Elie Saab Spring 2020 Couture

elie saab spring 2020 couture

SURPRISE! || KTH

❃ Festivaled Away: Daredevil Week hosted by @bangtanbathhouse

⤞ Ticket: Adrenaline Rush ⤞ Main Event: A Dare ⤞ Games: Exhibitionism

⤞ title: SURPRISE! for @kithtaehyung ⤞ pairing: taehyung x female reader ⤞ genre: smut | established relationship ⤞ summary: Your boyfriend is sending you nudes, again… And also helping you discover hidden kinks? ⤞ word count: 1.5k ⤞ warnings: taehyung with the gold chains | female masturbation | exhibitionism | praise kink | dom!taehyung | sub!reader | phone sex | voice kink | teasing | a little begging | dirty talk | nudes | erotic humiliation | finger sucking | orgasm control | a little obedience play? | Sir kink | pet names | idk if it classifies as a plot twist but yeah…to be safe. ⤞ rating: 18+ ⤞ a/n: Happy Birthday to one of my bestest friends!!! I love you, Ryen!!! And I hope this little drabble brings you another smile on your birthday! Today I present 1.5k words of dom!Taehyung finishing heauxs with only the sound of his voice. Thank you @taechwitaaah for beta-reading this for me at the last minute. Thank you @yoon2k for the prompts! Oh, and for context, this is why I sent you a playlist lol. SURPRISE!

“Why would you do this to me?”

Seguir leyendo

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quetejuuu

4 years ago

BLACKPINK : THE SHOW - BEHIND THE SCENES EP.4

Watch Now !

Google drive

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quetejuuu

2 years ago

bloodline | jjk — one

-> pairing fuckboy!jk x fuckgirl!f.reader

-> genres/aus slow burn, friends with benefits au, smut, humor, angst and college au

-> summary a relationship was the last thing you wanted, but having wild and experimenting sex? now that was something, and jeon jungkook is there to give you simply that. as long as either catch feelings... but that won't be hard for you knowing you'd never go for a guy like jungkook, although jungkook might have another opinion about you. let the (fun) begin!

-> warnings swearing, mentions of sex, drunk!jk, dirty talk, dry humping, cum eating, fingering, oral (f. receiving), face riding, overstimulation :)

-> word count 3.2k

-> author's note i'm baaaaackkkkk :))) also, big thanks to my love @here4btsfics for guiding me through the smut. i love you kelly you're amazinggggg <3333

masterlist for bloodline

‘’So, it’s just sex between you?’’ Your roommate Cho-Hee questions after she’s accidentally caught you and Jungkook fucking on the couch. It was your fault for overseeing her schedule that was cleared out the day you decided to invite him over.

“Yes.” Without a question you answer, Jungkook puts on his sweater behind you as Cho-Hee stands in question in the open kitchen.

“You know… that never works right?” You love Cho-Hee. She’s an amazing friend who in reality just wants what’s best for you and will fight for you whenever she can. It was her way of showing she cares for you by asking. This explains why you didn’t get offended and throw a fit over the cliche question whenever two casually hooking up get interrogated by friends.

“It’s under control. Jungkook literally fucks anything with a pulse and I can hardly see myself in a relationship.” You’d never try and excuse that this will never happen, there’s a chance but it’s not very highly between you two. If there were such a big risk, you’d never hook up with Jungkook in the first place.

The off putting friends with benefits situation you had with Jungkook only started a few weeks ago. He caught your eye at the frat party Hoseok invited you to. He wasn’t exactly a stranger to you. You heard a thing or two about his fuckboy status and his astounding skills in bed — explains why he carries the title so proudly.

When you first hooked up, Jungkook was surprised by how different you were. You drove him on edge constantly, savoring up every minute of the pleasure that developed between you. To say you were a drug for Jungkook was an understatement. You were more, yet you didn’t need to know that.

‘’Well… I’m leaving. I’ll call you.’’ With a peck on the cheek, Jungkook says a quick bye to Cho-Hee before the door closes and it’s just the both of you.

‘’He literally–’’ Cho-Hee starts off, you barely noticed the display of affection he did before leaving.

‘’What?’’

‘’Nothing. Want to order some take out?’’ Since that day, Cho-Hee never brought up your relationship with Jungkook on the table.

It turned quiet in your apartment, Cho-Hee was studying for a test tomorrow and you were scrolling on TikTok to let a few hours pass by. Your screen gets interrupted by a call. Well that was definitely early.

‘’Jungkook?’’ There’s a lot of noise surrounding him, so you hardly hear him through the mic.

‘’Y/N? Can you hear me now?’’ The ruckus clears out and Jungkook’s voice cuts through it.

‘’Yeah, what’s up?’’ You’ve brought the phone to your ear, sighing as you find a comfortable position to lay in.

‘’Wanna fuck?’’ You can’t help but snort when he says it, covering your mouth — scared to interrupt the focus Cho-Hee has gained on her studies. Jungkook is most likely drunk at this moment and horny, very fucking horny.

‘’Why are you laughing? I’m serious, I wanna fuck you.’’ You depress your snorting, trying to take his drunken state seriously. It makes it a lot funnier when you’re the sober one.

‘’Who says you’re fucking me?’’ Jungkook knew you were a switch, well more a person who’d be down for almost anything. Did that scare him? Yes. Did it turn him on? Also yes.

‘’Shut up. Now can I come over or not?’’ He really did not like to waste his time on small talk with you. It’s not that you aren’t interesting as a person, his dick just speaks before him and right now? He desperately wants to be inside of you.

‘’Cho-Hee is studying…’’ You start off, earning a groan from Jungkook not being pleased by your answer. You have a lot of respect for your roommate and vise versa, the least you can do is keep your crazy hookups away from Cho-Hee as much as possible. The reason also being she caught you not even a few hours ago, she still needs to recover from that.

‘’And? She knows either way, so what’s the problem?’’ He’s determined to be in between your legs tonight.

‘’The problem is she needs complete silence. Silence never works for us Jungkook.’’ You can picture the smirk plastered on his face when you admitted that the sex is too good, which explains the noise following right after.

‘’I can just hold my hand over your mouth. Easy fix.’’ He’s proud of his solution but you roll your eyes, wondering how you’ll get it to his head that there’s no sex tonight.

‘’Jungkook– I really can’t. Isn’t there someone else at the party that you can take home?’’ It turns silent on the other side of the line. That feels odd, also because you never agreed to be exclusive. Jungkook is a free man.

‘’They aren’t you.’’ The alcohol is speaking for Jungkook and you know that. You always found the saying ‘drunk words are sober thoughts’ utter bullshit. You’ve blurted out all kinds of nonsense when you’ve been drunk which have never meant anything. In this way, Jungkook’s sentence means nothing to you.

‘’Jung–’’ Cho-Hee knocks on your door, startling you which causes you to hang up.

‘’Oh- sorry! I was just gonna tell you that I’m going to Taehyung’s now.’’ You can already see for yourself Jungkook’s smile when he receives the news that he actually will get pussy tonight.

‘’That’s fine, say hi to Tae from me.’’ Cho-Hee gives you one last smile, leaving you to go see her boyfriend.

You realize you haven’t called Jungkook back and before you get the chance to, Cho-Hee shouts to you from the front door. With a quick strut, you find Jungkook with a worried expression and Cho-Hee trying to suppress a laugh.

‘’Um–’’

‘’I thought something happened.’’ Cho-Hee sends you a knowing look from afar, which you quickly shut down not wanting her to get the wrong idea of Jungkook being worried.

‘’Well. That’s my cue to leave.’’ She grabs her coat, closing the door behind her while you stand in your sloppy pajama look.

‘’Jungkook, what the fuck?’’ You aren’t exactly pleased with him arriving at your place without a warning. Thankfully Cho-Hee already made plans with Taehyung or you’d have a lot of explaining to do.

‘’Let’s fuck baby.’’ He almost crashes onto you, the hard liquor breath fanning above you and your face twists in disgust. He reeks of alcohol.

‘’You’re way too drunk.’’ You grab ahold of Jungkook’s shoulders to lift the weight he decided to throw on you late at night.

He can roughly stand on his own two feet, bringing you to baby him to bed. Which, yes, was not part of your weird deal. Still, you can’t let him go home from here in this state and it’s not because he’s unknown to your bed.

With a few struggles you managed to get Jungkook out of his clothes and tucked under the sheets. He was getting way too excited when you went down to unbutton his pants as he already laid flat on your bed. The duvet crinkled as he moved around, as if he was a child doing a snow angel.

‘’I thought you were gonna suck my dick. What a tease you are…’’ He pouts when you join him under the covers. If only the baby could stop talking and sober up.

‘’I’ll suck you off when you’re sober.’’ Jungkook leaves it at that, snores already escaping him as he falls asleep.

You don’t know what time it is when Jungkook pulls you in by the waist, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck. It’s not that action that stirs you awake, it’s what’s poking your ass when you lean into him.

‘’Please tell me you’re awake.’’ He whispers softly. You don’t give him a direct answer, pressing your ass further against him.

‘’I’ll take that as a yes.’’ His warm hand roams on your thigh, soothing it out and taking his time in enjoying what’s in front of him. You hum in delight, his hand inching closer towards your core.

‘’Are you sober?’’ You want to make sure, never wanting to take advantage of Jungkook in an intoxicated state. With a low chuckle, he bites your earlobe and whispers a yes. That’s good enough for you. You let Jungkook touch you how he pleases, admiring your curves and the softness that meets the palm of his hand.

You’re not impatient, seeing you fucked him earlier before Cho-Hee walked in, screaming as she quickly covered her eyes begging you both to dress up. It was comical, maybe not for her but Jungkook bit his lip trying to regain the upcoming snort that was about to leave him when he saw how traumatized Cho-Hee looked.

Jungkook moves his hand further down, tracing his delicate fingers above the fabric. You tense under his touch, his breath still landing hot on the nape of your neck. The slow build of intimacy reaching your bedroom.

It doesn’t really help how horny you’re getting, all while Jungkook’s dick is poking your ass from behind. With a slow movement, you grind your ass back, Jungkook groaning from your visible greadiness. How can you not be? Not only is he fucking hot but having his cock inside of you? Nothing beats that.

‘’Listen. I love you going slow right now, but can you just fuck me?’’ He hasn’t even touched you, his fingers resting on the waistband of your thong. You don’t exactly know what’s gotten you so needy. Maybe it’s the fact you can feel everything yet he isn’t touching you as expected. Wasn’t he desperate to fuck you a few hours ago? What happened to that?

‘’Listen, I have plans on my own. Lay still.’’ You cock an eyebrow in surprise. Since when does Jungkook have a plan on how to please you?

With a sigh, you don’t move, letting Jungkook have his way with you. His hand starts to explore again, finally gaining the courage to reach underneath your thong which has started to stick to your heat.

A gentle press of his fingers against your slit and your mouth drops. A breathless moan escapes you when Jungkook runs the pad of his middle finger between your lips, parting them slightly.

‘’You’re so wet…’’ A kiss is added right beneath your ear, the soft touch of Jungkook’s lips making you lean more into him — if it’s even possible at this point — earning a hiss from him as he gets worked up on how you effortlessly give yourself to him.

‘’Stay still. You’re gonna drive me insane before I even get to fuck you.’’ You smile at his words, commanding to his request.

He returns to fingering you, bucking his hips into you from behind to excite you of what awaits. He loves seeing you like this, lips parted as your eyebrows furrow over the pleasure building up within you. The pleasure he’s causing. If only you could see how adorable you looked in such a hot position. His fingers covered in your arousal, your ass pushed up on him to get some sort of friction which he isn’t willing to give right now. No, Jungkook loves seeing you become a mess for him, to the point where you take control yourself and guide him inside of you. But that’s not what happens. You turn.

Jungkook is still cupping your sex under the fabric, until you take a hold of his wrist guiding it towards your mouth. The room is dark, mostly. Jungkook is incapable of seeing your lips wrap around them, swirling the edges as you taste yourself. You’re unbelievable.

When you release his fingers from your mouth, Jungkook curses under his breath before he brings you in for a heated kiss. You don’t hesitate to wrap your free arm around his neck, playing with the ends of his hair as his tongue slips in to meet yours.

Kisses with Jungkook always drive you to a breaking point. There’s something so addicting about the way he kisses you that your body reacts before you. You’ve let your clothed core grind over his cock that has fully hardened under his briefs.

‘’Take them off.’’ You say in a hurry, moving your mouth further down to Jungkook’s neck. His weakness. It’s the first moan that slips out from him when you’ve swirled your tongue as your lips peck and bite at his soft skin.

Jungkook struggles to get his boxers off, when you’ve decided now is the perfect time to give him neck kisses. You’ve learned to perfect them since you both started hooking up, it’s definitely worth it when moans simply slip out of him.

A rough pull from Jungkook brings you back to face him and that’s when you notice he’s managed to get his boxers off while you were too busy with his delicate neck.

‘’Fucking finally.’’ You reach your hand down to feel it but Jungkook stops you.

‘’Wha–’’ He pulls one of your legs over his waist, positioning his cock above the material of your thong. That shuts you up, starting to enjoy the anticipation of having him inside of you. Sure, you’d rather want it now but it’s fun going along with Jungkook’s ideas. Maybe that explains the exciting sex life you’ve created between the two of you as time passed.

He makes it more difficult for you not to push yourself down on his cock when he decides to push your panties aside and grind his cock in between your soaked lips. The tip adding pressure to your clit as he presses it on purpose. He knows you love it.

‘’Jungkook, fuck!’’ The sensation you’re feeling becomes overwhelming, as you clutch onto him he admits he’s teased you enough. Aiming his tip now at your center, you await patiently before you feel it. His cock stretches you out the more he bucks his hips forward, as you sigh in satisfaction of getting what you’ve wanted since he’s pulled you in.

‘’Fuck you’re so tight pretty girl.’’ Pretty girl. A nickname Jungkook only uses in bed with you. It always gives you the same feeling; tingling sensations running around as goosebumps rise on your skin. You never felt special because of the nickname he used on you. It just felt good to be called something.

‘’Please–’’

Jungkook obliges, creating motion in his hips, his cock now entering and leaving you. The room is too engulfed by darkness for you to admire the alluring view beneath you both. You’re already turning warm and hot, the covers still tucked to both your chins. Jungkook’s pants land hot against your lips, his movements quickening as you tug yourself closer.

‘’I might not – shit – last long.’’ Jungkook admits, his pace never slowing down as you let yourself go, fully immersed by the wave of pleasure that’s slowly appearing.

‘’It’s okay. You can come.’’ You meet his hips halfway, working up an orgasm for you both before you suffocate yourself from heat. Jungkook doesn’t stop holding you close to him, his sleeve colored arm under your t-shirt, holding his hand tight on your naked body.

If only Jungkook could hear how exceptional his moans were when he’s buried inside of you. You’ll never grow tired of the on going curse words and strangled sounds he makes whenever you drive him on edge and fuck him instead.

The sounds are muffled under the duvet of your skins slapping against one another. Jungkook’s cock starts to twitch, signaling he’s not going to last much longer but you continue regardless, lifting yourself in a quicker motion to feel every inch of him before dropping down again and meeting the base of his cock.

‘’Fuck, don’t stop.’’ Jungkook’s grip tightens, letting you fuck yourself on him at a quick pace and with a quick motion, he pushes himself all the way in, poking at your g-spot as he finishes inside of you. You can only feel it twitch right after, humming in delight as Jungkook tries to catch his breath.

‘’Wish I could stay buried in your pussy, forever.’’ You snort at his compliment, finding the word ‘forever’ super childish coming from a fuckboy. He’s oddly soft, maybe that’s just his demeanor in bed.

Even though you haven’t finished yourself, you’re content. But Jungkook isn’t.

He turns you both around, your body now hovering above him, wearing a worried expression. ‘’What are you doing?’’ He doesn’t answer you, giving you a hidden smirk before he swiftly pulls you by the thighs, your pussy mere inches from his face.

‘’Don’t be shy baby, sit on my face.’’ You want to, but you also want him to beg for it.

‘’Say pleas–’’ Jungkook lifts his head, tongue now running flat on your slit. It makes you loosen your legs, pulling yourself down to feel more of his mouth. It’s no lie that Jungkook knows how to eat pussy. His tongue and lips could go on for hours, sucking, biting, nibbling your clit along with your hole.

You’re getting dizzy by the warm feeling of his tongue, circling on your clit for a good minute now. Your hips start to grind on his face, helping him get his mouth anywhere possible as your fingers go down to grip his loose strands of hair. The grip tightens and Jungkook moans against your heat, sending a shockwave of pleasure caused by the vibrations. You’re close.

Jungkook loves having you like this. Using him to make yourself come all over him. He decides to bite your clit gently, knowing it’ll be the last push for your orgasm. He was right, you tense above him, finally releasing and covering half of his chin. You’re overly sensitive after coming back from your high, Jungkook panting beneath you to catch some air.

‘’That was–’’ You start to laugh, releasing your grip on Jungkook’s hair as you lift your hips up, to roll over and catch your breath. Jungkook’s grip tightens once again, bringing your wet slit, once again in front of his mouth.

‘’Who said I was done?’’

‘’Jungkook I don’t–’’

‘’One more. You can do it.’’ With a slow exhale from your part, Jungkook goes back kissing you all over, starting with your inner thighs and working towards your heat for one last time.

You feel lightheaded at this point, not having time to process your first orgasm. Jungkook is cautious, knowing you’re overly sensitive but he wants to make you cum again. If he could, he’d continue till you barely could stand. Not only because you look so pretty when you finish, but the fact that it’s his doing. He is the one turning you heated, dizzy, breathless…

With a simple lick on your clit, you’re already drowning in pleasure once more and letting go. Your legs are somewhat shaky from your second orgasm and with a small kiss to your clit from Jungkook, he helps you lay back down on your back.

‘’Give me a minute.’’ Your chest is rising at a rapid pace as you inhale and exhale. Body warm and heated, you find sudden peace and calm yourself as Jungkook watches you smile.

It’s a win for him.

perma taglist;

@haliiimede @yoongukie-ff @kookstempo @astronaut-jin-moon @jeonqkooks @sugarwithtea @gimmethatagustd @sxtaep @here4btsfics @saweetspoiled @llashn @whoaajo @chaoticabstractism @ruinsofangels @pamzn @hollyweird0 @whoa-jo @ellesalazar @dunixxd @aliceisabelx @dahlia1w @bloodline1632 @copycat-namjesus @vsnnstuff @atlanticjeon @parkdatjimin @blxssxmsposts @codeinebelle @sugaluvmyg @wolfvmin @shimisushi <3

taglist for this fic; @jungkooksseuphoria

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quetejuuu

5 years ago

flipped | five

Pairing: Fratboy!Sehun x Reader

Genre/s: sns!au, college!au, fluff, angst

Note: Ignore the timestamps! Sorry for being late, I had online classes 😭 If you want to be added to the taglist, reply here!

masterlist | four (4.2) | six (coming soon)

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quetejuuu

1 year ago

the lucky one (pt. 5) | jjk

summary: Growing up you only had one goal: beat Jeon Jungkook. Sometimes you'd win, other times you'd lose. Sometimes he'd lose, other times he'd win. But you'd both walk away from the match thinking the other was the lucky one.

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader rating/genre: 18+ Minors DNI | sports au, e2l/r2l, angst, fluff, smut word count: 27.7K chapter summary: You and Jungkook had always endured your lives, watching everyone else live theirs. It was time you helped each other learn how to finally breathe like real people. warnings/notes: typos probably, explicit language, jk and oc are the sun and moon 100%, hoseok i’m going to kiss you, karaoke..., yoonmin (i don’t ship them irl, don’t worry; all fictional and for plot purposes), panic attacks, poem referenced: mock orange by louise gluck a barbie dream house but all the dolls are kitchen knives by cassandra de alba, oc and jk are like so in love it’s not even funny anymore, oc in her mid-2521 na heedo era, she’s not doing too good, reporters are vultures, mention of king lear, i’m telling you they’re embarrassingly in love, unprotected soft sex like...soft-soft extra soft, mention of icarus/the fall of icarus, i think that’s it but if i missed anything please let me know, i hope you enjoy, my loves <3

chapter five: violet, roses are red, not blue ( ← previous | next → )

FIVE WAYS YOU CAN Help Someone With an Anxiety Disorder:

Validate Their Feelings by Letting Them Know It’s Okay Not to Be Okay

Don’t Tell Them to Calm Down

Encourage Them to Focus on Things They Can Change

Help Them to Help Themselves

Discourage the Use of Alcohol or Drugs to Cope With Anxiety

OK . . .

You blinked once. Twice. Then once more, trying to make sense of the words before your eyes.

The thing was: you’d dealt with anxiety before. Hell, you’d been taking to biting your nails until they bled for a while now. You knew how it felt to peel over the edge of a toilet and empty your stomach’s contents just before a game. But . . . you never knew how to handle it or how to deal with it in such abundant measures.

Why were you looking into it now one may ask? Easy. You didn’t care much about how much you could endure, because truth be told: you knew you could handle it. You knew it would pass and while it sucked, you knew it was something you could deal with. And besides, you could deal with a lot, so . . .

But . . .

There were certain things that made sense to you. While you knew you could deal with everything on your plate . . . and while . . . while you knew Jungkook could handle himself . . . for some reason, you just didn’t want him to have to.

It was an odd thing: realizing you’d rather deal with both your problems and his than let him suffer. You supposed that was what it meant to be friends, though . . . and well . . . you’d never really had any, so this was all new territory for you.

So ever since a few months ago when Jungkook told you about what happened to him just last year, you’d taken to the internet. You spent countless hours researching anxiety disorders, how to help, what to say, what to do, and on the off chance he had a panic attack near you, you’d taken to researching what to do then, too.

It made you feel a little stupid, yes, but you didn’t know how else to help. You didn’t want to make him feel . . . different for telling you, but you also . . . you didn’t want him to feel so alone anymore. (You’d even bought a book on it all (it only made you feel more clueless).

Now . . . you didn’t know much, but you hoped the research would do something. And perhaps it wasn’t too far off either. After all, you’d been helping Jungkook stay away from booze as much as possible, even deciding to stay sober with him and you thought it was helping some. But you knew the late night talks were what helped more. You didn’t know how to say this without sounding full of yourself, but you liked to think you were helping him.

That was what you truly wanted. To help him in ways you couldn’t help yourself. You could handle everything as long as he didn’t have to. That . . . that was what felt right to you.

So . . . five ways you can help someone with an anxiety disorder, you read again. You felt a little more than clueless. Still.

“Hey, Sunshine—“ Jungkook called for you, snapping you out of your own mind— “come look. It’s done.”

Blinking quickly, you clicked off your phone out of habit, realizing where you were. A tattoo parlor.

Yeah . . .

It was the weekend of the final tournaments. The win or lose all, and Yunis was up there right next to the big leagues. How? All because of Jungkook. These past few months you and him had been unbeatable. Sure, you’d lost a few, but . . . more often than not, the two of you would end a match with grins on your faces moments before you jumped into his arms and just let yourself . . . celebrate with him.

That was how it had been. You and Jungkook against the world. And to be honest, you quite liked it that way. (Granted, after your little outburst, your teammates had stopped talking about Jungkook altogether and started to . . . almost but not really but also kind of . . . respect him more (except Wooshik, but whatever). That made things a whole lot better, but it was still just you and him and you were sure it would be for the rest of the season.)

Anyway . . . you were getting off-topic.

The point was: it was almost the weekend of the final tournaments and Yunis was staying at some hotel somewhere in Ulsan. And well, while you and Jungkook were watching some movie in his hotel room, he got an idea. He wanted a new tattoo. For good luck, he’d claimed, and you . . . you hadn’t gotten a tattoo since that one mistake of one. But somehow, someway, Jungkook had managed to drag you out of the hotel and into the nearest tattoo shop he could find on the GPS.

Which landed you there: sitting in the waiting area while Jungkook went first. (He wanted it to be a surprise. That was what he told you, which you thought was a little silly, but whatever.)

And then it would be your turn.

Actually . . .

You turned to face Jungkook, taking in the dopey grin he had spread across his face while he peeked at you through the door leading to the tattooing room. It was your turn.

“Hmm?” you hummed in questioning.

Jungkook shook his head. “Come look,” he repeated as he gestured for you to follow him. “And then I’ve got a couple ideas for yours. Don’t let me forget. And don’t pretend to forget. Got it?”

You rolled your eyes with a huff, but nevertheless, followed after him, shutting the door behind you. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of the artist, but, well, you had never been good at greeting people, so what should’ve been a small greeting wave, turned into you just staring at him with some kind of . . . smile on your face. And when you realized that was so not the way to go, you turned your attention back to Jungkook, grabbing onto the loop of his jeans as he led you to the mirror on the other side of the room.

Jungkook glanced to where you clung onto him, raising his brows as he looked between your face and your hand. “Good?”

You blinked. Then realized what you were doing. Then well . . . you cleared your throat and attempted to tear your hand from his body, but before you could, his fingers curled around your wrist. And without a second glance, Jungkook guided your hand back to him, allowing it to slip into his back pocket.

