Summary: Morpheus spends a summer afternoon in the park feeding the birds, looking entirely too dramatic for the weather. What begins as teasing ends up more dreamlike between the two of you.
Warnings/Tags: Morpheus x GN!Reader, fluffs and whatnots, holding hands for the first time
Notes: ~1.7k words, I literally cannot be bothered to study for the finals worth 50% of my grade. Not edited past spellcheck.
Main Masterlist || One Shot Masterlist
“Don’t you get hot wearing black all the time?”
Morpheus looks up from where he sat on the grass, a stale loaf of bread in his hands and a swarm of pigeons and robins swirling his still body.
A pigeon pecks at his shoe lace as he ponders an answer. He’d been sitting at the park for a good few hours now, his still and calm nature making the birds fearless of him. Or perhaps it was the 3-day-old bread loaf he took with him from The Dreaming. A robin perches on the toe of his black boots, chirping a series of notes as it waits for a few more crumbs.
He, ancient and terrible though beautiful as midnight, regarded the question and you with the expression of a king being interrupted at court.
“I am not uncomfortable,” he finally mutters, the slightest suspicious eyebrow twitching upwards.
“That’s not what I asked.”
His gaze leaves you as he returns to feeding the birds. A breeze moves through the park, soft and bright, carrying the sound of childhood laughter with it. Grass was freshly cut, and the nearby lake glimmered like the gems of a hoard guarded by a fearsome dragon, all while the air felt slightly heavy from the melted sugar of the nearby food vendors.
None of it did anything to Morpheus, who sat there in his long, black coat despite the day being aggressively sunny; it almost made him light up like a beacon.
“You asked whether I become hot,” he restates, as if repeating the question slower would make you realize how absurd it is. “I do not.”
“Sounds like a fake answer.” You narrow your eyes at the back of his head.
“It is not.”
“You’re telling me you don’t feel temperature?”
“I feel many things. I am the entire subconscious of the human mind, king of dreams, and can feel the emotio–”
“But temperature?” You cut him off.
“Not as you do,” he finally answers after a dramatic pause.
You sit down beside him on the grass, close enough that your shoulder almost brushes his. The birds all but scatter at the movement, but then second-guessed their judgment before fluttering back. The fat pigeon that was pecking at his shoe laces gives you a look before returning to eating a fresh wave of crumbs.
“I just didn’t expect you to show up in the park, in the middle of summer, dressed like you’re ready to star in a teenager’s emo garage band.”
His brows draw together, and his lips pucker with displeasure. “A what?”
“You heard me.”
“I am Dream of the Endless.”
“Soooo edgy,” you teased.
Morpheus looks away first, crushing the loaf up to its last crumbs, and you count it as a victory.
The birds once again descend in a flurry of wings and tiny, bickering chirps. For someone who could summon nightmares and could walk through minds like doorways, he fed birds with a startling sense of tenderness. His fingers moved carefully, making sure some of the larger pieces were broken into small enough pieces.
Morpheus always looks out of place in the waking world. Not necessarily because he failed to blend in, but because people passed him without staring too much, though a few did glance back with that unconscious human awareness of something beautiful and strange. But, he seems less like a man sitting in a park and more like a shadow that just learned manners.
Yet, here he sat. Grass and pigeons and robins.
“So then… why black?” You lean back on your hands.
He stills for a second and you wonder whether you had asked something too personal. Morpheus didn’t always understand casual questions as casual. Sometimes the smallest human curiosity became an excavation, sometimes a joke lands too close to an old wound.
But, he answers. “It is familiar.”
You tilt your head at him. “That’s it?”
“It is sufficient.”
“That’s not an answer,” you scoff.
His eyes flicker to yours, a swarm of galaxies under a fan of soft eyelashes. Stars lived in them when he let them, an impossible distance to travel when you meet his gaze with purpose, and looking directly into them felt like standing at the edge of sleep before falling forever into the abyss.
“You are persistent today,” he says.
“You like that about me.”
“I have not said so.”
Yikes. “You haven’t denied it either.”
He looks back at the birds, who now wander further now that the bread is all gone. Your hands grow slightly sweaty, awaiting your doom.
But then you see it. The smallest shift to the corner of his mouth. Tiny and almost nothing, but you see it, and your heart does something frankly embarrassing in your chest.
“I wear black,” he finally says, slowly as he often does, “because it is the color of the space between stars. Of ink before it is shaped into words, and of the moment before sleep takes hold.”
You blink at him. “Well damn. That was annoyingly poetic.”
“Merely the truth.”
“Yeah, well, there’s your problem.”
“My problem?” He asks, his eyes returning to yours.
“You make everything sound like a prophecy. I asked if you were sweaty.”
“I am not sweaty.”
“Again,” you shrug, “suspicious.”
Morpheus’ expression turned long-suffering, though you were beginning to suspect he enjoys this more than he admits. With anyone else, he might have risen in a swirl of coat and offended dignity, leaving behind only a cold breeze and the faint feeling that reality had been judged and found lacking. With you, however, he stays.
A child runs past along the nearby path, laughing wildly as a parent calls after him. A dog barked at the pigeons and was promptly ignored by every bird except for one robin, who hopped back and forth with theatrical disdain. Somewhere in the distance, bicycle wheels clicked over pavement.
The world was painfully ordinary.
Well, until it wasn’t.
At first, it was nothing obvious. Nothing grand enough to split the sky open or to make the ground tremble beneath your hands. It was only a soap bubble drifting from somewhere near the path, likely blown loose from the sticky plastic wand of a child’s new toy. It floated lazily past the two of you, catching the sunlight in its thin iridescent skin.
But when it passes in front of Morpheus, the reflection inside it changes. Instead of seeing a warped version of your surroundings, you see the stars. A whole field of them, deep and endless, scattered across the inside of the fragile little sphere as though someone had trapped a piece of night in a breath.
You’ve stopped talking, the next witty quip dying at the back of your teeth and getting stuck like taffy.
The bubble bobs once in the air between you before popping into nothing. For a moment, neither of you moved.
Then the robin, who was still offended by the dog, hopped closer to Morpheus’ boot again. Its shadow stretched beneath it, too long for the angle of the sun. For half a second, the shape on the grass wasn’t a bird at all, but something winged and vast, made from smoke and starlight.
Then it was gone.
Just a robin again. Just grass and the park and the summer afternoon.
You slowly turned your head towards him.
Morpheus’ face remains composed, but there was a slight tension at the corner of his mouth now. Not exactly irritation, something closer to embarrassment (though you’re sure he’d rather turn into sea foam than admit to something so mortal.)
“Forgive me,” he says.
“For what?”
“The Dreaming is…” he pauses, his gaze drifting to the place where the bubble had burst. “Nearer than I intended.”
You look around but the park continues as if nothing happened. The child laughs, the dog barks, and the pigeons resume their petty war over imaginary crumbs. A breeze moves thorugh the trees and for a strange second, sounded like distant bells.
Morpheus looks at you carefully, as though bracing for unease. “Are you not disturbed?”
“No,” you smile. “I like it.”
“You like it,” he repeats.
“Yeah.” You lean back on your hands again, trying very hard to seem casual despite the way your pulse suddenly picks up. “For someone who rules dreams, you’re weirdly good at making real life feel less boring.”
“And you,” he says quietly, “make the waking world less foreign to me.”
Oh.
Your fingers curl into the blades of the grass, green and warm from the sun. “That’s… a very intense thing to say in front of a pigeon.”
“The pigeon is indifferent.”
“He’s nosy.”
As if summoned by insult, the pigeon puffed up and waddled between you two with the entitled confidence of a landlord.
You glance down at it. “See? Nosy.”
You expected Morpehus to say something grand. Something old and devastating, the kind of sentence that sounded like it belonged written in silver across the inside of a tomb.
Instead, his hand shifted beside yours, knuckles brushing yours in the grass.
It could’ve been an accident if it were anyone else. But he was Morpheus, and Morpheus did very little by accident.
You glance down, and his hand remains there. For all his titles, all his power, all the endless darkness folded into the line of his coat, the gesture felt almost shy. A question without words.
And you answered by moving your hand the rest of the way, fingers sliding against his.
Morpheus did not immediately close his hands around yours. For a second, he simply let the touch exist, as if learning its shape. Then, slowly, carefully, he laces his fingers through your own.
The world did not become less ordinary.
The child still shreiks with laughter, the dog stil strains against its leash. The pigeons are still fat, the vendors still sell sugary confection. But the grass near your joined hands shimmers faintly, dark as midnight beneath the bright afternoon sun.
You flex your hand in his, looking down at the intertwined fingers.
“It’s sweaty,” you murmur.
Morpheus looks down at your joined hands.
“I am not hot.”
You sigh.
Ohhhh you want me to update my ongoing series? Umm... bye.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Summary: Sergei is captured and his only source of salvation and light is the young woman who visits him every day to bring him food and heal his wounds.
~ thank you 💜anon for this idea! i didn't make it smut but i hope you like it anyways ~
SERGEI KRAVINOFF MASTERLIST
The Hunter. They'd captured The Hunter by.
That was all you knew from the hushed whispers as they guarded your door. His name caused excitement around the compound and your curiosity was piqued. You stand from your small cot, limping over as the blood from your leg spills from the bandages. You press your palm against your door, catching snippets of the conversation in Russian, as you hold your breath.
When you hear the latch to your door snap, you stumble back. The man with the scar enters, a smirk on his face. "Ah, you're up. Good. We have a new guest. You know what to do," he walks over and caresses your cheek, causing you to flinch, and he glances down at your leg. "And don't let him get close to you, not like the last one. Understand, pet? Cleaning you up was a fuckin' mess."
You nod, earning you a light tap on your cheek as he gestures for his men to come in with a tray of food.
