#jeon jungkook x y/n | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hoseokieswrld · 4 months

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STILL DON’T KNOW MY NAME | JJK (M)

CHAPTER TWO:

Pairing: Jungkook x fem!reader

Summary: In which a video game streamer, Jeon Jungkook, finds- and is intrigued by - an account that writes nsfw fanfiction about him and decides to send them a private message. He still doesn't know your name.

Genre: smut, pwp, internet strangers to lovers

Category: three-shot

Collab with: @dollfaceksj -> her masterlist

WARNINGS: sexting, explicit sexual content, strong language, pornography, cybersex, exchanging in nude photos, hidden identities. mentions of porn, masturbation (male and female), usage of sex toys, saliva (cus i like it messy🤭), mentions of pubes, cum (lots if it hehe), mentions of blow jobs, dirty talk.

total word count: 6.3k. masterlist previous next part

Two days.

Two post-horny days since Jungkook has sent you that dm…that you have yet to reply to. Why did I even send that? Get it together and stop being so fucking horny all them damn time. Jungkook mentally scolds himself. He quickly pushes you out of his mind, remembering he has bigger fish to fry than worry about a dumb Twitter reply.

That day, Jungkook goes to the grocery store, desperately needing to stock up on a few things since he hasn’t eaten a proper meal in almost a week, living off of spicy buldak ramen and doritos. He continues his errands by dropping Bam off at his doggy camp for the week, still needing to be trained a bit more, which also gives Jungkook quiet time to clean his house and edit videos.

Jungkook sits at his desk editing a few videos he took from his last stream to post onto his Twitter and Instagram. Recently, a lot of his followers have been begging him to make a TikTok account, but Jungkook doesn’t see much appeal in that. Maybe in the future, but it's a no for now.

Jungkook finishes his to-do list a little earlier than usual, which gives him time to relax a bit. And by relax, he means starting a live stream for his followers. He gets to his set up, angling the camera at his chair making sure his desk was clean except for a water bottle. He sits down and tweets out he’s going to be streaming in ten minutes. His followers immediately retweet it and all the replies are begging him to play COD again. How could he reject that?

“What's up guys? Missed me?” Jungkook giggles when he sees the chat blow up with non stop comments. Jungkook also may have forgotten to mention he cut his hair.

kookphoric: U CUT UR HAIR???

Jeonjjjjk: omggg ur hair is so short lol

Jungkookieswrld: how do u look so sexy with long and short hair??

“Haha yeah, the hair was a last minute decision. ‘Omg your hair is so short-’ oh c’mon, you guys are being dramatic, it's not even that short! I still have a mullet…sort of. It's just trimmed, but I also got an undercut. Do you guys like it?”

Kookiejjar: its rlly nice!!

elikoo: i like your long hair a lot but this is still cute

Ashln00: idc what ur hair looks like i still wanna fck LOL

“Haha thanks, I guess? Let's start the stream! Been waiting all day to play with-” Jungkook is cut off by the sound of his phone going off. He grabs it, running his hand through his hair, wanting to silence it, when he sees the notification:

[Twitter] _elicticmoonl1ght sent you a message!

Jungkook feels like someone kicked him in the chest, knocking the breath out of him. You reply to his message all of a sudden during the stream? He notices he hasn’t seen your username and comments in the chat at all like you usually are. Jungkook shakes his head remembering he’s still streaming, and he can’t let something unserious and silly like this distract him.

“U-uhm sorry guys, thought someone was calling me. Nevermind that, let's just start the game now.” Jungkook stutters, being a little flustered, subtly putting his phone on do not disturb as he slips on his headset, pushing the thoughts of you out of his mind. Jungkook finally begins playing and interacting with his followers, the thought of you slowly being pushed to the back of his mind. He’ll deal with you later.

It's been 2 hours, and Jungkook is playing his last round for the night before he ends his stream.

“Fucking finally passed this level. I’ve been playing for 2 fucking hours and I just finished this part. You guys are good, but not that good. Just kidding, I’m kidding.” Jungkook laughs while the chat blows up congratulating and laughing with him.

“Thanks for playing with me guys, as always. I’m gonna end the stream now. Love you guys and goodnight!” Jungkook waves and smiles brightly as the comments bid him a goodbye. And with that he ends the streams. Jungkook is happy and laughing, today's stream was especially fun and his followers were so funny.

Mindlessly, Jungkook picks up his phone to check the time and his emails. His smile quickly drops when he sees the notification from you again. Don’t be a pussy, Jungkook. It's just a random person on the internet, damnit. He hesitantly and nervously clicks on the notification, which logs him into his burner account and straight to your dms.

_elicticmoonl1ght:

hiii! sorry i haven't been active here in a few days, got super busy lolll

i haven't opened any dm requests yet but i'm so glad u enjoy my writings!

and maybe you'll just have to find out and see urself baby ;)

Jungkook can feel his cock stir in his pants. Find out and see for himself? And you called him baby? Well shit,. Jungkook wasn’t going to answer you since you hadn’t replied in a while…but he can’t help himself anymore. He’s been anticipating this since he’s found your page.

Ian_97:

You're harsh. How long do you wanna make me wait?

Jungkook slightly cringes sending the message. He isn't the type of guy to chase someone, so it feels weird begging for some attention from someone he doesn’t know. Especially on the internet.

Jungkook sees the three dots pop up, making him a little nervous. Did he scare you off? Do you think he’s a weird pervert now?

_elicticmoonl1ght:

that's not harsh of me. be good and wait a little, yeah?

Be good and wait? Jungkook thinks he might bust on the spot reading that. Usually he isn't the one receiving orders, rather the one giving them. But now, it gives him a tingly feeling in his tummy, that resembles excitement.

Ian_97:

U want me to be good for you? Hmm idk, you took a while to reply.

Just wanted to lyk your stories are good, and i rlly enjoy reading them.

Fanboy much? The last thing he wants you to think is that he’s some lonely loser who dms random girls on Twitter. He’s never done anything like this before. What is he being so weird for? He remembers he’s obviously not talking to the girl in your story, but to a real person- the one who wrote it.

_elicticmoonl1ght:

well thank u!

oh come on, it wasn’t intentional!!

you're the first guy who’s messaged me that's admitted to reading my stories,

i'm shocked ngl

So now you know he’s a guy. To make it more evident, Jungkook may have put “straight male, 26, no minors” in his bio for you to get the hint…just maybe.

Ian_97:

I'm the first guy to dm u like this?

Your stories never fail to entertain me that’s for sure.

_elicticmoonl1ght:

hehe i get a few dms here and there, usually from girls but your account stood out to me more bc ur the first guy i ever seen :0

which is why i accepted ur dm!!

glad ik my stories are reaching a bigger audience LMAO

Ian_97:

I'm glad.

Hope it's not too weird being the first guy to dm you.

But what made you first start writing stories? They’re written really well.

_elicticmoonl1ght:

Definitely not! It's really cool and different to talk about these things with who aren’t women yk?

awe i appreciate that sm ty! :)

it was random tbh, i’d read a bunch of stories online and always thought about writing

but for the past year now i've been watching this streamer and he had me hooked from the start

his tats piercings hair eyes

i guess he was so fine that it persuaded me to write stories LOL

he's my dream man tbh

He’s the reason you started writing? Jungkook couldn’t help but feel a sense of happiness take over him, smiling harder than before. He was able to give you some sort of inspiration to begin writing and it blew up too.

Ian_97:

Of course, I get that.

That's really cool.

Yeah I could see you're a fan of his.

So you go to school? I’m assuming you’re in college correct?

_elicticmoonl1ght:

yea i am! In my last year actually

wbu? :)

Jungkook was guessing you had to be at least 21. Not too bad of an age gap, but you’re still pretty young.

Ian_97:

Nah i dropped out a few years ago, it wasn’t for me.

I got a job instead. Pays good though so I can't complain.

Well that isn’t completely a lie. He did drop out of college and decided to get a job. He was never the school type of guy and had other interests that didn’t involve any schooling. That's how he got into streaming. His free time after work consisted of video games and photography which both together paid well and he quit his job to tend to them more.

_elicticmoonl1ght:

that's rlly nice! school isn't for everyone that’s for sure

glad you found something better than school, i honestly hate it :(

Jungkook can’t help but giggle at your texts. You are cute, sweet at that too. Jungkook swears he’s never blushed this much since he was in middle school.

Ian_97:

So am I, glad I stopped attending.

_elicticmoonl1ght:

i have a question…

you seem older than most of my followers

so how did u find my stories? just curious cus this app is huge

it'd be hard to find it unless u were specifically looking for it :0

What lie is he supposed to pull out of his ass now? He can’t make it obvious he’s the guy she writes and fantasizes about. Yea i found you on Twitter because I was horny and you write hot fanfiction about me so I jerked off to it a couple of times.

Ian_97:

I saw Jk trending on Twitter one day and saw one of your stories under a Jungkook hashtag. It was really random.

I went through your account and got hooked.

The feeling was something new to be honest, never read erotica yk.

Alright, believable enough. Jungkook mentally pats himself on the back for that somewhat believable excuse. It's Twitter, you can practically find anything on that app.

_elicticmoonl1ght:

ooo i see!

hmm got you hooked that fast?

i mean i’d take it as a compliment except majority of what i write is smut….unless

you're saying what i think u are?

Ian_97:

Well i don't think i have to say it for you to get it.

_elicticmoonl1ght:

oh…

so youre saying you’ve gotten off to my stories?

i mean i'm just guessing since you seem like you're enjoying them more than my

other readers…

i promise i dont think it's weird, if anything it's a huge turn on for me ;)

You’re turned on by the fact he reads your stories? It feels like a weight has been lifted off of his shoulders and he can breathe now. For a second, he assumed you’d curse him out, call him a creep, and block him. This was the complete opposite, Jungkook’s heart beats even faster when he gets another notification from you.

[ _elicticmoonl1ght has followed you! ]

Jungkook bites his lip, you finally followed him back after days of no reply. He can’t be more satisfied, but quickly realizes he’s yet to reply to you. He types a message, being bold again, since it seems you have no problem with it.

Ian_97:

Yea i have actually…you caught me.

Your writing is effective. The things you write abt are right up my alley.

Done it a few times before i dmed u.

Jungkook can’t believe he admitted to you that he jerks off to your stories.

The last thing he wants to say is that he’s the guy you fantasize and write about, it’d just be weird. Jungkook thinks of every believable excuse he can come up with that doesn’t sound too out of the ordinary. Nothing truly sounds realistic, so he impulsively types what comes to mind.

Yet you haven’t replied in 20 minutes. Fuck. Jungkook’s nerves always get the best of him. Do you think he is some sort of weird “fan” that you find creepy? Is he too bold or horny? You obviously have a life and are not going to answer him immediately. His heart is racing, beating out of his chest with negative thoughts that plague his mind. That’s until he hears the whistle notification and unlocks his phone without a second thought.

_elicticmoonl1ght:

ah okay i see now, thanks sm! :)

Jungkook smiles, begins to text you back that it's not a big deal and he truly likes your stories. He’s quickly cut off when you double text.

_elicticmoonl1ght:

hmm proof or it didn't happen? ;)

Proof? What do you mean by proof? Are you subtly asking Jungkook for nudes? Or boldly, even? Are you just joking around? He doesn’t even know you, so why would you straight up ask for dick pictures? Jungkook’s obviously not going to send you a picture of his entire cock if you’re joking, that’s just fucking weird. You could really be joking, so he tries to play it off.

Ian_97:

You wanna see how hard my dick is rn, is that what you're asking for?

Or are you just playing around, cause I'm not…

I’m serious when I say your stories turn me on.

Jungkook is nervous…and also a huge overthinker. He tries to play off his horniness by laughing, but it really doesn’t help when you return the energy.

_elicticmoonl1ght:

what if i do wanna see it?

would there be a problem with that?

Ian_97:

Of course not.

I’m thinking about how horny you must be to write stories like that.

You're that needy, huh?

He needs to control himself, make sure he doesn’t go too far too fast. You don’t know him personally so there’s a high chance you won’t take it in a good way.

_elicticmoonl1ght:

well you're also reading them…

sure you're not the horny one? :0

Ian_97:

Hey, I'm not denying that I’m horny.

_elicticmoonl1ght:

wow rlly ? couldn't tell lol

So you’ve got jokes, he can see. He can’t lie, it definitely did make him chuckle, but the tingly feeling comes back, and he can’t ignore it anymore.

Ian_97:

You joke a lot, I think it's cute.

So you’re gonna tell me you're not horny?

_elicticmoonl1ght:

well u haven’t done anything to rlly turn me on

only that you've said u read my stories

u little perv boy >:|

prove it then.

So you guys are actually doing this? The last thing he’d want to do was send an unsolicited dick picture to you. For all he knows you could just be joking with him.

Ian_97:

You wanna see my dick that bad?

_elicticmoonl1ght:

and if i do? would u let me?

;)

Is that even a fucking question? He’d show you it in a heartbeat. He’s not one to send his dick to strangers, but it's not like you know it's him anyway. It is a risk he is willing to take.

Ian_97:

Sure I would.

The question is would you let me show you?

_elicticmoonl1ght:

i literally just told u i wanted to see tho

LMFAO

no but srsly i wouldn't mind seeing how i got u rn ;)

Well, you asked for it, but he doesn’t want to send you his entire cock and balls to you right off the bat, that’d be rushing it. He’d much rather ease into it, not cross any boundaries. So instead of that, he lowers his sweats a bit, his semi leaving a print in his boxers. He nibbles on his bottom lip as he places his large palm over his clothed cock, giving it slow and steady strokes, thinking about how he's dying to have sex with someone- with you.

He opens the camera button in the chat while lying down more onto his bed, angling hips out to give you a peak of his boner. That's when he snaps a few different photos and chooses the most appealing one.

He presses send. And it delivers.

Realizing what he’s just sent you snaps him back into reality. He sits there for the next thirty seconds, tummy full of those tingles he can’t seem to get rid of since talking to you. Opening his phone, looking at the picture he sent you again. All the color drains from his face, his eyes nearly pop out of his head.

A glimpse of his fucking Hello Kitty plushie is in the corner of that picture.

That specific oversized, colorful plushie was gifted to him by one of his viewers which is always in the background of his streams. There's even been a shit ton of tweets just talking about it.

Well the room is dark so maybe you didn’t see it? Jungkook never thought he’d say this, but fingers crossed you’re only looking at his boner.

Jungkook is taken out of his thoughts when he gets a notification. He hesitantly unlocks his phone and presses on your notification.

_elicticmoonl1ght:

oh you're SERIOUS serious

well damn i'm a good ass writer

im messing w u lol

but can’t say i didn't like that tho

what did you read of mine that made u that hard? ;)

Okay, it seems like you haven't noticed the plushie. Jungkook feels like he can finally breathe now. Dammnit, he needs to be more careful next time.

Ian_97:

Well honestly all the ones i read got me hard.

I like the one where she was being a brat and he put her in place.

Maybe one day i'll make it your reality.

Immediately after he sends his text, another notification pops up.

@_elictmoonl1ght sent you a photo!

Jungkook can’t contain his hushed groan.

A picture of your plush tits in a simple black bra, your hand laying over one of your breasts, nails painted a simple baby pink. There you lay on some sort of pink and white sheet, in a room lit by a burnt orange lamp. Jungkook wants nothing more than to bury his face between both of your breasts, licking and sucking all over your skin until it’s littered with hickeys.

_elicticmoonl1ght:

make it a reality you said?

we havent talked for long and u already wanna fuck me?

how needy of u :0

Ian_97:

You also just sent me your tits so I think we’re on the same page don't you think?

_elicticmoonl1ght:

well duh if u just saw my tits ;-;

i’m messing with u hehe

i don't mind actually, just haven't done this in a while lolll

Ian_97:

Me either.

But i’m painfully hard rn.

You have nice rlly nice tits.

They look soft, makes me wanna kiss all over them.

Nice was an understatement. They were beautiful. Jungkook isn’t much of a titty guy, but he’s seriously never seen nicer ones than yours.

_elicticmoonl1ght:

thanks ;P

nice boner

Ian_97:

Thanks, now I’m harder than ever.

_elicticmoonl1ght:

hmm, couldn’t tell much from that one measly pic :(

maybe i can get a better look at it?

Without an ounce of hesitation, he quickly yanks the waistband of his boxers right beneath his tight balls. His hard, warm cock springs to life, free of its restraints. He notices how he hasn’t shaved in a while, dark pubes a little longer than usual, hopefully you don’t mind. He runs the edge of his thumb across the tip of his cock, smearing his accumulated precum, pleading for more stimulation after seeing your beautiful breasts.

Stroking his cock a little firmer, he thinks of your chest, wondering how it would feel if he had his cock buried in between your two plush tits, dragging his cock back and forth in between them. Jungkook prepares to take a picture for you, holding his hard dick in his right hand.

His obvious tattooed hand.

Before he could think twice, he immediately switches hands from the right to left, not a tattoo in sight. That would be a dead giveaway he’s the Jungkook you write about. His tattoos are specifically placed and well known to be his. You’ve also already expressed your love for them, so you’d connect the dots in a second.

Making sure his room is dark and nothing stands out in the background, he snaps a photo of his red, veiny cock, a bit of his pubes in the picture because why not.

You immediately open it.

_elicticmoonl1ght:

holy shit

well someones excited

wish i was there to help >:(

Before he gets the chance to reply, another notification appears in the chat.

@_elictmoonl1ght sent you a video!

Your tits again, but bare. Your breasts look even softer than before, nipples pretty and delicate from how pebbled they are, almost begging to be sucked on. Baby pink nails once again come into view in the five second video, small fingers playing with your hard buds, hair peeking out from behind your dainty neck decorated with a simple gold heart necklace. Jungkook feels like he’s spent an eternity looking at them, admiring you, absentmindedly stroking the tip of his cock.

He hears a faint high-pitched whine, his eyebrows perking up at the sweet sound, before the video quickly cuts short.

Ian_97:

Fuck yes.

Need me to suck on them? So desperate.

_elicticmoonl1ght:

wouldn't say desperate

look at u, all leaking for me :/

Ian_97:

Don’t blame the way my cock’s reacting to you, pretty.

Tits like that deserve to be.

Jungkook thinks of sending a video to you as well.He glances at his erection, twitching on his stomach, laying there all lonely. It's only fair you get a live view of his desperation. His cock only wants some attention after seeing you play with your plush chest like that.

He begins recording himself, giving his cock a few firm, slow strokes. His balls tight and tip gushing his sticky seed, letting a small groan escape his lips. The video is only 6 seconds as he presses send.

He mindlessly plays with his cock as he waits for you to see his short video and to reply with something else, he hopes another sight of your boobs.

He strokes himself with his fingers, not applying too much pressure as he doesn't want to cum so soon. His foreskin moves up and down to the pace of his slow and languid movements.

_elicticmoonl1ght:

aww, cant help but fuck ur hand it seems like :(

ur little whimper is cute, didn’t think i’d have you folded so quick

@_elictmoonl1ght sent you a video!

Jungkook can’t contain the moan that escapes his mouth. Your blue cotton underwear wedged in between your plump pussy, a small but noticeable wet spot stain near your clenching hole. Your painted nails are rubbing your throbbing clit through your underwear, a little stubble of hair can be seen poking through the sides, not that he minds at all.

He makes out tiny moans and whimpers from above, your thighs wide open for him, shaking a little in the ten seconds video.

_elicticmoonl1ght:

don't know if ill be able to take u

you're too big :((

Ian_97:

Oh, is it? How unfortunate. Maybe you should show me it all.

Just need to make sure I can fit all of it in that tight little pussy.

_elicticmoonl1ght:

i think you're right :c

@_elictmoonl1ght sent you a video!

There you sat, legs hiked up to your naked chest, drenched pussy spread into a “v” shape with your index and pointer finger. He can see your small hole clenching once around nothing, asking to be stuffed. You slide only your small middle finger inside of you, faking a cry as if to prove you're really too tight for his cock to fit.

Jungkook watches you in awe, your pussy looks like heaven, warm and wet. Your little cries have him imagining what you’d sound like saying his name, massaging his balls as he watches you attempt to take your little fingers.

Ian_97:

Oh fuck.

You are tight, but you’re drenched.

I could slide right in if I wanted to, huh?

_elicticmoonl1ght:

maybe…

you should let me see exactly how big u are?

for educational purposes obvs :p

Jungkook’s fully hard, veins popping out the underside of his cock, standing tall and almost reaching his belly button. He takes a short video of it, presenting his long, girthy length, twitching involuntarily at the thought of pushing it into your tight hole, forcing it to fit. You can see his happy trail on his toned abs leading to the bush of hair that he doesn’t care to remove.

He spits into the palm of his hand, strokes his dick a few times, as the sound of his sticky saliva being spread fills the room. Already feeling on edge, he stops recording and sends you it.

Ian_97:

Good enough for you?

Do you have any toys, like a dildo maybe?

_elicticmoonl1ght:

more than enough, want it inside me so bad :(

yea i do !

Ian_97:

Perfect.

Gonna fuck yourself with it for me?

Wanna see how well your pussy takes it.

_elicticmoonl1ght:

hmm yea i can

but im alr kinda close i won't last long if i use it :0

Ian_97:

You’re so obedient.

I’m close too.

Want you to cum all over it.

@_elictmoonl1ght sent you a video!

A pink dildo, about six inches in length with veins, slightly curved to reach your sweet spot, is buried inside your swollen pussy. Your knees are still hiked up to your chest giving him the nicest view of your cunt being split open by the artificial penis. The base of the dildo is covered in a ring of your cum, your hands shaking from the immense pleasure it gives you, imaging it’s his thick, hard cock fucking you so well.

It's music to his ears hearing the sound of smacking as you fuck yourself with the toy. He listens to your little pleads and whimpers with attention. He wishes it was his cock instead of that stupid toy. He’d make you feel ten times better. In the middle of the video he sees your cum leaking down to your ass. Your ass. Jungkook wants nothing more than to smack and grab onto it while fucking into you.

In the last 10 seconds of the video, your pink painted toes curl, more of your creamy wetness seeping out of your hole when the knot in your stomach finally snaps. All you can think about in your fucked out headspace is the mysterious stranger online jerking off to you. Your hushed cries and straggled moans is all that escapes your mouth when you’re fucking yourself harder than before. Your orgasm lasts for about six seconds, the video ending shortly after.