All you could do was stare at the back of his head in shock. His dark hair was long now. Longer than it had ever been, to the point it could only be tied back with a hair tie or it’d be in his face all day, which was his go-to most days considering the days were long and hot. And somehow, he looked more like himself like that. He seemed to smile more, too, and you always managed to smile back even when you least expected it.

But you couldn’t help it. He was just . . . well . . .

(Sometimes he made you wonder if you should really find your friend this attractive but you ignored that most days.)

Whatever . . . the point was: you had trouble wrapping your head around his touch; around the fact that while he wasn’t exactly yours, he didn’t mind your hands on him at any time. No one had ever liked your touch this much. You had always been too cold; too harsh; too rough, but around him, you felt like your touch was almost . . . soft.

And that was what always shocked you.

“Are you drooling?” Jungkook asked, snapping you out of your own head.

Only then did you realize you had been staring at him for quite a while now, and well, he would always tease you about that. Because he was . . . Jungkook.

Your brows scrunched together. “What?”

But he didn’t bother to repeat his question. No, instead, he took his thumb and swiped at your bottom lip, inspecting it in thought. “Yep, just as I thought—“ he jutted his thumb toward you— “drool.”

Glaring, you stepped closer. “I don’t drool,” you nearly huffed.

“Mmm, that’s not what the evidence says.”

“It’s chapstick.”

“Really?”

“Really.” You glared a little harder. “Will you just show the tattoo?”

Jungkook only grinned.

And then, he turned his attention to his tattooed arm, slowly pulling up the sleeve of his shirt. Your eyes stayed trained on his arm the entire time, expecting some sort of skull or something stupid, but instead . . . no . . . as he pulled up his sleeve, he revealed a vine of some sort of blue flowers traveling from the empty space left on his lower forearm to his hand, covered by a saniderm wrap.

“What flower’s that?” you questioned, eyes still trained on the fresh tattoo as you carefully brought your hand to his arm.

“Morning glories,” he hummed while he watched you slowly turn his arm to get the full view. “My mom says they’re a pain. They grow everywhere like weeds. Once you plant one, that’s it, she says. They grow like wildfire. A nuisance.” He laughed softly. “Figured it fit.”

“It’s pretty,” you murmured with a small smile. “Fits the rest.” You tilted your head to the side a little. “Kinda looks like the snake is wrapping around it.”

Jungkook nodded. “Cool, right?”

It was. It actually really was.

“It’s nice,” you settled with instead, feigning disinterest.

But Jungkook knew you well. “Admit it,” he pushed on, leaning toward you. “Admit you’re impressed.”

Nearly rolling your eyes, you finally huffed, “Yes, fine, it’s actually cool, Kook.”

“So I’ve impressed you?”

“Well, considering I thought you were going to get a dick, yes, I suppose I’m impressed,” you muttered with a small shrug.

Jungkook snorted. “Well.”

Oh god. No, he didn’t.

Furrowing your brows, you pegged the question, “Please tell me you did not get a dick and balls tattooed on you.”

His face screwed up as he tilted his head to the side in thought. “Well . . . “

“Kook.”

Pursing his lips into a cute pout, he offered you his other hand, showing off his fingers. And there on his ring finger was the number three, and on his middle was a sideways U. Meaning, yes, Jeon Jungkook did, in fact, get a small yet visible yet inconspicuous yet not that inconspicuous at all, penis tattooed on his fingers. And no, no, you were not surprised.

“Really?” you deadpanned.

Jungkook shrugged. “Whoops.”

“As long as you don’t think this is a matching tattoo kind of thing,” you started off with your finger pointing directly into his chest. “Because, I’m telling you right now, Jungkook, I am not getting a dick tattooed on my body.”

And Jungkook only snorted, shaking his head. “No, god, I’m stupid, not an idiot. I have my designs in my bag.”

Designs? Your brows twitched. He spent that much time on this? But—

But Jungkook was already one step ahead of you, walking from you toward where his bag lay on the ground beside the tattoo chair. He rummaged through its contents until he clasped his hand around a small sketchbook before he took it out and reapproached you, already flipping through it.

Flip, flip, flip . . . and flip, until . . . he paused on a page and slowly offered it toward you with an almost shy (?) look on his face. Jungkook, shy? You almost didn’t believe it, but still, you took the sketchbook from him without another word, letting your eyes take in the sketch before your eyes.

It was another flower. Well, a stem with a few flowers. Yellow this time. And a little different from Jungkook’s. Perhaps it was a little more peculiar.

“It’s an evening primrose,” Jungkook began while your eyes stayed trained on the sketch, still analyzing it. “My mom used to have them in our garden back home. They, uh, only bloom at night. I remember every night we’d watch them. They’d do this little shake and—“ he laughed, softly at first, then a little louder— “my mom would say it was like they were yawning.”

You traced your fingertips over the sketch, remembering your own little memories of the silly flowers. That was why you remembered them. They were your mom’s favorite. She used to plant like five batches each spring and force you to come outside and watch them with her, and yes, you said force because you had always been a disagreeable child. But still, every night, you watched them.

“They’re my mom’s favorite,” you voiced aloud with a small smile playing on your lips.

“Yeah,” he hummed under his breath. “My mom said she gives her a bundle every year for her birthday.”

Glancing up, you nearly beamed. “Really?”

He nodded. “Really.”

“I guess they’d be proud of us, hmm?” you murmured, searching his face. When you realized what you’d said, you quickly cleared your throat. “For becoming chummy, you know?”

His brows twitched. “Yeah . . . I guess they would.”

A beat of silence.

Then . . . Jungkook cleared his throat, shaking his head of his thoughts as his eyes turned back to the sketch. “Anyway, uh, they remind me of home, so I thought maybe they’d do the same for you,” he allowed himself to say in a hushed tone. “But, I mean, there’s others. The drawing’s kinda shit, so—“

“I like it,” you cut him off as you held the sketchbook closer to you. “I’ll—“ you shrugged— “I’ll get it.”

Jungkook’s brows nearly shot up to his hairline. “Really?”

You only nodded. “Why not? It’s cool. It means something I think, so yeah, fuck it, I’ll get it. Besides—“ you flicked his nose— “the sketch is not half bad. You didn’t tell me you could draw.”

“That’s because I can’t.”

“Bullshit.”

“OK—“ he agreed with a shrug— “hand me the tattoo gun. I can give you a Jungkook original.”

Narrowing your eyes, you couldn’t help but purse your lips into an unamused grimace. “No, thanks, I’ll end up walking out with testicles drawn on my forehead,” you muttered with just a little bite in your words.

And that got him. Jungkook laughed, his eyes crinkling first before a grin broke out onto his face. All the while, he playfully ruffled your hair, gesturing for you to sit down in the chair a second later. And you let it happen, a small dopey smile on your face.

(And you almost realized that while Jungkook had been smiling more lately, you, too, had never smiled so much in your life. You supposed you had him to thank for that . . .

Supposedly.)

It wasn’t your reflection which caught your attention in the mirror. No, rather, what your eyes had landed on was the fresh tattoo of an evening primrose placed in the center of your sternum. It was almost similar to Jungkook’s, yet different just like the two of you, and the funny thing about it was . . . it kept managing to bring a small, almost unnoticeable smile to your face.

“What’s got you smiling?” you heard from behind you as Jungkook appeared in the doorway of the hotel room’s bathroom (completely shirtless, might you add).

“Oh, nothing—“ you shrugged as you reached for a comb (totally not just pretending to untangle the ends of your hair), while maintaining eye contact with him in the mirror— “just the fact you whined and whined about how much pain your arm was in for like, what? An hour after?” Turning slowly to face him, you puffed out your bottom lip into a pout. “Such a pussy.”

His brows raised—a look of challenge. “Yeah?”

A beat of silence.

Another shrug was your only response.

Jungkook fought off a grin, crossing his arms. “I’m a . . . pussy?” Pushing off the doorway, he took a step toward you, head cocked to the side slightly. “Hmm?”

Mirroring him, you crossed your arms over your chest. “That’s what I said.”

“Oh, is that what you said?” he mused, mocking your voice.

And before you could even protest or drop your jaw in shock, he was in front of you. He caged you in, leaning his hands on the counter behind you. One more inch and his nose would be touching yours, but you didn’t dare close that gap.

“You’re such a child,” you hissed in a hushed tone as if his proximity had made the room that much smaller and you that much more exposed.

“Mmm, am I?” he mused, his eyes trailing over your features with such languid strokes, you wondered how you ever handled his gaze before.

You raised your head ever so slightly.

To which, obviously, Jungkook found amusing. With that small, toothy, almost endearing smile on his face, he closed the gap, his nose brushing yours. “Kiss me then,” he murmured, pressing closer, just enough to brush his lips against yours in a feathering touch.

And you began to wonder how on earth you ended up becoming putty in his hands. “What if I bite you instead?” you murmured, but despite your words, you leaned into his touch.

Resting his forehead against yours, he hummed, “Well, I wouldn’t be opposed to that either.”

You felt yourself grin. “Good.”

The only response you received was his lips pressing against yours. You leaned closer, pleasantly sighing into the kiss as a grin tipped onto his face. His hands tickled your sides, lightly dancing across your skin before settling on your rib cage just below the crescents of your breasts.

(Perhaps you forgot to mention that you were entirely topless . . .

What? It was uncomfortable with the fresh tattoo.

Whatever.)

And well honestly, you couldn’t resist not having him close. So what if it bothered your tattoo? He felt better than any pain relief.

Quickly, you found yourself tangling your hands in his dark, grown-out hair as you pulled him close enough to have your bare chest pressed against his. It made you feel close . . . closer than you had ever felt with anyone . . . closer than you had ever let yourself. His grip tightened on you instantly, his hands squeezing your sides once more before he gently sucked your bottom lip under the grasp of his teeth.

It only deepened from there. You melted into him, allowing him to meld his tongue against yours. The act squeezed a soft sigh out of you, to which Jungkook couldn’t contain himself. He smiled widely against your lips, and then his arms were around your thighs, lifting you up onto the sink counter. And once you were supported by the countertop, he stepped in between your parted legs as his hands found your face, gently caressing your jaw while he all but sucked on your tongue like he had done so many times before.

“Stop trying to eat my face,” you chuckled against his lips, still kissing him back while your arms wrapped around his neck.

He shook his head, but the small grin you felt against your lips gave him away. “Stop turning me on then,” he murmured back. “It’s just not fair, Daisy baby.”

Daisy baby. That was a new one.

Your brows twitched without your permission as your eyes traced his features. More specifically, your gaze fixed on his lips, watching as he tongued his lip ring—a habit he had accumulated over the years you supposed.

It made it harder to focus on anything except him. And for the second time that night, you wondered how on earth you ended up being at his mercy time and time again.

It just felt so unlike you. So different. So new. So . . . unfamiliar.

Did you like it?

You questioned yourself over and over again these past months. It felt like something you shouldn’t be able to feel. Really . . . it just made you wonder and wonder and wonder.

Until . . . Yes, you decided. Oddly enough, yes, you did like it. You quite liked feeling like this.

But what exactly was this?

. . . Your eyes met his, and your gaze softened instantly. You had no idea what this was. No idea . . .

Jungkook caught onto the look which crossed your face and leaned forward, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “What’s got you lookin’ like that?” he sighed against your skin, pressing open-mouthed kisses anywhere he could.

And your eyes fluttered shut as you melted into his touch. “Nothing,” you hummed, angling your neck to give him more access to your body. “I just—“

But a knock at the door halted the words from leaving your tongue.

The two of you paused.

A beat of silence.

Another knock came.

Jungkook pulled back and your eyes met, confusion passing between the two of you.

Who could be knocking at the door at this hour? Especially Jungkook’s? (Because, really, after the whole meltdown you had at dinner after the first tournament . . . everyone had steered clear of the two of you. So you wondered once more . . . who could be at the door?)

No words were exchanged between the two of you, Jungkook only took the step into the hall, and peered through the peephole on the door. You watched in silence as he stared a second too long, his posture stiff before he sighed and disappeared back into the room. And well, in utter confusion, you hopped down from the counter, following after him only to find he had put on a tee and grabbed another, moments before he handed that very shirt to you with a tight-lipped smile.

“Who is it?” you whispered, your voice hushed as you put on the shirt he’d handed you, covering your bare chest.

Jungkook tongued his inner cheek, but before you could even press the question, his face softened. A small, stiff smile met his lips as he reached out and caressed your chin with his pointer, while his thumb brushed your bottom lip. “Keep your claws in,” he murmured, that small smile still on his face as if he thought that alone would be enough to ease your wandering mind.

“What—“

But he was already gone.

His touch left you and you watched as he approached the door, while you followed slowly behind. The door was swinging open the next second, revealing—

Oh. You blinked in shock.

In the doorway stood Hoseok, whose back was facing you at that very moment while he talked to . . . Seulki?

Huh?

Tilting your head in confusion, you caught Seulki’s wide dark eyes. Her eyes widened further at the sight of you two as she quickly smacked Hoseok’s shoulder and pointed behind him. The action caused Hoseok to immediately shut his mouth as he slowly turned around, his lips down-turned into an awkward expression as his gaze darted between you and Jungkook.

Furrowing your brows, you sent him a look.

Hoseok blinked back in response. Seulki nervously waved before trying to pass it off as her attempting to scratch the back of her head. And Jungkook . . . well . . . he was the one to clear his throat, putting an end to the silence. (You, however, caught onto the fact that his eyes remained glued to his feet the entire time.)

That . . . that made you step forward, until you stood beside Jungkook, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned against the door frame. “Something wrong?” you questioned the two of them, keeping a close eye.

Hoseok opened his mouth, hesitating slightly. “Uh—“

“We were looking for you guys,” Seulki cut in with a wide smile on her face. “So it’s good that you’re both—“ she glanced at Hoseok, starting to fidget with her hands as she cleared her throat— “here. Hoseok?”

Hoseok eyed her, a tad startled before he nodded in agreement. “Right, yeah,” he hummed with a clap of his hands. “We were gonna meet up with some friends from college in Busan for karaoke. They’re just . . . they’re coming to the final tournaments and we thought ‘why not, let’s go out’.” He laughed . . . awkwardly if you might add. “Anyway . . . We’ve got two extra train tickets. Could be yours . . . ?”

Quirking a brow, you glanced between them. “How much?”

A perplexed look crossed both their faces. But it was Seulki who spoke up first. “What?” she mumbled, slightly puffing out her bottom lip into a small pout—something she happened to do a lot that you’d caught onto. “Nothing. We just . . . “

As her words trailed off, Hoseok picked up where she left off. In fact, he took it a step further. “We . . . “ He quickly shut his mouth, shaking his head at his thoughts before he raised his head once more, eyes now locked on Jungkook rather than hiding from him. It didn’t matter if Jungkook didn’t look him in the eye, it seemed Hoseok had something to get off his chest as he took a literal instead of metaphorical step toward him. “I . . . I feel bad . . . for how we treated you. I assumed things. I never asked you. I never thought to. I should’ve gotten to know you before listening to anything Wooshik had to say. I misjudged you. For that, and everything else . . . I’m—“ he touched a hand to his chest before he gestured toward Seulki— “we are sorry.”

And while his words lingered in the air, you hadn’t realized that the stiffness in your muscles had slowly loosened and your gaze was now set solely on Jungkook. How could it not be?

With a careful glance, you took in Jungkook’s demeanor. It was clear he, too, was taking in Hoseok’s words. His head was still lowered, his eyes trained on his feet, but they kept moving in rapid motions as if he were fighting with himself to not look up. And all you could think was: look up . . . please, please look up.

You hadn’t expected it when you first saw them in the doorway, but you weren’t an idiot. Hoseok and Seulki had come here to make amends. They had come here to admit their wrongs. You couldn’t be angry with that . . . not when you had seen just how happy Jungkook had been the first time he’d been able to . . . see someone.

If he looked up . . . then that would mean he would be OK. If he looked up . . . then maybe he could breathe a little easier. And truly . . . as odd as it sounded . . . all you wanted was for him to be . . . happy.

If Jungkook looked up . . . all of that could be possible.

“Look—“ Hoseok began again, nearly reaching out to pat Jungkook on the shoulder, but he stopped himself before he made contact— “Uh . . . you don’t seem like a bad guy . . . so I was wondering if we could all hang out like teams are supposed to, you know? Not just to apologize . . . but to . . . be friends, I suppose, is what I mean . . . “

You swallowed hard, fighting with yourself not to speak for him. Look up, Jungkook, you repeated over and over again in your head, watching him with careful eyes. Look up. Please . . . please . . .

Another beat of silence, more painful than the last.

Then . . .

. . . Jungkook raised his head, and his eyes met Hoseok’s, and you knew what his answer would be.

In no way, shape, or form could you comprehend how you managed to make it to some random karaoke bar in the middle of Busan around, like, two in the morning. Hell, you didn’t even remember hopping onto the midnight train to get to the city in the first place, but there you were, dressed in whatever the fuck you could find in your suitcase that wasn’t a badminton uniform, and you were sitting next to one of Hoseok’s friends (Namjoon, you thought his name was.)

And while Namjoon managed to impress you with his choice in cologne, he had been talking your ear off for the past half hour and you couldn’t think straight for the entirety of the time he’d been telling you about well . . . you honestly had no idea what he was talking about. In truth, you couldn’t really hear much . . . because your mind was elsewhere. Because, because, because for the last half hour that Namjoon had been at your side, your eyes had been on Jungkook.

Now . . . you knew how that sounded, but you had a reason. You see, Jungkook wasn’t alone either. He had been sat next to another one of Hoseok’s friends (let’s call him Yoongi and hope you got that right) . . . and he was like . . . looking at him. No, no, like . . . he was looking him in the eyes . . . that is why you couldn’t stop staring, couldn’t stop trying to eavesdrop, couldn’t stop just . . . just . . . just whatever!

Was it embarrassing to say you were proud of him?

But . . . you were . . .

As much as you hadn’t wanted to admit it, he’d become the only person you’d ever been this close to in your life. He’d once told you you were the only one he could see . . . the only one he wasn’t afraid of to look in the eyes, and now . . . in just a few hours, he’d allowed himself to hear people, see them, interact with them beyond the restrictions he’d put on himself the entirety of his contract with Yunis.

And the little thing that made you feel all that more warm, was the attentive, genuine smile on his face as he nodded along to whatever Yoongi was saying. That . . . that made a smile of your own touch your lips as you took in the scene.

“You agree?” you heard from beside you, Namjoon’s voice startling only slightly enough to have you abruptly whipping your head in his direction with a confused expression on your face.

You blinked, furrowing your brows. “Hmm?” you hummed in a questioning tone as you snuck a glance back at Jungkook, only to find . . . oh . . . only to find him lazily shifting his gaze from Yoongi to you with an amused smirk on his face. (Great, so he had seen you looking at him. Great. That he’ll really get you later on with.) “Do I agree—what?”

Slowly, you forced yourself to tear your eyes from Jungkook and finally face Namjoon, who seemed to be oblivious to everything else. You weren’t even really sure if he had heard your question or if he were too busy inside his own head, questioning himself. But it didn’t matter either way, because . . . the music cut out, Hoseok and Seulki’s voices died down, followed by their out of breath laughter, and then:

“Alright, who’s next?” Hoseok called out, offering up the microphone.

Immediately, Yoongi shook his head, leaning back to indulge in his drink rather than the question at hand. And no one else could get another word in before, Seulki and Hoseok had caught onto this little act, only they didn’t exactly . . . go for him. No, rather, Seulki, specifically, all but jumped toward Jungkook. “I vote Jungkookie goes!” she declared as she leaned forward to dangle the microphone in front of his face.

“Agreed! Jungkook-ah, onstage now!” Hoseok exclaimed, closing the distance to Jungkook before he wrapped a hand around his arm, urging him to stand to his feet and take over the spotlight.

(Clearly . . . something you hadn’t mentioned . . . everyone but you and Jungkook were . . . perhaps maybe a little bit or a lot or yeah, yeah, yeah . . . they were drunk. (So you could see how . . . this had happened.))

And Jungkook all but turned cherry-cheeked. “No, no, I can’t,” he laughed it off, trying to wave them away. “I’m a horrible singer, really.”

Lie.

He once sang for your elementary school’s talent show . . . you know . . .

But the others persisted, whining and whining and blah blah blah—

. . . Five minutes later, no doubt, Jungkook finally gave in with a playful groan. He took the microphone from Seulki, slowly making his way to the center of the room you guys had booked, and then you noticed something . . . his eyes had only been on you the entire time. And suddenly, you began to wonder what that meant, wrapping your arms around yourself as your brows raised in question.

Until:

“Listen,” Jungkook began, a half-grin sliding onto his face as he maintained eye-contact with you, “I’ll sing . . . but I need my sidekick.”

Raising your brows, you knew you’d kill him for that later. But still you didn’t move. All you could do was shake your head, because no, no, no you did not want to sing in front of anyone.

“OK. OK,” Jungkook nodded slowly to himself, but you knew him better than that. He had something planned. And you could just tell by the way he began to walk toward the system in order to plug in the song that was somehow someway on his mind. Then, he turned back around, both microphones in his hands, his eyes solely on you with a mischievous glint in them as the first seconds of the song began to blast through the speakers.

Squinting your eyes in skepticism, you watched him.

He only sent you a knowing grin.

And you suddenly had a feeling you knew exactly what he had put on.

“ . . . She ain’t got no money,” Jungkook began, trying his best to sing, but his grin kept growing and growing just as your face fell and fell and fell. “Her clothes are kind of funny. Her hair is kinda wild and free. Oh, but—”

You nearly smacked a hand to your face.

“—Love grows where my Rosemary goes,” he continued, beginning to bob his head now to the music. “And nobody knows but me.” Clearing his throat over the music, you knew you were in for it. “Come on, Rosemary, on your feet. Let’s go. Let’s go. Let’s go, because! Love grows where my Rosemary goes! And nobody knows like—Come on!—me!”

And finally . . . finally after being hounded and hounded, you unstuck yourself from your seat, your eyes solely on him as if it were just the two of you against everything, and then you took the microphone from his hand, and you knew you’d sealed your fate. Shaking your head at him, you playfully rolled your eyes moments before you glanced at the screen, checking where you were in the song.

Great, you thought. Fuck . . . OK. Clearing your throat again, this was your Hell. “I’m a lucky fella,” you began, your voice nearly tone-deaf, and certainly agony to the ears. “And I’ve just got to tell her that I love her endlessly.”

“Oh, because!” Jungkook jumped in, bumping you with his elbow. “Love grows where my Rosemary goes, and nobody knows like me!”

Snorting once, you continued for him, “There's something about her hand holding mine. It's a feeling that's fine,” you hummed along, realizing that perhaps . . . this . . . was . . . fun. And slowly, so slowly, you didn’t even realize you were doing it . . . you had begun to dance along, following Jungkook’s lead. “And I just gotta say—”

“Hey! She’s really got a magical spell and it's working so well that I can't get away,” he drawled out, perhaps carrying out his words a tad too much, but there was something about the smile on his face while he did it that you didn’t care.

That was when you really lost it. Perhaps lost it was the wrong word, but that was when you really stopped caring if there were other people in the room, about keeping up your image or whatever. It just felt like it was you and Jungkook and the music.

And before you knew it, the song had ended, cheers came from Hoseok’s friends, but your eyes were solely on Jungkook. They had never really left him, because this was the song you’d sang at the talent show in elementary. It was also the song you had been too afraid to sing alone . . . because you were perhaps maybe not a shy child, but an antisocial one. And Jungkook . . . Jungkook had offered to sing with you. He’d never wanted to be in the talent show, but you . . . you always wanted the spotlight, and so, it was because of him that you were able to have it that day. Otherwise you probably would’ve spent the entire night crying in the school’s bathroom because you couldn’t force yourself on stage. And he . . . he had saved you back then.

It seemed he always was . . .

That made a smile slowly grow on your face, but before it could form into a toothy grin, cheers erupted throughout the room. Eyes widening, you glanced toward the noise, realizing it was not just the two of you but rather the two of you and . . . them.

But this them didn’t feel malicious as it had in the past. No, in fact, before you could even blink, Seulki was already jumping toward you, jumping up and down while she beamed about how that had to be one of her all time favorite songs. And Jungkook . . . well . . . Hoseok had reached him in seconds, clasping a hand on his shoulder as he went on and on about how he had no idea he had such a voice, asking if he’s taken lessons, and blah blah blah . . . all the while everyone else shouted requests at the two of you, hooting for an encore.

It . . . well . . . to say the least, it managed to bring that smile back onto your face, and finally you let yourself look away from Jungkook, knowing you could trust the others with him, and suddenly all you could see was Seulki. You’d never had many friends. Perhaps competition or surface people, but a little part of you saw Yurim, your college doubles partner and probably the closest you’d ever had to a friend, in Seulki.

Except unlike all those years ago . . . this time you embraced Seulki with a hand on her shoulder and a warm smile touching your face as you finally let yourself tell her the little story of how the song came to be for you. Now, yes, she was drunk out of her mind and would probably forget about all of this tomorrow, but you didn’t care.

It felt . . . nice . . . to talk to people like . . . this. And—And this feeling when you did . . . Oh what was that feeling called? Like, like warmth but better, perhaps innocent?

Were you . . . happy?

And then . . . you began to wonder . . . was this what it felt like to have . . . friends? Were you allowed to feel like this? Like . . . like you were happy?

