important this sport was to someone like them—how important it was to her.

Her phone buzzes. Ama, as she expected. Blue sighs, pressing the phone to her ear as she greets, “I hope you ain’t calling to cuss me out ‘cause I didn’t take the job your brother offered.”

“I come in peace, promise. I know his big headed ass is hard to deal with,” her friend chuckles, “Are you at work?”

“Yeah. Just finished a session with one of my ball players. He’s doing really good— ecstatic to be back on the court,” a small smile comes to her face. She can’t help but ask, “How’s Ony doing?”

“He’s…okay? Off the crutches, been doing a lot of PT, even shuffled around the court this morning.”

“But?”

Blue could hear the uncertainty in her friend's voice, hearing a sigh come through the phone as Ama continues, “But—he’s not himself. Kinda hurts to see my twin moping around, y’know? Look, don’t get mad but…he really needs you, Blue.”

She sighed, “Don’t start, Ama.”

“I’m being serious!,” She exclaims, “I don’t know how, but…Blue—He’s different since you’ve been around. After you left his house, the nigga started PT that same day! I ain’t never seen him be so on top of something since his Nike had a sale,” She takes a breath, “Please? It’s just for the playoffs. Just three more weeks and then you’re done. My twin is all sad, and if he’s sad, I’m sad, and you don’t want me to be sad, right? ‘Cause you love me. Exactly.”

Blue rolls her eyes, giving a soft laugh in response. She’d never heard Ama be so adamant when it came to Onyankopon, meaning she was entirely serious. She hoped that their last interaction put a fire under his ass, and gave him the encouragement to get himself together in time for his next game. Being there for him wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

She finalizes, “I’ll go back over there tomorrow.”

And she did. Blue was up early the next morning, already pushing her way into the glass panel of his front door, two machas within a cup holder as she quietly entered the condo. It was more peaceful in the morning, the sunlight tilting into the windows—but she was distracted by the sound of a bear growling.

It in fact wasn’t a bear, but Onyankopon passed out along the sofa as he slept. Blue thought Ama was exaggerating when she said that her brother was in a funk—but when she saw the open box of pizza beside his head, his pillows fallen all over the ground, and his body wrapped up in a hoodie—she might’ve been right.

Blue glanced over to the TV that played cartoons, looking back down to him as she called, “Onyankopon.”

Nothing.

His snores nearly bounced off the walls, rumbling the bottom of her feet as if he were an animal. She rolled her eyes, leaning down as she shoved his shoulder, “Onyankopon.”

Still nothing.

Okay. She sat the matcha down, going into the kitchen as her eyes searched around his cabinets. Retrieving a bowl, she went over to his fridge as she filled it with cold water, adding ice within the mixture before making her way back into the living room. And without another thought—she tossed the contents on top of him.

“Nigga—”

His voice sounded like a low growl, his large body jolting as he felt the water on his skin. He blinked the moisture from his eyes, slowly becoming conscious as the room came into focus, “The fuck?!”

“Get up,” she demands, raising the bowl as if she were going to toss it, “You better—“

“Don’t you see me up?!”

“No! I see a nigga hibernating on the couch!”

“I was asleep!”

He grunts, shifting himself to sit up before the coldness settles onto his chest. His brows furrow, glaring at the bowl in her hand before he stood.

“You better back yo’ ass up before I come over there.”

“That’s if you could limp over here in time!”

She raises the bowl again, Onyankopon flinching as he says, “Aight! Damn. I’m up, I’m up.”

“You up?” she questions, bucking the bowl one more time.

"Blue—"

He groans, "Get yo' lil' ass out the way with that bowl, forreal. 'Cause if I get over there, imma’ have you runnin.’ Swear to god.”

Blue narrows her eyes, taking a step back as she lowers her hand. She then smiles, “Meet me in the gym after you shower—and drink your matcha!” She calls, disappearing into the hallway.

“This girl here, man.”

After Onyankopon cleans the living room, he quickly takes a shower, making his way towards the gym—music is already humming along the room, catching sight of Blue who stands in the middle of his miniature court. The architecture was a matte black, matching equipment with silver linings all across the floor. His eyes lower to Blue’s ass as she stretches, too distracted to hear him entering.

“You know what you’ doing, Ms. Trainer?”

She turns her head, looking across the entrance as she sees Onyankopon, Nike long sleeve hugging his muscles, his team's sweatpants matching the navy blue top he wears.

She pulls her eyes away from how big he was, reaching for a ball along the wall as she says, “C’mon.”

“C’mon, what?”

“We finna’ hoop.”

He doesn’t budge from his spot, raising an eyebrow.

“You think I’m joking?”

Blue locks her fingers at the edge of her sweatshirt, pulling the oversized material off her body and tossing it on the ground. She begins to clip her hair up in her orchid comb, “They’ told me you’re off the crutches— I wanna see how comfortable you are on the court.”

A smirk curves along his lips when she removes her shirt—the baby pink workout set she wore hugs her body perfectly.

“Yo’ mama know you got that ass?”

The moment he comes closer, she’s quick. She opens her palms, tossing the ball towards him with a tilt to her head, “Quit distracting. Show me why they made you’ point guard.”

Blue takes a step back, squatting herself down a bit. Her eyes watch as he steps forward, but she catches the light limp he does as he begins dribbling.

She points out, “You’ll have to put your weight on it eventually.”

“You gotta’ let a nigga warm up.”

He’s making his way towards the rim—but he was slower—he couldn’t use his speed to his advantage like he usually did.

The moment she’s close to him, Blue snatches the ball from his hands, hugging the object within her fingers. Onyankopon backs up.

She raises an eyebrow, “What are you doing?—I know you ain’t scared to hoop.”

He scoffs, “Nah, it’s just—you got that pretty face. Ion’ wanna’ bump you.”

“I play with niggas all the time,” she re-ties her hair, “C’mon. Play like you forreal’, pussy.”

It was like a switch went off in his body at the insult. Onyankopon gave her a warning, “Watch yo’ mouth, Blue.”

“Come take the ball from me then.”

“I heard you’ the first time.”

