#tr:fwb

[siyadrunkrecs]

this is honestly probably my most fav chapter. just the comfort, not just from the couple themselves but people around them, the possible direction of this story - everything was perfection. for all the pain that rid has caused us over the past few chapters, this FINALLY healed me 🥺

the ending had me LITERALLY PUNCHING MY FIST IN THE AIR, AND IM SO EXCITED TO SEE WHERE HER JOURNEY TAKES HER!! it was a very very unique twist to the story, one that i definitely was not expecting! she was BOSS BITCH to do that and we expect nothing less from her 😤😤😤 this is literally my comfort couple, so thank you for another masterpiece of a chapter love 💛

colour me in: redraft | jjk (m)

Summary: The calm is more appreciated after a storm. Life with Jungkook proves to you that sometimes, joy can, in fact, overshadow grief. Yet, not without confronting and removing all hurdles standing in your way once and for all.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating; some tame angst, sooo much fluff, smut ➳ warnings: new relationshippppp, so much hugging and kissing, yoongi!! tae!!, tears, abandonment issues, talk about social anxiety (just briefly and nothing serious!), jungkook drops a big question :'), a surprise in the middle, a surprise near the end, and then a SURPRISE at the end lol, many surprises, they're so crazy for each other it's gross; explicit sexual content: okay – kook is wearing a chain.. this vibe :'), making out, showering together, shower sex, spanking, biting, oral (f. & m. receiving), fingering, mouth/face f*cking, mirrorssss, he likes her ass and tiddies, tears, choking, v brief ass stuff, rough and soft sex, dom and big cawk jk, vocal jk, multiple orgasms, they're simps; ALSO YEAH THE ENDING :') ➳ word count: 25.3k ➳ a/n: so when i said this chapter would be shorter… welp lol. but i still think it introduces the next arc really well. i kinda love the ending!! .. and the next part will be </3 :'''') as always beta'd by my lovely @missgeniality 🤍 i hope you guys like this one a lot. worked my ass off for this fr :') if you do, please do support the chapter and interact with me, too, it makes my day <3➳ listen to: i need u by yaeow | full collaborative playlist 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs | DC SERVER

Monday morning’s breakfast is awkward. Or at least, the very first minute of it.

The hands of your watch drift to 9 AM; you should’ve expected you wouldn’t be occupying the dining table alone. Your parents, sipping the last of their coffee, aren’t that much of a surprise after all.

You breathe a quiet breath of relief when their eyes dart towards your timid forms at the threshold, then back to the table. And a moment later, they’re pushing their chairs back across the marble floor before they clear the path to breakfast for the two of you.

Your father acknowledges you with a brief, polite nod on his way out, even flashing a similarly quick smile. Ingenuine, because his glance, fleeting when directed to you, is as disappointed as your Mom’s behind him.

Today, you understand. Somewhere in the depths of your recovering mind, you feel upset about shitfacing yourself so thoroughly, too.

You haven’t seen your mother in over two days. Jungkook’s post-showcase confessions brought you to Eun, and the next morning you barely scanned your room before you left for her place again.

Guess the momentary encounter in the hallway doesn’t quite count; you could hardly crack your eyes open. Combined with half the dozen naps you took in your locked room the very next day, you won’t exactly expect pride from her right now.

Until now, as she advances towards your body, you didn’t consider much of her side; you stayed focused on the other occurrences passing after sunset. Moments whose scent your sheets still carry.

As your mother comes to a stand, you prepare your vocal cords, breathing in to explain yourself until you realise that she isn’t looking at you at all. Her eyes are firmly glued to Jungkook’s face, devoid of enmity for once.

Instead, she flattens her dress, sighing through her red-tinted lips before she nods towards him and simply says, “Thank you.”

And that’s it. A little breathtaking, entirely new.

You’re dumbfounded when she leaves; Jungkook doesn’t manage a single word. You imagine that if you’re baffled, he’s probably rethinking her words to assure he didn’t hallucinate them.

But neither of you did. And the silence lingering for a couple more seconds proves the depth of reality; not that you’ll change your mind about leaving your place. But the hint of appreciation, shot directly at him is a pleasant first nevertheless.

Breakfast is patient but fast. The quiet atmosphere doesn’t derive from the night before or what your mother just left you with, but from the emotional fatigue slowly dropping off your shoulders.

Jungkook lets you feast in peace, a soft palm rubbing over the back of your hand every now and then to assure you’re okay. And you are. You’re getting used to these changes.

To this alternative to whatever you feared before. A chance to erase all words and start on a blank page; a white canvas, waiting for vibrant colours instead of monochrome gloom.

Yet, despite the tranquillity last night, still present in the air and in your aching limbs, you don’t understand the sincerity of all the confessions he uttered until you leave.

Because breathing in your car isn’t as suffocating as it was the last few weeks. Back when you’d navigate through the town alone, the passenger seat empty. Or when you plucked up the courage and drove to the showcase numbly.

Or when the pain pierced through your chest; when your drunk ass thought the world would  remain blue forever.

All of it is gone when you buckle up, shifting in your seat as you announce, “Okay. Let’s finally get you home.”

The engine roars for a moment, the car trembling, but you only register the knot in your throat when he says, “Feels so unfair of me. Having my girl drive me around so much.”

You don’t miss the endearment; neither the way your heart skips a beat.

Incapable of a proper reaction, you clear your throat and stutter, all at once and oddly in succession until you settle on a weak, “Why unfair?”

“Because. You do it a lot.”

You really do not. The night the museum closed and you dropped him off at your place was one of a few times; besides, he’s operated your vehicle more than enough before, too.

But you don’t contradict him, instead lightly suggest, “Well, you can drive if you want.”

You’re relieved when he joins your smile, dimples ever-so-sweet and genuine as he promises, “It’s fine. I’ll just stare at you.”

The shudder along your spine is delightful — relentless, he keeps your nerves alight. Perhaps he’s back to the self you knew pre-broken-hearts, playful and teasing, but the effect of his words curses through your veins hotter than ever.

“That’s creepy,” you still retort; you’ll gladly keep fighting this sweet, awkward battle against compliments for life, unaware how to handle them. “And it makes me nervous.”

“Sorry.”

Jungkook laughs, the back of two fingers reaching to your cheek to graze it featherlightly. Maybe he feels the heat beneath your skin, enhanced through his touch.

By now, you’ve spent a year with him — as a party fling, a class frenemy and a blue flower. But each second ticking away brings a new wave of soft, shy speechlessness. New honeymoon emotions.

The certainty of his reciprocated feelings, the fact that you’re finally on the same page, makes you rethink his tender confessions and touches differently. Makes you navigate the relationship differently.

His eyes drift back to the quiet, narrow street, surrounded by houses and blooming gardens. Probably as tired of the idyllic utopia as you, he doesn’t spare the suburban setting any more attention.

He only lets a flat hand rub against his thighs, nipping at his clothing as he says, “God, I can’t wait to get out of these damn joggers.”

Right. While not a main focus, you did find the special attire at breakfast today quite amusing.

“Did you even get to shower since picking me up?” you ask.

“Yeah. When you were napping again yesterday. Just gotta wash my hair later tonight.”

Hmm. You spent half your day knocked out; Jungkook could’ve circled the world and you wouldn’t have known.

“Oh. Good.”

The road proceeds straight, emptier near the suburbs. You allow a reckless glance before tackling busy streets; his eyes meet yours in curiosity, hair even messier than the night he met you in front of the bar.

When he left his apartment in joggers and an old shirt, mane untamed and no extra clothing at hand, he probably didn’t expect to abandon his place for so long. It gives you solace that he doesn’t regret it.

You drop the million memories of yesterday’s sunset burning into your eyes and everything that introduced it. The drunk words and the begging.

And then drop everything that followed afterwards; more pleading, more touching, more confessions that were in no way uttered through inebriate but not quite through sobriety either.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks.

You drop all the remembrances to focus on the moment; just to make sure that it’s real. So you ask, “Why didn’t you wash your hair there, too?”

For a moment, you see a flicker in his eyes, short-lived and quick; and his answer shoots out even more rapidly, “Just so.”

He emphasises his admission with a shrug of his shoulder, but it’s not nearly as convincing as he anticipates. Not buying a word, you push again, “C’mon.”

“I swear.”

“I’m curious now, though.”

There’s a momentary drop of silence before Jungkook hums, thinking as though he’s crafting a plausible excuse. Then, he says, “I didn’t wanna be away for too long.”

“…Why?”

“Why would I want to be?”

Ah…

Hmm. Well, maybe that’s enough for now.

Maybe he’s still not used to laying his secrets open. Maybe you need to practise patience, too, and stop digging like that.

You know that’s not all there is, but you certainly understand that it’s not a lie after all. Despite the pause and the obvious way his brain racked for a reason, his tone is genuine. You’ve experienced his insecurities before — that’s not what it was this time.

So you focus on the steering wheel instead, turning it left and away from the truck you drove way too close to. Your distraction might kill you — right there, next to you, clearing his throat and sitting up.

“Oh,” he says, segueing, and you let him, “wait, I forgot. Could we stop by at Yoongi’s for a sec? I wanted to see how he’s been doing.”

An abrupt change in topics, but not too abstract. As someone merely acquainted with the man, you’ve been collecting info on his state from Jimin; of course Jungkook would drop by personally.

You take a look at your digital watch; it’s barely ten and you don’t need to get away before 10:45. Taehyung agreed to meet with you to accompany you to your new potential flat again, so you should have time for a detour.

But.

“Is he…” you start, “gonna be okay with me being there?”

“Why?”

“I mean, just ‘cause… You know. We weren’t the closest for a while.”

Jungkook’s forehead wrinkles in new perplexion, muttering a few words. It takes a couple seconds — but eventually, he figures out that you’re not referring to Yoongi and yourself, and his expression changes immediately.

To subtle pain, you’d guess, like he doesn’t want to relive the memory. Like it never happened; like you weren’t two pieces of the same shattered heart this entire time.

But then he sighs, a hand wandering to your thigh. He kneads it softly, as a reminder to himself and to you that the past isn’t transpiring right now; that you’ve finally breathed and waded through it.

His optimism is encouraging when he says, “Nah. He thinks you’re cool.”

“I guess,” you mumble. You tap the steering wheel nervously, lips in a thin line before you add a hushed, “And if not, that’s alright, isn’t it? Like, hey, as long as you like me? Yeah, I shouldn’t overthink it…”

Jungkook releases air through his nose. You perceive a subtle shake of his head, as if to scold you, hear him say earnestly but gently, “Don’t worry about me. I don’t just like you.”

And whether casual or not, his words engulf your body immediately, like a soothing warm touch across your chest, yet effectively freezing your beating heart in place.

You can’t pinpoint whether the weight of his own words ever affects him as much as it affects you, or whether harbouring these emotions has become a familiar habit to him. At least to you, his tone is conversational and promising, perhaps even subliminally reassuring.

“At the very least,” he continues, “he’ll never disapprove of you the way Jimin disapproves of me.”

Which… snaps you back into reality for a second.

Your friend’s name is connected to more than mere dislike for the man next to you; currently, you think of dark nights and lamp-lit streets. After-midnight shenanigans and near tears in your own car, driven by the man who broke and mended your heart.

It reminds you of a blurry picture; two guys standing near an entrance, the older of them patting the other’s shoulder; smiling at him.

You do wonder if it was a fabrication of your mind.

“Forget Jimin,” you tell Jungkook, speech broken when you take another left and resumed when broader streets start. “Also. He did say he’s growing fond of you.”

“Because you like me. I still need to prove my worth to him.”

You tut.

“Kook, you don’t need to do anything. He’ll come around eventually. Just be you.”

“It’s fine, honestly.” He leans in, nudging your elbow, echoing you with a teasing undertone as he says, “As long as you like me.”

You love it when the initial nature of your relationship breaks through the mist of newfound passion; when you find the foundation of what you were, remembering how you landed here.

Which is why you bite back a laugh the moment you suppress a sassy, teasing remark, as if on reflex. One steer shy from pulling into a parking lot, you breathe out. If you halted here now, you’d kiss him, you’re sure.

But you merely laugh, squinting your eyes as you say, “You’re okay.”

Yoongi’s apartment, now inhabited by only one instead of two people, lies a couple miles from the campus. Jungkook guides you through the streets, jumping from one harmless topic to another — you reach his friend’s place a lot faster than you expected.

The building stands at a quiet place, surrounded by mid-high trees that give the grey colour of the complex a bit of liveliness. You walk to the entrance laughing about something stupid, a subtle nudge of his shoulder here, you pushing against his arm there.

But despite the familiarity and whatever occurred last weekend, it’s still odd jumping into the girlfriend role just yet. The word itself won’t even roll off your tongue very easily so far because you can’t believe a thing about this new reality.

So your hand dangles next to his awkwardly. Your thoughts keep drifting, registering half his sentence at times. What-if situations of gentle kisses and upcoming nights spent together tighten your chest.

Jungkook’s speech is clear and fluent, so you don’t know what your impact on him is exactly. At least he’s made sure you do have one on him — but you still wish you had a map through his mind to understand every thought he houses for you. Every emotion.

On the way up you feel a little dizzy; whether it’s due to the circular shape of the staircase or his proximity, you don’t know. You only realise that something’s still bothering you when you’re halfway up, coming to a halt with one foot on the next step.

“Okay, seriously,” you say, and he turns to you immediately, puzzled as he drops to the same level as you. Close to you.

“What?”

“You said you didn’t wanna leave,” you repeat, still stuck on the hair washing and staying longer thought, “why not?”

The answer could be simple. Could be rooted in emotions and the confessions you later uttered — but there must be something more. You saw it in the brief feeling flashing across his eyes, sitting in the passenger’s seat with silence sealing his lips.

Maybe something happened… because something always happens.

“You’re still thinking about that?” Jungkook questions, eyes wide in disbelief; lips pouting.

“No secrets, right?”

This seems to snap him out of all mysteries, last night’s conversation travelling to the forefront of his mind. But something about your curiosity amuses him. He wraps the fingers of his left hand around the staircase reeling, head dropping with a delicate smile.

His hair hides his eyes, but you know they’re sparkling; voice a mild drizzle when he starts, “It’s…” He draws in, inked digits touching your elbow before moving up your arm absentmindedly. “Don’t worry so much. It’s nothing harmful at all.”

You wait. Let his thumb graze your neck, up to your chin.

He sighs, almost exasperated in a way. “You speak in your sleep, you know?”

Wait. What?

You blink, thoughts disoriented. The staircase is dimly lit, but you recognise the slight upward curve of his lips; more empathetic than teasing.

So you still do?

“Huh?” you make.

“I think you dreamed of waking up a couple times? You hadn’t, though, and it’d always be something about being alone again.”

Again.

The word reverberates through your mind, dragging and stretching. Didn’t you once read that a broken heart is akin to serious rehab, accompanied by withdrawal symptoms and slowly healing scars?

You guess your heart was hurting more than you already knew.

“Okay,” you say, nodding when he does, thumb lifting your head when you drop it. You swallow thickly. “What did I say exactly?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t know anymore. Something about me leaving. And I was scared of waking you up while gone ‘cause you’d actually think I’d left.”

You hum. Allow yourself a moment to process the info; you seek out fragments of your dreams, but you draw a blank. You feel guilty about his concerns, yet relieved. Vulnerable. And somewhat reassured.

“I’m sorry,” you finally say.

Your voice is barely above a whisper — less because of the conversation. More because of the touch on your cheek. It’s soft against your skin, and you shiver. The flutter in your chest is only just bearable.

That’s the thing about falling in love. It’s sweet — so much sometimes that it twists your guts. You’re in so deep, you could hurl.

“Nah. You don’t need to worry about this anymore, okay?” he murmurs.

His eyes dig into yours. Dark and shiny through his healthy tresses, livelier than ever. Sincere. 

You, on the other hand, must look unconvinced without intending to, because his mouth aligns with yours soon after.

He exhales, tilting his head, and says, “Look,” leans in, leaves a featherlight kiss against your cheek, right next to his thumb, “I mean it.”

Guess being with him comes with occasional mental blackouts. And regular arrhythmia. The palpitations behind your ribs are almost ridiculous; instead of gripping your own chest, you grasp his shirt immediately.

Lightly, as if you could collapse without this anchor.

He lets you pull him closer just a little, whispering as if someone could hear, “What’s wrong?”

Vulnerability hidden, you blink again, and joke, “Nothing. Just thought you were gonna kiss me.”

Jungkook smiles. His nose brushes against yours, toying a bit, and his bunny teeth make him look somewhat younger when he voices, “You want me to kiss you?”

“I always do.”

Your grin is playful, but your heart is pounding in your chest. Who would’ve thought the journey from a car to an apartment could be so long, so thrilling?

His snicker is gentle and canorous, knees careful against yours. Your heartbeat accelerates some more, rose-tinted lips opting towards their goal. You part your mouth, ready with a deep breath.

But the two of you are always subject to disturbances — so you’re disappointed but not surprised when you hear rushed steps on top of the staircase, strolling down and crossing your path just when Jungkook backs away.

The stranger passes by you with initial surprise in his eyes, not expecting you, but soon gets over it and drops his gaze again. And once he’s gone, Jungkook winks, a hand on your back pushing you forward gently.

“Later,” he says.

You know as you ascend the stairs.

Know that with the ease with which you handle your feelings for each other, you’ll strive towards a future where you won’t be haunted by dreams of being alone. Where you won’t fear his departure, and where his kisses won’t be interrupted by this cruel world.

The building reminds you of when you’d frequent the dorm you used to know. The walls and hallways are similarly built, narrow and somewhat cheap. They look like most buildings from the inside do, honestly, but you like the pleasant illusion the nostalgia brings.

Even the bathrooms are located near the end of the hallways; Jungkook once told you that Tae and Yoongi have their own kitchen, unlike him back when he still housed his dorm. But there’s a communal bathroom here, too; allegedly one reason why Tae moved out.

The only thing that separates this place from Jungkook’s old dorm is the subtle difference in scent. Not pure testosterone.

You smile.

The mood doesn’t match with what you felt back in June at all.

Back when you stomped to Jungkook’s dorm, furious about yet another insignificant issue, you didn’t think your fingers would ever be brushing his like they are now. Or when you escaped the rain and entered the building’s warmth, your umbrella leaving behind a trail of raindrops.

Your relationships, your priorities, your emotions. Your universe changed faster than the seasons.

As you walk past a random door, Jungkook cranes his neck, staring as if he could x-ray-glare a hole into it and glance at what lays behind it. Perhaps he’s thinking back, too.

You don’t know about all the things he experienced throughout the years there. Part of your heart stings because you remember you weren’t the only girl who ever frequented his place.

But you still left an impression — if the current status of your relationship isn’t proof of it, then the sudden touch along the back of your hand certainly is. A thumb following a vein blindly, opting to grasp your palm into his, yet retracting when you finally come to a stand.

The digit caressing your skin lifts to the door, and his knuckles knock three times, rhythmically. Your chest constricts as you jump back into the moment, probably half as nervous as you’d be if you met Jungkook’s parents.

A moment stretches as you wait for Yoongi to open, allowing yourself just another spiralling thought as you imagine actually daring a meeting with Jungkook’s parents. It’s too early to think about it, isn’t it?

It’s just.

Since yesterday, you’ve created a dozen different scenarios in your head, ranging from a civil, calm conversation with his father to a full snap. Half of you wants to know his genuine thoughts on his son’s sorrows; the other half wants to rage and then bolt away.

Ugh.

When the door swings open, your hand flashes to Jungkook’s. A startled instinct, even though nothing about the action was surprising or scary. But he doesn’t mind — of course he doesn’t.

His eyes rush to yours for a second, warm and somewhat thrilled, his smile permanent. And then he looks back at his friend, quietly squeezing your palm, the shy smile soft as he greets, “You’re walking without clutches, huh?”

Yoongi doesn’t respond right away. He looks from Jungkook to you and back. His gaze isn’t very telling, but you find amusement in it. If you weren’t so ridiculously and inexplicably nervous about his upcoming statement, you’d laugh.

Intently, he grants a peek at your entwined hands, and when he looks at the two of you again, he starts…

Smiling.

Gummies all out, a tiny laugh thrown in between before he says, “Ohoho. You’re here, too?”

The smile turns into a sly grin, a hand clutching the frame of the door. You guess he’s not as balanced after all. Possibly just abandoned his clutches for the short way from the couch to the door.

“I can totally go,” you tell him, the teasing tone missing; soft and small instead.

“Why in the world would you?” Yoongi steps aside carefully, nodding the two of you inside. You oblige, hearing his voice behind you jest, “Now, would you look at that. Did I do that?”

Jungkook automatically drops on the chair at the tiny dining table, like he’s arrived home, and you follow; make yourself comfortable on the seat next to him. There are three chairs, as though carefully chosen for the pair of friends who used to live together and a guest.

Next to you, Jungkook huffs, leaning back as he watches his friend plop onto the chair in front of him, and asks, “How would you’ve done that?”

“Well, you guys gathered at the hospital because of me.”

Right. Good point.

If he just knew how that night played out. Actually, you think he just might, yet not quite aware of its severity.

“Not because of you,” Jungkook promises, “I just charmed her again.”

You laugh. So does Yoongi.

He isn’t irritated or taken aback by the younger’s boldness; in truth, he seems entertained. Arms crossed, eyes small and grin wide. He half mocks, “The young ones are charming for sure these days.”

“Spoken like a true Grandpa,” Jungkook remarks. You press your lips into a thin line, but with a faint smile. You only listen; you’re in the territory of two friends who spend their time roasting each other. You’re not on that level yet, so you observe. “But I had to.”

“You had to, huh?” you joke. Okay, observation broken. Your body tilts towards him. “You didn’t need any of your charm for… this. But still good to know.”

Because you would’ve been putty in his hands, no matter what — charm or not.

"Can confirm," Yoongi agrees, nodding towards his friend, "that he was also a proper mess the last couple weeks. Very out of character."

Your eyes roll to the side to catch a glimpse of him, but the moment you detect the rosy dust on Jungkook's cheeks, you avert your gaze immediately.

Admittedly, the guilt in the middle of your chest is undeniable. But there's comfort in knowing you were never the only half who was deeply, perpetually falling.

Yoongi scratches his temple, doesn't meet your eyes; possibly shy when it comes to conversations like these. But he sounds warm and gentle when he says, "I'm really glad you guys are back."

You’re similarly timid, feeling strange. As if someone’s congratulating you on a fresh marriage. Or maybe that’s just the emotion you want, need to feel.

You say, “Thanks.” And then, ever-so-terrible with compliments, add a little, “Let’s say it was you. Double thank you to the man of the hour.”

Yoongi pulls a grimace hitherto unseen; it doesn’t faze Jungkook, but the Joker-esque grin and wide-eyed nod have you bursting into laughter. His friends are pleasant, you think.

If there was a way to lure Jimin in and convince him of this group’s collective appeal, you wouldn’t hesitate. There’s only a limited time you want him to play the petty, protective friend.

��So, how have you been?” Jungkook eventually asks.

Yoongi rubs the corner of his eye, stretching his injured leg under the table, “Never better. The bank is surviving without me. Besides, I haven’t gotten around to making some music in a while.”

“Tae did tell me you were enjoying your days off.”

Jungkook reacts with a tiny chuckle, but your eyes widen. You let him finish his sentence, and then spit, “Wait, wait. You make music?”

“Oh, I mean… I’m not any good,” he explains, wiggling a hand, a little startled as if he forgot you didn’t know yet. “I just. Make a few beats every now and then and write my own bars and stuff.”

“Wait, rap?” You stare between the boys, to and fro, only a little offended that you didn’t know you had a brooding future musician in your midst. “Can I hea—”

“No.” The answer is immediate. You pout. “Before you ask, I am way too much of a coward.”

“He’s amazing,” Jungkook intrudes.

And you whine, “Unfair, Yoongi.”

He imitates your expression, leaning back, copying your stance, and answers in the same childlike tone, “Warm up to me first! I’ll show it to you one day.”