In that moment, you glanced back at Jungkook for a brief second just as he did the same. Your eyes met, and you knew he felt the same. And then: relief, relief, relief . . .

A beat of silence.

In it more relief.

Beat.

Beat . . .

But . . . like all things . . . balance. A knock on the door ripped that blissful beat of relief from your grasp. Brows furrowing, you slowly turned to see a blurry shadow just behind the door, indicating that someone was . . . asking for permission to come in? But . . . who? As far as you knew everyone who was there was supposed to be there.

You wondered and wondered, trying to tilt your head to see if you could make it out. And then you heard them call his name, but you didn’t believe it at first. You didn’t quite hear it. Seulki was jumping beside you, and you could have sworn you heard Yoongi announce that it was probably his partner at the door.

And then as Yoongi slowly walked toward the door, opening it to greet the man with this adoring look in his eyes, your heart plummeted to your stomach. Instantly, your eyes snapped to Jungkook, and you saw the entire world crumble before you. You tried to reach him but Seulki was still holding onto you, and you couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t speak, you couldn’t move, you couldn’t do anything but stare and watch as the world fell and fell and fell, leaving you with no way to put it back together.

Amongst the chaos, your eyes fluttered back toward the door and you heard his name once more. Jimin, you could have sworn Hoseok had called out, and you knew this was reality.

Like an old ghost, Jimin had appeared at the door, almost unrecognizable from the boy you remembered in college. His hair now honey blonde, his cheeks full and almost rosy, with this way about him that just screamed he was different now. It made you wonder how different he was now than a year ago when Jungkook left his past behind him.

Breathing carefully, everyone’s attention was on Jimin, but you caught sight of it first. Jimin’s eyes scanned the room and then . . . then they met yours. Your heart stopped again and you could have sworn his mirrored yours. His eyes widened only slightly, until they shifted just to the right of you, and you watched in silence as his lips parted, his brows twitching upward.

That was weird.

You would have expected him to meet the sight of Jungkook with anger . . . but the only expression on Jimin’s face was that of pain . . . perhaps . . . yearning . . . ? For something . . . ?

And finally, you allowed yourself to glance back at Jungkook, and you began to wonder if it truly were possible to die of a broken heart.

Jungkook stood stagnant, unmoving without even a single rise and fall of his chest. No, instead, his hand was clasped over his chest as if he were in physical pain, but he still didn’t move. Until he did.

Before you could reach him, Jungkook was off. He made a B-line for the door, pushing past everyone while they were distracted by Jimin’s appearance.

And you were a step behind him.

“Kook, where you going?” you briefly heard Hoseok call to Jungkook. “Jimin’s got to show you his vocals, man. He’ll give you a run for your money.”

But Jungkook wasn’t reachable. “I—um—restroom,” he barely strained out and then he was gone, slipping out the door and out of your sight.

You tried to keep up, desperately pushing past the others as you reached the door as well, but a hand on your upper arm stopped you in your tracks. Your eyes flicked from the hand on your arm to the face of the person it belonged to.

Jimin . . . he was the one who had stopped you. Of course.

But you had never been easily swayed. You quickly ripped your arm out of his grasp, and left without a look back. But it was no use. The hallway was empty. Jungkook was gone.

So what? You’d find him. You had to.

Without another thought, you didn’t even wait to hear the door close behind you as you began to stalk down the hall, but a voice called out to you.

“Hey, hey, wait,” the voice pleaded.

But you knew this voice well. You knew Jimin well, and you didn’t care what he had to say, not when Jungkook was missing.

Attempting to make another run for it, you put one foot in front of the other, only to be pulled back. Jimin wrapped a hand around your upper arm, pulling you into him and turning you to face him all at once. And you saw that hurt expression once again, but you didn’t care, you didn’t care, you didn’t care! Jungkook was out there and he was alone and you needed him to know you were never leaving his side again.

So fuck it, fuck it, fuck it. You didn’t care!

Desperately, you tried to peel his hand from your arm, but his words halted you in your tracks.

“Is he OK?” Jimin quietly asked, his voice barely above a whisper, almost as if he were ashamed of his own words.

Taking a step back, you could only shake your head at him. “Are you fucking serious?” you all but hissed, the words burning on your tongue as you finally ripped your arm out of his grasp. “Now you care? Now you want to act like—“ Your words were ripped from your lips, unable to finish the sentence. Instead, another shake of your head came. “You’re fucking unbelievable . . . Of course he’s not OK. He hasn’t been for a while, and you would know that if you hadn’t—“

The words died on your tongue, and Jimin watched. While your eyes betrayed you, watering slightly, Jimin looked as if he couldn’t believe his own eyes. His gaze darted across your face, his brows raised in concern (?) while he watched as you fought against the floodgates, trying to bite back the tears in your eyes and the lump in your throat.

And finally, you were able to force out the words: “He’s not OK. He’s really—“ you quickly exhaled— “really not.”

A beat of silence.

You swallowed that lump in your throat while a look of realization crossed Jimin’s face. It was funny . . . he looked completely different now than he did years ago . . . or maybe it was the look he wore. It was something you had never seen on him before.

But you really didn’t care.

Sucking in a breath, you cleared your throat and began to back away. “And he needs me so I have to—“

But Jimin cut you off. “So he told you?” he asked almost a little too hesitantly as he took a step toward you.

Nodding, you swallowed hard. “Yes.”

His brows raised. “You guys are . . . good?”

“Yes,” you muttered, nodding again. “He’s—We’re friends.”

Jimin blinked. “Oh.”

“What?”

“I just . . . I didn’t see that coming . . . “

“Well—“ you bit your inner cheek— “it did.”

Another beat of silence.

Then: Jimin took a step back. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, almost too under his breath to even hear. “I didn’t expect that he’d be here. I haven’t seen him in . . . in a year. I didn’t even think he was . . . I didn’t think he was like that.”

Oh . . .

Don’t say it.

Don’t say—

Don’t—

But you couldn’t help but bite out, “No thanks to you.”

Jimin pinched his brows together. “What? What do you mean?”

You just had to say it . . .

“Nothing—“ clearing your throat, you realized just where your loud mouth had landed you— “just . . . I have to go, alright?”

With one final look at the man before you—a man you once knew that now barely resembled the one you’d known—you walked past him, eyes trained solely on what was before you. Jungkook was the only thing on your mind. Finding him was the only thing you cared about. Leaving the past behind was easy when you knew he was waiting for you somewhere up ahead.

But a hand wrapped around your forearm, halting you in your tracks. Your eyes widened as you heard Jimin speak, but you couldn’t quite make out what he was saying until you glanced over your shoulder, your eyes meeting his words head-on.

“Look . . . look, I know,” he had said, an almost desperate expression plaguing his face. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly before he sucked in a sharp breath. “I know. Trust me. I do.” Exhale.

Slowly, your brows scrunched together as you pried his hand off your arm. “Know what?” you questioned, your voice a slightly accusatory tone while you cocked your head to the side, eyeing him with skepticism.

A moment’s silence passed before he searched your eyes. What he was searching for, you couldn’t quite make out, but he kept searching and searching and searching until his brows twitched upward, an almost pained expression fueling his face. And then: “I know it wasn’t Kook’s fault,” he confessed, his voice soft and quiet as if he were ashamed of his own words. “What happened between him and Tae. I knew it wasn’t his fault.”

Instantly, your heart dropped.

He knew. He knew and he still let this happen.

You wanted to scream. At him. At everything. At nothing.

But you stayed frozen, your mind spiraling and spiraling.

“I tried to get them to see that, too, but . . . Kook had always been our glue, not me,” he nearly whispered, harshly pointing at his chest almost as if he were trying to punish or rather condemn himself. “Tae and I would get into arguments over stupid shit all the time, and Kook would always be there to get us to see eye-to-eye. I didn’t know how to help them. I’m not good at that; he was.”

And then you saw it: you saw the past in his eyes. Slowly, it unraveled, and you watched as the three of them practiced day in and day out while you glared at them across the field back in college. You remembered being angry, but you hadn’t known why, and now . . . now you realized you had been envious of the fact that they were . . . friends. While you had none, they had each other.

To see the three of them in completely separate places now . . . made your head spin and spin and spin. Never once did you think they’d do anything without each other, and now . . . now you were watching the past crumble through Jimin’s sad eyes.

It was almost as if you could see the moment they went their separate ways. Kook alone. Jimin and Taehyung together . . . but . . . distant . . .

The distance was clear on Jimin’s face, and when he spoke, he spoke with a certain type of nostalgia that you knew all too well. “I knew what I had to do,” he continued, those sad eyes of his not leaving yours. “I chose Tae. I would’ve chosen them both, but I couldn’t . . . so I stayed by Tae’s side. I knew how they both felt. I knew that I could play neutral all I wanted, but Kook was gonna leave and I had to either go with him or stay with Tae.” He shook his head as he chewed on his inner cheek. “And I couldn’t let Tae go through this alone . . . and—and there wasn’t enough time to fix what happened between them, but I thought Kook would be OK. I would’ve fought harder if I knew—”

His words cut off, getting tangled around his tongue as the lump in his throat rose higher and higher. There was no way to tell when it’d finally choke him. What would happen then?

“He was just always so . . . fine,” Jimin whispered more to himself than to you, shrugging his shoulders as if he couldn’t believe it. “I thought he’d be OK. I thought he’d ignore all of this and win that medal we all dreamed of . . . but then he left the team and Wooshik . . he told me where he ended up.” He shook his head once more, his eyes now trained on the wall behind you, tears still glossing over and threatening to spill. “I didn’t think he was . . . struggling. I just thought he was hiding. I didn’t realize he was . . . “

“Well . . . I guess we all have our own ways of dealing with . . . guilt,” you heard yourself spit out before you could stop the words from flowing. You didn’t know why, you just . . . you just . . . you were just so angry. But at him? That you weren’t sure or.

It seemed Jimin was as shocked by your words as you were. His eyes met yours once again, blinking quickly, causing a few tears to slip down his cheeks. He quickly wiped them away, shaking his head in the process. “Don’t do this,” he muttered under his breath.

But you almost couldn’t control it. You were more parts anger than anything else, and there he was, the perfect subject to take it out on. Putting up a fight was useless, your mind was on autopilot. “Tae’s at home bedridden I assume and you’re here? On a date?” you hissed out through gritted teeth. “Mmm, I don’t know . . . sounds—”

“Don’t,” Jimin quickly cut you off, mirroring your anger. “You of all people don’t get to judge me.”

You raised your brows. “Why not?”

“You—“ he shoved an accusatory finger your way— “left him too once.”

And just like that, his words pierced your chest, making the anger spread into your bloodstream. “That’s different,” you bit out, eyes now shamefully trained on the ground.

“Is it?”

Scoffing, you shook your head. “Don’t turn this around. You—”

But Jimin wasn’t having it. “He loved you, you know?” he spat like the words had burned his throat.

The world stopped.

A beat of silence.

Two beats.

Another.

. . . You could have sworn your heart thud in your chest. But . . . but that could’ve been your breath catching in your throat.

And then you heard it: your own shocked voice. “What?” you all but gasped out, taking a subconscious step back.

Jimin furrowed his brows as if . . . confused (?) by your reaction. “He loved you,” he went on, keeping a watchful eye on your face. “I don’t know why or how considering you were such a horrible person the entirety of college . . . but he stuck by you. I’ve never seen anyone love somebody that much. Hell, I didn’t think it was real, and I couldn’t understand why . . . but he loved you, and when you pulled that shit on him; when you left, me and Tae saw it. He didn’t talk to anyone for months.”

He loved you? He . . .

“He slowly came back, and a year later I thought he was fine. I thought he was finally over you, but . . . “ Jimin wet his lips— “I guess some old habits never die.”

Jungkook loved . . . you? In college he—But, no! He thought you guys had been friends. You were the one who had hated him, and he had thought of you as a friend. There was no love there. No, no there couldn’t be. He did not love you. He couldn’t have. No. No . . . No!

“And now you’re here . . . defending him . . . and I just can’t wrap my head around it,” Jimin finished off, his words more stable now. Then, slowly but surely, he nodded as if he had made peace with his thoughts. “But I get it. We all make our own choices. You made yours, but you . . . you don’t get to stand here now after everything and judge me when you left him in the dark for years. I made my choices, and I regret them most days, but it is what it is. You of all people should know that.”

But if he had loved you, then . . . had you broken his heart?

You knew you’d done quite a lot of damage on him, but you hadn’t considered that you’d broken . . . the very thing you’d come to grow so fond of. Because truly, over the past months, you’d come to know him more than you knew yourself, and you realized he’d always had this softness about him. He’d always had a good heart. That was what you had come to admire most about him. And if Jimin was right, that meant you had hurt that very part of him.

If he was telling the truth, you had done so much more damage to Jungkook than you had thought. Perhaps it had been you who had ruined him.

That . . . that made your rage boil. “I do,” you ended up biting out, your voice harsher than it had ever been as your rage boiled and boiled, nearly bubbling and spilling everywhere. “I regret every mistake I’ve ever made and I know hurting him is at the top of the list, but you knew that, too, and you still repeated what I did wrong. Why didn’t you go back for him? Why didn’t you, I don’t fucking know, try?! Why didn’t you fucking try?! Huh?!”

Those words left your lips and before you knew it, you were face to face with Jimin, not even two inches apart. Your breathing was ragged and you could feel your rage burning through your bloodstream, turning it to rot, surely burning through your skin.

Had it reached your heart?

“Why didn’t you try?” Jimin mumbled, the anger gone from his eyes as he took in your expression. And his words . . . this wasn’t a question. He wasn’t asking why you hadn’t tried to help Jungkook back then, no . . . he was reminding you that you hadn’t tried for a reason.

Admit it or not, you hadn’t let him in because you hated yourself. And making yourself hate him, blame him, was easier than admitting you didn’t want to live with the person you had become.

That was why you hadn’t tried—you were exhausted with yourself, with everything.

And only then did it hit you. As those final words left your lips, you realized why you were so fueled with anger. You realized why you had chosen Jimin as your punching bag, and you realized what you had done.

Because, really, you weren’t angry with him. No, you were angry with yourself. It was like he had said . . . you had left Jungkook once, too.

Looking at Jimin was like looking in the mirror. What he had done to Jungkook was nothing close to what you had done to him. So being angry at him . . . hurting him was an excuse to ignore who you were really angry with: . . . yourself.

And finally, Jimin spoke for the both of you. “Because . . . I was exhausted,” he mumbled through a heavy exhale. “You don’t get it . . . I’ve stayed by Tae’s side for a year, and I’d do it again and again, but that doesn’t mean that there isn’t a part of me that doesn’t blame him, too.”

Wetting your lips, you took a step back, your anger slowly turning to guilt. This wasn’t his fault. Why did you blow up on him like that? Fuck.

Hating him wouldn’t make you hate yourself less . . .

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“After the incident, it was like he just disappeared,” Jimin went on, his voice equal parts solemn and guilty. “Badminton was his dream. I think Tae loved it the most out of all of us, and just like that, it was gone. And without it, he just faded away. I don’t even think he blames Kook. He’s just . . . gone. It’s like he’s been on autopilot for the better half of a year.”

Fuck. Jimin wasn’t to blame. Just like Jungkook, this entire situation was just one big mess. No one was to blame. Fuck, no one was to blame, and yet . . . you were sure they all blamed themselves.

How could you have been so blinded by rage you hadn’t noticed this before?

“And I . . . I have had to live for the both of us,” he confessed, finally raising his head to meet your watchful gaze. “I knew what I was getting into, and I did it because I care for him, but I didn’t realize . . . I didn’t realize that . . . you can be there for someone as much as you want but there comes a time when caring for someone makes you stop caring about yourself.” His brows twitched only once, but the action carried a world of pain. “Tae is my best friend. They both were, and I . . . I didn’t just lose Jungkook that day. I had to live for Tae, and in doing so, I stopped living for myself.”

I stopped living for myself. Closing your eyes, you were only reminded how wrong you had been. The three of them were all in pain, refusing to admit it. They all blamed themselves, you were sure of it.

But no one was to blame.

No one.

Still, you stayed silent, keeping these thoughts to yourself. Your eyes fluttered back open, and it was as if you were staring the past in the face once again. And god, did it have such a guilty conscience.

“I know it’s wrong, but there will always be a part of me that resents him for it,” Jimin went on, sighing as his words left his lips. “And he—” he gestured back to the karaoke room; back to where Yoongi still resided— “is the only reason I didn’t lose myself. He is the only reason I can fucking breathe just for a second . . . so that is why I’m here. I don’t care if it’s selfish. He’s my sliver of happiness, which is why . . . “ he wet his lips, staring at you as if you were a reflection of his own past “ . . . which is why I don’t blame Jungkook for the things he did for you back then. So . . . I don’t blame you either but . . . but I guess what I’m trying to say is . . . I know what I did. I will always regret it and I will always wish I could turn back time and make it all go away, but I can’t.”

Which is why I don’t blame Jungkook for the things he did for you back then, you repeated in your head once more. Was Jimin right? Had Jungkook truly loved you?

And then, one more final question popped into your head: Did he still?

“Min?”

The singular name brought you and Jimin out of your little bubble. The two of you turned your heads in the direction of the sound, finding Yoongi had peeked his head out of the karaoke room. His dark eyes shifted between you and his boyfriend, a skeptical look plastered across his face.

“Everything’s fine,” Jimin replied with a tight smile.

That was when you saw it—the way Yoongi’s face softened instantly with just a couple of words from Jimin. You recognized that look. You’d seen that very expression reach Jungkook’s face time after time again in the past months you’d spent getting to know each other more and more and . . .

Wait . . .

Wait, wait . . . you recognized that look, but in a deeper way, in a visceral way. Yes, you’d seen Jungkook wear it many times, but . . . you could have sworn you’d seen it somewhere else, too. You could have sworn you’d catch glimpses of it on your own face when you’d walk past a mirror or catch your reflection in a puddle. And you’d always catch sight of it when . . . Jungkook was up ahead or behind or near.

Yes, that was it. You’d seen that expression on your own face when Jungkook was involved. But . . . did that mean?

No, no . . . no. Stop it. You couldn’t think about what this meant or that meant or this or that and those and them or whatever! No.

Right now . . . right now you had to focus. Jungkook had run off and you . . . you needed to find him, but—

Your gaze fixated on Jimin once again. What happened back then . . . He wasn’t to blame. No one was. They, all three of them, were in pain, blaming themselves and yet too scared to face it. None of them would dare to either. But it was so clear that Jungkook missed Taehyung and Jimin as well. And now . . . now it was clear just how much Jimin missed the both of them . . .

And well, you could do something about that. Perhaps then this guilt would leave you alone. Perhaps then things could be set right. Maybe then things could be the way they were supposed to be before life got in the way.

The answer was clear, and you couldn’t stop yourself. “Jimin,” you began, clearing your throat and interrupting the conversation between him and his boyfriend. Once his eyes were on you, with a clearing of your throat, you continued. “I’m sorry . . . for blowing up on you. I didn’t realize that—nevermind—just . . . Jungkook . . . he misses you . . . and Tae. I can see that. He’s . . . He doesn’t hate you, you know? He blames himself, yes, but he’s not angry with either of you. I think he just wants you guys back . . . so . . . if there’s any way . . . ask Hoseok for my number.” You paused for only a second to swallow. “You shouldn’t have to live with regrets.”

A beat of silence followed your words once again, almost as if it were mocking you. But instead of turning your words to shit, Jimin welcomed the silence. He embraced it as a small smile lifted onto his lips. And then . . . then he nodded.

It was a silent agreement, but it was good enough for you.

This could be it.

A new leaf.

For him.

For Jungkook.

For Jungkook, you affirmed, and with that thought, you nodded back. “It was nice to meet you, Yoongi,” you mumbled genuinely, before your eyes shifted back to Jimin once again. Another nod from you. “Jimin. Tell Hoseok that Kook and I went to eat, yeah? We’ll see him at practice tomorrow.”

“Hey—“ Jimin piped up before you could leave— “remember to live for yourself, too, yeah?”

And you nodded back with a smile.

The world fell away piece by piece as you turned from them, their faces still glued to the back of your mind, but you couldn’t waste any more time. As it was, your anger had already bubbled over and burned enough bridges that night to waste a lifetime. You should’ve kept your cool. You should’ve tried to see everything from a bigger picture, but this rage trapped inside you seemed to be bigger than you knew how to control. Sure, it had subsided now . . . but only because . . . because that was what was right.

You didn’t know how to explain it, but . . . Jungkook had become someone important to you, perhaps the most important in your life. You’d never felt that before. You never thought you’d be able to care about someone this much before, but . . . you did, and that was enough to put away that anger boiling deep inside you just enough to do right . . . for him.

Did that make you crazy? Maybe . . . maybe it did, but there wasn’t much in you to care about things like that. All you wanted was to find him. If you found him, everything would be alright. It would. You swore it would.

Your feet didn’t feel like your own as you raced down the halls of the karaoke bar. The lights had begun to blur together in your vision, creating mixes of blue and purple racing in your peripheral. You’d even looked into room after room, disturbing group after group, solely searching for him.

Until . . . with your heart pounding in your chest, your breathing uneven, and a relentless shiver shaking throughout your body, through the muted colorful lights, you caught sight of a man’s figure crouched down in a corner of the building. His hands were covering his ears, his face hidden in his knees as he breathed heavily, but he was there. You’d found him. Instantly, your muscles relaxed. Exhale.

You’d found him. “Ju—” but you quickly cut yourself off before you could draw any attention to yourself.

Think. You had to think. You couldn’t approach him like you normally would. You couldn’t go in all thorns and nails on a chalkboard. This was different. This was what you had read about. What you realized you had never been good at—comfort.

How could you comfort? You had never been nurturing. Hell, you’d read something once that told you some women just weren’t meant to be mothers, and you knew you were one of them. You knew you couldn’t didn’t know how to be . . . soft.

But you had to try. For him . . .

And then you remembered:

Five Ways You Can Help Someone With an Anxiety Disorder:

Validate Their Feelings by Letting Them Know It’s Okay Not to Be Okay

Don’t Tell Them to Calm Down

Encourage Them to Focus on Things They Can Change

Help Them to Help Themselves

Discourage the Use of Alcohol or Drugs to Cope With Anxiety

But . . . but . . . fuck! How was that supposed to help you now? Let them know it’s OK not to be OK. OK . . . You swallowed hard. You could do that. Focus on things they can change. OK, OK. You could do that, too.

Hesitantly, you took a step forward.

But shit! You paused, halting in your movements. What if that didn’t work? What if you didn’t do it right? What if it only made it worse? What if you only made him worse?

Just . . . just . . . fuck, OK! Just—

“Kookie,” you heard yourself say clearly before you knew you had even opened your mouth.

In response, his breathing stopped but he didn’t raise his head to meet your gaze. Instead . . . “It’s OK. Just go back . . . “ he muttered out, just loud enough for you to hear, but he still wouldn’t meet your eyes. “I’m OK.”

I’m OK. You swallowed hard. No . . . no, he wasn’t, and unlike all those years ago, you were not going to leave him behind. Not now. Never again.

It didn’t take another second for you to cross the distance to him before you sank to your knees right in front of him, reminding yourself not to startle him. “I’m here,” was all you said, fighting against everything harsh and rough in you, trying desperately to be soft.

The thing was: people could tell you countless amounts of things on how to help someone, but . . . you’d never get it. You weren’t good at it. You couldn’t do that, be that. You knew him, too. He wasn’t textbook like all the things you’d read up on. You assumed no one was . . . so . . . you’d like to add one more to the list: ask him how you could help.

“What—” you inhaled sharply— “What do you need me to do?”

Still, Jungkook would not meet your eyes, but he didn’t need to. You saw his body shift. You saw him process your words. And you knew he wasn’t going to hide from you. “Just—” he all but choked out— “ground me. Put your arms. Squeeze . . . hard.”

And just like that, you acted quickly. You didn’t waste any time as you scooted behind him, wrapping your arms around his figure, locking him into your body, and squeezing as he’d instructed. Resting your cheek on his back, you continued hugging his body to yours, listening to his heartbeat as you did so. Squeezing your eyes shut, you begged for this to help him, but the beat of his racing heart met your ears like a drum.

It wasn’t enough. You had to keep going.

“OK, OK, what else?” you asked him, your voice clear and calm . . . and soft.

But the beat of his heart was the only thing you heard.

Ground him. You squeezed harder. “You’re here with me. I’ve got you. You’re safe. Speak to me, Koo,” you all but begged.

“Tell me something,” he mumbled, and you nearly exhaled in relief. “Please, say anything.”

Nodding quickly, you tried to scrounge up something, anything. “OK, um, um,” you stuttered out, racking your brain over and over again, until finally . . . “Do you remember when we were kids and my parents rented that cabin for the summer? You had this fake tattoo of a dragon that you really really wanted to put on your arm right—“ you grabbed his forearm, pressing your thumb into a spot— “here, but I wanted everything you had so I just had to have the tattoo. I whined and whined until you finally let me have it. And yet, in the end, my mom forgot to take off the plastic so neither of us ended up with the damn tattoo and we were both pissed.” Smiling against his back, you readjusted your grip on him, holding him closer than before, perhaps so close your souls could almost touch. “Your mom made us hold hands until we got over it.”