He was more focused this time around, hand swiping the ball from her fingers before she could blink. Blue let out a grunt as he easily moved around her, and that’s when he shoved her body to the side— Blue stumbling back, watching as he took long strides towards the basket—But before he could even attempt his shot, her hand interfered, breathlessly swatting the ball out his hand and taking it into her own.

“I thought we was’ playing forreal’?” He retorts.

As Blue begins sprinting, Onyankopon catches the back of her sweatpants, yanking her back as he grunts, “Where you goin’?”

Blue shrieks, dropping the ball as she smacks his hand away, “That’s a foul, dipshit!”

“You on my basketball court,” He replies, lifting his hand to snatch the ball before it touches the ground, “Foul my ass. I thought you wanted to see some real effort?”

He grips her forearm as he pulls her back beside him, turning her body as he places the ball within her palm, “Show me that college ball player shit. You’ wastin’ my time.”

“Oh?” She glares, “Okay—Guard me from shooting then.”

“Ion’ need to guard you,” He steps to the side, leaving the rim wide open, “Shoot. Gon’ head.”

And as soon as she did, he was quick in interfering with her motion, his long arm palming the basketball. She let out a small huff in defeat—but she could be faster. Blue manages to retrieve the ball in time and the moment she turns, her body slams into his.

His towering frame blocked her pathway to the rim as she tried to move in another direction, but her hands couldn't catch the ball—Onyankopon now had it back within his grasp. They both give each other a breathless laugh, and despite this moment being important—they were having fun.

As Onyankopon goes to take another step, he stops, sucking in a breath as he places a hand along his knee. A sharp pain shoots through his entire leg.

Blue immediately pauses, “You okay?”

At first, he wanted to deny, ignore the pain—but it was evident along his face. His voice lowers, “I’m good—I, damn—“

He’s unable to finish his sentence, gritting his teeth as he tries to move towards the bench—but he’s unable to. After another moment, Blue’s shoulder presses under his arm as she murmurs, “Lean on me, alright? We’re both done playing.”

“I’m good,” he brushes off, “I’m tryna’ do some training.”

She kept him leaning against her, even if he was trying to move away. Blue questions, “You sure? We can just play it safe—do a couple stretches, Ony.”

His head tilts down at her, his hand gripping the curve of her shoulder as he answers, “Play it safe for what? I was just runnin’ around with you on the court—I gotta’ be back up in three weeks, Blue. I can’t do safe,” his voice is harsh, “I’m good.”

Blue pulls away from him as she relents, “Okay.”

After a while, they began moving into a couple of exercises—one of them being where Onyankopon had to lay along a yoga mat as he raised his knee a couple inches off the ground, attempting to reach Blue’s finger tips. While that might’ve sounded easy, he was huffing through the tightness within his leg, trying to shove down the uncomfortable position.

Blue’s touch might’ve been a helpful factor to each movement. Her warm palms gripped along his ankle, guiding him in the correct angle.

“Three more,” she promises, “Just gimme’ those, and we’ll move on.”

Onyankopon is quiet during their session, his grunts sounding with each new exercise they’d done. It wasn’t until he was on his feet, doing a movement that called for a slow squat where his groans began.

At the same time, Blue stands across from him as she makes sure his form is correct. She had to stop him a couple times to show the proper stance, squatting herself down for demonstration. She could feel his eyes.

“You’ good at doing that.“

Blue’s sighs, “Focus, please. Let’s try this again—I’ll do it with you.”

There was one thing that Onyankopon hadn’t mentioned in this entire process. In between each set, Blue would glance at her phone. She wasn’t distracted to a point that interfered with her work, but her attention was …diverted.

It wasn’t until he was doing his final exercise that he said something. He sat upright along the floor as a towel wrapped around the base of his foot, both palms grasping the ends of the material as he slowly pulled his leg back and forth.

Blue’s gaze wavers against the screen of her phone, her attention being pulled away as she hears him say, “Who’s the nigga you over there so worried about?”

Her brows furrow at the question. She places her phone down, raising her palm over his, “You’re supposed to be pulling with your hands, your leg shouldn’t be doing the work.”

She then decides to respond, “Who said I was worried about a nigga?”

“You just seem distracted.”

He continues the movement, following her instructions as he grunts, “He must’ve done somethin’ to get all that attention I’m not gettin’. What if my knee shatters right now?”

“Ony,” she flinches, “Don’t say that. I’m sorry, okay? No more phone.”

“I didn’t say to blow off my question.”

Blue blinks at him, annoyed with his pressing. She then says, “You wanna hear that I’m stalking my ex and his new bitch?”

“There we go,” He answers, his leg returning down towards the floor as he begins the set again, “That’s what you should’ve been said.”

He looks up as he questions, “Why is he yo’ ex?”

She doesn’t expect him to be curious. Blue waits a couple moments, not entirely comfortable as she flatly says, “He played ball like you, was better at playing me.”

“I’m sure it’s more than that,” his brow quirks, “Keep talkin’. I’m tryna’ hear your mouth run.”

“And why do you care?” She adjusts the towel under his foot, “None of that matters. He’s in a relationship, and I can’t be mad at that.”

“But you’ mad cause he fucked you over.”

“Did I say all that or were you just listening too hard?”

“You don’t have to,” He counters, raising his leg back down for one final set, “I already know.”

His brows knit together as he grunts, his body tensing as he forces his knee back.

Once he’s done, he continues, “And what you talkin’ bout? He could be the President, don’t matter—the fact you can’t get over it tells me he must’ve hurt you.”

“People get hurt all the time, Onyankopon,” Blue reminds him, “I’m a big girl, I survived. I just—need to get over the situation like he did.”

“And how you gon’ do that?” he questions, sitting back up straight, his hand throwing the towel beside him.

He was looking at her. Studying the way each curl fell along her face, “By being on your phone at every break? Don’t sound like you’ tryna’ get over it to me.”

“Do I tell you how to handle the relationship aspect of your life?” She squints, “You and your groupies have a very close bond—I’m sure. Ain’t nobody tryna’ sit there and tell you how to stop fuckin’ around on multiple bitches.”

“Whoa,” He raises both palms, a soft chuckle coming from his lips as he says, “Aight, aight. Sensitive topic, I see.”