“One day I’m gon’st hear it,” you declare, overly dramatic with your chin up, “you have my taste in music, you know? I know I’ll like it.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“I can try.”

Yoongi blows a raspberry. You’re not sure what you expected; maybe subtle hostility. But the sense of casual camaraderie is refreshing; lounging comfortably in his living room was a picture far from your mind until now, and you think he enjoys the unforeseen gathering, too.

Because after a moment of stillness, a faint smile touches his lips, his voice back to normal and deep as he remarks, “It’s nice that you guys came. I get bored here a lot.”

Right. You kept wondering.

You don’t dive into the matter immediately, instead drenching your voice in a teasing lilt, “Even though Jimin visits you?”

“Shut up.” Mock exasperation rolls his eyes as Jungkook appreciates your joke, one foot pressing against yours under the table. “No. It’s just been lonely since Tae moved out. It’s a two people thing with two bedrooms.”

He shrugs his shoulders, attention fully on you. Jungkook either doesn’t have much to say or doesn’t want to interrupt. Only listens.

“Living here alone feels like I’m wasting space and money,” Yoongi finishes.

Curiosity piqued, you probe, “What did Tae say when he left?”

“He offered to let me move in with him. But that’d be pointless.”

“Why so?”

“He’s awesome for offering, but I think he wanted his own place, you know? Why would I intrude then? But I did tell him I’d look for another place.”

“Have you been?” you ask. You still remember how happy Taehyung looked last time you met him alone.

How he spoke so highly of a life on his own, gladly interrupted by the occasional visits Eun granted him. Yoongi, you think, would probably benefit from acquiring his own place, too — one that doesn’t remind him that someone left him behind, inhabiting a vacant space thought for two.

“Every now and then,” Yoongi admits. “Will think about it some more once my leg’s healed.”

You nod in understanding, a thoughtful hum escaping your lips. Yoongi soon leans forward, naked arms on top of the table, and delves into a discussion about the rising costs of rent.

He outlines the challenges of finding the right place in the bustling city, and explains his worries about the empty space in a too-large apartment. And you listen intently.

But as minutes pass, you can’t help but notice the contemplative silence Jungkook has fallen into.

It’s always the same with him — thoughts you can’t read, questions you need to postpone.

Because you do glance over at him, observe the distracted furrow of his brow, the distant look in his eyes. You understand he’s once again lost in unknown thoughts, and you sense how jumbled his mind must be.

But you still decide to hold off for the moment, out of respect for the ongoing conversation. You don’t focus on addressing his apparent preoccupation until it keeps going until later, way after you’ve bid Yoongi goodbye.

“Why do you seem so reserved?” you ask in the car, his home your new destination.

It must be around quarter past ten; you should still be able to meet Tae within half an hour. Yet, despite the brooding rush, you can’t help but wanna drag out the ride, finish this conversation.

“Hm?” he voices.

Did he not hear you? Maybe.

You sigh, seeking an available parking spot. You’ve already turned into his street, way past the park, halting close to his entrance. The engine dies, sudden silence inside the vehicle.

“Okay,” you turn towards him, forearm against the wheel. “You’re a lot less enthusiastic now. What’s up?”

He looks distracted. Drags his teeth over his full, pink lower lip hard enough for you to repeat, “Hey. What’s wrong?”

“Uh.” Cue big boba eyes flitting to you. “I was just. Thinking about something.”

“Wanna share?”

“Yeah. Yeah, uhm. I swear I’m not trying to be mysterious, just. Not sure how to phrase it.”

He’s easing himself into this whole thing. The entire opening up act and being fearless with his feelings. So you don’t push him, but encourage, “Try. If not now, then maybe later, though?”

“No, no. Now is fine.” He frees his eyes off the dark bangs when he shakes his head a little, preparing to voice his hidden thoughts. Then, he breathes, “Yeah, so…”

One more second.

And.

“What if you dropped your plans of moving into that apartment?”

Oh. What?

Does he mean what you think he means…

There are only two options, right? And you choose to go with the one that would embarrass you less if it turned out wrong.

“Should I… do you think I should stay with my family?” you ask, your voice cautious.

But when his hands shoot up, immediately denying your assumption with round eyes, you breathe out through your nose. Relieved when he clarifies, “No, not at all. I mean, it’s up to you, but that’s not what I meant.”

So then…

“So you’re saying—”

He interrupts, rushing before he can back down, “Move in with me. And Yoongi could take the apartment you were considering.”

Fuck. 

You didn’t expect your heart to jump up to your throat like that. It’s a day full of brief heart failures. You barely know how to react anymore.

You stare. Then stare a bit more. And eventually, you simply ask, “Really?”

“Yeah, I mean…” He gulps, averting your gaze all of a sudden before it lands back on yours. You chuckle quietly, unprompted, and it boosts his confidence. “You stayed at mine for days and it worked. It could… you know— keep working.”

The suggestion lingers like a fresh breeze, grazing your cheeks and twirling around you like a soothing force. He beams — though subtle, he seems to interpret the simultaneous rise of your eyebrows and your lips immediately.

Still, he inquires, “I don’t know… too soon?”

Technically yes. But then again, no. Because he’s right — you’ve already experienced a piece of heaven, tasted the bliss of domesticity with Jeon Jungkook.

“You really are serious about this, yeah?”

“Only if you want me to be,” he counters, less tense than before, but a hand rubbing in nervous circles over his knee, “if not, then I was absolutely joking.”

An awkward, little chortle fills the small space of the car; you shake your head, teeth out and smile bright. There’s sweetness in knowing that his affection is real. That the thought of shared future pains, joys and days — that it’s all actually become so unbelievably real.

The car is cool in the shadow, but you feel a strange heat coursing through your body. At the end of the street, you see the sunlight brighten the moment he laughs. Fitting.

The crinkly eye smile softens when he reaches for your hand, pulling it off the wheel and wrapping it in his. There’s an automatic reaction in your chest, a constant racing when he says, “I mean it, though.”

Brief pause. He looks down to your fingers.

“I think I got used to having you there. And then, at Yoongi’s I had this… I don’t know, overwhelming urge to tell you. That,” his teeth worry his lip, releasing it softly, “I want you next to me for as long as possible.”

You understand.

He means every minute that society and norms don’t force you out of the house. At nights and in the mornings, on off days and holidays. To fall asleep next to his presence, to wake up on the same mattress, too.

And the longing is undeniable; you know that it is. But you’re already swamped with decisions as it is — could you call off the apartment right here, right now? Rethink all you discussed with the landlord, Taehyung or yourself?

Life decisions are harder than that, and despite all the wants infiltrating your body, you can’t dive into this without a couple more following thoughts.

You keep gazing into his smouldering eyes, more intense when he looks up. Let their effect send a thrill down your spin, a surge of yearning through your veins. 

And then, you acknowledge the need for prudence. You savour the moment, let the anticipation built, and flash a sultry smile to ensure that, yes, if not now, then one damn day, I’ll be yours entirely.

“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything to work more than this,” you admit, “but I need to—”

You halt. Words come hard to you these days; and the two of you are sensitive. It’s not easy to reunite after weeks of overthinking and distance; and you don’t want to provide more reasons to overthink.

But you forget that as sensitive as Jungkook is, he’s just as understanding and gentle, too.

Because he says, “You need to think. And I know you can’t just pack your things and move over, I just— I wanted it out there.”

“I know. I know.”

“And I,” he continues, “I actually thought you were gonna say no right away since you’re getting out of your childhood home just now, so naturally, you would wanna be alone for a while and—”

You lean forward, pulling your hands out of his grip. His eyes shoot down, baffled and confused, but you don’t give him a second to think or speak. In a moment’s notice, his cheeks are squished between your palms, his bunny face now akin to a duck.

“I don’t want to be alone. I’ve been alone all my life,” you tell him; Jungkook eyebrows furrow in empathy and worry, but you smile, “I don’t wanna be anymore.”

His expression and voice are dorky when he speaks, first words incomprehensible. You let go, watching the red splotches on his cheek, and he repeats, “Is that a yes?”

“It’s… I don’t know. A to be continued.”

“I’ll live with that.”

You don’t know if it’s the electrifying prospect of a life together or the confidence he follows his statement up with, but the insanity burns wild in your head. Untamed and dizzying.

“And I’ll wait for however long.”

“I didn’t even ask, I’m sorry… but are you starting work later today?”

You stand in the middle of Taehyung’s living room, a hand over your eyes to protect them from the bright sunlight. He’s busy piling the saucers and the cups, and you wait as he drags a vocal in thought.

“No, no. I’m off today.” He stands, and you automatically walk the short distance to the kitchen, lingering at the door frame. “Need the afternoon for an appointment at the doc. So yeah.”

“Oh. Everything okay?”

He doesn’t speak yet, dishes in the wash basin too loud. They clink and rattle; the moment you’ll move to an apartment by yourself, you’ll have to wash them yourself, too.

Maybe you can make your place as aesthetically pleasing and beige as Taehyung did. You don’t know — you couldn’t imagine much today nor discuss further details about the contract and rent and general house rules.

The landlord bailed on you last second. And Taehyung sacrificed over an hour that he could’ve spent keeping Eun company between her morning lessons.

You apologised the second you entered his apartment instead, thankful for the invitation to tea, yet harbouring guilt for wasting his time. But Taehyung proved incredibly kind, waving off your concerns immediately.

He asked, playfully offended, “So you’re saying a tea party with me is a waste of time?” And then he laughed, immediately shaking his head, “Nah. It’s fine. Am glad someone finally prefers tea over coffee, too.”

So now you’re here.

“Yeah, just a check up,” Taehyung answers, “vamps drew my blood and will tell me today if it’s good or not.”

“Interesting way to refer to doctors,” you admit, backing away when he leads you to the exit. You need to be at work in forty minutes tops. “Good then.”

He hands you your blazer, silent for a moment before he says, “Talking about feeling unwell.” You look up, arm halfway through the blazer’s sleeve. “What were you doing getting shitfaced like that?”

“Uhm…”

Word travels fast. Your cheeks heat up, fingers curling into fists. You smack your lips, letting out a tiny laugh, and ask, “Eun told you, huh?”

“Mhm. Scolded her for taking you to the bar and leaving you alone.”

You sigh.

You should’ve guessed that she’d tattle. And of course you might appear like the helpless, heartbroken girl, seeking comfort in alcohol, dark clubs and blue neon lights. It’s a little embarrassing, actually.

“Kook was there, though,” you defend.

“I know. I called when he was still at your place.”

Huh? What else did he do when you were asleep? Painted a Louvre-ripe masterpiece, probably.

Taehyung decodes the dozen questions in your stare, tumbling until his back leans against the wall. He explains, “We just talked for a sec. He sounded worried, so I didn’t prod too much. Just don’t do these things anymore, okay?”

Huh…

You can imagine it well. Partly because you remember the way he looked at you that night: distressed beyond belief, giving you soft orders, insisting on help everywhere — the car, the shower, the bed.

But also because you know him.

And you don’t think you needed to see him in those very moments to know he must’ve brushed through his silky hair. Must’ve looked through your room, gaze stopping over your sleeping figure.

Voice strained on the phone, yawning, shaking his head because he must have been a little mad at you, but comforted that you were resting, too.

You remember the tone of his voice, soft as a piano tune but saddened nonetheless.

”What did you drink? You’re… in such a bad state.”

You shake the words off. God, he was there for you more than you’ll ever know.

You say, “That’s nice, though, Tae… I didn’t think you’d ever get so worried about me.”

“Hey. You’re still my friend,” he promises.

He’s possibly been the only person throughout this entire ordeal to not be pissed at you or annoyed by you. You never doubted that he still liked you.

“I might not know you inside out like Eun or Jungkook do, but you’re part of this group. So naturally, you’re important, too.”

You push your hands into the pockets of the blazer, gripping the car keys inside. Bashfully, you smile. His sincerity pumps warmth through you; it’s crazy how good belonging somewhere, to someone, can actually feel.

It’s refreshing. New. 

“Wow,” you murmur, shuffling your feet, “thank you.”

“You’re glowing, you know. That’s nice.”

“Am I?”

He nods. “I can’t wait to see him glow either. A couple weeks were a couple too long.”

Those couple weeks felt like someone ripped out the hands of time, keeping them from moving. Your brain aged faster in that time, deep in a bottomless abyss. You don’t want to experience it again.

And you don’t want to imagine Jungkook in the same pit again. Looking for you, but bumping against walls, painted with his past that made him stumble back instead of pulling him forwards.

Your eyes trail down the hallway, looking at the small paintings and decorations on the wall. You take in the furniture, inhale the pleasant colours. Imagine his living room in its entirety, the sunlight seeping through the windows. Curtains pushed aside.

Your apartment could be like this, too.

But.

“Tae,” you begin. You wrap your fingers around your rattling car key; lick your lips. “Do you think I’d like it here?”

“Hmmm,” he voices, gazing down as if he could look past the parquet floor and to where your potential apartment stands nearly empty. “Yeah. I mean, I like to think so, because I’m very happy here.”

He stops abruptly, the tone of the last syllable not matching a sentence’s end. You wait as he smiles a little, creating a thought, “But you could be happy somewhere else, too. Happier even.”

His words hang in the air, a sense of both possibility and uncertainty tangible. You were wanting to venture into this new chapter of your life with hope, but also with trepidation.

Suburban areas are nice, but you opted for the heart of the city — the vibrant tapestry of dreams and opportunities. You didn’t expect the journey to be fraught with sudden doubts.

The best thing, however, is that doubts and dilemmas never seemed this… tempting.

You tell him, “There’s always a place that makes people happier, for everyone.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice tinged with wisdom. “Only, some people already know of it, and some keep searching for it.”

“And I am—”

You pause, anticipating for him to finish the sentence; he responds, “You gotta know.” There’s a playful twinkle in his eyes, support and acknowledgment hiding right behind — matching his words, “I’d be bummed if you didn’t become my neighbour, but. Also just happy you guys are happy.”

Too kind for this world.

In your endearment, you laugh, suddenly stepping forward for a brief, thankful hug. A silent gesture of gratitude for his friendship, no matter how shallow or new.

The people you surround yourself with offer endless reassurance, and you’re lacking the words to express your appreciation.

“Thank you, Tae. Eun’s right when she praises your constant respect for other people, you know?”

Taehyung, maybe a little perplexed, brings a hand to your back, patting gently as he states, “No worries. The worst is over.”

You hope so. God, you genuinely hope so.

You pull back, tucking your hair behind your ear and bid him goodbye with one last nod. Taehyung closes the door behind you with a humorous thumbs up, and you grin before it’s silent in the hallway again.

There’s a tiny window outside, overlooking the street down there and the cars flitting by. The area isn’t as peaceful as Jungkook’s — more lively and noisy. You can see the city’s river if you look far enough.

And as you step closer to the glass, you envision your own apartment again. You imagine the soft glow of the lamp before you go to sleep. The comfortable couch you want to plant in the back of the living room, curling up with work or your laptop or a cup of hot chocolate.

You picture the view of the city as you step to your open window, glancing out as the steam of your beverage swirls in the evening air. Contemplating the world outside.

But then you start rethinking Jungkook’s words, too. The idea of belonging and happiness, of domesticity and what could be.

And at last, you visualise what it’d be like if you didn’t see any of this — the lively street, the river in the distance. Wonder how you’d feel if the horizon looked different.

If you stared out and saw a different canvas instead.

The changes in your life are drastic in some way, but Jungkook always stays the same.

Your house lies quiet most of the time; as days pass, you frequent your room, then drop by in the living room, greeting the staff, grabbing dinner and retracting back to your beloved bed.

Jungkook’s apartment, baby-sized compared to your place, allows a much livelier atmosphere. Maybe because you don’t need to yell for him to hear you from another room. Or maybe because it’s just the two of you.

Perhaps even because you find solace in the couch, in the smaller smart TV in front of it, the glass table, the carpet, the homely furniture in general. The scent reminds you of wood, but you connect it with him, too.

It’s different from the room you grew up in. Different from the luxurious chimney and marble you’ve seen all your life.  And you must admit that you enjoy it a lot more, too.

One of the few reasons why your mood changes from exhausted to merry the moment you knock at his door on Thursday. He was expecting you, because when he opens, he beckons you inside immediately, pulling you in and planting a generous kiss on your cheek.

A smooching sound accompanies it, his foot closing the door as he suggests, “Dinner first or TV?”

“Shoes.” You laugh. You slip out of your thin jacket before tackling your snickers quickly, your clothes suddenly itchy and uncomfortable. “Shoes first, and then shower? Can I?”

“Yeah, of course.”

It’s not the first time that you’d be doing it. But there’s still something new and pure about this new chapter of your life; one that comes with polite questions and reinventing reality, apparently.

Redrafting life as you knew it and striving towards something better.

“I knew it, actually,” he says, forefinger wiggling, “I put a fresh towel on the washing machine. Also had a handful of your shirts here, so there’s one of those on the towel, too. And my joggers… Sorry, you left none of those, uhm—”

He’s started walking ahead, scratching behind his ear, but when he notices you not following, he looks over his shoulder. Blinks at you, staring into his living room and back, innocent voice unsure, “Come?”

“Yeah. Yeah, just— you didn’t have t—”

“I know,” he interrupts, breathing a sigh in faux frustration, “I know I never have to. But I figured you’d wanna shower.”

“…Thank you, Kook.”

You wish you could say more; express your gratitude the way you want to. At least your body is jubilating, craving the hot steam of the shower. Starving further for some peace when you step into the bathroom and detect the neatly placed clothing.

Jungkook halts at the door, gripping its frame, a little shy as if you didn’t breathe each other in for the last couple of weeks and months. He’s looking at you, waiting for something, and when you raise an eyebrow in curiosity, he snaps out of whatever daydream he was in.

“Oh. Right,” he mumbles, cheeks flushed, “sorry. I’ll leave. Can heat up the food. Or, or do you wanna order in?”

“Anything’s fine.” He nods. Opts to walk away, big hand flattening his hair at the back. It takes a moment for your heart to riot as you watch him leave, immediately babbling, “Actually. I was—”

Returning within a moment, he looks alarmed. Less so when you point a thumb to the shower and suggest, “Do you wanna join?”

“You in the shower?”

No, doofus. Join to watch the washing machine unsoil your sweaty clothes.

You clear your throat. “Yeah?”

“I uhm… Is that okay?”

Goddamn. Redrafting life as you knew it, you said.

You just didn’t expect the two of you to still tip-toe around each other. Seems you still have a lot of adjusting to do.

You try to break the ice.

“Acting like I’ve never seen you naked.”

“No, I know,” he responds, “I was just thinking that you…”

You can’t quite decrypt what he’s trying to say, but you do perceive the flash of concern in his eyes. It’s a tiny glimpse, barely there; but you see it. And you think about it.

Try to understand, let moments pass — until you’ve grasped his thinking.

The night he helped you clean up was the last time you stood under a showerhead together; maybe he thinks you’re still connecting it to the night’s trauma or borderline dangerous intoxication. And perhaps you’re wrong.

But you still take a breath, and then segue, “Already took a shower, didn’t you?”

You know he did. He’s addicted to cleanliness, sensitive to scents; he hoards diffusers, skin care products and new underwear like a treasure. And showering is always the first thing he goes for, a beeline to the bathroom after work out sessions and intense summer days.

You follow up with, “It’s okay, if you did. I’ll just go alone and hurry to dinner, then?”

“No, no… No, it’s fine.” He starts his sentence fast, but slows down halfway through, awkwardly. “Of course I can join. What’s some extra refreshment, right?”

“That’s the reason, huh?” you mock, laughing when he shrugs his shoulder. “Keep acting like you’re not the biggest simp around.”

Your confidence boosts his own, too. The signature smile is soft, lips curved gorgeously, but the subtone of his words is teasing, and even a little cocky.

“Of course. I know, I know.”

“Come then.”

You offer a stretched hand, curling your fingers in and outwards, and he places his warm palm into it like a key to a lock. Albeit tense and nervous, your body feels good next to his. The telltale awkward signs of a new relationship don’t deter you from indulging in its sweetness.

So you’re not surprised at how quickly you undress, throwing each other’s clothes at the back of the washing machine and planting kisses whenever one of you bares their shoulder. Eyeing each other from bottom to top.

You think you ogle for a moment too long, though — and how could you not with the freaking silver chain dangling from his neck?

An exciting evening lies ahead, you can already tell.

It’s fresher now outside, and all of Jungkook’s windows are open. Despite the cosiness of the bathroom, you rush under the hot shower stream.

Only, it’s not as boiling as you’d like it to be. Jungkook starts and finishes his showers ice cold, so you screech when you meet water from the Antarctic. You jump on your spot, arms around your torso.

And when you allow yourself one single glance at him amidst the breathlessness, you notice that the asshole is doing it on purpose. Same old. Rouses core memories.

Jungkook wipes over your hair and your face, drenching them thoroughly. You only realise he’s smudged your mascara when he starts rubbing underneath your eyes gently, managing to get some of it off.

“Fuck,” you curse, “I forgot about that. Should I take it off first?”

The intention is to slip out, use one of his cleansing skin products and get the mess out of your face before stepping back to him. But you don’t make it far anyway; he yanks you back before your foot can even touch the mat.

And then, the moment passes in a blur.

Tense body back against his, he tugs you close. Holds both your wrists in front of your breasts, leaning in without a warning, and then — connects his dripping lips with yours.

If there was any space to gasp, you would. Instead, your fingers instantly dig into your hand, sharp nails scarring the skin. You move your fists, trying to touch him, but he holds you in place firmly.

That is, until his digits relax, trailing up your shoulder to your neck, jaw and then to your cheeks. Face in your grip, you let him control the pace. You find an anchor in his bicep, holding on; kissing isn’t enough.

You wish he could eat you up. Wish the tongue finally touching yours, swirling around it, was everywhere on your skin at once.

You feel a slight twitch underneath, right against your body; ready to devour, hopefully soon to explode. But Jungkook gasps for air when his lungs give out, allowing a break, backing away with your face still between his hands.

And then, he utters something surprising — something you didn’t expect in the heat of the moment at all.

“I was meaning to tell you something.”

“…Oh?”

“I’m uh. I’ve been meaning to tell you for days. I just never quite got around to it and we were so busy and tired all the time and—”

“What is it?” you break in, heart pounding at an unnatural speed. “I’m here now, so…?”

For a second, you expect this to take a whole different turn.

The database in your brain empties the moment you scour it for an answer, preparing yourself for molten knees and dissolving hearts. Or maybe, it’s already clarifying to liquid, jumping out of your chest and flowing down the drain along with the water.

But he doesn’t say what you anticipate. Though, what he does admit has your nerves glowing neon white anyway.

“So— the first night of my showcase. On my birthday?” he starts. You feel the muscles of your face change, and he sees it, immediately assuring, “No, no. Don’t worry. I was just gonna say that a guy came to me by the end of it? And—” 

He lets all of it sound like an unsure question. But you think you know where it’s going — you hold your breath under the already suffocating water.

“And?” you prod.

“And turned out Namjoon invited him, and he’s kiiiinda a big shot in the art business? Like, he’s a gallery collector, he said. He’d invest in my art and acquire it and have it showcased in bigger museums for more recogni— I know!”

Your mouth and eyes opened halfway through his quick explanation, fingers back in fists, pressing against his solid chest and then moving up to hook in his silver chain. You’re restless in the congested space, suppressing the high pitched sounds.

He puts his hands on your hips, snickering in joy as he says, “Be careful before you slip.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Thankfully I’m not, angel,” he shakes his head, bangs sticking to his forehead, “not this time, at least.”

You raise a hand to his pec, tapping against it, “Wait. So just so I understood correctly — they’re gonna put up your stuff there for an even bigger audience to see, yeah?”

“I mean, the gallery is definitely far bigger than the exhibition I participated in.”

“Oh my god, Jungkook, the exhibition already had a shit ton of visitors!”

He nods, proving a point.

You feel an electric current in your blood. Pride, that’s what it’s called, too. You sling your arms around his neck recklessly, nearly falling, but you can’t be bothered as you exclaim, “This is so— I don’t even know how to react, Kook!”