And with a small smile on your face, you heard it . . .

His heart rate had started to slow, his breathing becoming more controlled as he tried his hardest to breathe in deep and exhale long. Was it? Was it working? OK. OK. Speak more. Speak—

“Yeah, and you wouldn’t stop crying, meanwhile, I won that thing in a raffle,” he interrupted before you could rack your brain for another memory.

Wetting your lips, you replied, “But it worked, didn’t it?” Your eyes danced around the room, the memory almost as clear as day. The smile on your face grew. “We were sitting by the fire, getting way too messy with those s’mores you swore you knew how to make.”

“We camped outside the entire night,” Jungkook mumbled under his breath, his shoulders shaking slightly as a small laugh escaped him.

“Yeah, until you almost pissed your pants because you thought you heard a bear,” you remarked, the smile on your face too wide to contain.

“Hey!” he quipped back as his hand fell to your arm. “I was like nine.”

In shock, you watched as Jungkook slowly raised his hands to cover your arms, hugging them to his chest. Then, you rested your ear against his chest, and you realized his heartbeat had returned almost to normal . . . and . . . and . . . his breathing had calmed. And then you saw it, a drop of . . . something had wet his shirt where your cheek laid . . . and you realized . . . you were crying.

Was this softness that you felt? Or weakness?

The truth was: you didn’t care. Not now.

Quickly, you wiped your damp cheeks on your shoulder and sniffled. “Scaredy cat,” you mumbled with a soft laugh.

Jungkook breathed out a laugh through his nose. “Brat,” he hummed as he squeezed your forearm.

A beat of silence met the two of you then. You nestled closer, holding him until he finally gave you the go-ahead that he was alright. You’d stay there all night if you had to. And he welcomed this with open arms, holding you as close as he could in his position, and just letting things . . . be, it seemed.

Until, finally, after what seemed like hours, he whispered against your forearm, “I’m sorry.”

And you couldn’t help yourself. Your brows pinched together, confusion revisiting you as you asked, “For what?”

“You don’t need this,” was his only answer.

Another beat of silence.

And then: “You’ll always be unhappy when it comes to me.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, your only response was to hug him tighter. Fuck.

It is not the moon, I tell you. It is these flowers lighting the yard.

As the night droned on, writings upon writings popped into your head as you tried to make sense of this, of tonight, of everything; one, in particular, visited you too frequently to be ignored; one that you had held onto for years now. You supposed it was a silly thing—realizing just how many poems you had trapped in your head, but you had three years of isolation, three years of loneliness, three years where you only read and read and read. Those three years . . . poems had been all you had.

You supposed it would always end this way.

I hate them. I hate them as I hate sex, the man’s mouth sealing my mouth, the man’s paralyzing body—

And like the poem stated, these words remained true to you. You hated many things, perhaps too much. In those three years, you had grown to hate another’s touch, perhaps because you craved it so viscerally. But . . . the scent of mock orange wasn’t in the form of a man for you. To you . . . the scent of mock orange smelled a lot like a badminton racket.

and the cry that always escapes, the low, humiliating premise of union—

Perhaps you had grown to hate badminton. You hadn’t even realized it, but . . . looking back at it now . . . you had done everything to be someone . . . to be the best, and you had wanted that. You had really wanted that. Sometimes you thought it was the only thing that would ever make you happy, but . . .

But . . .

In my mind tonight I hear the question and pursuing answer fused in one sound that mounts and mounts and then is split into the old selves, the tired antagonisms. Do you see? We were made fools of. And the scent of mock orange drifts through the window.

But perhaps . . . like growing pains . . . a part of you had outgrown badminton. Could this be real? Could you really have outgrown the one thing you had ever loved? And if you truly had . . . what did that mean for you now?

How can I rest? How can I be content when there is still that odor in the world?

That odor.

That damned odor of mock orange blossoms.

. . . You had smelt them the day of the incident. The stench had followed you to the hospital, crawling under your skin and resting there for the months to follow. They hadn't even bloomed then, yet you still smelt them every time you breathed. When your heart felt less heavy and your mind was clearer than the day before, when it became month after month after month, the scent finally rid itself from your senses. And you thought you might have actually been allowed to rest without that odor in the world.

But as another month melted into the next, and you tried to get back onto your feet again, the scent of mock orange drifted back into your life. You, of course, ignored this, eager to get back on your feet. You’d been able to take a few steps, which eased the ache you had been carrying around for the past few months. You knew it was stupid to imagine you could actually be healed after a few months, but you didn’t care. You just wanted to walk again . . . maybe run . . . maybe play again with a racket in your hand.

It was nice—being able to dream for a few minutes.

But it did only last for a short time. Soon you being you had gotten too cocky in your progress. You wanted to try longer walks. You wanted to see if you could run.

Then as you ignored the warning signs from your parents, from your doctors, from your nurses, the second they allowed you out on the hospital courtyard, you took off, attempting to run. But . . . before you knew it, something snapped and . . . you were tumbling to the ground, crying in pain.

And just like that . . . the scent of mock orange drifted in and remained in the air.

You remembered just laying there after that, contemplating just how much this would set you back as the nurses hurried you back to your room to be examined. You wondered if you had fucked yourself entirely. You wondered if this was it and you would never be able to play or even walk again. You wondered what that made you now. You might as well have not even been a person anymore, because back then . . . badminton had been all that you had. Back then, if you weren’t the best; if you weren’t someone great, then you were nothing.

And yes, you knew you had never been particularly interesting, but you never thought you were . . . nothing. The scent of mock orange tainting the air reminded you of the truth—without badminton, you might as well have been no one.

As you were escorted back to your room, examined, and left to rest, you laid there, the scent of mock orange being your sole company, and you realized you hated them. You hated those stupid, putrid flowers as you hated feeling . . . less. You hated them as you hated yourself.

Guilt might have been your ghost, but the scent of mock orange was your shadow.

How could you rest? How could you be content when there was still that odor in the world?

You were sure you never would.

And truly . . . how could you rest? If you were constantly trying to be better and better? When would you finally be the best? Could you be? No . . . no, you knew you couldn’t, but then who were you?

Who were you without . . . badminton?

That was the question on your mind as you flicked at your ramyeon with your chopsticks. You supposed like the mock orange blossoms, your coming-of-age escapades did not deliver the fruits of its promise. Becoming someone was all you had ever wanted out of life. You wanted glory. You wanted greatness. And yet . . . why did the thought of badminton slowly and slowly start to turn into this . . . dark thing? Why was it that when badminton was involved . . . bad things happened?

Now, you didn’t believe in signs and you surely wouldn’t start now . . . but it became evident that you had been made a fool of, wishing on a shooting star that was on its last breath. The scent of mock orange would drift in every time, reminding you that you would never reach that greatness again no matter how many times you tried.

And that should’ve filled you with rage . . . jealousy . . . pain . . . but . . . you didn’t feel any of that. What you felt, at its core, was a gentle ache in your chest; the same kind of ache which came with nostalgia.

You just couldn’t stop thinking of it. Actually . . . you hadn’t stopped thinking about that scent of mock orange since you saw Jimin earlier that night. He’d told you Taehyung had loved badminton the most . . . he told you he was a ghost of himself now because of what he lost. And then you began to think of what had happened to you . . .

Those three years . . .

All you had ever thought about was getting back to the person you used to be. That was all you had cared about, and when you finally won that first game all those months ago . . . you had felt that same joy that you had always felt after a win. Except . . . this was different, you realized.

Remembering the win now, the image of you smashing the birdie down onto the court wasn’t what came to mind first. No, you remembered that day; you remembered the thrill of the win, but the image that came to mind first was Jungkook smiling down at you moments before you sprung into his arms.

Jungkook was what you remembered that day, not the look on the other team’s faces when you took home that winning title. And then you realized what you had been trying to ignore ever since you let your walls come down layer by layer: perhaps . . . perhaps there was more to life than badminton.

In the months you had let Jungkook in, you’d lived more than you had in your entire life. You’d laughed more, smiled more, felt more. You’d felt yourself be more.

The scent of mock orange never visited you when he was around. It was like he was the real thing. You weren’t even sure if that made any sense. But . . . but . . . if you couldn’t smell those damned phony flowers, then perhaps Jungkook had taken their place. By chance . . . did he smell like an orange blossom? Without mocking, without malice, without trickery? Was he . . . real?

There was just something about the world that Jungkook had shown you that had a way of making everything just . . . mute. It was like before he’d shown you life through his eyes, everything had been loud, intense, brutal. And then . . . there he was, a bright smile on his face and the words ‘trust me’ leaving his lips as he held out his hand for you to take.

And you took it every time.

The scent of mock orange blossoms was left behind. And you began to wonder if just as you had outgrown your hatred for Jungkook . . . had you outgrown this visceral urge to hold a racket in your calloused hand?

Glancing down, you took in the image of your hand. The calluses were still there, the small cuts from accidental injuries, the bitten nails . . . they were all still there. Did they still fit around the base of a racket as they had three years ago?

You blinked, flexing your hand. Whatever, you decided. It would be tomorrow’s problem. (But we all know how good you were about . . . not . . . getting in over your head (so like, give yourself five minutes and you’d be thinking about it again).)

Whatever. Whatever. Whatever.

Anyway.

Focus on the present.

Yes, that was the plan. You nodded at your thoughts as you blinked, forcing yourself back to the present.

The scent of mock orange blossoms still lingered in the air as you tried grounding yourself to reality. Ignoring them was the best you could do. Because right now, you were supposed to be present, aware, and solid. You were supposed to be Jungkook’s shoulder to lean on after what he had endured at the karaoke bar. You were supposed to know what to do . . . but you didn’t know anything. You just . . . you just wanted him to be alright . . .

And all you could focus on was the fact that the two of you hadn’t spoken since you held him about—

You checked your phone.

—an hour and a half ago.

It had been quiet between the two of you ever since. It had been even quieter the second you stepped inside the nearest convenience store. (Who knew how long ago that was.)

The convenience store was perhaps too quiet now. The two of you had bought some instant ramyeon—one spicy, one mild and sat at the nearest tables outlooking the streets of Busan. Many people had walked back and forth, going about their night (well . . . now early morning), but not once had either of you decided to make little guesses about their lives as you had done many times before. No instead . . . Jungkook was silent. And you were too.

But . . . you didn’t like the silence; not like . . . this. Slowly, with that thought plaguing your mind, you turned your head toward him.

Jungkook sat beside you, his head lowered slightly as he stared blankly out the window. He hadn’t touched his ramyeon once, which was evident as his chopsticks were all too clean without any stain or color. He just kept staring out the window, following those who walked by with his eyes all the while his tongue toyed with his lip ring.

It was obvious why he was stuck in this limbo. Sure, of course it was all too obvious, but that didn’t make it any easier. Knowing why he was stuck like this wouldn’t do anything to . . . help.

And suddenly you were reminded of what Jimin had told you that night. Remember to live for yourself, too, he’d said before you left him. He’d told you it was impossible to live for two, but . . . why? Why couldn’t you? Why couldn’t you at least . . . help? You supposed the problem in that was the fact that you had no idea how to help, and that scared you more than you’d liked to admit.

You just . . . you just wanted him to be OK . . .

“You gonna eat that?” you heard yourself ask him before you knew what you were even saying.

Jungkook turned to you instantly with an almost shocked expression on his face as if he couldn’t remember where he was or who he was, but his eyes still shined with recognition as if he could still recognize you despite it all. He blinked slowly, eyes drifting over your face, and then . . . then he slowly started to relax. His shoulders slumped slightly as the stiff muscles in his face loosened. And once he returned to the present, his eyes drifted from your questioning expression to the ramyeon in front of him . . . and then he was shoving a huge bite into his mouth all the while maintaining eye contact with you while he chewed.

You shot him a blank look, because you knew what he was doing—avoiding the inevitable by trying to make light of the situation. “I wasn’t going to force-feed it to you, you know?” you ended up mumbling as you continued to watch him chew, half making sure he ate all of it and half not sure where to rest your gaze.

“Don’t look at me like that then,” Jungkook muttered, his words muffled from the food in his mouth.

“Like what?” you questioned as you leaned closer to him, analyzing the crease between his furrowed brows.

His eyes shifted to the ground ever so slightly before he turned back to meet your gaze. “Like you pity me or something,” he huffed, jutting out his bottom lip into a pout as he averted his gaze to his bowl of ramyeon.

And you couldn’t help but let the corners of your mouth perk up into a small smile. He was still the boy you remembered when you were kids. He hadn’t changed too much. He was still . . . him. Only now, you had grown to appreciate how he was unlike in the past. Now . . . when he flashed you that pout, you wasted no time in waving him off with a small sigh.

“Oh, Jungkookie,” you all but mused as you grabbed a napkin from the table, “sometimes it’s like you’re still that whiny little kid I grew up with.” You brought the napkin to his lips, gently dabbing. “You really haven’t changed at all, you know?”

With his eyes flicking from the napkin to your face, he timidly licked his lips and mumbled, “I was not whiny.”

You breathed a small, barely audible laugh. “Mmm, if it helps you sleep at night,” you hummed with a small shrug as your hand, now discarding the napkin, reached his face once again, except this time, you barely thought about your next move. Instead, you let your hand drift to his hair gently curling the long, dark strands behind his ear.

And he just stared at you, his dark eyes warm and gentle as they always had been. His brows twitched as you alternated between playing with his earrings and toying with the longest strands of his hair. He almost seemed . . . at peace, and you wondered if this could be considered a moment of happiness?

Perhaps . . .

It was moments like this that you wondered how the sick smell of mock orange blossoms had ever ruined your life.

But like the poem described . . . the smell wasn’t something to be forgotten. It eventually seeped back in. And just as Jungkook had almost allowed himself to sink into your touch, his eyes turned back to the window where he caught a glimpse of his reflection.

It was almost soul-crushing how fast his face fell.

Jungkook took one last look at his reflection, shaking his head slightly as he averted his gaze to the table and clenched his jaw. "Fuck,” he whispered out, his voice hoarse, “this is so fucking annoying. Everything feels so off. I just . . . “ His words tangled around his tongue as he dropped his head to his hands. “Everyone always looks at me like I'm some fucking problem. Like if they get to my core, they can fix me. But I can't be fucking fixed. I fucked up. I ruined my best friend’s life. I don't deserve to be fixed."

And suddenly it was as if you were twelve years old again, seeing your mother cry for the first time and not knowing what to do or what to say. You had grown up that way—not being able to comfort. It had always been who you were. You’d never known what to do to . . . help.

Yes, you could follow the directions of some online article and you could ask and ask and ask how to help him, but would it ever be enough? And what if he said he was fine when he was so clearly not? What then? How were you supposed to help then?

God, you wished you knew the answers.

“You’re not broken, Koo,” you started with, your voice just as small as how you felt in that moment.

“What if I am?” he mumbled into his hands. Slowly, he raised his head, and for another time that night, you faced that crushed look on his face. For another time that night, you saw the things he had been dealing with all on his own. You saw him. “What if I . . . ?”

And then you realized: you didn’t know how to comfort, but you did know how to bear things well. You knew how to crumble up the pain of not being good enough. You knew how to deal with a dream being crushed. You knew how to just . . . deal, and if Jungkook needed help, you could carry the load for him.

So, swallowing your own emotions bubbling up in your throat, you began slowly, "I know I can’t say . . . anything. I know that no matter what I do it's not gonna' make you feel better, because shit doesn't work that way. I'm not some fuckin' hero. I know that. You just need to know that I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere, okay? I'm never leaving your side." Nodding your head, you could feel your eyes burning again. But you didn’t care. The world could see you cry for him and only him and you’d accept it with a heavy heart.

A beat of silence followed your confession.

The world exhaled.

You inhaled as you rested your hand on top of his moments before you began again, "You're—I care about you. . . and—and that means that no matter what time it is, if you feel like you're gonna do something to yourself, then you call me. We can go throw shit off a bridge or—or punch dummies. You need to scream? Then we can go scream until our lungs bleed, okay? Whatever. It doesn't matter. Just—" you squeezed his hand as your heart pulsed in pain in your chest— "You're not alone."

Though the expression on his face didn’t lift, Jungkook accepted your hand, taking it within his grasp to intertwine your fingers together with his. “It’s been months . . . and I still feel like this . . . “ he trailed off, gently shaking his head as he turned back to his reflection in the window.

Instantly, your free hand found his cheek, slowly turning his head so his eyes would only face yours. “I don’t think healing is . . . linear,” you admitted softly. “If I think about it . . . it took me years to be able to play again. Mental shit has to be like that too, right?”

His eyes fluttered shut under your touch. “I don’t know,” he softly sighed as his other hand reached to rest over the one you had caressing his cheek. “I’m just tired of feeling like this.” He swallowed thickly. “I just . . . it’s like . . . I watch everyone else live their lives while I endure mine. And—And I don't know what to do. Sometimes everything just gets so intense, and it just happens. It's like it's some fucked up kind of instinct. Trust me, I wish I could feel something other than this, but I don't feel anything. It's all fucking numb." He nearly dropped your hand, but you clung on tighter, refusing to let him slip through your fingers. "I don't fucking know what I feel. I just . . . I feel like a fucking ghost."

And for the second time that night, you watched the once never-bothered Jungkook reveal another layer of himself to you.

I feel like a fucking ghost, rang in your ears again.

Jungkook squeezed his eyes tight and slowly . . . a single tear trickled from the corner of his eye down the side of his nose.

I feel like a fucking ghost, once more, and you knew the words which would leave your lips before you even had the chance to think.

"Haunt me, then," you found yourself breathing out in a hushed whisper as your thumb caught his fallen tear, wiping it away with ease.

His eyes cracked open, a shocked expression crawling onto his face. "What?” he barely got out as he searched your eyes for anything that would tell him you hadn’t meant to say . . . that.

But you had.

Haunt me, you’d told him, and you knew you’d meant it. The words didn’t have to cross your mind for you to know what you spoke was the truth.

Haunt me.

Give it to me, and breathe.

That is what you had wanted to say. That is what you had meant. You could only hope he knew you were telling the truth.

Tilting your head to the side, you breathed out the air in your lungs. "I told you before, and I meant it,” you began in a gentle tone. “I'll carry the weight for you. All of the pain, the anger, the hatred . . . all of it . . . I will carry it all. Give it all to me, and I will find a way to deal with it." Squeezing his hand once again, you offered up a small smile. "You're not alone anymore, Kook. You do not have to deal with all your shit on your own. You've got me, and you can hate me, you can push me away, you can leave me stranded with no way home . . . but I promise you, I'm not going anywhere."

His brows twitched. “I can’t do that. You’ve got too much to think about.”

You shrugged with a roll of your eyes as you dropped your hand to your intertwined ones. “Like what? I’ve never thought a day in my life. Barely passed college with a 2.7,” you hummed, your voice a little more chipper now as you tried to keep his eyes on you and coax a smile out of him. “I’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“The games,” he muttered with a small sniffle. “You’re shit at multitasking.”

That time, you did smile wider. There he was. “I can manage,” you mused as you leaned into him, nudging him with your elbow. “How about let’s go feed the fish by our hotel after practice tomorrow, hmm? To relax? Yeah?”

And then . . . you could have sworn he nodded. Maybe it was to himself or maybe it was to you, but you knew what it meant. You would accept a nod.

“You gonna eat that?” he asked a second later, gesturing to the half-eaten bowl of ramyeon in front of you.

And you knew he would be OK by your side. You would make sure of it. (You were the older one after all.)

So with a small smile still on your face, you detached your hands from his and reached for your bowl, scooting it toward him. Quietly, he took it from you and began to devour what you had left.

Yeah . . . he was still the same kid you knew growing up. And that . . . that was enough to make your heart feel warm.

It made you wonder if you could ever be . . . warm . . . like him. Unlike this cold, hollow shell you were so used to. Was that even written in your books?

Wetting your lips, your eyes fell to your lap, only to be met with the image of Jungkook’s hand resting on your thigh, secured under the holes in your ripped jeans. It seemed without you noticing, Jungkook had absentmindedly reached for you, toying with the strings adorning the rips in your jeans, only to end up nestled underneath in an attempt to feel your skin against his.

It was sweet. Innocent.

It made you feel warm, yet again, yes. But it also made you feel . . . fuck . . . what was that word?

And that was when you realized something . . .

“You’re wrong, you know?” you ended up muttering out before your brain could catch up with your impulse.

Jungkook hummed, eyeing you. His eyes were still slightly puffy, causing your heart to swell in your chest.

How could he ever think he deserved this?

Wetting your lips, you confessed, “I’m a better person because of you. How could I ever be unhappy with that?”

Jungkook blinked, clearly shocked. Then, he began to toy with his lip ring before he sucked in a sharp inhale and nearly whispered, “All I want . . . is for you to be happy.”

And you couldn’t help but smile. It was warm. It was innocent. It was because of him. “Would you look at that?” you mused in a quiet voice. “Looks like we just came to an agreement.”

The corners of his lips twitched ever so slightly as he nodded once before the two of you resumed your late-night slash early-morning meal. He finished your food for you, and you watched, making sure he ate it all, all the while, the words, I’m a better person because of you rang throughout the air.

I’m a better person because of you.

How could I ever be unhappy with that?

And you knew you meant every word.

The scent of mock orange blossoms couldn’t reach you now.

Not here.

Not with him.

When you were a kid, every Barbie doll your mother ever bought you would end up scalped and decapitated. Now . . . morbid . . . you knew. You weren’t exactly sure why you resorted to . . . that, but playing with dolls just always meant ripping their heads off. You supposed it was kind of symbolic now.

Maybe you were jealous that their lives were perfect and yours was . . . meh. Or maybe you really just really hated dolls.

You supposed there had always been a certain sickness to you; a certain uneasiness that came with being a preteen girl. You were told sweet sixteen was when the claws came out, but you began to question if yours had grown in long before then. Maybe you had been born like . . . this or maybe everyone just felt this way and spent most of their lives hiding it, because if not . . .

. . . it felt like life was just some sick joke that you hadn’t clued in on yet.

Perhaps that was why you had become so keen on poetry: it said what you feared only you felt.

Because really, you used to use pages out of books to fasten a joint in a pinch, too, and now it physically hurt to imagine ever even tearing a page.

But words felt more comforting now. Sure, a racket felt like it fit into you like a hook in an eye, but now . . . now it felt just a tad more awkward than it had in the past. Words . . . words could never disappoint you, you decided long ago when they had been all that you had had.

There’s something soft in me—

You remembered reading long ago.

—we killed it and it’s rotting.

And maybe it was silly. Maybe it was dramatic, but words made things feel better. It made the world less scary. It made looking at Jungkook and wondering what this feeling in your chest was . . . not so scary. It made things . . . better.

So, you’d read, and you’d overanalyze, and you’d spend your time too wrapped up in words because it made everything that much bearable. Because it made the fact that your claws didn’t come in at sixteen so much easier to swallow; it made the fact that there was nothing soft about you alright.

Because maybe there had been something soft about you long ago. Or maybe you had killed it; maybe you had taken the softness and traded it for survival, only to discover all the rot inside of you that you had been trying to ignore for years now.

Had the fire gotten a hold of you even back then?

Is that why you no longer feared it? Because there was nothing left to fear? Did all this rot mean you were no different from a hit deer off the highway?

. . .

Whatever.

It didn’t mean much, right?

There were no birds coming to feast on your rotting corpse like the deer you wondered if you resembled. Nothing had come to consume your body as the world had consumed your soul. You were just there . . .

With a sigh, you clicked off your phone, disregarding the poem as you shoved it all away into the back of the pocket of your athletic shorts. And as you stood there, you slowly glanced up only to meet the image of Jungkook walking toward you, a half-smile on his tired face with a duffel bag over his shoulder and a racket in his hand. You hadn’t seen him since you woke up that morning, quickly dressed and told him you’d meet him at the center after your run. And there he was, his hair in a small ponytail with a grin on his face at the sight of you. (You tried to ignore the urge to meet him halfway. (Also ignoring this . . . weird feeling blooming in your chest the second you saw him.))

“Well, it seems the sun’s decided to come out after all,” were the first words out of his mouth as he drew closer. And only then did you realize the day was dreary, filled with dark clouds and humid spring air.

Tearing your eyes from the clouds above, your gaze landed on Jungkook just as he stopped before you, setting his duffel bag on the pavement beside you. He wasted no time either, poking your abdomen with his racket. “Bad day already?” he questioned, tilting his head to the side in thought.

Sighing, you shook your head. “No, just . . . thinking.”

“Well, stop, it’s aging you,” he lightly scolded.

You squinted your eyes into a glare. “You’re on one today.”

And well . . . all he did was wink. Of course.

Now . . . you knew how this looked. Just last night you and him were up into the early morning nursing each other’s wounds and now it seemed like it hadn’t even happened, but there was a reason for that. The two of you knew each other. He appreciated that you didn’t make it a big thing. You were always going to be there for him; that much was obvious by now given your history with each other. But if there was one thing the two of you both hated, it was being treated as if you were as fragile as glass. So for now . . . last night was a little secret between the two of you, and right now . . . right now you both had to get your heads in the game for the finals tomorrow.