There’s a moment of silence as he stares down at his fingers, “My groupies ain’t the problem. Can’t compare that to your cheating ass nigga.”

“I think sometimes you just like to hear yourself talk,” Blue mutters, “Get in the crocodile stretch so I can massage your knee, please.”

“I like hearing you talk more.”

He scoots down along the floor, using his hands to slowly roll himself onto his chest. He grunts as he continues, reaching his arms above his head and hiding his face within both of them.

Onyankopon’s jaw tenses, his brows pinching together. But soon enough, a small sigh leaves his lips as he feels her fingers run along his knee. She takes her thumb as she digs it into the muscle, deeply knotting her bone into a specific spot on his leg.

Blue then admits, “…I didn’t mean to snap on you. I just—hate that I’m not over the situation. That’s all.”

Her touch was so gentle.

He let out a grunt of relief, lifting his head off his forearms to look back to her. His eyes narrow, a soft chuckle leaving his lips as he murmurs, “You gettin’ soft on me, Mama.”

She rolls her eyes, “Are you listening, or is this you just wanting to hear my voice again?”

“Both. Yo’ voice pretty as fuck.”

He sees the glimmer of freckles on her umber complexion, watching the way she nibbles along her lower lip, lowering her lashes. Shy. That’s the word he could think of.

“Are you ever gonna keep it professional with me?” She questions, glancing up to the TV that plays along the wall from across, the smallest smile along her face.

“Don’t wanna’. I can’t lie to you.”

He then catches her smile, and that’s when he says, “See. You know what it is.”

His tone lowers as he questions, “Why you gotta’ be so scared of a nigga trying to get to know you?”

“You beggin’ me now?” she raises an eyebrow, pulling herself back from his leg.

“Damn.”

He rolls over on his back, sitting up straight as he reaches for the towel beside him, wiping the sweat from his chest as he concludes, “Can’t do nothin’. You’ cold again.”

When she glances back up to the TV, she slows her movements as she sees a familiar face—his to be exact, different cuts from Onyankopon’s seasonal journey. He’s rushing across the court at one of his games, smiling ear to ear as he’s being interviewed.

”The star player was just signed to the Pelicans two months ago, and is already facing a career-threatening injury. Will he power through back in time for playoffs?

“I certainly hope so. Otherwise, he’ll be forgotten like anyone else just starting up.”

“Can you turn that off?”

His voice was stern, a glare on the screen as highlights continued playing. Every layup, every block, every dunk—it was a reel of everything he couldn’t do right now.

She reached for the remote as she shut it off, standing from the position she was in, “Earlier when we played—I could tell you were scared to move around the court. You can’t be afraid to do that.”

“Ain’t nobody scared.”

She crosses her arms at that, seeing that he’s growing irritated at her words.

“You can be mad. That’s fine.”

“Why you tryna’ make me mad?”

The frustration was evident in his tone, his eyes narrowing as he continued, “You think you got a nigga figured out when you just met me a week ago.”

“This coming from the same nigga that said he trusted me a day after meeting?” she reminds, “I’m not here to make you feel worse. I’m here because I know how you feel— Nobody is gonna believe in you if you don’t believe in you.”

And that made his expression falter.

He couldn’t speak. Onyankopon stares for a few moments until he lets out a heavy breath, his head shaking as he says, “I’m just mad.”

“I know that.”

Blue scans his face, seeing an uncomfortable sense within it. She then says, “Your progress is better than any patient I’ve had. You love the court, I can see that. You’ll be there by the playoffs.”

He stays silent at that, her words filling his head before he murmurs, “Yeah— Thank you.”

“You also need some milk,” she adds on, “Your bones feel brittle as hell.”

He lets out a low chuckle, staring down at her hands. His large palms could cover both of them. He then pushes back the vulnerable side that wants to come out, “You’ hungry?”

“I am,” she sighs, walking over to the court as she pulls her sweatshirt back on, “I was gonna eat once I got home. You did good today— we can start back up tomorrow.”

“Stay and eat, then.”

She looks back at him, her hand halting along her duffle bag. His smile grows, “Got shit in the kitchen, we just needa’ run to the store for a couple ingredients—I’m more than protein shakes and smoothies.”

“You need rest, Onyankopon. You ain’t finna’ sleep if we’ playing around in the grocery store,” she reminds, placing her duffle over her shoulder.

“C’mon,” He smacks his lips, taking long strides to stand in front of her. His broad shoulders blocked her path to the door, “Tell me you ain’t craving some food-food. What you’ want? Dirty rice, red beans? Let me know sum.’”

Blue looks up at him, the height gap so evident as he finalizes, “You’ll sleep good as fuck after. Promise.”

“This your way of tryna’ get me to stay?” She sighs, “You’ sure you can cook anything without burning the house down?”

He moves towards the double glass of his front doors, “It’s my way of apologizing to you, aight? I was kinda’ a dick head earlier, forreal’—my food’ good as hell, Mama. You gon’ be beggin’ for more.”

“Wrong. I don’t beg.”

They make it to the nearest Whole Foods, Onyankopon protesting as Blue forces him to push the cart, wanting him to have something to put his weight on. She walks slowly as she glances through the aisle, “What you’ in the mood for?”

“You.”

There’s a small smirk along his lips as she glares at him, his tone growing low again as he murmurs, “My bad, my bad. Whatever you want, I’m not trippin’.”

She keeps walking, now ending up towards the produce aisle. She scans the selections, “You’ got enough fruit for your smoothies? I may need to grab some for mine,” she mutters, leaning over as she scans the basket of bananas.

“Are you a banana?”

She turns her head, frowning at the question, “What?”

Onyankopon leans towards her, “‘Cause I find you real’ a—peel—ling.”

Blue’s entire expression drops, “Oh no—We’ve moved into bad pick up lines. Jesus Christ. Please don’t—“

“Ooh, girl. You must be a strawberry or sum’,” He interrupts, tossing the items within the basket, “‘Cause you’re berry beautiful to me!”

“Is this my personal hell? I’m walking away from you!”

“Chill! Chill! I have one more—”

He lets out a laugh as he follows behind her, still leaning against the cart’s edge as he looks over to the section of pineapples.