And who could convince a big-shot art connoisseur so quickly after graduation anyway? Jungkook’s god given talents are never praised for nothing — you knew it. Fucking knew it.

Won’t make it anywhere, your ass.

“That’s so fucking awesome.” You stare, out of breath all of a sudden. God, if there was a way to express your delight. “When is it happening? Are you selling the one you showcased?”

“I don’t know yet. And no. That’s too… personal to me.” You blink, nodding. Still overwhelmed with how his pieces made you feel — of course they’d hit even harder for the artist himself. “He wants something in a similar style, though. I’ll make something new for him.”

“What’s it gonna be?”

It’s a simple question. You swear it’s nothing too deep.

But Jungkook’s gaze changes. An amused, delighted expression replaces a neutral one, head tilting to the side just a little. His lips, already slightly swollen from the kiss, move up, eyes kind and sugary.

If you only knew how your small details affect him, too. How you looking at him like this, expectant eyes split wide, innocent and gentle, shoots an arrow to his heart.

You just don’t know.

He brushes the hair sticking to your cheek back and tells you, “You’ll see. I’ve been working on it these days, but. Will show it to you when it’s done.”

You can’t even be mad. If it was up to you, you’d probably wait for the big day, too — can’t spoil the surprise, need to cry tears of pride and joy in public.

So all you say, deep from the heart, is, “You’re the fucking coolest person I know.”

“Nah—”

“The coolest.”

“Funny,” he retorts, as bad at compliments as you; throws them back like a boomerang, “thought the same when I met you at the party last year.”

“…Gross.” That’s what you say. But you still shake your head; overwhelmed, smile plastered to your face and cheeks hurting. “God, Kook.”

And that’s all.

You keep holding his stare, finally too tired of the distance to endure any longer — and then lean in. You stop a couple inches away, watch his head angle more, mouth steering towards yours. The smile is mutual, fingers seeking a spot to settle on on each other’s bodies.

Your heart monitor would be wilding right now — the effect of your lips meeting clear as day behind your ribs. And this time, you don’t stop.

The push against his chest is immediate, his feet slowly tumbling backwards. His tongue burns hot against yours, your lower lip fitting perfectly in the gap between his lips. There’s a sharp hiss when his back finally touches the tiles, mouth open but not leaving yours.

Teeth soon clash, and you opt for more of his taste, well aware that you just cannot kiss more than you already are. His hands move up and down, never settling, both your lips harsh and impatient. Your tongues keep moving in patterns, thirst never quenched.

You break the kiss solely for oxygen purposes, but he uses the moment to let his palm wander from your face to your hair, grabbing a patch. One hand pushes against the small of your back, though soon dropping to your ass, fingers between your ass cheeks, teasing the clenching hole.

Fuck.

The moan isn’t intended, but very welcome — you love the sound of it as much as he does, followed by his own. An automatic reaction. His hips indulge in the tiniest movements, length jerking against your body; no more than an inch of his fingertip pushing into your ass.

“Fuck, Jungkook,” you breathe, eyebrows furrowing, mewling against the corner of his lips. “More, now, please.”

It’s an attempt. Of course he won’t act that fast — you know him well enough. He’s been a soft gentleman often enough; but after holding back the past few days, missing it for weeks, you know it won't be easy on him either.

One of you will be on the brink of tears soon; until now, it’s usually been you.

You take a deep breath, agitated when he laughs. He retracts his hand, smoothing back his chaotic mane before leaning in for another peck. And that’s all it remains — interrupted immediately, saliva mixing with the shower water.

“I’m so fucking crazy for you,” he confesses; the shiver doesn’t hesitate crawling down your spine — neither does Jungkook, peppering your neck with kisses.

His actions are smooth — you let him do anything. Like, explore every little spot of your skin. From the softness of your face, down to the flesh of your ass, echoing hard when a flat hand slaps it out of nowhere.

You propel forwards, barely aware of your surroundings. The shower raining onto you is the only indicator of where you still are.

So when he turns you carefully, 180 until your back touches the tiles, you don’t realise his intentions for a moment. Only when he changes his approach, digging your shoulders hard into the wall, knocking you out of breath.

“Are you trying to—” you ask, but he interjects right away.

“Don’t question it this time, okay?” His face inches close again, teeth suddenly pulling and nibbling at your lip. “Just let us do. Lemme do, yeah?”

His chest presses against your tits before he backs away and palms your mounds, squeezing nearly painfully.

For only a heartbeat, though — he doesn’t stall further. Because another second passes before you’re turned in his grip, chest not touching his anymore, but the wall now. From behind you, he grasps your hips, dragging you back just a couple inches; enough to sneak his hand through.

“But whenever things get too much, you…”

You nod. Promise, “Will tell you. I will.”

“Good.” His cock pokes between your ass, and he spreads its cheeks. Lets the hardness rest between them, sliding up and down. “Gonna make you feel so good, though. Wanna make you feel so fucking good.”

Wow… wow, f—

Not that you were ever interested in it before, but…

Part of you wants him to shove it in anywhere. Wherever the fuck he wants. You’d endure all hour-long foreplay and pleas and tears for him.

And perhaps he’s thinking the same. Perhaps you even spoke it out loud — you wouldn’t be surprised if you did. But you choke on your spit when he says, “Missing the sex toys. Like… What do you think of new ones, hm? Someday, maybe. Like— like an anal pl—”

“Please,” you beg, “I’ll do fucking anything for you.”

Break in conversation. Then, “Holy shit.” He chuckles. Fuck — his voice is deeper now, isn’t it? “You’re being whiny. I thought you’re a badass business woman, but you’re so whiny.”

“Because— I can breathe when I work.”

“Ohh. And now,” he whispers, close to your ear, hand moving. Up and further up, stopping around your throat, as if he’s testing your statement. As if he could tell him anything about the state of your lungs. “Now we’re not as focused, right?”

“No thinking when I suck your dick.”

“Dammit. Really don’t wanna wait to fuck you numb.”

You’re shamelessly jittery, patience out the window. “Don’t then. Get to it now.”

“Nope. I know you’re not ready yet. And I’m not either… so—”

He steps closer, forcing your body further forward until your cheek is squished against the wall. His fingers leave your throat to find another target; something far more south, a lot more dangerous.

One small circle drawn around your clit, you gasp, hearing him ask, “You think you can come with just my fingers?”

“I don’t know. I honestly think I need—”

He chuckles, and you can’t help but laugh, too. You’re hilarious sometimes.

“You think you’re so smart. But we can still try, though.” He says it casually, as if the two of you don’t exactly know that he’s perfectly capable of pulling through. But his voice still softens when you don’t answer, “Hey. You wanna try, sweetheart?”

“Yes. Anything,” you convince him, “anything, Kook.”

“Good girl. The best, always.”

His touch vanishes. You let out a mildly confused sound, observing with an unfocused vision how he opens the shower door a little. He reaches for the towel on the washing machine, drying his fingers, other hand moving the shower head until it’s mostly wetting his own back.

It’s a tiny detail, really. You only told him once how action around the clit might become uncomfortable with hands priorly washed or wet, and it seems he remembered.

Your eyes shut when he returns to your bundle of nerves, massaging gently, skilled. It starts slow at first; you feel the hot wetness build in and around your entrance, the line between the shower water and your arousal fading.

Jungkook’s movements, calculated and systematic, only spur your body on. He’s always known what he’s doing; has analysed and explored what you want. How you want it.

It’s true heaven to you: the way he kisses your cheek. The way he draws moans out of you, the motions around your swollen bud rhythmic. Your back and limbs tingle; you don’t know what to do with yourself.

And when you can’t stand still anymore, Jungkook orders, “Stop that. You’ll break my jaw.”

“Sorry.”

Your apology is timid, tiny; he laughs. “You cutie… you’re adorable even in moments like these.”

You throw your head against his shoulder as if to oppose him, opening your eyes, looking straight into his eyes. Your eyebrows are kissing, tension between them, mouth agape.

And he adds, “Or maybe not.”

He lifts you up a bit, dragging your body along the wall — you didn’t even notice that you slid down this much, angled, ass darting out like this. But you also don’t mind the arm that rounds your torso, just underneath your tits, keeping you steady when he takes it up a notch and—

“Oh my god,” you squeak when he pushes two fingers in. “Yes, yes, please—”

The incoherent, random requests are his favourite. Most of the time, he knows better than you what you’re pleading for. Which is why he doesn’t stop this time; probably more in the mood to please you than tease you.

From this position, he can’t reach knuckles deep, but just enough to brush the walnutty spot inside. And to your surprise, the orgasm builds up fast; the first quiver takes over your knees, but you understand that this is nothing compared to what’s to come.

You press your hands to the wall, holding onto remnants of your sanity when he kisses your neck, and along your damp shoulders. His mouth is hot against your pulse, wet hair tickling under your jaw. He bites lightly; soothes the fleeting sting with his tongue. Vampiristic.

Like a sensual massage, well thought out, pornographic.

And then he picks up on pace. Whispers, “That’s right— we got this—”

He starts pumping into you; relishes your incomprehensible curses. The thumb over your clit and the impatience of his fingers inside are a dichotomy, and you don’t know what to focus on. Which is why you stop thinking altogether.

Jungkook takes a sharp breath, quiet whistling sounds included, and then groans into your ear when you do. He keeps his motions up diligently, fingers a bit deeper with each time your ass moves back an inch.

As an aid, he shifts his arm, too, pushing forward, palm pressing against your clit now.

And when you come, you melt. Nearly collapsing, you keep moving, on edge, every spot of your body in tremor. You can barely breathe; you’ve been nestled in the heat of the shower for way too long.

He notices your tremble in an instant, encourages, “Got it. Got you. Keep going, baby, c’mon.”

The peak is blissful; you don’t want to ever fall off the edge again. Want to remain in this starry, gorgeous ache. Your eyes could stay in the back of your head; the world may keep fading. And you don’t need to know where you are.

All you know is that your voice sounds odd, high when you pant, “Don’t go away yet.”

“I’m right here. Right here, got you,” he repeats, holding you upright.

Jungkook knows — knows how to get you from lowest lows to your highest highs. Today was as pleasant as a day at work can be; but if he’s ready to do all this to you on any other, worse day, too, you might never encounter grief again.

He scatters kisses all over your jaw when you’re done — busies himself as you catch your breath, swallowing, eyes closed. Once you’ve caught yourself enough to utter fragments of sentences at least, you tell him, “Something not human about you, Jeon.”

“Oh. Are we back to surnames now?” He cackles, soothing motions along your arms. “Are we gonna shake hands, too, once we’re done? Bow and say thank you?”

You shake your head, though the stupid smile doesn’t wait to spread on your face.

“You’re dumb,” you say.

“You make me dumb.”

He drops his touch, brushing your pussy again — maybe as a test. But you’re sensitive and vulnerable, closing your legs and opening your mouth in response. He’s sly; uses the moment to push two fingers in right away, pressing your tongue down.

And you, as challenge-accepting as ever, start sucking, tasting some of yourself. You wrap your hand around his, moving your head, chest still heaving from the exhaustion. Your eyes close slowly enough for him to see them roll back, a reaction to the images your brain creates.

Like, the thought of the member currently poking you replacing those digits. The prospect of emptying him entirely.

“Fuuuuck— wish my brain could take a picture of this and save it forever,” he says, voice strained.

You open your mouth, licking a strip along his finger, past the tattoo. “What’d you do with it?”

“Would… would bring it to the forefront of my mind,” Jungkook begins, reclaiming his hand and dragging it down to your waist, “and use it whenever you’re away.”

“Hmmm… and then?”

“Would just…”

He doesn’t continue. Only shakes his head, lifting his shoulders, stance desperate and wanting; maybe he’s even a little out of his mind.

You egg him on, “Show me if you can’t say it.”

It’s a surprise that he obliges, but then again, it’s not. You always forget just how weak he is — that his heart sits right there in your palms, his body a magnet to yours.

So you’re endlessly pleased when your eyes flit down to a hand around his dick. Stroking slowly, its head hard against your pelvis. And you manage to watch a tiny second longer until the floor beckons you towards it, down to your knees.

It’s uncomfortable immediately; slick and odd. But you’re distracted by your dry tongue, thirsting, ridiculously hypnotised by the cock dangling in front of you. And then his thighs… muscular and thick. You reach out to them, holding them, steering forwards.

Despite his delicate frailty, you don’t fare any better. Ready to bruise your knees like an obedient doll, eyes wide when you look up at him. You grip him softly, urging him to remove his hand, stroking in his stead.

You pass all pleasantries and hesitations, and dive in immediately — leading your mouth to the tip before wrapping your lips around it delicately. Determined, you let only a second pass, eager as you start moving right away.

Bobbing your head, you take him in as much as your gag reflex allows. He’s too big — it’s impossible to ever swallow him fully. But no matter how greedy you are, that’s it.

You don’t give into it all the way just yet.

Instead, you back away after another lick. Straighten your body, drawing in and repositioning until you can push your tits together around the stiffness.

His groan tumbles out of him broken, choked, a hand against the wall. His abs are rippling, bicep bulged, nipples tiny and perked. Dark brown. Eyes hazy.

You want to do so many fucking things to him — want to mount him. Pull his head back by his long strands. Want, need to kiss him, rub yourself on him, back and forth along his cock until his moans become uncontrolled. Sticky white cum sprayed over his tummy.

Your nails in your skin, yearning for more — that’s one of your billion thoughts.

Instead, you summarise your wants, whispering a single, simple, fucked out, “I…” You gulp down the knot. Shiver at your position, craving the hot water a little now. Then command, “Fuck my mouth.”

His eyes threaten to fall out of his head; like they always do. He knows it’s a constant reaction, too, it seems, because “God. I’ll never get used to you saying this.”

“You better, though.”

“Right. Right…”

He caresses your face, pushes your hair back. Perhaps he’s had enough of the pace; because he soon reaches for your arms, compliant deer kicked out of his head as he forces your wrists up and crosses them against the wall.

One hand is all he needs to hold them in their place. One hand gripping them hard, disabling any movement of your arms.

You let out a strange, obscene sound, finding utter liking in this gesture.

But despite your pleasure, he still eases you into the process, the heart tattoo grazing your cheek. A touch so soft that you think he’s praising you, wordlessly and gently. Making sure you’re absolutely okay with whatever he does to you.

And you confirm it with another blink, stretching out your tongue, ready. Holding his gaze. Mesmerised and frustrated, he says, “You’ll kill me with the way you look at me.”

Jungkook fuels your confidence with vigour each time, eloquent through scorching heat, too. Because you don’t think you’ve ever smiled this self-assured before you knew him; or been certain about your power over others.

You used to be far more insecure than that, feigning ignorance and carelessness, but reevaluating your decisions every step of the way. Months ago, you could’ve never predicted such a shift in conviction towards yourself.

So it’s new to you, but invigorating at the same time, the grin you sport, the words you utter, “Killing you isn’t my intention,” when he doesn’t, you move your head towards the leaking head of his cock, awaiting destruction, “wanna make you feel more alive than ever.”

The breath tumbling out of his mouth is ragged, pinky finger twitching a tiny bit when you wrap your lips around the tip and then let it go with a plop again; like it’s a lollipop to you.

Your knees move closer to his feet, and he stretches his one hand to your shoulder, making sure you don’t get hurt on the slippery ground. But you’re far too distracted to appreciate the gesture just yet, even though you feel the faint tickling along your limbs.

“I got it,” Jungkook then says, back in charge, hands back on the protruding, thick veins.

He moves his hips forward, testing. You roll out your tongue once more, closing your eyes. Try to make more room in your mouth, despite knowing it’s a thing of impossibility. And to your chagrin, it takes only a few more seconds for you to be full already.

Taking in as much as your throat allows, you gag when you reach your limit, letting out a tiny cough, salivating. You still can’t move your arms; his fingers are like chains around your wrists.

“That enough?” he asks. “I’ll stop here, okay?”

You nod. Wait. When he doesn’t move, you start pulling back, and then push forward again immediately. Your tongue is drenched in absolute filth; the spit trails down your chin, and you wish it was his.

But that’s not the point of it all — you’re not supposed to comfortably bop your head back and forth, are you? Despite the daily softness between the two of you, you want to be used. Want all his greed.

And he knows. Asks, “What do you need?”

Of course you can’t speak. He’s aware of that; stares down at you as you breathe heavily around him, mouth stuffed to the brim. Cheeks aching from the circumference.

You moan around him, parting your lips, moving your tongue from under his dick to swirl it around it a little. You move back, tasting the liquid minimally dripping out of his slit. Fuck, you want all of it, in thick, sickening ropes, in loads and buckets.

“Won’t even back away to speak,” he teases, words contradictory, because he won’t allow you to take a break either. Shoves himself inside again; you’re embarrassed that you only manage half of his length. “The dedication is hotter than it should be—”

Full, coherent sentences. How?

But even his string of thought breaks when he starts in earnest. Filling up your mouth once more, as much as he can and then a bit more for good measure. You adjust to his movements, suck down immediately.

You don’t care about the loss of voice later; you want to eat him up entirely.

His strokes grow harder by the second, rock hard inside you. You move your head until the head pokes against the inside of your cheek, and the tight wetness affects him, his knees buckling by one single inch.

“Easy…” he whispers, shaking his head, water drops landing on your face. “Fuck. Wanna have you hanging off the bed one day. Wanna see my cock ram your throat…”

Easy, he said. He’s definitely not being easy on you, though. Not with these admissions. Not with his motions.

The thrusts aren’t just hard, but deliberate and controlled, too. Your head keeps pushing back, lightly touching the wall. You’re far over sucking his dick, way too obedient and submissive to define it like that.

No, you’re being fucked. Gagging and choking around him, sucking in the spit whenever only his tip remains inside, sounds lewd and specific. Coming from the back of your throat, wet, hot and bothered.

God, you wish you were strong enough to take him all the way down to the base, licking at his balls, feeling his twitching dick thumping at the very far back. But you guess this is more than enough for him, too.

Because he holds your wrists harder, a rope around them, digging into your skin. The free hand wipes your hair away again, your body sweat-soaked while the shower water still trickles down his back.

He holds you there; then reaches for your nipple; pinches it hard over your heavily heaving chest, pleased when you open your eyes and look up at him. Waterline damp — the dangling chain might just be one of the reasons for that.

“Bit more,” he mumbles, and you think he’ll surrender right there, inside your mouth.

Which is why you sit up straighter, more determined, licking at the underside of his cock when he drags it out a little. His balls hang in your face and you reach for them, tongueing, hungry, not wanting him to move away now.

He doesn’t. Not yet. Relief courses through you, swallowing around his thickness again. Rolling your eyes back, hearing subtle “Doing well, so well, angel”s, ignoring the pain in your arms as he holds them upright.

You hollow your cheeks when he buries himself in deep, struggling when he stops right there. He doesn’t move; your eyes well up harder. All air enters and escapes through your nose, and you’re shaking, holding his stare as he keeps his cock in place, absolutely still.

That is, until you can barely breathe anymore, nails digging into your palms, arms trying to escape. He doesn’t say a word yet, only lets your hands drop. Your shoulders crack a bit, and you shake your arms, filling up your lungs, your palms next to his feet.

His cock is covered in your spit when you look again; your gaping mouth and chin similarly drenched.

And only when your head stops spinning, does he hold his hands towards you, urging you to take them as he says, “Sorry, baby. You did so well, I…”

You grip his fingers feebly, getting up on weak knees. Instead of holding onto your hands, he soon wraps an arm around your body, pulling you up before he asks, “Less next time?”

“No,” the word comes out as a squeak, throat already affected, “I’ll always tap if I feel it’s too much. I promi— promise.”

“Good,” he praises, a kiss to your damp forehead. He turns the water off. “That’s all I want, baby. Look at me.”

You’re already exhausted, staring down, fatigue fuelled by the hot water. Your eyes flutter open as you meet his gaze, and he puts a hand to your cheek, thumb on your swollen lower lip.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he compliments; his hand must be heating up under your touch, “did you know? So sweet and stunning. It makes me sick.”

“Thought I was the only one. You…” He looks at you, and you hold him tight, smiling about your joke in advance. “You have such an effect on me, it makes me wanna throw up.”

Right. So in love, it makes your stomach turn.

“Please don’t,” he pleads, conjuring a tender eye smile. The wide grin is unreal. “And let’s get out of here. We can’t keep standing here.”

“Waste of water.”

“Yes, waste of water. That, too. And I should have some lube in the bedroom.”

Of course he’s as impatient as you — although you’re almost a hundred percent sure you could do without that stuff easily. The insides of your thighs are slippery, and you’re certain the shower wasn’t the sole reason for that.

Your legs feel weird, your body heavy when you finally get out. The cosy bathroom is filled with steam and heat, but at least you can breathe easier here than under the piping hot water.

The mirror is fogged up; you glance into it to check your state, but recognise nothing but your vague form. You wipe a stripe the size of your hand along it as you walk past, halting at the door. And when you look back, Jungkook is making quick, brief work on picking up the clothes you haphazardly threw to the side before.

“You don’t wanna do this later?” you ask, still fond.

It’s just him cleaning up the floor, but… you enjoy watching him do mundane things. You might never be able to explain why, but you do.

“Just throwing them into the washing machine. Will turn it on later,” he answers.

He straightens his body with a sigh when he’s done, sniffling as he usually does. His eyes are hidden behind his long hair, so he lifts both his hands to brush the soaked tresses back. The muscles of his arms are mountainous and firm. Tattoos ending at his shoulder.

He’s indescribably pretty like that. Looking up, lips parted, jaw chiselled.

You observe him for a bit longer, gaze trailing down his body. Small nipples, broad and sculpted pecs, six painfully visible rectangles of abs. Cock still mostly awake.

Fuck.

Crossing your legs, you bite your lips, one hand on the door handle. You take in the domesticity. The moment might be subtle and casual, but something about it is incredibly homely.

How you speak to each other, and how his washing machine is cleaning both your clothes. It’s the little things, isn’t it?

Your eyes are fond when you say, “Whenever it does happen… I can already imagine all of it clearly.”

“Hm?” He blinks at you. “All of what, baby?”

“Of being here with you. All the time.” His motions stop. He drops his arms, a strand falling back into his face, but he doesn’t care. Glances at you for a couple seconds until you smile and nod towards the door. “Let’s go.”

But it seems he changed his mind in this split second that you turn to the exit.

Because all of a sudden, just as he did before, he tugs you back. And just like before, you land against the wall, having him staring at you as if he’s seeing you for the first time. His voice is a whisper, enchanting, “Okay… you know what. Forget it.”

“Huh?”

“Fuck lube, okay?” His eyes are glued to your lips. Then to your pupils. He looks lost. “We can manage. Don’t need the bedroom… just you. Want you right now.”

“Jungko—”

You don’t anticipate it — so it draws a small moan out of you when his fingers suddenly graze between your legs, digging in for just a moment. Fingering you for a split second as you gasp — and then they disappear again.

He moves in to kiss your cheek. Just a peck first. Then his lips open against your neck, hand moving up your body and pushing your tit up. His tongue soon joins the fun, darting through his parted lips, sucking your tits hard. Biting, groaning, moaning.

“Jungkook.” You push your touch through his hair as he kisses his way further down, nibbling at your sides, and you whine, “Don’t wanna wait, Kook…”

His eyes are closed and his voice hushed, raspy and deep as he says between kisses, “I’ll be gone for a moment, baby. You’ll barely notice, I promise.”

Strange how he means distanced from your kiss, not from your body. Strange how you miss each other while in the same room, but not melted into each other.

You’re losing your mind. Throwing your head back, ruining your hair against the tiles. Eyes droopy and hazy, mind turning in various directions as you relish each touch and peck. Your body relaxes; all the weight of the world off your shoulders.

Jungkook fondles your body, caresses all of you, planting kisses on your tummy, your waist, your pelvis. Continues to tug at the flesh of your thighs with his lips. It feels like a massage, not painful but gentle. Careful as he hoists up one of your legs, throwing it over his shoulder. 

And then… he starts.