So there . . . that was that. At least that was how it was for you. You were sure it was the same for him, but it wasn’t like you could think about that right now either. Right now you had to think of the tournament as draining as it felt to even acknowledge it.

But just as you were about to move past it all and grab your own duffle bag from the ground, Jungkook halted you with a hand on your wrist. Your eyes immediately snapped to his.

“You sure you’re good?” he questioned once more, his eyes wider now, more concerned than before.

(There’s something soft in me—

But you couldn’t burden him now. Not after what he went through last night. Because you knew him, and you knew he’d do anything to make things right for you . . . even if it meant ignoring his own troubles. And well, despite what you liked to claim, you couldn’t bear to do that to him.

—we killed it and it’s rotting.)

So instead, you blurted out: “Just stressed, you know?”

His brows pinched together slightly, but he didn’t press it further. “Right . . . “

And that was that. You didn’t let another word pass between the two of you as you picked up both your duffel bag and his and began to walk toward the training center. Jungkook, of course, fought you the entire way, trying to grab the duffel bags from your hands, but you insisted, tsking at him as he tried to outsmart you (as if he ever could).

While he repeatedly tried to snatch at least one bag from your grasp, your eyes were training on the scene in front of you. And it was only when the two of you turned the corner, now facing the center head-on, that you realized maybe the dark clouds had been a sign telling you to turn back; to stay inside; to practice somewhere else. Jungkook, on the other hand, was preoccupied, as, in your shock, he managed to snatch both duffel bags from your grasp. And he was mighty proud of himself too until he heard what you had seen . . . and slowly the grin fell from his lips as he turned to face the scene.

Because before the two of you, crowding in front of the training center were reporters on top of reporters with their big flashy cameras and notepads, and . . . behind them, spray painted across the building was your name . . . with the words ‘is a traitor’ too big not to notice.

There’s something soft in me—

we killed it and it’s rotting.

It happened in slow motion. The reporters caught sight of the two of you, and that was it. They were racing toward you in seconds, all screaming this and that, trying to get a story, and all you could do was stare in a state of confusion and shock as if you were waiting for a car to pop out of nowhere and hit you.

Off the highway like another deer.

You’d never seen something like it. Sure, you’d seen this stuff in movies, but never in real life, never because of . . . you. There had been articles published when you fell out of the badminton scene three years ago, but never something like this. Never something like this. Fuck, even the interview you’d done as a team were never like . . . this.

Off the highway like another girl.

What was . . . this?

It was bad. You knew it was bad, but you couldn’t hear anything. You could see Jungkook growing angry beside you, pushing the reporters back as he said . . . something . . . but you couldn’t quite make out what it was. You couldn’t hear it. You couldn’t hear anything.

You should have known better. You should've known there was a chance something bad would happen. Because like always, when you got that sick feeling in the pit of your stomach, when the dark clouds came out and the air felt wet but chilly but humid . . . something bad always happened. But you hadn't thought that the world would be so cruel, especially the day before the end.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t supposed to—

You felt the world caving in on you. You felt small. Small and disgusting. You wanted to disappear. You wanted to run, but you couldn't. Your mind had been the only thing to stay alert. Just run, you thought. Run. Run. Fucking run.

But you couldn't. You wanted to but the camera kept flashing and the reporters kept yelling and yelling and yelling and all you could make out was that everyone hated you. Suddenly, it was three years ago and everyone was pretending to be nice to you, then bitching about you behind your back. Suddenly, you were falling. Your hip was hurting. You were screaming and nobody cared. Nobody cared. Nobody—and then you were pushing everyone away again. Suddenly, you were alone again. And then you felt it. You felt it all, and then . . . then you couldn't breathe.

I can't breathe. You tried gasping for air, but it never stuck in your lungs. I can't breathe. You could have sworn this was what drowning felt like as your breaths came out quicker and quicker. Oh, my God, I can't fucking breathe.

You needed air. You needed to run.

Your eyes darted to the training center, and you knew what you had to do. You forced your legs to move as you tried to make it to the center. You’d be inside in a minute; you just needed a second. One second and you could breathe again.

But before you could even really move to make it, a hand was on your shoulder, and it wasn’t who you thought it’d be. No, it wasn’t a comforting touch; it was the touch of a reporter trying to make you stay in place just for you to answer their question. There was no making it out of this.

Glancing up, your eyes met the reporter’s and then you finally heard the words you’d been drowning out all morning: “Are the bribing rumors true?”

All air escaped your lungs. Bribing? You? “What?” you weakly asked (you’d never sounded like this before in your life, and yet . . . ).

But before anything else could escalate, Jungkook was stepping in front of you. His body blocked yours from the reporters, his hand carefully resting on your hip as he tucked you behind him while he mumbled, “Don’t bother—”

“What—” you blurted out before you could stop yourself— “What rumors?”

You just . . . you wanted to know. Bribing? All you’d ever done in your career was try to be the best. You’d put blood and tears and sweat and everything into badminton, and this . . . this was how it repaid you. You’d fucked up your leg for it; fucked up your life; fucked up everything just to hold a fucking racket in your hand and now they wanted to say that you bribed your way into . . . into what? Success? You wanted to know the truth. You wanted to know.

But no one bothered giving you an answer. It was just question after question, confusing you more and more, and all you could come to the conclusion was the fact that the whole world must have thought you were as horrible as a person as you feared you were.

So, the final person asked, “Do you have anything to say?”

And all you could fathom was: “I—” you swallowed hard— “I . . . don’t care.”

That was it.

I don’t care, you’d said even though you did, because you always had. You cared too much. Too fucking much. And you were too much. And this was too much. And just . . . just . . .

You didn’t bother thinking further. Your mind went blank as you tore yourself from the scene. Dropping your racket to the ground, you took a step backward.

. . . And then you were gone.

Run, you’d told yourself, and finally, you listened.

And as you ran, you realized, things were easy for you when you could ignore them. If you spent your time worrying about everyone else, then there would be no more time left to worry about yourself. You supposed that was an issue on its own, but that was how you survived.

A burnt child loves the fire. Yes, and you did. You loved it because it meant you’d have one more reason to survive. Survive enough and you wouldn’t have to deal with the aftermath. Just keep surviving the fire. That . . . that was what you were good at.

But you didn’t know how to deal with . . . this.

This wasn’t a fire. Far from it.

It was almost as if you were stuck at the bottom of a lake, your foot trapped under a rock, unable to get to the surface. And no matter how hard you fought to unsheath yourself, you stayed trapped at the bottom, water threatening to clog your air pipes.

And the thing they don’t tell you about drowning: it only takes forty seconds.

Forty seconds turned into minutes then an hour, and you began to wonder how long you had been left at the bottom of that lake. How long until the water finally reached your lungs?

It was about half an hour ago when you’d finally found the pond just outside the hotel your team was staying in, that you’d finally searched up whatever the fuck had gotten you in so much shit.

Yunis Doubles Player Accused of Bribing Referee to Make Nationals, was the headline. Apparently, an anonymous inside source had come forward and claimed that you’d not only bribed your way into winning each tournament for your team, but on top of that, you were also taking whatever drug to help with your fucked leg.

And get this . . . apparently it was because once you won finals, you’d go on to sign for Russia, leaving Korea behind, essentially making yourself a traitor. So there it was. In less than a day, you were a traitor, a drug abuser, and a cheat. Because apparently, that was true.

Whatever . . . it didn’t matter anyway. Even though it wasn’t true, the media had made it so, so it was by default. And as if badminton hadn’t already been feeling like a chore, your love for it lessened and lessened into . . . this hate.

That was what you felt: hate. Had you become hatred now?

Had you become a ghost, too? . . . Had you always been? . . .

“Don’t do it. You’ve got so much to live for,” you heard a voice say in a joking manner behind you just as you tossed another rock into the large pond below your dangling feet. (The voice had startled you all the same, nearing skyrocketing the rock out of your grasp, but we don’t dwell on that.)

Still . . .

. . . you didn’t jump. There was no need to. Startled or not, there was no need to fear. You knew that voice, and it only ever filled you with comfort, nothing else.

So instead of answering, you dropped your head in shame, eyes on the koi fish swimming idly through the water below you as your hands tightened around the edge of the rickety bridge.

Jungkook had found you. Somehow he always managed to make his way back to you, no matter how many times you pushed him away.

(It used to be annoying. Now it was just . . . well . . . it was something else now. It had grown into something . . . more . . .)

His footsteps grew closer. He was behind you now. Close, yet still so very distant.

Silence for only a beat more.

And then, he spoke.

“I was trying to find an excuse to come find you,” he murmured, his words unexpecting of a response as he sat down beside you, dangling his feet over the edge of the bridge.

And you . . . you stayed still, peeking at him through the corner of your eye. Sure enough, he was real, and he was sitting there dressed in his athletic clothes, some of his hair pulled back into a ponytail, while he held in his hands two pieces of . . . bread (?).

Your brows scrunched in confusion. “Bread was your excuse?” you questioned, your voice quiet.

Jungkook glanced between you and the bread, then back at you until he settled on the bread, tapping a finger to the loaves. “Ah . . . right . . . well . . . buy one, get one free,” he curtly explained. His eyes drifted back to you, then, as he wet his lips and sighed. “You talked about wanting to feed the fish.” Add in a shrug. “Thought this might be where I’d find you . . . so—“ a clearing of his throat— “Just—Are you OK?”

And you couldn’t help it. You took him up on his offer, silently grabbing a loaf of bread from his hands and resting it on your lap. Your eyes followed it the entire way, watching as your hand began to rip a small piece from the corner. “I think,” you finally replied to his question just as you tossed the piece of bread into the water. “I can’t force people to believe me. So—” pausing for a second, you watched as two koi fought over the piece of bread— “whatever, right?”

Jungkook plucked a piece of the bread off, but instead of throwing it to the fish, he plopped it into his mouth, chewing in contemplation. “You were always the best player,” he mumbled through the mouthful. Plucking off another piece, he waved it in your direction, gesturing to you. “They can’t take that away.”

Maybe it was the sentiment or maybe it was how he’d begun to eat the bread he brought solely to feed the fish, but you couldn’t help but fight off a smile. Because when times were like this, you felt fine; you felt . . . almost good, but when you were out there neck-and-neck, trying to hit the birdie again and again, you felt . . . off.

It made you realize that one: badminton didn’t feel like it used to and two: you weren’t entirely sure that the accusation itself was the reason behind your anger. Because maybe it was easier to be angry or sad. It always had been.

But as you ripped off another piece of bread to throw to the fish, it hit you. You weren’t exactly hard to figure out you’d like to think, so really, put two and two together and you get one burnt-out badminton player looking for an excuse to quit.

Fuck.

It really was that, wasn’t it?

You didn’t want it to be. You didn’t want to believe it either because badminton was your life. There was no without. Like a hook in an eye. Hook in eye. Hook in eye. Hook in eye. You couldn’t escape it.

But now . . . after years and years of trying to get back to that same person you were before the accident, you’d ignored just how draining it had begun to feel to practice and practice and try and try and . . . try. You mistook it for physical fatigue; for healing from your injury. You didn’t once think that your disinterest may have been because you had grown further and further apart from a racket in your hand and the sound of the court squeaking under your shoes. And when that reporter asked you if you’d cheated to get back in the game . . . you’d taken that chance to run away; to ruin it for yourself once more . . . and this time not for the sake of self-sabotage but perhaps . . . conservation.

So you began to ask yourself the same question that had been haunting you for a while now: how well did badminton still fit into you? You’d thought about it last night. You thought about it a million times before, refusing to acknowledge it, and now . . .

Then you found yourself turning to Jungkook. “What—” you sucked in a quick breath— “What made you want to play badminton? . . . In the beginning . . . “

Setting the bread aside, he leaned forward, resting his forearm against the lower part of the railing. “I’m not really sure,” he mumbled as he rested his cheek against his forearm. “It was just . . . easy for me. I liked being good at things.”

“But . . . “ (you had begun to toy with the bread instead of tossing it to the fish) “ . . . why did you love it?”

A few beats of silence.

Beat.

Then, Jungkook spoke: “The people, I think,” he finally said in a calm, collected tone, adding in a shrug at the end of his sentence. “I never really cared about being someone special; I just when I played, I always played with friends. It was fun. I think when I look back on it, it wasn’t badminton that I loved, it was the people. My friends . . . coaches . . . “ his eyes flashed to meet yours, “. . . you.” And he maintained eye contact. “It was the only time I ever felt happy, and when I grew up . . . when badminton felt more like a game of loss . . . it lost its magic. I wasn’t a kid anymore. Everyone had grown up and I was still there, on that court. . . . It wasn’t fun anymore . . . “

Oh.

Because, truly, you’d felt the same. Well . . . perhaps a tad different. Badminton had been fun for you because you always won. It was the only time you felt . . . special, good . . . worth . . . something. And when you lost it all, you felt like nothing upon nothing upon shit. So when you finally gained it all back, it was almost as if with each win, that magic Jungkook spoke up washed away bit by bit. Winning wasn’t fun anymore; it was being with him that made it worth . . . something.

But could winning itself ever have the same effect as it did years ago? Would you ever crave it so violently again?

“Do you think it could ever be fun again?” you voiced your thoughts aloud, hesitant as if admitting this aloud was some kind of sin.

“Maybe,” Jungkook muttered with another shrug. His attention was drawn on the fish now, his round, brown eyes following them as they swam to and fro. “But—” he breathed in heavily— “if I had it my way . . . I’d go back home and help run my parents’ shop.” There was that smile creeping up on his face again at the mention of home. “And if I really had it my way, I’d be thirteen again and I’d never grow up. I’d be small and happy and I’d never have to leave home again. That is what I truly want; to be that kid again . . . but for right now . . . I think I’d settle with just going home, knowing my mom’s special dish is waiting for me.”

Home.

He spoke of it so fondly, and you began to wonder if you’d ever loved it as much as he did. Now, you knew you did. Your parents were good, kind people. They were good parents. You loved them, missed them, but home had never been something that you’d acknowledged if that made any sense. You were just always looking forward to the future and who you’d become. You supposed you never stopped to take in the lines drawn onto the bathroom wall labeling your height year after year. You supposed you never stopped to catch sight of the way your mom would shave off the skin of the apple because she knew you didn’t like getting it in your teeth. You supposed you never thought of home as home because you always knew it’d be there, and now . . . now it was far far away and you were so so small, no longer great and big, and looking forward to the future.

It made you wonder if this feeling deep inside you had something to do with missing this home Jungkook spoke of. And then you began to agree that, yes, yes you would very much like to be small again, coming home from badminton practice to the smell of your mother’s cooking and your father’s tunes playing on the CD player.

Perhaps . . . perhaps you wished you were little again, too. And perhaps you wished you could start over, this time with badminton as more of a love than a state of survival . . . and maybe then you’d know more of this . . . home.

“Kook . . . “ you began, eyes darting from fish to fish as your thoughts raced, “if I admit something . . . do you promise not to judge?”

Jungkook hummed moments before he reached out to tuck your hair behind your ear. “What’s on your mind, hmm?” he mused, nudging you with his elbow as if telling you to go on.

Another few beats of silence. (It was odd how it kept lurking over your shoulder like a vice.)

And then: wetting your lips, you swallowed the weird feeling in your throat, finding it hard to get these words out for some reason. And then . . . when you were sure the silence had begun to eat at your flesh, you opened your mouth to voice your thoughts. “What if . . . what if I don’t love badminton anymore?” you mumbled, your voice nearly inaudible as you heard your words echo in your head again and again. But just like Pandora’s box, once they were spoken, you couldn’t shove them back down. Your words just kept flowing. “I mean . . . I’m—I’m twenty-five years old. All I’ve ever known is badminton. I ruined my life for it. I wasted three years trying to get it back and . . . and . . . and what if I did it for nothing? I wasted my entire life trying to be the best at something that I don’t even like anymore. What am I supposed to do if—if I don’t want it anymore?”

There.

Right there.

There was the truth you’d been hiding from for so long, and it was laid out in front of you, staring back at you.

What if you had wasted your entire life trying to be the best at something you didn’t even like anymore?

It wasn’t even like you wanted an answer from him either. You just needed to say it. You just needed to admit that perhaps you and Jungkook were more similar than either of you had ever thought.

And did that . . . did that give you relief? To be understood in this way?

“I just—“ you blurted out, still trapped inside your head— “It’s like you said. I just . . . maybe I just want to go home. I don’t . . . I don’t want to go to the Olympics or—or anything. I don’t want to be who I was. I just . . . I don’t know if I care to be . . . that anymore.”

A beat of—wait—no, unlike you thought, no silence entered your space. No, instead, Jungkook didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, baby—” he sighed, his voice like honey moments before you felt a warm hand cup your cheek— “you haven’t changed one bit either. Don’t you know? Violet, roses are red, not blue.” Your eyes met. His filled with understanding, while yours stained in shock. And then . . . then he tapped his thumb against the corner of your mouth, and offered up a small smile. “Where’s your smile? Hmm?”

Instantly, you sucked in a sharp breath as your eyes fluttered ever so slightly, taken off guard by his words. You wet your lips, trying to form any kind of sentence, but nothing ever came. Until you realized something . . . this feeling . . . it wasn’t something you were used to . . . but it was something you’d heard of . . . and it was . . . soft.

You’d never held something like that. You’d never owned something like that either. You’d never been it. You’d always just been machine parts and badminton plays. Strategies upon strategies. Always thinking and thinking and thinking and never just . . . being . . . feeling . . .

Until . . .

. . . until him.

And you had no idea how to handle that.

“I’m so scared,” you heard yourself whisper before you realized it was you who was speaking.

Jungkook furrowed his brows as his eyes trailed across your face before he wiped his thumb across your cheek, then dropped his hand to yours. Only then did you realize you had been crying. Not sobbing or anything close, but a few tears had slipped past, and there he was again wiping them away like it was normal; like it was OK.

“Why are you scared?” he questioned softly as he squeezed your hand.

“Because,” you muttered out with a confused shrug. Hell, you didn’t even really know. You just knew . . . you just knew that: “I’m only still here . . . on this team . . . because of you. I think . . . I think what I like about badminton is . . . you. You’ve made it worth something when it’d lost all meaning to me. And . . . and . . . I think what scares me the most is that . . . is that you’ve made me . . . soft . . . and I can’t tell if I hate that or if I . . . if I’m grateful.” Quickly, you wet your chapped lips. “I’ve had good things in my life. I’ve had success and victory and fame . . . but it all felt like it came with a price. You know? Win a competition and you feel great but what about the next one? It was always just a constant race . . . but being around you . . . it doesn’t feel like I have to win anything. I feel softer and—and it doesn’t even come with a catch. It’s free.” Your eyes searched his. “Am I even allowed to have something like that when I should be obsessing over winning this championship?”

Jungkook leaned closer, taking your hand into both of his as he held it close to his chest similar to how you’d hold a teddy when you were a child. And then . . . he spoke, and you couldn’t believe your ears, wondering if this was the same man you knew when you were young. “Have all of me,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours as if he wanted you to know he meant this within his soul. “Take my bones and build yourself a home. They’re worn, sure, but I like to think they’re pretty sturdy . . . so . . . take them.” His eyes searched yours deeper. “Take all of me if you have to. Take all of me . . . ”

Blinking slowly, you shot him a look, a small, shocked smile creeping onto your face as you let a sliver of a laugh out before you knew it. “That’s disgusting,” you scolded him, shaking your head at his words, but you couldn’t help but find some sentiment in them. Maybe it was the morbidity to you, but no one had ever said such things to you . . . and you found yourself holding these words close to your chest just as Jungkook held your hand close to his.

He smiled back, too. “Good. I knew it’d make you laugh,” he murmured softly, and you knew this, too. It was him after all. He’d do anything to get a laugh out of you, and you began to realize that it had always been that way. (Perhaps you should’ve spent your childhood laughing more than scowling at him.) But it seemed he didn’t mind as he began to rub his thumb back and forth against your knuckles, his smile slowly fading into a solemn expression. And then: “You asked me to haunt you, but you’re the one who haunts me.”

You swallowed hard.

You’re the one who haunts me.

Oh . . .

And then you began to wonder: was Jimin right? He loved you, he had told you. And suddenly, you realized that if this were still true . . . it didn’t bother you. You’d accept it even. But what did that mean for you?

You swallowed hard once again.

“You said I make you feel real again,” he continued on, making you forget your own thoughts as you watched his head tilt to the side in thought, ever so slightly. “I’ve thought about it. I don’t want to haunt you. I don’t want to poison your softness. I want to make you keep feeling real and soft and . . . you. And . . . and well . . . you make me want to be real again. You–you make me want to be a person, to be something, to make something of the person I am. I don’t want to end up like your King Weir—”

“Lear,” you felt yourself whisper so quietly you almost didn’t hear it. All you could do was stare at him and stare and stare and . . .

“I don’t want to be him,” Jungkook restated. A small pause followed as those warm brown eyes you’d come to be fond of searched yours like you were the only two people left on the planet. “I don’t want to be nothing . . . and you’ve reminded me of that.” Wetting his lips, he reached for your other hand, now holding both your hands in his, his thumbs running across your knuckles. “So I was wondering—” he maintained eye contact, while he gave a quick squeeze to your hands— “if maybe instead . . . well . . . I want you to help me live . . . no haunting necessary.”

I want you to help me live.

It echoed in your ears.

I want you to help me live.

I want you to—

Did he know that he’d given you a whole new reason to keep living? Did he know that when you thought of him, you realized you had another reason to live? Didn’t he realize that it was him? That caring for him had made you a better person?

But Jungkook took your silence as a sign of rejection, so before you could slap yourself up the side of the head, he nearly retreated, quickly muttering out an apology for being . . . weird. Only, this was now and not then, and you were you, and well, you quickly reached for his hands, pulling them into your lap. His eyes followed your movements, clearly taken off guard, but you didn’t let him dwell on it too long.

“How about—” you began, running your thumb across the tattoos dotting his fingers— “let’s take care of each other?”

Jungkook blinked once. Then twice. Then . . . then his brows twitched in longing? Understanding? Or . . . oh what was that word?

Whatever.

It didn’t matter. What mattered was his answer. And you already knew it before you’d spoken those words.

OK, he nodded.

OK, he smiled.

OK, your eyes seemed to glisten back.

OK.

There was a time in your life, where every night you’d have the same nightmare. Over and over again, you’d be trapped in this room with no windows, no doors, just darkness. And in the middle of the room would be you, or rather a version of you, strapped to a chair, with flames slowly licking up your legs, scorching your skin. But you wouldn’t feel any pain, because it wasn’t actually you. Sure, it looked like you, but . . . you were on the other side of the room, watching with wide eyes as you heard yourself scream and beg to be released from the shackles.

The flames wouldn’t touch you there. They were around, yes. They were burning holes into your clothes, yes, but you couldn’t feel it. All you could do was sit and watch as this variant of yourself burned alive right before your eyes.

And as if watching yourself be scorched alive wasn’t bad enough, there would be this point in the dream where you, no, she, no . . . it . . . would speak to you. Through the flames, it would hiss and whisper that it was your fault.

It was your fault, and you’d know what it meant.

But, No! you’d scream back. Because, no, no, no, this couldn’t be your fault. You couldn’t have been the one to ruin yourself. That would just be so, so, so . . . well . . . it would be too much.

(You knew now that it was just one big accident. Sure, trying not to blame yourself for it now was hard, but you’d learned in the past few months. It hadn’t been your fault. It hadn’t been his either.)

But back then . . . back then the incident loomed over your shoulder like a ghost.

You were getting ahead of yourself again, but . . . but the dream, no . . . the nightmare always started and ended the same. You stuck in a burning room, left to watch yourself burn and burn and burn as you, she, it, whatever (!) screamed and screamed, its voice growing louder with each, it was your fault!

And with the last shift of blame, the fire would finally set in. The red, hot flames that had left blisters and boils on your skin would begin to itch, then sting, and then consume you until all you felt was pain, pain, pain.

Then it would be your screams which filled the room.

Only when the pain would begin to shift, your back ripping with agony as this pair of . . . wings (?) split from the wounds, would you think you’d been saved. Because just as those wings had appeared, on the other side of the room, so had a door. And perhaps, perhaps then you could escape the burning room; fly out of there and save yourself.

That was always your first thought: survive, and you would always head for the door without a second thought. It was only when you’d hear the other you’s screams that this immense amount of guilt would hit you, because there you were, able to save yourself but not without leaving a piece of you behind to burn to ash.

. . . You never turned around to give yourself one last glance either. Instead, you always counted to three before you stepped off from the ledge, trusting that what was behind the bright light coming from the door would surely save you. And every time as you realized you were falling and falling, the heat would leave your senses and all you’d be able to feel was wind in your hair and the smell of salt water. You were no longer in the burning room. You were free.

With the opening of your eyes, you would be in the sky, your wings carrying you. And for a moment, you would believe that you truly were free; free from the incident, free from your guilt, free from everything.

Until the wind no longer felt refreshing and the vague smell of burning wood could be sensed; until you finally glanced back at what you had left behind, only to realize the wings you had been gifted were not made of feathers and bone at all, but rather wax, and under the Sun’s embrace . . . they had begun to melt . . .