“If you were a fruit, you’d be a fine-apple!”

“How about you make like them’ bananas you was talking about earlier, and split?”

Onyankopon’s mouth drops open, watching as Blue waltz further away from the basket, playfully twisting her hips with each step she takes.

She turns back to him, “Oh you liked that one, huh? That was good?”

A man walks past the both of them, Onyankopon leaning towards him as he questions, “Nigga—you heard that? How she came back at me with my own puns? You hear them’ wedding bells? Do you?”

She giggles, seeing the man’s frown as she exclaims, “Please ignore him—I’m sorry!”

When they go into the aisle of pastries, a gasp falters Blue’s lips as she speeds around a table full of cupcakes, “You think they have—“

Her eyes search, her face dropping in disappointment, “Ugh—They don’t have them,” a pout almost comes to her lips, deciding to look along the other options of cakes and bread.

“What you’ lookin’ for, Mama?”

She sighs, “They usually have these red velvet cupcakes I like. They have frosting on the inside of them!—“

She halts, realizing she’s a little too excited, “Sorry. Yeah, they’re good.”

“Stop apologizin’. They don’t got’ them?”

“No,” she’s now pouting, genuinely disappointed.

“We can go to every Whole Foods in the city until we find em’. Quit allat’ pouting.”

She rolls her eyes, “You wouldn’t do that.”

“You think I’m playin’?” he questions, eyes narrowing at her, “I’ll take my ass to muhfuckin’ Mississippi if you need me to.”

She hates that her heart flutters. Blue then shakes her head, voice soft, “It’s fine—I’ll go look in another aisle, okay?”

She goes to the next area of snacks, trying to find a sweet substitute for her cravings. She ends up finding a pack of Oreos, seeing a red velvet flavor at the top of the aisle, unable to reach it due to her height.

“Hell,” she mutters.

“Need help?”

The voice is…familiar. It’s as if her entire body goes cold, and immediately recognizes the tone without him having to say anything else. When her face turns towards him—there he is.

Hazel brown eyes, only made of the devil if she had a comparison. Light brown skin, his dark hair in waves, as handsome as he wanted to be. Fuck, why were evil men so fine?

To make matters worse, that faceless body that was within the picture she constantly stared at now had a face—she was the complete opposite of Blue. Tan skin, close to an olive tone. Her hair was more wavy than curly, a smaller frame, as if she were able to slip in anything and look good. She was perfect.

“Trey—Uh—hey?”

“Wassup, Blue?”

Something in her body flinched at the sound of him saying her name.

A smirk grows along his lips as he looks down to the cookies in her hand, “I remember these were your favorite.”

His voice was the same, smooth.

His eyes linger on the length of her, “How you’ been?”

How have I been?

She wanted to smack him, get violent. Maybe even smack the woman next to him.

“I’m good,” she pushes out, “Who’s this?” She looks at the woman, giving her best attempt of a polite smile.

“This is Nia,” he introduces, his arm now circling around the woman as he pulls her close, “My fiancè.”

Nia smiles, “It’s really nice to meet you, Trey’s told me so much about you!”

Blue could have cried on the spot. Her face felt entirely warm, and something in her was starting to become extremely upset.

“It’s uh…nice to meet you too. I hope all good things were said.”

Onyankopon turns down the aisle in search of her, finding Blue interacting with two strangers—but just by the look on her face, he knew exactly who they were. You could say he had a flair for the dramatics.

“Yo’, baby, you found what you was’ looking for?”

Blue frowns, “Huh?”

He walks up to her, “Why you’ always tryna’ do shit by yoself’ when you know you got me? C’mon,” he reaches up for the sweet treat, tossing it in the basket.

“Who’s this?”

Trey’s question felt a little sharp. Nia on the other hand, looks entirely starstruck. A blush comes along her fair skin as she swats Trey’s arm, “Honey, this is the new player on the Pelicans—Onyankopon, right?”

Onyankopon nods, his arm now going to mirror Trey’s action of holding his girl by the waist. But instead of going for Blue’s hip, his palm latches onto her ass, squeezing the flesh under his fingers, tugging her closer to his large frame.

“You gon’ introduce me, huh?” Her murmurs, mouth hovering along hers, Blue able to feel the warmth of his breath.

Her cheeks feel detached from her face. She stutters, “U—Um, this is Onyankopon, my—“

“Her husband,” he finishes, “Baby always being shy on shit. She ‘real adamant on getting our rings cleaned every other week, so she can’t show off that rock that be’ on her finger right now.”

His face is centimeters from hers. Onyankopon’s voice is low as he questions, “You’ got everything you need?”

Blue’s lashes flutter, trying to hold her composure as she nods, “Yeah—“

And then, he kisses her.

Their lips smush together, a low groan coming from his throat as she lets him taste her.

Blue tries to pull back, but Onyankopon's hand wraps along the back of her neck, holding her in place as he keeps going. His tongue slides along her own, sinking in and out of her mouth. It sends a jolt all the way between her thighs, Blue lightly panting in a way she didn’t expect herself to.

When he pulls back, she exhales, pressing her hand against his chest as her face went from warm to entirely hot. Her face pulls back to the couple across from them, both her ex and his fiancè shocked at their affection towards each other. They’re almost bothered at the sight.

“Um—“ a nervous giggle releases from Blue’s lips, “It was nice seeing you, Trey. We um, we have to go. Yeah?” She turns her face back to Onyankopon.

He presses one last kiss to her lips, a look of irritation on Trey's face he glares daggers.

Blue was officially red, Onyankopon's arm going around her waist as he said, "I’m hungry as hell. Finna’ fuck around and eat you. C’mon."

She politely waved to the couple, tugging at Onyankopon's arm, dragging him around the corner towards the check-out lanes.

That’s when Blue finally released an actual giggle, the sound unfamiliar to Onyankopon as she whispered, “Why did you do that?!”

“To piss him off,” He answers, “And it worked. I hope that nigga’s jaw is clenched as hell right now.”

He slows down the cart as he then asks, “You aight, though? You look like you seen’ a ghost earlier.”