His tongue flashes out to your clit. Parts your folds. It’s difficult from this position, but his pointy wet muscle paints patterns over your pussy. And you reel.

Jungkook truly is an artist. Knows to make you mewl, turns your breaths laboured. You move your hips, guiding his face closer with your hand in his hair, slowly riding it. The French kisses, the brush against your thighs… he’s…

God.

“God,” you echo, “I love this, I—”

He’s feasting. Letting out alluring sounds, spurring you on, and you almost topple over the edge. But Jungkook knows what he’s doing — leaves you yearning, moving away and up to you.

When he said he’d be gone for a moment, he truly meant it.

Your lip quivers when he looks at you, ordering a soft, “You’ll come together with me.” He raises your chin. “Okay? You and I together. Always.”

Must be a hidden message. He’s not just talking about sex anymore, is he? But him and you in one bubble, separated from the world. Nothing but you, you and you.

You barely wait another second. Instead, you immediately lurch forwards, initiating a kiss beyond sinful from the start. Teeth clashing, tongues feral. For a couple seconds you breathe into each other, letting out odd noises, his hand pulling your leg back up again and pinning it against the wall.

You’re on your tippy toes when his cock teases your entrance, his lips soon on your shoulder again. Cold chain brushing your skin. He’s sucking harshly, guiding his dick inside with determination. Sheer impatience is palpable in his touch and audible in his sounds.

The head of his dick parts your folds, diving in; and you let out a moan so lustful that he grows downright desperate against your shoulder. Standing here like this is hard, too; so he puts his palms on your ass, commands—

“Jump once.”

“What?”

“Jump,” he repeats, “I’ll hold you. Want you, please.”

“Okay…” you mumble. You put your hands on his broad shoulder, readying yourself, “Okay.”

And then you do — immediately wrapping your legs around him. And he lets you fall slowly, body pressed against yours, so you’re sandwiched between him and the wall; so he can guide his hardness back to your cunt.

You drop onto it slowly, carefully. Impaling yourself on him, inch by inch penetrating your insides. The more you take in, the deeper the crease between your eyebrows. And when he’s bottomed out, you feel like… yourself again?

Because what moment is more intimate than this? What moment allows you to crawl out of your shell more than this?

Even if in a crude sense, this is yet another definition of home. And every definition can be traced back to him.

“You feeling alright?” he asks, and you nod immediately.

“Is a bit weird, but…” you hold onto him, one hand moving to his face. You don’t finish your sentence; only nod, exhaling against his lips.

“Can I start?”

Another nod; and then he starts pumping in. Slowly in and out; you’re firmly in place against the wall, slipping just a little. His hands engulf your ass again — his strength is mind-numbing, and his sounds loud as he splits you in two.

Your eyes shut for a mini moment, and when they crack open again, they’re met with the still mirror. It’s fogging up again, yet still clear enough to make out Jungkook’s back; the form of his body. Your thoughts tangle up.

You’ve seen him shirtless a million times before, fully bare — but it might be the first time you’re enjoying this very perspective. And the entirety of him… leaves you gasping. Butt naked, ass muscles flexing, the triangle shaped back smooth. Where do his guts even fit?

They’re a blessing, those reflections, catching the way he’s standing, ramming into you. And then you, burying your nails into his shoulder blades, expression fucked out, body moving up and down the wall. Having things done to you by him.

You’re so fucking lucky.

You mutter, “Kook…”

“Yes, baby.”

“You look so good… so…”

“Mmmh, you do, too,” the sentence starts in a clear tone, but morphs into a whisper, “just… can’t see enough of you… shit, babe—”

He leans in, parting your lips with his, your tongues touching as he delivers a rough jab just once. And that’s when things stop working for you.

Because soon enough, you’re swaying to the side, nearly falling; as his protective instincts kick in, immediately holding you, his cock jumps out. And he shakes his head, pecking your temple once, and then deducts, “Okay. This won’t do.”

“Hmmm,” you hum in agreement, weak on your legs, “bad idea for sure.”

“Hold up.”

He’s quick to turn you around, thoroughly in charge of your body tonight — you’re fully under his mercy. Ready to kneel and bend for him. And Jungkook, understanding your boundaries, gives you all you need — knows what to do, knows when to stop.

And you keep handing over control; more so when he pushes you over the sink, stating, “Okay. Looks easier.” A pause. “Looks so much fucking better, too.”

Wish you could see. Fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re tense.

He leans down to kiss your back. His dick pokes between your ass cheeks again, slipping down and further down until it makes itself home between your nether lips again.

It falls into it in one fell swoop, swiftly, as if it’s no effort at all — guess it never is.

And god, does the position feel heavenly.

Balls deep inside; the first angle that allows full unhinged, animalistic mode.

But he still starts out slow; with long strokes and a hand in your hair. You tumble backwards a little, urging him to move too, lifting your ass higher and pushing your legs together for maximal effect.

Allowing more tightness for him; more friction for you.

“I… missed fucking you so much,” he says between thrusts. “You feel unreal.”

You guess you do. He does, too. Maybe the two of you need a reminder that this is all too real; perhaps a tantalising equivalent to a wake-up-pinch.

So you suggest, “Fuck me harder, Kook.”

���Hmm… want that?”

“Been waiting so fucking long.”

And while a lover of patience and anticipation — who is he to reject your wishes after the entire ordeal occurring in this room? The two of you have dragged out this moment plenty.

So he listens fast; soon using your neck as leverage as his inked fingers wrap it smoothly. Agreeing, “It’d be my literal pleasure, babe.”

God, he’s a dumbass — but you can’t physically react. Too caught up in something else; storing the laughter and jokes for later.

Because he picks up on pace, not too much right away; but enough for his hips to slap against your ass. Enough for you to be catapulted forwards with a whine, cheek pressing to the glass.

You lift your hand, accidentally wiping again, but only manage a trail, hand sliding down. From behind, you hear a hoarse praise, “Looks so fucking hot,” he draws a sharp breath, nearly hissing, “I promise I’ll be careful, just…”

He pulls at your hair. Shoves his cock inside rougher, face closer to you, lips to your cheek. Swallows hard enough for you to hear, and then, “Tell me if it’s too much. Am careful until I can’t be, baby.”

Until he loses control. He says it right before he drops all inhibitions and — goes feral.

You squint your eyes shut, calling out his name; the word echoes in the small room, and for just a second, you worry the neighbours might hear. And then right away, you stop caring again.

Because you want this man. Now and later and forever; want him like this, want him in any way. This isn’t just sex to you — if that’s what you wanted, you’d download an app like your freshman self used to.

No.

No matter how obscene, there’s meaning in every one of your touches; in every stroke, in every word, in every single time you lose yourself in him.

Your stomach twists as he jackhammers into you; you’re craving proximity, craving all his attention. Want all of his emotions and touches raw and merciless. Want to see him.

Although, when your shut eyes open, you only see blurry forms in the mirror moving, him behind you. He squeezes your neck; you see that much before he slides it down your body, straight to your clit, no detours.

He pushes his knee up for a second, touching the edge of the sink and balancing on one leg, but drops it again soon. The white painted, stainless steel of the sink, previously cold on your tummy, burns against your skin now. A chafing feeling.

Jungkook draws more forms against your clit, but then retracts his hand; instead, squishing your tits, indecisive where to touch. But it’s the last move he makes before he straightens his body, palms on your ass until he spanks just once and…

Pulls out again.

What?

“Look at me, sweetheart,” you register.

You pant, fingers clutching the sink and gulping down the tiredness before you manage a turn. Your eyes land on his dick first; it’s fully drenched in your arousal, so unbreakably stiff.

He whispers again, “Look at me,” but the moment you do, he doesn’t withhold your stare for too long. Instead, his hands are back on your cheeks, drawing you close, seeking your lips. His never-satisfied thirst matches yours; you want to remain here and freeze time.

With your arms around his neck, he guides you towards the washing machine, pushing the clothes further aside. He helps you get on it, but you argue immediately, “This could be dangerous, right? Shouldn’t sit here, I think… might break…”

“It’ll be okay,” he says, making himself comfortable between your legs, pushing them apart with his thighs. Two fingers hold your chin, lips ghosting over yours. “Is a cheap ass thing… want a new one anyway.”

You wonder if he’ll say that about all the furniture he’ll fuck you on. Because observing his eyes, you know that he will — will soil every inch of his apartment within, what you anticipate, a short period of time.

But unfortunately for the washing machine, you’re too weak to reject the offer.

So you hold him tight, jostling him closer to you as you ask, “Yeah?”

“Mhmmmm.” The word drowns in your moan when his cock glides back in; when will you ever get used to this? “Don’t worry… won’t break as badly as we will.”

Well, fuck.

The ridges of his cock drag just right along your walls, the angle making your mouth water. Your cunt is burning; and he still dares to ask, “Okay like that?”

“More than okay, Kook… more than—”

He always screws you numb; barely ever lets you finish your sentences. Your moans have become a constant interruption, along with the goddamn things he says, “Your pussy is so good. So, so good.”

And then he’s back making out with you, sweatier than before. His body is enticingly warm, muscles working on you. Both his and your hair sticks to the nape of the neck or your back, and you hold onto him, keening against his lips.

Then, you lean back for a second, keyed up as fuck, propping up your body with your arms. Your palms press against the back of the machine, and he inches close to explore the bare skin of your torso. His chain skims your nipples, as if on purpose; and he kisses you here, there, everywhere.

Neck, clavicles, tits, jaw.

Perspiring without an end, all of this could be gross. But instead, you feel hyped up, sexy as never before. Dizzy at the sight of his golden skin, the small beads of sweat spreading on it.

It takes one or two more minutes of this insanity until things come to an eventual end. A glorious end, that is — filled with deep moans, squealed calls of names, unrhythmic thrusts that fasten for the finale.

“I’ll come,” Jungkook states, and you shoot back up to him, holding his head against the mounds of your tits. He kisses between them, breathing irregular, words muffled, “Gonna come so hard, what the f—”

And when he does, you lose all coherent thoughts immediately. Not that you could think before — but his uncontrolled exclaims already make you wish for a whole new round. Nevermind that your pussy is wrecked and beaten.

Vocal as ever, he finishes with deep shoves, slowing down with each second. His lips remain open between your collarbones, and you feel his eyebrows draw together. Thick strings of hot cum filling you up, your cunt tightens.

And somehow, after all this, he still finds the energy to sneak his hand between your bodies, blindly seeking your clit until he finds it. Familiar circles render you breathless, even though they’re lazy — but picking up on intensity when he leans back, still breathing hard.

He looks absolutely done — still fucking the rest of him into you. But you’re moaning and groaning, and he’s far from giving up as he says, “Come with me, baby.”

Honestly, he doesn’t need to tell you. You’re already calling and blurting out random words, already limp. Wrapping your legs around his torso with the tiny remaining energy you have left, absolutely insane.

Jungkook kisses you one last time. And you let the build up in your lower tummy and pussy proceed; up and up and up to the peak — until he delivers one last stroke, cock already softening, finger on your nub diligent and…

You milk his dick in its entirety. Your pussy clenches and unclenches. Random figures swim in your vision, flashy behind your eyelids. Limbs trembling, body a mess and fingers hooking into his chain, you only notice now that you’re repeatedly whispering his name.

Winding and crying. Trying not to tug too hard, to break the jewellery, but still urging him closer, closer.

You’re shivering, surviving the vertigo, breathing stagnant. Trying to control it. Quivering like fucking crazy, not feeling your legs.

Also hating how his cum is dripping onto the damn washing machine. In your hazy mood, you laugh a little.

It takes a bit of time for the two of you to calm down, to dim the adrenaline in your nerves. Your chests rise and fall in unison, still clutching to the embrace. His skin is flushed, yours hot, skin tingling with the lingering heat of the passed passion.

And when he finally moves back, looking at you, you see half a dozen things in there. Satisfaction and vulnerability among them. Maybe even a hint of mischievousness, proud of whatever just happened; happy with the emotions it conjured.

Stars in his eyes. Contentment, composure and affection at last.

A pleasant stillness follows, the world outside the bathroom nonexistent. The aftermath of the steamy encounter lingers until you break the silence after all.

“When the hell,” you start, throat dry, “did you get so broad?”

“…What?”

“You just. You looked endless in the mirror. You’re so—”

Amused, he displays a grin as sly as you adore. He tsks and then mocks, “Stop drooling.”

“You first.”

His chuckle is throaty; a result of the constant exclaims and the absolute dehydration. You give the two of you a moment to collect saliva on your tongue, to swallow and wet your cords.

Your fingers paint an invisible, light pattern on his skin; tracing his tattoos is one of your favourite things to do. You jest, “That’s a good way to destress.”

He arches an eyebrow, then rolls his eyes — but the devotion towards you behind the gesture is irrefutable. It carries into his words, no matter how playfully mocking his tone or his sighs, “Everything for the princess.”

“So,” you pause, lips curling into a soft smile. “Is this what I’m gonna be getting for the rest of my life?”

You see it immediately. The explosion in his eyes; the burst of stars in the depths of his pupils. Clear as the night sky, fond and sweet and magical. Guess you spoke big words for sure.

“…The rest of your life, huh?” he asks.

“No?”

“Is that what you want?”

Ever-the-boomerang, you gauge his reaction, closing the distance between you. Lips barely apart, you throw back again, “Don’t you?”

You don’t need to glance through his ribs, lungs, blood and skin; you see the swelling around his heart. Emotions swimming in it in abundance. You see all of it right in his eyes.

And his voice proves it; delicate and quiet, “Baby… you make my heart drop to my stomach all the time. Do I not look at you like I want a rest of my life with you?”

Gosh. You’re too weak for this.

“Look at me like that more often,” you answer, breathing against him, eyes dancing with delight, “maybe I’ll believe you then.”

“Huh,” he makes, letting out an entertained huff, “brat. Maybe later. Let’s get you cleaned up and dressed for now, alright?”

Right. You forgot you’re still here. Snapping back into reality is always a task.

Of course it is.

Because your world is a cocoon; you don’t want to leave it just yet. And maybe, somewhere in the near future — you won’t have to anyway.

Jungkook and you don’t waste minutes doing formalities tonight. No flickering candle flames; no organised set up of your table. You dim the lights, snatching a lamp from his bedroom and rely on it along with the TV’s brightness.

You filled your plates and stomachs with a dish he’s wanted to show you for a while. It’s some special Jeon recipe — limited to him specifically, not his family. The brief cut in your relationship kept you from the meal, but watching him fiddle with the pots and cutlery was worth the wait after all.

He’s still proud of it; you’re filled to the brim, sick to the core, but the noodle-Buldak-mayo-perilla-oil-combination introduced the night just perfectly.

Your body is limp against his after dinner, bloated. A mutual agreement concluded that watching a movie might be the easiest activity you could indulge in to further destress. So you cuddle up, eyes droopy as you wait for the Netflix logo and thump to subside.

You let the username float by, though unable to suppress your giggle. Your back shakes against him, his hand halting mid-air, remote control in it, and you comment, “Letjungcook7. You’re such a dork.”

“Why?” You look back, met with raised eyebrows and round eyes. “Do you not like it?”

“I love it. Don’t you ever dare change it.”

He tuts, trademark smirk tilted; responds, “And don’t you ever change your Sunny Baudelaire icon.”

“God, she’s an iconic baby,” you groan, enthusiastic; your hands gesture to the TV, Baudelaires nowhere in sight, “I will never shut up about this show.”

“That’s why you’re not allowed to change it. Kinda cute how much you love it.”

“Jungkook,” you tug at his unoccupied arm, placing his wrist and palm over your belly button, “would you ever rewatch it with me?”

His hand rubs gently over your shirt, and then drops until his fingers are toying with your — his — jogger’s strings. “I’m a pro at rewatching. I’m down.”

You whisper a dragged celebratory word, eyes back to the screen. He’s scrolling through the genres fast, barely inhaling the titles and summaries. And when he skips three more of the stuff you’d usually settle on, you say, “Don’t think you’ll find anything on there.”

Ironically enough, he answers, “We’ve barely looked. Look. Knives Out’s second part is on there.”

“I just watched it recently. Hmm, what about that Poe movie with Christian Bale?”

On cue, he passes it three seconds later, only stopping on it for a moment before he voices, “Hmm…”

You wait. Drag out another second. Then conclude, “Okay, you’re not feeling it. Got it. Something else?”

“What about Disney?”

“What about scrolling until we fall asleep?”

The hand still busy with the strings moves up to your sides, pinching you lightly. You flinch, hard enough to nearly break his nose, overdramatic by nature. Amidst your commotion, you hear him say, “Don’t mock me. I’ll kick you from the couch.”

“I’ll just stay on the floor then.”

“Angel, I swear.”

“Okay, okay. Sorry.”

But you’re not.

Because the bicker continues for another ten minutes, remote control snatched every now and then, ideas suggested and immediately rejected.

Jungkook admits his guilty pleasures merely a couple minutes later, and you conjure all your patience and discourse abilities to explain why you can’t watch The Notebook or Titanic anymore.

But once Dion’s soprano voice builds a nest in a lobe of your brain, you give in, half laughing, half agitated as you tackle the 90s classic — only for Jungkook to click out again.

“It’s no fun when we’re not both ready to watch it.”

“Dude…”

More scrolling, you guess.

Five more minutes pass — and eventually, Titanic deserted, you sing the songs of Coco instead. You expect Jungkook’s attention and lips to shift halfway through the movie, tracing down your neck or along your sides – a standard for a weekday movie night.

But to your surprise, he powers through it with minimal dialogue and wide, focused eyes. Palm above your ribs, moveless under your shirt and his cheek pressed against your heartbeat, you assume he’s fallen asleep by the time the credits roll.

Until – you feel warm liquid wetting your shirt, a sniffle combining with his shaky breath before you ask with your own damp eyes, “Babe— are you crying?”

His answer is delightfully unashamed and immediate, “I’ve never watched Coco without crying.”

The soft strains of the movie’s soundtrack won’t let your eyes dry either; but Jungkook seems far more into it than you. Adoration burns hot in your veins.

“You never told me that!” you exclaim.

“Because it’s not worth telling. Should be a given — these movies are made to cry to!”

You giggle through your tears. Jungkook’s mind works in miraculous ways — non-judgemental, yet probably flashing a side-eye to those who do not partake in a sob fest during Coco or Encanto.

“I honestly love how you’re not a toxic male at all, you know?” you point out; you feel a huff against your chest.

At least he’s smiling through the brief sadness, too.

You crane your neck, not quite turning around just yet, and watch him rub his cheek clean off the tears. Not that his eyes have stopped welling up, though.

For a moment, you observe, staring at the swollen, pouty lower lip. His pupils glimmer in the TV’s light, long locks brushed back; half of them tied in a tiny ponytail.

You could overthink every detail of his face. Tell him all about his everlasting elegance. Instead, you only lower your voice, soft as you say, “You look pretty even when you cry.”

“Thank you,” he returns, though fingertips still work at the liquid, and you can’t help but laugh.

You can barely believe that’s the same confident beast who was pressing you against cool tiles just an hour ago. The stark contrast baffles you.

You’re amused when you question, “It really affects you so much?”

“Everything about it!” he immediately argues. You expand your eyes. “The way Coco looks at Miguel at the end. And that freaking moment when she meets her parents at the end. Does it not affect you?”

“Oh, of course it does,” you defend, “I’m a story girl. I’ll cry reading and watching these things, for sure.”

“And then the lyrics,” he continues, in his element a hundred percent, “the thought of remembering someone even after they’re gone and far away…”

The further his sentence progresses, the more the words blur. His voice is feeble, hoarse when he gets to the final syllables. When he pauses between his rambling to draw a breath, you hear a heartbreaking shake in his inhale.

And the exhale sounds like a quiet sob.

You turn back immediately, pressing onto the pause button, remote control still in his hand. The credits darken the room as opposed to the movie’s colours before. You see a damp trail along his cheek, eyelashes wet.

Your smile vanishes as you stare a little longer. The blanket falls from your chest into your lap when you lift your arm from under it, hastily drying his tears with your thumbs. Just slightly, he leans into the touch, but his face soon falls, an attempt to hide.

You ask, “What’s wrong?”

Jungkook isn’t embarrassed of tears — you figured this out without him admitting it to you. But he’s embarrassed of the guilt he feels; acknowledging it when he speaks.

“It’d just be nice,” hands holding his face drop; you touch his chest, “to make up with the family like this. They made it look easy.”

You keep looking. Bewildered, unable to answer for seconds too long. You blink until the words sink in properly, incapable of more than, “I’m sorry, baby.”

“No, no,” he argues, shaking his head, “I mean. Who am I to tell you something like this?”

“It’s okay. Your worries are legit worries, too. Look at me,” you reassure, prompting him to meet your gaze. “You’re not a bad person. Okay? It’s… so terrible that you think you are.”

“I fucked up.”

It dawns on you once more that he firmly believes that; causes a searing sting. The process is neither a smooth nor a quick one — you know it’ll take a while for him to convince him otherwise. To drop his current beliefs about himself.

“You didn’t,” you refute, firm certainty and conviction in your voice. “That’s not how a fuck-up is defined, I promise you. And those who are actually wrong probably know, too.”

“It’d just be nice,” he starts again; the shrug of his one shoulder doesn’t distract you from the misery and self-loathing in his eyes, “if he called at least.”

“I know. I don’t know, I… do you think you could call instead?”

Jungkook’s lashes brush his skin, the apples of his cheeks not as round and squishy as usual. Yet, the sadness makes him look younger, softer.

You sigh; a warm blanket isn’t enough anymore. You need to wrap him in the comfort of the world — ideally, in his father’s care.

Jungkook opens his mouth for another argument, but then holds it in, says after another moment of contemplation, “Actually… There’s a gathering coming up. I’ll see my people there, so… I don’t know. Trying won’t hurt, right?”

“It never does.”

His eyes start unfocusing. You recognise it in the way he glues his gaze to a point on the glass table, unblinking, staring nowhere in truth. You keep your attention on him for another second, hoping he’ll look at you, even if forlorn.

But when he doesn’t, you wrap your arms around him instead. His chest is calmer against your head now, breathing as soft as the palms that find your back. He presses you into his body by mere inches; you barely notice.

Your fingers draw shapes on his arm, a subtle consoling gesture. In the background, you hear the song fade, volume lower now. The movie soon transitions to something else; you don’t pay any mind to it, drowsy and distracted in his embrace.

But then your mind wanders; to the man keeping Jungkook’s thoughts hostage. You remember the conversation the two of you had last Sunday. You recall the way your hand held his broken heart together.

You wish it was as easy as a small scar — an echo of whatever once transpired, but also a reminder that it healed.

Then, for a second, you think of your own wounds. How they still need to be cured, too. How years and time alone won’t fix issues; you need to tackle them actively — maybe at some point, the two of you can.

You laugh softly against his shirt, burying between his pecs; joking, “We’re perfect for each other. Dysfunctional families and whatnot.”

His chuckle is still a light tremble, but genuine enough for you to celebrate. His hands push a little harder into your back; your body shifts up his lap, butt half on his thigh. Eyes shut, still sniffling.

Jungkook wraps around you like a soothing force, an invisible bubble. A bandage despite carrying all bruises. You sigh in contentment, head dizzy from exhaustion; waking up just when he blurts a question again.

“You really think that, right? That I’m not a bad person.”

You crack your eyes open a slit.

You understand. Someone who overthinks needs multiple repeated reassurances — you’re the same.

So you nod against him, guaranteeing, “You’re… kind of ridiculously amazing. You’re someone who gives all those people hope who don’t believe in humanity anymore.” Pause. “And I admire you in every way. So much.”

He doesn’t respond. You wait. Further dead silence, interrupted by the soft sounds of the TV. You lick your lower lip, dropping your gaze to where your thumb rubs his wrist. Tracing a vein.

His mellow voice reverberates, a melody to your eardrums when he whispers, “We’d do this so much if you were here all the time.”

“Crying in each other’s arms, huh?”

He clicks his tongue, accompanied by the grin you’re certain graces his face, even if you can’t see. You hear it in his voice all the more, “Sure. Also, have dinner together. Shower and watch movies together. Laugh and cry.”