You’d spare yourself the details of stating what happened next, but the story was simple. Think Icarus. Just like Icarus, every time, your wings would melt and you’d hit the sea below you, shortly drowning but never dying. No, every time you’d get a bit closer to death . . . but you’d wake up just before you succumbed to it.

And every time you’d wake in a fright, sweat coating your body as you panted and panted, trying to figure out if you could still feel the fire on your skin or the water in your lungs. And every time you’d wake wondering if that was why you craved the fire so viscerally; if that was why you felt like you were drowning from time to time.

But . . . that dream, that nightmare . . . well . . . you hadn’t had it for a couple weeks or maybe months (?) now. It used to be something that you just considered part of your routine; something that you just had to deal with. But ever since you and Jungkook had begun this little thing you guys had going on where you’d sleep next to each other almost every night, you hadn’t been having any dreams.

You didn’t quite understand it. You just knew that the nightmares had stopped . . . and maybe you had him to thank for that (just a little bit).

Slowly, you brought yourself out of your mind, planting yourself in reality once again as you were reminded that you and Jungkook had gone back to his hotel room after you got in a few hours practice after well . . . after your little . . . mishap. You’d showered and washed your hair, brushed your teeth, and blah blah blah. You were already tucked into bed, waiting for Jungkook to finish up brushing his teeth so the two of you could watch something to fall asleep to. (He was slow . . . of course (brushing his teeth while listening to a playlist at max volume)). And you, you were beginning to doze off, lost in your mind as you thought of the peaceful sleep you had awaiting you (partially thanks to him yeah (!) you knew . . . whatever).

Still, you couldn’t help but roll over in bed, your eyes quickly catching a glimpse of him in the mirror just outside the bathroom. And well, you couldn’t help but laugh just a little as you watched him dance to the music playing from his phone, haphazardly brushing his teeth along to the beat. (You couldn’t wait until he hopped into bed next to you and you could finally get close enough to feel his heartbeat against your cheek (not that you would admit that out loud. . . right?)).

“I can see your asscrack,” you called out across the room, laughing slightly because duh you were lying but you couldn’t help but tease him. (Plus . . . maybe a part of you missed him being beside you (you wanted him to hurry up, could you blame yourself?!).)

“Nuh-uh—” he gurgled out through the copious amount of toothpaste in his mouth— “not falling for that again. You’re full of shit.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, falling back against the bed, the back of your head now laying in the center of the pillow. One, two, three, you counted the swirls in the ceiling. It was literally like watching paint dry having to entertain yourself until he was done. It was an odd thing, wasn’t it? Liking someone’s company that much?

God . . . what had you turned into?

“Do you sleep with your eyes open?” you heard Jungkook ask from beside you just as the bed dipped and he crawled under the covers, no shirt and only in his boxers (as usual).

Ignoring the pitter-patter of your heart, you turned to face him, your eyes immediately trailing across his features. “You tell me,” you hummed, quickly rolling onto your side so your entire body was facing him.

“Probably,” he mumbled as he settled into the bed, propping up the pillow to support his head. “Dunno though. I try not to look at you too much.”

Your jaw dropped. Then a scoff. And you didn’t waste any time, reaching forward to twist his nipple . . . hard.

Instantly, he caved in on himself, clutching his chest as he whined, “Ow. Not cool, baby.”

You threatened to do it again, your hand outstretched.

But he waved a metaphorical white flag in surrender. “OK. OK. I’m kidding. I’m kidding,” he all but begged, twisting away from you.

Falling back against the bed once again, you avoided his eyes. “That’s what I thought,” you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest as you faked your displeasure with him.

Jungkook only found this amusing, soothing a hand over his chest before he shifted closer to you, his tattooed arm thrown over your waist as he pulled you into him. It took him no time to bury his face into the crook of your neck, nuzzling his nose just under your sweet spot. “Mmm, don’t be mad,” he mumbled against your skin, slowly kissing his way up to your ear. “You really are the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” A kiss to your cheek. Then a squeeze to your side as he brought you closer and closer and closer until you were sure the two of you were intertwined. “You always have been, you know?”

Slowly, as confusion and shock twisted onto your features, you turned your head so you were nose to nose. “Don’t be silly,” you whispered as one of your hands found its way into his long hair. “I know you were kidding, you don’t have to overkill it.”

Listen, listen, listen . . . you knew you weren’t god awful, but every girl feels like they’re not good enough. It’s built into us, so sometimes it comes as a shock when someone is so . . . so forward. It wasn’t like people just went around saying ‘oh, you’re the prettiest girl ever duh!’ like duh! Obviously! So . . .

But Jungkook always managed to surprise you. Always.

And just as you were about to close your eyes, thinking this was over and the two of you were going to actually get some sleep, he surprised you once more. “You know . . . “ he began, his voice low and quiet, almost as if he were fighting with himself to say his next words . . . “I spent the entirety of the sixth grade learning every flower I could just so I’d have something to tease you about,.”

“What?” you all but snorted as you threw your leg over his hip. “That’s insane.”

“Well, I had to get your attention somehow,” he mused, while his hand had begun to trace letters or random doodles on your back.

Scrunching your brows together, you asked, “What are you talking about?”

“You’re so dense. Pretty, but—” he tapped a finger to your forehead— “hollow.”

Instantly, you shot him a look. “You wanna talk?”

He only laughed.

A beat of warm silence. You traced his bottom lip with your thumb, toying with the piercing. He nipped at your thumb. Another beat. He pressed a kiss to your thumb. One more beat, then . . .

“I had a crush on you, idiot,” he confessed against your thumb in the dead of night.

This time you actually did snort, moving your thumb to rest on his chin. “What? I was all braces and forehead acne,” you went on, remembering who you were and how you were and all the little things that you wished had been different about yourself back then. “A crush, JK? Be serious.”

“Hey, hey, I’m not a liar,” he quickly rushed over, humorously defending his honor. “I had a crush on you. Seriously. Why do you think I tried to impress you all the time.”

Your smile nearly faded. (And Jimin’s words revisited you (you pushed them away).)

He wasn’t kidding.

But . . .

“Impress me? You spent our entire childhood showing off how much better you were at everything than I was,” you said, confusion and everything in between laced in your words. Because, truly, what? “That was like our . . . thing as much as it disgusts me to admit.”

His brows raised ever so slightly. “What?”

Oh no.

No, he wasn’t kidding. He actually did have a crush on you. But that meant . . . that meant the whole reason you had hated him growing up was over . . . nothing. He had never meant to start anything. He was just . . . he was trying to impress you and not . . . one-up you.

He wanted you to like him back . . .

So then you had—oh, no!

“Wait,” you cut your own thoughts off with a gasp. “Oh my fucking god, are you serious? Kook, I thought you were just trying to be an asshole.”

Jungkook pulled back. “No, what the—” his words died on his tongue as it all dawned on him. “Is that why you thought I hated you?”

“Yes! Obviously!”

“Oh, shit . . . “

And then . . . as if this couldn’t get any more on-brand for the two of you, Jungkook had begun to laugh. Quietly at first, then his hand was slapping against his face as he cackled, his shoulders even so much as shaking. He was full-on laughing. Laughing.

“Why are you laughing?” you exclaimed, squeezing his shoulder

“Because! You hated my guts for like fifteen years and it’s all because you took my sixth-grade flirting as an insult!” he bursted out through small laughs. “You—” he embraced you, his hand cupping your cheek as his eyes searched yours— “are something else.”

“Well . . . it’s technically your fault,” you responded with a quick click of your tongue.

His brows twitched upward. “Oh, is it technically my fault?” he asked while trying to fight the half-grin tipping onto his lips.

“Obviously.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, thinking for only a second before: “At least you’re pretty.”

In response, your mouth fell open slightly. “I will bite the tip of your penis off.”

“Mmm, kinky,” he remarked as he nudged your nose with his.

Scrunching your nose, you tsked, “Ew.”

“Come on, baby,” Jungkook mockingly whined, pouting as much as he possibly could. “No cold shoulder. Gives me the chills.”

But you were having too much fun with this to give it up now. “You had a crush on me,” you all but gagged as you turned your nose up (once again ignoring Jimin’s words . . . ). “Disgusting.”

“Is it?” he questioned in amusement, moments before his lips were on your exposed jaw.

“Mmm.”

Jungkook gently bit your cheek. “I think you’re the one with the crush,” he mused, his lips trailing down to your neck again, this time hovering just over your sweet spot.

“Oh, please,” you scoffed, trying your absolute hardest not to show how affected you were by just his lips grazing your skin. But one gentle kiss to your sweet spot, and you could feel your heart skyrocket to your throat as you all but choked in a breath. It was just that . . . he had this effect on you. (Fuck, did he ever . . . )

“Begging now, are you?” he remarked before leaving another kiss here and then there and the oh, you guessed it, just on the corner of your mouth but not on your lips, of course.

And all you could do was admit you were weak when it came to him, and just give in. Which was, of course, what you did as a soft groan escaped your lips and you turned your head to face him once again. “Would you get over your ego and kiss me?” you deadpanned, all but pouting at him.

That almost got him immediately. His eyes flicked to your lips, then your eyes, then to your lips once again before one of those cocky grins plastered across his face. “Yes, ma’am,” he whispered, his voice like silk.

That was the last response you received before his lips grazed yours. Gentle at first was his touch, like a feather on skin, but as he nudged your nose with his, he finally closed the space between you two, pressing his lips against yours in a soft kiss. You leaned closer, pleasantly sighing into the kiss as you nipped at his bottom lip. A grin tipped onto his face before he dipped in for more, running his tongue along the crease of your lips. You complied quickly, hands tangling in his long, dark hair as you pulled him closer and melded his tongue with yours. He inhaled sharply through his nose as his grip tightened on you instantly, his hand sliding up your thigh, squeezing your hip before it snuck under the hem of your shirt (or rather his old college badminton tee that he had grown out of by now (which meant it was yours by default . . . duh).

A soft mix between a gasp and a quiet moan escaped your lips when you felt the coolness of his hand graze the swell of your breast, palming it. He grinned into the kiss, circling his thumb around your nipple, knowing damn well that it would get to you and have your skin blazing in seconds.

That was just the thing—he knew how your body worked. More . . . he knew how you worked and perhaps that was why he had figured out how to pleasure you.

Still, you tugged on his hair in annoyance, huffing slightly and pouting perhaps just a tad, which you knew he found endearing. That was the thing, too . . . you knew how he worked as well. He snickered against your lips, proving your thoughts to yourself just moments before he pulled you closer and began sucking on your bottom lip as his thumb pressed down on your puckered nipple, tweaking the bud. You hummed softly in response, grinding your underwear-clothed core against his muscular thigh.

He stilled under your touch for a mere second before his hands gripped your waist as he pulled you down onto his thigh, moving with you while you grinded against him. “Making a mess, pretty girl,” he murmured against your lips as he moved to lightly kiss your neck. His hand was at your shirt again in an instant, fisting it and pulling it up over your breasts.

“You’re such a guy,” you nearly moaned out, your hands now on his shoulders as his head dipped to your breasts, catching a nipple in his mouth all the while he flexed his thigh against your core. He didn’t stop there either. He softly hummed against your skin as he released your nipple long enough to kiss it just moments before taking it into his mouth again, swirling his tongue around the bud and sucking hard. And you couldn't help it, you jerked against him, throwing your head into the pillow as a loud moan sounded from the back of your throat.

“So you agree—” he mumbled as he still flicked his tongue over and over again over the abused bud— “you like that about me?”

Before you could even answer, his hand had gone from your waist and now tangled in your hair, holding the back of your neck. That was moments before his lips detached from your puckered bud and reattached to your lips. His other hand worked quickly, too, as he slid his thigh out from underneath you and swung your leg over his hip, his hardened length now pressed against your aching core.

“Maybe I do a little,” you whispered with a small grin playing on your puffy lips as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer.

He grinned back. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured back, kissing you quickly before you could respond.

And his comment was long forgotten as he grinded his bulge into your heat, stimulating both you and him. It was intoxicating. No, he . . . he was.

He was so intoxicating, you couldn’t help but whine out, “Take them off, please.” Your fingers were at his boxers, tracing the elastic band as you all but whimpered against his lips. You just wanted him, him, him. All of him.

“Eager?” he mused as his thumb dug into your hip. (You knew this was eating at him just as much as it was eating at you. It always did.)

“Please, Kookie. Can’t take it,” you whined further, all but straight-up riding him to scratch the ache inside you. “Need it so bad. Killin’ me.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, and he didn’t waste another second either. “Love you like this.” His own whines filled the air as the two of you struggled to tear off his boxers, your underwear quickly following after as both the undergarments eventually became lost under the covers. But neither of you cared.

It was a quick descent after that. You couldn’t help but grind your core over his hard length, the sound of your wet arousal evident even over the hum of the air conditioner. The two of you never did this. You’d always done foreplay after foreplay after foreplay, finding it thrilling to tease each other, but right now . . . right now all you wanted was him inside you. You wanted him as close as possible, and it seemed he wanted the same, the both of you unable to think or do anything other than grind against each other.

Only then when you couldn’t take the throb between your legs anymore did he press a single kiss to the corner of your mouth before you felt him slowly enter you, inch by inch sinking into your cunt. Your eyes fluttered closed as your mouth parted and your head tilted back while you basked in the fullness which came along with his cock sliding snugly against your tight walls. Your breath hitched in your throat just as you felt him bottom out, your core taking him all the way until the hilt.

The next second, you were wrapping your legs around him, locking them together in an attempt to get him even deeper. Your eyes fluttered open next, meeting his gaze instantly as he stared down at you with his brows pinched in pleasure and those big, round eyes of his blown out . . . but was this lust that he gazed at you with? His gaze appeared different, almost warmer, almost softer, almost too soft to touch . . . to have . . . to hold. He looked too pretty like this. Definitely too pretty for you to handle.

It didn’t help when the following words out of his mouth were: "You're always so fucking tight.”

And then he began to move, not breaking eye contact once. No, his eyes watched yours as his cock pumped in and out of your wet heat. His breath hit your face, and you could almost feel his heartbeat against your chest, syncing with yours as the two of you stared into what you could only describe as each other’s souls.

It was odd, too, because while whatever this feeling was blooming in your chest scared you, you couldn’t look away. You couldn’t turn from him. You just wanted him, him, him. Always him. You feared that if you did turn away, when you glanced back he wouldn’t be there anymore. And that perhaps scared you more than anything: losing him.

But there he was. He was always right there . . .

Almost as if he could hear your thoughts, his grasp on you tightened, his cock sinking deliciously deeper if it were even possible. The pressure in your lower stomach was becoming too much as it bloomed and bloomed, twisting and turning in a pleasurable ache. You bit your bottom lip, turning your head to the side as your breathing became more uneven by the second, but not once did you dare look away. No, you watched each and every twitch of his brow, every shaky breath, every flutter of his eyelashes, and you relished in it, soaking it all in.

It became clear to you that you couldn’t look away even if you tried.

And it seemed neither could he . . .

"Why are you looking at me like that?" you rasped out, trying to swallow your spit.

Jungkook nudged your nose with his. "Like what?"

You swallowed, this time harder (Jimin’s words revisited you once again). “I can’t say . . . “

His brows twitched this time. “How could I not?”

How could I not? And you knew what he meant, just as he had known what was playing on your mind. How could I not?

And then he was kissing you again, taking you by utter surprise. Sure, the two of you had had sex over and over again and each time felt a little different from the other, but this . . . this was like the beginning yet the present all at once. It was like you could feel all of him in just this kiss; like you could see his past and he could see yours and neither of you had thought about running once.

It was soft. So was his hand as he brushed through your hair as he kissed you, tracing your hairline, your cheek, your jaw, then your neck as if he were trying to map out your features.

(You couldn’t help but melt under his touch.)

Why was his kiss always the softest thing you had ever known?

Then . . . amidst your soft moans and carnal sounds, he pulled back, his eyes finding yours again. He glanced between the two of you where your bodies met, brows rising in marvel as he released a small sigh before rolling his hips against yours again and again. And then . . . then, he grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers together as his gaze met yours once again and he whispered so quietly, almost too quiet you wouldn’t have heard it if you hadn’t been so close, “I don’t even know where you end and I begin.”

And you knew instantly he didn’t just mean where your body met his. No, this was deeper, and you realized he could feel that this time was different, too.

Swallowing hard, you fluttered your eyes in almost a state of shock as you stayed silent. But you didn’t need to speak. No, you took his words, and you held them close, and then you were holding him. Take my bones and build yourself a home, he’d told you, but no, no, you wouldn’t put him through that. He could take yours. He could take all of you. You would give yourself to him.

Fuck, you would give all of yourself to him. Only him. Him, him, him.

“Wanna see your face, baby,” he murmured as he brushed your hair out of your flushed face. “Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. My pretty girl.”

And you knew that was it.

With one final kiss, you let him know all this, allowing him to take the lead once more. Everything pulsed as he picked up a sensual pace, hitting your sweet spot over and over again as his thumb snuck between your legs, skillfully working against your swollen clit while you chased the coil. It tightened and tightened, rings of pleasure hissing in your ears. His thumb quickened its pace, and then the coil snapped, your release crashing over you. All you could do was surrender to it, tilting your head back into the pillow as your hips raised while your hands squeezed his toned arms. All the while, Jungkook continued the long drags of his cock against your walls, dragging out your orgasm for as long as he could.

“Wanna stay like this,” he confessed, his thrusts growing slower and slower, unsteadier and unsteadier as he nearly whimpered into your neck. “Love this so fuckin’ much. Being with you—fuck. You make me feel so good, baby. So good.”

“I’d let you,” you mumbled against the shell of his ear, your voice a little too hoarse as you were still coming down from your high. “I’d let you do . . . all the time . . . I want—” you were delirious at this point and you knew it, too— “Want you always.”

Your words barely even registered in your brain as pleasure and that blooming feeling in your chest consumed you. It wasn’t long before you found yourself lifting his head so your lips could slot against his. And he graciously accepted your offer, consuming you just as the feeling had done.

The two of you wasted no time in escalating from gentle kissing, allowing you to further calm down from your high before your cunt was throbbing once more. And . . . before his cock had begun to feel too fucking hard inside you, nearly twitching for release as it begged for your addictive touch.

You let yourself get wrapped up in him for a little longer, too, never wanting to stop. Your hands were on him again as you tangled your fingers in his hair and pulled. This time a loud, deep groan came from his lips, and you knew you had him. He gave another groan of submission when you tugged again, his thrusts barely cohesive now. He was close, and you reveled in this, wishing to bring him to ecstasy. With that thought on your mind, you devilishly reached over his muscular ass, fingers quickly finding his perineum and pressing into it, massaging the sensitive spot.

He was sheathed deeper inside you before either of you could breathe, the two of you too wrapped up in each other to move positions. You just wanted to feel each other again and again and again, because for some reason . . . this time was different.

Different and yet all the same. That was how it had always been with Jungkook.

And you couldn’t quite put a word to the feeling, until . . .

“Will you cum inside me?” you whispered, your voice hoarse as you omitted a soft moan under your breath. “Please. I need more.” Swallowing hard, you finally met his gaze, and instantly, you couldn’t look away. There was just . . . something . . . there. “I need you.” Your brows furrowed as you soaked in your own words while you searched his eyes.

Slowly, with another roll of his hips, he sank lower, his abdomen grazing against yours so he could be close enough to brush his lips with yours but not that close to kiss you. But you . . . you couldn’t be without his touch, and found yourself tilting your head to press your lips against his, finally finding that something you had been searching for in his eyes.

And then . . . then it hit you.

“I need you,” you heard yourself whisper before you knew the words had left your mouth. “I need you, Koo.”

I need you, you’d whispered, and you began to realize . . . you knew what you felt for him wasn’t what you’d feel for a friend. Because you did need him . . . in more ways than you’d like to admit.

And that scared the shit out of you.

taglist:

@hrts4kook , @taehyungs-chopsticks , @loomipee , @st3ft0n3s , @callmenada , @neg-l3ct , @dawn33 , @illegurlbangtan , @jeonsdetails , @rihabaxl , @yoongipost , @jjk1iscoming , @miumiugurl , @sadgirlroo , @lucwithbangtan , @iamsisuu , @shanelleeex , @beonim , @sherlynxx , @fairy1919 , @purplewhales , @bloopkook , @ggukcanim , @bloodline1632 , @jungkooksseuphoria , @tea4sykes , @mugiwaraelly , @darkuni63 , @jalexad , @lpgirl2324 , @fairy-jaykay , @h0tvillainap0logist , @stuffy16 , @keniicastillo , @yoongukie-ff , @seesawe , @chocolatesublimesoul , @yopjm , @jeonlovescoffee , @xmirvamx , @jk-190811 , @percyjacksonlovesannabethchase , @vminkookgf , @werxyz , @tornparts , @aprilspring , @kswr1d , @jimilter , @02010802 , @sunsetnamjin , @lonekittycat , @moonchild1 , @hanamgi , @yoongslast , @heronstairsxd @pointofviewyugyeom

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quetejuuu

3 years ago

NSFW Alphabet - kth

➳ pairing : kim taehyung x f!reader

➳ genre : smut, explicit.

➳ summary : A - Z nsfw alphabet for dominant taehyung and submissive f!reader.

Masterlist || Jungkook version

➳ rating : 18+

➳ warnings : language, loads of sex talk.

➳ requests : closed.

➳ taglist : join my taglist!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Taehyung is a really caring daddy partner. He always cleans you up after cream-pieing you, snuggles with you until you fall asleep, and calls you sweet names.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Taehyung clearly loves every inch of your body, but you know better that he’s biased about your ass and breasts.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Taehyung loves cream-pieing you, too much as some might say. He just loves the feeling of unloading his seed deep inside your pussy.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Taehyung will never ever share you with another man (he is very possessive), though he wouldn’t mind another woman joining you two on the bed. Only if you’re comfortable with it, of course.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Taehyung, as the elder one is definitely more experienced than you. He knows what to do. You do too, and you are pretty good at most of the things, but since Taehyung is the dom, you still have to learn... a few things.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Doggy style, Taehyung loves doggy style. Because he loves watching his length disappearing into your cunt, and he loves spanking your ass while fucking you senseless. He also loves the sound of his hips slapping against your ass, so so much.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Taehyung is serious and in the zone when he’s fucking you or making love to you. Your pleasure is his number one priority and he takes it seriously.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Taehyung is cleanly trimmed. There’s bare minimum hair. Intimate hygiene is super important to him.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Taehyung is deeply intimate during sex. He cradles your body in his strong hands, he fucks you deeply and whispers in your ear that you’re such a good slut for him, he does everything to make you feel special and only his.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Taehyung is not shy when it comes to touching his own cock. He’s loyal to you, hence, if needed, he will touch himself. And since you like watching him masturbating, he has more reasons to do it ;)

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Daddy kink is one of his biggest kinks. Taehyung loves it when you call him oppa. He also has a impregnate kink, but since you are on birth control, it doesn’t actually happen.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere to be honest, Taehyung doesn’t care about the place at all. But, you will say his favorite place is shower, followed up by bed and desks.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You, what else? Anything you do can turn him on. Taehyung is very needy.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Taehyung will never do anything that you are uncomfortable with. He loves you too much to do that.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Taehyung definitely loves recieving. He loves it when you wrap your lips around his cock, sucking him off while choking on him. He also likes seeing you struggle taking his dick, and he loves it when you play with his balls. Basically, he loves blowjobs from you.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Taehyung is all about fast, rough and hard fucking (you like it too). He is the dominant one and he likes being in charge.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

You two have quickies on a regular basis, and both of you like it. Taehyung gets horny for you literally anywhere/anytime and quickies are lifesaver.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Taehyung is a risk taker. Though, he will not do anything you are uncomfortable with. He like high bdsm though, the use of blindfolds, gags and ties makes him happy.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Taehyung and you can go for 2/3 rounds. And he can make you last till 37 minutes, and he can upto 40 minutes. He’s all about rough sex so it’s hard to last long, but you two make it work.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Taehyung and you own a vibrator. He uses it on you sometimes, he likes watching you writhe.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Taehyung is not much of teaser, but when he ties you up, he teases you badly.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Both of of you are loud. Taehyung growls a lot, and you moan and scream. You two are pretty loud together, neighbours don’t get enough sleep probably.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Taehyung loves watching you squirt. You usually squirt only due to over simulation, and oh, he loves seeing it.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Taehyung is huge, like huge. He is thick and long, easily fills you up all the way up to your cervix, and he knows damn well that he is big. But still, he loves hearing it from you.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

My my, Taehyung’s sex drive is crazy. He can get horny for you anywhere/anytime. Literally. You are not complaining though ;)

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

You are pretty fast at falling asleep, since he tires you out a lot. If he’s spooning with you, you fall asleep faster, and Taehyung falls asleep a bit later. He likes to feel you sleeping before he drifts off.

Authors notes :

Thank you so much for reading 🥺!! Likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated 🥰❤️!! Your support keeps me going 🥺💕!!

I love you all, until next time 🤗💖!