The Hunter's cell is grim and dark, the drip of water from the ceiling is heard in the corner. Your eyes widen when you see him. He's suspended from his arms, rusty chains digging into his skin. He's shirtless, scratches and gashes of various stages litter his back and shoulders. He's breathing deeply as you walk in. He turns his head a little, catching your eyes and he lets out a sharp laugh, spitting out more blood.
"Is this some kind of joke?" He coughs up more blood, seeing the food on the tray. You circle to the front, resting the tray on the ground as you look up at him again. "They send you in to do the dirty work, принцесса (princess)?"
You don't answer him, instead glancing at the security of the chains holding him. They're strong. Unbreakable you would guess and you look into his eyes again. You tear some of the bread and stand up, walking closer. Unlike many other prisoners, this one doesn't immediately lunge for you. He seems to be keeping his strength, simply observing your movements. You hold out the bread for him to bite out of your hand, but he spits blood at your shoes instead.
"I don't need your food," he growls and tugs on the chains, turning his torso as he hisses in pain. You see a large gash on his side and your expression softens. You're here to heal him, at least so he doesn't die until he gives them the information they want.
"I can help," you whisper, walking forward and reaching your hand to touch his side. The man inhales, readying himself to push you down—to do anything. He doesn't trust you. However, that plan falls through when he sees a glimpse of the bruising on your cheek. Someone has already hit you. He falters and then he gasps when your cold hand presses against the wound.
"Shh," you soothe, bracing yourself, "this will only hurt for a moment. I promise."
"What are you—"
He grunts, feeling something sting and turns his head as best he can, twisting his torso. You pull your hand away, revealing the mostly healed wound. It's still badly bruised and you explain; "I can't heal the bruising. I c-can only help the process."
You sound scared of him and he looks back over to you, eyes dark. You just healed him. He looks at your hand and he sees that they're shaking. His eyebrows scrunch as he examines you. You're breathing heavily, looking exhausted.
It drained you.
Suddenly, there is a loud bang on the door, and a man's voice booms into the room and orders you back out in Russian. You catch your breath, holding out the bread for the man to take. You still want him to eat at least a little. Once he reluctantly eats the bread from your hand, you grab the tray and hurry out the door.
The man hears the shout and he grimaces, pulling on his chains again. The wound doesn't hurt as much and his head is reeling from what had just happened.
Who were you?
* * *
The next time Sergei sees you, he's chained to the wall, blood trickling down the side of his head. He hears the door enter and he smells you instantly. You smell sweet, not like the men who come in who stink of death and sweat. He turns his head, cracking a smile, as blood drips from his mouth. You set the tray down, kneeling in front of him on the dirty ground. Sergei's smile drops when he sees more bruising around your cheeks. They're hurting you too. His blood boils and he tries to fight against the chains once more, his body weak.
He watches you silently as you take a syringe from the tray. Your hand is trembling and you look up at him. He knows what the liquid is, usually the men administer it when they torture him. It weakens him, making it impossible for him to break the chains that hold him in place. He growls like a hurt animal and you rest your hand on his arm.
"I'm sorry," you whisper, testing the syringe as the green liquid pours out and drips onto the ground. "They think you'll put up less of a fight if it's me—"
Sergei narrows his eyes, the gold irises flickering underneath the surface, and he snarls; "Don't do this," he says but you gently push his head to the side, your hand on his forehead as you sink the needle into his neck. He grunts. No wonder the men are asking you to do this; it's dangerous for you. He could easily turn his head and bite you in this position. Usually, they prick him in the leg or somewhere safe that still works, but not as well as it could. They're becoming impatient it seems and they're now willing to turn you into a pawn. Perhaps, that's the reason he doesn't hurt you. He knows what that's like.
"I'm really sorry," you sob, holding his head as your hand trembles even more. Once the liquid is gone, you pull away. He looks calmer now, the drug already working. You drop the syringe and break some more bread. "Please eat," you whisper, pressing the stale bread to his lips, as if trying to counteract the drug by feeding him.
He opens his eyes, reluctantly listening to you as he eats a bite. "They're hurting you too," he says and you shift uncomfortably, avoiding his intense glare. "Why? And why can't you heal yourself?" He'd noticed your limp the moment you walked and smelled the blood from your knee, even underneath your pants. You're injured.
You sit back, touching the bruising along your eye, and look up at him. "You aren't the only prisoner they give that horrid liquid to," you whisper, looking at the syringe and then tilting your head and showing him the needle mark on your neck. "They like m-my ability, but only in moderation—"
Sergei groans, his chest burning with anger. He shakes his head when he sees you begin to clean up. "Who? Who are they?! Who has me!? I can help you—if you—wait—stop—" he watches you walk out helplessly. He groans again from the pain in his side as he shifts his position. Sergei realizes you haven't healed him today. He supposes that would go against the point of the fucking drug.
Hours later, when he finally falls asleep, all he dreams of is you.
* * *
"What is your name?" Sergei asks one evening as you run a warm cloth on his face, wiping away the dried blood from the beating he'd received. He hasn't cracked yet, not that he will. You startle a little, not expecting him to ask you that question. You glance up, meeting his gaze, and you whisper your name.
"Kraven," he introduces. He wants to tell you his real name, but he doesn't know if he can fully trust you. Sergei winces when you swipe your hand across a cut on his cheek, healing the small wound. He pulls against the chains keeping his arms up. He groans, realizing it's useless. "How long have you been here, Y/n?"
You move to rub the cloth on his bare torso, going even quieter. "A year."
"Do you have a family?"
You shrug, turning away and preparing that damned drug again. The men have given up administering it and have charged you with that task instead. Sergei grimaces and when you look up, your hand gently turning his head like it always does, he doesn't fight you. Instead, he whispers, "Y/n, don't give it to me. I can get us both out of here. I won't hurt you. I promise." He's not entirely sure how long he's been here but he's desperate now. He locks eyes with you, almost pleasing.
You wrap your arm around his nape, shifting and your voice shakes when you whisper, "They're watching. There is a camera— it can't hear us but it can see us."
Sergei winces, feeling you prepare the syringe; however, he pauses when he looks to the side and sees that the needle is near the bare skin of your arm, the one covering his nape. "They make sure it's g-gone, this is the only way. Will your powers regenerate in one night?"
Sergei nods, his blue eyes are wide and he's a little alarmed when you administer the drug to yourself.
"They're watching us. Please, you have to pretend I gave it to you if you want this to work."
"Will the drug hurt you?" he asks, knowing you're purposefully hiding what you're doing to the camera in the corner of the ceiling.
You shake your head, pulling away and hiding the mark on your arm with your sleeve. "No– I just won't be able to use my powers for a while. It's okay. That's all it does. That's what it's been doing to you—weakening you." You gather your supplies with shaking hands as Sergei breathes heavily, keeping his body calm as you said.
"I won't let them hurt you again," Sergei promises before you leave. You turn around to look at him, your eyes sad, as he whispers, "I'll find you, принцесса (princess)."
* * *
"Wake up, Hunter." Sergei hears a loud bang as a metal pipe slams against the wall near his head. His eyes shoot open, his body not feeling as weak anymore and his gaze locks onto the two men who've been torturing him these past days. His eyes narrow and his hand twitches in the chains but his heart leaps when one of the men, the one with the scar on his lip, pulls you from behind the other man, his hand in your hair. "We have some exciting news," the man sings-songs and adds, "since ya seem so fond of each other."
Sergei's eyes frantically bounce from your scared expression to the men holding you, his jaw clenching.
"Since you don't quite break when we break you, we must change our method, you understand," the other man laughs, unsheathing a knife and running it in your hair. You squeeze your eyes shut, controlling your breathing. "Now, if you continue not to give us anything, we'll just have to break your little girlfriend instead. And," the man laughs, "we promise with the damage we'll cause she won't have time to heal herself—"
Sergei's eyes narrow. The men are too busy laughing at the tears that fall from your eyes to notice the glimmer of gold behind his irises—but you do. You hold your breath, unsure what's about to happen but you know it can't be good considering that the drug you'd been giving him for the past week had faded so quickly. Sergei licks his lips, his sharp fangs showing for a second before he lunges for the men, the chains previously holding him easily ripping.
You gasp, falling to the ground as you grasp the floor, scooting to the opposite side of the room, pressing your back to the wall as you watch as Kraven tears into one of the men's throats, growling like an animal would. You scream, covering your eyes with shaky hands as gunshots ring out and you hear more growls and ripping.
Once the scream stops, you feel someone's presence over you. You peek through your fingers, your gaze stuck on the splatter of blood across his features. His eyes have returned to their normal blue and he crouches down, like an animal showing its submission as his knuckles skim your cheeks and wipe away your tears.
"Are you okay?" He mutters, his voice hoarse. You nod hesitantly and when he scoops his hand under your knees and your back, you accept and wrap your arms around his neck.
"I'm here," he whispers.
Your hands tremble and you nod, finding your voice as you squeeze your eyes shut again so you don't see the lifeless bodies he'd left in his wake as he walks to the exit. However, you can't bring yourself to feel pity; those men had tortured him. And they'd tortured you for even longer. "Thank you, Kraven," you say quietly and he holds you tighter.
"Sergei," he says, "My name is Sergei."
You hum, resting your eyes as your head falls onto his chest. When you open your eyes again, you're in a truck. Sergei is on the phone, talking in Russian, and you understand snippets of his conversation. You're buckled in, your head resting on the passenger window as the headlights from the other cars blind you. You groan, your head is pounding. "You slept for hours, is that normal, принцесса (princess)?" Sergei asks, putting his phone in his pocket as he continues to drive.
"Where are we?"
"Russia," Sergei says and he looks at you with a worried expression, "We've always been in Russia—did you not know where they were holding you?" You shake your head, a little embarrassed. You really didn't know. Sergei clicks his tongue and runs a hand over his face. He's cleaned himself up, the blood is gone and he looks in much better form. He senses you staring and he looks over, "I made some calls. My brother—he has connections," he tells you, explaining the truck.