You smile. “I still can’t believe it, you know? That you want this… and me at all.”

“You feel that, too, yeah?” Fingertips move up your spine, between your shoulder blades and then to the nape of your neck. Tickling, grazing gently. “I promise I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t truly feel all that, though.”

“What’s all that?”

“Just.” His chest rises. Then falls. “Everything.”

One of your heartbeats freezes, you’re sure. And when it comes back alive, you think — maybe he doesn’t need the world’s comfort after all. Or his father’s care. Maybe yours is enough right now.

But then again.

You’d be damned if you kept your traumas intact. Or his. You took each other as you came long ago — as vulnerable human beings, with a whole lot of baggage. With all the injuries on your heart.

Yet, this isn’t a state you want to accept. For neither of you.

Your unwavering belief remains steadfast — that one day, things need to become… okay.

So you gulp down all the pain, lighting a candle in your chest, and say,

“It’s not over yet, baby.”

Zara keeps yelling orders around. Her voice, usually collected and tender, is agitated today. You can barely imagine how many little tasks, how many stressed phone calls must be overrunning her.

You establish a distance between your device and your ear, protecting your hearing with one eye squinting shut. And when she returns to the conversation, you exhale through the nose.

“Sorry. You were asking—”

“How’s it look?” you repeat.

“I mean, everyone’s stressed,” she responds, clearly frustrated; as if it should be obvious to you. And it is; but you’ll spiral, too, if you don’t keep your calm, at least. “A lot to do.”

“You’re sure you don’t need me to come earlier?”

“All good, love. You’re not a manager yet,” she stops her speech to mumble something to another co-worker, imaginary hands jam packed with preparations for the press conference. “But when you are, you won’t know what to do with all the stress.”

“Great outlook into a potential future.”

“I just mean you should enjoy things while they last.”

Zara isn’t the only one wandering up and down the building to assure perfection. She’s only one of the big mentors, managers to handle everything; responsible for the catering and content to be presented at the conference.

Her team stands firmly behind her, but you don’t blame her for still allowing her head to steam. Of all busy people in their blazers and slacks, however, she’s been the only one to spare some time for you.

You’re grateful for her enthusiasm and support. You smile as you ask, “Do you think I can answer everything the way I intend to?”

“I think so.”

“It’s so new to me.”

“Yeah, but you’re a natural at this stuff. And also,” she speaks slower now. The chaos behind her has calmed a little; her voice echoes off somewhere. Perhaps a restroom. “Things are looking good.”

You stop sauntering through the room, pausing in front of the bed’s corner before dropping onto it. Dragging your tongue over your lower lip, you blink, and then ask, “You’re sure?”

“We had a couple conversations over here. Made a few more phone calls, and I think you don’t need to worry about a thing. We’ll come up with something if things derail, though, okay?”

You’re uncertain, still anxious. Should this afternoon flop, you’ll be screwed.

You need it to succeed. You can’t afford misfires. Ugh.

Restless, your foot taps against the floor. You try not to think of things going astray; try to think of a smooth progress, not precarious in any way.

Yet, you ask doubtfully, “Can we do that?”

“We always can. That’s business.”

Guess she’s right. Your mother has saved you one too many times — from stupid things you did as well as from things you never needed saving from.

A rich human being’s power over the media — and frankly, the world — is unbeatable. Barely to be underestimated.

“Okay,” you mutter, “thank you.”

Despite only hearing her voice, you imagine her nod, the way she often does. You miss the warm, promising palm on your shoulder. Appreciate that she’s still here instead of dropping you to the side; leaving the call to handle more relevant issues.

No, she lingers there; you hear her breathe until she asks, “Are you bringing your man, too, by the way?”

Your man.

You straighten your back in pride, bright smile back, “Yeah! He said he’d come and support me. But he’s not home yet.”

“Oh? Well, you gotta be here in three hours. Where’d he go?”

“God knows. But don’t worry about punctuality.” You hear a hum, glancing up at the clock. Past noon. “Hey, also. My parents are definitely gonna come, right?”

“Babe,” she drags the word a little, and you can almost see her side-eyeing you, “journalists will be present. Cameras everywhere. At least your mother would never miss such a thing.”

Right. Cares about that company too much.

You remember the times she proved it to you. When you’d come home from middle school, eating some extravagant lunch while watching her talk on TV. Conversing with your staff.

“Okay. Good,” you say, happy about that very answer for once.

Outside, a door creaks. Steps echo through the hallway, a soft call of your name following as you hear the jingling of keys stop.

He sounds joyful.

You get up, phone halfway off your ear as you say, “Hey, I should go. I think that he—”

And the moment you look at the open door of the bedroom, your heart stops. For a second, you fear an intruder at his apartment, but the longer you look, the more your brain gives out.

The black-white-red jacket hugs his broad shoulders comfortably, the thin white sweater underneath it nearly transparent enough to reveal his tiny nipples. But despite his stature, it’s not his body that kills the power in your head.

It’s the—

You murmur last words into the phone, making out a goodbye that doesn’t reverberate as much anymore. She’s probably out of the restroom again; too distracted to give your mumble any attention anyway.

You place your phone where you previously sat and inhale his appearance carefully.

First off — you can see his ears. Can see most of his eyes. His forehead.

His hair is still dark, but it’s tamed. The wild locks, usually a feature you’ve gotten used to over the span of that one year, lay comfortably on his head. In fact, most of them are gone.

You feel a needle in your chest, but one of the surprising sort. Not painful at all.

“Wow,” you only say.

He reaches to the nape of his neck, fingertips brushing the hair there. “Yeah?”

You move towards his body, eyes fixated on every hair strand. Then, close enough, you state the obvious, “You cut your hair.”

“I… yeah. Is it terrible?” he asks, round eyes meeting yours. He raises his hand again, to his ear this time, scratching behind it for a second. “Not used to it at all. But I figured I’d look a little more serious as an artist like this.”

Really? Most artists you knew cared the least about a fancy appearance.

Then again, Jungkook doesn’t look fancy. He just looks different. Breathtaking, more mature, older.

His cheekbones look more chiselled now, his eyes wider. You could pass out right here, right now, and he still wouldn’t know how relentlessly he affects you.

“More serious?” you ask, less because you need an explanation. More because your mind keeps wandering, and you can’t fathom a word he’s saying.

“Just. Needed a change, I think,” he admits, “and wanted to adjust to a press conference’s typical look, too.”

“You did this for the press conference?”

“I wanted to look put together.”

Your heart dissolves and dissipates. His voice is soft as a petal, tender like the colours on his arm. The expression he sports is unsure, like he wants to hide — waiting for your opinion.

He really put thought into this. Woke up this morning and set a goal with purpose, not uttering a word to you to surprise you a couple hours later.

You don’t know what to say. You barely know what to feel, except this unbearable urge to ramble down every piece of tiny emotion he’s ever made you feel.

You want his body wrapped around you, engulfed in a blanket, head on his chest and slumbering for the rest of your life. Want to mumble little confessions, shiver when his lips touch your scalp.

Overwhelmed — that’s what you are.

“I loved the long hair,” you finally admit, “I guess I got too used to it, so I need to adjust, but. But… this is so… It… it suits you.”

You’re stumbling over your words, suggesting doubt. Not the way to go. Perhaps they shouldn’t have chosen you as one of the press conference speakers after all. 

Jungkook’s concern grows visible in his big, round pupils; expressive, a true glimpse into his heart. You feel bad because you’re not as good with words as he is, and because he seemed so happy about his choice.

You just can’t fucking express yourself — even though you’re melting inside, falling harder. And maybe he notices your awkwardness, because he tries again.

“You’re uh— sure you don’t hate it?”

“No! God, no. It’s different. You look amazing, Kook. You look like…”

He swallows. “Like what?”

“You’re so pretty, Jeon Jungkook.” You say it with genuinity this time. He closes his lips, blinking, and while he attempts to veil his relief, you still see the high rise of his chest. “You look fucking gorgeous, no matter what you do. I… I mean it.”

The answer satisfies him. His risen shoulders drop a little, tension falling off, and he fixes the already perfectly sitting collar of his jacket before he smiles. Just a little, a subtle twitch of the corners of his lips.

As soft as his response, “I always aim to reach your level, you know?”

You roll your eyes. Partly to keep them from watering because your heart is bursting. Splintering like every morning and every night; you wonder if you’ll ever get used to it.

A couple gentle words lie heavy on your tongue, pressing against the muscle to let them out; but at the prospect of actually uttering them, your guts twist. You don’t want to throw up before the meeting.

So you remove the tightness from your chest with a deep exhale, nearly until your lungs are dry, and say, “Shut up.”

Playfully, you deliver a soft push against his chest, laughing when his dramatic ass stumbles backwards. Submerged in those goddamn dimples, you immediately grab the hem of his jacket and before you know it, you’ve taken a step forward and landed in his arms.

You sneak your arms underneath the leather-ish material, not hesitating for a second before you’re squeezing his torso. He lets out a choked sound, groaning, but reacts similarly fast as you.

His heartbeat accelerates for a moment, right against your ear as you make yourself small. The sweater smells like his favourite detergent and him; musky, fresh. Your palms, flat against his back, crave deeper touch.

Nothing crude; just an afternoon on the bed behind you, limbs entwined, laughing about things that probably aren’t that funny anyway.

For a moment, the silence transcends words. You inject the blend of gratitude and affection through your touch, ensuring he understands.

But when it’s not a testament to your emotions enough, you speak against his chest, voice very likely muffled, “You didn’t have to do this for me… you just. You never have to do anything for me, but you still do.”

“I’ll do anything for you.”

Immediate and sincere. Voice unwavering.

God, you’re not his strongest soldier.

A smile tugs at your lips, and you chide, "Stop that."

"What?"

"If you keep saying these things," you continue, a frisky lilt in your voice, "I'll die. Do you want me to die?"

Jungkook chuckles. Always a soothing melody in a hushed room. He remarks, grip still wrapped around you securely, "Acting all innocent now."

You don’t understand right away what he means — but then you hear his heartbeat, picking up on pace again.

Makes you want to squash him harder. Melt into him further.

“Shut up, Jeon,” you respond with a nudge, cheek pressed against his shirt. Just a moment longer — just a couple more seconds to inhale the solacing scent.

Your heart is unguarded; he could sever it if he wanted to. He’s proven that he has the power to. Yet, you keep fuelling it, vulnerable in his warmth as you say, “You’ve no clue what you mean to me, Kookie.”

Your vivid imagination might be forcing things upon your mind that aren’t actually there, but you do think you perceive the way his entire body melts. Nearly limp, in a state so relaxed and peaceful that you have only experienced in the mornings before.

Waking him up for work, feeling weightless limbs wrapped around you, passed out.

His fingers trace patterns on your back lightly, stirring from bottom to top and back. They first stop at the small of your back, then lift off your body, hands suddenly on your shoulders.

He pushes you off him, your movements reluctant, and looks at you with profound sincerity. His voice matches his expression, gentle and adoring, “Will you tell me how much I mean to you?”

Amidst the delicate minutes you spend standing between the bedroom and the living room, you almost forget that there’s a world outside. It’s a little more grey than before, similar to the suit you’ll be wearing in a couple hours.

You remember the prospect of an audience, the answers you’ve prepared, to questions they probably will ask. Zara told you they wouldn’t hold back — they’d phrase their inquiries friendly, but still keep the intentions devilish.

Right.

The world is still turning out there. You want it to stop for the two of you — frozen moments. But it can’t, at least not yet. Right now it’s too real; and you guess that the worst part is that in your line of business, it will keep revolving around people like you.

Whether you want it or not.

So maybe, if it truly needs to keep spinning and can’t halt for you, keeping you in the centre, you should give it something to talk about, too.

Something crisp, something new. Without a care for it, but all the care for you and the man in front of you.

Which is why you spare him another fond smile, forehead calm and your demeanour confident — and tell him, “I’ll do my best to let you know."

The audience stretches to the far back. All the rows are filled to the brim with reporters or guests. The shutter of the cameras and the flashing lights are agitating.

You look down.

Nervously tapping your feet on the stage, you shrink into yourself inch by inch. Your seat is uncomfortable, though padded, a little too warm against your ass right now. Zara notices your tick and puts a steady hand to your knee, repeating for the millionth time today, “Stop. It’ll be okay.”

“It’s just dawning on me though, Zara.”

“What is?”

You nod faintly towards the mic and the attendees, tell her, “That I was actually chosen to speak. They shouldn’t have chosen me.”

“You asked for it.”

“Yeah, but there are more important things to discuss.”

Zara’s lips form a circle; she shakes and lowers her head, sending out a beam of air that you feel on your wrist, blazer sleeves rolled up. You’ve been like that all evening.

“You can do it,” she repeats patiently, “you’re the boss’ daughter and they want your opinion. You’ll hit them hard with yours.”

You suck in a breath, leave the air in your cheeks, and then puff it out again. “I want to. I hope to, I just— never thought it’d be this nerve-wracking. Don’t wanna say anything wrong.”

The subtle shake of her head continues — or reemerges —, lips in a thin line, eyes slowly blinking, “Mh-mh. We talked about it, okay? Practised all the questions they could ask. You’ll be good.”

“You gotta promise.”

“As much as I can, babe, it’s up to y—” She takes in your falling face, holding back with a sigh when she sees the dread in your pupils. “I promise. Of course.”

She taps your knee, softly and lightly, and then says, “I’m so curious about everyone’s reactions. Like. Gosh, just look at those people.”

You understand what she means. “I know.”

Zara places a manicured thumb on her matte red lips, mumbling, “Here for entertainment. At least a third of them will add their own fantasies to the articles they’ll write. Hypotheses and manipulative, neutrally phrased thoughts. Cockroaches.”

Funny. That’s what you call them, too. A collective understanding, you see.

But.

“Shhh,” you voice, “they—”

“It’s fine. They know it, too. Like lawyers do.”

Can’t refute. Eun told you one too many times how unfair the law business usually is, and how she’ll strive to not have anyone ever manipulate her. To remain genuine.

“Yeah, but,” you still argue, “I imagined they’d be listening in all the time. Don’t they do lip reading and stuff?”

She nods, a finger still on her mouth, smiling, “Mhm. I also feel like I could say whatever, but it’ll be you they’ll focus on today.”

Your heart drops, an uncomfortable twist in your guts adding to the stress. Might have to dash to the bathroom at the very last minute. You curse, “Shit, Zara… I should fucking ru—”

“Stay. You can do this. I promise.”

“Okay,” you take another deep breath, helping your oxygen-lacking, spinning head, “okay.”

You look back to the media present, ready to survive questions; prepared to provide answers. The moderator is talking to your mother at the front, covering the mic with a hand.

They gave you around five minutes to speak, and in that time, you need to answer everything. How you do it is up to you, but the pressure to perform in a certain way, accordingly, weighs heavily on you.

But it’s alright.

You’ll just need to stay confident. Stick to your message. They’ll have things to say anyway — and you’ll make the best of them.

You stare past the lights, squinting to find him, raking your neck. His figure towers in the back, easy to detect, and once he meets your eyes — or perhaps never having averted his from you — he lifts a hand to wave in tiny motions.

Then, he drops his fingers again, entwining them in front of his body. He isn’t necessarily allowed here, but you were able to sneak him through in advance. So now he’s a couple feet from the wall, choosing to stand rather than sit, so you find him easily.

So you seek his eyes for comfort if need be.

Before you parted near the entrance, he said, “I’ll be offering a dozen thumbs up like a fool if you need me to.”

You chuckled — but maybe he meant it. Because his smile and nod undoubtedly dispel your fears; as if he can see you struggling.

The seconds drag on, and the conference begins seven minutes later. Your mother is the first to talk, outlining a general overview of what’s to come. Of Charmante’s philosophies, of its success, praising the team.

Then, she forwards to important employees like Zara, letting them ramble about launches or ideas in depth. Business strategies, partnerships, bringing across points that you usually don’t get the chance to share.

This is legit press; even though out for a loophole, they won’t follow you around or hide in the shadows. Incessant and vexing, but at least they’re allowed here.

Conversations about new collections, store openings as well as expansions and customer engagement pass in a trice, and at some point, another coworker is uttering last words to a last question.

And you realise — that you’re next.

The moderator introduces you with pride; everyone applauds, smiling at you fondly despite all the controversies. ”Controversies.” Under quote marks, as Zara pointed out, because you never committed an offence.

You stand on weak knees. Trembling when you grip the podium. It’s like the sound in the room fades, a single peeping tone overshadowing all noise. You barely blink anymore; not even the flashy white can shut your eyes.

And god, you can hear your breathing. Your damn heart. Your nose sucks in all the air available in the room, or at least in the building, and then you open your mouth to speak.

a/n: this is not a cliffhanger!! tumblr just doesn't allow to drop looong posts anymore, so here's the rest of the chapter lol, keep reading and enjoying, i love you and will see you on the other side!! and don't forget to support this chapter, folks 🥺 <3

[siyadrunkrecs]

When you told me I was going to kill you for this, you were not wrong 🔪

Someone like me who doesn't read a lot of supernatural, was completely blown away by the sheer detailing and readability of the universe that you created for us. I went into it with zero understanding of the otherworldly and came out...... well, completely battle-scarred

I'm also very much convinced that Jimin is a real life Fae. End of that comment. The way you took them about the club... GAWD IT FELT LIKE ME. IM THE DUMBASS. TAKE ME AND MY BACKLESS DRESS AND TEAR MEEEEEE

You knew he’s teasing you with the current pace of his fingers, intentionally not curling them so you started grinding back on him

YANNIE GURL HOW DARE YOU???? HOW FCKIN DARE YOU BRO?? This just sounds like peak Jimin behavior 😭😭

If he was a regular human boy, he would’ve been all sweaty and breathing heavily with disheveled hair but instead he looked exactly the same, as if he didn’t just fucked your brains out in this alleyway.

BROOOOO why is this irl Jiminnnnnnnnn >.<

The way you describe the start of their relationship, and the forbidden aspects of it... I want Jimin so BAYYYDDD 😭 The line "The memory made you grimace a bit, a painful reminder that this was the limit of your relationship with Jimin." my goodness me. I'm hurt so bad 💀

Jimin was just using you.

WHAT NOW???? HE WHAT NOW??? IM BOUT TO BUST HIS ASS WHEN HIS COCK AINT IN ME

“everywhere is fine as long as you’re with me”

Yannie. Babe. Girl. I'm going to haunt you after my death for having this line here. I really will.

The way you take this story and then shift to Jimin's POV... foCK. WHAT EMOTIONS ARE YOU FEELING BOI, FCKIN TELL ME YOU HEARTLESS WENCH! And the two of them playing each other?? It's like a game of chess on the bed I lOVE IT

And when they FINALLY MADE OUT UUUGHGHHHGHGHHHGH you can just see me devolve through the course of this review and this is my breaking point fam

“you think you know me y/n”

bite me you hoe I DO. everytime he calls yn 'petal' my heart shrivels and pokes the corners of its cage asking me why i am doing this to it 💆‍♀️💆‍♀️

“To love is to destroy”

AND YOU END THIS HERE???? REALLY???? I HATE YOU YANNIE I REALLY DO!!!

All jokes aside, this was such a good story you wove for us - the ending hurt me hard, their last night together pushed a dagger into my chest and YN's last state of mind is probably very close to what mine is - which is a sign of a fantastic story 🥺🥺💀 Thank you so much for writing this love!!!! 💛💛

please, lie to me | pjm

pairing: seelie!jimin x mundane!reader

summary: “centuries of loyalty vs. only months of fucking, how could you miscalculate?”

rating: 18+

genre: urban fantasy, shadowhunters!au, angst, smut, fwb!au? (not really), faerie!au

word count: 11k (lol what happened)

warnings: explicit sexual content, multiple sex scenes, unprotected sex (the fae don’t do protections), pet names, praise kink, fingering, breast play, oral (f.receiving), multiple orgasms, rough sex (what’s new), creampie, manhandling, exhibitionism, marking, edging, forced orgasm, light bruises, a lot of begging, some messy emotional sex, poor OC but Jimin just–

a/n: this is part of The Fabled Collaboration hosted by @kimtaehyunq​ (thank you for this gorgeous banner and for being patient with me >.<) , @joontopia & @whipped-for-kpop-fics​. i’ve had this idea even before i joined this event so what a coincidence! the fic will have aspects from the Shadowhunter Chronicles by @cassandraclare, particularly The Mortal Instruments. i also wanna thank @lemonjoonah for being supportive when i’m nervous of writing this genre that i’m only used to reading 🥺.

also, listen this song/score while reading, especially near the end to be in the feels (i cried while writing for the first time lol)

UNEDITED 🤡

― masterlist — navigation ― wips

“To love is to destroy”

That was a running joke you kept hearing with your Nephilim friends.

The Nephilim or what they modernly called as Shadowhunters were a race of humans with angelic blood that protected ordinary humans from demons and they coordinated with Downworlders which consisted of warlocks, werewolves, vampires and the fae. All of them were part of the Shadow World and they called humans like you as mundanes.

You were with your Nephilim friends for a weekend hangout, the schedule they set since they were always so busy with their missions these days that you could barely see them. The booming sound of the club’s current song was what all you can hear while you were trying to avoid the amount of people dancing on the floor. 

Not that this was the only club that you go to, but it’s the only place where you could meet them as it catered to both mundane and Downworlders. Though you had been hearing rumours about demons coming here to victimize the mundane patrons, you didn’t seem to care because you knew your friends would protect you anyways.

Passing through the dancing people turned out to be a struggle because you actually lost sight of your friends but then you felt someone’s stare.

Keep reading

[siyadrunkrecs]

literally have a gigantic ass crush on this jjk (and jjk in general but you know what i mean) and all the excitement this series evokes out of me - and i have no one to blame but moon >.>

dress down | a jjk drabble

Summary: There's a sale going on in your favourite store so you nag Jungkook to take you. One stuck zipper later, Jungkook joins you inside, to "help" you out of the dress.

♠ Pairing: jeon jungkook x f!reader ♠ Word Count: 2,143 ♠ Genre/AU: college au • fwb to lovers au ♠ Rating: 18+. This fic and the series itself is not suitable for younger audiences. ♠ Warnings: semi-public sex • hair pulling • multiple orgasms • oral (f. receiving) • protected sex • dirty talk • name calling (slut) • the return of moon's mirror kink ♠ Author's Note: this work can be read as a stand alone but it's actually a drabble for pen pals! i wrote it super quickly so it does go from 0 to 100 real quick because i wanted it out there as soon as possible hehe! it's also written for the lovely rid @taegularities who inspires me to write after ruining me with "ruin you". yes i am the galaxy anon and i just! was too shy! i hope you enjoy it, rid! @sunshinekims sophie, thank you so much for being my beta reader! i appreciate all the comments and the correction!!! thank you for being patient with me ;; i can't wait for your jungkook fic to come out 👀

--taglist (lmk if you want to be removed! if you want me to add you, fill in this form or send me a dm): @thedarkwinterrose @somewhereofftheglobe @typicalgenzworld @nch327 @moonchild1 @kooafraid @marilo11 @syazkook @kookie-vuitton @tenmonthsjay @cl0udytae @bangtae-sohotddaeng vnonnie @btsbish @hoseokstrashcan @peeaaachi @apollukee @mooniyooni @hoseokk218 @ohyeahjk @typical-taekook @imcompletelyok @bloopkook @271101 @di0rgguk @moomoomilkycow @kookxin

series m.list | general m.list | ao3

"Come to the mall with me?" you bat your eyelashes towards Jungkook, a dance of a smile on your face as you pout. "You're the only person I know that's available and has a car, right now," you explain when Jungkook's eyebrow darts upwards to the high heavens.

"And here I thought you hate spending time with me," he chuckles as he closes his textbook, standing up to stretch his tired limbs.

"Come to the mall with me?" you bat your eyelashes towards Jungkook, a dance of a smile on your face as you pout. "You're the only person I know that's available and has a car right now," you explain when Jungkook's eyebrow darts upwards to the high heavens.