Tagging : @moonchildsmoon ; @sweeneyblue1 ; @shykoosworld ; @bangtanolan ; @samros95 ; @btslover3012 ; @itzsavage07 ; @nglmrk ; @promisable ; @sunkissed725 ; @btsizlyfe ; @wildflower-cth ; @powerpuffsw23 ; @giadalin ; @joonskoalaplushie ; @yzkyzkuniverse ; @immortal-imagination ; @kpop-nct ; @aretha170 ; @wt-fxck ; @gee-nee ; @misshale21 ; @imluckybitches ; @hopekookies ; @queenmasterxx ; @knjkitten ; @bethanmari ; @moonkope ; @miinoongi ; @mama-m0chi ; @lolamae ; @miriamxsworld ; @lustremyg ;

532 notes View Post

quetejuuu

3 years ago

to build a home | chapter six

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

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

word count: 10.7k (lol)

warnings: swearing. straddling. dry humping. fingering. handjob. jungkook big cock. cum – loads of cum. moment of silence bc i didn't write angst once in the warnings.

author’s note: well, surprise! what did I tell y’all about the countryside huh. It does things to me. I love this chapter. I don’t want to give much away but… it’s so soft. and then no it’s not!!! it’s hella hard 🤠. I’m sending a million kisses your way. thank u for all the love always – it means the world!!!! xxxx <3

p.s. happy three weeks of tbah. thank u for being here.

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

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

Chapter Six

In all your years as designated romantic of your generation you’ve come to pick up on patterns that best describe the feeling of falling in love. Now, you’ve grown close. You’ve fallen, never quite landing in love but you’ve fallen enough to have lived through a couple of said patterns yourself.

Free-falling, now… that’s a different thing.

Songs and poems – black and white movies. They all do a beautiful job at portraying something you always found a bit silly, as much of a romantic as you are. They fixate on this idea that the world seems rosier when you’re falling in love – that you see things in a different light. Take in the world in a different way. That one day you feel love and the next you wake up and your commute to work is brighter; friendly faces and fresh flowers everywhere. They make us believe that love is the door that opens our eyes to the wonders of the world. And as unbelievable as it seems… you can’t deny it.

You see it.

You feel it.

You lay in the grass after a Sunday stroll with Lucy that ended up turning into a picnic. She’s singing along to some love song, swaying her head from side to side as she hums – something about the world ending and no other way that I can spend it. You’re about to full on judge her for playing Justin Bieber but an absentminded smile tugs at her lips and the sight alone is sweet – not to mention the fact that you know exactly which smile put that one on her face.

You smile, too.

You’re not too far off. You look up at the sky again. So far, you’ve made up five shapes in the sea of endless clouds above you. The very abstract outline of a strawberry. A dove – yeah, it’s missing a wing but it’s a dove alright. Two blurry faces leaning against one another, one a bit taller than the other. A croissant. And last but not least, an angel. It’s still up there – face formed by faint specks of white cloud, a perfect halo on top and big wings at his sides.

You try to look for your strawberry, only the shape now resembles a liver more than anything. You wince – it’s love.

You feel it in every song, in the cup of coffee you had this morning. In the yellow dress you’re wearing – the same one you wore the first day you met him. You smile, having had no idea of just what you were getting yourself into back then. Remembering just how much of a mistake it all felt like when you sat there, opposite him, as he teared apart at your every ounce of confidence. He was right – mistakes can be…

“What’s all the grinning for?” Lucy’s voice breaks you out of your pensive state.

The best thing to ever happen to you.

“Him.” you reply, simply. “You?” you roll over to your side to face her, head resting against your arm.

“My him.” She giggles. “What exactly, though? Still digesting yesterday?”

You shake your head. “No. Or yes. I don’t know. Maybe…”

“It’s good, ___. I think what he did was very brave.” She says.

You nod your head, that soft smile back where he left it. “Me too. I don’t think I’m over thinking it. It’s just that…”

“You can’t stop thinking about it.” Her grin is mischievous, knowing.

You roll back, the grass feels cooling against your arms. “Yeah,” you sigh, a bit more dreamily than intended.

The silence is comfortable and you welcome it as you both lean against the tall book shelf in your impromptu seating position on the floor. You stretch your legs in front of you, fumbling a bit with the rings on your fingers and he taps his feet repeatedly in a slow motion – eyes fixated on them.

“So… good mistake or bad mistake?” You say, breaking the ice that feels everything but cold.

Jungkook smiles to himself. No trace of a mistake roaming around in his mind. Just you and your lips against his.

“Good. Just good.”

“Good.” You bite your lip, unsuccessfully holding back a smile. “What now?”

Jungkook waits for the nerves to hit – the regret. But it doesn’t come.

“I guess… I mean, fuck. There are so many things that I still have to… heal from, or whatever my therapist says. I don’t- I would never want to lay that on you, though.”

You nod, taking his words in. A bit surprised at his sudden ability to communicate.

He grabs your hand in his, squeezing it lightly. “But… you. I don’t want to run from you anymore.”

You turn to him, giving him a tender smile. “I don’t want you to run from me either. We can take it slow… there’s no rush. I want to know you- really know you. At whatever pace you set.”

“I want to know you, too.” You shy at his words, gaze looking down at where your hands entwine. “We can… ease into it. I mean, I still have to get over the fact I’m five years your senior.”

You try with all your might but you break, snorting at his words, trying to keep your laughter at a library-friendly volume.

“What’s so funny?” He asks, voice serious but a grin forming at his lips, too.

“Sorry, sorry. That is- preposterous, sir.” You tease, “only add like… fifteen years to that and you could be my father.” You feign shock.

His hand comes up to your face, covering your mouth with his hand as he tries to control his own laughter. “Please don’t say that.”

You laugh. “Sorry, sorry.” He can feel you pouting against his palm. “Jungkook,”

“Yes?”

“I- I can’t wait. To know you, I mean.”

His fingers lace around yours once again, a soft, genuine smile when he says, “Neither can I.”

The aroma of fresh coffee fills the air and complemented with the bright sunlight coming through the big window it adds to the overall heavenly atmosphere the morning holds. It’s a Monday and you’ve never felt keener to get out of bed and kickstart the week.

And yes, your commute to work was brighter and filled with friendly faces. Fresh flowers, too. In fact, they sit on top of the kitchen counter – three pretty sunflowers, tall and proud. You always did think the sleek, white space was in need of some oomph – key word for: love. So, you took the liberty. Mrs. Chae held them as if they were a newborn baby, excitedly placing them in a vase with some fresh water.

In front of you, is your breakfast masterpiece – a bright smoothie bowl for Soori who has taken on a passion for, well, all sorts of fruits. You place the neatly cut wedges on top, adding some granola to it. And Cheerio’s. A bit of an odd combination, yes, but the kid loves her Cheerio’s. You cut the strawberries into a heart shape, just like Lucy taught you that one time you were helping her garnish a fruit tart. Everything is more interesting for Soori if it takes on a fun shape and you easily comply – testing your creativity to make life just that more fun for her.

Right on queue with your train of thought, you hear her distant baby babble that grows louder and louder the closer she gets to the kitchen. Your gaze snaps to the direction of the entrance, excited to see her.

Jungkook comes into view – body slightly bent over and waddling a bit before his own gaze comes up, eyes landing on yours as he gives you a warm smile. You return it, frowning slightly when you realize there’s no Soori in his arms, even though you can hear her. He giggles softly, looking down, a proud look to his face. You round the kitchen counter, hands coming to cover your mouth when you see her. Her tiny fists hold onto Jungkook’s middle and index fingers, her short little legs moving rapidly in-between jumps and steps. She’s wearing pink Carhartt overalls with a white baby tee underneath. The tiniest pair of Chuck Taylor’s you’ve ever seen on her speedy feet.

“Oh my Goodness! Look at you, Soo.” You fall to your knees and she shrieks once you come into eyesight, walking towards you excitedly with the help of her dad who still holds her by her tiny hands. Once she’s in your arms, he lets go. You hold her to you, wrapping her in a hug, kissing her chubby cheeks. “That was so good, princess. You did so good!” You coo and she giggles, open mouth returning your kisses – a sloppy slobber all over your face but you don’t care.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Jungkook says, looking down at the two of you, his heartbeat picking pace slightly at the sight. “Yesterday she stood all by herself for 3.7 seconds.”

“What? No way, Soo.” Your baby voice is on and she jumps in your arms. You pull her closer to you. “That’s amazing, bub. You’re going so fast. Too fast,” you pout, surprised by how much you’ve seen her grow in such a small amount of time.

Soori’s hands come to rest at either side of your face – Jungkook thinks about how much it resembles the way he holds her before he showers her with kisses. She’s starting to mimic everything he does and when she leans her face forward and leaves another set of open mouth kisses against your nose his chest flutters – a feeling he can’t quite explain. All he knows is that it feels so light. So right.

“Good morning,” he says finally as you get up from your kneeling position on the floor, Soori in your arms as you place her on the crook of your hip.

“Morning,” you return, a smile forming at your lips at the sight of his. You let yourself get lost in his face, because you can. He looks so ethereal in the mornings. You notice he’s not wearing his usual dress shirt and slacks, having opted for a much more casual look in blue jeans and a flowy blue shirt, the first three buttons tentatively open, exposing his tan skin. “Is it spirit day at the office?”

He scoffs at your teasing, playfully rolling his eyes. “No. Not going to the office today, actually. Well- technically I am. I have to go oversee some renovations at the hotel.”

“Oh…”

“It’s in a location by the river. My parents are actually there at the moment. Staycation and whatnot. So, I’m bringing Soori with. And you.”

Jungkook sees Mrs. Chae’s eyes widen at his words – specially the last ones. He walked right into that one though, he’ll admit that much. He clears his throat before he adds, “as in, you know- Soori. For Soori. If you don’t mind.”

You chuckle slightly, biting at your tongue. “Of course. Let’s fill her tummy and we can go.”

He nods, not missing the glint in your eyes and your playful smile before you turn around.

You’re wearing a pretty white dress, the fabric hugging your waist perfectly before flowing at the bottom. Just like Soori, you’re wearing a pair of white Converse. He walks himself right into that dreamy thought, too. Only this one he did purposely.

It’s going to be a long day.

And for the first time in a long time, he looks forward to it.

Jungkook and you divide the task of getting Soori strapped into her car seat – you keep her distracted by letting her fidget with your fingers and he works the harness around her chest and tummy, pulling on it until he’s sure she’s safely tucked in.

“Hey, you’re so good, baby.” He coos at her, pride swelling in his chest at her mellow behaviour. She smiles, holding at his finger and pulling him closer. She has a tight grip on yours too.

Jungkook smacks his lips against Soori’s cheeks, earning himself a giddy giggle from her. She scrunches her little nose when he kisses down her neck, tickling her. She tries to push him away, never once letting go of her hold on your fingers, bringing your hand to Jungkook’s face as her loud snickers fill the car. They’re contagious and soon enough, the three of you are laughing.

“Does Soori have tickles?” You ask her, free hand coming to poke at her sides as she jumps and screeches at the feeling.

“She’s so ticklish.” He says, coming up for air for about a second before he dives right back in, nuzzling his face in the crook of her neck. She kicks and screams, full-on cackling now and you can tell that it’s not gonna be too long until she gets fed up. Her hand comes up to either side of Jungkook’s head and you tug at his hair slightly. “Hey, hey. That’s enough. She’s going to run out of smiles and then what do we do.”

Jungkook laughs, heart wrenching at your sweet voice that you reserve just for her – liking how you use it on him, too. “Never,” he says, landing one final kiss on top of her head before he straightens his body. You settle into the seat next to Soori and he frowns, saying, “what are you doing?”

“What do you mean,” you return, confusion in your words.

He bites back a chuckle, a grin adorning his face. “Come sit at the front with me.” It’s more a statement than it is a question and he sees you hesitate, eyes zeroing down on Soori’s hand around your fingers and then back to him. “She’ll be fine, come on.”

You hesitate for yet another second before you’re exiting the backseat of his sleek car, making your way to the passenger’s seat. You both get in at the same time and you watch as he gets comfortable, starting the engine and maneuvering the steering wheel as his free hand flies behind your headrest, body twisting slightly as you exit the parking space. Soori whines in the backseat, something awfully close to Da before she breaks out in unintelligible babble. When he glances at her she’s looking at you, small face scrunched up in disappointment.

“Hey, you. We can share, okay? Let daddy have her for a minute?” Soori diverts her eyes, gaze already focused on whatever is going on outside the window, bringing her pacifier back to her mouth and suckling on it.

You giggle. “She’s growing at speed lighting. She’s full on trying to talk now. And walk!”

“I know. We already made a made a pact though – she’s not allowed to do either when I’m away at work.”

“I imagined she agreed to it right away?” You tease.

“Of course. She’s loyal like that.” He looks in the rear-view mirror, smiles when he sees her eyes on him. He turns to you, “how are you feeling?”

“Good. Very good.” You say, a bit sheepishly. “You?”

“Me too,” a lopsided grin forms on his lips and the sight has you weak at the knees.

“Did Taehyung pick up on it?”

He turns to you for a second, a look on his face that says what do you think. “Did Lucy pick up on it?”

“Touché,” you say, “is that… bad?”

“No. They might tease me a bit but they wouldn’t do anything to make me feel uncomfortable before I’m ready to talk about it. Taehyung and Jimin, though… they just have a sixth sense for that stuff. So, it’s hard to keep it a secret.”

“So, we’re a secret?”

He looks at you briefly, an apologetic look to his face. “Does that bother you?”

You smile, reaching for his hand that rests on his thigh. “No. I think it’s the smartest thing to do. At least until we… figure us out, I guess. I am your nanny after all.”

“Nope. You’re her nanny,” he says, motioning to Soori. “You two can talk business later.”

You laugh, playfully swatting his leg. Before you can move away, he’s locking your hands in his hold – intwining your fingers together. It’s all so overwhelmingly good. The lightness to his mood, the witty jokes, that relaxed expression taking over his face. His hand on yours – finally. You missed it, the feel of his skin. The butterflies it sends to your tummy, the warmth it radiates. You could give up on a steady heart rate any day if it meant experiencing the euphoric feeling of having him close.

“Jokes aside,” he starts, “I wouldn’t want her to… lose you.” His face falls, so evidently that you don’t miss it. You can feel it – the way his head is being swarmed by intrusive thoughts right now. Full of bad news. Uncertainty. Fear.

You squeeze his hand. “I know we have a long way to go of… figuring things out. But she’s important to me, too, and I wouldn’t jeopardize that either. I wouldn’t take that leap if I… if I wasn’t sure. About you. About wanting to try. And getting to know you.”

He only nods. His silence makes you feel uneasy, like maybe you pushed too far, said something that would put him in a compromising position. You know his walls are high and even though the full story is still unknown to you, the pieces you do have form a painful puzzle.

So, you don’t say anything – giving him enough space to process things in his own time. Understanding that trust is a tricky thing when broken. Like a mirror, it reflects on everything that stands its way – morphing our own truths, making us feel unbelieving, undeserving.

And as much as you want to pour all the love that brews inside of you onto him at once – to have him know he’s got you; you figure the best thing you can do is to not aid that reflection further by imposing your own fears onto it. Fear doesn’t cancel out fear but understanding does.

Understanding, you conclude, can sometimes be stronger than love.

Growing up, you were always in a constant state of praise. From your teachers, your parents – hell, even your friends. There was something so captivating to the people around you about how collected you were, how dedicated and applied. Back then, of course, your world was smaller and your priorities didn’t go as far as making sure you excelled in school, volunteered at your local church to put a smile on your mom’s face and be someone your small group of friends could rely on.

So, needless to say, self-control was easy. You used to believe promiscuity was simply a side effect of hormonal angst and not having enough to do. Thankfully, you were exempted. Not from the hormonal angst, no. In fact, sex was always something you felt drawn to in literature and art. But as for not having enough to do, that just wasn’t your case.

And even when a lot of these beliefs went away along with your naivety you still remained somewhat good at keeping desire cool, calm and collected.

But you’re only human.

And only so strong.

You feel like the universe is playing a silly little number on you now – making you pay for whatever twisted wave of superiority you rode as a teenager. It was probably induced by spending too much time volunteering at the church and cringing at the descriptive way in which your heart and road to heaven would be corrupted by having pre-marital sex, courtesy of the nun that taught your bible study group.

Your body shudders, cringing at the memory alone.

Your eyes divert to said silly little number – sporting that perfectly fashionable baby carrier of his, a sleeping Soori flushed to his chest, as he talks business. And you’re speaking business. Casually blurting out numbers that don’t make mathematical sense to you because how does money even work? Correction: how does money even work like that?

He walks alongside the architect as they review plans, numbers, paperwork, strategy – you name it, Jungkook seems to have the lead on everything. It takes you by surprise when he takes a hold of the pencil and tweaks at the paper plan, adding to the perfect drawing of what will be the new rest & relaxation space. In simpler words, a spa. With all the luxury amenities, in perfect tune with the whole essence of the hotel.

The hotel alone surprises you, not having expected the paradisical feel to it. It felt like a small oasis, only twenty minutes away from the city, surrounded by so much green and crisp, fresh air. You’d passed by The West End multiple times, the one in the city, that is. A tall, glass building that spewed modernity and money just by being in its close vicinity. This West End though, as luxurious and modern as it was, had a more relaxed feel to it.

Jungkook seems to be exceptionally involved with this one, that usual passion he carries about his business soaring just a tad higher. To you, it feels like this one in particular hits close to home and you wonder why. He gets visibly excited when the architect retrieves his iPad, showing him a colourful digital visual of what’s to be the final outcome. Soori fidgets slightly in the carrier and he puts a hand to her face, caressing gently in a soothing manner, making sure his voice goes back to its normal pitch. She’s full-on teething now and her discomfort is painful to watch, especially for Jungkook. So, when nap time came and she wanted nothing more than to be held by her father it came as a no-brainer to him – always taking advantage of whatever time he can have with her during the week.

And this right here is just why you think the universe is playing games with you. Torturous, evil games. Because no, that goody-two-shoes behaviour didn’t last a month in university. You, of course, not only matured and fell victim to the freshman fifteen but also navigated through your sexual awakening in a, needless to say, healthy manner.

But Jeon Jungkook is hormonal angst mixed with three out of the seven deadly sins and you have no desire to repent.

If the pull that draws you to him was only physical then you’d make do. Brave it like a good girl and impose that self-control that carried you through your innocence. But the tension that builds in your body for him happens to go slightly beyond just the physical.

It’s his mind, too. That big brain of his, oozing intellect left and right – how effortlessly it comes to him to lead, persuade and gain people’s trust. How everyone that works for him respects him for all the good reasons, as opposed to fear. How he puts his all in whatever it is he does, perfecting it until his interest wears off and then he moves on onto the next big thing – never ceasing his ability to learn and grasp new concepts. You think his mind is exceptional and that just makes him all the hotter.

His humour and light-hearted ways are one hell of a magnet as well. The witty banter and sharp comebacks, funny without ever being mean. The way no matter what his titles are, to his friends he will forever be the youngest one – their Ggukie. And how he lets them, basking on it, welcoming the love and letting himself be babied. You like the way he can’t help but get giddy when something really cool catches his eye – how even though he’s seen a lot, he never acts like he’s seen it all, letting himself still be surprised by the world around him.

And last but not least – how good of a dad he is. How out of all his titles and duties, that one seemed to be the one he carries with the most pride.

“So, what now, darling?” Your dad said.

You’d barely had enough time to remove your cap and gown, finding a comfortable position in the booth at the diner.

“Well,” you hesitate for a moment, trying to find the right words. “I quit my job at the bar.”

“Oh, honey. That is great news. That was no place for a young lady,” your mother adds, relief filling her face. You appreciate her concern.

“That is good, ___. It was only holding you back. What other offers do you have lined up?” Your father presses, curious and, frankly speaking, gullible.

“Well, dad- it’s not that easy.”

“Of course it’s not! Finding a job is a job of its own, ___. When I was your age I walked the streets tirelessly, paper in hand, circling every single option, talking to anyone that was willing to listen about my qualifications-”

“Dad.” He finally stops, looking at you, “I think that’s very admirable but, in this day and age we use Linkdn and no one is really willing to listen. You think you know rejection until a faceless HR worker ghosts you.”

“I understood two things from what you just told me but, nonetheless, darling, the value of good, honest work never goes unappreciated.”

You contemplate his words for a second. “I was thinking about volunteering at the library… we just passed it actually. It’s a book club for little kids.”

Your mom beams at your words, always one to encourage any sort of helping hand. Your dad, on the other hand, looks a bit crestfallen at the thought.

“You know, honey,” your mom takes it upon herself to break the heavy silence that falls around the table, “when you were a little girl you loved playing with dolls. You’d dress them in your old baby clothes and even made me get you real diapers for them! You went on to become a scholar, a bright young woman but… I always did think that you’d come into this world to be a mother.”

You know she doesn’t mean for her words to hit you in the gut like a clean punch but they do. Not because you didn’t share said dream but because you didn’t believe it was your only one. You didn’t think you’d have to sacrifice your talent and brains to be the very first thing you wanted to be when the world was four walls and an endless array of dolls: a mom.

“You’re a good dad.” You tell him, when it’s just the two of you and Soori, who has just begun to stir awake, once again.

He looks at you, surprised by how flustered your words find him. “Thank you. I try…” he replies, voice laced with honesty as he lets out a sigh.

“And a good hotel owner… person.”

He laughs at this, head falling back on his shoulders. “Thank you. Where is this coming from?”

“I don’t know,” your gaze lands on the tall trees as you walk a narrow walkway back to the main lobby. You wish you could hold his hand. “I like seeing you… in action.”

“Yeah?” You only nod and he doesn’t miss the faint rosy tint that creeps up on your cheeks. “I thought you’d find it boring.”

“There is very little in this world I find actually boring.”

“I like that about you.”

God there it is. The gentleness of his soul. The butterflies that set flight once again, having never truly left.

You let yourself stare at him, a liberty that makes the sight of him all that more enticing. He stares back, a desire tugging in his chest to either tell you just how much he likes not just that about you but also the way you always speak your mind and hold his gaze so intensely he can sometimes even read it. Or just kiss you. His mind holds the debate, eyes traveling to your lips as he surrenders into the temptation. He’s just about to lean in when a higher force settles it for him.

“Darling!” You both turn around, slightly shaken as you’re met with the sight of none other than his mother.

“Hey, mom. How are you?” He says, walking towards her.

“I’m good, I’m good. Let me see her!” She’s excited and that’s all Soori needs to fall into her arms as soon as she’s freed from the coziness of the baby carrier and Jungkook’s chest. “Oh, look at those teeth. She looks just like you. Well, she’s prettier- no offense, honey.”

“Non-taken and agreed.”

“___, it’s good to see you again.”

“You too, Mrs. Jeon. I like your hat.” Jungkook can’t help the smirk that tugs at his lips as his mother is taken aback by your compliment. His hand flies to his mouth to cover the impending chuckles that threaten to come out of it.

“Thank you.” She replies, her voice slightly confused but he can tell she’s flattered by the look on her face. “Your father’s at the restaurant waiting. Your meeting took too long, darling. You know he doesn’t like to wait. Let’s join him, shall we?”

She doesn’t necessarily wait for a reply from either of you, promptly turning around and heading to the direction of the restaurant. Soori’s in her arms and from a distance you can see how her eyes widen as her grandma speaks to her as she would a friend. ‘It is almost your birthday. I have no idea what to get you! What are you into these days? I hope you didn’t inherit that god-awful habit your father had back in the day of putting everything in his mouth. It turned just about everything into a choking hazard. What’s your favourite colour? Why don’t I ever see you in a dress…’

You can’t help but snort, a closed-lipped smile locking in your laughter.

“She’s in for a real treat when she finds out she was in tears the other day because I had to turn the Animal Planet off because all of a sudden the screen panned out to a lion absolutely devouring an emu.”

You break, full-on laughing now at the sole imagery of a nonchalant Soori and a frenzied Jungkook fumbling with the buttons of his high-tech remote control.

“Or when she finds out she can’t wear dresses because she likes to show everyone and their mothers her belly button.” You add.

“If I kept them on their toes just imagine her.”

You both remain in a peaceful silence for about a second as your laughter dies down.

“Hm, well… it’s all a karmic cycle so be prepared.” You muse, humming as he frowns.

“Nope. I’m prepared, you see? I at least know the god-awful habit is all babies. Not just me.”

You turn around, walking backwards as you face him. “Nope. I wasn’t talking about baby Jungkook.”

“Ha. Well, I stand my case. I also happen to be prepared. I have a bullshit radar for rebellious teens.”

“Takes one to know one.”

He narrows his eyes at you. “I was an angel.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Why is that?”

“Because you look too much like one.”

“That’s just a bonus,” he flirts, picking his pace so he can get closer to you.

You click your tongue, biting your lip before you say,

“No. that’s just deceiving.”

Lunch is a smooth affair. Jungkook is merely an observer as his mother entertains Soori with random lady-who-brunches talk and his dad picks an interest in dissecting your literature degree. At first, it’s a bit patronizing and Jungkook visibly tenses next to you – it almost feels as if he was introducing you to them in the very same sense you’re both very well exploring. But his father, with a deep-rooted love for the classics, caves – engaging in quite the conversation. He doesn’t quite recognize the majority of the names you both throw back and forth but he looks at you in total awe. You talk about things with such passion and excitement. With love. And it is then that the thought haunts him:

You are love personified.