_elicticmoonl1ght:

i came so hard

couldn't stop thinking about your big cock and how it’d feel inside me :c

wanna see u cum now

It is almost a reflex that Jungkook starts to record himself fucking into his fist at a fast pace, squeezing it a little more, imagining it to be your sopping wet cunt. He can’t stop thinking about your heavenly moans and whimpers, your thighs and hands shaking from how good you fucked yourself is more than enough to bring Jungkook over the edge. His foreskin moves back and forth with his rough strokes and soon he finally cums.

“A-ah, fuck,” he involuntarily groans out loud, unable to keep quiet as his orgasm takes over.

When his cum spurts out, it dribbles down over his hands and thighs, a little catching onto his pubes. His saliva filled fist isn’t exactly what he wants to be cumming in right now, but it’s still enough to have him over the edge. He strokes his cock until he goes a bit soft, exaggerating it a little for viewing purposes. Once he becomes a little overstimulated he stops recording and sends it to you.

Ian_97:

I came even harder.

Kept thinking about your soaked cunt.

You sent a photo!

He decides to send you a visual of his cum covered hands and thighs, a little caught in his pubic hair you find so attractive of him. His balls are glistening with his spit he used as lubricant, the source to the smacking sounds. You fathom the fact that a random stranger online is so willing to send you something of the sort just because he likes your content, and it strangely turns you on.

_elicticmoonl1ght:

u came so much…messy boy ;P

you were so willing to cum for me and you haven't even seen me yet

kinda hot ngl

‘Messy boy’. That is a new one, not that he’s complaining.

Ian_97:

Haven't came that much in a while.

You haven’t seen me either but were quick to use your dildo.

What a good girl you are.

_elicticmoonl1ght:

then we’re even!!

its kinda late and i should clean myself up

talk to you tmw? :)

A toothy smile takes over, you want to keep talking to him? To be honest, he was expecting this to be a one time thing, that you wouldn’t reach out to him again.

Ian_97:

I should clean myself up too.

Yeah of course.

Goodnight.

_elicticmoonl1ght:

goodnight! <3

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Three months have passed since your first sexting session with Jungkook. The pair of you are still unaware of each other's identities, yet completely infatuated with one another. You’ve even strayed away from sexual topics just to talk about your lives.

Jungkook learns that you started writing fanfiction about him when you first started watching his streams about two years ago, strictly writing about him and only him. This only made his crush on you skyrocket, not being able to stop thinking about the mysterious writer he is utterly obsessed with.

He thinks about you from the moment he wakes up to the second he falls asleep. The attraction and sexual tension between the both of you has been increasing day by day the more you talk to each other.

Though he isn’t a liar, Jungkook has to be super careful of what he says to you. He keeps things sort of vague with you, telling you the truth about some things but never going into detail. He makes sure to keep it general, but normal at the same time. It’s not like he was a catfish…sort of? He’s still too scared to reveal himself, scared you’ll see him dishonest and not want to talk to him anymore. The last thing he wants you to do is for you to ghost him since he’s already developed a huge crush on you that’d be hard to forget. Soon, you’d realize your relationship is about to take a huge turn that takes you by surprise.

On a late Saturday night, Jungkook begins his stream, deciding to play Valorant. He notices the ring light above his monitor is flickering every few seconds, distracting him from continuing his stream.

Soon enough, the ring light dies, the lighting in his gameroom going dim.

“Shit, hold on guys, let me go grab another light so I can keep playing. It'll take a second.” Jungkook runs to his bedroom, mindlessly grabbing the first lamp he sees: the one from his nightstand. ‘It’s gonna do the job for now,’ Jungkook thinks.

What Jungkook didn’t think of is that coincidentally the hot guy you’ve been sexting has the exact same lamp and same schedule as your favorite streamer.

Coming back into view of the camera set up, he places his lamp towards the left side of his monitor, finally giving his audience decently lighting to see him.

“Okay, I’m back. This is all I have right now, please bear with me.” He laughs a little, slipping back on his headset and getting back to his game.

He plays for another hour and half, invested in the game when his phone goes off: a Twitter notification.

@_elictmoonl1ght sent you a photo!

He opens the message hurriedly, completely forgetting the fact he’s still live streaming, cock twitching when he finally takes in the image.

You’re standing in front of your mirror…completely naked. No underwear, no bra, just you.

Jungkook stares at the picture for a few minutes, taking a mental screenshot of you, memorizing every part of your beautiful body to jerk off to later. Your tits are being supported by your underarms, making them look so soft and plush, nipples erect as always. Your pussy is slightly hidden by the way your legs are crossed over each other, but is still visible to him, and a simple heart tattoo on your hip bone that he recognizes oh so well right now.

Your toes are painted a clean white color, finger nails the same. Your face is covered by the edge of the mirror and phone, making him needier than ever. Not knowing your identity yet you still sending him a nude makes him want to take you right in front of your mirror, forcing you to look at yourself while he destroys you. Fuck, you’re sexy.

After thirty seconds of utter disbelief that you’ve just sent him an explicit photo out of nowhere, there's no way he can keep his stream going with a flushed face and a semi-hard cock. He turns off his phone before accidentally flashing his audience.

“Today was really f-fun guys-” he frantically says, clicking out of his game. “H-Hm… I’ll play again with you guys very soon. I promise, something came up I have to tend to. Yeah, so goodnight!”

Ending his stream immediately after he bids goodbye, he grabs his phone and speeds to his bedroom.

Ian_97:

Fuck baby.

Out of nowhere like that? You want my attention that bad?

_elicticmoonl1ght:

thought u were doing something important but..ig you aren't

a little odd if u ask me

Ian_97:

I really was.

Just a coincidence you sent that when I finished.

_elicticmoonl1ght:

no it's okay

jungkook went live at the same time you were gone. funny isn't it?

he also has the same lamp as you! how cute :P

Jungkook's heart drops straight to his ass.

Ian_97:

Really? That’s crazy ngl.

But let’s not forget what you just sent me.

You want my attention don't you, baby?

_elicticmoonl1ght:

hmm maybe

not my fault you weren't paying attention to me, i got bored >:(

kept thinking ab how’d you’d react if i sent you that out of nowhere

i missed u :,(

Jungkook can’t help but find your neediness so cute, so desperate for an ounce of his attention. Maybe you’re just as obsessed with him as he is you.

Ian_97:

Don't be like that baby, I'm here now aren't I?

Well my dick won't stop twitching, can’t stop thinking about that tiny cunt of yours.

I missed you too.

Jungkook unzips and pulls down his bottoms and boxers together, his half hard cock already leaking a little. He can’t seem to get your perfect naked body out of his mind, rubbing his cock and thinking about how wet your pussy probably is, how pebbled your nipples must be. All he wants right now is his cock buried into your sweet pussy, mouth busy sucking on your delicate nipples.

Out of habit, he records himself stroking his cock slowly, tip wet with precum, pubes trimmed a little more than usual. This is so much better than that boring porn he used to watch. He much rather and only can get off to you.

_elicticmoonl1ght:

u shouldn’t have to get off by urself :(

wish it was my mouth making u feel good instead of ur hand

wanna suck u so fucking bad

@_elictmoonl1ght sent you a video!

A ten second video of you with your puckered lips wrapped around the pink silicone dildo, as to which Jungkook expressed his liking of the toy you use when you guys sext.

Your neck and bare tits come into view, drool dripping down your chin and onto them as you suck and deepthroat the fake cock. Lewd noises escape your mouth when you gag around the toy, each time more saliva accumulates as you completely swallow it, pulling it out of your mouth and gasping for air.

Ian_97:

Yeah, baby fuck.

Look at you taking that shit.

Want those pretty lips of yours wrapped around my cock. Gonna make you choke on it.

_elicticmoonl1ght:

want u to fuck my throat pls :(

He spits a glob of saliva into his hand and runs his large palm back and forth over his veiny cock. He’d kill for some head right now, masturbating is getting a little tiring, yet your beautiful body and needy texts are more than enough to get him going.

He slightly but audibly moans, knowing you enjoy the little sounds he makes when he gets off. The video of you sucking on the toy replays in his mind, Jungkook barely able to keep it together. Your lips look too soft, they are meant to be all over his cock.

“Y-yeah, shit.” He spits out, finally cumming over his hand and stomach, a little seeping into his belly button.

Ian_97:

Made me cum so fast.

Should’ve been cumming down your throat.

@_elictmoonl1ght sent you a video!

The dildo once lodged down your throat is now splitting your precious cunt open. Your inner thighs are covered in your wetness and coating the fake cock that is ramming into your pussy. Your delicate fingers are painted a soft baby blue, shaking with each stroke you make, pussy making lewd sounds.

Your thighs close as you reach your high and cum on the cock you wish was the stranger. Jungkook could never get tired of seeing you cum whether it is from your fingers or toys, he truly enjoys seeing you fuck yourself for him.

_elicticmoonl1ght:

hmm wish u were cumming inside my cunt instead

feel so empty now :(

Ian_97:

I do too, so badly.

I’m gonna go clean up and head to sleep though it's pretty late.

Goodnight baby.

_elicticmoonl1ght:

ofc me too!

goodnight jungkook ;)

Jungkook’s heart pluments as he reads your last text. He knows he’s seriously fucked.

-----------------------------------------------------------

a/n: hi guys!! thank you so much for sticking around for the long awaited pt 2. school took an unexpectedly harsh turn and got a million times harder out of nowhere so i had to take a break from writing. thankful i finished finals so im off of school so im gonna also get out pt. 3 asap! thank you again for reading i appreciate it so much. please don’t hesitate to ask me anything and share & reblog besties!!💘💘🫶🏻

TAGLIST:

@dollfaceksj @nini_0777 @ahgasegotarmy116 @jm1003myg @gxtwllsn @babycandy111 @i-like-puppy-mg @screamertannie @kelly-fushiguro345 @jksjx @earth2fae @kissyfacekoo @s3l3n0phil3 @llallaaa @kingofbodyrolls @jkslaugh97 @diorh0seokie @rooonilwaazlib @Rosymermaidsinthesand @taebae19 @honeeybunneey @lesoleile @kookssecret @butterymin @ohsweetmimosa @petalsofink @purp13st4r @hoseoksluv89 @denisaandreea20 @kooact @lpgirl2324 @kouyoumarryme @parking-lotnights @notbotheredtho @bunni-reads-things @Bts-army380 @junecat18 @seokmyballs @honsoolgloss @coralmusicblaze

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babystrcandy · 11 months

Text

the lucky one: series masterlist

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 status: on going notes/warnings: the first chapter is more of a prologue that leads into the rest of the fic, which also means it's the most light-hearted of the chapters. both characters (reader and jungkook) go through a lot, so this fic deals with topics that aren't to be taken lightly. topics discussed would be: alcoholism, suicidal ideation, and mental illness (anxiety, depression), so please tread lightly. please do not read if these topics are triggering. your mental health is important, so please take care of yourselves. <3

masterlist key: s - smut a - angst f - fluff

chapter one: little freak, jezebel - 20.2K (s, a) -> you and jungkook have been forced to be friends since birth. keyword: forced. chapter two: good night, belladonna - 28.1K (s, a) -> after three years of no contact, a career-changing injury, and one chance encounter of the two of you joining the same professional badminton team, jeon jungkook's suddenly your shadow again. chapter three: daisy, give me your answer do - 27.1K (s, a, f) -> the trials and tribulations of agreeing to be jeon jungkook's doubles partner hit you all at once. chapter four: build me up, buttercup - 30.2K (s, a, f) -> atlas wasn’t a god; he was just a man . . . and jeon jungkook could only bear so much. chapter four and a half: interlude - 2.9K (f) -> when jungkook was little, he used to wish on shooting stars that he'd hear a bell when he met his soulmate. chapter five: violet, roses are red, not blue - 27.7K (s, a, f) -> 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. chapter six: good morning, morning glory - coming soon -> like a hook in an eye, jeon jungkook fit into you. maybe he always had.

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le3worl · 4 months

Text

By your side always and forever | jjk

> Banner by me !

PAIRING : jungkook & fem!reader

SUMMARY : When your best friend and brother try to drag you out to a party on a random weekend you suddenly see your boyfriend who died in a car accident a year ago. Are you the only one who can see him.. And why does he still have an effect on you..?

GENRE : smut - dating - ghost boyfriend

CATEGORY : one-shot

WARNINGS : ghost jungkook, explicit content, college party, mention of death, mention of car crash, mention of depression, porn without a plot, nipple play, oral sex (both m & f), cum eating, spanking, crying, scratching, overstimulation, multiple positions, rough yet soft sex, unprotected sex (use that protection) pet names (baby, love) loneliness, minors dnii !!

AUTHORS NOTE : Hello everyone! I don’t know if many people are going to see this but if you are thank you for choosing to read this story! This is the first story I’ve ever attempted to write so please when it comes out feel free to put your honest opinions out there. This story is fake and it’s from my imagination so please don’t take my idea. Please look forward to reading bysaaf and once again thank you!

- le3worl 🩵

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mochilatae · 2 months

Text

Cherry (Jungkook x Reader)

Word Count: 6.86k

Pairing: Jungkook x Y/n (Reader)

Rating: 18+/Mature/Explicit

Warnings: Semi-public/public play, hand jobs, orgasms (his), kissing sucking, biting/nibbling, sexy/dirty talk, flirting, early relationship jitters, gentle teasing/scolding, coaxing/seduction, lightly pushy Jungkook, alcohol consumption.

Genre: PwP, Friends to Lovers/Roommates to Lovers

AUs: Roommate BTS/Roommate Jungkook

Summary: You've had a rough day and you decide to stop at a bar on the way home to unwind. Your roommate meets you there and a bad day turns better from there when he gives you an unexpected first.

Author’s Note: It's been a long time since I wrote about Jungkook, let alone Roommate Jungkook. I missed him so I decided to drum up a little action.

Please ignore any typos and just enjoy.

Thank you for reading. If you liked it and feel like leaving a comment, I'd love to hear! Reblogging is always appreciated but not required.

Tag List: @askkrisachan @kiestrokes

You settled into the booth, sinking into the plush cushion. There was no disputing: it was much nicer to be inside, away from the light rain falling steadily outside. The day hadn’t started that way, but city weather was misleading like that.

10 hours ago your optimism was much higher, especially seeing the golden beauty of the morning sun from the bathroom window. Everything about the day seemed MUCH more promising earlier. From there it proved a slow plod towards disappointment as the cloud cover increased hour by hour.

You should learn to be more practical, the reminder coming as you stared into the depths of your drink, elbows braced on the table. As you chased a cherry bobbing on the surface of the drink with the tip of the straw tucked between your lips your mood dipped.

In spite of the day, you DID have something to look forward to–something that came with the opening of the bar door. Footsteps crossed the threshold and shook off droplets of rain. Hair shook next, followed by shoulders as the voices around you lulled into a brief silence.

There were probably enough people looking at whomever came through the door, but you didn’t. That was the last thing you felt like doing. Your head stayed down just enough, focusing on the reddish hued depths of the glass contents.

The bell over the door chimed faintly when it shut behind the newcomer. Finally you looked up, taking in the figure there.

And his eyes found you right away. The smile came with a flash of teeth. Damp bangs splayed over a blemish free forehead until a backwards flick cleared it all. It was such a quick action but still looked effortless.

Graceful as hell. Familiar, too. Deep down you knew–you expected this. There was something to be said about pretending you didn't, though...

As the man closed the distance, coming your way with a purposeful stride, you straightened in the booth seat with shoulders pressed into the seat back in unconscious preparation.

“I can’t believe we’re actually doing this..” You finally said, even IF your belly was riddled with butterflies. Every one aflutter from the laser focused stare of your roommate.

That word couldn’t contain what he was to you. What he’d become. It was the tip of the iceberg. He’s more than just a body paying the other half of the rent. Very much not like you pictured for yourself even a year ago.

Certainly not when you’d signed that signature line at the end of the too-many paged contract.

Instead of feeling anxiety knitted with dreadful tension seeing Jungkook, you felt warm. Relaxed. Weak and wobbly deep inside. A welcome change you still hadn’t quite gotten used to.

“I can’t believe how good you look.” Jungkook’s grin widened as he stood at the table. His shape did a great job of blocking your view of everything, and all he did was be himself–broad and handsome. If not a little…cocky still.

You’d forgotten how much better Jungkook looked wet. It probably surpassed his visuals dry and donning a fitted pair of jeans. Or like now, in tailored slacks—the newest edition to his wardrobe thanks to a new job in a local office downtown.

Jungkook hadn’t trended towards dressing business casual (or beyond) before, but that’s what a well paying job could do to a stubborn mind. The other side effect was more personal in nature: you, struggling even more to keep eyes off him.

He didn’t complain so much anymore. Apparently messing with your focus and monopolizing your attention proved a fair trade for the agony this new forced fashion for 40 hours of his week.

Jungkook stared down at you, his grin uneven. You couldn’t suss out why he stood there so long. Back to the excitement of telling yourself you'd never be the type to 'pretend' stuff--like stranger meetups.

And yet...

Eventually the silence piled on, bringing your gaze up until you met those beautiful, dark eyes. Black as night at the center, in this modest lighting, but with a sparkle just visible. Jungkook widened his shoulders and shot you a wink.

“Of all the bars in all the city–” He grinned.

You pulled the glass closer, taking another mouthful and almost gagging from the overwhelming alcohol taste dominating everything. The ‘Nightly Special’ section of the menu had been hard to really read, not that you’d sat down with patience or focus. You saw the word cherry. A flavor you liked and it would do but now came the debt: the slow crawl of realization that this was why you’d scaled back drinking to a rare-if-ever type of thing.

Wearing a scowl, you smacked your lips. Jungkook titled his head, brow arched.

“...What’s the poison?”

“A bellini.” You coughed into the back of your hand. “Don’t start. I needed it.”

Not a moment later you motioned to your right side, shifting enough, assuming Jungkook would have plenty of space. He didn’t bother shedding the long overcoat as he took the offer and settled in. Then slid even closer until your sides touched. You surmised that was exactly what he’d wanted based on his unabashed hum of pleasure.

“Seriously.” Jungkook started anew, voice lower and huskier. Hot breath tickled along your jaw as he nosed below that nearer ear. It was a most sensitive spot and one of his favorites since he found out what it did to you.

Points for his earnestness, even buried underneath a blatant desire. Jungkook didn’t hide his feelings. Especially now that you both agreed to pursue a serious relationship.

Gulping, you kept eyes trained on the Exit sign over the door and the red X, now faintly blinking.

“..Y/n.. No bullshit. You DO look good.” He murmured more softly. Silky heat grazed your lobe. His feigned pleading of this case had to be strictly for enjoyment. Anyone here would believe him from the jump. There wasn’t a shred of denial in you either. Your changed dynamic meant no more denial.

A moment later goosebumps rose and ran down your neck in a straight shot, heading for that nipple.

“Good.” You mimicked. Could you sound weaker? Your voice shivered like tree limbs battered by hurricane force wind. Jungkook had to have caught it. This was the kind of thing he lived to achieve.

If it wasn’t facing the entire place, you would be more than happy to free the whine stuck tight in your throat.

The next swallow of liquor went down easier, sending more fumes through your nostrils and right to your brain. This kind of thing happening was a risk, but you also knew it would help you relax.

Jungkook aligned against your side like a second skin helped just as much, if not more.

His touch always felt ‘right’. No one could replicate the way this man meshed with you. It wasn’t like you’d wanted anyone else to try, having become monogamous with Jungkook within the last few months.

No longer just roommates, you’d officially traded status up to lovers. Boyfriend and girlfriend. This relationship thing was nice actually owning the label. You hadn’t appreciated how much effort had gone into suppressing the acceptance or enjoyment.

“Yeah?” You stole a quick glimpse sideways to find Jungkook A LOT closer, and even cuter with his wrinkled nose. He nodded.

“100 percent.” His lids fell, stare unabashedly dreamy.

As you gave in and leaned into his side, Jungkook slid his nearer arm along the back of the booth,then draped it over your shoulders. When he pulled you close, you took a deep breath and had the bonus of another pleasing hint of his clean, fresh scent. Rain kissed, above all else.

“This whole...pretend to be strangers meeting at the bar... It's new to me. Want something to drink?” You asked, the bell over the door ringing when it opened, then closed again. You would be ashamed to admit you had no idea how much time slipped by tucked under Jungkook’s muscular arm.

It was like he’d moved a muscle either, more than happy to keep you close. For his effort, Jungkook was also acting a little too comfortable and touchy for strangers--unless he was just willing to be that bold if you hadn't known each other. He wasn't a very good actor...

“I’m good.” He replied.

A dimly lit pair of bodies passed, heading for the dance floor at the far end of the room. There, on the modest stage, a live band was finishing their setup. You weren’t a big fan of live music, but you knew who was..

..And he was sitting right next to you.

“Is it open mic night?” Jungkook watched the bodies pass, then spoke, words riddled with interest. If it involved a chance to sing or show off in public, he was down. VERY not how you were, but not a deal breaker.

You admired how it seemed Jungkook lacked a single particle of self consciousness in his whole body. He seemed to love putting on a show, especially if you were watching. Now that you understood better, it was a treat to see him showboating. Especially with purer motivations: less jealousy and revenge, more desire and pride driving him to draw your eyes.

It was hard to believe you ever found it unappealing. Those moments seemed like a lifetime ago. And almost…embarrassing if you tracked through them again. Now was much more comfortable and pleasing, so you tried to keep yourself here.

Jungkook loved attention and you loved when he sang. You’d call that a win-win normally, but tonight you weren’t quite in that place. There was a distant tension in your limbs and chest. The type you just wanted gone sooner rather than later.

“Looks like it. Not sure how I missed that. It’s going to get noisy soon. We should go..” You replied.

It was only getting later. With Jungkook to walk you home, skirting the rain outside for the few blocks between here and the apartment didn’t seem so daunting. After all, wasn’t that one of the reasons you’d texted him to meet you here?

Jungkook sighed. “Too bad. Haven’t gotten to sing for you in a while.” Disappointment bent Jungkook’s lips into an adorable pout. You didn’t need to look.

A huff punctuated his disappointment. You couldn’t begrudge him the joy of performing. He was born for it. For now he tempered things with a brief smile.

“Stop..” In spite of his tame reaction you gently prodded his side with one elbow, earning his grunt.

He squeezed your shoulders more firmly. “YOU stop. You know I’m ticklish there.”

“Are you?” You feigned surprise then squirmed when a few fingers wormed towards your armpit with an easy shift of his wrapped arm. You barely twisted out of reach.

“Alright..” You whined. He was just too determined and you weren’t that good tonight. Jungkook, ever relentless and you ever underestimating–a winning combination.

Seconds later he tugged you towards one end of the booth, inching his way out. On the move, he glanced towards the dancefloor. The figures you’d seen walk by were melting together as the first strains of a suave beat started, the guitar joining with a few plucked notes that became a full bodied song. One you hadn’t heard before, but it had your hips shifting faintly.