"Where are you taking me?" you ask quietly.
Sergei's eyes narrow. "My home," he pauses, "just so you can rest, I'm not sure how long that drug will last on you, but once you're better, I can take you home."
"Home," you whisper and look down at your lap, picking at your nails. "I have no home."
Sergei is quiet as he looks at the road again. "Well, you can stay with me then. I'll take care of you."
Silence looms over you as the truck rolls along icy roads, the hum of the engine filling the air. You glance at Sergei again, your gaze softening. He looks different now—calmer, more composed, less weak and frazzled. His knuckles are no longer bloodied, his breaths even now, and yet, there is something simmering underneath, like a fire that hasn't quite burned out.
"You really don't have to do that," you tell him, staring out the window. "You have already done enough."
He just chuckles, low and rough. "Enough? I went through hell, принцесса (princess), I'm not stopping now." He glances at you, his eyes sharp as they lock onto yours and his voice almost wavers when he says. "You saved me first. I owe you."
You press your lips together, unsure how to respond. He sounds so serious, as if nothing you say would sway him. You decide not to speak. Your body is heavy with exhaustion, the aftermath of the drug still dulling your senses. You sigh and shut your eyes, leaning your head against the window again as the lights from outside lull you asleep.
Once the truck finally stops, you wake to the sound of Sergei opening your door. Snow crunches under his boots as he reaches in and effortlessly lifts you into his arms again, ignoring your half-hearted protests.
"Stop fussing, will you," he mutters, his voice softer now. "You're still weak."
The large house he carries you into is cool, the scent of pine and something faintly sweet greeting you. It's a small but comfortable cabin, filled with old family trinkets and photos of a family of four; two young boys sitting on their mother's knee.
Sergei wordlessly sets you down on a couch, draping a blanket over your shoulders before crouching and starting a well-needed fire. Once the flames crackle, he turns and his hands hover over your knees, uncertain, as if he's not surewhere to begin.
Finally, he lifts his arms and brushes some hair back from your face, his touch surprisingly gentle. "Rest," he commands. His tone is calm and serious but the corners of his mouth twitch upward as if he's hiding a small smile. "I will make us food."
You still don't say a word as you watch him retreat to the kitchen, the tension in your chest easing for the first time in a long while. The danger is gone, replaced with a warmth you haven't felt. You glance around the room and you realize that for the first time in a long long time, you feel completely safe.
You smile softly, watching the fire burn and listening to Sergei walk around the kitchen.
never would’ve thought id dislike seeing off campus content on my for yous/time lines
but oh do i hate it. i honestly dont think i can handle another bad adaptation of a book that i like. there’s not a single good adaptation out there — besides the THG franchise, my beloved (even tho i do wish some things were more faithful to the books)
˙⋆✮ They say having feelings for your brother's best friend is never a good idea...
But loving Jungkook feels like the easiest thing in the world.
He's been by your side for as long as you can remember, so it's only natural for you to feel devastated when your brother, Dohyun, tells you that Jungkook is about to get married.
For the first time ever, loving him doesn't feel easy at all.
pairing: brother's best friend!jungkook × f!reader
cw: age gap (jk is 32, reader is 22 ops), tension, reader is WHIPPED, pining, initial unrequited love (my fav), eventual smut
>> english is not my first language
chapter 3 | masterlist
⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒
The amusement park is Dohyun’s idea.
Which means that by the time Saturday finally arrives, you’ve already spent the better part of two weeks hearing about it.
Not constantly.
Just often enough that nobody is particularly surprised when he shows up that morning looking as excited as if the entire festival had been organized specifically for him.
Honestly, the weather seems determined to support his enthusiasm.
The sky stretches cloudless above the city, bright and impossibly blue. The sunlight is warm without being overwhelming, and a gentle breeze carries the scent of blooming trees through the parking lot as all of you make your way toward the entrance.
The park is already crowded.
Families fill the main avenue beyond the gates. Children dart between adults with a level of energy that feels physically impossible to maintain. Music drifts from hidden speakers overhead, cheerful and bright.
Somewhere in the distance, a roller coaster slowly climbs its tracks before disappearing into the sky.
A few seconds later, the screams follow.
You find yourself smiling before you’ve even fully stepped inside.
Not because of the rides.
Not because of the attractions.
Because of the people around you.
There’s something comforting about watching everyone fall back into familiar rhythms so easily, as though no time has passed at all. Conversations overlap. Half-finished jokes get interrupted because somebody starts talking before the punchline arrives. Nobody actually agrees on where to go first, yet somehow the entire group ends up moving in the same direction anyway.
Some things never change.
Jimin spends the first ten minutes insisting that one of the biggest roller coasters in the park should be your first stop.
His argument loses all credibility the moment he accidentally admits he’s never actually been on it himself.
The reaction is immediate.
“Wait” Sophie says, staring at him. “You’ve never ridden it?”
Jimin points at her defensively.
“That doesn’t matter.”
“It absolutely matters.”
“It kind of does when you’re trying to convince us.”
Taehyung nearly doubles over laughing.
“He’s been advertising this thing for way too long.”
By the time you finally reach the attraction, Taehyung has somehow turned the entire situation into a running joke at Jimin’s expense.
Namjoon spends most of the walk questioning why he continues spending time with any of you.
The ride itself turns out to be considerably worse than advertised.
Violently aggressive.
By the time it’s over, you feel like your soul has been separated from your body at least three different times.
When you finally stumble back onto solid ground, Layla looks delighted.
Sophie immediately wants to go again.
And Dohyun collapses onto the nearest bench with the expression of a man reconsidering every decision that has led him to this exact moment.
“I can still feel it moving.”
“You’ve been standing still for five minutes” Jungkook points out.
Dohyun stares into the distance.
“That’s what scares me.”
You laugh despite yourself.
The rest of the afternoon unfolds with the kind of easy spontaneity that only seems possible when you’re surrounded by people who know each other well enough to abandon every plan almost immediately.
At one point, nearly forty minutes disappear because Hoseok becomes convinced he can win one of the oversized stuffed animals hanging from the ceiling of a carnival booth.
His confidence lasts considerably longer than his success.
After several increasingly embarrassing attempts, a small crowd has gathered nearby.
The employee running the game looks exhausted.
Hoseok remains optimistic.
“I’ve almost got it.”
“You’ve said that six times-“ Layla says. “Because it’s true.” he interrupts.
You have to turn away to hide your smile.
Unfortunately for Hoseok, optimism proves significantly less effective than Taehyung.
After watching the disaster unfold for several minutes, he casually steps forward, picks up one of the rings, and wins the prize on his very first attempt.
The silence that follows is brief.
The laughter isn’t.
Even Jungkook looks incapable of helping himself.
You glance over before you can stop yourself.
He’s leaning against the side of the booth, shoulders shaking slightly as he laughs at something Taehyung says.
The sight catches you off guard for a moment.
You immediately look away.
Unfortunately, years of practice have never made that particular task any easier.
Which is deeply irritating.
The afternoon gradually softens into evening.
Sunlight fades slowly, painting everything in shades of gold before finally surrendering to dusk. Strings of lights suspended throughout the park flicker to life overhead, transforming pathways and attractions into something almost cinematic.
Families begin making their way toward the exits.
The crowds thin and the air grows cooler.
Music drifts more clearly through the evening breeze.
Everything feels calmer than it did only a few hours ago.
Without really deciding to, all of you eventually find yourselves wandering toward one of the older sections of the park.
The newer attractions gradually disappear behind you, replaced by buildings that look decades older. Decorative lamps cast warm pools of light across the pavement while vintage signs glow softly against the darkening sky.
The entire area feels strangely charming.
It’s there that Sophie notices the funhouse.
The building stands slightly apart from everything surrounding it, large enough to attract attention without appearing particularly impressive. Rows of lights frame the entrance, illuminating painted lettering that promises mirrors, illusions, hidden passageways, and impossible reflections.
Sophie stops walking.
You immediately know what’s about to happen.
“Oh, we’re doing that.”
Layla follows her gaze.
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes.”
Namjoon sighs.
Dohyun groans.
Jimin looks interested.
Taehyung and Hoseok are already heading toward the entrance.
And just like that, the decision is made.
Naturally, Sophie decides all of you have to go inside.
Naturally, nobody manages to stop her.
Nobody seems especially surprised.
The attraction turns out to be exactly the sort of place designed to create confusion.
Corridors twist unexpectedly. Reflections appear where exits should be. Walls seem to shift depending on the angle you’re looking from. More than once, you find yourself reaching toward what looks like an open passage only to discover your own reflection staring back at you.
At first, the group stays together.
Then somehow, you don’t.
The funhouse simply seems determined to separate people.
Every hallway leads somewhere different. Every turn presents another choice. Voices echo strangely through the building, making it impossible to tell who’s actually nearby and who’s several rooms away.
You’re fairly certain Layla was walking beside you only a moment ago.
Then you turn a corner.
And suddenly, she’s gone.
The realization settles in gradually as you continue down another corridor lined entirely with mirrors. The others’ voices have become distant now, reduced to occasional bursts of laughter that seem to come from every direction at once.
You pause at an intersection, studying the two nearly identical hallways stretching out in front of you.
Neither looks familiar.
Neither looks particularly promising.
“You look like you’re trying to solve a murder.”
The voice immediately pulls your attention away from the hallways.
You turn toward the sound and feel a small wave of relief when you find Jungkook standing a few feet away.
Which is ridiculous.
You’re not actually lost- probably.
Jungkook, meanwhile, looks entirely unconcerned by the fact that the two of you have clearly been separated from everyone else.
Then again, he rarely seems concerned about anything until it becomes absolutely necessary.
“I’m trying to figure out where we are.”
His gaze shifts briefly toward the hallways before returning to you.
“I don’t think we’re supposed to know.”
“That’s encouraging.”