Jungkook doesn’t know just what that means. Or why his heart and brain ganged up on him and put the thought in his mind – engraving it. But it makes sense to him. You have a softness about you, a lightness that you carry that sheds light into the darkest of spaces, breaking down the tallest of walls. The hardest of men, i.e., his very own father.

Now, his parents might fall into most of the stereotype that characterize the filthy rich but, being assholes for no reason is not one of them. So, they welcome you and Jungkook can tell it surprises you. He also knows that a big part of their approach is due to the fact that they can so clearly see how fond Soori is of you and that is the one thing they’ve weakened for in all of Jungkook’s twenty-eight years on this earth. They have a weakness for her he doesn’t even think they had for him and he thinks it’s only normal, especially considering the circumstances. In fact, he’s grateful for it.

You all say your goodbyes, his mother pressing a kiss to Soori’s forehead before she lets her know, ‘table manners will be discussed with urgency during our next meeting’. She just giggles, grabbing a fist-full of her hair and tugging playfully, making her yelp. Jungkook feigns a stern front, attempting to tell her off but in reality, he just finds it hilarious.

Once they’re out of eyesight you turn to him, eyebrows raising in amusement.

“So, Mr. Jeon’s a romantic.” You state, making him wince in surprise.

“Sorry, come again?”

“Come on. Barret, Neruda, Keats… Baudelaire. The greatest poets of our time. All moved by a little thing called love.”

Jungkook doesn’t know enough to agree but coming from you he doesn’t doubt it. He doesn’t doubt you’re so well-read in something you carry so well. Love.

“I’ve heard my dad’s name followed by many adjectives but romantic is a first.”

“Are you one, too?”

“What?”

“A romantic.”

He hums. “Elaborate.”

“What is there to elaborate in?” You laugh, taking Soori in your arms when she decides to perform her free-fall from her father to you. It’s a good thing you’re both well-trained, always ready to catch her.

“Well,” he gets nervous, your effect on him makes his brain malfunction at times. “It’s a broad term, isn’t it?”

“Mm, depends. How do you see it? Do you see it as love or do you see it as love?” Your voice lilts at the end and he can’t help but laugh at it, half amused and half endeared.

“I don’t know,” but whatever he sees you at, that’s the closest. “But I have my set of beliefs.”

“Ah. So you are.”

He rolls his eyes but you don’t miss his smile. He can’t deny you, really. Because as much as love failed him, he can’t help but see it. He sees it in his parents, in their odd little ways of showing it. In his friends, in how he’s seen even the most untameable of characters be swooped off of their feet and straightened in one swift movement – all because of love. Love walked out on Jungkook but it left him the thing he loves the most. And the one person that he knows will always love him. She has four set of teeth and looks dangerously close to another free-fall as she smiles at him.

And he sees it in you. In the way you take on the world. In the way you speak and read your books and write in that beat up journal. In the way you sing to Soori who will most likely know the entirety of Elton John’s discography by the time she’s two.

Love feels so scary to Jungkook right now – it threatens to break him, even. But he’s not blind to it.

“Come on, I want to show you something before we go.”

“What is it with you and non-traditional means of transportation?”

The three of you stand at the end of the dock that sways softly to the beat of the current of the river. A long and sleek speedboat right in front of you. It’s beautiful – dark wood exteriors with black and white detailing, a royal blue flag with The West End insignia on it. You all but gawk as Jungkook jumps in, unconsciously taking a step back with Soori in your arms.

“You know, for someone who’s so easily entertained you sure are hard to impress.” He says as he digs through one of the compartments beneath the seats, retrieving a small, pink life-jacket, presumably Soori’s.

“What about this screams easy?” You sneer, making him let out a loud chuckle.

“Pass her over,” he tells you, hands stretching out towards Soori who jumps excitedly in your hold. You hesitate for a second, frowning at him. “Oh, don’t worry. She loves this thing. Look I even-,” he points to the tail of the boat and you see it. Soori Blue – her name engraved in dainty, cursive letters.

“Did you consent to this?” You ask her. She returns your question with a giggle.

You pass her to him and he puts the life-jacket around her, adjusting tightly as she distracts herself with her trusted giraffe. Once he’s done, he stretches his arm out for you. You don’t take it right away.

“Come on, ___. It’ll be fun.” He presses.

“No speeding, just boating, okay?”

“Don’t worry. it’s just boating when baby’s in. We can do the speeding another day.” He winks and you know nothing about his sentence was sexual but the action sends a flutter to your lower stomach.

You get in, taking Soori from him and settling in one of the plush seats as you wrap your arms around her, holding her tight. Just like flying, she takes on this activity like a champ, squirming excitedly when Jungkook gets behind the wheel and sets sail, no destination in particular, just leisurely roaming about the waters.

You can’t quite deny it – it’s soothing. The breeze is nice and relaxing and he sets a steady, relaxing pace. You glance towards him, eyes focused on the waters ahead and hands effortlessly manoeuvering the wheel. The wind dishevels his hair but it’s one hell of a sight as the strands fly freely around his face. He eventually tugs his front bangs behind his ears, making him look ten times dreamier.

He catches you staring. You look so beautiful. Hair dancing in the wind, your hand pressing down on Soori’s silky strands so they don’t fly off. Your white, flowy dress falls victim, too, as it pulls up your legs, exposing your tan skin to him. Soori’s fingers point to nowhere in particular and you pull her to you, kissing her cheeks before you nod and say, ‘water!’. His brain short-circuits at the impact the exchange has on him – on how tender you are with her. Jungkook has always loved to see the world through Soori’s eyes and always dreaded the day she’d outgrow that wonder. But in you he realizes that doesn’t have to necessarily be the case. He thinks that if you stuck around for long enough, she might never outgrow it – just adapt it. Just like you.

He brings the engine to a stop once the boat is far enough for the hotel to be a tiny speck in the distance.

“Hey, Jungkook,” you call out to him, “I’m impressed!”

Your smile widens as he walks closer to you, coming to a seat beside you.

“You like my speedboat?” He teases.

“I like your boat.”

You’re both laughing now, so loud even Soori joins in.

“Is it cliché to say that I like to come here to think?”

“No. I get it. I mean, it wouldn’t be the first place to cross my mind but… I see why it is yours.”

“You can’t escape them here. Your thoughts.”

You turn to him. “Do you escape them often?”

“I guess. Sometimes…”

“We all have thoughts that we want to escape, I reckon.”

“Do you have them?”

“Why wouldn’t I,” you ask.

“I don’t know. You strike me as brave. Like you would run straight towards them.”

“Brave? Me?” Your voice is shocked.

“Yeah,” his eyes meet yours. “You.”

“I’ve never been called brave in my life.”

He scoffs light-heartedly. “It was the first thing I saw in you. Really saw, I mean. When you sat there and put me in my place after I nagged at you during the interview. Nobody had ever sat my ass down so poetically, by the way.”

“You deserved that.”

“I deserved worst.”

“No, you didn’t.”

Your eyes are gentle and sincere and Jungkook melts at your words. At all of you.

“___,” he pauses, contemplating something you can’t read.

“Yes?”

“I haven’t felt sure of much in… a long time. Other than Soori and a handful of useless things, nothing holds much certainty in my life.” Your gaze deflects to the wooden floor at his words. “But you- I am sure of you. And wanting to try. And getting to know you.” He mimics your words from earlier, a timid smile forming at his lips at the relief he feels over saying them back. They’d been stuck in his chest, tickling up his throat every time he all but glanced at you.

You smile at him, a world of feelings taking over you, an airy voice when you say, “you’re brave, too.”

Your words ring in his ears, straight to his chest, knocking the breath out of him. For a second, he sees himself in your eyes – believes your words. And without much hesitation, he kisses you. Leaning into you, gently cupping your cheek with his hand. It takes you by surprise but you let yourself fall into his lips, scooting closer to him on the seat, both your arms still wrapped around Soori who babbles away as she plays with her giraffe. Your lips are soft and he pulls your bottom one in-between his teeth as you let out a sigh – a delicate sound that he catches with his mouth as his tongue finds yours, allowing him to go deeper.

He pulls back slightly, the both of you gasping for air for about a second before your lips find one another yet again – this time in a gentle lock, as he indulges in the plushness of your lips, how full they feel against his.

Your moment is cut short by Soori’s high-pitched shriek. You both look down at her and she smiles, blowing a sloppy raspberry into thin air, happy to have your attention back on her.

You bounce your leg and he pinches her cheek and that’s enough for her to be satisfied, eyes back on her plushie as she jumps straight back into the previous conversation they were having.

Jungkook leans back against the seat and extends his arm to the side, locking it around you until you’re safely tucked in – a cocoon of his warmth as you lean your head on his shoulder and his hand plays with your hair. Soori is in the middle and she mimics the two of you, leaning her body backwards until she’s resting against your stomachs.

“Oh, God. She copies everything,” you say.

“I know. Get ready for double the sloppy kisses.”

“From you or her?”

“Both.”

He leans forwards, his lips coming to smack at your cheek as he nuzzles closer to you.

You giggle at his touch – Soori follows.

Doorway goodbyes have gotten a tad bit harder with a teething Soori. It’s not that she fights being back in your arms after Jungkook hands her over to you – it’s more so having to see him leave and not having the possibility to alternate between the two of you.

Desperate times have called for desperate measures – aka, distractions. Today is half a pancake she nibbles on, chubby hand drenched in sticky honey. She offers it to Jungkook, always the kind girl she is. You think he’s going to take a fake-bite and fake-chew on it the way he normally does but he actually goes for it. Making you gasp in surprise.

“Heeey. Get your own pancake, daddy.” You say in a serious voice.

“Don’t call me that.” He points a finger at you, a scowl to his face. You chuckle.

“Don’t eat her pancake.”

“She likes to share.” He returns, his Soori voice on as he coos at her before kissing her cheeks. “Hey, by the way… we’re having a pool party on Sunday.”

“Oh. Fun…”

“Yeah. Jiminie’s inviting Lucy,” he wags his eyebrows at you. “I’m excited to finally meet her. Properly, I mean.”

You smile, excited for the two of them to be taking this step. “You’ll love her. You all will. She’s the best. Soori will love her!”

“I’m sure we will. But hey, I was wondering if maybe… you could come?”

“Why,” your tone is more brass than you originally intend.

“I want you there. I mean- I know we said… I don’t think they’ll be surprised. They’ll just think you’ll be here for Soori. Unless you don’t feel comfortable with that or- maybe you have plans which I completely understand-”

You smile a little at his rambling, interrupting him as he narrows his eyes at you. “I’ll be here. For Soori.” You see the fallen expression in his face and you break, “and for you. I like seeing you during the weekend. You get less bossy.”

“Funny, you.”

“Oh, I’m hilarious.”

He scrunches his nose, nodding. “Yeah, you kinda are.”

He scans the room for a second before confirming the coast is clear, leaning closer to you and placing a sweet peck on your lips – getting carried away for a second too long as he deepens the kiss.

He knows you don’t know this but you make doorway goodbyes easier for him, too.

“What is it with him?” Kenny’s eyes are glued to Jungkook as he sips on a beer and laughs at something Namjoon just said.

“I don’t know. He even laughed at something Tae said today.” Mai responds, her eyes fixed on the same sight.

“Maybe therapy has been helping?” Suelgi suggests.

“Yeah,” Mai’s voice drifts right in tune with her thoughts. Her eyes look for you, sat in Soori’s mat playing with her and Dae. “Therapy…”

“Whatever it is… it makes me happy. I mean, I hadn’t seen a smiling Ggukie in a while. I missed it.”

“Me too. And just overall, he seems different.” Suelgi says.

Mai smiles, simply nodding as she sips on her glass of wine.

He’s different alright.

“Hey,” you walk towards the small circle Jungkook, Lucy, Hobi and Jimin have formed.

They all greet you back, enthusiastically.

“Soori sort of drifted. She was with Yoongi on the couch so…,” you say to Jungkook, feeling a bit awkward at not knowing how to approach him with so much people around.

It’s not that you regret coming. It’s just that you don’t really feel like you quite fit in the environment. There are many eyes on Soori, all wanting to give her undivided attention and play with her. So, it’s not like you can do your job and mingling feels slightly out of place considering that you, well, keep one hell of a secret. A secret you try not to make obvious. So, you’ve been avoiding Jungkook at all costs.

“Yeah, the little kids tend to tire her out quickly as she tries to keep up with them. Have you eaten? Are you hungry? Do you want something to drink?” You frown slightly at his words, hoping your eyes convey the words your mouth can’t.

“No. Thanks. I’m actually looking for her ducky. I can’t seem to find it and she’s been making the ducky face so,”

“Oh. Shit, yeah. I think I might’ve left it in the playroom this morning. We were playing videogames.”

“We?” Hobi snorts at your remark and you instantly regret it. “I’ll look for it. Where in her playroom?”

“Not hers. Mine. Here, I’ll come with.” He says and before you can say anything else he starts walking towards the inside of the house.

Once you make it to the long hallway, the same one that leads to his office, he turns to you – face laced with concern.

“Are you okay,” he asks.

“Yes. Sorry- I just- I’m bad at keeping secrets. I feel like my dumb face gives it away.”

He smiles at this, relief flooding his body. “It’s not dumb. And I’m sorry. Maybe it was a bit selfish of me to have you come… I just- wanted to see you.”

“No, no. I want to be here. I wanted to see you, too.” You sigh, leaning your back against the wall. He takes a step closer to you, expression unreadable – perhaps with something dancing in his eyes you’ve never seen before. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he mocks nonchalance.

“Jungkook,” your hand comes to push lightly at his tummy, “there’s like- everyone out there.”

“Why would they come here?” He takes another step forward.

“I don’t know? Bathroom?”

“There’s a bathroom in the pool house.”

“Oh?”

“Oh,” he says, finally closing the space around you and clashing his lips to yours in a soft, slow kiss.

You whimper against his mouth, not really expecting to be this close to him today. It’s healing, really, to be able to just be with him after having him so tentatively close to you the whole day yet so out of reach. You hear a nearing voice – Namjoon’s it sounds like.

“Jung-”

“Shh,” he tells you, grabbing your hands and walking backwards, opening the door behind him. He closes it, securing the lock.

You look around you – a huge room with blue LED lights illuminating it. A couple of arcade games lining the walls, a pool table and a huge black couch that sits in front of an even bigger TV.

“What is this,” you ask, eyes still scanning the room in awe.

“My playroom,” he states simply, pulling you to him by the hands and closing your lips around his once again.

You realize it, the moment you circle your arms around his neck, fingers getting lost in his dark locks as his hands find your waist, making their descend until they squeeze around your hips. You realize just how bold of a move it was to put the two of you in an empty room. Alone and unsupervised. Not even by the prying eyes of a baby.

Mistake, mistake. But what have we said about those?

He lets out a throaty moan against your mouth as you pull at his hair gently, hissing as your nails soothingly run over the spot. The feeling sends goosebumps down his skin and his hands travel down until they land on your ass. You push into him and he squeezes, hard. You moan when you feel him against your lower belly and marvel at how hard he feels through the thin fabric of his swimsuit. He pulls away some, forehead resting on top of yours as your ragged breaths mix together.

“Fuck,” he pants.

“We can just… kiss a little,” you whisper against his lips.

“Yeah. Yeah,” he ponders. “Slow…”

“Slow.” You repeat and before you can process the lie his lips are back on yours.

He walks forwards, arms around your waist as you walk backwards, letting him guide you towards the couch. His knees hit the back of the cushions and he sits, legs spreading and body melting into the pillows as he looks up at you with hooded eyes. He looks heavenly – red-bitten lips glistening with the trace of yours, ruffly hair and slightly flushed cheeks; the soft tint traveling down his neck all the way to his chest.

“C’mere,” he intwines his fingers with yours, pulling you to him until you’re straddling his lap.

“Hm, feels oddly-” a sigh escapes your lips as his mouth connects to a tender spot at the side of your neck, “familiar- fuck.”

And Jungkook knows he’s a goner. The moment his teeth scrape down the sensitive skin and you whimper and squirm in his hold, hips buckling against his, the way he dreamed of the last time he had you in this position. He knows this is where boundaries come to die.

“These dresses will be the death of me,” he says as his hands snake past the hem, kneading around the soft flesh of your ass.

You rut your hips against his, more firmly this time and you can feel him better now – almost fully hard, long and thick as you drag your clothed cunt over him, tiny little whimpers leaving your lips as your eyes shut at the way you tease your clit with every roll of your hips.

He feels it, too. And he can’t help but get high off of your pleasure, on the way your nails push against the soft flesh at the nape of his neck – the way your mouth parts slightly against his own, your hips picking up pace as he groans, hands on your ass as he aids your rhythm, alternating between rapid movements and deeper slow ones.

He’s fully hard now and he can feel the tension building up in his lower stomach, the way it caves in, making him shudder at the sharp pleasure that shoots through him as his cock throbs inside his pants. He tightens his grip around your hips, pulling upwards and away from him until they’re hovering over his. His head falls backwards, hand coming to run through his hair as he collects himself. “Wait- I’ll cum,” he pants.

“It’s okay,” you assure him.

“No. I want to- can I touch you?”

“Yes, please.”

Your voice is so lenient, so airy it sends Jungkook spiralling right into the very root of his lust.

Fuck slow.

His hands grip at the hem of your dress, bunching the fabric upwards until it rests against your tummy. Your hands replace his, holding onto your dress as his fingers run down the smooth of your legs, coming up to toy with the strings at one side of your bikini bottoms. His eyes divert from your lust filled ones all the way to his fingers as they leave feathery touches on your skin. He sees it then – a small butterfly tattoo that rests on your side, just below your hip at the curve of your ass. He groans, doubting he’s ever seen anything sexier in his life.

“Fuck- what is this, baby?”

The pet name sends your mind down a hazy spiral. “I- I wanted to be able to hide it.”

“It’s so sexy. You’re so sexy.”

He tugs at the string that holds your swimsuit in place, eyes widening slightly as the fabric falls apart on your skin, exposing your pussy to him. Your mouth parts, a silent moan breaking at your throat as his fingers come between your legs, digits rubbing at your clit. They travel downwards for a second before he collects your slick, rubbing it all over your little nub.

“Fuck, you’re so wet. Is this for me, baby?” His question has your eyes snapping open, lazy gaze fixating on him as you nod and moan as his fingers pick up their pace.

“Y-yes. I’ve- been like this all day.” Your confession has him groaning as he brings your face to him, biting at your bottom lip.

“Yeah?” His fingers tease at your entrance, drawing tight circles against it. You nod hastily and when you do, they push all the way in – middle and ring finger sliding right in, hooking inside of you as he finds that spot that has your legs shaking, weak at the feeling as your hips come down to their original position. “Shit- you’re so fucking tight. Your pussy’s so fucking tiny, baby. Swallowing my fingers.”

“Jungkook- m-move, please,” you whimper and he complies, beginning his assault on your snug walls as he drags the long of his fingers in and out of you, hitting that spot repeatedly until he feels you get impossibly tighter around them.

Your moans get louder, sweeter, against his lips as his thumb draws tight circles around your clit. You hold onto him as the tell-tale signs of your orgasm begin to unfold above him. It’s intoxicating, all of you – the way your hips roll against his fingers, pressing on his cock. The way you whimper against his ear before your mouth finds his and you kiss him, deep. The way your thighs close around him, knees weak at your futile attempts to as his strong legs push yours further apart.

“Fuck you’re so beautiful- you gonna cum for me, baby?”

“Yes,” your voice is but a whisper, lips not parting from his. “I’m so- fuck. I’m so close.”

“Let go, baby. I got you.”

You cry out when you feel him press firmly against your g-spot, legs shaking as you cum around his fingers, cunt fluttering restlessly around them, powered by his thumb on your clit, stimulating you from all nerve endings. Jungkook can feel the way you gush all around his hand, not once doubting you’ve made a mess out of his swimsuit, too.

“Oh, fuck,” you say, completely fucked-out as you relax against his body, blissfully coming down from probably the strongest orgasm you’ve had, well, ever.

He brandishes your shoulders with little kisses as he removes his fingers from between your legs, bringing them all the way to his mouth before he sucks on them – eyes closing in pleasure. Before he can open them, your hand is closing around his clothed cock, tight grip as you stroke him. He moans, fingers slipping from his wet mouth.

“You don’t have to,” he says, hand coming to rest on top of yours.

“I want to. Please.”

That damn word coming from your pretty lips will see the end of him. He gives you a faint nod as his hand closes around yours, tightening your grip. But it’s not enough, for either of you. Your hips pull back some, and his body jerks as your bare cunt comes in contact with his balls through the thin material of his swimsuit. You roll your hips, pleased with his reaction. Your fingers hook on the waistband of his shorts and his hips raise slightly as you push them past his hips, just enough to free his cock. You nearly drool at the sight of him – cock springing up and away from the restraints, landing on his pelvis. He’s long and thick, a pretty set of veins running from base to tip where he leaks a tiny pearl of precum, arousal so evident as it twitches and he whimpers. Jungkook is in no position to get cocky, considering how painfully hard he is, but a lazy grin forms at his lips when he sees you gawking at the size of him, trying to wrap your head around it. Your tiny hand travels down his stomach, emitting a groan from him as your fingers wrap around his girth – the tip of your thumb and fingers barely able to meet as your fist closes around his cock.

Your head lowers a bit before your jaw twitches, collecting your build-up saliva before you let a string of spit fall from your mouth all the way to the tip of his cock. Jungkook’s eyes roll at the mere sight, a feral moan leaving his lips.

“Fuck, ___. Yeah- fuck. Just like that.” He praises as your palm closes around his tip, thumb toying with his slit as you collect the precum that builds up at your ministrations.

Your touch is soft but firm, twisting at the upstroke, pace picking up as you feel him pulse around you. You bring your other hand down and close it around his base, gripping tightly as your other hand works his shaft and squeezes at his tip. He begins to lose control under you, fingers pressing on the soft flesh of your thighs and hips thrusting up at the rhythm of your merciless grip around his cock. He doesn’t think he’ll last much longer, especially when you start rutting your pussy mindlessly over his balls that feel heavy at the wake of his impending release.

“Koo,” you’ve never called him that and it does things to him, cock fighting with his heart to see who’ll explode first. “Cum for me, please. I wanna make you feel good,” you plead and it’s that innocence in your voice that threatens to tip him over the edge.

“It feels so good, baby. So fucking good- ffuck. There- don’t stop,” he begs as your thumb presses against his frenulum and your other hand strokes his shaft, tight hold on it as you twist your wrist.

You whine, exceptionally loud and Jungkook’s eyes snap open, met with the sight of your face contorting in pleasure as you bite your lip, your hands on his cock never faltering as the friction of your clit dragging against his balls rips another orgasm out of you. He thinks he’s about to pass out as he feels your pussy flutter as you press down on him.

“F-fuck. Fuck, that’s so hot. You’re gonna make me cum,” his hands fly to your hips, moving them against him even as you squirm in sensitivity.

“Yes, please- cum for me.” You sound delirious and that does it for him.

His head rolls back, leaning against the sofa as a feral groan rips from his chest – throaty and dreamy and you think you can cum again just by the way he sounds and looks as he falls apart under you. Face contorting in pleasure as he pulls his lip in-between his teeth, biting hard as his cock jerks in your hold and he spills all over your hands – so much cum some even lands on his tummy. His abs tense and finally release once he begins to come down.

“Holy fuck,” his voice shakes, hands gently coming down and removing yours from around his cock as he cringes with the over-sensitivity.

“That was…,” you start.

He sighs, tucking a fallen strand of hair behind your ear. “So good.”

You hum in response, face nuzzling against his touch. “I think we should head back. No one is going to believe it was this hard to find a rubber ducky.” You say, looking down at his softening cock.

“Don’t make me laugh just yet, I think I just blacked out.”

You hold back a chuckle, lips gently pressing against his as his hand plays with your hair.

“I’ll go clean up first. I’ll tell them you got a work call or something.”

He only nods, shooting you a lazy smile before you come to a standing position – steps faltering a bit as you regain your balance.

Jungkook’s head is still floating in cloud nine and he lets himself enjoy it for a minute until he can process just how good that was and how it’s about to make slow most likely, probably – impossible.

He walks into the living room, face glued to his phone as he scrolls aimlessly through it.

Yoongi lays on the couch with Soori nuzzled against his side as she suckles on her bottle.

“Hi,” he says when he sees Jungkook.

“Hey, man.” He responds casually.

“You look like you just fucked your nanny,” his voice has its usual monotone ring to it and Jungkook eyes widen at his blunt words.

“Yo. Language.” He scolds, pointing at Soori.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

He sits next to Soori, covering her ears, “I did not fuck ___.”

Yoongi scoffs, diverting his eyes back to the tv. “Really now? Are you gonna hit me with another she just straddled my lap?”

Jungkook stays silent.

Thankful his honesty back then landed him into this white lie so easily.

HI. if u made it this far – i hope u enjoyed!! this was my first time explicitly squeezing my sexy juices out and I ENJOYED THAT A LITTLE TOO MUCH. i never want to leave the countryside. i am, officially, becoming a country girl. i truly hope u enjoyed. let me know what you thought!! i love talking to u guys, but u already know that <333 i’m sending loads of love!!!! xxxxx

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