“I’m okay—I just didn’t expect to see him out of all’ people. Not to mention that he’s engaged,” she places the items atop of the lane, pushing them forward with a soft frown along her face.

“You thought I was gon’ let that nigga just embarrass you? Fuck allat.’”

“Why did you go as far as to say we were married?”

Onyankopon shrugs, “Manifestation?”

And once again, Blue laughs.

Two weeks had gone by. Intense Physical therapy, exercising, and training was the only thing filling Onyankopon’s schedule. His family was shocked to hear how miraculous his recovery was—and he had no one to thank except Blue.

It was now the night before playoffs, Blue coming over to drop off the new knee brace she’d bought for him. She closes the door behind herself softly as he’d told her that he’d be going to bed early, trying to tip toe towards his gym. But when she sees the kitchen lights on—she halts.

She looks along the marble counter, seeing different ingredients from flour, sugar, eggs, butter, and oil. A frown came along her face at the cupcake pans next to the supplies.

She slowly walks forward as she questions, “Ony?”

A figure appears from the bathroom. Her mouth immediately parts open, a palm going over her lips as she sees him shirtless, a chef's hat slanting on top of his head.

She giggles, “What are you doing?”

“You thought I was just bullshitting about finding you them’ red velvet cupcakes?” He questions, going to stand in front of the kitchen’s island, “Imma’ make them for you.”

Dammit. There goes her heart fluttering again. She rolls her eyes as she goes over to him, pulling the hat off his head while wiping the flour along his nose, “Maybe I can help with that. What do you need me to do, chef?”

Spending time with him outside of PT was different. Seeing him go as far as to make the dessert she’d wanted weeks ago, made her realize how much he’d actually been thinking about her.

Blue watched as he stood on the other side of the counter, rolling up a blunt they’d agreed on smoking together. Her eyes might’ve been…drifting at him doing such a simple task, palm slow in mixing the batter.

“You gon’ have to keep them’ pretty ass eyes off me, Blue. Unless you tryna’ have a nigga come over there.”

Onyankopon eyes are still down. His tongue rolls across the blunt, sealing the object.

A small smile comes along her face, placing her focus back along the batter as she replies, “Sorry.”

He chuckles, placing the end between his lips before igniting the blunt—taking a long drag, smoke wafting out his nose as he questioned, “Yo’ momma named you that ‘cause of them’ oceans you got for eyes?”

She softly laughs, “No. I was stuck in the hospital a couple weeks after she gave birth to me—premature, less than five pounds. My mom said I cried like hell in that incubator, and it made her cry. Gave her the blues. My eyes are on the account of my grandfather who had some syndrome, passed it down to me. I guess it just felt appropriate.”

Her voice was smooth. His eyes watched as she moved, trying to keep her composure as she poured her batter into the cupcake liners. It had to be the smoke, or the fact that he liked her, as his mind began to wander on how she’d sound moaning in his ear. He takes another hit, the blunt still between his fingers as he exhales, passing the object over to her.

She reaches over, pressing the brown bud in between her dark pink lips. She then questions, “Why you’ so interested in me? You ain’t got a bunch of bitches lined up to play basketball wife?”

“And I know you got a lot more niggas than me tryna’ talk to you, but who’s the only one making you them’ cupcakes?” He questions, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Still not you. I’m the one mixing the batter,” she points out.

She looks up to see the instant irritation on his face.

He eases up as he leans forward, “Pass that shit back, you blowin’ me. Throw a nigga a bone. Somethin’.”

Her eyes are still against the burgundy contents of the batter, thinking of his words. It was hard for her to open up at times—but she’d spent a lot of time with Onyankopon at this point, and she couldn’t deny the feelings developing for him. It was time to give him some vulnerability.

“I um—I tore my ACL back in college.”

Blue can see the frown that comes to his face. She hates that she can feel a heaviness within her chest, pushing herself to continue, “Had a girl off another team push me the wrong way, and my knee shattered when I stumbled. I mean—I still do something I love, but I loved playing ball more. I think that’s why I tend to be so hard on you about your recovery. You still have the opportunity to play—so play.”

He remains quiet as he digests what she tells him. Going from knowing nothing about this girl, to knowing all of the shit she’d been through—it made him want her more.

She notices his face, releasing her hands from the bowl as she apologizes, “I wasn’t tryna’ fuck up the mood.”

“You didn’t,” he says, his words a low murmur, “All that shit you went through made you who you are now. You tough as fuck, Blue. Selfless as hell, too. Nobody could take that shit from you.”

Her heart beats as he comes around the counter, distracting herself as she steals the blunt from his fingers, “You just sayin’ all that cause I got you ready for playoffs.”

“You hear me, right?”

He was so close, tilting his head down, keeping his face close to hers.

She blinks slowly, exhaling the smoke from her lips as she nods, “I hear you, Ony.”

“So why you actin’ like you don’t believe that a nigga got feelings for you?”

“Cause you’re sayin’ all this when you’re high.”

“I’m barely high,” his eyes wandered down to her lips, “Why you frontin’?”

Her high was now hitting her, creating a buzz along her body, her lids a little heavier than before. She turns towards the counter, grabbing for the frosting bag as she grins, “You ain’t finish making my cupcakes. I thought you said you liked me?” She tilts her head, eyes glowing a slight shade of red.

“I like you like hell,” he grunts, latching a kiss along her cheek, it makes her giggle and push at his chest. He notices the way she relaxes, “How’ you feelin’, Mama—you good?” His tone was sensual, but genuine, “You wanna’ lay down?”

“You think I can’t handle myself?” She frowns, “I’m good, boy. Want some frosting? I hope it’s buttercream!”

She wraps her arms around his neck, “Put me on the counter. My feet hurt.”

He chuckles, grabbing her by the waist as he sits her atop the island, sliding both her legs apart.

“Better?”

“Mhm,” she nods, beginning to rub her palms along the sides of his neck, “You’re so sweet.”

“You the sweetest thing on this island,” he counters, sliding her lower along the edge. He stands in between her legs, palms along her thighs.

“Sweeter than the frosting?” She questions, squeezing some along her finger, wrapping her lips along the tip of her index.

“You playin’.”