“Wanna?” Jungkook threw a grin back, along with his head, eyeing you. He was a good dancer. Comfortable in his body AND knew how to control every muscle. To move every bit of himself for maximum effect. The stakes were high: falling into that trap meant you’d overstay and burn through your remaining energy.

“A man of few words.” You teased. “Wanna….what?”

“Dance.” Jungkook’s eyes rolled as he answered wearily.

“My feet hurt.” The first of many excuses, by rote.

Except tonight the idea of swaying with this tight body pressed close, in the balmy dark wasn’t such an off putting suggestion. You already noted that pleasant fullness between the hips that said the ache wasn’t from a long day on your feet, or racing back and forth across the office.

It was more the gnawing hunger for Jungkook. Freeing all your true feelings by agreeing to be together officially made your visceral reactions more potent. And more frequent without the usual hurdles or walls to surpass. Every single twinge of need could flow freely.

A hint of warmth was already blooming in your folds. Jungkook’s eyes left yours and openly perused south, like he could see the thermal differences across your body. Like you were telling on yourself in ways you couldn’t begin to perceive.

“I’m sure they do, but dance with me.” This time his smile was warmer. One palm rested in the small of your back, waiting for the word, to give that subtle pressure. To move you –and things– forward, to his desired destination: that shadowed dancefloor.

“Jungkook–”

“Just one song. I won’t sing, either.” THAT was a big give on his part. You snorted and Jungkook’s stare narrowed. “That’s a big deal. The kind that doesn’t come along very often, Y/n. Let's spin around for a song. One song.”

To pull the shimmering, doe eyed look from his arsenal was unfair. Rotten as hell and sneaky. Instead of maliciousness and deceit, you saw a flash of playfulness in those tawny depths, and further down, a roiling tension building.

Exactly like it was inside you. You grunted and twisted against his hold.

Once Jungkook was out of the booth and upright, he extended a hand again, palm up and waiting. Any reminding will or concern sank into the abyss seeing him towering over you like this. And wearing such a purposefully handsome grin. You knew he reserved that for particularly challenging situations requiring careful negotiation.

“I won’t even take off my coat.”

That added another level of enticement. No coat off meant he’d be a bit too warm and unlikely to want to work up a good sweat here. It was a pretty good guarantee he’d stick to his word and you’d be out the door after.

Your hand slid into his and Jungkook pulled you to your feet. He didn’t check as he backed towards the dancefloor and the music. Jungkook didn’t need to. Luck and grace were on his side.

He was a smooth bastard who never seemed to check where he might be headed–like he always knew. Almost like he was that magical and ‘good’. Every move, clandestine and serendipitous. Born blessed and knowing exactly the hand he was dealt with his latent charm.

“No dirty dancing.” You warned, cheeks rushing with warmth. You fell against his front as he chuckled but it faded into the music overlapping as you stopped at the edge of the dance floor. One arm slid around the small of your back, pulling your hips snug against his down. The thick material of his overcoat was just roughened enough it tickled your suddenly overly sensitive flesh, but you didn’t mind.

You never minded with Jungkook.

He managed a dimpled grin as he replied “I promise.”

--------------------------------------------------------

You couldn't keep your eyes off Jungkook as you both waited at the curb. He looked so good, blissfully unaware with his stare focused on the toes of his dress shoes. Like everything else exposed to the rain, they carried a shine in the street light.

It could be worse, you conceded silently. At least the heaviest rain had passed, leaving a fairly light mist.

The world looked almost plastic, the way the water left a glossy layer over everything that wasn’t moving. Even the streets were slick, black coated in reflected wetness that drew every hint of light and turned it into a pearlescence.

It was beautiful, but a chill was building. Enough to rue leaving your coat at work and falling into the illusion of the bar’s warmth. You were paying for it now.

Jungkook glanced over at you, tucking his phone into his coat pocket. When he scoffed, it left his lips in a curling puff of hot air.

“What?”

“What are you looking at?”

Jungkook looked down again. You did too, noticing the shiny circle of light reflected on the tips of both dress shoes.

“These aren’t too bad looking. …Hurt like hell after 8 plus hours walking around in these things, but they LOOKED good today.”

“Yeah.” You agreed. “Hopefully the rain won’t ruin them.”

“Not like I’m going through puddles.” He sounded disappointed, again. There was such a pureness about it that you couldn’t help a grin. When you snorted, he snorted.

When you stepped closer, Jungkook looked over. His arm moved and he opened that side of the coat, like a big fabric wing. Offering warmth and pure darkness. But most of all–the promise of comfort. Escape from that increasing chill as the build of moisture on your naked skin only heightened awareness.

You ducked into the available space offered with a mumbled ‘Thanks’. His arm came down and he kept you there. Inside his coat it was Jungkook scented heaven: comfortable temperature with pure Jungkook scent bathing the entire space.

Neither of you spoke as you stood, mutually staring out to the street and vague shapes of cars, end to end, on the opposite side of the road. It was impressive that the only empty space was right in front of the bar doors, in the pickup and drop off zone.

Finally you broke the silence.

“How long did you say the Lyft would take?”

Jungkook took that as an excuse to do what he’d just done a second ago: take his phone out and check it. The app was still open on his screen. You couldn’t tell much from his quick peek before he pocketed the phone again.

“15 minutes.”

“Why so long..” You sighed. “It’s not getting warmer.”

“You want my coat? I’m good without it. The dancing warmed me up.” Whether or not he was being nice and lying to alleviate any concern you might have for his comfort in favor of your own, you couldn’t be sure.

It was a quick debate in your mind, then you replied “No..I couldn’t.”

“You just said you were cold–” Jungkook began, confused.

“Not exactly. I just said it wasn’t getting any warmer.”

“Right. Big difference.” Jungkook’s chest rumbled. A car drove by, the tires splashing through a few errant puddles in the road. Water hissed as it jetted away from the rubber rolling through, then the sound faded as the car disappeared into the distance.

“It just feels like that’s a little longer than normal.” You continued.

“It’s approaching peak hours, Y/n.”

You’d forgotten. Around this town, this time of the week and night, it WAS busier for Uber and Lyfts around town. Cabs fared no better, at least at this end of the city. Upon this revelation, you slumped against Jungkook again.

You dare not risk going back into that bar to keep warm. The band was really getting into it and you saw how much Jungkook was enjoying dancing with you. He wasn’t going to be able to control himself if he heard and saw the crowd that had started to filter in when you both slipped away from the dancefloor.

Onto the next concern. “What do we do until they get here, then?”

You only figured out why you weren’t getting an answer when you looked at Jungkook to find his stare on you. Surprisingly heavy and telling–he was…hungry looking. Your brows rose.

“Koo..” You began, adding a poke with one finger into the center of his chest, where it was indecently firm. He didn’t move an inch, except to turn into your prodding, head tilting down. Eyes fixing on your more intently.

“Hmm?” His other arm swung away from his body and he wrapped the other half of his coat around you, enfolding you in the two wide ‘wings’ of his coat’s inner lining. It was even warmer. The sensation was like a warm bath, except for the thrum of a heartbeat in that muscled chest pressing your own.

“What are you doing? You didn’t answer me.”

“I know.” He was silent again and you waited. Finally he continued. “I have an idea of what we could do. Plenty of time..”

Your brows didn’t lower just yet. You stared into Jungkook’s heated gaze, curious and mostly emotionally blank. At this point it was only pure curiosity driving you.

Jungkook’s stare shifted to the side and you followed it. He seemed to be looking towards the darkness between the building and an adjacent one next to it with only a narrow alley between the two brick structures.

“The..alley?” You ventured, earning a nod from him. You laughed this time, hearing how it rang out into the night, unbothered if anyone was around to hear it. You hadn’t seen or heard anyone for quite a while, until the car that drove by minutes before. “You're…kidding, right?”

Jungkook was back to staring in your eyes. Unsmiling, his lips still plump and inviting, especially parting a little to reply.

“Yes. It’s private.”

“It’s outside, in public.”

“It’s dark. No one will see.”

“What—I..”

You took another look at the darkness between the two tall shapes, then blinked and tried to pull back. Jungkook’s arms stayed wrapped. His hands clasped each other, level with the middle of your back. He brought you close again.

“Plenty of time. And it’s dark. Come on. We’ll be quick.” Jungkook’s voice was low. Almost conspiratorial, each syllable rolling off his lips with wisps of steam. To think he was almost burning up, from the inside out, for you?

That was going to end you. Both of you might not make it to the apartment if this kept up.

“Quick?” You whined. While confusion gripped your mind, your body was a different story. It knew the pressure of his fingertips feeling along your skin. Cradling your hips, then bringing you along as he backed away from the curb. You staggered to keep up with each retreating step.

He stopped at the entrance of the alley mouth. Once again Jungkook moved like he was ever sure, never sparing a single glance back to check. Like he’d done heading for the dancefloor.

It seemed far-fetched, but you wondered if Jungkook had done some kind of recon, in all the times you both walked by here, while you talked and he listened. Or appeared to. He hadn’t spoken and that meant he had more than enough time to notice things like this alley. It did something to you deep inside to imagine him thinking about this for that long, waiting for this moment, then finally executing it.

The thin blouse fabric did nothing to combat the chill when Jungkook turned you, then walked your back right into the brick wall. He followed, chest pressing and touched his forehead to yours.

His palms pressed the wall as he let the coat hang, keeping a cocoon of warmth around your body. Underneath the ache, you were grateful, if not a little surprised. Jungkook’s belly rolled into you and your thighs slacked wider, feeling menacingly weak.

“Kiss me, Y/n.” Even though he asked you, he made the move, joining with your lips to create the perfect seal. His tongue slipped past your lips, writhing a little as your hips did the same.

He returned your moan with his own, sending heat over your cheeks with his exhale. Jungkook’s head cocked the other way and he kissed you again, hips grinding a little harder. That firmness over your mound wasn’t apartment keys.

On every level you knew that shape–most especially at your center, the apex of both thighs, where the most heat and the most pulsation was building. You needed what it promised and swore you’d die when Jungkook spiraled himself slower and harder. Although your eyes rolled, you managed to keep them open, barely watching the other building’s exterior wall across the way.

You were trapped but loving it with sensation washing over you. All nerves craved Jungkook. Soaked up his touch. His scent. His sounds. But you found yourself listening for footsteps or tires slicing through the waterlogged potholes out in the street.

The fear of being caught was a good deterrent normally, but tonight the danger clamped you so tight there wasn’t room for sensibility or much thought.

When this kiss broke, your head went back, touching the wall. The scored brick surface scraped along your scalp but you were almost numb to it as he worked down your neck, to the top blouse button.

A single twist of his fingers popped it open and he kissed exposed skin.

Two more buttons came free and kisses spilled down further. He wasn’t neat about it, leaving wet shapes on the skin he found, inch by inch.

Jungkook returned to the front of your neck and you could feel the way he smiled as he spoke to the long line running from the base to just below your chin. Uncharacteristically quiet.

For someone who didn’t care about public stuff as a standard, it was delightfully curious how he was suddenly so interested in vocal discretion. But you knew: this was part of his game—the mental trickery that he employed now and then.

Another thing he’d discovered that you enjoyed far more than you probably should.

Wiggling, your palms braced his chest. Jungkook continued to work on your neck, adding a nibble, tugging skin and kissing after it slipped free. Delight stabbed right into your pussy each time. You loved that Jungkook knew exactly what he was doing.

“Koo..” A shudder rattled your entire body.

Jungkook’s head stayed low as he kissed the shape of a breast through the top. Although it wasn’t skin contact, your nipple responded the same, tightening at the suggestion and memory of wet suction. Just a little ghosted pressure sent tight heat through your folds.

“Hmm?” His kisses came back up the other side of your neck and stopped under your jaw. Damp strands of his hair stuck against your skin, the lingering scent of his shampoo rising to your senses.

“What is it, baby? Don’t like it?” When he wanted to, Jungkook could tease even better with words than fingers or lips.

“You know I do..” You grunted. “You’re…serious about this?”

Jungkook nodded. Several of his fingers curled against the dark brick bracing your back. Unlike you, his face showed no sign that he minded the cold or discomfort of brick.

Red bits crumbled under his dragging nails, tumbling down the wall when one hand clenched to a decent sized fist.

“Touch me, Y/n. Just for a little bit. Let’s have some fun… Keep warm.” His nose slipped by your cheek again as he hummed

You whined, but your hand moved on its own, slipping down from his chest. Fingers brushed the button at his waist. When they tugged, Jungkook’s hips chased, rutting into you. The button popped open easily enough. You shoved that hand down into the hot darkness, palm shamelessly full of Jungkook’s girthy, hard cock.

Jungkook’s head lolled backwards and the fingers on his other hand trembled, then splayed flatter. It was like he was trying to hold onto the wall AND sanity for dear life. That thrilled you enough to loosen a mewl.

“Like this?” You gasped, burying your face against his neck. The tight lines of muscle shifted as he nodded but otherwise stayed as still as he could. Occasionally his pelvis ticked into your touch.

Another growl exploded after a moment, when the base of your palm brushed against the underside of his tip.

“Y/n..” He hissed. Hot breath wafted across your scalp as Jungkook tucked nose and lips onto the dampened chaos there.

“Fuck..feels so good.. Please.” The building earnesty at the end of his statement made you weak.

You groped. It wasn’t long, standing there against the wall, that the tide turned inside you. Chill melted away and a roaring heat took over, passing over every inch of your skin.

Your fingers circled the thick center of that cock that belonged to you–as far as you were concerned.

And Jungkook seemed to share that sentiment, kissing your part with a low moan. More hip rolls pushed him firmer into the cradle of your palm. The you from hours ago would never believe your future self if you’d try to warn that you’d be here. Doing this. In the alley outside a favorite local spot.

Soon it was slippery as the precum seeping from Jungkook’s tip slid along your wrist with each stroke. He pushed particularly hard every few pumps. Everything was frictionless and gooey, and you didn’t want to stop, but your mouth watered at the desire to pull your palm out and give a long lick to taste.

You found your own belly tight and your thighs shook as you finally gave in and moaned in response. Jungkook’s profile turned and he moved down, letting his mouth rest at the shell of your ear.

Still, his hips undulated against you. Every nudge had your pussy aching more and more.

“God I want you..”

Your blood boiled. Whatever was building inside was about to spill over. Either from your lips or your pussy–it was a neck and neck race. Words were bottle necked behind your clamped lips and slick the same when you hitched a knee and brought that calf around the back of Jungkook’s thigh.

His chest rumbled with a laugh. It creaked at the end, with another low growl. He drew your earlobe between his lips and nibbled, then sucked. Your eyes went heavy. You clamped around nothing, dying at how empty you felt, even if your hand was overflowing with pulsing, silky flesh.

Even the sound of laughter somewhere beyond the mouth of the alley didn’t register much now. It was just you, panting into the balmy blackness of Jungkook’s coat lining. Sucking in his scent, mouthfuls at a time, and whining every time he fucked your tightening grip.

The way his cock slid through your grasp, you knew it’d sound so wet if you were back at the apartment, with him splayed on the bed, tongues twisting along each other and moans rising in the dimly lit space.

You could almost recall the faint creak of the bed–no doubt it’d happen with every body roll. Jungkook’s fantastic ass leaving the bed as he fucked up into your hand. Or maybe your mouth, head kicked back and arms splayed wide, fisting pillows or sheets, bare chested, nipples glossy from your lips.

Your own tingling between his fingers as he tugged. Groaned. Begged for a breast over his mouth so he could eat you alive.

But the reality brought you back as a car sped by, tires hissing as they rolled through puddles just across the way. You didn’t look up, unphased.

“Y/n..” Jungkook gasped, then drew in a breath, holding it. His chest puffed against yours. Your head came up.

“Hmm?” You could barely open your eyes, mound burning with an unholy ache. You swore the tip of your finger was on that large vein running straight up the underside of his cock. And it was full of blood, keeping that organ primed for whatever else it might need to fuck.

“I’m close, baby..” He grinned, the shine from the nearby street lights flashing across his teeth.

You nodded, then raised your chin. “Kiss me..” Your turn to demand. Wasn’t Jungkook always telling you he liked it when you were a little greedy and demanding? He wasn’t shy in telling you how he felt you could do that kind of thing a little more.

The plump, sweet lines of Jungkook’s mouth connected to yours as he dropped his head down again, aligning his face perfectly to yours. As you kissed again, even deeper than before, your hand sped up, squeezing him tighter. Almost strangling his shaft. He whimpered and gave a few hard pumps. Suddenly he was shaking.

He broke the kiss quickly. The energy was right there at the crest, filling him to the brim–even the ends of his bangs shivering.

You loved that his eyes were screwed shut so tight. Whatever height he was at, the fall was going to be glorious. You recognized it from all those times he’d been inside you, ready to blow.

Jungkook’s tongue lashed across his lips, then they fell open wider. His throat flexed as it forced out another whine–higher pitched. Desperate.

“Don’t stop..” You hadn’t planned to, laying the side of your face against his chest. Inside the galloping thud of his heart was so big. So alive. Like a wild stallion racing across the plain.

One thing about him: that wild, untamed way about this man was something you hoped he held onto forever. Even if you’d domesticated him just enough to keep him by your side.

Jungkook’s hips jerked a handful of times. Your name slipped from his lips in a confused sigh, then warmth wetness spurted along your forearm and ran down. Along your palm and fingers. Down along his shaft.

By the time it was over, there was no denying: there’d be an amazing, undeniable wet spot at the front of his pants.

And so be it–he’d done it enough times to YOU. Basically he was owed this, if you looked at it the right way.

Jungkook’s tight body relaxed against you, pinning your hand between his groin and yours. For a moment it didn’t really matter.

When a few droplets splashed onto the top of your head, bringing a stark coldness, your eyes fluttered open. You shrugged a little against Jungkook and finally his head came back up. He was staring into your eyes, but you could see he was long gone for the moment.

“You’re a bad girl..” A lopsided, fucked out grin painted his face.

Your brows lowered and you scoffed. If you’d been stronger you’d have pushed him back a little and swatted that chest. Wake him from his dopey state for that little dig. Instead you snorted, head tilting carefully to the side. It was enough effort to ignore the roughness of the brick wall rumpling your hair.

You arched a brow.

“You like bad girls. At least that’s what I heard..”

Jungkook tucked a kiss just under the apple of your cheek, then he leaned away enough to push his hand down and lay it over yours. Fingers laced with each coated digit as if he didn’t care at all. That was hot in a whole different way–enough to remind you how unsatiated you still felt.

He brought your hand back out and barely glanced before letting it fall, then he backed up a few steps, into a slice of headlight sweeping across the alley mouth as another car passed by. He also didn’t seem to care about that.

With a flippant toss of his bangs, Jungkook grinned again.

That couldn’t just be the rain shining all over his face and neck. There wasn’t anyone in the world who looked so good roughed up by a quickie–nevermind the nagging specifics of what KIND of quickie it could be.

Jungkook tugged the zipper back up in a quick motion, then redid the button.

You leaned upright, stepping away from the wall too. Just by the way your hair fell, you knew it was a good mess, but kept yourself from feeling and ‘fixing’. Instead you watch Jungkook. And he looked you in the eyes now, tugging his coat back evenly over both shoulders and smoothing the lapels.

“Our ride should be here..” To be so casual–if it wasn’t for the cheshire smile you’d have kicked his shin. Or grabbed a half brick laying nearby and lobbed it hard for the space between his perfect brows.

But there wasn’t shame from having done this with him. Instead, when Jungkook pulled you close, it was another rush of arousal. Unquenched desire. Gnawing pain that centered right between your thighs.

Jungkook’s open palm slid across your mound and a pleased thrum bubbled up.

“You’re so warm, Y/n. I like how daring you are. Is that my influence or have you just been sitting on this and saving it for when we agreed to get serious?”

“Koo–” You began, groping for his wrist. You held so hard he stopped completely for a moment. Even though he glowered down here in the alley, you knew it wasn’t anger or annoyance. It was the same arousal you felt. No doubt in your mind.

“Y/n.” He parroted your scolding tone, wearing the hottest smirk you’d ever seen from him. And that was saying A LOT. He’d managed MANY hot smirks in the time you’d known him.

Your grip pulsed and your eyes softened. “What about me?” You tugged faintly, lower lip jutting a little.

“Mmmnn… I’ll take care of you when we get home. I promise. That you did this…Y/n I can’t tell you what it does to me.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m done. A couple minutes until the Lyft gets here. Won’t be a long drive home. That’s enough time to get my second wind.”

“I can. It’s all over my wrist and hand.” You chuckled, nodding down at your tacky palm, then tucking it along your side.

Jungkook snickered.

“You know we COULD walk and save the money. Someone told me it’s peak hours.”

“Right, but then we’d lose the time off our feet. Time that I have plans on occupying.”

“In the Lyft?”

His scandalousness knew no bounds. But you also knew he had limits.

“Thank god..” You sighed, eyes rolling. “I was starting to worry..”

Jungkook shrugged, behind a cheeky smirk. “Not what we did here.”

After looking you over, then himself, Jungkook turned. Using your grip on him, he pulled you along to the alley mouth and paused to lean out. He glanced left then right, and you did the same from over one shoulder. It felt like the safest place–just in case.

It was insane to worry that you’d come out to an audience and applause. Or even giggling questions and a cop with a ticket book, ready to give you a public indecency ticket. All the same, relief had you a little light headed.

Common sense and anxiety were back as expected, along with the creeping cold. Now the sweat on your skin was working against you–with the help of the still dropping evening temperature.

“Jungkook.. You can’t do that kind of thing in a Lyft.”

“Maybe a little heavy petting…” Jungkook finished his thought. Your bug eyed star met his back as he stepped out completely. You followed, keeping up decently.

You hadn’t actually had sex but it was impressive how he made your legs feel like rubber. That didn’t bode well for what your condition would be back at the apartment, in a few hours. Or tomorrow morning.

“Why not?” He eyed you over one shoulder as you stopped at the curb, not quite where you’d both waited before. This time his skin was faintly steaming and it was downright magical. Along with his rakish smile, Jungkook made the moment feel like a fever sex dream that was about to get VERY good.

“I can’t believe—” You started to wind up until Jungkook brought your hand to his mouth and his lips pressed one knuckle.

“I wasn’t being serious, Y/n. I know better. But you’re in trouble when we get through that door.”

“Am I?”

“Mmmmnnn.” He kissed your middle knuckle firmer, then popped off and circled it with his tongue. You gulped and cursed softly. His stare hadn’t wavered the whole time he’d done those actions, with the very same intensity as if he was on top of you, pushing you towards an explosive high while you rapidly lost control of every limb.