“I try.”
A smile threatens to appear before you quickly suppress it.
Unfortunately, he notices anyway.
His mouth twitches slightly.
You choose to ignore that.
Together, you continue forward, picking one of the hallways entirely at random.
The further you walk, the quieter everything becomes.
The music has almost disappeared now.
The sounds of other visitors seem distant.
Even the lighting has changed, becoming softer and less theatrical than before.
At some point, you stop encountering other people entirely.
The corridor ahead narrows unexpectedly before ending at a small door partially hidden behind one of the decorative wall panels.
Unlike everything else around it, the door looks real.
Completely out of place.
Your eyes land on the small handle at the exact same moment Jungkook reaches for it.
“That seems like a terrible idea.”
“Probably.”
The agreement does absolutely nothing to discourage him.
The handle turns easily.
The door opens.
And because curiosity remains one of humanity’s most persistent weaknesses, both of you step inside.
The room beyond is unmistakably a storage space.
Shelves line most of the walls, stacked with boxes and maintenance supplies. A single overhead light casts a warm amber glow across the cramped interior, illuminating dust particles drifting lazily through the air.
The space isn’t particularly large.
Actually, it seems barely large enough for two people.
You don’t fully process that thought before the door suddenly swings shut behind you.
The sound echoes sharply throughout the room.
A metallic click follows.
The kind of sound that immediately feels important.
For a second, neither of you moves.
Then Jungkook turns toward the door and reaches for the handle.
He twists it.
Nothing.
He tries again.
Still nothing.
The change in his expression is almost imperceptible.
Not panic- not even concern.
Just enough uncertainty to make your stomach sink.
Because if Jungkook is starting to reconsider the situation…
Maybe you should be too.
And suddenly, the room feels much smaller than it did a moment ago.
The silence stretches for a few seconds.
Jungkook keeps one hand on the handle, testing it again as if the door might suddenly decide to cooperate.
It doesn’t.
“Well” he says eventually. “That’s unfortunate.”
You stare at him.
“Unfortunate?”
“What word would you use?” he asks almost ironically.
“Locked.” you stare at him, suddenly aware of your surroundings.
“That’s a little dramatic.”
You let out a disbelieving laugh.
“Dramatic? Jungkook, we’re trapped in a storage closet.”
“We’re not trapped.”
“The door literally won’t open.”
You roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts.
Stepping forward, you gently push his shoulder.
“Move.”
His eyebrow lifts.
“Excuse me?”
“Let me try.”
“You think I’m not opening it correctly?”
“I think there’s a very real possibility you’re being stupid.”
A grin flashes briefly across his face.
“That’s rude.”
“Move.”
Still smiling, Jungkook steps aside.
The space is already cramped enough without the two of you trying to switch places. You have to squeeze between him and one of the shelves lining the wall, muttering under your breath when your shoulder bumps against a stack of boxes.
“Careful.” he says.
“I’m being careful.”
The moment the words leave your mouth, your elbow catches the corner of a cardboard box.
You freeze.
The box wobbles.
For one hopeful second, it looks like it might stay where it is.
It doesn’t.
“Oh no.”
The first box tips forward.
Then another.
Then apparently every single box on the shelf decides to join the rebellion.
Something crashes loudly beside you.
You instinctively stumble backward.
Directly into Jungkook.
His hands grab your waist before either of you can hit the floor.
The movement stops your fall.
Barely.
A second later another box lands somewhere behind him with a heavy thud, and suddenly, neither of you can move.
Your back is pressed firmly against his chest, one of his arms remains wrapped around your waist, the other is braced against the shelf beside you.
The storage room had already felt small, now it feels microscopic.
Your heartbeat becomes painfully obvious, you can only hope he can’t hear it.
For a moment neither of you says anything.
The fallen boxes settle around the floor, dust drifts lazily through the air.
Everything else is quiet.
Very quiet.
Slowly, you become aware of every point of contact.
The warmth of him behind you, the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the way his hand is still resting against your side.
“Well.”
Jungkook’s voice breaks the silence, lower than before.
Much closer.
You swallow.
“Well?”
“I think you made it worse.”
You let out a nervous laugh.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
The response comes too quickly.
Too easily.
Your stomach does something deeply unhelpful.
Carefully, you tilt your head back enough to look at him.
Big mistake.
His face is much closer than you expected.
Close enough that you can clearly see the faint amusement lingering in his eyes.
Close enough that looking away suddenly feels like the safest option- for a second, neither of you does.
Something shifts, not enough to name- just enough for the atmosphere to feel different.
The smile on Jungkook’s face fades slightly.
His gaze drops for the briefest moment.
Your heart immediately forgets how to function.
You panic.
You shift slightly, trying to create some distance between the two of you, the warmth of his body suddenly feeling far too overwhelming in such a small space.
Immediately, you feel his hand tighten around your waist, more out of instinct than anything else, as though he’s afraid you’ll lose your balance.
“We’re stuck.”
The realization makes your anxiety climb higher.
Not because you’re trapped inside a storage room.
Not because nobody seems particularly eager to rescue you.
But because Jungkook is everywhere.
His presence fills the tiny space between the shelves, impossible to ignore. You can feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing behind you, the warmth radiating from him, the simple fact that there is nowhere for either of you to move.
You try again, shifting your weight in another unsuccessful attempt to create even the smallest amount of space.
“Stop.”
Your heart immediately drops.
The word is quiet, but there’s a note of warning in it that makes you freeze for half a second before instinctively trying again.
“Y/n, please.”
Your mind is moving far too fast to listen.
The accelerated rhythm of your heartbeat drowns out every rational thought. All you know is that being this close to him feels dangerous in ways a locked room never could.
You move once more.
A sharp exhale leaves him.
“Fuck Y/n- don’t move.”
This time his hands tighten strongly around your waist, steadying you before you can shift again.
You freeze.
Completely.
Only then do you notice what he had been trying to warn you about.
You can feel him everywhere.
His chest, his hands, and the reason he wanted you to stop moving.
“Oh my God.”
You feel him inhale sharply behind you as his hands finally leave your waist, and somehow the loss of contact only makes everything worse. The silence that settles between you is thick with something you refuse to examine too closely, and for one horrifying second all you can think about is how your own imagination- an imagination responsible for years of terrible decisions and even worse daydreams- could never have come up with a situation this absurd.
You want the ground to open beneath your feet and put an end to your suffering.
Slowly, carefully, you turn your attention back to the shelf in front of you, determined to think about literally anything else. The boxes. The lock. The fact that you’re trapped. World hunger. Taxes. Anything.
You open your mouth, ready to apologize for accidentally making the last five minutes the most awkward experience of your life.
You never get the chance.
The door suddenly swings open.
“There they are.”
Relief immediately floods the room, followed by a completely different emotion when you remember exactly what happened just a minute ago.
Your cheeks are already burning.
Your breathing hasn’t fully settled.
Jungkook is standing far too close behind you.
And everyone is staring.
Absolutely perfect.
You suddenly realize how this must look from the outside. Trapped in a room barely large enough for one person, Jungkook standing directly behind you - there is absolutely no version of this that looks innocent.
For a moment nobody says anything. Their eyes move from you to Jungkook and then back again, each of them silently trying to piece together whatever explanation could possibly justify finding the two of you trapped inside what is essentially a glorified storage closet.
You step out first the second there’s enough room to move, grateful for the cooler air that immediately hits your face. Unfortunately, it does absolutely nothing to help with the embarrassment threatening to kill you on the spot.
“How on earth did you guys end up in here?”
The question comes from Layla, though judging by the expressions around her, everybody wants the answer.
Neither of you dares to say anything.
.✦ ݁˖
By the time everyone leaves the amusement park, the initial excitement of the day has faded into the kind of pleasant exhaustion that makes even the most energetic people noticeably quieter. The car ride to Dohyun’s house is filled with lazy conversations and occasional laughter, most of it coming from Taehyung and Jimin, who somehow still have enough energy left to argue over absolutely nothing. The rest of you mostly listen, occasionally contributing before sinking back into comfortable silence.
Dohyun’s house is already glowing with warm lights by the time you arrive.
His wife opens the door before anyone even has the chance to ring the bell, smiling knowingly at the sight of the entire group gathered outside.
“Please tell me nobody got arrested.”
“Not today” Namjoon answers.
“Disappointing.”
The house immediately fills with noise as everyone filters inside. Sophie and Layla disappear into the kitchen to help with dinner, Jimin somehow finds food before anybody else, and Taehyung immediately makes himself comfortable as though he pays rent there.
You’re halfway through greeting Dohyun’s wife when your phone vibrates inside your pocket.
The sight of Yoongi’s name immediately catches your attention.
For some reason, the thought of telling him about today makes you smile.
Maybe because you already know exactly how he’s going to react.
You had assumed that, with time, Yoongi would slowly fade out of your life.
Instead, you somehow find him everywhere. Not physically, at least not as often as you’d like given the circumstances, but his presence lingers all the same.
You excuse yourself from the conversation and quietly slip toward the balcony connected to the dining room, sliding the door shut behind you as the noise of the house softens.
The evening air feels cool against your skin.
For a moment you simply stand there, looking out over the city lights.
Then you answer.
“Please tell me you’re calling because you sensed I was suffering.”
Yoongi laughs immediately.
“I knew something happened.”
“Something happened.”
The amusement in his voice grows instantly.
“Oh, this is going to be good.”
You roll your eyes despite yourself.
“It isn’t good.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
The annoying thing about Yoongi is that he’s often right.
You lean against the railing and begin explaining the day, starting with the amusement park, the maze, and the unfortunate decision to wander somewhere you definitely weren’t supposed to be.
At first he listens quietly.
Then you reach the storage room and the part where the door locked.
And from there the conversation completely falls apart.
“You got trapped.”
“Yes.”
“With Jungkook.”
You close your eyes.
“Unfortunately.”