Onyankopon’s large hand wraps around her wrist, pulling her finger out of her mouth. He then takes her digits in between his own lips, tongue dragging along the frosting.

Blue takes more frosting along her free hand, plopping some on the edge of his chin. Her giggles aren’t something he’s used to yet. He could replay them over and over. Now seeing her like this—floaty, flirty, it might’ve had his mind elsewhere.

She blows out a breath, eyes boring into his as she pouts, “You gotta re-light the blunt, it went out.”

She was seated on the island, and yet his head was still level with her own. His voice was a low rumble as he continued, “Why you’ worried about that? Youn’ want my tongue instead?”

“On me?”

“All over you, girl,” his voice drops further, lips inches from her own, “Where ‘you want me?”

She searches around his face, lightly pressing her teeth along the plush of her lip. Squeezing out more frosting, Blue swipes it along the side of her neck, her voice soft as she sighs, “…Here.”

“On that pretty ass neck,” he murmurs against her skin, lips dragging as close as possible. His kiss was light, teasing as he slowly made his way back up. Her neck smelled of cinnamon.

She was within his grasp, tongue coating along her skin, the frosting smearing across her throat. Onyankopon could feel a shiver vibrating throughout her spine at the contact, Blue’s thighs squeezing together in response.

Her giggles lessen as his tongue drags all along the length of her neck, softening into breathy inhales. When she goes to pull her face down—his fingers dig into her curls, yanking her head back. Blue’s eyes roll back in response.

“It t—tickles, Ony…”

He chuckles against her neck, his tongue coiling around the inside of her ear. It goes down, gliding past her jawline, lightly rushing across her lips.

The moment she feels his mouth along her own, her entire body tenses, thinking back to the kiss he’d given her in the store. Her palm slides to the back of his neck, breath wafting along his mouth as her thighs repeated in squeezing together. It’s as if she’s anticipating his next move, more needy than she expected herself to be.

She lets it slip out as she whimpers, “Why won’t you kiss me…”

He pulls away, leaving only an inch of space between them, “Thought you didn’t believe a nigga liked you?”

The grip at the back of her curls loosen only slightly, his voice a husk as he grunts, “Open.”

A small giggle falls from her lips as she sticks out her tongue in response, rims of her eyes a dark azure. He lets out a low groan, tongue plunging deep within her mouth, twisting around her own. Their kiss makes her eyes feel heavier, her brain emptier, her thoughts—hornier. The frosting along her skin smudges everywhere as they move together, dropping along her thighs, sliding lower on her legs. Without another thought, Blue’s shriek echoes the walls as he locks her legs around his hips, carrying her onto the sofa.

Her back lays atop of the pillows, eyes flicking over to the mirror giving a perfect view of their bodies—The balls of her feet slide against his chest as she keeps her legs up, Onyankopon hovered above her, pressing the blunt back between his lips, swiping the lighter across his thumb.

Blue’s low eyes watch him. He pulls the bud from his mouth, pressing a kiss to the side of her foot, pecking his lips towards her French tipped toes.

“We were supposed to be baking,” she huffs in annoyance, but yet, she lightly rotates her hips at the sensation of his mouth.

When the blunt is lit, he drags his tongue along her calves.

He then questions, “What were we makin’ again? Tell me.”

Her legs shake as he snatches the skin going up her leg in between his lips, “T—Those cupcakes you promised to make me, Ony…”

“That’s what you want right now?”

She wanted to answer back—she really did. She just couldn’t.

Onyankopon hands her back the blunt, Blue watching how his lips went from the back of her knees, to now meeting at her thighs, tongue gliding across any part of her skin he could reach.

When he drags more upward, there’s a smack when his lips meet her own. He watches as she pulls smoke into her mouth, holding it there until he grunts, “Give it to me.”

She pushes the smoke out, silence between the two as their lips seal together cohesively.

His lips suck against hers, the kiss loud and sloppy. Blue softly whines. Her head nearly falls back to keep up with him, thighs opening, hung along the broad frame of his back. Onyankopon’s head was beginning to fuzz, which coaxed his head to duck down, tongue swirling, dancing along the inside of her thigh.

“Talk to me,” his voice mutters a seductive rasp against her skin, nose and mouth smushing against the warmth, “Whatchu’ thinkin’ about?”

She doesn’t wanna admit to what she’s actually thinking. But with his lips everywhere as he’d promised, smoking, and suppressing the tension she’d felt the moment she’d met this man—she couldn’t help it anymore.

“Want you in me, Ony.”

Her voice is pleading. Blue tugs the fabric of her panties to the side of her pelvic, too impatient to actually remove them, spreading her legs a bit wider.

He groans at the sight. His eyes drop down as he grunts, “Lemme’ see that pretty ass pussy.”

Blue snatches the material farther, showing off the glistening sight of her bubblegum pink core, delectable under the lights of his home.

Onyankopon places the blunt on his glass coffee table, lips moving back up her skin until he meets her own again. He was already tugging down his sweatpants, hand coming up to the back of her neck as he kept her lips locked against his own. His tone was lowered.

“You sure?”

She nods her head, using her own hand to swipe along her pussy. She’s twisting her lower half a bit, “C’mon, Ony.”

The sight of his tip was—not what she expected. It was a darkened pink, weighted, long as it smushed along her wet folds, kissing at the hidden part of her clit— Heavy, was all she could think.

His voice is a grunt while he speaks, “I’m not gon’ fit like that. Lemme’ eat you.”

“Make it fit,” she whimpers, splaying her fingers along the back of her thighs, spreading herself even more.

His jaw clenched at her words. Onyankopon was practically glaring down at her. He grunts into a soft kiss as he leans down, capturing their lips together. He takes her legs, pressing her knees beneath his chest, ankles against the sides of his head as he has her trapped.

The moment she feels herself within this position, she rethinks all of her pleading. But it’s too late—Blue’s eyes lock down to watch his tip sink between her folds, an ache throbbing against her entire lower half. Her hips tense, but as that discomfort wafts through her entire body in waves, another ocean arises— a sense of pleasure meeting with that. Her mouth lightly parts as Onyankopon keeps his face close, Blue quietly inhaling, a long exhale panting from her lips.