You let your swoon turn into a list right into his side. Jungkook’s arm wrapped around your middle. He finally turned his focus towards the far end of the street, from where you’d expect the Lyft to be arriving. In the distance a car turned onto the road and headlights slowly made their way closer. A chime emanated from Jungkook’s coat pocket, but he didn’t move. Instead he smiled.

“There..We’re in business now. Start the clock, Y/n.” He said, as you stepped in front of him when the car coasted to a stop right in front of where you stood. Jungkook leaned around you and opened the door for you to climb in.

He followed quickly after and settled in, shutting the door. No sooner had he done that, then his palm found your thigh and rested on top. He was watching the driver and offered a muted smile, then a nod. The guy traded a few words, then turned back.

Jungkook’s eyes were fixed ahead, watching the driver. His palm climbed your thigh just a little. Something told you it wouldn’t be stopping there. You grabbed his wrist again, but not to stop him. Just like he’d done, you held on for the ride.

No matter where you went with him, the call of the bedroom would eventually come. Funny how it always sounded like Jungkook.

He spoke quietly, lips curling with a smile. Even so there was no way you didn’t hear it. You FELT it, with every syllable clawing at your center. Between sweat and remnant rain drops, you’d never be dry.

“Let’s go.”

#jjk x reader #jjk smut #roommate jjk #roommate BTS: jungkook #jungkook x you #Jungkook x y/n #Jungkook x yn #you and Jungkook #Jungkook x reader #jjk is your boyriend #reader x jjk #reader x jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook x you #jeon Jungkook x y/n #jeon jungkook x yn

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bangtanintotheroom · 9 months

Text

6:42 AM (M)

Every hour, every minute, every second You know night after night I'll be fuckin' you right Seven days a week

• Pairing: Jungkook x (F)Reader

• Genre: Non-Idol!AU, Fluff, Smut, Established Relationship

• Rating: 18+

• Words: 1,973

• Summary: Jungkook is ready to kick off a new day of loving you.

• Warnings/themes: JK and Y/N are horny but in love 🥰, mentions of sex all over the house, mentions of oral (f. receiving), lots of kisses 🥺, fingering, hitting it from the side, unprotected sex, c*ckwarming

• Song Inspo: Seven - Jung Kook (Spotify | Soundcloud)

• Notes: As much as I loved Seven, I didn’t plan to write anything related to it until I got the sudden urge this past weekend. I’m in a fluffy mood lately and it clearly shows in this fic 😳 If anyone can guess what anime I’m talking about, I’ll give you a platter of cookies because wow, was it a passing line 😂🍪

• Notes (2): Thank you to my lovely Sunclair @minisugakoobies for reading over this for me! ☀️💖

• Taglist: @jimilter @joontied @minisugakoobies @minttangerines @sugalaritae @crisle19 @codeinebelle @kookprada @saweetspoiled @effielumiere @m1sss1mp

When Jungkook opened his eyes, the only thing he could see was the tangled mess that was your hair. Blinking to clear the sleep out, he pulled his head back to get a better survey of the bedroom. It wasn’t as dark as the last time he’d had his eyes open, but not bright enough to make out every feature.

Shifting his body enough that he wouldn’t wake you, he glanced at the clock on the nightstand.

6:42 AM.

Normally, Jungkook would grumble before rolling over and burrowing himself deeper into the Downy-scented covers. Why the hell would he get up at this time if he didn’t have anywhere to go?

But today?

His pierced lips curled with eagerness.

Today, he had a mission to complete. The earlier, the better.

Resting his body completely now, he watched your profile as you still ventured in dreamland, lips parted as you let out soft breaths. You always lamented the fact that you tended to drool in your sleep, but Jungkook wouldn’t let you finish before telling you that he thought you were the most beautiful thing in the world, drool on your face or not.

Even as he admired you, he felt his heart picking up in rate and a stirring in his groin.

It didn’t help that your bare body was pressed against every inch of his under the comforter, legs tangled in the mutual desire to be as close to each other as possible as you fell asleep last night.

He could visualize every inch on the fly. Every scar, mole, stretch mark.

Then again, if he didn’t by now, he’d be disappointed in himself. Spending the last few days inside of you in some way or another was guaranteed to sharpen his memory.

Jungkook licked his lips as he reminisced on what the two of you had been up to. You both agreed to take vacation around the same time, planning to go somewhere to relax. But when it came closer, no one had any suggestions nor the energy to travel. It was a mutual decision to remain home and just take it easy.

Although, take it easy was far from what was happening.

On Saturday night, the two of you shared a bottle of wine and somehow, some way, the conversation ended up on sex. It wasn’t the topic itself that was unexpected, but how it deviated that made Jungkook hold back a giggle just now.

You had questioned whether it was possible to have sex for a week straight, thanks to a passing line in an old anime you revisited. Your boyfriend humored your sudden query, entering into a conversation that should not have lasted almost an hour. But you had opened up a box that neither of you wanted to close.

By the time the bottle was on its last drop, you and Jungkook decided to test this theory out, starting on Monday. Sunday was designated as laundry day and neither of you planned to shake up the tradition.

As soon as the two of you woke up Monday morning, your boyfriend was grabbing at your half-asleep form. You had called him an ‘insatiably horny monster,’ but he was quick to defend his desires as he worked at your clothes. He just had so much love to give you. It made you give a laugh that swiftly morphed into a gasp as a tattooed hand dove between your legs.

And then the rest was history.

Sex wasn’t delegated to the bed only.

Jungkook would make love to you on the couch.

Jungkook would fuck you while you were bent over the kitchen counter.

Jungkook would hold you up against the wall if he was feeling adventurous (although you freaked out when you felt him nearly drop you a couple of times).

Jungkook would even have you ride him as he sat on the bench in the shower, the water making every inch of your bare skin glisten like diamonds.

No area in the house was off-limits.

While he was reminiscing on the last few days, you were beginning to wake up. Opening your eyes a mite, you could tell it was earlier than expected. You figured that Jungkook was still asleep as well, but when you turned your head, you were greeted with dark, loving eyes. A sight that never failed to bring a smile to your lips.

“Good morning.”

“G’morning, babe.”

He was quick to place a peck on your slightly chapped lips, lingering for a moment before pulling away.

“Slept well?”

“Mhm. You?”

A bunny-like grin sprung up on his handsome face.

“Of course.”

A giggle left you at his answer. He didn’t stay with the world of the living for long after laying down in bed; the much-needed shower the two of you had taken before sapped the last bit of energy he had. This was pretty much what had been happening since Monday night.

But judging by the way his hands began roaming your body, he was wide awake now.

Someone didn’t want to waste time today, huh?

“Kookie…”

“Yeah?”

You bit back a smile as you felt his fingertips dancing under the curve of your breast.

“What are you doing?”

Jungkook kept them moving as he leaned in next to your ear, sleep still lingering in his voice as he whispered, “Starting our day off right.”

Your hunch was correct as he started decorating your neck and shoulder with kisses, each press kicking off sparks underneath your skin.

“What about breakfast?”

Another kiss.

“I ate last night.”

You hummed, both at the feel of his lips and his reply.

“Pussy doesn’t count as actual food, baby.”

Now a light dig of teeth into your skin.

“It does to me.”

You weren’t surprised at his insistence; once his mind was set on having sex, there was little that could sway him off the path.

It was a new day, also…

Making your decision, you shifted your body to press back against your boyfriend, feeling his cock twitch from the movement. You slowly wiggled your hips, making deliberate grinds with your ass on him. The act earned a quiet groan from Jungkook, the arm underneath your body tightening its hold while his hands slid up to cup your breasts, fingers greeted by your stiff nipples.

He immediately began teasing them, savoring the breathy sighs you made as you kept rubbing back on him. Every second that passed ended up with the warmth between your legs increasing because of his touch. You could feel him getting harder and harder, starting to hear him make sounds of his own as well. Your lover must have been running out of patience as one hand began trailing down your body, its intended destination clear.

You were about to roll onto your back to give Jungkook easier access until you felt that same hand take a hold of your hip. He eased your confusion by saying softly, “Stay like that.”

Relaxing into the mattress again, you were bombarded with kisses and bites to your neck once more, the sensations of that and the fingers on your nipple combining into something wonderful. Wonderful enough that you were caught off-guard when you felt the other set of digits beginning to explore a more intimate part.

Jungkook knew your body like the back of his hand. Knew what areas made you keen or tremble with need. How to get you so worked up that you would be begging for him to fuck you silly. He tended to like bringing you to that point.

Yes, it was a bit selfish on his part, but he couldn’t help but admire the faces and sounds you would make in such a vulnerable state. It made him feel good that you granted him the privilege to witness that sight and also be the one to fix the problem.

As of now, said problem was a result of you rolling your hips down on his hand as two of his fingers took their sweet time massaging and stretching your inner walls. The side of his thumb would brush against your clit, but it just wasn’t enough pressure.

“Jungkook—”

Pausing his movements at the frenzied way you said his name, Jungkook realized that he wasn’t feeling very patient himself this morning. He was quick to slip out of you with a light squelch before taking your leg to rest it on top of his muscular thigh. Taking a hold of his stiff cock, he lined himself up with your entrance and slid into his rightful place with little resistance.

The sounds of satisfaction the two of you made melded and joined the early morning air in the room, quickly followed by the occasional smack of your bodies against each other. Every loving whisper he’d utter into your ear would be returned with words of your own, ranging from praise to pleas for him to not stop.

A useless request, honestly. He would never stop. Not when you felt this amazing.

At some point amidst the fog of pleasure shrouding your brain, you realized that the two of you hadn’t kissed since waking up. Wanting to fix that immediately, you turned your head back, almost enough to pull a muscle in your neck. You husked your request, your boyfriend jumping on it with lightning speed.

The angle made it a little uncomfortable, but you couldn’t care at the moment. Not when he was filling you up and loving you so well.

Just as you felt a jumble of knots deep in your belly, Jungkook’s movements became less fluid and moderate, bringing more speed and power into it. He was just as close as you were. But you didn’t even have to ask him to help you with hitting that high point. As soon as you opened your mouth, his hand went straight to working over the bundle of nerves above where you two were joined.

His actions caused the heat in the bedroom to rise higher and higher until it became unbearable. Just when you felt like you were at your limit, shock-waves slammed into your body. They rolled through you and towards Jungkook as well, announced by the desperate groan he gave as he buried himself and painted your throbbing walls.

Neither of you wanted this beautiful moment to end.

But alas, the pulsations slowed down, leaving your sweat-soaked bodies to assimilate to calm again. You could barely register the warm palm rubbing your waist gently, only able to fully focus when you felt a kiss to your cheek. Your head turned back again, ignoring the slight twinging ache in your neck, to take in your boyfriend’s flushed and damp face.

Jungkook was quick to give you one of his winning smiles, chocolate brown eyes damn near sparkling. Now that the room was brighter, you could see more of the little details you loved. Taking everything only made your still pounding heart skip.

A swell of emotions inside made your voice express them openly, watching the corners of his eyes crinkle at the three words you often told him. He repeated them back to you, followed by a long and languid kiss. The two of you stayed like that for a while, him still nestled in your warmth while words continued to be traded, the sun rising further and further in the sky to illuminate the bedroom fully.

At some point, you remembered that it was Friday. Which meant there were still two more days of you and Jungkook indulging in each other’s bodies.

You couldn’t think of a better way to spend your vacation.

©bangtanintotheroom, 2023. Crossposted to AO3. Do not repost to other sites or copy without permission.

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sunnebeam · 2 months

Text

in the heart of the jungle.

A 'CITY OF LIGHTS' DRABBLE.

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

warnings: smut (18+), gangster squad au, mentions of mafia shit, flashbacks, domesticity, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), a happy ending yall :'>

masterlist + disclaimers.

note: i'm alive, friends!!!! 😭 sorry it took so long to post this but things have been hectic irl. i'll make a separate post about it but anyways here's the finale!! i can't believe this is the final drabble 😭 thank u guys for sticking around. hope u enjoyed this cute lil drabble series & don't forget feedback is highly appreciated <3

— previous – ain't no god on my streets.

"Looking for this?"

You look up to see an extremely attractive man holding up your bracelet. You don't remember taking it off.

"Thanks," you say, taking it from him, thinking you must've accidentally lost it earlier when you and Taehyung first arrived at the restaurant.

"Sure," he responds and you're about to head back to your boyfriend's table when the man decides to introduce himself. "I'm Jungkook, by the way."

You tell him your name but you don't leave it at that, intrigue making you want to see where your conversation goes.

"Say, Jungkook, I bet you got a good story behind that handsome smile of yours."

"Yeah, sure, I got some stories," he says, smiling smugly. "Let's see, I almost got kicked off a plane once. Slept with one of the flight attendants in the restroom but turns out she was the pilot's girlfriend."

He turns to you. "Are you weak in the knees yet?"

"Sure I am," you hum, staring at his silver watch and silver hoop earrings. "What's your racket, handsome?"

"Me?" He shrugs. "Well, I'm actually a Bible salesman."

He's so full of shit. But, he's hot.

"A Bible salesman, huh," you huff. "So you wanna take me away from all of this," you gesture to the fancy restaurant and the posh customers, "and make an honest woman out of me?"

He shakes his head.

"No, doll. I was just hoping to take you to bed."

You wake up with a start, the charms on your bracelet – the very same bracelet from your dream – digging into your wrist as you're clenching your fist with more strength than usual.

The reason? No other than the man behind you.

"Good," he says, his breath tickling your ear as he spoons you, "you're finally awake."

It takes you a heartbeat to fully register why you woke up but then you feel fingers moving in and out of you at such a pleasurable pace.

Three fingers, to be specific. And tattooed ones, at that.

"J-Jungkook?" you stutter, mind half asleep and half focused on the sensation.

"You're so wet, doll," he says, groaning when you clench around his fingers. "Fuck!"

You reach behind you, fully awake now, and grab a hold of his hard member. You pump it a few times before he finally gets the message.

"Lift your leg up," he orders, fingers pulling out of you. "Higher, doll– Yeah, that's it. Good girl."

You feel more juices dribble out of you with the praise and Jungkook takes full advantage of this, smearing them all over his painfully hard dick. You whine when he purposely nudges your clit with the head.

Finally, he pushes in.

You both moan, the feeling of being connected already so familiar yet it never fails to amaze the both of you everytime. You don't move yet, savoring the warm feeling for a few more seconds before you finally get impatient.

"Jungkook, please," you plead when you feel him twitch inside you.

Your lover complies without second thoughts, thrusting in and out of your pussy, languidly at first but then slowly picking up the pace.

You moan loudly, reaching behind you to place your hands behind his head and gently pull his hair. He grunts appreciatively before his hand reaches down your front and plays with your clit for you.

His thrusts become faster, his cock slipping out of you in between sloppy thrusts but he manages to put it back in before you could even cry in protest.

It's messy, sloppy, desperate, passionate.

It doesn't take long before you're creaming around him, pussy walls contracting to milk his orgasm out of him. He follows right after, painting your insides white and giving you all he's got.

You're both spent, panting, but he doesn't pull out right away, knowing you like it like this. Instead, he kisses your temple tenderly and hugging you close, knowing you like the closeness.

"I love you," he whispers freely.

"I love you, too," you respond just as freely, the days of hiding your love far behind you.

He grins before looking at the clock. "We're gonna be late."

You pout, making it hard for him to resist you when you ask, "a couple more minutes, please?"

It was all too easy for Jungkook to agree with your request. But in hindsight, the two of you should've known better because now, you're getting ready in a hurry, having lost track of time.

Your lover watches you as you're rummaging through your drawers looking for your bracelet, and it reminds of him of the very first night you met.

He remembers trying to charm you, but he most especially remembers you seeing right through his act. He remembers thinking you were way too good for him, so he kept telling himself it was all for the case and you were just a means to crack it.

But most of all, he remembers all that has happened in between, and he couldn't be any happier that this thing with you worked out in the end.

Jungkook shakes out of his daydream to hear you calling for him.

"Looking for this?" he asks you, smirking.

You turn to see him holding your bracelet in a pleasant sense of deja vu.

"As a matter of fact, I am," you respond, grinning and walking towards him. When you come nearer, he takes your hand and clasps the bracelet securely around your wrist for you before kissing your palm.

"Are you ready?" he asks you.

You nod, grabbing onto his arm as you leave your shared apartment to meet with the rest of his former crew for dinner.

It's been seven months since that fateful day. They managed to bring Taehyung behind bars with all the evidence they accumulated after months of investigating, but it was your detailed testimony that kept him locked and away. Geunsoo was honored in a tribute and was laid to rest. Finally, Taehyung's case and reign over the undercity finally came to an end.

Your testimony definitely helped with your involvement in the case and the accusations against you, but Jungkook and the guys also fought like hell for your innocence. In the end, it all worked out and you were finally free.

Free to live, free to love, and free to be with Jungkook.

Now, as you sit in the car with him on the driver's seat, you stare out the window and at the city lights.

The city is always beautiful any time of the day but for you, it's much more of a marvel at night. And as you stare at the blinking city lights before you, you think that things will finally be alright.

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dollfacerecs · 7 months

Text

— jeon ⋆ jung ⋆ kook

jjk fic recommendation list by clover. 🍀 ↓

♡ = smut ; ♤ = angst ; ♧ = fluff ; ♕ = favorite

main list

♢ mutual help ; ♡, ♤, ♧, ♕ || series — by @personasintro

⇝ fwb, fakedating, slowburn // lmao. if u know me u know this is one of my all time, if not all time fav fic. personasintro really outdid herself w this one. i love her so much she really inspired me to pick up writing again and im glad i did 😭😭 guys when i tell you nothing has ever slowburned the way mutual help has like guys. the messiness of it all THE DRAMA. the jealousy. the pining. the sex. literally the way she wrote jungkook is just too fucking good. what a dream to have a man like this in ur life. i can’t tell you how many times i reread certain chapters and just spend nights thinking abt certain moments like its popular for a reason guys. don’t let the amount of chapters scare you away from diving into this guys its sooofucking goodidndkdnskdn

♢ we weren’t just friends ; ♡, ♤ || series — by @jknoah

⇝ fwb, situationship // guys like.. trust me. jk so fuckin insufferable i need him rn. what a little shit. ughhh i love this. kisses to u noah ! <33

♢ once the thrill expires ; ♡, ♤, ♕ || one-shot — by @alphabetboyluvr

⇝ fwb, situationship // again… jungkook is a fucking asshole and he knows it. the way this author describes the details in this literally so fucking good guys like i need a whole series of this its just excellent 😭😭😭 reread this like 3 times soooo good

♢ about u ; ♤, ♡ || one-shot — by @ugh-yoongi

⇝ exboyfriend!jungkook, jealousy // idk whats up w jk being shitty in fics but i just can’t help it guys. its saur good. this one is so heartbreaking tho like they rlly just love each other man.

♢ soft ; ♡ || one-shot (part of a series) — by @hamsterclaw

⇝ cop!jungkook, mortuaryassistant!reader // jungkook is so fucking cute in this djfbcnf vomitboy <333 and the way he gets teased by the others bc of ur nickname for him dbfhf i also really like this reader

♢ bad decisions ; ♤, ♡, ♧ || series — by @alphabetboyluvr

⇝ bartender!jk, barista!reader // jk and yn are best friends who don’t act like best friends. clearly in love w each other. constant misunderstandings and annoying exes. i havent finished but im very much intrigued. this author is very poetic. very gewd. inspires me a lottt. like this a lot. just excellent.

♢ throttle ; ♡, ♤, ♧ || series — by @alphabetboyluvr

⇝ racer!jk, clerk!reader // jk is soooo damn shady (im not that far into the series yet but i had to recommend bc its already so damn good) and yoongi is the man of my dreams ummm but a bad boy will always prevail and jk in this saurrrr fucking hot i gasp for air

♢ pending…

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eoieopda · 1 year

Note

Jadie:) i would like to make a request!!

Reader having to spent countless night home alone because Jungkook’s busy working at the studio? They fight and she asks him to love her more than she loves him?

Honestly i feel like JK gets frustrated with fights so he says things that come out in a different way?? Thank you so much!!!!

i went in with the angst on this one 😳 i think most of us have had similar fights before, so i was definitely channeling some of that something here OPE

cw: verbal sparring, major angst, ending is ambiguous/unresolved

By the time his car rolls into the driveway, Jungkook has nothing left to give.

A vampire disguised as a weekday sapped every bit of energy he had left. His reserve tank is empty, and when he’s running on fumes like this, there’s only one way to top up. All he wants — now, then, any time — is to bury his face where your neck meets your shoulder; to revel in your steady pulse and soft breathing; to remember that there’s life here, outside his studio.

He doesn’t waste time getting out of the car, having summoned the last bit of willpower he had to unbuckle his seatbelt and slip from the driver’s seat. Jungkook locks the car behind him and within seconds, he unlocks the door to his home. To you. It feels like forty years have passed since he left that morning, but he can still smell the kimchi from the eggs you cooked.

Did hours always used to feel like decades?

One foot over the threshold, the toe of his boot collides with something in the dark. His eyes strain to see it; and his eyebrows furrow once he does. It’s a weekender. Yours, the one he bought you to take on little getaways when your schedules aligned like planets. It’s packed and ready, but Jungkook can’t put a finger on why that is.

Did he forget about plans again? Fuck. His mind never used to be a sieve, but that’s all it’s been lately. Jungkook has to be careful not to let you slip by.

He toes off his shoes and places them on the mat on the other side of your packed bag. As he heads off to find you, kiss you, breathe you in, Jungkook takes one backwards glance at that weekender. Nothing sparks.

Where were we going again?

There’s rustling down the hall and he follows it. Underneath his timid footfalls, there’s the quiet metallic click of the medicine cabinet door as you close it. Jungkook can’t see you, but he can feel you — you and the upset ebbing outwards from you. Little concentric circles, rage rippling his way like a stone has broken through the surface.

I dropped you, again.

Jungkook reaches the doorway to the bathroom just in time for you to exit. You gasp when you collide with his chest, but that shock dissipates quickly when his hands steady you by your forearms. You clutch the bag of toiletries that you nearly dropped like it’s all you have.

The expression on your face is less obvious now that the surprise is absent — and that scares him.

“Whoa,” Jungkook tries to chuckle to lighten whatever this crushing weight is, but there’s no humor in your affect. Flat. Despondent, like you cried out all you had and there was nothing left to animate your features.

Oh, this is bad.

He needs to fix it, so he tries again, “Where’s the fire, petal?”

Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Jungkook flipped a switch alright, but it didn’t turn the light in your eyes back on. Ham-fisted and stuck in the garbage disposal as it —

“I don’t know, Jungkook. Where is the fire?” You have that tone when you reply. That rare and terrifying voice where you sound calm, but he can smell the venom hitting dead air.

You, petal, are soft, but you are not calm.

You’re excitable, vocal. Jungkook can count on one hand the number of times he’s heard you speak without your perfect, dizzying rollercoaster of intonation. It’s jarring, it’s whiplash, it’s clear as day that there’s something very wrong here.

What did I do to you?

“I’d love to know,” You carve another slice as you back out of his grip. “Haven’t felt warmth in weeks. What about you, Jungkook?”

He feels concussed, in a way, like this is somehow a sucker punch you’ve hit him with. It feels like a blow when you say his name with that look in your eyes, but Jungkook knows it’s not. He knows exactly where this is coming from and he doesn’t get to pretend otherwise.

Desperate, he tries to hold you, but it’s like running underwater trying to reach you. By the time his lead limbs finally accept the signal and begin to move, you’re skirting around him and out the door.

You’re quick, but so is he. Jungkook’s long strides catch up to you easily, and when you sense him, you wheel back around to look up at him. Now, your face is crumpled and littered with tears. It’s even worse than the nothing you were wearing a few moments ago.

Jungkook pleads, one teardrop away from getting on his knees for you, “Tell me what I missed and I’ll make it up to you, petal. I swear I’ll fix it —”

“That’s the thing, Jungkook,” you sniff as you angrily wipe at your slicked-wet cheekbone. The worst part is that he knows you’re beyond the point of anger when it comes to him; it’s the fact that he’s caught you crying that bothers you the most.

“You miss everything. And you know it, too, because your first guess — your very first thought — was that you must have forgotten about me — again. What does that tell you, Jungkook? What does it say about us that this is an easy assumption for you to make? Because it sounds like a habit to me.”

There’s a montage broadcasting through the silence that settles between you. It’s every ‘I’m sorry I’m late, petal’; every ‘petal, I’m going to be here longer than I thought’; and ‘you don’t have to wait up for me.’ It’s all of those disappointed sighs you tried to swallow when you gave him grace he hadn’t earned.

A soundtrack delineating every instance where you held him up and he let you down.

It’s deafening.

“I just want you —” Your voice gives up on you halfway through your sentence. He knows better than to reach out for you now, but it’s all he wants to do. “I need you — just once — to love me more than I love you.”

There’s that sucker punch.

How could he? How could anyone love harder than you do? It’s impossible, Jungkook thinks, to try to mimic the way your heart holds everyone so completely. Laughable, almost, that no person on their best day could hold a candle to you — even on your worst. He thinks you’re pure magic.

But Jungkook has never been the best at putting the things he thinks into words, so he says, “Petal, I can’t.”

And he can’t backtrack or explain what he meant or beg you to listen because you’re grabbing that weekender off the floor. You’re slinging it over your shoulder, headed to your sister’s for the night. As he watches you leave, Jungkook recalls that there’s one thing he’s even worse at than communicating how he feels:

Sleeping without you.

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bonvoyagenoona · 2 years

Text

blackout | jjk

Pairings: Jungkook x female reader

Rating: 18+ | Mature | Explicit

Word Count: 16k | read on ao3

Synopsis: You’ve just been laid off, and all you want to do is eat some dinner, curl into bed, and forget. Unfortunately, the neighborhood block party is tonight, and the festivities turn downright chaotic when the entire city loses power. Don’t fret, though. Jungkook will help take your mind off things for a while.

Genres | Content Warnings | Themes: Strangers to lovers, FLUFF with a capital FLUFF, Yugyeom makes an appearance, humor, comfort, smut (starts out with sweet, vanilla sex and masturbation, turns into biting, hickeys, fingering, oral sex [female receiving, male receiving], edging, protected vaginal sex, playful spanking, overstimulation, spitting), drinking / drinking games, drug use (weed edibles).

Preview:

Eyes wet with steaming, streaming tears, you let the bodies push you back.

Back to the elevator.

Back down to the lobby.

And back to the curb outside.

Where he looks up and finds your twisted, nauseated expression.

“Hey,” he says softly.

You didn’t see him when you stepped back onto the sidewalk. Even now, you only see him in parts.

Bent fingers clutch his hoodie’s drawstring, pulling left, then right. The denim of the jacket over it shifts slightly as he does. Full lips rest against each other lightly, an interrupted, absent-minded whistle reforming into more words.

“You dropped something.”

Taglist: @apprentlyeveryusernameistaken @artistkoo @augela @awinkies @babycoffeefire @bbangtanlove95 @bluejin0812 @bookandarrow @btseditsworld @claricedelune @codeinebelle @dearbambideer @downbad4yoongi @dreamamubarak @dvalitaes @effielumiere @elyte @greezenini @helenazbmrskai @hobiiiiiworld @ifntelyinspirit @imaginativedreams @iwantkitten @jimcartop @jkkit @kflixnet @kookayparadise @kpop-fanfics24 @lynnloveslokiredacted @m-yg93 @miscelunaaa @missbickerbocker @mochilatae @morti13 @nch327 @noonabunny @pb-n-juju @peachy-skz0325 @purpleheartsfortae @rumpucis @skyys-universe @somewhereofftheglobe @sumzysworld @sunnietee @sunshinerainbowsbts @svgahigh @taytaymuse @weluvbmo @yuugehn

Thanks and hope you enjoy!

What makes a good manager? Empathy? Organization? Know-how? Whatever mix of qualities, are they innate, or does it come from steadily and patiently rising through the ranks with your allies? Are good leaders born or made?

You don’t think you’ll ever be sure of what makes a good manager. But what you are definitely sure about is what makes a bad manager.

Bad managers are the type of people who, when given a choice, elect to have you come in for your office job all week for your usual 8 to 5, and wait until Friday afternoon to inform you that you have been let go, even though they got the call from leadership on Monday morning.

You grumble as you shift your cardboard box of belongings to your other arm in order to make the last leg of your journey, every single one of your pores emptying twenty-fold their volume into the fibers of your polyester blend. Couldn’t you have been sacked in the fall? On top of having an additional couple of months to figure your shit out, you wouldn’t be drenched.

It’s 7 by the time you’re stomping around the corner to your block. There’s a family-sized bag of pita chips, a pail of hummus, and an edible patiently waiting for you.

If only there weren’t so many people blocking the way to your door.

Crumpled ghosts of flyers float past you. Their sans-serif font and centered alignment. The drawing of an old-school boombox with music spilling out of it. The date. The goddamned time.

“Fuck,” you sigh, unable to hear even yourself under millennial R&B samples carrying Gen Z slang.

Shoulders slumping, you try to trudge through the crowd that doesn’t part, draining energy quickly by the time you make your sixth and seventh attempt, even using the sharp corners of your box to try to snowplow your way through the increasingly drunken bodies that won’t feel any pain until the morning.

Eyes wet with steaming, streaming tears, you let the bodies push you back.

Back to the elevator.

Back down to the lobby.

And back to the curb outside.

Where he looks up and finds your twisted, nauseated expression.

“Hey,” he says softly.

You didn’t see him when you stepped back onto the sidewalk. Even now, you only see him in parts.

“You dropped something.”

The Hulk bobblehead, given to you in celebration of getting this job in the first place, proves to be more lasting than your presence in the office.

When you see it in a puddle by your feet, your heart sinks a little.

And, ever-so-slightly, so does the box in your grip, as you jostle around to allow yourself to reach down and pick it up.

Before you can, though, bent fingers have let go of the drawstring and curl around The Hulk’s head instead. Green abs and purple shorts wiggle from its spring, despite what seems to be The Hulk’s unrelenting protest.

You look up at the owner of those bent fingers, form crouched in front of you, still only able to perceive him in parts. Four wrinkles at the bridge of his nose. An amused smirk.

“Ha ha!”

He studies The Hulk’s face, and his right brow falls into a slanted line in perfect mimicry.

“Raaawwrrr!”

The Hulk’s body wiggles violently as bent fingers shake him back and forth.

“HULK SMAAAASH!”

You don’t mean to smile.

His smile is about to meet you too, but his eyes start to take up more space, widening at the sight of slightly shiny lines on your cheeks, carving your skin out like flowing rivers cutting through sienna rock.

“Hey! It’s OK!”

A sleeve rises into view. It moves in quick, small motions, back and forth.

“Just gotta c-clean him up a little here and—”

The Hulk suddenly grows ten times in size, now dangling on its spring, right in front of your face.

“See?? N-no harm done!!”

You sniffle.

Bent fingers gently set The Hulk back into the box, in a gap between your empty, gray mesh pen cup and your prized, powder blue stapler.

You sniffle again.

You love stapling.

So final, so sure, that satisfying, crisp metal crunch!

You think you hear that crunch as this stranger’s bright eyes are putting it all together.

As are you, bits and pieces of this stranger now stitching together into a concerned but welcoming face, much too kind, and dangerously easy to open up to. Especially for someone in your state.

Your fingers dig into your cardboard box.

“Thanks,” you say, relieved that your voice sounds so steady.

He lifts his eyes from the powder blue stapler and watches as you lift your upper arm to your right cheek.

You dab your tears.

You frown at the sight of black streaks on your blouse.

And then you startle at the feel of denim against your left cheek.

You watch as this stranger takes a step back.

The fact that he doesn’t seem to notice or care about the black streaks on his sleeve makes you care less about the black streaks on yours.

You feel a little lighter. From what it looks like, about three wisps of Pat McGrath FetishEyes lighter.

“Sorry,” he says, “I just—”

“No, that was… that was nice of you,” you say, starting to become impressed at just how steady your voice is. “Thank you.”

He nods. “Can I help you with anything else?” He holds his hands out a little, wrists coming out of his sleeves. “Take that box for you?”

“I’m good,” you say.

He’s kind for softening his doubtful look, but his head tilt gives his thoughts away.

“Really,” you insist.

And you insist to yourself that you really don’t mean to smile. You’re surprised that you do.

He mirrors it, his eyes following his lips, which follow yours, copying perfectly the slightly sad pout that you’re too aware that you’re making, and that tells him that his head tilt is absolutely warranted.

“If you say so.”

Your smile fades a little as you look back down to the box, still in your grip, resting against your stomach.

You look back up and watch as he curiously peruses the box’s content.

“What is all this stuff?” he asks.

You look back over at the crowd now spilling out of your apartment building.

“Um…”

Your brain is moving too fast, keeping you from being able to expand on the complexity of the matter. The words settling in the back of your throat are reduced to grade school-level syntax that matches the grade school-level emotions that you’re trying to hold at bay.

This is all Desk Stuff.

Desk Stuff belongs on a Desk.

But you no longer have a Desk.

You no longer even have an Office.

Or a Job.

And all you seem to be able to do about it, at least, for right now, is cry.

“Just… stuff.”

How is your voice still so steady when your stomach and chest are churning and burning, flip-flopping positions in your body in an attempt to escape this disaster?

To escape you?

He seems to realize now. There’s even a hint of — ugh — pity in his eyes.

You want to explain that you’re stronger than this. It’s just that your Job, and your Office, and your Desk were so rare. Beautifully, wonderfully, hilariously rare. Just like your powder blue stapler is rare, and it’s even rarer to see it not at the ready under a mix of sunlight and fluorescent lighting but settled against hastily packed bits and bobs in a box open to the night air.

“You need to keep any of it?” he asks.

The realization feels weirdly cold in your chest. “No,” you say.

“You want to keep any of it?”

You shrug.

His head straightens suddenly.

“Not even The Hulk??”

He looks so excited.

You really, really don’t mean to smile. You’re surprised that you do. That you still can.

You even chuckle, softly, three tiny stops and starts of that steady, warm voice.

“Why? You want him?”

“Well, y-yeah — he’s The Hulk!!”

You hold the box out and up to him.

“Take him, then. Give him a nice home.”

Bent fingers wrap around The Hulk’s head. He lifts The Hulk out of the box and places it into the left chest pocket of his denim jacket, patting it caringly, for safekeeping.

The Hulk’s eyes peek out at you over the lip.

“Now you pick something,” he tells you.

You look up from The Hulk’s eyes and stare questioningly into the eyes of this alarmingly kind stranger.

“You wanna keep at least one thing, right?” he asks. He peeks back down into the box. “Anything important? Or, just, y’know.” He looks back at you. “Special?”

You think again of the satisfying crunch of metal.

And then you smile down at your powder blue stapler.

You hug the box against your chest with one arm and pull the stapler out with your free hand.

He smiles again, and claps his hands with glee.

The Hulk nods.

And, as you nod back, you catch a glimpse of the alleyway.

Your gaze settles on the too-bright blue paint sadly used for something as putrid as a dumpster.

Your feet take you there, and they, along with your calves, and thighs, and arms, and shoulders, and back, thank you immensely as you toss all the rest inside.

That box looks so small now, amongst everything else. The longer you stare at it, you can’t even really see it anymore, as it gets lost in so many things that also don’t matter.

With your arms free, you get the impulse to pull your phone from your back pocket. But you don’t want to see the flurry of messages that are probably waiting for you.

Instead, you turn and walk back to the curb, where he is still standing and watching you.

Your feet take you back to him, arm at your side, the stapler fold hanging off your finger, its handle and base taking turns swinging as you walk, powder blue grazing the side of your polyester-covered thigh.

You stand in front of him, feeling so much lighter.

“Uh, thanks,” you say. “Again.”

He smiles.

Now that the weight is off of your shoulders, you can take in more. The sound of street traffic buzzing around you. Honks, and music, and chatter.

The crowd around your apartment building has doubled if not tripled in size.

“Live here?” he asks.

You nod, and your shoulders sink. “But the block party completely slipped my mind.” You sigh and wonder how long it will take for the crowd to dissipate. “All I wanna do is eat some dinner, curl into bed, and forget today ever happened.”

“What’s stopping you?” he asks.

You furrow your brow and gesture to the drunken, obnoxious mass blocking your way in.

“Just gotta fight your way through a little, is all,” he says. “C’mon!”

Instead of complaining about having to do anything other than what you want to, you figure that following this guy, with his broad frame, tall stature, and friendly face, will help you work smart and not hard.

So you follow him.

He moves through the crowd with ease, swimming with the current, instead of fighting his way upstream.

He offers you protection from the worst hits. Errant slaps and elbows here and there as people reach for each other. A near-collision with a keg stand.

But people still cut in front of you. By the fourth or fifth instance, you wonder why this always happens when you’re in a crowd, or whether you can consider it a “cut” when you don't even seem to register on people’s radar.

You watch as his head bobs along, nearly out of sight. And then, when he’s too far away, you start to feel the tide turning again, pulling you back out into the vast ocean.

You’re nearly all the way back by the lobby doors when his face pops out of the crowd.

“Hey!” he exclaims.

He throws his arm out, hand open, palm upturned. A life saver on a rope thick, straight, and strong.

You grab it.

You watch as his hand turns over and determinedly pulls you into him.

And you lock eyes briefly before he swirls you around and puts you in front of the crowd, daring you to meet it face-to-face.

He stands behind you but places his hands firmly on your shoulders.

You grip the stapler tight in your hand.

And then, with his guidance, you start to move through the crowd.

Part the crowd.

It’s much easier than you thought. But you knew that. You used to do this all the time, without even thinking. Shoulders back. Hair tossed just so. Beaming with all the wise, unthreatened confidence that years of a magical mix of expertise and bullshit have bestowed upon you.

They, and he, bring you right next to the elevators, and, thinking this is it, you go to punch the button.

But he steers you toward the stairs instead.

He leans down into you, pressing against your back, his lips brushing against your right ear.

“Let’s go this way.”

The music and chatter is so loud that even though you feel his chest straining, it sounds like a whisper.

You think about what’s waiting for you at home.

The chips. The hummus. The last three squares of your weed-infused chocolates. All designed to help you settle your mind and forget about this whole, wretched day.

Then again, maybe there are other ways to forget.

You shove your powder stapler into your pocket and nod, but it doesn’t matter. He’s already angling you toward the stairs, and chases your steps as you both climb.

You feel his hands slide down your shoulders, then arms, then into the crooks of your slightly folded elbows, your right hand still touting your stapler, your left hand not fully grasping but angled to feel along the railing so that you have something to hold onto if you trip over one of these people sitting on the steps.

He’s right by your side. Grabs hold of you to help keep you steady when someone suddenly moves to get up. When he lets you go at the top of the stairs, you're almost sad the building has elevators at all.

“You know the Chans?” he asks.

You register the smell of egg rolls and dumplings and fries and cheese and sugar before you notice that the people who happen to be on this floor are too busy stuffing their faces to really talk. It’s quieter here. Thankfully.

“No,” you mumble, as he walks next to you, moving in lockstep down the hall and slightly to the right. “I don’t really know anybody else in the building.”

“Just moved in?”

“Been here three… wait… four?” You grimace. “Years?”

His eyebrows rise at the speed with which his own mother would race a cake over to every new neighbor on their street.

“I’ll introduce you!” he says, swinging around you and standing perpendicular to your path to let you know that this next, slightly ajar door will lead you to The Chans.

He knocks on the door.

It opens, suddenly, and fully, and a woman grins happily at the both of you before settling into his warm, eager gaze.

“Jungkook-ah,” she chides playfully, “I told you to come as soon as the party started! We’re already almost out of—”

He — or, well, Jungkook, apparently — rushes inside the apartment toward the kitchen, leaving you standing there in the hallway.

The woman turns to you, still carrying fondness in her eyes. “Hi!”

“Hi,” you say, as pleasantly as you can.

The woman takes in the sight of you, though she frowns when she looks down by your hip.

“Is… that… a stapler in your pocket?”

Your brain starts to move too fast again.

Desk. Office. Job.

But then she giggles.

“Or are you just happy to see me?”

Jungkook mumbles something resembling an introduction after you follow “Miff-iff Cham” through the busy, glowing living room and into the kitchen.

“Did you even think to get your friend a drink??” Mrs. Chan asks, reaching not for the plenty of plastic flatware but into the cupboards for a porcelain bowl.

Jungkook mumbles something else, a chomped egg roll raised to his lips, cheeks bulging out, and a bit of fried wrapper sticking out of the corner of his mouth.

“This boy,” Mrs. Chan laughs, shaking her head. “He devours everything in sight!” As she talks, she walks down the line of her counter, scooping up a bit of everything from her various pots and pans and plopping it into your bowl. “If we didn’t feed him real food, he’d eat garbage off the street! Like one of those fat pigeons!”

Jungkook protests, still unintelligible, but wounded, and passionate, given that flakes of egg roll wrapper fly out of his mouth.

“Please, Jungkook, you’re so sensitive! Have you seen you?” Mrs. Chan says with a roll of her eyes. “Although, if you keep inhaling these egg rolls…”

She softens at Jungkook’s worried expression.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to call you fat. I just meant— Ugh, what else eats tra— Like a raccoon, then. How’s that, huh? Jungkook-ah? My little fluffy, sneaky, grabby-hands raccoon?”

Mrs. Chan shoves the now-full bowl into your open hands and makes grabby-hands with her own, pinching his full cheeks, cooing more… weird?... but sweet, raccoon-based compliments at him, which makes him smile happily, and close his eyes at her caring touch.

You bring the bowl up to your face and breathe in the mouth-watering scent of all of this delicious, home-cooked, made-with-love morsels of amazing food.

For once today, someone has served you a pile of nothing but goodness.

You smile gratefully and take the chopsticks that Mrs. Chan gives to you. And then you take your place next to Jungkook, backs to the sink, both of you leaning back slightly as you eat.

“Now, I didn’t catch your name,” Mrs. Chan tells you, stirring a spoon into one of the pots.

As you finally say it, you can’t help but feel Jungkook paying you close attention — such close attention, mind you, that you swear he’s nearly pressing his smile onto your cheek.

“I’m sorry I haven’t introduced myself,” you go on, flashing a look at Jungkook before adding, “I’ve just been so busy…”

Desk. Office. Job.

The rest of the sentence that you were going to say travels down your throat like the unchewed walnut that slipped by.

You cough. Clear your throat the best you can. And pick up what you can recover.

“…at work.”

“Ah, well, whatever! I’m happy we get to meet now,” Mrs. Chan says lightly.

The air with which she says it. So ethereal. It makes you feel a little better.

“I’m Chan Jia,” she goes on, “and my husband Feng and I have lived here pretty much all our lives, and, uh, we really like to cook! Even when half the city isn’t on our doorstep.”

Your eyes hang wide. “You’re amazing at it,” you say, through cheeks fuller than Jungkook’s. “The walnut chicken in particular is, mmm, god, so good.”

Mrs. Chan beams with pride. “Glad you like it! And that you came so hungry.”

More people spill into the Chans’ living room, and Mrs. Chan reaches for some of the paper plates and plastic flatware.

“Get her something to drink, Jungkook-ah!”

He nods obediently and yells out an earnest, “Thank you!”

You scarf down the last bite in your bowl and start to calculate what seconds you want — definitely the walnut chicken, and maybe the lo mein — when Jungkook sticks a fresh egg roll in your face.

“C’mon!”

He stuffs the egg roll into your mouth and takes your empty bowl from your hands, setting it in the filling kitchen sink.

He takes your right wrist and tugs on it, leading you back out to the hall.

You bite down on the egg roll and catch the other half in your left hand, grumbling, “I wasn’t done!” as you desperately try to chew and get the delicious pork filling and perfect golden crackles down your gullet.

“Oh, sorry,” Jungkook says. “Seemed like you were.”

“Well!” You raise your left hand and bite into the second half. “I wasn’t!”

“Well, your bowl was empty, and you emptied it kinda fast, like, shockingly fast, so I thought it was time for dessert—”

You polish off the egg roll as your feet plant themselves in place. “What is this? Who even are you anyway??”

He smiles. “I’m Jungkook!”

“Yeah, caught that,” you say, narrowing your eyes. “Seriously, though! I don’t really know who you—”

Someone splits the two of you, excited to bring one of two waffle ice cream cones to someone downstairs.

“—w-who you are, or if you even live here,” you continue, watching as they round the corner, jogging down the steps with what looks like pistachio ice cream in one hand and some kind of chocolate in the other.

You turn back to Jungkook.

“And all these people? I don’t know who they are, and I just really—”

“But now you know Mrs. Chan,” Jungkook says, “and I guess by extension you kinda know Mr. Chan. There was a photo of him on the left wall by the—”

A group of young girls giggle as they exit one of the other apartments on this floor, each of them carrying baskets of freshly baked cookies.