"And here I thought you hate spending time with me," he chuckles as he closes his textbook, standing up to stretch his tired limbs.

You're in his apartment, to no one's surprise, and after spending hours in front of your laptop, your phone notifies you of a flash sale happening in one of your favourite stores. In big red letters, the promotion boasts 60% off of everything and your eyes turned wide instantly, imagining the beautiful dresses you've been eyeing since last month. As luck would have it, you've also just gotten paid yesterday and after setting aside money for rent and utilities, you have more than enough to spend on at least a dress.

"Come on, I'll buy you lunch if you take me. Please?"

Jungkook sighs in defeat, shaking his head as he stands up to grab his keys, unlocking the apartment door. "You coming?" he calls out as he steps foot outside and you squeal inwardly, putting on your shoes hastily to join him in the corridor.

---

You can swear to high heavens that you're a decent member of society. Sure, there were times when you lied to your parents about your whereabouts and maybe you've rolled through a stop sign without actually coming to a complete stop. It doesn't make you a bad person for doing those things, but this? You just might have taken things a bit too far.

Your mouth gapes open at the silent moan you can't utter, the reflection in the mirror shows an image of a girl in a bright yellow dress, face flushed and eyes half-lidded, rutting her hips against the beautiful face of a boy on his knees, his fingers digging into her thighs as his tongue swipes alphabets on her weeping cunt. "Fuck, you're so wet," he murmurs from underneath your dress, his fingers leaving your thighs to drag against your slit, pushing into your entrance slightly as you tremble at the feeling. "You have to be extra quiet for me, okay?" Jungkook smirks as he pops the finger in his mouth, licking his digits clean, humming approvingly at your taste.

Whimpering quietly you nod, locking your eyes on his dark pupils for a moment before Jungkook smiles, returning to his task at hand. "You taste so good, fuck," he praises, dragging his tongue along your cunt, drinking in your arousal, eyes shining so bright as he watches for your reactions.

"Jungkook - I can't," you rasp above him, getting agonizingly close to your release as you roll your hips on his face again, a low groan emitting from his throat. "Gonna cum, fuck!" Your gasping breath replaces the moan of his name, knowing that you can't be too loud in your otherwise compromised position. If someone were to walk by, there's no denying the squelch, squelch, squelch of your pussy swallowing his fingers in. You're not sure who to thank, never one to believe in the higher power, but the store is incredibly busy, coworkers shouting among each other and patrons laughing all around you, allowing you to moan a little louder as he edges you closer.

"Cum for me," he groans, thrusting his fingers faster in your cunt and using his thumb to swipe circles on your sensitive clit. It doesn't take long when you whine wantonly in a broken voice, thighs trembling as clear liquid dribble down your thighs, your walls spasming around his digits. Jungkook is quick to react, licking your arousal flowing freely down your leg and drinking it all in as he helps you through your orgasm, his hands on your hips as your body shakes violently.

You try to catch your breath, pretending to be upset at the situation that thrusts itself in the confined space, but all your thoughts slip from your mind when Jungkook stands, pants straining against his thick length as he rolls his hips against you, kissing at your neck to leave small purple marks behind. "Think you can do one more?" he whispers, dragging his perfect teeth on the shell of your earlobe.

Breathing hard, you grab his neck to crash your lips into his, nipping your way into his mouth as you card your fingers through his hair, tugging at the purple locks harshly. Go bald, Jungkook, you motherfucker, you want to screech, but the workers probably wouldn't be too thrilled to know that there's an extra person in the dressing room. Plus, this was sort of your idea. So you grab at his length instead, palming his erection as he moans into the kiss; Jungkook's arm around your waist and the other resting by your head to avoid crushing you. "You brought a condom with you, right?" you gasp when your lips part, needing air to survive.

"Always," Jungkook winks, digging in his back pocket to fish out the familiar gold packet. You undo his belt, letting it thud on the floor as you free his erection from its confines. Jungkook moans quietly when the cold air hits his cock, the red, weeping head twitching slightly as his back arches. Ripping the foil, he stuffs himself in the condom, pumping his length a few times and shoving the trash in another pocket.

"Face the wall," he commands as he strokes his cock to your ruined body.

You scowl but you do as you're told, gathering up the dress so it bunches around your hips as you place your hands against the cold, white plywood. Jungkook lines himself with your entrance and inch by glorious fucking inch, he pushes past your velvet walls, the two of you moaning quietly in unison. He slips out quickly only to slam back in one fluid motion, sheathing himself fully inside you, sending shivers down your spine as you claw at the white walls of the dressing room. You sneak a glance at the mirror, marveling at the way your bodies are connected with one another, watching Jungkook's blissful, fucked out face. His head's tipped backwards, mouth hanging open at the sensation of your walls spasming around him.

"Fuck," Jungkook breathes as he grabs your hips, thrusting slowly into your fluttering walls. He gathers your hair in a ponytail, testing the tug a few times. When you don't respond, he tugs a little harder, your body leaving the wall, back arching towards him, moaning sinfully as you bring your eyes towards the mirror to watch him fuck you.

"Everything okay in there?" comes a knock from the door, startling the two of you into halting.

"Y-Yes!" you squeak rather loudly. "Sorry, my hair got stuck in the zipper."

"Do you need help, miss?" the worker asks worryingly and you pray silently that she doesn't come into the room, knowing that she has the key to unlock the door at any point in time.

"No!" comes your hasty reply and you take big breaths in before saying it again. "I'm okay, th-thanks!"

The worker seems uncertain and she starts making polite conversation, unaware to the sinful actions that are currently happening behind the thin plywood door. "Do you want me to grab you another colour of the dress? I think the mint one will look good with your skin tone!"

You try to answer her questions as best as you could, but your mind halts to a complete stop when Jungkook continues to fuck into you slowly, a mischievous smirk on his lips when the two of you lock eyes in the mirror. He brings a finger on his lips as he drags his cock into your weeping pussy, the sound of skin against skin ringing loudly against the confined walls, though you know no one else can hear it. Your hand flies to your mouth to cover the moan that's threatening to spill from your throat and you clench your pussy in revenge, relishing the grunt that tumbles from Jungkook's lips.

"Miss? Do you want the mint one?" the worker's voice snapping you from your fucked out thoughts.

You nod fervently before realising that there isn't a way for her to see your action. Just as you're about to speak, Jungkook drags his cock out of you before slamming in harshly, his hands tug harder on your hair. "Yes!" you cry out, gasping for breath.

"O-Okay! I'll go get that for you," the worker knocks once to signify her departure, probably surprised at your excited cry.

You glare at Jungkook in the mirror, though it doesn't last long when he repeats the action, driving you close to the brink of insanity as you struggle to keep your eyes open. He picks up the pace, driving his cock into your cunt deeper when he hears a commotion going outside, (something about a rip in one of the dresses) bringing your body flush against his as his arm snakes around your waist, leaving hot open-mouthed kisses on your neck.

"You're so beautiful in this dress, you should get it," he gasps in your ear, releasing your hair to find your clit, rubbing harshly to help aid your orgasm along.

"With the - ah, fuck, there - mess we've created? I'd be too embarrassed to - ah - return it. So, of course I'm buying this fucking dress," you whisper, turning your head slightly towards him so he hears you.

"Yeah? Such a needy slut. You knew what you were doing when you asked me to help zip you up, didn't you? Fuck, this dress doesn't even have a zipper. You just can't go without my cock for a day, huh? Dirty fucking slut wants everyone to know how good you feel. Look in the mirror - fuck - you're so good to me. You take my cock so well. You're going to cum right here, then? In the fucking dressing room where everyone can hear you?" Jungkook taunts as he brings you dangerously closer towards the edge, whines leaving your lips as his grip tightens around you.

Jungkook growls as your pussy tightens, the dangerous combination of his fingers and cock dragging out a second orgasm from you. The familiar burn in your stomach causes your body to thrash against his grip, but he holds you steady, whispering how well you're taking his cock and to wait until the two of you get home because he isn't quite finished with you yet. You manage a strangled cry and a hiss of his name as your body goes rigid, the waves of pleasure bringing you over the edge, relishing in the toe-curling orgasm as your body spasms under his touch.

He fares no better, feeling your walls constrict against his cock and with a harsh yet quiet groan of your name, he paints the condom white, thrusting a few more times into your ruined cunt to prolong his orgasm. Jungkook kisses your shoulders as he exits out of you, removing the condom and tying it up in one fluid motion, placing it inside one of the small bags to throw out later.

As you try to catch your breath, there's a quiet knock on the door again. "Miss? I have the mint dress hanging out front here. Come, uh, come grab it from outside when you're ready," she says hesitantly and you hear the squeaking of her footsteps dragging her away from your sinful deeds.

"Do you think she knows?" Jungkook chuckles as he wipes your hair away from your damp forehead.

"Did you hear the strangled way she says 'come'? There's no way she doesn't know," you giggle, turning towards the mirror to fix yourself while you shrug on your discarded clothes on the floor.

"How much does the dress cost anyw- holy fucking shit, are all women's clothes this expensive?" Jungkook balks at the zeroes that attach itself behind the two digit numbers.

"First of all, it's on sale for 60%, so it's not going to be that expensive. Second of all, I have to buy this dress, Jungkook. It's cute. And we soiled it," you pout as you poke his chest, gathering up the folded fabric to make a swift exit away from the dressing room.

And maybe it's just your imagination, but perhaps the two of you aren't being discreet enough, even though you made sure to exit separately, because the cashier has a pink flush on her face as she scans your item with trembling hands, unable to hold your gaze. With a sigh and an empty bank account, you leave the store feeling somewhat defeated, knowing that it'll be a long time before you're able to step foot inside the store again.

Oh well, there's always online shopping.

series m.list | general m.list | ao3

love my work? please leave a like and reblog! feel free to ask me anything about the story, i love to hear your thoughts!

if you want to join the permanent taglist, please fill out this form (or send me a dm)!

Posted: 7th June 2021 at 10:10pm CST

[siyadrunkrecs]

ITS HERE AND ITS SMUTTIER AND FLUFFIER THAN EVERRRRRRRRRRRR!! I LOVED READING THIS SO MUCH AND THEN I READ THIS AGAIN AND I AM RUUUIINNEEEDDDDD!! thank you so much for writing this BEAUTY of a series Mooooonnn! <3

pen pals (with benefits) | jjk | (iii.)

Chapter Summary: You're frustrated as the day gets closer for you to part ways with Jungkook, the contract ending in a matter of weeks. Sensing your ire, he whisks you away on a grand adventure because he thinks you're stressed out with the project.

Chapter Sentence: There's a rush when the agony of waiting dissipates, Jungkook's lips finding yours, devouring you whole. Your name is a prayer to the heavens, Jungkook whispering it into the night once - twice - and your body finally reacts, reaching over to tangle yourself with his limbs, mouth clashing hungrily against each other.

♠ Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Fem!Reader ♠ Word Count: 12,161 ♠ Rating: 18+. This work and it's subsequent chapters are not suitable for younger audiences. ♠ Genre/AU: college au, fwb to lovers au, e2l au | smut, fluff, wee little angst ♠ Warnings: unprotected sex • fingering • masturbation (f) • creampie • dirty talk • swearing • name calling (slut) • pussy spanking (once) • multiple orgasms • slight degradation (only if you squint) ♠ Author's Note: was it all planned for this to get posted before sowoozoo? maybe. special thanks to @monvante and @missgeniality for reading through this fic! i appreciate u, my lovely beta readers! this turned from a 8k fic to a 12k fic. what did i do?

previous | next | series m.list | general m.list | ao3

“I’m genuinely so happy to see you happy," Jeehyun mentions off-hand while the two of you enjoy Aunt Ji's famous chicken noodles. "You've been smiling a lot more in these past few days, and I can only assume it's 'cause of Jungkook."

You choke slightly on your noodles at her statement, sputtering coughs as you try to gain control of your breathing. Your roommate rolls her eyes teasingly while passing you some tea. After taking some calming gulps of the now cold tea, you glare at Jeehyun, though you couldn't deny the truth of her accusation. She looks triumphant in the way she looks at you, the quirk of her eyebrows begging for you to tell her she's wrong.

She isn't.

"Yeah, I guess so," you shrug in agreement, the corners of your lips twitching into a smile.

Jeehyun giggles, clapping her hands in delight. "Okay, spill. I've been dying to know at this point. Do you like him?"

You can't answer her question immediately because your cheeks are set aflame by her straightforward question, mouth opening and closing a few times. Your eyes shift towards your noodles, shoveling more food into your mouth with your chopsticks instead. Jeehyun backs away slightly from the table, folding her arms in front of her chest, patiently waiting for your answer. The two of you are engaged in a mental battle, seeing who'll crack first. After another beat of silence where you focus only on your noodles, you finally sigh, throwing your chopsticks on the bowl in defeat.

"I do, Jee," you mumble after swallowing your food, scrunching your nose playfully when Jeehyun's face shines with excitement. "No, don't give me that. That's the problem. The contract ends when one of us falls in love. I can't risk telling him and losing the best dick I've ever had in my life," you scowl, bringing the tea to your lips again, unaware of the mischief glinting in your roommate's eyes.

"Tae and I would be down for a threesome if you really want dick that much," she says flippantly causing you to choke on the tea at her careless comment. Jeehyun roars with laughter when you sputter out liquid from your nose, trying to even out your wheezing breath.

"You are evil!" you cough, kicking Jeehyun underneath the table while you wipe your tears away with the sleeve of your sweater. "I guess I walked right into that one, huh?"

"Oh, like how I walked in on you and Jungkook on the co-"

You yelp, cutting her off entirely while putting a hand in front of her face. "You’re so fucking loud! Don't say another word or I swear our friendship is over!" you groan, slapping her hand playfully.

Jeehyun laughs, the sound of windchimes filling the air, causing a few patrons to stare. "Okay, I'm sorry, don't hate me," she stammers, trying to control her laughing hiccups.

"Only if I get to ask you a question about Taehyung!" you smirk, quirking up an eyebrow while drumming your fingers on the table as you lean in, picking up the habit of a certain someone. You stop instantly when you realise who it was you’ve been mimicking, choosing to fold your arms as you lean on the mahogany table instead.

Jeehyun shrugs, a big smile dancing on her lips upon hearing his name, unobservant to your change in stance. Your grin matches her devilish one before you speak, low enough for her to hear.

"Are you guys dating yet?"

Your best friend laughs quieter this time, head tipping back slightly and a hand covering her mouth as she shakes her head. "Not yet, but hopefully soon! I can't stop thinking about him and I know he can't stop thinking about me either, especially after the party at Hoseok's," she winks at you confidently, reminding you of one very fateful night involving too much alcohol.

Jeehyun starts to talk to you about her most recent date with Taehyung, glossing over some of the nitty gritty romantic details to give you a barebones explanation of her evening. "He got me flowers, babe, flowers. The whole gigantic-bouquet-red-roses type deal! Tae's such a gentleman. We sat on the park bench after dinner and talked for a long time about the future before he confessed. It was so perfect, but it's such a shame that the timing isn't right. I mentioned it to him and he's more than willing to wait until I'm ready… which led to a very confusing conversation. I mean, I am ready, it's just… I don't want it to be messy. At the end of the day, we're incredibly different people, you know? Navigating that will require a lot of communication from both our parts. Fucking is one thing, but throwing feelings into the mix could be a recipe for disaster."

Jeehyun takes a few deep breaths in, drinking more tea to calm herself down. Leaning closer to you, she props her head on her hand, a soft smile on her face as she continues. "I genuinely like him though, but I did ask him to wait until the end of the semester for my answer. Taehyung's happy to agree and he looks like such a child when he realised it wasn't the end of our physical relationship." Jeehyun takes another sip of her drink as she giggles, eyes straying to look around the restaurant, a wistful look appearing on her face. You know she’s thinking about the first time they met. Back then, you were about to get thrown out of Aunt Ji's for almost assaulting Jungkook. Who knew that your drunk ass would be the reason your best friend finds love?

Silence falls between the two of you as you finish your noodles, knowing that Jeehyun has more to say. As if right on cue, Jeehyun's eyes return to yours, a large smile appearing on her face. "Remember that cheesy rom-com movie we rented out last week? There's a line in there that basically talks about how her boyfriend "completes" her, but, like, I don't feel that way with Taehyung at all. I'm a whole-ass human being that doesn't need anyone else to "complete" me. If anything, I just feel like a cup overflowing with happiness because there's no way of containing it, which I think is a good thing?" Jeehyun giggles, shaking her head. "Does that even make sense?"

You nod in agreement as you smile at Jeehyun, feeling a sense of growth coming from the person in front of you. You're not sure what changed over the semester, but you can only assume that you have Taehyung to thank for her willingness to experience love.

Love, the word echoes again in your head. Your heart quickens as a flash of dark purple hair comes into view, whispering soft things about you as russet eyes stare into yours. His lips form the words you long to hear and the restaurant is now a thousand degrees warmer than before. Heat rises to your cheeks at the fantasy and you quickly snap your attention to Jeehyun, who's talking about Taehyung again and their newfound relationship.

As the night draws to a close, the two of you walk back in the shivering cold, laughing while swapping stories about your antics during the semester. You don't miss the way Jeehyun checks her phone every so often, eyes shining brightly when a text comes through and though you can’t see, you have a solid grasp on the identity of the sender. You wonder if that's what you look like too.

"Do you mind if Taehyung comes over?" Jeehyun asks as you put away your shoes, shivering as you hang your coats.

You poke at your roommate's arm, teasing her with a waggle of eyebrows. "No, but don't be too loud, okay? I have something going on tomorrow."

"With Jungkook?" Jeehyun teases back, nudging your arm.

"Shut up… and yes."

Jeehyun giggles and the two of you sit on the couch, teasing one another until the doorbell rings, signifying the arrival of one Kim Taehyung. Tall, dark, and handsome. The man waves shyly at you, grinning as he slides an arm around Jeehyun's waist, kissing her temples. You make a fake gagging noise as you turn around to go to bed.

"Don't be too loud!" you snicker, watching their faces instantly reddening at your warning. Jeehyun sticks her tongue out at you as she pushes Taehyung into her room, closing the door behind her rather loudly.

Closing the door after wishing Jeehyun 'good night,' you bristle at the cold emptiness of your mattress, wishing you could call Jungkook the way Jeehyun's able to call Taehyung. Shivering as you wait for the sheets to warm up, you lie underneath your blankets and imagine Jungkook holding you in his arms, the sound of his breathing lulling you to sleep. Your dreams that night are pleasant and though you don't recall it the next morning, the feeling of euphoria stays with you for the remainder of the day.

---

As of today, it's officially been close to two months since you've established the contract with one Jeon Jungkook; 7 weeks and 5 days exactly. Your plans that day consist of hammering out the presentation that the two of you are going to present in two weeks time to a class of all seniors - you and Jungkook being the only sophomores. Since you're the first to go, there's an uneasiness in your stomach when you think about the eyes that's going to be evaluating your project, pencil scribbling away on a feedback form while they analyze your findings. The research project and paper makes up a third of your grade, but more importantly, it's one of the few core classes that will help you graduate with your degree, so fucking up is out of the question.

Jungkook, sensing your ire, doesn't try to engage in conversation aside from the project, choosing to focus on his half of the presentation to give you some space. The usual cafe chatter seems to be winding down too, students starting to study for their mock finals that's just right around the corner. There's a nervous energy you can't stand floating around the shop and with every hushed whisper of exams, the pounding in your head grows, amplified even greater as you read research paper after research paper. The words start to swim after your sixth research paper, names of psychologists lifting off the page. With a loud groan, you put your forehead against the table, pulling your hoodie over your head to gain some semblance of solitude, trying to ignore the chatter from the cafe and shielding your eyes from the fluorescent lights. After some time, you hear the absence of typing and Jungkook knocks on the table quietly by your head.

"Do you wanna get out of here? We've been trying for four hours and it seems like we're getting nowhere."

You lift your hood away from your face at that moment, brows furrowing at the brown irises staring at you. Sighing, you rub the back of your neck before groaning at the stiff joints. "No, Koo, just give me a few minutes and I'll be okay again. Also, no, I don't want to have sex right now," you grumble, putting your head back down on the cold table.

"That's not - oh my god, you're so weird," he chuckles, a snort escaping his lips as he tries to settle his breathing. Jungkook nudges your hand with the back of his pen as he smiles at your growing frown. "Come on, you're clearly exhausted. Can I whisk you away even just for a little bit?"

You shrug, what's the harm in saying 'yes'? Jungkook's right, you're feeling stuck and frustrated, staring at the same slide and rewriting the same sentence has driven you mad. You fix your eyes on his dark brown ones before nodding, sighing heavily as you pack your belongings into your backpack. As the two of you leave, Namjoon's voice calls your name and you whirl around to find him beckoning you to the counter. Jungkook waves at Namjoon, to which the latter responds with a jerk of his chin and a bright smile.

"Two of my favourite customers!" he exclaims when you two get closer. "Try this for me?" Namjoon grins as he sets two identical glasses in front of you.

You and Jungkook share a quick glance before your eyes fall on the pink liquid. You've already tasted Namjoon's floral coffee, so without hesitating, you take a big sip, indulging yourself to the strange yet comforting taste. An instant sense of peace returns to your tired bones and you feel conflicted, thinking about Jimin's own drink he's been experimenting on - a dark purple thing that seems to shine as you mix the liquid together. Your two greatest friends are competing against each other in the coffee shop tournament in November, the winner will have their drink permanently added to the menu. And although you love Jimin with all your heart, you secretly hope Namjoon's creation gets chosen so you'll be able to drink it every single day. It feels like betrayal, but you like the calming taste of hibiscus better than the sharp tang of lemon.

Jungkook gauges your reaction before taking a hesitant sip of the coffee. In an instant, his face changes from confusion to delight, a lightbulb appearing comically on top of his head. "Oh, hyung, it tastes good!" Jungkook grins before downing the rest of the drink, licking his lips in pleasure.

You nod in agreement, scrunching your nose in delight when you hear Jungkook referring to Namjoon with respect. "Have you decided on a name?" you turn towards the pink-haired man, cocking your head to the side.

"Yeah, I'm toying with "Saudade" or "Mamihlapinatapai". The latter might be too long though," Namjoon grins sheepishly, running his fingers through his pink hair.

You try to catch Jungkook's eye one more time, but he's looking at Namjoon, nodding his head in agreement, tattooed hand coming to rub his chin in thought. "Okay, what do those words mean?" you finally ask while the two men start to talk.

"Mamihlapinatapai." It's Jungkook that answers and his hand seems to inch closer to where you're currently standing, not quite touching yours, but you feel the heat radiating from the back of his palm. "It's a word in Yaghan, right? Joon-hyung correct me if I'm wrong, but it means somewhere along the lines of 'a shared look between two people' and 'wishing the other one would initiate something', right?"

Weird. This isn't the "know-it-all" Jungkook voice you've come to know. You can't put your finger on it, trying to put into words why the lilting in his voice caught you off-guard.

Namjoon nods, a flicker of emotion dancing behind his eyes when he looks at Jungkook. "That's pretty much spot on. “'Saudade' is Portuguese. Jungkook, do you know what it is?"

"Longing," Jungkook whispers, voice thick with an emotion you can't name.

There it is again. That weird lilt in his voice, like somethings caught in his throat and he’s trying to push it down.

You don't dare turn your eyes towards him, afraid of the raw emotion that he's currently displaying. The question lies on the tip of your tongue, wondering if you should ask Jungkook what he's thinking about, but it seems too personal to ask; too intimate of a subject to discuss with you, especially in the middle of a coffee shop. Pressing your nails against your palms, you don't say a word, saving it for your adventure perhaps.

"Well, yeah, but it's more, like, a longing for something you may never experience again," Namjoon interjects, his voice cutting into your thoughts. "There's also "Intenso," which means "intense." It completely contradicts the drink itself, but it's mysterious, right? If I add food colouring to make it darker then maybe that'll boost the sales!"