The laugh that follows is immediate.
“You sound very upset about that.”
“I am.”
“No, you’re embarrassed.”
You groan.
“Can you just go on with the story?”
“I’m trying.”
“You are not.”
He laughs again.
By the time you’ve explained the entire thing- including the rescue, the incident, the concerned faces outside the room and the silent treatment you and Jungkook have been giving each other- Yoongi is openly entertained by your suffering.
“I don’t understand what’s funny.”
“You don’t?”
“No.” you shake your head.
“You spent half an hour trapped in a tiny room with the guy you’ve been emotionally torturing yourself over for years…”
You can feel him smiling through the phone.
“…and you got him hard- I think that’s pretty funny.”
You immediately look around despite being completely alone.
“What the fuck- keep your voice down.” you almost scream even though there’s no chance anyone could overhear the conversation from where you’re standing.
“You called me.”
“That’s not the point.”
A smile threatens to appear despite your best efforts.
The conversation continues naturally after that. One topic turns into another, and before you know it several minutes have passed. Yoongi’s in the middle of complaining about how Sophie and her stupid ideas were still as disastrous as he remembered, when movement behind the glass catches your attention.
You glance over your shoulder.
Jungkook.
He’s standing inside the dining room, talking to somebody for a second before his eyes drift toward the balcony.
Toward you.
Your stomach immediately decides to become a problem.
“Hold on.”
The words leave your mouth before you can stop them.
Yoongi notices immediately.
“Oh?”
“I’ll call you later.”
His tone becomes instantly suspicious.
“Why?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
“Is that him?”
You end the call before he can continue.
The balcony door slides open a second later as Jungkook steps outside.
For a brief moment neither of you says anything.
The sounds of laughter and conversation spill out from inside before the door closes behind him once more.
You suddenly become aware that the balcony isn’t particularly large.
Which is a ridiculous thing to notice.
“I haven’t heard much from you lately.”
The comment is casual.
You slip your phone into your pocket.
“Neither have I.”
A smile briefly appears on his face.
Jungkook leans against the railing beside you, glancing out toward the city.
“You know” he says, “normally when people are avoiding me, they’re less obvious about it.”
You almost choke.
With everything that’s going on- weddings, yoongi and hurtful unrequited love, you admit to yourself that you’ve been less… present.
“I wasn’t avoiding you.”
Jungkook turns his head slightly.
The look he gives you says he doesn’t believe that for a second.
You immediately look away.
The city lights suddenly become fascinating.
For a moment neither of you speaks.
The memory of the storage room chooses that exact moment to return, uninvited and entirely unwanted.
Unfortunately, your brain never misses an opportunity to make your life worse.
Trying to distract yourself, you let out a small laugh.
“Well, if I was avoiding you, I guess getting locked in a storage room together wasn’t exactly an effective way to make up for lost time.”
The second the sentence leaves your mouth, you regret it.
Immediately.
Because now you’re thinking about it again.
The silence that follows lasts just long enough to make your embarrassment significantly worse.
When you finally glance toward Jungkook, he appears far too calm.
“It was an awfully… uplifting afternoon, wasn’t it?”
You stare at him.
There is absolutely no way.
No way he just asked you that.
He delivered the question so casually that for half a second you almost wonder whether he’s genuinely waiting for an answer or not.
Then you notice the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.
The barely concealed amusement.
The fact that he can’t quite look at you without smirking.
And suddenly you realize exactly what he’s doing.
“Oh, shut up.”
That finally earns a laugh from him.
A real one.
“You brought it up.”
“You know that’s not what I was talking about.”
“Do I?”
The teasing in his voice is subtle, but it’s there. Enough to make your face feel warm all over again. Enough to make you want to throw yourself off the balcony.
The worst part is that Jungkook looks entirely too pleased with himself.
For somebody who spent the afternoon trapped in the exact same room, he seems suspiciously unaffected by the whole experience.
Or maybe he’s simply better at hiding it.
Jungkook’s smile softens slightly as he looks back toward the city lights stretching beyond the balcony.
Eventually, he lets out a quiet breath.
“You know..” he says, absentmindedly tracing his thumb along the railing, “sometimes things just happen.”
You glance toward him.
“What does that mean?”
A small smile appears on his face.
“It means not everything has to become a big thing.”
The words are simple.
You look away again, letting your gaze drift toward the city below.
“I guess.” you mutter, still embarrassed.
“I’m serious.”
His voice is light, but there’s something reassuring underneath it.
“We spend way too much time overthinking things.”
For a few seconds, neither of you speaks again.
The sounds coming from inside continue uninterrupted, somebody laughing loudly enough that it reaches the balcony even through the closed glass door.
What Jungkook is trying to say is that life keeps moving, the evening keeps moving.
Not every conversation has to lead somewhere.
Not every moment has to be analyzed to death.
Not every thought deserves attention.
You honesty wish you could achieve that level of carelessness, but the problem is that what happened doesn’t just leave you overthinking.
It sits heavily in your stomach, an impossible weight that follows you everywhere.
Every time you replay it in your head, you’re overwhelmed by a mess of emotions that range from indecently inappropriate to genuinely terrifying.
“Jungkook I-“
Jungkook pushes himself away from the railing.
“We should probably go back inside.”
You mentally groan.
You stay quiet for a moment, eventually deciding that feigning ignorance is the best thing you can do.
“You’re right.”
For a moment, you find yourself looking at him a little longer than intended.
Then you quickly look away before your brain decides to become annoying again.
Together, you head back toward the house.
Neither of you says it out loud.
Neither of you needs to.
Some conversations are better left unfinished.
Some things don’t require explanations.
As Jungkook slides the balcony door open and the noise of the dinner gathering immediately surrounds you once again, an unspoken understanding settles comfortably between the two of you: whatever happened, whatever didn’t happen, whatever either of you may or may not be thinking, tonight isn’t the night to talk about it.
And for once, you’re both perfectly okay with that.
Taehyung catches you the second you walk back into the dining room.
His eyes immediately drift toward the balcony behind you, then back to you.
You already know where this is going.
“Don’t look at me like that, you know nothing happened.”
“I didn’t ask anything.”
“You were about to.”
Taehyung places a hand over his heart, looking deeply offended.
“I was just checking if you’re okay.”
You narrow your eyes.
“I’m somewhat feeling alright.”
He looks at you with initial concern, but when he realizes you’re being sarcastic, his grin widens.
“You’ve been out there for a while.”
You immediately look past him.
“Oh my God- I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Was it a productive conversation?”
“Move.”
“Did you solve all your problems?”
You point a finger at him, “Kim Taehyung.”
He laughs and the sound follows you all the way to your seat.
“That’s a no, then.”
.✦ ݁˖
A few days pass before you see Yoongi again, although “a few days” feels deceptively short when every single one of them has been consumed by wedding planning in one way or another. It seems impossible to escape it lately. Every conversation somehow circles back to the wedding, as always, and every time your phone lights up there’s a decent chance somebody is asking for an opinion you never volunteered to give in the first place. The closer July gets, the more the entire thing starts feeling less like an event and more like an approaching deadline hanging over everyone’s heads.
Including yours.
By the end of the week, you’ve reached a point where hearing the words wedding venue is enough to make you consider moving to another country.
Which is exactly why agreeing to meet Yoongi feels like a breath of fresh air.
The café he suggests is tucked away on a quieter street a few neighborhoods away from the city center, the kind of place you would never discover on your own but somehow feels immediately familiar the moment you walk inside. It’s small without being crowded, warm without being stuffy, and pleasantly detached from the chaos of the outside world. Most of the tables are occupied by people working on laptops or pretending to read books while secretly eavesdropping on conversations around them, leaving the atmosphere relaxed enough that nobody pays attention to anyone else.
You arrive first and claim a table near the window.
Yoongi arrives eight minutes later carrying absolutely no guilt about being late.
“You look exhausted.”
The observation comes less than thirty seconds after sitting down.
You don’t even bother pretending otherwise.
“I am exhausted.”
His eyebrows lift slightly.
“Work?”
You nod, blowing the steam away from your coffee.
“And weddings.”
Understanding immediately settles across his face.
Not sympathy.
Recognition.
The kind that comes from knowing exactly where this conversation is about to go.
Over the next hour, the conversation drifts effortlessly between different topics, sometimes spending twenty minutes on something completely irrelevant before unexpectedly circling back to the wedding once again. You tell him about the latest disaster involving guest accommodations, the endless discussions about decorations, and the fact that Sophie appears to have developed the supernatural ability to become stressed about things nobody else even knew existed. Somehow this evolves into a conversation about the group as a whole, which then becomes a conversation about Jungkook, which inevitably becomes a conversation about the increasingly surreal experience of watching a person you’ve known for most of your life prepare to marry somebody else.
You never phrase it that way.
You don’t need to.
Yoongi is smart enough to understand what you’re actually saying, because somewhere along the way, understanding you became second nature to him.
Either way, he listens more than he talks, occasionally offering a comment here and there but mostly allowing you to ramble until your thoughts finally untangle themselves.
The strange thing is that speaking to him has become remarkably easy.
Somewhere between your first conversation and now, the awkwardness disappeared entirely. There are no expectations attached to your interactions, no pressure to be anything other than yourself, and no complicated history lurking beneath every sentence waiting to make things difficult. It’s simple. Comfortable. The kind of friendship that sneaks up on you before you realize it’s happening.
At one point you find yourself laughing over something completely unrelated, your coffee long forgotten beside you, and it suddenly occurs to you that this is probably the most relaxed you’ve felt all week.
Maybe that’s why you don’t immediately notice the café door opening.
Maybe that’s why you don’t realize anything has changed until Yoongi’s attention drifts somewhere over your shoulder.
The shift is subtle.
So subtle, in fact, that under normal circumstances you probably wouldn’t have noticed it at all.
But you do.
His expression doesn’t change.