Jungkook playfully yoink! s a couple from the last girl’s basket, and she teasingly slaps Jungkook’s arm as he feigns pain.

They laugh at each other, and then, he wiggles his eyebrows and nods upward.

“Oppa!” she whines.

He brings his shoulders up to his earlobes and wiggles his eyebrows even harder.

She rolls her eyes and hands him two more cookies, and she scurries to rejoin her group.

You glare at him.

He blinks at you. Pushes out his lips.

“So…”

He holds out his arm.

“Is it time for dessert?”

You frown.

He wiggles the cookie around.

“Huuuuuh?”

Begrudgingly, you snatch the cookie that he’s offering.

Chocolate chip with toffee chunks and gooey caramel in the center.

It’s goddamn incredible.

“Is everyone on this floor a chef?!” you exclaim in surprise, crumbs flinging from your lips.

Jungkook looks up at the ceiling again as he counts. His unfolding pinky denotes The Chans in 2A, duh. His ring finger counts the Jeups and their three lovely daughters in 2D. His middle finger stands for the Gal brothers and their new ice cream machine, or, well, old ice cream machine, since their shop got the new one—

“Kinda, actually,” Jungkook answers, looking back at you, still counting the others in his head while holding the three other cookies between his thumb and index finger. “Although I guess the Jeups and the Gals are more… bakers? But I don’t think you say that for ice cream.”

He plumps his bottom lip, chin wrinkling.

“What do you call someone who makes ice cream for a living?”

You roll your eyes as you polish off your cookie.

“Hey, I thought we were doing it?” he asks. “Shoot. Maybe I’m doing it wrong?”

“Doing what?”

“What you wanted to do.”

Toffee and chocolate are swirling together heavenly in your mouth, but you keep glaring at him. You layer more fire into it. Frown harder. Scowl meaner. If you look angry enough, maybe he’ll give you a second cookie out of fear, and you don’t have to admit how boggled you are.

“You said that all you wanted to do was eat some dinner, curl into bed, and forget,” Jungkook recalls. “So we’re taking care of the eating part.”

You pull back a little on the glare.

“I would’ve appreciated getting to eat more of that walnut chicken.”

Jungkook’s eyes and grin thin out.

“We can go back. Or…?”

He holds out another cookie to you.

Which you slowly take.

And in return, you let go of the glower.

You turn the cookie over in your hands. Raise it to your lips.

Jungkook nods encouragingly.

You take a bite.

Peanut butter. With little chocolate candies. That are also filled with peanut butter.

Your pesky smile makes another reappearance.

“Now,” Jungkook says triumphantly, biting into two cookies at once and recalling, “Mrs. Chan said,” as he gets those cookies down to half-size with his huge bites, “ god this is fucking good,” smacking as he talks, “to get you a drink. So c’mon!”

He holds out his hand again. Devoid of any cookies.

You take it anyway.

And he leads you to the elevator.

“Can I get a copy of the itinerary?” you ask, puzzled by all your traipsing.

Jungkook drums on the elevator doors with his knuckles before giving the right one a slap and pushing the call button. “It’s just block party physics,” he explains. “You saw all those kegs and coolers when you came in, right?”

You nod.

“Gotta keep beer on the ground floor. Nice way to say hi to people. And nobody wants to lug all that shit up all these floors. But people are doing stuff in their apartments, too. More drinks, and food, and games.”

You take a second to take Jungkook in from toe to head. White, worn sneakers, with blue details. Baggy pants. Thin, white hoodie. Denim jacket. Fluffed hair, crinkled and thin eyes, wrinkled nose, and an easy, big smile. Like he’s just hanging out at home.

“Party physics,” you repeat.

The elevator doors open, and you both step in, Jungkook leaning against the railing in the back, and you facing him with a smirk.

“Of which you just happen to be a scholar?”

Jungkook grins. “That, and, uh…”

He gestures to one of the flyers on the elevator bulletin board behind you. It’s not as crumpled as the ones that blew by you earlier. But it is drooping, the tape holding up its top two corners having lost its stickiness over the past few weeks.

You smooth the paper out.

And then you reach into your pocket.

For your powder blue stapler.

You staple each corner into the cork, and you see what Jungkook is talking about. Below the boombox drawing and general details is a whole spreadsheet of details. A murder mystery party on floor twelve. A dance party on floor seven. Karaoke on floor six. Movies on floor eight.

Nothing on floor nine. You’re one of just a few people who live there. That floor doesn’t get great light, or a great view, facing the north, ignored side of the block. But that doesn’t matter to you. You like it quiet. That’s why you’re all there.

For some reason, you feel a little sick at the thought of riding up to floor nine.

So you’re grateful that you stop, for now, on floor five.

It boasts a crowd just a tad smaller than the one on the first floor, but the energy seems easier. Lively, but less brash.

When Jungkook sees your relieved smile, he takes it as a sign that he’s doing something right.

“Where should we start?” he asks, looking around at all the open doors. As you re-holster your stapler, his head darts left and right, checking your reaction with each option he presents.

“Board games! Ooh, OK, ‘ya seem to like that. We’ll put that on the list. We could also check out that poker game, which we passed back there. And there’s—”

You pull Jungkook’s arm toward you with such force that his nose bumps into your cheek. You laugh together, your eyes shining a bit brighter.

“That.”

You point.

“I wanna do that.”

Given your professional, cool-toned business separates; your seemingly strategic nature; your, quite frankly, super uptight vibe; and the way your eyes initially widened at the proposal to join the board game room, Jungkook wouldn’t have pegged you as someone who had even a passing interest in drinking games. Especially flip cup.

Yet, here you are, standing on top of Kim Yugyeom’s mother’s old kitchen table, the front of your blouse stained with sangria, and both of your hands victoriously pumping two empty, crushed plastic cups into the air.

Funny how the thing that always kept you from playing flip cup was the beer.

And you were extraordinary. How you downed each drink. How, like your voice has been so far this evening, you were able to stay so composed. How that gave you such an advantage with each flip. How everyone in the room cheered you on, shocked by how you hadn’t stuttered on a single cup. How Jungkook almost caught up, but you were able to rally and down two more full cups of sangria than you probably should have.

“Howwwww have I not plaaaaayed this gaaaaame before?!” you ask, delirious from your winner’s rush. And maybe the sangria.

“You haven’t?!” a laughing Yugyeom adds, as he helps you down from his table. “Would’ve thought you were a pro!”

A little unsteady on your feet, and happily so, you lean into him, melting at his strong form and touch before pouring into one of the chairs nearby.

“Alright there, champ?” Yugyeom chuckles.

He watches you wiggle happily in your seat, one strong wiggle forcing you to lean a bit too much to the right.

“Haha, fuck, let me get you some damn water!”

Jungkook lands in the chair next to you, propping you up and giggling at your blissful humming.

Your eyes meet his. “Oh, what’s this?” You raise your left hand up. “Hmm?” Your palm grazes the tip of his nose, and your eyes widen with excitement, as his widen to try to find out what’s wrong with your hand.

“Oh!” you smile.

Equally thrilled and perplexed, Jungkook moves to give you a high five?

But you dodge him with a grin.

“Uh-oh!”

Your wrist goes slack. Delighted, you do an arm wave, letting it flow through up to your shoulders, through to your trunk, and onwards to your other arm, which flows up and around from your side and around, down your opposite shoulder and through your forearm, fingers gathering to a point and tipping back Jungkook’s open forehead.

Jungkook lets out a spirited laugh that perks up your spine.

As you watch with interest, he furrows his brow and opens his mouth in fake offense. His head bobs forward, and he lets the wave travel throughout his entire body, each muscle isolation smoothing into the next.

He gets up and starts to dance, suddenly going rigid as he starts to pop and lock, hips moving with more precision than you would have anticipated, his baggy clothes suddenly looking sharp, his body halving, and The Hulk slipping out a little, bobbling along with him.

Yugyeom rejoins you, and him, cheering and catching the wave in his chest from Jungkook’s lightning rod of a hand and letting it travel through his black hoodie-covered torso, down to his legs, the frayed rips of his light blue jeans swaying as his muscles take turns relaxing and constricting, traveling back up to his other arm, and down to the hand that is holding two water bottles: one for Jungkook, and one for you.

You giggle and shiver as Yugyeom places the cold plastic against your neck, fingers grazing his as you take over the grip of the bottle.

This is… nice.

“What else can we play??” you ask brightly, letting the bottle linger for a moment before lifting it, and unscrewing the cap. “What other games are there?”

“Should probably slow down on the drinking ones,” Jungkook rightfully decides, as you start to slump again.

He takes a step back to you, and your left cheek rests on his right hip.

Feeling so comfortable, you close your eyes for a moment, missing Yugyeom’s intrigued smirk, and Jungkook’s helpless nose scrunch.

“Leaving so soon?” Yugyeom asks, tossing him the other bottle.

Jungkook looks down and notes your hazy, unfocused eyes, as well as your clumsy fingers still working at the water bottle cap.

“After this water break.”

“Well, swing by again later,” Yugyeom tells you, as your eyes flutter open. “I need to avenge my humiliated friend here. Or get the chance to, at least.”

Jungkook pouts. “Humiliated?”

“Only Jungkook can save himself,” you say, much too haughty for someone who has taken about thirty whole seconds to open a water bottle, “but depending on how tonight goes, I might take you on as another trophy. I mean victim. I mean opponent.”

Yugyeom shakes his head at your self-assuredness, looking over at Jungkook to see if he’s clocking this, and finding he’s only chuckling as you close your eyes and eagerly drink.

“Where’d you find her?” Yugyeom asks, as Jungkook looks back at him.

“Obviously by the dumpsters, given all the trash talk,” Jungkook jokes.

You choke on your water and laugh, the back of your hand rising to your lips as you open your eyes again and catch your breath.

“No, really,” Yugyeom goes on, smiling at you and shoving his hands into his back pockets, chest puffing out with a relaxing breath. “You live on the block?”

You point up at the ceiling. “Ninth floor.”

“The hermit floor?” Yugyeom asks, surprised.

You left your left shoulder from Jungkook’s hip and tilt your head toward it. “I crawled out of my cave today. And saw Jungkook on the curb.”

Yugyeom looks over at Jungkook again, who just smiles.

He meets Jungkook’s smile with a pleased chuckle.

“I mean it. Come back later. I still wanna hang.” He narrows his eyes at you and wiggles his eyebrows. “I want a go with the resident flip cup champ.”

You wink at him as you bring the water bottle back to your lips.

Before Yugyeom takes his leave, he reaches out his hand, slightly dampened from the condensation on those ice-cold water bottles, to Jungkook. Their right hands clasp together, and they bring their right shoulders forward to one another, chests bumping together tightly.

Yugyeom slaps Jungkook’s back.

He mumbles something.

Jungkook scoffs with a grin.

And then they part, Yugyeom flashing you another smile before he heads back toward his kitchen table.

Jungkook crouches down and wipes his hand on his thigh. You watch his fingers spreading across. His palm rubbing down toward his knee, and then back up again.

“Oh my god,” he says.

You straighten and snap your eyes to his, feeling caught. “What??”

“I think you’re…”

Jungkook shoots you an open-mouthed, told-you-so smile.

“…having fun??”

“Absolutely not,” you say, trying your best to sneer.

“You’re smiling!” Jungkook taps his finger on your cheek.

You swat his hand away, giggling and thinking fondly of him teasing those three girls with the cookies. You haven’t really stopped smiling since.

“You’re laaaugh-iiiiing!”

You roll your eyes. “So what if I am?”

Jungkook watches as you screw the water bottle’s cap back on and set it down, next to the right leg of your chair.

“Are you?” he asks gently. “H-having fun?”

He wants you.

To have fun, that is.

He wants you to have fun because you so clearly hadn’t earlier that day. He’s good at fun. At least, he’s always thought he is. In much the same way that Mrs. Chan is good at walnut chicken, and the Jeups are good at cookies, and the Gal brothers are good at ice cream.

He’s always thought that he’s been good at fun. Things have gotten a little busier, as life does. He hasn’t talked to as many people in a while. He definitely hasn’t gotten to swing by Yugyeom’s nearly as often, and he’s missed his check-ins with Yugyeom’s wonderful neighbors. While standing out there on the curb, peering up at your building, he wondered if he’d changed.

But, if you’re having fun, given the day that you’ve had, then that means he hasn’t.

He’s still good at fun.

Maybe if you knew this was kind of about him, it wouldn’t feel so strange for someone to want you to have fun when just a couple of hours ago, the bubble of your perfectly pleasant life burst at the discovery that people who celebrated your birthday, who clinked drinks with you at happy hour, who left you funny sticky notes on your desk, who shared the load when work got overwhelming — people who were supposedly invested in you — didn’t actually care all that much.

Do you even deserve it? Fun? When you are so easily discarded?

Jungkook clearly deserves it. He’s only just met you, by some dumpsters no less, and he’s still, inexplicably, trying so hard.

You feel your heavy heart pulling you under.

But then, you catch sight of The Hulk tucked into Jungkook’s pocket.

“I am.” You grin. “I am having a lot of fun.”

He brightens. Sits a little taller.

“Good!” His eyes close nearly all the way, and his two front teeth bunch up his lips. “I knew you were.”

He jumps to his feet. “Feeling up to more games? Maybe those board games?”

The sangria is starting to catch you, mixing with the swirl of emotions bogging down your heavy, heavy heart. You need to do something to let it out.

“Which floor had the karaoke?” you ask. “Six?”

“Quit hogging the mic!”

You spin around and scream the next lyrics at this surly, thin-lipped man, mashing whatever he can into a lour look of extreme disapproval.

The next part of this song is iconic, and masterful. You know each of the vocal parts in the lush swell of the breakdown, but this occasion calls for the throughline, the main melody, to drive the point home.

“NEVER GONNA GET IT NEVER GONNA GET IT!” you belt, pointing at Thin Lips, shimmying as you dance around him in a circle.

“NEH! VER GONNA GET IT NEVER GONNA GET IT!”

You put a resonant sting on the syncopated quarter notes that carry into the next measure, tapping your toes on each eighth-note of this manifesto.

“NEH!!! VER GONNA GET IT NEVER GONNA GET IT!”

Exaggerating even more, you pull your lips into a mocking pout, and you descend down the harmonic scale.

“NEHHHH-VER GONNA GET IT—”

Brazen, and drawing a bit of power from the room clapping and laughing around you, you grab the handle of your stapler, aim it at Thin Lips’ cleft chin, and clap the hammer against the anvil on each note.

“WOO-WOO-WOO-WOOOOOOO!!!!”

“THE FUCK—”

“Shik.”

You aren’t sure when Jungkook got up from his seat on the Hans-in-6F’s couch, but now, he’s next to you, arms folded, chest slightly bouncing from holding in his laughter.

Thin-lipped Shik glares at him, and you start circling around Jungkook instead, singing the second half of the breakdown a little softer, but swaying your stapler in the air.

Jungkook’s eyes, which have been following you this whole time, spread out to the rest of the room, everyone chanting and clapping along. “We’re all having a good time.”

“She’s sung like a hundred songs!” Shik protests. “I want a turn!”

At the whiff of vodka that follows, Jungkook negotiates, “One more song, alright?”

He speaks kindly, with the kind of smile that people born with goodness and light at their core can share. But he puffs himself up when he says it. He unfolds his arms, and his chest inflates. He flexes his right hand. Just in case.

Shik sighs. “Fine. But make it something pleasant. She’s been screaming for the past hour.”

He takes Jungkook’s seat on the couch, seemingly discontent unless he’s taking things from other people.

But it’s fine. The energy is dissipating anyway, En Vogue starting to decrescendo and queue up your next show-stopping performance.

“Hey.” Jungkook’s unflexed right hand lands softly on your shoulder. “Diva.”

You turn and smile at him.

“Wanna do one last song?”

Panting, and jamming your stapler back into your pocket, you slow your dancing feet to a mere sway, pouring your weight to the left, then to the right.

“OK,” you say, mind starting to wander, “but let me pick something different.” Your eyes widen a bit. “Would you wanna sing something with me?”

Jungkook beams. “Yeah!”

As you scroll through your private YouTube playlist of karaoke faves, he stands a little closer. Looks over your shoulder with curiosity. Giggles softly when your thumb tugs at ones that he likes, too.

He smells good.

“Ooh!”

You startle back at his sudden exclamation and bump into his chest.

And he just lets you.

“You, uh, know this one ?” you ask, thumb hovering over a picture of two silhouettes.

“I love that one.”

“Me too.”

A shared glance between you tells you how much.

Jungkook hums. “Then start us off.”

Growing up, you’d wished that the karaoke industry would work faster. Churn out more microchips that held more than just the 70s and 80s ballads that your family sang in the same rotation at every holiday, birthday, christening, graduation, wedding, hell, every Saturday morning, while you each took charge of scrubbing a different part of the house…

Nowadays, karaoke versions of songs aren’t hard to find. Literally every song is essentially at your fingertips. But with every song at your fingertips, it’s becoming harder and harder to find people who know what you know. Like what you like.

As Jungkook reaches for the other mic, still charging on its base, you play the instrumental.

And you raise your mic to your mouth.

“I keep so much of me hidden. Can’t lie. No, I’ve got this pain inside. Most times I never admit it. But with you, no, I don’t want to hide.”

Jungkook bites his lip as you sing. You aren’t the most gymnastic singer, but you have such a pleasant voice. And he’s not the only one who thinks so. A hush has fallen over the entire room, and even Shik is captivated by the way you’ve softened the air around you.

“What’s there all the time. And weighs on my mind. My friends say they listen. But honestly, I don’t think that they get me like you do. You don’t have to try. I come unfolded with the things I hold inside. I have never told no one but you.”

How long have you been singing? Has it been an hour? Two?

Maybe people don’t tire of you as easily as you thought.

Your heart feels a little lighter.

And you let Jungkook fill the space that remains.

“When I’m with you, I feel different.”

In just one line, you discover that if Jungkook’s voice were a drink, it would be a toasted marshmallow mocha. If Jungkook’s voice were a feeling, it would be your bare legs meeting the backseat of the car on a tempered summer day. If Jungkook’s voice were a hand, it would cup your cheek and hold your face up to make sure you didn’t miss the sight of a falling star.

“Like I can’t just be your warmness, oh baby…”

His vocal runs are hurdles and sprints and marathons in equal turns, voice strong and whole as he dips in and out of notes and syllables, playing with time, and tickling your lighter, and lighter, and even lighter, heart.

“I’ve been through some tough things in my life. And it’s so easy to tell you.”

You believe him.

You believe him so strongly that you almost miss your cue to join him again at the chorus, singing an octave apart, matching him note for note, voice bending and gliding a little easier. Freer.

But then everything just stops.

The music. Your voices. The energy.

It all comes to a halt.

Other voices start to overlap. Curses, and concern.

A small circle of bright, invasive light appears. And then another. And another.

They catch people in slices.

Frowns. Fists.

Eyes. No two sets meeting.

Except, somehow, yours and Jungkook’s.

“Everyone OK?” someone asks, as more and more tiny spotlights rove around the room.

“Apparently it’s the whole building!”

“The whole block?”

“Look out the window!”

“Yeah, it’s the whole city!”

Whines start to fill the room. Then groans. Then yells.

“Fuck,” you hear Jungkook whisper, “people are gonna lose it pretty quickly.”

You feel a hand grab yours and yank you toward them.

“It’s me.”

But you knew that.

And now you know that the center of his body, the notch where his pecs and the top of his abs meet and surrender to one another, seems to be a perfect spot for your hand to rest. And your hand resting there makes up for all the blows that your feet and shins and hips take as you fight your way through the distressed crowd.

“Door.”

You don’t see or feel it. Jungkook’s already holding it open for you, leading you through by jutting out his chest and letting you know where he is, which is right there, still curved around your hand.

His hand leaves yours and slides down your side, circling around your back, incidentally following the line of the band of your bra. His forearm pins you to him, and you feel your body bending with his as he shuffles you through to the hall. His chin rests on the top of your head, and your temple cushions against his collarbone.

Baby powder.

Bodes beat against your back, and you take in a sharp breath, your fingers balling into fists. One hand is still safely settled into that notch below Jungkook’s chest. Your other arm is pressed to your side, hugged by Jungkook’s armpit, your hand swinging down and closing around—

“Wait, shit, I’m still holding the mic?”

“It’s OK,” he tells you. “Everything’s OK.”

But something catches his attention.

“Deji?!”

You feel Jungkook’s chest tighten around your fist.

“Deji!!”

“Mr. Jeup?” Jungkook calls out, hoping his voice can meet hers despite the building wails.

“Jungkook-ah?”

“Yes, it’s Jungkook!”

The collective spotlights help Jungkook and Mr. Jeup find each other across the hall, and Jungkook leads him, and you, to a spot close to the staircase railing.

Mr. Jeup has soaked through the collar of his shirt.

“I can’t find Deji,” he says breathlessly. “I’d already been looking for her for a couple of hours, but she got separated from her unnies—” He clicks his teeth. “Always trailing behind.”

You think of the sweet girl slapping Jungkook’s hand away from her basket of cookies.

“We’ll find her.”

From what you can tell, Jungkook’s voice is enough to reassure Mr. Jeup, as the slices of him that you get look more and more relieved.

“Go home and check in with Mrs. Jeup and the girls,” Jungkook tells him. “My friend and I will go up floor by floor. I’ll text you the moment I see her.”

Mr. Jeup shakes his head. “We should’ve just gotten her a phone. Like she wanted.”

“She won’t be far. She knows your rules.” A slice of light catches Jungkook’s smile, as fond as when he had exchanged those cute giggles with her earlier. “And, though it might not seem like it, she always follows them.”

Mr. Jeup nods. “Thanks, Jungkook. Let me know.”

Shades of Mr. Jeup make their way along the railing, following it carefully as he makes his way back downstairs.

“I’ll formally introduce you another time,” he says apologetically.

Jungkook can’t be so hospitable, or demented, to be thinking about a formal introduction in this fraught situation.

But then you think of how he and Deji teased each other. Their familiar, funny way. How she gave him four cookies as a treat.

Or a payment.

A placid smile spreads across your face. “You know where she is, don’t you?”

Jungkook chuckles.

“C’mon.”

“When will it come back on??”

“We wanna watch!”

“It was just about to get to the good part!”

“Give it a few more minutes,” a voice, more mature than the others, calls out. “Give the backup generators a little bit of time to kick in.”

“They’re not going to,” another older voice says in response. “It’s been too long. I’m betting they’re down as well.”

“Stop it!” the first hisses. “You’ll scare them!”

As predicted, the younger voices start to clamor.

“What??”