She places her hand to the back of his neck, a frown coming against her lips as she shudders, “O—oh shit…”

His mouth covers all of her own, muffling her whimpers as he holds himself by the base, pushing in farther. His words are a low rumble, “You know I wanna hear you. Get loud.”

Blue clutches the back of his head, eyes rolling back as he still hadn’t really moved, yet she felt everything. Their foreheads meet as she gives him another gasp, thighs trembling in response to his words.

“Ain’t no one ever took you this deep?” He grunts, his lips dragging to meet her neck, “Told you’ you wasn’t ready for allat.’”

He presses his mouth down to her throat, Blue’s bottom lip drooping even lower, her eyes screwing shut, feeling a rapture of pleasurable tears wanting to form. He still hadn’t moved.

“You gon’ take me, ain’t you?”

His tongue rolls along the skin closest to her shoulders.

Her legs vibrate in between their bodies, arousal creating a tiny puddle against the furniture, Blue knocking her head back along the sofa, trying to find words—she can’t.

“S—shit, Ony,” she trembles, “Wait…”

“Nah,” he grunts, his voice a low growl.

Deeper.

“You can,” His eyes burn into her own, tip kissing at her opening as he drags out, sopping the warm skin of her pussy.

His voice is taunting.

“This’ what you wanted, huh?”

“Ony.”

He gives a low groan when she says his name, pressing their lips together as hips sinks back in.

When their lips pull apart, his eyes lock on hers, “You so muhfuckin’ pretty, Mama.”

The compliment, his glare—it’s all too much. When she realizes she has no way out of this position, she raises her mouth up in the want of another kiss, her voice soft as she gives him a breathy whine, pouting along her mouth, moaning pitifully against Onyankopon’s lips.

His tongue coils along her own, sucking at each corner of her mouth, “Why you pouting’?”

She wraps an arm along the top of his back, pulling his face closer within her neck, allowing his nose to nudge against the warm flesh. His mouth is directly next to her ear, as hers is equally close to his own. She finds her words in a whine.

“Stretching me, baby…”

She clutches him closer in, her eyes fully rolling back as she hides her face within his shoulder, “So full…” she whimpers.

The sensation had her eyes watering, and it made her shake against his body. Onyankopon lets out a low snarl. Hearing her right beside his ear was driving him insane.

“Look how you takin’ allat’,” he murmurs, giving her a slow grind, lips dragging along her temple, “You’ hear allat’ noise?”

The noise she heard was wet—schluck, schluck, her walls bear hugging the stretch of his dick, practically sucking him farther in.

A moan. It was vulnerable, a pure sound of pleasure. She hides her face within his shoulder, opening her legs a little more, keeping his nose against her throat.

His hips now sling forward, a loud clap resounding as their thighs met. His hand grabs her thighs, pushing them upward, the new angle allowing him to go deeper inside.

“…Fuck,” she groans, placing the back of her palm against her mouth, her other fingers imbedded into his skin, “Ony, baby.”

“Ony nothin’,” he snatches a kiss from her mouth, tugging her face back to his, “Look at me.”

Her face is on fire, but she could care less. Blue’s mouth unlatched from its lock, moaning in repetitions, “Keep going. Fuck me, Fuck me, baby. F—fuck me.”

“You gon’ keep moanin’ for me like that?”

She nods, giving him a soft peck, one that made him lowly laugh along her mouth.

She pouts, “Don’t laugh.”

“Ain’t laughin’ at you, Mama. You’ just cute.”

He brings his hand up to clasp along her throat, keeping himself chest to chest with her, gyrating his hips— It makes Blue shudder, attempting to keep her eyes against his.

“Had all that fuckin’ attitude when you first met me.”

His hand clasped tighter with his words, making Blue clutch her fingers around his wrist that held her throat, whimpering, “Ony.”

“You ain’t believe a nigga when I said I liked you,” he grunts, tugging her face closer, “You got me showin’ that shit.”

“I’m sorry,” she whines, her eyes flicking back to the mirror, seeing her body folded beneath him. Her eyes are low as she’s in a pleasured haze, looking back at him as she says, “I like you so much, baby…”

“You just talkin’,” his abdomen bumps harshly with the back of her thighs, drenched in her own wetness, “We still gon’ have them’ problems when I’m done with you?”

The smack of skin against skin was soaked, Onyankopon going so deep it sent Blue’s eyes back. He could only chuckle at the sight of her, voice a low grunt against her ear, “What you gon’ say?”

He slides one arm beneath the back of her neck, the other hand going along the front of her throat. Their lips pressed together in a kiss as he murmured, “You gonna’ be my girl?” Blue’s lips trembling against his own, “You mine after this?”

It’s a particularly harsh thrust that has Blue gasp, gripping along the top of his back. Her mouth quivers, her legs mimicking as if she’d been tased.

She could only get out, “Y—yeah! Ony…”

His mouth slides down her jaw. He growls, “That nigga wasn’t doing all this to you, huh?”

Now he’s being petty. Her mind rushes to her ex, and she whimpers, “Stop it.”

The pressure from his hands has her mouth open. His low grunts were loud, a clack sounding as he pressed his forehead against her own.

Even deeper.

“You’ doing good, baby. That’s my fuckin’ big girl.”

She doesn’t know what’s happening—what she’s feeling. Her stomach coils within itself, lower body rapturing in a sense of pleasure she’s never felt before, almost to a point where it feels violent. The moan that comes from her lips is louder than she expects it to be, to a point where she grips onto him for dear life, trying to relax her body as she orgasms. Onyankopon leans himself down, capturing her clit within his mouth as he just couldn’t help himself—he eats away at her, letting the gush fall straight onto his tongue, shaking his head between the folds of her pussy to drown in the taste of her.

“Shit tastes better than that fuckin’ icing.”

Blue’s gasping.

But she doesn’t expect what he does next. Throughout her entire body responding to each touch, sound, affection he gives, Onyankopon flips her, to where she’s now on her stomach against the sofa, his chest against her back. He slaps his tip in between the parted space of her ass, nudging it between her folds all while sinking back in—When she feels her ass clap against his hips in the middle of her orgasm, Blue moans, desperately trying to pull away from him, curls falling along her face as he snatches her back.