Not really.
If anything, that’s what catches your attention: the complete absence of reaction, the way he suddenly becomes very still.
You frown slightly.
“What?”
For a second he doesn’t answer.
His gaze remains fixed somewhere behind you, his coffee forgotten midway to his lips.
The silence stretches just long enough to make you curious.
Then concerned.
Slowly, you turn around in your seat.
The answer arrives immediately.
Sophie is standing near the entrance.
At first she looks completely normal, one hand still resting on the strap of her bag as she glances around the café, clearly searching for somebody.
Then her eyes find your table.
Find you.
And finally find Yoongi.
Everything about her freezes.
The movement.
The expression.
Even her breathing seems to stop.
The confusion appears first, quick and instinctive, followed almost immediately by disbelief so profound that for a moment she genuinely looks as though she’s questioning whether what she’s seeing is real.
Nobody moves.
The noise of the café continues around you uninterrupted, cups clinking against saucers and conversations carrying on as though nothing unusual is happening, but suddenly all of it feels strangely distant.
Sophie continues staring.
Yoongi continues staring back.
You gulp as somewhere deep in your stomach, a terrible realization begins forming.
Because until this exact moment, until right now, you’ve somehow managed to keep those two parts of your life completely separate.
Sophie.
Yoongi.
The wedding.
The past.
None of it had collided.
Not yet.
Not until now.
Several long seconds pass before Sophie finally takes a hesitant step forward, her eyes never leaving his face as though she’s afraid he’ll disappear if she looks away.
When she finally speaks, her voice is so quiet that under any other circumstances you might have missed it.
You don’t.
Neither does Yoongi.
“Yoongs?”
The single word hangs between them, carrying years of history you know almost nothing about, and the expression that flashes across Sophie’s face makes one thing painfully clear.
Whatever she expected to find when she walked into this café today, it certainly wasn’t her ex sitting across from you.
Yoongi doesn’t say anything, the look on his face tells you everything.
There’s something heartbreakingly sad about his expression, something so quietly devastating that it catches you completely off guard. The usual composure is still there, the calm exterior he always seems to wear so effortlessly, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
And his eyes.
God.
The melancholy sitting behind them is so unmistakable that, for a brief second, you feel your own throat tighten.
Your eyes sting unexpectedly- not because he’s asking for sympathy or anything- but because you can see it.
You can see exactly what he’s trying so hard not to show.
You had always known about the feelings Yoongi still carried for Sophie. He’d told you enough for you to understand the situation, enough for you to know that some part of him never really moved on. But knowing it and witnessing it are two entirely different things.
Seeing him like this makes something click into place.
It makes you realize just how similar the two of you actually are.
Beneath all the differences, beneath the sarcasm and the jokes and the conversations that somehow last for hours, you’re both carrying the same kind of wound.
A heartbroken person recognizes another heartbroken person the moment they see one.
And looking at Yoongi now, you can’t help but wonder if he sees the exact same thing when he looks at you.
───────────
author’s note:
thought the secret was going to last longer?
unfortunately for everyone involved, drama waits for no one :P
as always, i’d love to hear your thoughts, and thank you so much for reading <3
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
˙⋆✮ They say having feelings for your brother's best friend is never a good idea...
But loving Jungkook feels like the easiest thing in the world.
He's been by your side for as long as you can remember, so it's only natural for you to feel devastated when your brother, Dohyun, tells you that Jungkook is about to get married.
For the first time ever, loving him doesn't feel easy at all.
pairing: brother's best friend!jungkook × flreader
cw: age gap (jk is 32, reader is 22 ops), tension, reader is WHIPPED, pining, initial unrequited love (my fav), eventual smut
>> english is not my first language
chapter 02 | masterlist
⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒
“Together with their families, Jeon Jungkook and Sophie Laurent request the pleasure of your company at their wedding celebration…”
July 18th.
You read the date once.
Then again.
And somehow, seeing it written down so formally makes everything feel worse.
Not the engagement announcement.
Not the constant wedding conversations filling every single hangout lately.
Not Sophie absentmindedly bringing up cake tastings or flower appointments.
The invitation does it.
Because invitations are permanent things. Real things. They get mailed to houses and stuck onto refrigerators and tucked carefully inside kitchen drawers beside unpaid bills and birthday cards.
There’s no more convincing yourself the wedding won’t actually happen.
“You’re burning holes through the paper at this point.”
Your mother’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts.
You blink, lowering the invitation slightly while she watches you from the other side of the kitchen island.
Normally she would’ve been excited about something like this.
Weddings are exactly the kind of thing she loves: flowers, music, dressing people up, crying dramatically during vows.
But ever since the engagement announcement, she’s been careful around you- quieter.
Not upset.
Just worried about you.
“I’m fine” you say automatically.
She gives you that look mothers somehow perfect over the years.
The one that says: ‘I know you’re lying’.
“You didn’t sleep much” she says carefully.
You shrug lightly, looking back down at the invitation before folding it closed again. “I’m working today.”
“Mhm.”
Silence settles softly between the two of you for a moment.
“You know” your mother says gently, “you don’t always have to force yourself to be okay for everybody else.”
Your chest tightens unexpectedly.
Because that’s the problem, isn’t it?
Nobody says Jungkook’s name.
Nobody asks questions.
But somehow your mother still sees it anyway.
“Mama—”
“I’m not asking” she interrupts softly. “I’m just saying I know you.”
You look away immediately after that.
The last thing you need at eight in the morning is to cry in your kitchen.
Thankfully, your phone vibrates against the counter before your mother can say anything else.
Ly💛: if you become emotionally unstable at work today i’m charging you extra
You shake your head while grabbing your bag. “I’m leaving before you become wise and emotional again.”
“Too late. I already am.”
.✦ ݁˖
By the time your shift starts, you’ve successfully convinced yourself you’re functional again.
Which is usually enough.
The cafe smells like coffee beans and vanilla syrup while quiet music drifts through the speakers overhead. Layla is pretending to clean tables while very obviously waiting for gossip the second you’re vulnerable enough to provide it.
“You look tragic” she says the moment you walk behind the counter.
“Good morning to you too.”
“I’m serious. Your face looks heartbreakingly beautiful today.”
You stare at her blankly. “Should I take that as a compliment?”
Layla grins unapologetically before handing you an apron.
“You cried?”
“A little.”
“How little?”
“Enough.”
She sighs dramatically. “God. Men are genuinely embarrassing.”
You snort quietly while tying your apron strings behind your back.
For a while, the morning rush keeps both of you distracted enough that conversation dies down naturally. Coffee orders pile up, people rush in half asleep before work, somebody spills an iced latte directly onto the counter and nearly causes Layla to commit murder.
But every now and then your thoughts drift again.
Three months.
Three months until Jungkook stands in front of everybody you love and promises forever to someone else.
“You’re doing it again” Layla says suddenly.
“What?”
“The sad staring thing.”
“I’m literally making coffee.”
“You’re dreadfully making coffee.”
You laugh under your breath, ignoring her.
Around closing time, Layla suddenly drops a stack of receipts dramatically onto the counter.
“No.”
You glance up from the espresso machine. “No what?”
“We are not ending the day like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re one sad playlist away from staring out a rainy window dramatically.”
A quiet laugh almost escapes you, but you manage to hide it behind your cup.
“You’re exaggerating.”
“I’m absolutely not.” Layla narrows her eyes at you. “You’ve been walking around this café looking haunted for eight hours.”
“I have literally been working.”
“You handed someone the wrong order because you were staring into space.”
You pause.
“…Okay, that happened once.”
“Twice.”
You groan softly, rubbing your face with one hand while Layla watches you carefully for a second, her expression softening slightly.
“You can’t keep doing this to yourself, you know.”
Something about the gentleness in her voice makes your eyes water.
You busy yourself wiping down the counter again. “I’m trying not to.”
“I know.” She sighs quietly before nudging your arm with hers. “That’s why we’re going out tonight.”
You immediately shake your head. “Absolutely not.”
“Oh my God, why are you acting like I asked you to join a cult?”
“Because clubs are my personal hell.”
Layla laughs under her breath before reaching over to grab your wrist lightly.
“Come on. Just for a few hours.” Her tone softens again. “You deserve one night where you’re not thinking about wedding invitations and emotional suffering.”
You groan quietly, already exhausted just thinking about crowded dance floors and drunk strangers stepping on your shoes.
But Layla keeps looking at you with that stubborn expression that usually means she’s already decided for both of you.
And honestly? Maybe staying home alone with your thoughts sounds worse.
.✦ ݁˖
By eleven that night, you’re questioning every decision that led you here.
The club is loud enough to make your head hurt almost immediately.
Lights flash violently across the crowded dance floor while bodies move together beneath music so loud it practically vibrates through your ribs.
Layla, meanwhile, looks completely alive.
“This is fun!” she shouts over the music.
“This is horrendous.”
She cackles loudly before disappearing toward the bar, dragging you behind her before you can escape.
You lean against the counter tiredly while Layla orders drinks for both of you.
Around you, people laugh too loudly, flirt too easily, touch each other like intimacy is something simple.
You wonder briefly what that must feel like.
“Okay” Layla says suddenly, handing you a drink. “New rule.”
“I don’t trust that tone.”
“No thinking about Jungkook tonight.”
Your expression gives you away instantly.
“Oh my God” she groans. “You were literally just thinking about him.”
“I wasn’t.”
Before she can argue further, a voice suddenly speaks beside you.
“You look like you’d rather be anywhere else.”
You glance up automatically.
The man standing there looks vaguely amused, one hand resting against the bar while tired eyes study you carefully.
Dark clothes.
Dark hair.
Pretty in a way that feels effortless.
Layla narrows her eyes suspiciously immediately.
“She would” she answers before you can.
A quiet laugh leaves him.
“Fair enough.”
There’s something unexpectedly calm about him despite the chaos around you. Like the music doesn’t touch him at all.