Namjoon's exclamation is met with cold silence and though you don't know what Jungkook's doing, you offer the barista a weak smile and a thumbs up. However, you don't miss the way Namjoon's gaze keeps darting back and forth between the two of you, eyes lingering on your figure for a second longer as he quirks up an eyebrow in a silent question. You shrug, looking away. Namjoon sighs, shaking his head as he brings a hand to rub the back of his neck.

"Okay, I know when it's my cue to leave, so I'm going to pretend I have something to do at the back. I'll see the two of you later!" Namjoon whistles before making a break for it, disappearing behind the door labelled Staff Only.

The two of you stand planted in front of the counter before you hear the jingling of the front door, signaling the arrival of some new customers. You poke Jungkook's arm, trying to break him free of his thoughts. "Ready to go?" Your voice sounds strained, too high pitched for the simple question. Staring straight at the two empty glasses on the counter, you don't turn towards Jungkook as you lead the way out the door.

The two of you walk out of the coffee shop with your own thoughts and you let him walk ahead of you some ways on the sidewalk, watching his slumped figure trudge towards the parking lot. You try to make sense of what you said inside that has caused the shift in mood, but your mind is plagued by Jungkook's voice.

"Longing."

---

Jungkook drives silently for a while, the radio crackling with songs, but with such low signal, you can barely make out the lyrics. After the seventh song plays that sounds like someone’s died, you've finally had enough, your fingers reaching for the know to turn the volume down. The sudden silence that exists in the car is curbed by the sound of distant traffic and the engine, but it's still palpable. Chewing on your bottom lip, you wonder if shutting off the music was a wise choice. The question still weighs heavy on your tongue, so you sigh, eyeing the brooding man next to you. Jungkook's sharp jaw is set, grimacing as he gnaws through his bottom lip, fingers drumming irritably at the steering wheel. You decide it would be best to not ask.

"Okay," you say softly, shuffling in the passenger seat until you’re unable to hold the silence any longer. "Koo, I know there's a lot in your mind right now, and you don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to, but can I at least know where we're going?"

This seems to bring him back to reality and he spares a glance towards you before returning his gaze on the road. Jungkook rolls his neck, cracking the joints and you wince as you hear the crack and pop. His lips quirk up into a smile at your discomfort, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"It's a surprise and it's going to be a long drive, so if you're tired, go rest. I know we barely got any sleep last night," his insinuation brings forth laughter from both parties as the tension eases to a complete halt.

"That's your fault!" you counter, slapping his arm gently. "You just had to be horny at 3am and god forbid you take care of it yourself."

"Okay, but you happen to be awake! I even texted you out of courtesy, just in case you were already asleep," Jungkook slaps the steering wheel while laughing. "Why would I take care of myself when I have you to help me? Also, might I remind you that you agreed?"

You punch his arm gently, shaking your head in embarrassment as you giggle. Jungkook fake gasps, eyes widening at the minor hurt you've caused, ever the drama queen. Whatever has been plaguing his mind seems to retreat itself to the depths of his brain and he starts laughing quietly at the conversation, seeming lighter than when you left the coffee shop. You turn the radio back on, appointing yourself as a DJ and switching channels when it starts to crackle. You take turns singing poorly and loudly in the small space, laughing at each other's cracking voices.

Never losing focus even as tears start to prick his eyes from the boisterous laughter, Jungkook seems to know where he's going, twisting through roads and intersections while the two of you joke around. He makes a turn into the highway, zooming up on the bridge on top of the river by your campus. You squeal as he speeds up, hands grabbing at the dashboard while your stomach flips a few times, closing your eyes tightly at the sudden roller coaster. Finally, he slows down, calling your name to get you to look out the window. Opening your eyes gingerly, colours burst through your eyes as you catch the glimpse of the fading sun kissing the horizon. The sky is tinged with orange and pink, gold rays painting the inside of Jungkook’s car, turning the space into a kaleidoscope of rainbows.

"Whoa," you gasp in wonder, face smushed on the window as you stare at the dancing colours.

"If you think this is pretty, you haven't seen anything yet!" Jungkook hollers, rolling the windows down to feel the rapid kisses of wind raking through your hair. His spare hand blasts the music to a deafening volume as he laughs with glee.

Your own laughter mingles with his, resuming the poor singing competition the two of you had moments before. And maybe it's the music or the sun gracing you with the most beautiful sight, but there's a bubbling dizziness of being drunk only in the atmosphere that causes you to be a bit braver. Grinning your way towards the mess of purple locks, your heart melts as you see Jungkook smiling just as wide, dimples on full display, hands slapping the steering wheel as he sings.

"HEY!" you poke Jungkook on his shoulder as you try to call him over the chaotic sound of wind, music, and traffic, unsure if he can hear you.

"What?" he calls back, glancing at you for a second before he turns down the radio.

"I like - I -" you struggle with your words, trying to figure out if this was the right timing Jeehyun mentioned. It's now or never. The sun seems to be blessing your decision, but there's a tug in your heart as you remember the contract, his words from months ago still fresh on the forefront of your brain.

"The contract is null as soon as someone falls in love with the other"

Heart hammering against your chest, you manage to hold yourself in check, taking care not to say exactly what you had in mind. "I like hanging out with you!" you finish instead, smiling brightly despite your almost confession.

Jungkook looks shocked, mouth hanging open as he ingests your words. His smile returns and he laughs loudly, whooping and cheering, turning the volume of the radio high up again. His foot slams on the gas pedal as you shriek in surprise, the small car lurching forward as it gains an incredible amount of speed. He shouts your name with gusto, turning in your direction for a second with the biggest grin on his face. "I like hanging out with you too!"

A giggle bursts from your chest as you gaze at Jungkook, the setting sun turning his skin into a beautiful golden bronze. His dark brown eyes hold sparks in them, a burning glee that sets your soul on fire. When the sun disappears, its rays waving you along your journey, he rolls the windows back up and eases on the gas pedal, twin smiles and wild hair forming on both your faces. Aside from the residual giggle, the quiet returns to the car, though it's less choking and more comfortable this time. You make your way to mess with the radio again, assuming your position as the car DJ.

"How do you feel about seventies music?" you ask, sticking your tongue on the inside of your cheek as you adjust the many dials.

Jungkook hums distractedly, a small shrug on his shoulders. "Turn on the 'Oldies' channel if you can find it. It's one of my favourites."

Just as you've found a perfect volume to strike up another conversation, Jungkook's trembling hand comes to envelope yours suddenly, pulling it away from the knobs to rest your connected palms on the center console. He doesn't glance at you, eyes staring hard on the road. There's a slight pink tinge on his cheeks and you chalk it up to the sun; it's surely sunburn on his cheeks and nothing else.

So, to avoid any uncertainties and to ease the pounding of your heart, you try to untangle your palm from his, only for Jungkook to intertwine his digits in the space between your fingers firmly, squeezing once to indicate his unwillingness to let go. "Koo?" you whisper, relishing at the pleasant throb in your brain as the blood rushes in your ears, head swimming with thoughts of Jungkook and the warmth of his hands in yours. What could it all mean?

Jungkook's voice cracks when he says your name, so he clears his throat and tries again. "If it's okay with you, can we stay like this for a while? Please?" He squeezes your hand lightly when he finishes his sentence, the pressure sending your mind reeling.

"Y-Yeah, of course! It's all good - I'm not uncomfortable or anything," you ramble, trying to get your point across. You are only too acutely aware that you can feel the racing of his own heartbeat through your connected palms. Should you say something? Is your hand sweaty? Fuck. What's going on?

Your mind quiets down for a second when a familiar melody fleets through the car. The soft music playing from the radio is a slowed remix of an old sixties song and you listen intently before recognising Paul Allen's tenor voice pitched lower to accompany the beat.

…maybe you and I will fall in love.

Jungkook calls your name softly and starts to say something after the song ends. But he hesitates and despite your best efforts to cajole him, he remains tightlipped until he finally changes the subject. The two of you talk about nonsense: friendships and school prior to meeting each other again. Selfishly, you don't want this moment to end, wanting to drive forever to the ends of the earth just to have his fingers intertwined permanently in yours.

The end date for your arranged proposition is nearing; the project drawing to a close within two weeks. The lump in your throat catches you off guard as you feel the quiet streaks of tears on your cheek. Turning away from the driver, you look out the window to rest your head on the glass, feeling the waves of sadness and euphoria all rolled into one. It’ll take mere seconds to stop holding on to his hand, but how long will it take for you to let go of the memories?

The quiet music and Jungkook’s humming starts to weigh on your eyelids, feeling the pull of rest. "How much longer?" you yawn as you settle into the passenger seat, the drive lulling you to sleep. You had just texted Jeehyun that you won't be home tonight and your roommate gave you a thumbs up in response, reminding you to be safe.

"About an hour or so. Go rest, I'm here," Jungkook murmurs softly, squeezing your hand once.

Your sarcastic comment dies on your lips before your eyes close, the feeling of complete safety and a sense of home washing over you as you dream of a fantasy that won't come true.

"Mamihlapinatapai," you hear Jungkook's voice whispering from all around you. "...it means somewhere along the lines of 'a shared look between two people' and 'wishing the other one would initiate something', right?"

---

You wake with a start, feeling the cold brush against your empty palm, only to find darkness all around you. There's heavy fabric keeping you somewhat warm and you realise, based on the scent of pine and amber, that it's Jungkook's favourite jacket. Whirling around to find the driver’s seat empty, you feel a deep sense of panic clutching at your heart, the night feeling like it's closing you in. It takes a while for your eyes to adjust to the darkness and you find yourself in some type of forest, trees growing so tall they seem to touch the sky. Slowly stilling your pounding heart, you finally find Jungkook lying down on the hood of his car, unaware of your current state of consciousness. He's only wearing his cream coloured sweater, fingers dancing on his phone as he scrolls through social media feeds and occasionally taking pictures of his surroundings, though you aren’t sure what he’d be capturing with the non-existent light. The clock on the dashboard shows that it's well past dinner time and though your stomach grumbles over the lack of nutrients, the thought of food is unappetizing at the moment.

You wrap the jacket around your freezing frame, zipping it all the way up to your chin before you exit the car, teeth chattering as you carefully make your way towards him. You already feel small when you wear his shirt in the numerous times you've slept over, but his jacket is a whole other beast. Your arms don't even reach the ends of the sleeves and you feel like a baby penguin, waddling around to try to make sense of its surroundings.

Jungkook sits up from his position to laugh at your drowned figure in his large jacket, hands clapping in front of him like a seal as he watches you dawdle closer. You puff your cheeks in irritation, sticking out your tongue, only for Jungkook to wheeze louder. "Sorry, you just look so cute," he grins, holding up both his hands while flashing those dimples at you.

"Ha. Ha. Very funny," you sulk, though your cheeks warm at the compliment. "Anyway, where are we?"

"Lime's Way Forest," he said matter-of-factly, removing himself from the hood of his car. "Actually, we're not even there yet. Are you good to walk for a little bit?"

You shrug before realising the action has no effect over the heavy material bunching on your shoulders. You choose to nod instead. "Lead the way!"

"Hold my hand, the ground is a little unsteady," Jungkook stretches his palm towards you and he falters, realising the obstruction of sleeves. Chuckling quietly, he helps you roll the sleeves of his jacket so your hands can peek through before threading his fingers in yours like he did in the car. You try to calm your thundering heartbeat, breath coming out in wisps of smoke as you walk silently by his side, all too aware at the trembling of your own fingers. It's Jungkook that breaks through the silence, nudging you to the side. "And before you ask, no. I'm not here to kidnap you and sell your organs on the black market."

"How'd you know I was about to ask you that?" you widen your eyes with a grin, winking at him when your eyes meet.

"Oh, come on. We've been fucking for a month," he laughs, rolling his eyes. "That's a lot of time to spend with someone. I know a bit too much about you now."

Jungkook teases you while you walk and you're not afraid to tease him back, dishing out what he gives you. It seems unfair to laugh loudly in the tranquil forest, so you keep stifling your giggles, putting your spare hand in front of your mouth. There's just enough light from the moon to see two steps in front of you, but you skid against the uneven ground anyway, screeching as you try to find purchase on something steady. Jungkook yelps before his arm shoots out to wrap itself around your waist, steadying you before you fall.

You're breathing heavy, the combination of the adrenaline rush and your heart beating fast causing your vision to swim. Jungkook helps you down on the forest floor gently, squatting next to you and smoothing your hair to help calm your nerves.

You take a few deep breaths before shakily standing up again, a small embarrassed smile on your lips. "I'm okay, thanks for helping me."

"Yeah! No worries," Jungkook smiles shyly, slinging his arm around your waist to press you tightly against his side. You pray that he doesn't hear the clamoring of your heart. "Sorry, this must be uncomfortable, but it'll be easier for me to help you in case you slip next time."

You nod, casting your eyes down at your feet, glaring at every stick and stone that obstructs your path. Jungkook fills your ears with conversation, trying to distract you from focusing too much on the slippery ground beneath. After some time, your legs no longer shake as you walk. Regaining your sense of balance, you feel comfortable enough to laugh along with him and talking about your classes in freshman year.

"Speaking of - what's your major, Koo? I don't think you've mentioned it."

"I'm undecided. I just want to take as many classes as I can before choosing one. I mean, I've always had an interest in people and how they work, so when this class opened up, I begged Professor Na to let me take it since it looks like a challenge. Who knew I ended up being partnered with the only girl in the world that hates my guts for the final project?" he laughs dryly, nudging your arm teasingly.

You stop walking, tugging his arm backwards to make him face you. There's that pull again; the sense of urgency to tell him how much he means to you; how the past weeks have been the happiest moments of your life; how every waking moment you spend with him is an adventure you're dying to embark upon and... how much you've fallen so deeply in love with him. You swallow the tears at bay when the realisation hits you. That night with Jeehyun when you told her you liked him wasn’t the whole truth after all.

It’s too late for you now. You’re hopelessly in love.

You start to say something, trying to piece together your fractured mind. But when Jungkook whispers your name in worry, the words catch at your throat again, your mind booing you at your cowardice.

"I don't hate you," you mumble instead, gazing deep into his eyes, trying desperately to convey the affection you feel towards the tattooed man.

Jungkook gulps, dark brown eyes searching your face for a moment, a soft 'Oh' escaping from his lips before he tugs you closer, resuming your walk deeper into the forest. Maybe it's the cold, but his hands tremble slightly as you squeeze him reassuringly.

The quiet of the situation isn't one of awkwardness, but a calm ocean of two people feeling so comfortable with each other that there isn't a need for words, allowing one another to be lost in their own thoughts. Jungkook squeezes your waist once, humming the one Paul Allen song that’s been stuck in his head. You want to say something more – to explain what you meant, but the words die on your throat when he stops walking all of a sudden to spin you around. You yelp at the sudden movement, causing Jungkook to snicker. At least this time you didn’t slip on the mushy ground. There's a flicker of softness in his features as he regards you, Jungkook's hands resting on your shoulders as he dips his face low so he's eye level. "Do me a favour and close your eyes for me? I promise I won't lead you astray."

You scowl, pushing him gently. "This is slowly turning into 'kidnap' territory, weirdo."

Jungkook laughs, tipping his head back. "Okay, I get it, but trust me on this?"

Sighing, you grab at his arm tightly when you close your eyes, letting him guide you deeper into the forest.

"No peeking!" he sings playfully.

You’re not sure how much time passes as the two of you walk for a little while longer, Jungkook humming next to you to keep the scariness at bay. There’s a woosh of air and the sound of water lapping against the shore, but before you can ask where you are, he leaves your grasp.

“Jungkook!” you screech in panic, hands swatting at the empty air, trying to find the built muscles of his arms.

"I’m right here, don’t worry. Sorry, I should’ve told you that I was moving,” Jungkook whispers apologetically behind you, cold hands on your eyes as he kisses the shell of your ear. “It's not much, but I do hope you like it, you can open your eyes now."

Jungkook removes his hands from your face and you blink a few times, letting your eyes adjust to the night. A gasp leaves your lips as you take in your surroundings, hands flying in front of your mouth at the gorgeous scenery. High above your heads, the moon winks at you playfully as the stars laugh, dancing merrily in the night sky. The still lake in front of you is a dark mirror reflecting the galactic scene above and the soft rustling of trees around you brings a soft thrum of wanderlust in your veins. You close your eyes, listening to the wind as it whispers secrets, welcoming you to the wondrous space.

"Jungkook, this is beautiful. How…?" You're at a loss for words, spinning around the clearing to take in the serene surroundings, giggling wildly as you spread your arms wide, drinking it all in.

"It's all by accident," he shrugs, taking large lungful of the crisp air. "I had a fight with my freshman roommate and needed to get away. I found this place on Google and started driving. I had actually gotten lost and I know you couldn’t see since it’s so dark, but I actually marked the trees so I can come back to this little clearing whenever I need to," he explains with a proud grin as he watches your figure carefully in case you slip on the uneven ground, ready to catch you at a moment's notice.

Jungkook takes a step towards you, catching your arm to stop your spinning form. He rests his hand on your cheek, stroking it delicately with his thumb, swaying your bodies slightly as he dips his face lower. "I've never brought anyone else here. It's been my secret for the longest time.” There’s a hint of uncertainty in his voice as he takes a shuddering breath, a sliver of white fog leaving his lips from the cold.

When he murmurs your name, his gaze burns into yours like a thousand splendid suns. "Do you like it?" he whispers after a heartbeat, eyes darting between your features to watch every millisecond of your reaction.

Your hands come to envelope his cold fingers on your face, closing your eyes momentarily to lean into his touch. You hum in approval, breathing in the familiar scent of him and the surroundings. "I do, I love it."

Jungkook clears his throat before he speaks again, his spare hand looping around your waist. “Can you do me-?”

“Yes, Jungkook, it will be my pleasure to do you,” you snicker, poking at his stomach teasingly. His muscles involuntarily harden at the touch causing your finger to bounce off his abs, and you sigh in delight as you splay your hands fully, running it up and down the hard muscles. Imagining a half-naked Jungkook feels wrong in the quiet of the forest, but you can’t help it, you’ve got needs.

"Oh my god, I can't believe I'm sleeping with you," he groans playfully as he rolls his eyes, removing his hand from your cheek to fluff his hair.

"Okay, okay, what is it, Koo?" you giggle as you drop your hand to the side, keeping the sinful thoughts at bay… for now.

"As I was saying, can you do me one last favour? Close your eyes for me."

"Okaaaaay?" you quip, but you listen to him anyway, screwing your eyes shut and sniffling slightly at the cold.

Jungkook takes a shaky breath and your heart speeds up, hands bunching at the hem of his jacket to keep them from shaking with anticipation. His cold hands soothe the burning of your cheeks, causing you to flinch backwards at the sudden contact. Jungkook whispers apologies, taking in large mouthfuls of air. His hands tremble slightly when they return to your cheeks and you feel his breath tickling your nose as he leans forward. The world halts and the sound of the wind dies down, the universe allowing you to feel every inch of sensation from your fingertips to your curling toes. There's a rush when the agony of waiting dissipates, Jungkook's lips finding yours, devouring you whole. Your name is a prayer to the heavens, Jungkook whispering it into the night once - twice - and your body finally reacts, reaching over to tangle yourself with his limbs, mouth clashing hungrily against each other.

When the hunger slows, Jungkook rests his forehead against yours again, closing his eyes to take in the moment, placing the occasional pecks on your lips as you both sway. Both his hands travel south to hold your, pulling your body flush against him. He extracts himself away from you, holding his arms out so you can twirl. When you return to his embrace, your hand resting on his chest while the other is captured in his, you hear that he's singing quietly, the words from the song in the radio you heard on the way over, tumbling from his lips.

"...just a kiss goodnight, maybe, you and I will fall in love," he croons, his velvet voice caressing your ears, causing your heart to pound loudly against your chest. Jungkook places his forehead against yours again, staring deep into your soul, dark eyes shining with emotions you know too well.

You've seen that look before because it's the same one you wear when you look at him. Could it be? Does Jungkook have feelings for you after all?

Keeping your fantasies at bay, you drink it all in. The steady pounding of your heart and the twinkle of stars in his eyes. The tranquil scene of dancing underneath the moonlight with a secret shared just between the two of you.

Jungkook stops singing, but he continues to hum other songs you don't recognise, twirling you around and swaying to the music crafted from his lips. Your eyes don't leave his features once, never straying from the face of a man that has caused you so much anguish in the past, but now someone you know you can't live without. The nagging in your brain is louder now - incessant - trying to force the words out that exist on the very tip of your tongue. There's a rational part of you that holds up the contract you've established with Jungkook and you know you'd rather have him this way than none at all, so you bite your cheek until it hurts, forcing yourself to smile brightly and to pretend that you're not dying inside as the feelings threaten to escape.

"Okay, that's all the surprise I have planned for you tonight," Jungkook laughs quietly after he finishes singing a song, removing his forehead from yours though his arm remains intact on your waist, tugging you towards the direction of his car. "Your nose is turning super red, Rudolph. Should we head home?"

"Jungkook, I -" you start to speak though the words catch in your throat. What's the proper thing to say at a moment such as this? Should you let the chance slip you by, rendering you speechless and flustered every time you see him afterwards, waiting - wishing - for another instance that's just as special as this one?

"Mamihlapinatapai," Jungkook's voice reminds you.

Frustration claws at your heart, tears pricking the corner of your eyes as you wrestle with your thoughts for the nth time that night. You’re confused and afraid, unsure of the proper course you’re meant to take when it comes to your relationship with him. Jungkook, sensing your distress, drops the smile that he’s wearing to search your features and you see the way he goes through his memories to try and pinpoint the moment he's upset you. Your heart wrenches at the sight, wanting to convince Jungkook that it isn’t his fault, but that will require you to spill the contents of your heart – and you aren’t sure if you’re ready for him to hold the entire thing in his hands. Even though you know he’s had it this entire time.

He whispers your name, the last syllable caught in a lilting, almost panicky voice. "Hey, what's wrong?"

Jungkook's eyes dart from your face to your body, moving your arms up and down to see if you're hurt physically. That familiar pang in your chest leaves you breathless and you step back from his vicinity. There’s a wild look in his eyes, brows furiously knotted together to try and decipher your actions.

"No, it's nothing! I'm just getting super tired and I'm worried that we'll be stranded here if you're getting sleepy," you ramble running your hands over your face to wipe the stray tears away, plastering a smile on your face in hopes he doesn't ask the real reason for your anguish.

He doesn't, though you see the tensing of his jaw as his tongue pokes at the side of his cheek, mulling over the pros and cons of pressing you. You whisper an apology to the heavens, and you wait patiently, turning your back towards the beautiful lake. Jungkook finally nods and takes your hand again, refusing to let go as you make your trek back to his car. You try to ignore the scent of his cologne wafting through the jacket you're still wearing, but when you exit the clearing, Jungkook leaving you for a bit to warm the engine of his car, you bury your face inside the fabric and take the longest breath in, trying to remember his scent before it eventually disappears.

Soon.

---

"Okay, good night, I'll be on the couch if you need me," Jungkook yawns, closing the bedroom door behind him.

Darkness envelops your figure as you fidget underneath his blanket, his scent sending you into overdrive. The sleepovers have been a weekly occurrence now, sometimes Jungkook's too tired to move to the couch, so he turns his back to you to get as close to the wall as possible, but for the most part he tucks you under mountains of blankets before moving to the living room, obeying “no cuddling” clause in your contract. You can usually hear his snores and soft breathing if you press your ears against the plywood, but you don't do that tonight, mind churning out thoughts and possibilities about how the night would end if you just told him.

Your body feels feverish from the chill in the air and you have yet to feel the warmth returning to the tips of your fingers from your adventure outside. Diving deeper into the covers, you think about the kiss you shared with Jungkook in the clearing, replaying the scene in your mind like a movie. The needy part of your brain congratulates you sarcastically at your cowardice, unable to admit your own damn feelings towards the man sleeping in the other room. Frustrated, you throw the blankets away from you with a huff, abandoning sleep to pad quietly towards his bedroom window, seeking guidance from the moon. The luminescent orb in the sky sends no reply. Unhelpful piece of rock, you scowl.