“So when will the power come back on?”

“I’m getting hot!”

“Me too! I’m starting to sweat!”

“Eeeewww!”

“Helloooooo!”

Jungkook calls brightly from the hallway through the opening door, slowly revealing a group of kids in the living room, and a couple on the couch, outlined against a soft half-sphere of candlelight.

“Yon! Yeo!”

“Jungkookie!”

The woman on the left jumps up from the couch, and the woman on the right just nods.

You sigh softly when, in the center back of the group of kids, all of them lying on top of each other, having kicked off their blankets and facing a blank, white bed sheet hanging on a cleared clothing rack, you see Deji, sitting with her legs criss-crossed.

And next to a boy.

Jungkook lets go of your hand, but not without glancing at you to make sure it’s OK to.

You smile and nod, lingering in the doorway and watching him tiptoe in the gaps between squishy, teeny arms and legs to crouch down next to Deji, and this boy.

Deji gives Jungkook a high five, and you smirk to yourself as he pulls his phone out from his back pocket, sighing with relief as he starts to type.

The woman who waved gets up and walks over to you, leaning on a bookshelf by the door and folding her arms.

“I’m Yon,” she replies. “And that’s Yeo.”

She jerks her thumb behind her.

Staring straight ahead, Yeo takes another sip of wine.

You introduce yourself and say, “Did you set this up for the kids?”

Yon nods. “Toy Story 3. We were almost at the incinerator scene.”

Your eyes pop open, and you look over to the kid who cheered about the scene earlier.

“That was the good part??”

Yon cackles and says, “Seojun over there has a dark sense of humor.”

The other kids have successfully been distracted, settling into other lively conversations, giggling and playing games with each other, and with Jungkook.

But Seojun quietly breaks free from the group and makes her way to the couch. She plops down next to Yeo, the two of them chatting quietly.

Yon watches them affectionately. “So does Yeo. Kindred spirits, those two.”

They look so serious. But there are moments. Eyebrow flickers. Chuckles. And, throughout, a warm smile of recognition of something deeper. A somewhat somber but understanding of the world around them.

Seojun pauses. Stumbles. Gets whatever she wants to say out. Yeo seems to ponder it, and then says something back. Then, Seojun and Yeo look away from each other, and Yeo strokes her hair once as Seojun hides a smile.

You didn’t realize how many kids lived in the building. But you’re usually out before they’re up, and back in long after they’re asleep.

“Kind of you to host something kid-friendly.”

“To be honest, these have kind of been little test runs.”

Yon’s voice is cautious and small, but happy.

“We want to adopt,” she admits.

Her eyes are pillowy soft as they scan over those tiny, laughing faces.

“The kids around here are so sweet. Good families. Good parents. They don’t judge. And they’ve given us so many smiles. It’d be nice to share our lives like this all the time. Especially with a little one who really needs it.”

You can feel how momentous Yon’s heart must be. Her words surround you. Inflate you. Lift you up.

“Well,” you sigh, impressed, and a little sheepish, at her outpouring of love, “the little ones who get to join your family are quite lucky.”

Yon lets out a deep, encouraged sigh. “Thanks for that. Nice to hear something positive, y’know? It’s been… hard.”

You regretfully agree.

“Anyway,” Yon replies, “how do you know Jungkook? Are you friends with Yugyeom, too? That’s how we met him.”

“I, um—”

Desk.

Office.

Job.

“Well, I just met him today.” You blink. You can’t believe you just met him today.

Yon smiles, recognizing your dazed look.

“He makes quite an impression, doesn’t he?”

Your eyes land on him as he grins and throws up a peace sign while taking a picture with Deji, and laughing with the boy, who is starting to take interest in The Hulk bobblehead in Jungkook’s pocket.

“I’ve known him since he was a skinny teen,” Yon reflects. “His parents used to own this building, but they sold the property when they retired. He’s still here all the time, though.”

She smiles.

“It’s been a little while since we’ve gotten to see him. But it’s always so nice when we do. He just makes things… better.”

Jungkook notes the boy’s gaze, and his bent fingers reach into that pocket to pull The Hulk’s head out, flashing The Hulk’s cute little grimace, to Deji and the boy’s delight.

But when the boy reaches out for it, Jungkook frowns and leans back, not letting the boy take The Hulk out of his pocket completely, choosing instead to close the flap of his pocket over The Hulk’s black eyes, tapping the pocket in thanks for safekeeping.

You giggle.

Maybe that’s the secret to Jungkook.

To all of this.

Being a kid at heart.

Yes, things have been hard.

Things are hard.

But they haven’t been hard just today. And not just for you. Or Yon and Yeo. Or Shik. Or Mr. Jeup. Or any of the people in your building, on your block, in this city.

Everyone is shuffling around, lost in the dark.

But it isn’t your fault.

It isn’t anyone’s fault.

Maybe that’s just how it is sometimes.

Maybe that’s how it is all the time.

There’s always more that you could do to fight against the darkness. To make things better.

But maybe there’s also more time for selcas, and singing, and sangria.

Fun, kind things that you could do with others. And for yourself.

Maybe that’s the way to start.

Yon’s face suddenly pulls together tightly. And you follow her gaze to your hip.

“Why do you have a stapler in your pocket?”

“Hey!” Jungkook exclaims, popping up beside you and patting Yon’s back.

“Hey,” Yon says warmly, leaning in for a hug. “We were just getting to know each other.” She smirks. “Just as it seems the two of you are.”

Jungkook grins at you. “The two of us have been having fun.”

You smile.

“Oooh, funnnn,” Yon says, her voice waving up and down as the word trails from her lips.

She smirks at Jungkook.

“Then don’t worry about Deji. She’s just fine.”

And she is. Deji and the boy are in their own little bubble, voices hushed, bodies crouched and facing each other, smiles mirroring.

“Tell Mr. Jeup that I can walk her down if he wants,” Yon says.

“Nah, he’s good,” Jungkook replies. “I sent him a selca. Told him that you were all just hanging out.”

He slides his hands into his back pockets.

“In fact, I told him that it’s better for her to stay. That it’s much calmer than downstairs. So he said thanks, and that he’d come up and pick her up when the chaos dies down. Even if it’s late into the night.”

Yon clicks her teeth and shakes her head. “Cheeky fucker.”

He beams a cheesy, accomplished grin.

“Alright, Cupid.” Yon beams a cheesy grin of her own. “Then why don’t you two continue your night of fun?”

Jungkook flicks his eyes over to you.

You realize that you’re starting to sweat, too.

Yon is already shoving Jungkook back into the hallway when he asks, “Y-you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” She smiles at you. “Nice meeting you. Maybe you can explain the stapler when I see you again?”

You laugh, and Jungkook stands next to you in the hallway.

Before you leave, he turns back to the living room.

“Dehhhh-jiiiiiii!” he sings.

Deji looks up at him and smiles. “Yesssss??” she sings back mockingly.

Jungkook sends her a wink.

Deji’s cheeks balloon with air, and they deflate quickly as she whines out, “oh-PAAAA!!!”

He cackles as Yon hurriedly calls back, “OK, Jungkook-oppa is leaving now! Everybody say goodbye!”

The kids yell out goodbyes to Jungkook-oppa, and Jung-krook-oppa, and Yungkook-oppa, and Jungle-oppa, and Crunkook-oppa, and Chunky-oppa— and Yon, cackling, uses her foot to nudge Jungkook farther into the hall before pushing the door closed.

The kids’ goodbyes are replaced with the sound of people in other eighth-floor apartments trying to come up with — and, in some cases, even arguing about — activities to occupy their fellow film fans. But unlike on the other floors, the sound doesn’t seem so overwhelming, tempered above by the typical silence of the ninth.

You look up. Being up on the hermit, ninth floor affords you a certain privilege. You haven’t worried one bit since the power went out. You know that your apartment looks exactly the same as you left it. Kitchen, clean. Living room, sparkling. Bed, made. Pillows fluffed, and sheets pressed. Nothing out of the ordinary, save for maybe the fire escape that you like to keep cracked, fighting off the sometimes stale air.

You see your desk pushed up against it. Pages of your open book swaying in the breeze.

“Tired?” Jungkook asks, tilting his head.

How quickly you grow tired of stale air.

“Maybe a little, but,” you rush, “uh… not quite…”

Your gaze settles on each other. Jungkook’s eyebrows are slightly tented.

“Not quite ready to go home just yet,” you say, voice low, and ambling.

Jungkook smiles.

“Then let’s go do the second thing you wanted to do tonight.”

It’s been a while since you’ve seen stars.

And you still kind of see stars when you turn to Jungkook.

The breeze runs through his hair, making some of his shorter, soft curls dance.

You miss them a little when he pulls up his hood, so that his hair stays clean as he lies down on the roof, next to you.

He’s just so mesmerized by how bright the world is in the middle of a blackout.

“Can you believe this happens every night?” Jungkook asks in awe. “This happens every night, and we just don’t see it.”

You look back up at the sky like an old friend.

The suburbs that raised you gave you unencumbered sight. You’ve memorized a few of them. Though your favorites are the ones that shine during the winter, you can spot some of summer’s best. The dippers. Leo.

You introduce him to them.

It’s fun to watch Jungkook meet them for the first time.

“They make everything feel so much smaller,” he observes in wonder.

“That can be a good thing,” you realize as you say.

You feel his curious eyes on you as you give your body a good, deep stretch, toes wiggling, hips pulling down, chest rising a little, and shoulders popping as your neck tilts left and right, your head still resting on the inside back lining of Jungkook’s denim jacket, which he laid flat on the roof for you.

“Takes some of the pressure off.”

He watches as you lick your lips, take another deep breath, and close your eyes as you exhale.

“Feeling a lot of it?” he asks.

“Was.”

The warmth of Jungkook’s proud glow tickles your side, and you open your eyes to the sight of him beaming at the sky and biting his lip at a job well done.

You follow his gaze, and take another deep breath.

“Things will work out,” he says comfortingly.

You chuckle. “They probably always do, for someone like you.”

“What if they do?”

It would sound cocky if he didn’t punctuate it with a question mark that has a light giggle for a point.

The corner of your mouth ticks up. “Then I’m happy for you.”

Jungkook hums.

You lie there in silence for a while, the sounds of the city floating up from the street. It’s calming, hearing the city chugging along, even if just a little slower and quieter, as if nothing out of the ordinary is happening. Because it isn’t.

Jungkook pulls his legs in, bending his knees and letting his feet plant themselves onto the roof, one leg crossing over the other, foot just above and to the right of you.

You watch it sway a little.

“I’d play some music or something, but I think my phone is going to die soon,” Jungkook mumbles.

“Oh. Hang on.”

As you slant your hips toward him, Jungkook’s eyes run down your body and follow their curves. Your hand slides out from your back pocket with your phone, still full of charge.

When you look at its screen, you don’t even see all the notifications in the top bar. You go right to your playlists, and you see the perfect track.

It doesn’t occur to you to ask Jungkook if he likes it. He’s already moved his swaying foot in time to the slightly faster beat.

It’s a song about a new crush, its sweet and giddy lyrics, harmonies, and melodies floating into the air, lofted by city sounds, and Jungkook humming along beside you.

You smile to yourself.

You narrow your eyes.

And then you turn onto your side, folding and tucking both of your hands under your right cheek.

“Tell me more about this crush,” you say.

Jungkook mirrors you, forehead wrinkling, and lips tantalizing as he smirks and turns inward to you, too.

You’re almost touching.

You catch another whiff of baby powder.

“Hmm… which crush?”

You giggle together, noses almost bumping.

“Tell me more about Deji and this boy.”

“Ahhhh!”

He smiles. Fond. Almost proud.

“She’s so cute,” you say, your heart swelling a little.

“She’s precious,” Jungkook agrees. “The Jeups are always busy at their shop, and when they’re working really late, people from the building will drop by their place and check on them, or invite them over. I haven’t been able to visit as often, but when I visit Yugy, I usually try to swing by. Entertain them for a few hours if I can.”

“So friendly,” you comment.

Jungkook tilts his head toward you. “It’s nice to make friends.”

You smile. “It is.” And then. you sigh. “Now, tell me about the boy.”

Laughing, he says, “His name is Hyun-Woo, and he lives on the fourth floor.”

Your smile stretches, and your eyebrows rise.

Jungkook giggles. And then he shares a bit more.

“His parents are quiet. They’re all still kinda new to the city. A little shy. He is, too. He has a pet gerbil named Moony because he seems to like to play at night. He plays video games. He used to collect these little space battalion figurines, but he kind of lost track of some of them during the move, but it’s alright, because he was kinda starting to lose interest in them anyway. And he plays tennis. He’s OK at it.”

“Is he a nice kid?” you ask.

“What do you think?”

“You’re the one who knows him.”

“Huh? I just met him tonight.”

Your eyes open in surprise. Jungkook knows everybody in the world.

“What?”

He raises his hand in caution. “Hey, all of this info is second-hand from Deji.”

“She’s really fallen for him, huh?”

Jungkook’s brows, cheeks, nose, and lips all draw together, meeting, squinched, in the middle of his face.

“She told me that she’s butt-crazy in love.”

When you laugh, he laughs, all his features bouncing back to their rightful, gorgeous places.

You lie there, just watching him, trying to take more of it in.

More of Jungkook just laughing.

His eyes are perfectly almond-shaped, but they grow so big and round when he laughs. He seems to have a habit of pushing his upper lip into a triangular pout, symmetrical with the way his cheeks form sideways Vs as he pulls his lips up and back. There’s a tiny freckle on his chin, by his bottom lip, and you like that depending on how full his laugh is, and how open his mouth grows to let it out, you can sometimes see it, and sometimes, you can’t, because when it pops up, it’s like a tiny, adorable prize. And now, he’s scratching the tip of his ear, grabbing onto it, before sliding his hands under his cheeks, just like yours.

Your knees are almost touching.

“Is she?”

“She is.”

Maybe it’s the topic, and maybe it’s just tonight, but everything about him shines so brightly. Even his voice bathes you in starlight.

“When it comes to this sort of thing, you just know.”

He rubs his knee, gently, against yours.

It angles downward as he rests his weight on it.

His arm comes around you, and your body turns with it, your back meeting the roof.

His hand flattens, resting on his jacket, holding him up.

As he leans over you, face in full view, the only thing you see, other than the swirls of stars sparkling behind him, you think you might crane your neck up and plant a kiss on his slightly parted lips.

As you raise your chin to meet him, he thinks you might, too.

He opens his mouth to say something else. Maybe even do something else. Whatever it is, you want him to do it.

But then, there’s the loud buzzing of generators, and a rush of light.

Windows.

Signs.

Billboards.

Fluorescent.

Neon.

Spotlights evolving into floodlights.

The entire city rumbles with an earthquake of cheers.

Your lips pull back from the pout you were making, rushing inward as you seal them together with your teeth.

Jungkook freezes.

You look at each other for a moment.

And then he leans back. Instead of lying back down, he sits up, folding his legs under him. He uses them to get himself back onto his feet and walk over to the edge, looking back at you and raising his eyebrows in question.

You rock onto your side, kneel, and then hoist yourself up, joining him to look over the ledge.

The streets are more crowded than you thought. And they’re growing louder, no longer restrained under that black cloud.

“Guess it’s over,” he says.

You blink a few times, getting used to this new, luminous world. You peer down at the building across the street, the one that blocks the city from your apartment’s view, and you see a horde of people through one of the main windows.

You can already hear the din of people in your own building, chaos moving from the hallways to the stairwell. Sweaty bodies pushing against each other to get back to their apartments, filled with stale air.

Jungkook raises his eyebrows as he reads your mind. “Wait it out?”

“Nah.”

You follow the siding, along the ledge, to where the roof’s fire escape sits.

You grab the rising railing and steady yourself before climbing up, over the ledge, and turning around to take the ladder down..

You look at Jungkook with a daredevil’s grin.

“C’mon.”

Hoisting the fire escape window open proves to be much more difficult than you thought. Maybe the metal tracks have rusted over. Maybe the paint has turned to glue. Or maybe there’s something stuck at the top, a bit of wood, or a random pebble, wedging it in place.

Jungkook sends it flying upwards with seemingly no effort.

Even though the fire escape’s metal work is still up to code and more than enough to keep you from tumbling down into, incidentally, the dumpsters below, he holds his arms open and around you. Just in case.

You climb in, careful not to stomp on your still-open book, balancing on your desk carefully, but not for too long, given that it was bought on a budget and contains a drawer of screws that you didn’t use when putting it together.

Jungkook sees you calculating, and before you can give any kind of warning, he dives for the rug, somersaulting into the living room, stopping just short of the coffee table holding your one real plant.

Smiling back as you cackle, he jumps up, dusts himself off, and takes a bit of a bow.

Unlike every other apartment in the city at that moment, your lights are still off. But you tend to keep them off anyway, much preferring the way the city light gives you just enough to maneuver around comfortably.

He seems to understand. Another shared preference.

You watch as he takes slivers of your living room in. At the far end, your door, double-locked. Shoes lined up, except for a boot that has fallen on its side. A table, which is probably where you put your keys and mail. A skinny bookshelf on the first wall. A TV, and that coffee table, in the center. That plant, which, unfortunately, isn’t doing too well. This couch, with the quilt that looks like your mother, or any mother, made it, but is actually another bargain buy.

“Cozy,” he says with a genuine smile.

“Appears that way,” you admit.

Jungkook nods as he takes more in. Everything seems to be in place. In order. And he’s starting to feel awkward there, unsure of where he needs to be.

“Well,” he says, smiling. “I guess there’s nothing left to do but the last thing on your list.”

There’s an uncomfortable pressure in your chest. You let it storm and rumble for a moment, and you realize that it’s not anxiety, or stress. Those would mean that having Jungkook in your apartment would feel wrong. That you would want him to go.

But you desperately, desperately don’t.

It’s regret.

The regret of not craning your neck up and kissing him under the stars.

“I don’t want to do the last thing anymore,” you say, looking at him with want. “I wanna do something else.”

You don’t break your gaze as you walk right up to him, toes touching his.

You tilt your head.

You kiss him.

And he lets you.

When you pull away, you grin and ask, “What are you thinking?”

He could have been staring for five seconds or five hours. It somehow feels like both. And all of that explodes when he tells you, “I was thinking how much I like the taste of your mouth.”

His lips land on yours with a soft grunt, diving in with more want the more that he gets of you. His fingers hold your head gently, but after each taste that he gets of you, his fingers continue to dig in, squeezing your cheeks slightly, and forcing your lips forward.

He runs his tongue over them and kisses you once more.

Hearts pounding, you pull away, wearing matching, wet smirks.

As you pull away, you stare at each other, puzzled, and even more curious.

You rush together again, bodies colliding this time, and violently so.

“Ow!”

You rub at the sore spot just above your right breast, and The Hulk scowls back at you.

“Haha, aww.”

He whines along with you, pulling you in closer on the other side, and placing his hand on your sore spot, too.

He massages his fingers in tender circles.

And then he pulls you in for a kiss that unfolds slowly, not robbed of heat and passion but building back up to it layer by layer, like the measured steps of the fire escape, rather than tumbling off of the roof’s ledge.

His hand travels down, taking your breast in his hand and massaging it with his entire palm, working in tandem with his tongue in your mouth.

You feel both his tongue and his hand at your pussy, clenching tighter, and nearly getting as wet as your smirks.

He groans softly, shoulders bending back.

He momentarily removes his hand from you as he peels his jacket off of his frame, first his left sleeve, then his right, folding the jacket in half and gently tossing it over to your couch.

And then, his hand returns, and the other joins it, groping your chest and pushing your breasts into you. You lay your hands on top of his and follow his round motions, intertwining and closing your fingers around his fingers as they feel you.

His thumbs flick over both of your nipples. You can only feel part of the sensation, with your blouse still on, and given the light padding in your bra. But it’s more than enough to send twitches to your pussy as it drips with more arousal.

Your thighs tighten and clasp together, hips swirling.

Your head dips back as you take in a long, deep breath, followed by shallower ones.

It feels like you’ve been drowning.

Jungkook watches you, hands slowing to a stop.

“Everything OK?”

“I haven’t been kissed like that in a long, long time,” you say, dazed. “And I barely know you.”

Jungkook smiles. “I’m Jungkook.”

You laugh, “Yes, but—”

“Why don’t I tell you what I know,” he says quietly, and thoughtfully.

He runs his fingers down the collar of your blouse. You barely feel him, but your chest feels so tense.

“I know that you’re sweet.”

He runs his index finger down your chest. As he unbuttons the first button with just his right hand, your eyes unfocus, lids falling slightly closed, and your tilting head sending them back.

“I know that you’re kind.”

The second button is a little harder to undo. You had to replace it after the thread came loose, and you overdid the fix just to be sure. He’s still able to unbutton it with just one hand.

“I know that you’re funny.”

The third button opens, and he rolls it in his fingers as he tickles your belly button, making you giggle and squirm.

“I know that you’re feisty. And really competitive. Which I’m gonna have tons of fun with.”

You laugh as he hooks his finger around the fourth button, which falls open. He barely even had to touch it. You feel your shirt spreading apart at your shoulders, and you feel the slight breeze from the window on your chest.

“I know that you’ve had a shitty day.”

You soften as he undoes the last button at the end of your blouse.

“And I wanna make you feel better.”

His hands move up your hips, and waist, and he moans softly at the feel of your skin.

He bends down and kisses just above your right breast, as his hands run up your chest and to your shoulders, slipping under that polyester blend and running down your arms, your blouse traveling with them.

You hear the crumple of sangria-stained fabric fall on the ground.

Jungkook’s lips find a spot on your neck, and you lean back to give him room.

Your hands sneak under his hoodie, and you take the time to grope every single muscle on his back, each of them covered in a slight sheen of sweat.

“Mmm,” he whispers, as you hook your arms under his and pull him closer.

“Why have you been wearing two layers?” you finally ask, feeling the weight of his sweat in the fabric. “It’s so hot.”

“I haven’t done my laundry yet. These are the last clean clothes that I have. And this is thin.”

He tugs on the front and looks down.

“You can see my nipples through it.

Your frown is weighted with empty promises when you look down.

“In the light, I mean,” Jungkook chuckles.

“That’s a feature, not a bug, Jungkook.”

He has no idea what you’re talking about, but he’ll take it, with the way you’re softly moaning as you run your hands across his chest.

“You wanna see them?”

“Uh-huh. Let me turn on the light.”

“Or you could just take this off.”

“Right.”

You almost would prefer to turn on the light, because, now that you know his back is made of nothing but rippling muscle, you don’t know if you’ll be able to handle the full sight of his chest.

But you bite your lip, and tug.