It was an animalistic motion, his hand wrapping around the back of her neck, shoving her face into the corner of the couch.

“You runnin’ from me?”

He’s using his elbow to slam her down, her pussy squelching with each pull. Blue can see herself from the mirror, and it makes her pout, looking directly at Onyankopon, reaching her arm back as she whimpered, “N—no, B—baby…”

“You tryna’ take my pussy away?”

“No, Ony.”

His mouth goes back down to her skin, breath hot against her spine, “You want it slower?”

She adjusts her legs, arching her back as she turns her head to meet his. She begs, “Slower, yeah, need to feel it like that.”

The hand she places along his abdomen, he catches, using that as leverage to give her the slow pound she was looking for. His hips slowly pull back, rocking forward.

Blue hisses, going back to the mirror, “Just like that, baby...”

Onyankopon could feel Blue fluttering around him, he groaned against her ear, “Just like this?”

The question alone makes her nod, his groans making her stomach twist.

“You hear me, Mama?”

Her back arches more, her face shoving into the sofa’s material to release a loud moan that's muffled within the pillows. Her eyes screwed shut as he clutched her hair, tugging her face upwards.

His voice was low, “Look at us.”

Blue’s eyes come open, seeing their frames colliding together. She’s able to tug his upper half down, twisting her body to somewhat face him, wrapping her hand along the back of his neck as she pulls his face close to hers.

“Stay here,” she lightly gasps, “Here.”

One of his hands is tangled in her curls, the other hand clamping her face, lips a mere inch between each other. This way, he could watch her. Blue’s eyes looked over him, and she watched back.

“Spank me,” she whimpered, “Please.”

“I thought you ain’t beg?”

That question.

Her freckled cheeks return to warmth. She gives him a soft kiss, “Please, Ony. Please.”

His smirk grows, Onyankopon slamming his hand against the skin of her ass, shaking the ripping flesh, the sound reverberating against the walls. Blue sultrily giggles, her eyes narrowing, hips beginning to fuck him back, wanting him to receive the pleasure he’d been giving her. He was rocking along with her, hand gripping onto her ass with the other hand pushing against her back.

His voice was low when he spoke, “You know I love how you look at me, right?”

Blue’s eyes were a haze, a small breath coming out while swirling her hips, “So handsome, baby. Can’t help it,” her curls hang along her face, Blue mindlessly blowing them out the way.

“What’ I do to deserve you?”

That’s when he places a foot along the couch for a better grip, keeping Blue’s legs straight below him, once again having her stuck—His hips are dropping down, the sound of her ass applauding back on his dick so loud that it causes her mouth to completely part open. She’s unable to hold herself back, face twisted within the mirror as she released, “Ungh, fuck—baby, Ony…I’m cumming…”

“You ain’t gotta’ tell me,” he hushes, biting down on her shoulder, nearly sinking his entire bottom lip into her skin, “I know. Cum all on this muhfuckin’ dick.”

His palm clasps along her mouth, sounds still pushing out between his fingers, her face drenched with tears, eyes rolling back as she sobbed beneath him. She couldn’t stop looking within the mirror at him, pleasure, an admiration too full to hide.

He made her watch, his hand gripping under her chin, forcing her head upward to watch their bodies connect. It made him grip her hair tighter.

“You watchin’?”

“I’m watching.”

The mirror showed everything—Onyankopon had her in a complete lock.

His toned was breathless as he moaned, “Fuck, I’m finna’ bust.”

Their lips met, tongues tangling together, groans coming from deep within their throats.

Her scream swallows down his mouth, his deep moan hidden under the skin of her throat as he places his face there, the warmth of his cum spurting the tightness of her walls. It felt all the more real, the symphony of their bodies coming together like a song on loop—never ending.

The music humming along the room returns to her ears, the scent of icing all along her skin. Blue tries to control her breathing as she drags his palm to gently hang along her face, glancing around his chest as she sees the scratches against his skin.

“…Sorry.”

Her voice is breathless, wanting to pull him down for another kiss.

“What’chu apologizing for?” His voice is a low husk, eyes piercing into her own, “You got me good.”

Blue’s chest heaved, Onyankopon’s thumb pushing down against the swell of her bottom lip. He grunts, “You need a minute.”

“No,” She’s wiggling, “Wanna’ keep going.”

His eyebrows raise, “I ain’t do you in like I needed to?”

That’s when she gives a tired giggle. She might’ve lied, as her eyes feel extremely heavy. Her palm grazes his chin, “I’m not gonna’ admit to that.”

“Still stubborn as hell,” he murmurs, catching her lips within his.

He scans her eyes, seeing that they’ve become lighter now. He couldn’t stop looking at her.

He then says, “Ion’ think I ever said thank you for helping me out.”

Blue runs her thumb along his mouth, her voice soft, “It’s my job. You don’t have to thank me.”

He stares at her, “Nah.”

His fingers sink into her hair, “You had my back,” He continues, “You meant it when you said you was gon’ make sure I was good. I’d never had someone like that before,” His voice is a hushed whisper, “So thank you, forreal’.”

He leans down, pressing his lips along her own again, “Imma’ make sure to have yours, Blue.”

Instead of her heart fluttering this time, it explodes. To think she hadn’t taken this man seriously before, she had no reason to not to take her chance with him.

She gives a soft smile, “You’re such a lil’ sweetie. You wanna go finish baking?”

He shakes his head, “I’m comfortable,” he murmurs, “Just lemme’ be here like this. I’ll buy the whole muhfuckin’ Whole Foods for you when I wake up.”

Her giggle is like a lullaby, pretty, which makes him chuckle.

But of course, Onyankopon had to ruin the moment.

“So you my girl now, huh? I mean—you said it while I was in your shit. You was like ‘Yeah, Ony, Ugnh!’—“

“Onyankopon!”

“Imma’ love hearing that all the time,” he sighs, “Night, Mama.”

#ony x black reader #onyankopon x black reader smut #onyankopon fluff #ony smut #onyankopon x you #onyakapon #onyankapon #onyankopon x black y/n #onyankopon x reader #aot onyankopon #aot smut

1K notes · View notes