“I’m Yoongi” he says.
You tell him your name a second later, mostly expecting a polite conversation before he disappears back into the crowd.
Instead, he stays.
And strangely enough, talking to him feels easy.
Not flirty in the exhausting way most strangers are.
At one point Layla disappears toward the dance floor after loudly whispering:
“Please try acting like a person for once.”
“She always like this?” Yoongi asks.
“Unfortunately.”
You smile faintly into your drink.
For a few moments, silence settles comfortably between the two of you while the music pounds around the room.
Then Yoongi glances at you again.
“So” he says casually, “what ruined your mood today?”
You let out a soft laugh beneath your breath.
“That obvious?”
“A little.”
You hesitate briefly before shrugging lightly.
“My friend’s getting married.”
He watches you as you take a sip of your drink,
“Shouldn’t that be a good thing?”
“It is.”
“But?”
Your fingers tighten slightly around your glass.
“It’s complicated.”
Yoongi watches your expression carefully for a second before nodding slowly.
“That usually means feelings are involved.”
Heat rises immediately to your face as you look away.
And unfortunately, that probably answers the question for him.
“Ah-” he says, obviously not shocked at all.
You groan. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“The ‘I think I got it right’ thing.”
A smile tugs faintly at the corner of his mouth.
“You’re in love with someone unavailable.”
The sentence lands gently.
You stare down at your drink for a second before laughing quietly to yourself.
“It gets worse, actually.”
A faint smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. “That sounds promising.”
“He’s older than me too.”
Yoongi raises an eyebrow slightly. “How much older?”
You hesitate for half a second.
“…Ten years.”
That finally earns a real reaction out of him.
He turns toward you properly for the first time since the conversation started, disbelief flickering briefly across his face before he lets out a quiet laugh.
“Wow.”
“I know.”
“No, seriously.” He shakes his head once, still vaguely amused. “That’s a very specific kind of disaster.”
You groan softly, hiding your face behind your glass for a second. “Please don’t say that again”
“I’m trying not to judge you.”
“You are judging me.”
“A little.”
Despite yourself, a laugh escapes you.
And strangely, it feels nice.
For once somebody is looking at your feelings from the outside, and the world still hasn’t ended because of it.
For a few seconds, the two of you just stand there while music pulses through the walls around you.
Then you glance toward him again.
“What about you?” you ask. “Are you here alone?”
Yoongi hums softly before nodding once. “Yeah.”
“No friends?”
“I ditched them after like twenty minutes.” His expression twists slightly. “I needed a distraction.”
You look at him for a second longer than necessary.
And before your brain can stop you—
“Do you maybe…” You immediately regret opening your mouth. “I mean- if you still want a distraction, we could go somewhere else.”
Yoongi blinks once.
Heat rushes instantly to your face.
Oh my God.
“Not in a weird way” you say too fast. “I just meant- maybe ice cream or something.”
For a second, Yoongi just stares at you.
Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth lifts.
“Ice cream” he repeats.
You want the floor to open beneath you.
“This sounded less embarrassing in my head.”
“No” he says quietly, still looking at you with that amused expression. “It’s actually kind of nice.”
And somehow, a few minutes later, the two of you are walking out of the club together into the warm night while Layla sends you increasingly threatening messages from inside.
.✦ ݁˖
By the time the two of you find somewhere to sit, the city feels quieter.
Cars pass occasionally down the street behind you while warm air carries distant music from bars that still haven’t closed yet. The convenience store bag rests beside you on the bench, abandoned after Yoongi complained that his ice cream was melting way too fast.
Now he sits beside you with one arm stretched lazily along the back of the bench, head tilted slightly toward the night sky while he finishes the last bite of his ice cream.
There’s something strangely calm about him outside the club.
Inside, he looked detached from everything around him.
Out here, he just looks tired.
Comfortably tired.
Like someone who stopped trying to impress people a long time ago.
“You know” he says suddenly, glancing toward you, “this is probably the weirdest way I’ve ever met someone.”
“You say that like you do this often.”
“Leave clubs with heartbroken strangers?”
“Exactly.”
Yoongi hums thoughtfully. “Not usually, no.”
A quiet laugh escapes you.
For a few seconds, neither of you says anything after that. The silence doesn’t feel awkward though.
Maybe because there’s comfort in talking to somebody who doesn’t know your life.
Somebody who doesn’t look at you with pity every time your feelings get mentioned.
Yoongi nudges your shoe lightly with his own.
“So” he says. “Tell me about him.”
Your chest tightens immediately.
Even without names.
Even without details.
Somehow, talking about Jungkook always feels dangerous.
You stare ahead quietly for a moment before speaking.
“I’ve known him since I was ten.”
Yoongi’s eyebrows lift slightly.
“Ten?”
You nod once.
“Our families have always been close, he’s my brother’s best friend.” A small smile appears on your face despite yourself. “He used to come over all the time when we were younger. I was kind of obsessed with him immediately.”
“Kind of?”
You roll your eyes softly. “Fine. Completely obsessed.”
“I respect the honesty.”
You smile faintly before looking back down at your hands.
“At first it was just a stupid childhood crush.” Your voice softens slightly. “You know… the kind you think you’ll eventually grow out of.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
The word comes out quieter than expected.
Yoongi watches you carefully without interrupting.
And somehow, maybe because he feels strangely safe, the rest spills out easier than it should.
“I think the problem is that he kept becoming someone worth loving.” You let out a quiet breath through your nose. “It would’ve been easier if he turned into an asshole.”
Yoongi snorts softly beside you.
“But he didn’t?”
“No.” You shake your head lightly. “He’s good. Annoyingly good.”
Your chest aches a little at the thought.
“He remembers tiny things people tell him once and somehow never forgets them. He notices when I’m upset before I even say anything. He takes care of everyone around him without making it obvious.” You laugh quietly to yourself. “Sometimes I genuinely think loving him became muscle memory at some point.”
The night air suddenly feels colder.
“Does he know?” Yoongi asks carefully.
You look down immediately.
“No.”
“Never?”
You shake your head again.
“There was never really a point.” A sad smile pulls at your lips. “Some people are just… impossible to have.”
Yoongi stays quiet.
So you continue.
“He’s older than me. We met when I was still a kid and he was already…” You shrug lightly. “He always felt unreachable somehow. Even when we got closer as I got older.”
Your stomach twists painfully.
“And then eventually he fell in love with somebody else.”
Yoongi glances toward you.
Saying it out loud still hurts.
Even now.
You let out a soft laugh beneath your breath.
“And the worst part is that I can’t even blame her for it.”
Yoongi glances toward you.
“You know her well?”
You nod slowly.
“Our lives have been connected for years.” Your voice softens slightly. “At some point, she just became part of everything too.”
Silence settles between the two of you again after that.
Somewhere down the street, people laugh loudly while crossing the road. A motorcycle speeds past a little too fast. The city keeps moving around you normally while your entire chest feels strangely exposed.
Then Yoongi speaks again.
“You know… I get it.”
You blink, turning toward him slightly.
“What do you mean?”
For the first time that night, his expression loses that faint amused edge completely.
He looks down at the melted remains of his ice cream for a second before speaking.
“The woman I’m in love with is my ex.”
Your eyebrows pull together slightly.
Yoongi lets out a quiet laugh through his nose, though there’s nothing happy about it.
“We were together for a long time.” He pauses briefly. “Too long, probably.”
Something about his tone makes you stay quiet.
“It was one of those relationships where every good moment came with another fight waiting right behind it.” His jaw tightens slightly. “We loved each other, but we were exhausting together.”
You listen carefully while he speaks, watching the way his fingers absentmindedly play with the spoon in his hand.
“We’d break up.” A faint smile appears briefly on his face. “Then somehow end up together again two weeks later.”
“Like a loop?”
“Exactly.” He laughs softly. “Dates, sex, promises that things would be different this time… then another fight. Another breakup.”
The sadness in his voice is subtle.
That almost makes it worse.
“At some point” he continues quietly, “we both realized love wasn’t fixing anything anymore.”
Your chest tightens unexpectedly.
“So you ended it.”
Yoongi nods slowly.
“We agreed it was the right thing to do.”
The way he says it tells you immediately that being right didn’t make it hurt less.
“And how did it go?” you ask softly.
For a moment, Yoongi just stares ahead at the empty street.
Then he smiles faintly.
Except this time the expression looks genuinely painful.
“She moved on…” he says quietly.
A pause.
“I didn’t.”
Something in your chest aches at the honesty of it.
Not because you pity him.
Because you understand.
Completely.
For a while, neither of you speaks after that.
Then, unexpectedly, Yoongi laughs quietly to himself.
“What?”
He glances toward you again.
“It’s kind of funny.”
“What is?”
“We met like an hour ago and somehow ended up trauma bonding on a bench at two in the morning.”
A laugh escapes you before you can stop it.
“Maybe this was fate.”
“Don’t say that” Yoongi says immediately. “That makes this sound way more romantic than it is.”
You grin faintly for the first time all night.
And strangely enough, sitting beside someone who understands what it feels like to love people you can’t fully have makes the loneliness inside your chest feel a little quieter for once.
For a while, the conversation drifts into small things.
Favorite foods, terrible habits, the kind of music people only listen to alone.
Yoongi speaks calmly, never too much at once, but enough that you slowly begin piecing together the shape of him. He’s sarcastic in a dry, almost lazy way, the kind that sneaks up on you half a second too late. Every now and then he says something unexpectedly funny without even smiling afterward, like humor is just an accidental side effect of how his brain works.
And somehow, despite meeting barely two hours ago, sitting beside him feels strangely comfortable.
The bench beneath you creaks softly every time one of you shifts position while your ice cream is nearly melted now, forgotten somewhere between conversations and confessions.
Yoongi glances toward your cup with mild disgust.
“That looks medically concerning now.”
You look down.