He pulls his arms down, and then he shakes his hair free, as you pull the hoodie from his head.

You wish you could take a picture of the resulting floof, so soft and cute.

And then you let your eyes drift down to his chest.

He watches with interest as you trace each of his pecs with your fingers.

“Live up to your expectations?”

You realize your mouth has been hanging open.

You look into his eyes.

“Shattered them.”

He laughs, and then you go back to admiring his body. You wonder what he does. Weights, obviously, as supported by his strong, defined arms. Maybe he swims, given his waist. He probably likes to run, too. He can probably run for hours. In fact, with all the gallivanting around tonight, his heart’s gotta be like that of a stallion.

This bodes well for you.

The only way he can pry you away from that body is by tilting your chin up and stealing your gaze with his eyes.

His lips flutter against your jaw line until they meet yours again.

With your chests mashing together, and your kisses stretching on for longer, busier spans of time, you’re starting to work up a sweat.

“Bedroom?” you ask, panting.

He nods quickly and looks around to figure out which door it is.

You smile and take his hand, leading him to the far right, past your kitchen, and to your room, to your perfect, comfy bed.

You slide out of your shoes, undo your pants, and let them fall to the floor before climbing onto the bed and sitting in the middle.

And you run your hand across your chest as you watch him take his time, kicking off his shoes, taking off his pants, standing there in his black boxer-briefs and just grinning at you.

“Are you gonna join me or what?”

When your head tilts to the side, weighted with impatience, he scrunches his face again, and laughs.

He crawls as he follows you, watching you to make sure you’re comfortable as you lie down, and then settling on top of you, like you both wish he had done on the roof.

“You playing with me?” you mumble through a smile, as you bring your arms around him.

He kisses the inside of your upper arm and rubs it with his hand. “No,” he says simply. “Just like looking at you.”

You sigh as he kisses you.

It’s a little faster. Hungrier. Like before.

He leads you back with his lips, and when he looks down at your chest, you arch back, fingers finding the band and undoing the clasps in the back.

He lets out a sigh when he sees your bare chest.

He locks eyes with you, and his look says it all. Equal parts tender and fascinated. You wouldn’t believe the look on anyone else, but after tonight, you know that there is no disingenuous bone in Jungkook’s body.

You are beautiful.

He smiles as he snatches your bra from your hand and tosses it behind him, rushing forward to you and pinning you down to your pillow with his kiss, both of you laughing and grunting happily.

You place your hands on his hips, and then stroke his thighs.

You run the backs of your fingernails to his crotch, and he lets out a low moan.

“OK?” you ask.

“Yeah. Yeah, please.”

You fondle his cock, hard, and getting harder, while you grasp it with firm pressure. He whines so sweetly as your hand runs up and down its column, his underwear keeping it pinned against him, nearly choking it off.

His left hand claims your left breast, starting to massage it, and his right hand strokes your panties, twisting as your body starts to writhe against your mattress, the fabric riding higher and getting caught in your swelling, dripping flesh.

Your kisses are becoming more and more impassioned with each need being met.

He starts to dip his fingers between your pussy lips, letting your clit part his index and middle fingers as his wrist rocks back and forth.

As you moan on each stroke, he lifts his lips from yours and rests his temple against your collarbone.

“Can I taste you?” he asks hopefully.

You look at him and nod in desperation.

He smirks and kisses down your body, taking your panties and pulling them down to your calves. He’s so impatient that he starts to eat you out before they’re even fully off, and you take turns between giggling while trying to kick them off completely, and groaning at each dizzy lick of his tongue tip, spiraling around your clit, and sending you spiraling into your own abyss.

Your hips start to match his motion, but then his hands grasp your hips and pin you down.

You feel yourself fighting against him, and that tight, added resistance has you seeing stars. The sensation travels in waves over your body, never quite settling in one place. Your shoulders carry you from left to right. Your ass digs down, then pumps up. Your back locks, then arches. All of your movements fail miserably at quelling the disquieted sections of your body, only shifting the tension from muscle to muscle.

He pins your thighs down with his forearms, and then holds you open with his thumbs, his tongue laying flat and changing from spirals to broad, heated, pressured brushstrokes up and down, at an even, unhurried tempo.

You whimper as you start to feel little shivers of pleasure tickle your body. You wet your lips and press them together, choked-off grunts getting louder and louder.

“Fingers?” Jungkook asks.

“Mm -hmm.”

He grunts as he shifts his weight, letting your left thigh go, and softly pushing it to the side to widen your spread a little.

His hand is warm and covered in your sweat.

He lays the pad of his thumb against the entrance of your pussy, pressing slightly, and then he sucks the juice that collects around it.

“Tight little thing,” he mumbles. “Not ready for me yet.”

You groan at all the things that means.

He slides the tip of his index finger in. At first, you feel yourself fighting him, but when he starts to suck your clit, you feel yourself start to shift that tension up to your extremities. Your hands ball into fists. Your toes curl. Your throat closes off as you try to wail.

His entire finger slides inside, and you feel your walls conforming to his knuckles.

He starts to pump, and you hiss.

The sound of wet muscle doubles, and you feel his groans against your clit as his hips start to snap into his own fist.

He keeps his mouth open as you rock against his mouth, tongue stretching into your folds as you slide around his finger, moving faster, his other fist matching your pace stroke for stroke.

As the edges of a soft, warm release start to take you, he slips another finger inside of you, and you let out a loud moan.

Jungkook hums, pleased with how pleased you are.

“Shit, it feels so good,” you whine, before resting the back of your forearm over your lips and biting down.

He quickens his speed. Curves his fingers up.

“Uh-huh!”

You tighten around him, and he lets out a sigh, his temple resting against your thigh, eyes dazed over as he watches his fingers disappear inside of you over and over again, while his other fingers tighten their grip around his leaking cock.

He grunts again, and then, he places his lips over your clit, sealing it in his mouth, and sucking again.

When you come, you sigh, laughing a little at how unexpectedly delirious you feel.

Your body is still shivering when he stands over you, his pace slowing, but his cock still has a ways to grow.

It’s already so big.

You can’t wait.

“Come here,” you motion, directing Jungkook to come around the side of the bed.

“You sure?” he asks, obviously excited.

“After that?” you say, delighted.

You roll onto your side, hugging the edge of the mattress, and open wide for him, eyes gleaming as you look up at him.

His hand cradles the back of your head as you try to take him in one gulp. It takes you a minute to get the angle right, jaw driving you left and right, tongue flat, then narrow and pointed, until you surround him with your lips, and you start to bob your head back and forth, halfway down his shaft.

He takes a shaky breath in, and you smile when you hear him let out a little, “whoo.”

He comes out of your mouth with a pop as you lick your precum-glossed lips and ask, “You like it?”

You see only his hair floof shake up and down. His head has fallen back, the strong pillar of his throat bulging forward, collarbones out, chin directed up at the air.

You watch as you suck harder, his crown regally announcing itself through the curtains of your tonsils, muscle meeting your throat.

Jungkook hisses, bringing his hands up to the sides of his head, and raking his fingers through his hair.

You move back and forth again, your pillow collecting your sweat as you go.

The longer you go, the more you feel him resisting.

You place your hands on his hips to find that they’re shaking.

When you pinch them, he moans, and he finally lets himself thrust.

You groan as he pushes into you, taking shallow breaths in through your nostrils as he sinks further and further into madness. How you take him so easily, and yet, how beautifully tight and slippery your throat is. How patient you are, and how careful he has to be. It’s driving him sinfully insane.

Before it gets too far, he pulls out, slow at first, and then quick, as you catch your breath, and he tenses.

“Again?” you prompt weakly, opening your mouth.

“I have to fuck you,” Jungkook demands. “Now.”

You laugh at how serious he looks, his eyes darting around your bedroom.

“What are you looking for?”

“Condoms?”

You get out of bed and scurry to the bathroom, Jungkook smiling and pinching your ass as you go.

You lead him to the bathroom, the door opposite your kitchen, and you quickly locate them under your sink.

“These OK?” you ask, holding up the box.

“Perfect.”

He rips one from the rest.

And then he sets it on the sink, taking the box with him and marching back to your bedroom.

You laugh, running up to him and jumping onto his back, wrapping your legs around his waist and peppering his neck and traps with kisses.

He kisses your forearm and giggles.

And then something catches his eye.

He stops.

“Ooh. What’s that?”

You look over to your kitchen counter and spot the simple snacks you’d left out for yourself, thinking you’d be treating yourself for the weekend.

“Is that candy?” he asks.

“Chocolate, infused with weed.”

��Yeah?”

He looks back at you and smirks.

“You wanna?” you ask, raising your eyebrows. “We haven’t eaten in a while. And they’re kinda strong.”

Jungkook beams. “Even better.” But then he pushes out his lips. “Unless you were saving—”

“I’m down if you’re down,” you say happily. “Go get ‘em.”

He hoists you up higher onto his back, and you tighten your grip around his shoulders, as he walks over to the counter.

He unwraps the gold foil and breaks off a square. He raises it up and behind him to your lips. You take his fingers into your mouth and suck. He leaves his hand there so that you can suck the rest of the chocolate off of them, too. He beams at you, and you lean forward to kiss him, before he takes another square for himself.

He licks his fingers as he brings you back to bed, the two of you laughing as you go.

And then, he stumbles, tripping, turning just in time to throw you onto the bed, while he falls to the floor.

“Oh my god!” you cackle, as Jungkook pops back up, your pants, and your powder blue stapler, tangled up and around his foot.

“I’m sorry!” he calls out, pulling them off and throwing them back down.

“Are you OK?” you ask, still giggling.

Jungkook furrows his brow and looks at the ground. He disappears, and then pops back up again, holding up a sleeve of condoms.

“Yes. Yes I am.”

He rips one off the end and puts it on, crawling over you as you lay back.

“Mmm,” you sigh, as he pushes into you.

His neck lolls forward, and you grab his hair floof in your fingers.

“You OK?” Jungkook asks gently.

You wonder how many times he’s had to ask someone that.

He’s so long, but his girth. So wide. So full. And so heavy, with want, and passion, and excitement.

“You said that you had to fuck me,” you say, hands grabbing onto his ass. “So fuck me.”

He starts to move, pulling back, and then rocking forward, your bodies bobbing up and down as your movements build off of each other, more pleas floating out of your mouths.

More.

Harder.

Like this.

His eyes find that spot above your right breast.

“What?” you ask, slightly distracted by the look on his face.

“I think there’s a small bruise.” He presses a kiss to your cheek. “I’m sorry about that.”

“That’s OK,” you say, scoffing. “If I need to, I can cover it up with something.”

“So can I.”

His mouth latches there, and he starts to bite, and suck. You feel your skin giving way to him, like it’s breaking open and spilling all over you, instead of Jungkook’s pool of spit.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, your hips starting to roll at the combined sensation. “Don’t stop.”

As his thrusts get harder and deeper, he shifts all of his weight to his left side, and his right hand slides down to your clit, starting to rub in those circular motions again. You roll against him, knees in the air, swaying open, then back closed around his waist.

Everything’s a blur.

He stiffens as he pumps, deeper and deeper, the bed rocking under your weight, his own tiny sighs getting louder as you start to wail.

All the while, his teeth pinch and nibble that spot on your chest, and you feel your legs starting to shake.

You’re on the brink of another orgasm.

When he stops.

“No, no, no, no,” you whimper, fluttering.

Jungkook giggles.

“Don’t stop!”

“I’m not. Not completely.”

“Ugh.”

His voice deepens, and softens, as it rumbles through your hair to your ear.

“Think about how crazy it’ll feel when you come.”

He runs his wet index finger around your right nipple, and he kisses the hickey he’s just given you just above it.

“Please.”

Jungkook grins. “Ah, you asked so nicely.”

He starts to thrust into you again, and you fall right back where you were, covered in tingles and sweat, body starting to spasm, shaking even harder than you were starting to before.

He’s right.

Jungkook, this beautiful stranger, who is dipping in and out of your frenzied pussy, cock slamming, and disappearing, whose hand is furiously pawing at your clit and making you overflow with arousal, making every muscle inside of you tremble, and then freeze and release, exploding and sending you reeling, is absolutely right.

“Fuck!”

When you come, you do feel crazy.

And so does he, getting off on how you moaned for him, babbled nonsense because of him.

A few tears are pooling in the corners of your eyes.

You feel so raw.

A good kind of raw.

Not like before, when Jungkook first saw you crying.

The kind of raw that tells you that you’ve washed the day off of your tired skin and are reborn.

You look at him in contemplation.

“You’re lucky I like overstimulation.”

“Taking note,” Jungkook observes, slowing his thrusts. “What else do you like?”

“What do you like?”

“I like spanks.”

“Me too,” you say. “Giving and receiving.”

He stops his thrust altogether, intrigued.

“Then spank me,” he orders. “Right now.”

You do, as you bite your lip and smile.

“No, really, spank me,” Jungkook says, reaching for your arm.

You fight off his wiggling fingers, lean forward, and pack a wallop into your slap on his ass, watching it shake.

“Ow! Not that hard!” he whines, rubbing the spot.

“I’m sorry!”

He collapses into giggles, curling up in your sheets.

“I’m kidding. You’re kind of weak.”

You scrunch up your face and spank him all over his body, but then he picks you up, tickling you and sending you into a cackling frenzy.

“Jesus fucking— Stop! Stop! You win!” you cry.

“Say I’m the flip cup champ!” Jungkook demands.

“What??”

“Say it!”

“B-but you aren’t!”

“Say it or I won’t stop!”

You can’t breathe, you’re laughing so hard. “I’m the flip cup champ!”

Jungkook pinches your side, and you squeal.

“You’re the flip cup champ!” you holler. “Jungkook is the flip cup champ!”

Jungkook laughs with haughty satisfaction as he lies down on his side, kissing you as you start to float back down next to him.

As your cackles slow, you turn to him and run your fingers over his pretty, kiss-swollen mouth.

“What do you wanna do now?”

“I dunno. What do you wanna do?”

“I dunno.”

“What were we doing, anyway?”

You stare at each other, dumbfounded.

He laughs and turns to you, wide-eyed. “I think we were having sex?”

You cackle. “Oh shit, right!” You kiss him. “Let’s do that. Let’s do more sex.”

“Shit,” he giggles. “This is not a reflection of the quality of sex we were having, by the way. I’m having an amazing time.”

“I know. Me too.” You smile. “I’m having fun.”

You’ve been in the clouds since meeting Jungkook. But everything feels even hazier. The boundaries of your mattress, nightstands, walls, ceilings, and floors are melding. Softening.

And so is Jungkook’s happy, smiling face.

You grin and scrunch your nose.

“Hmm. I guess the edible hit.”

“Guess so,” Jungkook celebrates, eyes shining.

“Let me ride you,” you say warmly, but excitedly, kissing him as you get on top. “You’ve been doing all the work.”

“You’ve been putting work in, too. And you can’t ride me better than I’ve been fucking you,” Jungkook teases.

“Are you shitting me?” you ask, aghast. “Is that a dare?”

“Try it and find out.”

You slap his chest, and he laughs.

And while you sink down onto him, he sighs lightly, licking his lips and curling them into a smile.

First, you tantalize him by weaving slow circles, clenching him so tightly, that he hisses the same way he did when he was in your throat.

His hands slap onto your thighs and grab on.

You start to bounce up and down, and he watches your breasts jiggle as you do, his left hand reaching up and squeezing the right one as his right hand squeezes your thigh.

And then, you lean forward, and rock against him. You move so sweetly, whether you’re gently stroking him with your flesh, or riding him so tight and hard that he can’t see straight. It seems that you’re headed that way, with how hard your fists are gripping his shoulders.

He moans compliments as you ride.

“You’re goddamn gorgeous.”

“You feel so good.”

“So, so tight. If you clench even harder, I’ll—”

And you do.

He won’t be able to last.

But then you stop.

His mouth falls open.

You lean forward and scoop him up into a kiss.

“Think about how crazy it’ll feel when you cum,” you joke.

“You are driving me crazy.”

You giggle through another moan. “Butt-crazy?”

Jungkook whines. “Don’t be cute. And don’t talk about butts. I might ask you to do something, and I feel like that’s a question for when we know each other a little better.”

“Keep going the way you are, and if you ask it tonight, I might say yes.”

“Oh god.”

But you still don’t budge.

He places his hands on your waist and frantically tries to get you to bounce. Tries tickling you. Pinching you.

“Agh, c’mon.”

“Nope. This is payback for—”

Jungkook finally just grabs you by the hips. Holds you in place. Starts to pump up and into you.

He’s relentless.

You give complete control to him, barely able to hold yourself up.

But he’s got you.

The strokes feel like flames, deep, hot, and fast, making your pussy pulse, arousal leaking, even threatening to spurt out of you because of how full you are.

When your elbows start to tremble, threatening to give way, he wraps his arms around you hugging your chest to his. His strokes have started a wildfire in your core, and you’re sweating so much that when your head falls to him, there’s a splash of it onto your temple.

Everything in your body is clamping down. Shutting down. You can’t stand it anymore. All this tension.

The release is almost unbearable.

You both howl, your orgasm coming first, and his coming soon after, your bodies tied up in knots as you strain to stay together, transferring each flicker and spasm to one another, until you both collapse back down to the mattress.

“Let me cool you down,” he mumbles, fighting the oncoming drowsiness.

“What?” you ask.

But he’s already sliding down your body.

He licks at your pussy, lapping up all of your arousal.

“Jungkook?”

You start to feel waves rolling up your calves.

“Jungkook.”

“Mm.”

He spits it all back onto you, making you gasp.

He keeps licking, sucking on your clit, sucking on your lips, and gently running his fingers across your stomach, like little comforting tickles.

You come, softly, and quietly, gentle shivers helping your body stretch back out and relax, resolving the rest of the tension that hadn’t quite unfurled from before.

“There.”

You watch him army crawl back up the mattress and laugh softly when his completely drenched hair floof hits the pillow next to you.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he says.

“Nothing,” you answer. “My mind is completely blank.”

“Good.” Jungkook grins. “That was the third thing you wanted, wasn’t it?”

All you can do is stare at his proud, accomplished, wondrous grin.

And before he pulls you into a soft, tender kiss, he tells you.

“You were right. I find that things usually work out. And that’s because I always make sure that they do.”

The sun stings your eyes. It feels chemical. Even with them closed.

Slowly, you pry them open. First the left. Then the right. You blink slowly, then rapidly, the world coming into focus as you do.

Where are you?

Oh. That’s right. Home.

Why did you forget that you were home? You’re always home.

Though it feels like you haven’t been home in ages.

Why is it so bright?

Yes, it’s day time. But it’s so—

Right. The city blackout.

But how did you know the whole city was affected? Whenever anything in your apartment goes wrong, you pretty much ignore it and continue puttering around your apartment until you get some kind of text from a co-worker—

Mm.

Anyway, you guess you’ll putter around until you somehow find out from someone that whatever you were experiencing was actually part of some kind of mass event—

Riiiiiiiight. The block party.

Hold on.

Why are you smiling about the block party?

Why are you giggling about the block party?

Why do you feel so sore?

And what time is it?

You lift your head, too quickly at first, feeling immediately unsteady. You shut your eyes and let your body find equilibrium before trying to step back outside of yourself. When you’re ready — there’s no rush, you, for some reason, kindly tell yourself — you prop yourself up on your elbows and look to your nightstand to find out.

And you see four things.

Your clock, reading 8:43 AM.

Your powder blue stapler.

The Hulk.

And, under his feet, a small note, scribbled on a piece of paper. Torn, like his shorts.

It’s 8:20. I think you’re almost up, but you look pretty comfy, so I don’t want to wake you. Going to the Chans for breakfast.

C’mon!

As everything comes swirling back to you — the dumpsters; and Mrs. Chan’s walnut chicken; Yugyeom and his sangria; Shik and your stapler; Mr. Jeup, Deji, her cookies, her crush, and Crunkook-oppa ; Yon and Yeo in the candlelight; and, not least of all, Jungkook’s beaming face framed by that unspeakably wondrous, starry, starry sky — you’re glad, thrilled, that some memories from last night were absolutely worth keeping.

So you leap out of bed to make more.

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hoseokieswrld · 6 months

Text

✧ STILL DON’T KNOW MY NAME | JJK (M) ✧

TEASER:

Pairing: Jungkook x Fem!reader

Genre: smut, pwp, internet strangers to lovers

Category: three-shot

Summary: In which a video game streamer, Jeon Jungkook, finds– and is intrigued by– an account that writes nsfw fanfiction about him and decides to send them a private message. He still doesn’t know your name.

WARNINGS: sexting, explicit sexual content, strong language, pornography, cybersex, exchanging in nude photos, hidden identities

TAGLIST ; Chapter one

@_elictmoonl1ght sent you a photo!

Jungkook throws his phone to the side, stripping from his clothing. He’s been anticipating this since he first found your account. He constantly thinks about your flirty texts, all the teasing photos you send him, and now you’re finally giving it to him.

He opens the message hurriedly, cock throbbing when he finally takes in the image.

You’re standing in front of your mirror…completely naked. No underwear, no bra, just you.

Jungkook stares at the picture for a few minutes taking a mental screenshot of you, memorizing every part of your beautiful body to jerk off to later. Your tits being supported by your underarms making them look so soft and plush, nipples erect. Your pussy is slightly hidden by the way your legs are crossed over each other, but is still visible to him, a simple heart tattoo on your hip bone. Your toes are painted a clean white color, finger nails looking the same. Your face is covered by the edge of the mirror and phone, making him needier than ever. Not knowing your identity yet you still sent him a nude, making him want to take you right in front of your mirror, forcing you to look at yourself while he destroys you. Fuck, you’re sexy.

Jungkook positions his hand underneath his hard, veiny cock, quickly snapping a picture of it, making sure his tattoos aren’t visible.

Look how hard you made me baby, gonna help me out huh? He types as he hurriedly sends the picture to you, wondering if you are as turned on as him. You don’t have to reveal yourself to him, your words are just enough to make him cum.

Jungkook begins to jerk off to the photo of your naked body, fantasizing about good how you must feel. You’re giving yourself to him, but he still doesn’t know your name.

——————————————————————————

a/n: hehe just a little teaser for y’all! i hope you guys are excited! this is my first time writing ever and i’ve gotten help from some friends on here who are the absolute best!!🥹🥹💞i hope you guys are looking forward to this! chapter one will be out very soon!!! i’ve created a taglist for anyone who’d like to join! (and if i told yall chapter one is already done 🤔)

354 notes · View notes

babystrcandy · 6 months

Text

the lucky one (pt. 5) | jjk

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.

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