You strain your ears against the bedroom door for a tell-tale sign Jungkook's still awake and when you hear absolute silence, you sneak into his wardrobe to steal his shirt, pulling the one you're wearing off your body. Does it count as stealing when you return it the next day? You digress, moving back towards the bed to breathe in his scent.

As you sit on his bed, back leaning against the wall, you try to remember the warmth of Jungkook's body on yours and your mind flits through the many instances of your adventures with him. There's the dressing room, the classroom, and the drunken night at Hoseok's party, all urges and desires that cloud your mind with pleasure. Tonight has been different and you're unsure if the changes are just from the romantic atmosphere… or if there's something else. You know your own feelings for the dark-haired man, but can you say for certain that he shares them with you? Truth be told, you’re scared. Scared of this beautiful relationship ending, even if the only tie between the two of you exist in physical intimacy. The frustration you feel brings an uncomfortable stab in your heart and since you're nowhere close to falling asleep, you figure you can distract yourself to round out the beautiful night.

With fingers bunching on the hem of the soft fabric you're wearing, a quiet sinful moan escapes your lips as you pretend it's Jungkook's large, warm hands tugging at your nipples underneath his shirt, imagining hot, open-mouthed kisses leaving marks on your neck, your shoulders, your body. You breathe his name into the air, trying to control your gasps so no sound can be heard from the room next door. Trailing your fingers lower, you aren't surprised to find your panties ruined, immediately discarding them away from your dripping cunt. Some of your whines are getting louder and you bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from raising your voice. You're getting close, so close to the precipice as you rub your clit harshly, trying to emulate Jungkook's touches that drive you wild. Your fingers aren’t as thick as his and they’re starting to cramp, but you persist, inserting three fingers to curl into your g-spot. Fuck, right there! Jungkook - your brain fuels your imagination, an image of dark purple locks drinking your arousal and tattooed fingers curling in your cunt, as you shudder, pushing your body harder until you feel the licking waves of pleasure coiling around your stomach.

"Well, isn’t this quite the sight?" the darkness speaks to you just as you’re about to succumb to your pleasure. Panting hard and heart pounding against your ribcage, you yelp at the sudden presence in the room, fingers leaving your dripping core to drag a blanket over your naked lower half. Your head snaps towards the bedroom door to find a half-naked Jungkook smirking at your helpless state. "If you wanted to fuck, you could've just woken me up. I mean, I'm right outside. Plus, I can definitely get you to cum much harder than your fingers."

You groan inwardly to beg the moon to crash into earth and bring forth destruction, so you don't have to face Jungkook in your precarious situation. The piece of rock floating in space did not respond and you threw a glare at the window, mentally flipping it off.

The blanket is ripped away from your body as Jungkook chuckles, throwing it over his shoulders. He comes up to the bed, climbing to kneel in between your spread legs, hands on either side of your head to trap you against the wall. With nowhere to go, you can see the glint in his eyes, a mischievous spark igniting behind those brown irises. "Now, what exactly are you doing in my bed with my shirt, hmm?" Jungkook asks rhetorically, face tilting to the side as he's inches away from your own.

You try to push his shirt lower to cover up the evidence, but his hands are faster, grabbing your wrist while making disapproving tsking sounds, placing the offending hand on the wall next to your face. A gasp leaves your lips, though it doesn't hurt, just a warning for what's to come if you continue to disobey. "Answer the question," he commands, the fire in his eyes turning from mischief to desire.

Jungkook leans closer, barely brushing his lips against yours. When you try to chase the fleeting touch, he chuckles and moves away, his spare hand cups your heat, fingers teasing at the entrance before a sharp smack rips a whine from you. He rubs his fingers rub your clit to ease the ache. "Keep this up and you won't get anything tonight. Use that pretty voice of yours, yeah?"

Bottom lip tucked between your teeth, you suck in a deep breath, half-lidded eyes roaming Jungkook's chest. "I was thinking of you," you whisper into the quiet as you try to escape his grasp even though you know it's futile. "I thought you were asleep and I didn't want to bother you since you drove for so long tonight. Also, unlike you, I can take care of myself just fine, thank you."

There's a heartbeat of a silence accompanying your laboured breathing and pounding heart. Even in the dim light, you can see the corners of his lips twitching upwards at your taunt. His grip on your chin tightens, causing your eyes to snap to his brown ones. There's a lazy lopsided smirk on his face, only one half of his dimple forming on his cheeks.

"I suppose if you can take care of yourself, I'll leave you alone." Jungkook's weight disappears from the bed. You can see his silhouette walking languidly towards the door as his hands are stuffed in his pockets. You make a frustrated, strangled noise, calling his name through gritted teeth.

"Jungkook, wait. Don't go."

"That's more like it." You hear the smirk behind his words, and you feel a shiver run down your spine. "Tell me exactly what you want, and I'll make it come true."

Jungkook's voice is barely a whisper, a sultry teasing causing your cunt to flutter around nothing. He holds your stare, waiting patiently for you to speak. In the darkness, his face remains impassive as the shadows cover most of it, but those eyes – the brown orbs seem to come alive right in front of you.

"Kiss me," you gasp breathlessly.

He’s impassive, on the edge of the bed with his arms folded in front of his chest. There’s a knowing quirk on his eyebrows, head tilting slightly as though he’s waiting for something. You gulp, feeling incredibly small against his broad frame. You know exactly what he’s waiting for and against better judgement, you crawl slowly towards him, leaving your dignity behind.

“... please.”

Satisfied, his weight returning to the bed as he uses both his hands to cup your face, tongue darting to lick your lips. His kisses always start out slow, a buildup of tension for what's to come. You moan when he parts your lips, guiding your tongue to dance with his. Your own hands claw at his chest, wanting to remedy the distance that's formed between your bodies, but he makes no move to close the gap, letting your sharp nails leave red traces on his skin, growling into the kiss at the dull pain.

"Come closer," you whine, grabbing him by the shoulders to crash your mouth into his lips again.

Chuckling, he finally envelopes you in an embrace, kissing your neck and jaw before moving back to your lips, shivering when he hears you gasp underneath him. When he parts, Jungkook's breathing hard, pink mouth glistening with the combination of your spit, eyes alight with lust eyeing your fucked out face. "Anything else? Or did you just want a good night kiss?"

"God, you just love the sound of your own voice. Get serious and fuck me already," you groan, hitting him playfully on his chest.

"Gladly," he snickers before fishing out a condom from the nightstand and shedding his pajama pants in one fluid motion.

Just as he's about to rip the condom, your hands palm his erection, marveling at the veins running on the side. Jungkook shudders, dropping the foil on the bed and you take the opportunity to wrap your lips around the weeping head, tongue licking the salty precum.

"Fuck, wait- are you sure?" comes Jungkook's raspy response, his fingers already tangling in your hair, breathing ragged as he tries to keep himself from filling your throat in one go.

You moan in answer, taking him deeper. Jungkook mutters more expletives under his breath, shifting slightly to kneel on the bed. The view from below is marvelous; Jungkook's eyes fluttering shut as he moans your name. His hands dig painfully in your scalp and you take it as a sign to continue, inch by satisfying inch sliding past the roof of your mouth as you struggle to take him all the way to the base. When he reaches the back of your throat, you breathe through your nose and swallow, earning a loud cry of your name from Jungkook.

“Shit – how is your mouth this tight? Fuck – you just love worshiping my cock, don’t you? Can you take it in deeper? Of course, you can, you’re so good to me – so fucking good.”

You moan around his length at the crude words, the vibration causing Jungkook to snap his hips inside you. Willing your throat to relax, you start to move, bobbing your head to a slow rhythm. Jungkook hisses as his pleasure builds, small spasms wrecking through his body as he tries to keep still for you. Tears are starting to prick in the corners of your eyes as you gag around his cock, feeling so fucking full, but you don’t stop, trying to push him in deeper – to please him the way he’s pleased you so often in the past.

Fingers squeezing on his thick thighs, you bob your head faster, relaxing your throat muscles to accommodate his length. "Fuck, no I'm going to cum - ah, shit -" Jungkook moans, thrusting into your mouth. He pulls out at the last second, groaning loudly as you leave his cock with a satisfying pop, gasping in mouthfuls of air. Jungkook crashes his lips against yours, bringing your body closer as his hands search the bed for the condom.

"God, you're marvelous," he exhales, bringing the foil to his lips.

"Koo," you say hesitantly, halting his movements to look at you. "Um, we're - I mean, you're not seeing anyone else, right?" Your eyes shift between his brown irises towards the foiled packet, swallowing your thunderous heartbeat, trying to hold on to your last shred of courage.

Jungkook drops the foil on the bed again, moving to cup your face gently in his hands. "Of course not. I'm not seeing anyone else. Are you?"

"No! I'm not seeing anyone else either. Sorry, I'm just insecure, is all," you smile weakly, wiping your sweaty palms on the sheets.

"Never thought I'd hear an apology from your lips," he chuckles teasingly. "There's no need to apologise, though. It’s perfectly normal to feel insecure."

He fishes for the condom amongst his sheets for the third time that night and you know that it's now or never. Your knuckles are white from bunching his shirt tightly and with scraps of bravery, you take the condom from Jungkook to throw it across the bedroom, the foil landing soundlessly on the carpet. He groans in protest, puzzled by your actions.

“What the fuck was tha-” he starts to say, but you quickly cut him off, a finger on his lips to stop him from talking.

"Canwefuckrawtonight-?" The words spill from your lips with your heart pounding dangerously loud against your ears.

"Wait- what?" Jungkook balks, blinking rapidly to try to make sense of your jumble of words. "Say it slowly."

"You said you'll make my wishes come true tonight," you speak slower, unable to disguise the desire trembling your vocal chords. "I want to, you know, try it out without the condom. I'm on the pill and recently got tested, I'm all clean. And I know I probably made things very awkward by talking about this literally moments before you fuck me silly, but… I don't know, it's both our calls, so, yeah… umm."

Very convincing and mature, you chastise yourself sarcastically, kicking your brain into the trash.

"Are you sure?" he breathes, hands pulling your face close to his. "I don't want you to regret this and this is a big ask. I've never, umm, done it raw before. But, I’m also clean, I swear."

"First time for everything," you grin sheepishly, throwing his words from months ago back at him. "Again, we can stop at any time if it makes you uncomfortable. Just because you said you'll make my wishes come true, doesn't mean you should."

Jungkook groans your name suddenly, causing you to flinch, before he shifts on the bed to rest his back on the headboard. "You'll be the death of me, I swear."

He pulls you on his lap, discarding the shirt you're wearing on the floor, baring your naked body before him. Jungkook cards his hands in your hair, whispering your name as his lips mark your jaw, your neck, your body. You’re not coming out of this room clean, already feeling him lick at the small hickeys he’s left, scattered on your skin like stars. The grip around your waist tightens, the kisses growing messier as he nips at your lips, growling when your tongues meet again.

"Fuck," he moans, grinding his cock against your cunt, causing a moan of his name to drop from your lips. "So wet for me. Are you sure this is okay?"

You nod fervently before you find your voice. "Yes, it's okay. I'm okay."

Your eyes close involuntarily as he lines himself against your entrance, moaning at the shivers running down your spine.

"Look at me as I fill you up… please," Jungkook pants, tipping your chin to meet his eyes.

Whining, you do as you're told, focusing your gaze on his brown irises, trying to keep them steady as he sheaths himself fully inside you, a unified moan escaping from both your lips. Jungkook's shivering against your touch and you can't say you're faring any better.

"Fuck, Koo, did your dick get bigger somehow?" you tremble, forcing a weak smile as you shift your hips to adjust to the monster nestled between your legs.

Jungkook moans wantonly when you start rocking slowly back and forth, hands gripping tightly on your hips. "You feel so fucking good and warm and - fuck - I don't think I can last long."

"That's okay, I can always help you get back up," you chuckle with a roll of your hips, relishing the sounds Jungkook's making underneath you.

He grins playfully, the moon outside causing a faint glow around his features as he matches your thrusts, eyes never straying from your face. His hand snakes to the front, rubbing your clit with his thumb as he fucks you faster, pushing you slightly to feel his entire length inside you. His name comes out in broken whimpers as you let him fuck you, filling you to the brim as the high continues to rise, the familiar knot returning to your stomach quickly since you weren't able to cum because he rudely interrupted your alone time.

“Fuck - your pussy is so tight,” he hisses with gritted teeth. “What do you think of when you touch yourself, hmm? What am I doing in your fantasies?”

You slam your hips to match his thrust, head and pussy both so full of Jungkook that it takes you a while to register the question. “I - shit, ah, Koo! I think of your f-fingers, fucking me with your hands and – ah, fuck – thinking about your lips making me cum,” you pant, barely making out coherent words. “Fuck, you feel so good!"

“You are such a fucking slut. That mouth of yours is only good at sucking dick, huh? Your entire body’s made for me to fuck it. Shit, you can’t even go a day without thinking about my cock fucking you into oblivion,” he rasps out, nipping at your earlobe as you howl in pleasure. “This fucking cunt – so tight and so wet for me all the time.”

"I'm close," you groan at his words, feeling utterly humiliated and yet loving every sinful word that drips from his lips.

“Say my name,” he growls, “cum on my cock and scream my name. Let everyone know who’s making you feel good tonight.”

When he thrusts faster, pushing you back on the bed to drive his cock even deeper inside of you, the coil tightens, heat flushing your body as you feel the onslaught of pleasure. "Fuck, Jungkook, I'm - fuck, fuck, fuck!" Your warning dies in your lips as your thighs tremble around his waist, a loud moan ripping from your throat when the orgasm shoots electricity down your spine, causing your body to thrash among his sheets. There’s wetness pooling underneath you, but you have no time to react because Jungkook’s plunging his dick deeper inside you, moaning wantonly at the feeling of your walls constricting around him as he chases his own high, eyes closing, focusing only on the sensation from your pussy.

"Shit, I'm gonna cum too."

"Inside - ah! Cum inside me, please. Fuck - fill me up, Koo," you beg, groaning as you angle your hips, letting him have as much access to your cunt as possible. You're hurtling towards your second orgasm of the night and you whimper as you bring your fingers on your clit to aid you along.

"Gonna cum one more time for me? Yeah? Needy slut isn't satisfied until I fuck you full of my cum? Shit, you feel so fucking good. You're so good to me. So beautiful – fuck," he growls, whispering more sweet things into your ears.

Your body turns rigid when you're on the brink of pleasure, waves upon waves of fire licking as your stomach coils and you make a mess of his sheets again, a broken cry of his name the only warning you can muster. It's with your second orgasm that Jungkook moans your name and you feel the warm ropes of cum filling you to the brim. "Fuuuck," he curses as he rides out his orgasm, thrusting a few times before exiting your ruined cunt, his cum spilling out.

His body trembles as he collapses beside you, struggling to catch his breath. Jungkook opens his eyes to find you staring at him, gnawing worryingly on your lips. "Hey, are you okay?" he gasps, propping himself upwards to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "Shit, I couldn't control myself. Did I hurt you?" Jungkook scoops you closer in his arms, smoothing out your hair and peppering kisses on your face.

You giggle as you meet his kisses, shaking your head as you pull away to meet his eyes, unable to control the euphoria you're feeling. "No, you didn't hurt me. I feel... happy, but also so fucking sore. Did it feel good for you too?"

"Yes, holy fuck, you're amazing," he breathes, kissing you languidly on the lips and massaging your back. "God, I can’t believe we did that. I’d go for round two but it's getting late. Let's hop in the shower and go to bed?"

"Sure!" you smile, snuggling your head between his shoulders, leaving a quick kiss on his jaw before untangling your sweaty self from his embrace to shower.

The water feels nice on your heated skin and you sigh at the feeling, your heart finally steadying its pace. You hear the door open and shut and within moments, Jungkook stands behind you, a soft hum escaping his lips as he feels the water trickling down his face. His arms circle around your waist, body folding itself around you as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

"Mind if I join you?" he whispers as he kisses the shell of your ear.

"I mean, you're already here and I'm not so heartless as to kick a man out of his own shower," you laugh, carding your fingers through his soaked hair. "Also, you've been humming the same song since we got home. Is it stuck in your head?"

Jungkook grins, hands on your hips to sway to the rhythm. "...people say that love's a game, a game you just can't win…" he sings, spinning you around to face him, grabbing your hand to waltz around the cramped tile.

And though you're naked, in the shower with Jungkook, dancing to an old song falling from his lips, you've never felt this sense of peace before. There's an undeniable source of love emitting from his figure as he twirls you around, sinking his head to capture your lips occasionally. The song's looped a few times, but you don't dare tell him to stop, Jungkook's gorgeous voice bouncing off nicely against the tile walls and filling straight into your heart.

---

Wrapped up in a towel and giggling after the night, the two of you exit the room with the first peaks of the sun kissing the sky. You glance at Jungkook, both sets of eyes widening to find the new dawn approaching. You quickly get dressed, checking your phone a few times to see if you miss any messages, only to find that your early morning class has been cancelled due to an ill professor. You don't hide the squeal of excitement as you imagine spending another day with Jungkook, quickly texting Jeehyun that you're safe so she wouldn’t worry.

"Okay, I'm beat, I'm actually going to go to bed, so no funny business," he pokes at your forehead, smoothing out the new sheets and throwing the old ones in the laundry. "Good night, we both don't have classes today, so let's just relax and work on the project slowly."

Jungkook kisses your forehead quickly, the action warming up your body. You blink furiously at the intimate contact and he chuckles at your reaction, muttering "Cute," under his breath, shuffling your wet hair and retreating backwards to open the door.

You grab at his arm, unwilling to part just yet. Taking a deep breath in, you thread your fingers through his, pulling him close to you and away from the door handle. "I know there's been a few... addendums in our contract and there's a lot of new things that happened tonight," you start, gnawing at your bottom lip. "And maybe I'm blurring the lines here, but in the spirit of 'first time for everything'... can we cuddle?"

He's taken aback by your question, blinking rapidly in surprise. A shaky hand reaches towards you, his naked chest heaving with effort as he gulps. Jungkook kisses you once - twice - moving your tired bodies to the bed.

"Technically it’s the second time we’ll cuddle... but that’s beside the point. Are you sure?" he breathes when the two of you settle under the sheets, his thumb caressing your cheek gently. "I don’t think I’ll be able to stop. I’ll want to cuddle you every night if you stay over.” You can see the way he’s holding his breath, waiting for you to reject him and your chest warms at the puppy-eyed look he’s throwing at you.

"That’s okay, I want to cuddle with you every night too. It feels weird and empty after we fuck, you know? Sorry, looks like we’ll be changing the contract again," you say with a tired smile, nuzzling your head under his chin.

You're not sure where Jungkook's body starts and where you end, but you feel the synchronizing of your heartbeats melding into one.

Safe. You're finally safe.

And though at first you were too nervous to sleep, feeling the trembling of his arms as he pulls you in closer, his chin resting on top of your head, sleep claims you anyway, the sound of his slow beating heartbeat and his scent that fills your head.

The world fades to black as you no longer have the energy to fight off your consciousness. Jungkook's breath tickles your face as he leans in for one last kiss, planting one on your forehead after your lips. And maybe it's a trick of the hazy imagination you’ve formed in your thoughts, your memory casting to the far reaches of your mind of a dream that won't come true, but you think you hear him whisper, a desperate tone clinging to every syllable, voice thick with emotion.

"I love you and… I'm sorry."

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Posted: June 11th at 11:06pm EST

[missgeniality]

When you told me I was going to kill you for this, you were not wrong 🔪

Someone like me who doesn't read a lot of supernatural, was completely blown away by the sheer detailing and readability of the universe that you created for us. I went into it with zero understanding of the otherworldly and came out...... well, completely battle-scarred

I'm also very much convinced that Jimin is a real life Fae. End of that comment. The way you took them about the club... GAWD IT FELT LIKE ME. IM THE DUMBASS. TAKE ME AND MY BACKLESS DRESS AND TEAR MEEEEEE

You knew he’s teasing you with the current pace of his fingers, intentionally not curling them so you started grinding back on him

YANNIE GURL HOW DARE YOU???? HOW FCKIN DARE YOU BRO?? This just sounds like peak Jimin behavior 😭😭

If he was a regular human boy, he would’ve been all sweaty and breathing heavily with disheveled hair but instead he looked exactly the same, as if he didn’t just fucked your brains out in this alleyway.

BROOOOO why is this irl Jiminnnnnnnnn >.<

The way you describe the start of their relationship, and the forbidden aspects of it... I want Jimin so BAYYYDDD 😭 The line "The memory made you grimace a bit, a painful reminder that this was the limit of your relationship with Jimin." my goodness me. I'm hurt so bad 💀

Jimin was just using you.

WHAT NOW???? HE WHAT NOW??? IM BOUT TO BUST HIS ASS WHEN HIS COCK AINT IN ME

“everywhere is fine as long as you’re with me”

Yannie. Babe. Girl. I'm going to haunt you after my death for having this line here. I really will. The way you take this story and then shift to Jimin's POV... foCK. WHAT EMOTIONS ARE YOU FEELING BOI, FCKIN TELL ME YOU HEARTLESS WENCH! And the two of them playing each other?? It's like a game of chess on the bed I lOVE IT And when they FINALLY MADE OUT UUUGHGHHHGHGHHHGH you can just see me devolve through the course of this review and this is my breaking point fam

“you think you know me y/n”

bite me you hoe I DO. everytime he calls yn 'petal' my heart shrivels and pokes the corners of its cage asking me why i am doing this to it 💆‍♀️💆‍♀️

“To love is to destroy”

AND YOU END THIS HERE???? REALLY???? I HATE YOU YANNIE I REALLY DO!!! All jokes aside, this was such a good story you wove for us - the ending hurt me hard, their last night together pushed a dagger into my chest and YN's last state of mind is probably very close to what mine is - which is a sign of a fantastic story 🥺🥺💀 Thank you so much for writing this love!!!! 💛💛

please, lie to me | pjm

pairing: seelie!jimin x mundane!reader

summary: “centuries of loyalty vs. only months of fucking, how could you miscalculate?”

rating: 18+

genre: urban fantasy, shadowhunters!au, angst, smut, fwb!au? (not really), faerie!au

word count: 11k (lol what happened)

warnings: explicit sexual content, multiple sex scenes, unprotected sex (the fae don’t do protections), pet names, praise kink, fingering, breast play, oral (f.receiving), multiple orgasms, rough sex (what’s new), creampie, manhandling, exhibitionism, marking, edging, forced orgasm, light bruises, a lot of begging, some messy emotional sex, poor OC but Jimin just–

a/n: this is part of The Fabled Collaboration hosted by @kimtaehyunq​ (thank you for this gorgeous banner and for being patient with me >.<) , @joontopia & @whipped-for-kpop-fics​. i’ve had this idea even before i joined this event so what a coincidence! the fic will have aspects from the Shadowhunter Chronicles by @cassandraclare, particularly The Mortal Instruments. i also wanna thank @lemonjoonah for being supportive when i’m nervous of writing this genre that i’m only used to reading 🥺.

also, listen this song/score while reading, especially near the end to be in the feels (i cried while writing for the first time lol)

UNEDITED 🤡

― masterlist — navigation ― wips

“To love is to destroy”

That was a running joke you kept hearing with your Nephilim friends.

The Nephilim or what they modernly called as Shadowhunters were a race of humans with angelic blood that protected ordinary humans from demons and they coordinated with Downworlders which consisted of warlocks, werewolves, vampires and the fae. All of them were part of the Shadow World and they called humans like you as mundanes.

You were with your Nephilim friends for a weekend hangout, the schedule they set since they were always so busy with their missions these days that you could barely see them. The booming sound of the club’s current song was what all you can hear while you were trying to avoid the amount of people dancing on the floor. 

Not that this was the only club that you go to, but it’s the only place where you could meet them as it catered to both mundane and Downworlders. Though you had been hearing rumours about demons coming here to victimize the mundane patrons, you didn’t seem to care because you knew your friends would protect you anyways.

Passing through the dancing people turned out to be a struggle because you actually lost sight of your friends but then you felt someone’s stare.

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