“…I think it’s becoming soup.”
“Tragic.”
A laugh escapes you quietly.
Then silence settles again, softer this time.
You pull your legs slightly closer to yourself against the bench, reaching down for your bag while searching for napkins.
Your fingers brush against thick paper.
And immediately, you remember.
The invitation.
You close your eyes briefly in embarrassment.
“What?” Yoongi asks.
“I actually brought the wedding invitation to the club with me.”
A quiet snort leaves him instantly.
“That might be the saddest thing I’ve heard in months.”
“I forgot it was there.”
“That honestly makes it worse.”
You shake your head, laughing softly despite yourself while pulling the cream-colored envelope halfway out of your bag.
The gold details catch faintly beneath the streetlights.
Even now, hours later, looking at it still leaves that same heavy feeling inside your chest.
Yoongi notices your expression immediately.
His teasing fades slightly.
“You really love him, huh?”
The question isn’t mocking.
If anything, it sounds almost careful.
Your eyes stay fixed on the invitation resting between your fingers for a moment before you answer.
“I think part of me always will.”
The honesty slips out before you can soften it.
Yoongi watches you quietly after that.
Then, after a few seconds, he reaches toward you slightly.
“Can I see it?”
You hesitate briefly before handing it over.
He takes it casually, still leaning back comfortably against the bench as his eyes scan the front once.
His entire expression changes.
Not dramatically though, that’s what makes it unsettling.
His posture stills first.
Then his gaze drops back to the names again, slower this time, like he’s making sure he read them correctly.
A strange silence settles between the two of you.
You frown slightly.
“Yoongi?”
He doesn’t answer immediately.
His thumb presses lightly against the edge of the paper while something unreadable passes across his face.
Confusion first.
Then disbelief.
Then something heavier.
“…Jeon Jungkook?” he says finally.
Your stomach tightens instantly.
“You know him?”
Yoongi’s eyes lift toward yours slowly.
And suddenly, the atmosphere changes completely.
The easy comfort from before disappears beneath something sharper.
He lets out a quiet breath through his nose before looking back down at the invitation again.
Then he laughs softly once.
Except there’s absolutely nothing amused about it.
“No fucking way.”
Your heartbeat quickens immediately.
“What?”
For a second, Yoongi just stares ahead at the street in front of you, jaw tight enough now that you notice it even beneath the dim lighting.
The hand holding the invitation lowers slowly into his lap.
“Sophie.”
The way he says her name makes your chest tighten.
“What about her?”
Yoongi rubs one hand tiredly across his mouth before leaning back against the bench again.
And suddenly, every conversation from earlier starts rearranging itself inside your head.
The ex.
The heartbreak.
The woman he couldn’t move on from.
You sit a little straighter.
“…Yoongi.”
He looks at you again then, and for the first time all night he doesn’t seem detached or calm.
“She’s my ex.” he says quietly.
Your brain stops for a second.
“What?”
A humorless laugh leaves him while he shakes his head once, like even he can’t believe this coincidence is real.
“She’s the woman I was talking about earlier.”
Your mouth parts slightly.
No.
No way.
You stare at him while your thoughts crash violently into each other.
Sophie.
Yoongi.
Jungkook.
Suddenly every strange reaction he’d had tonight makes sense all at once.
The way he understood too quickly.
The bitterness hidden beneath his voice whenever he talked about love.
The look on his face the second he saw the invitation.
“Oh my God” you whisper.
Yoongi leans his head back slightly against the bench, eyes closing for a brief second like he’s exhausted already by whatever memories just resurfaced.
“She’s actually getting married” he murmurs quietly, almost to himself.
And somehow, hearing sadness in his voice when he talks about Sophie feels stranger than anything else tonight.
Because for years, in your head, Sophie and Jungkook had existed as something solid.
Certain.
Untouchable.
But suddenly there’s another version of the story sitting beside you on this bench.
One you know absolutely nothing about.
.✦ ݁˖
After that night, talking to Yoongi becomes a regular thing.
At first, it’s occasional.
A random text at two in the morning.
A picture of an ugly drink he claims tastes “like dog shit.”
A sarcastic complaint about work.
Then somehow, without either of you really noticing it happening, it becomes part of your routine.
You start expecting his messages.
He became your friend surprisingly fast.
Yoongi isn’t the kind of person who overwhelms conversations. Sometimes he disappears for hours, then suddenly sends something so unexpectedly funny that you end up laughing alone in the middle of your shift.
Other times, he just listens.
Which feels unfamiliar in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.
Because Yoongi never tries to fix your feelings about Jungkook.
Never tells you to “move on.”
Never gives advice you didn’t ask for.
He just understands.
And somehow that becomes comforting enough on its own.
One night, the two of you end up sitting inside a convenience store at midnight eating ramen while Yoongi passionately argues that mint chocolate ice cream should be considered a criminal offense.
“You’re deeply wrong” you tell him.
“I’m objectively correct.”
“You have the taste buds of an exhausted middle-aged man.”
“I am an exhausted middle-aged man.”
You laugh so loudly the cashier actually looks up.
And for the first time in months, the sound doesn’t feel forced.
.✦ ݁˖
“You seem lighter lately” Taehyung says one afternoon while helping you carry coffee orders out to the tables.
You glance at him over your shoulder. “Lighter?”
“Less miserable” he corrects casually.
You snort softly. “That’s nicer.”
“I’m trying to grow as a person.”
Rain taps quietly against the café windows while soft music hums through the speakers overhead. The afternoon crowd is smaller than usual, leaving the atmosphere calmer, warmer somehow.
Taehyung places a tray down onto one of the empty tables before looking back at you carefully.
“That doesn’t mean you don’t look sad, though.”
The comment catches you off guard slightly.
You busy yourself adjusting the sleeves of your sweater. “What an uplifting observation.”
“I’m serious.”
You know he is.
Taehyung has always been gentler than people expect him to be. Even when he jokes, there’s usually something observant hidden underneath it.
He watches you for another second.
“Is it getting worse because the wedding’s getting closer?”
Your chest tightens quietly.
Of course he’d ask eventually.
You look away toward the coffee machines behind the counter where Layla is aggressively fighting with the register again.
“Maybe.”
Taehyung sighs softly through his nose before leaning against the table beside you.
“Have you talked to him properly lately?”
The image of Jungkook flashes immediately through your mind.
You shake your head lightly.
“Not really.”
“That’s probably worse.”
“I know.”
Silence settles briefly between the two of you.
Then Taehyung speaks again, quieter this time.
“Do you think he really has no idea?”
Your stomach twists painfully.
For years you convinced yourself Jungkook didn’t know because believing otherwise would hurt too much. Because if he knew and still chose Sophie-
You stop the thought immediately.
“I don’t think he has.” you admit softly.
Taehyung’s expression softens.
“You still love him that much? After all these years?”
A humorless laugh leaves you quietly.
“always.”
You stare down at the coffee cup in your hands for a moment before speaking again.
You swallow slowly before continuing.
“And now the wedding’s so close that everything feels…” You pause briefly. “Heavy all the time.”
Taehyung doesn’t interrupt.
“I keep thinking about how after July everything changes permanently.” Your voice softens. “He’ll be somebody’s husband.”
Taehyung looks genuinely heartbroken for you now.
“You know” he says carefully, “I think part of you is still waiting for something impossible to happen.”
You blink slowly.
Because he’s right.
And maybe that’s the worst part of all.
The hope.
Tiny.
Still alive somehow after all these years.
Your phone vibrates softly against the counter beside you, pulling you out of your thoughts.
Taehyung glances toward the screen absentmindedly before looking back at you.
“Is that the guy from the club again?”
You nod once.
“Looks like you’ve found another friend- that’s very good.”
You smile faintly despite yourself. “Yeah.”
Taehyung watches you carefully for another moment.
“Does Jungkook know about him?”
The question surprises you enough that you actually freeze.
“There’s nothing to know.”
And maybe the answer would’ve felt less dishonest if there wasn’t a secret sitting heavily at the back of your mind now.
───────────
yoongi is hereeeee <3
to apologize for this jungkook-less chapter, the next one is going to be fun
the worst part is steve rogers WOULDN’T. he wouldn’t leave sam with the responsibility of the shield without being there to support him. he wouldn’t go back to a woman who died of old age, had her own life and told him to move on. he wouldn’t have ever, not even once, considered leaving bucky — aka his entire world wrapped up in one person — alone, especially after just getting him back. and he wouldn’t have decided that he’d fought the good fight enough and retire in suburbia in the decade epitomes for traditional values aka an antitheses to everything he stood for. the real steve rogers would legitimately hate the man marvel put on the screen in endgame. and yet. and yet
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
It’s pretty likely that it’s a four digit number, and as there are four digits chosen there, that means that there cannot be any repetition. This mean that there are:
n!/(n-4)! possible orders. As ‘n’ is 4 (number of digits available). 4!/0! which becomes 4x3x2x1/1 which simplifies to 24. That means that there are 24 possible combinations of codes. This would take you about two or three minutes to input all possible codes.
well ‘technically’ the code is most likley 1970. statistically, a majority of people, when told to choose a 4 digit code will choose their birth year. and this key pad is obviously a few years old to put it nicely, thats most likley it.
No, no, no. Don’t base your deductions of psychology. Let’s talk chemistry. When you first press a button, there’s more of the natural oils on your skin, and therefore it wears down the numbers on the keys faster. Obviously 0 is the first one, then. Try 0791 first.
Close, but not quite, I think. People will almost always choose a number they can remember. What’s memorable about 0791? Try 0719 - a birthday, 19th of July. That is more likely.
˙⋆✮ They say having feelings for your brother's best friend is never a good idea...
But loving Jungkook feels like the easiest thing in the world.
He's been by your side for as long as you can remember, so it's only natural for you to feel devastated when your brother, Dohyun, tells you that Jungkook is about to get married.
For the first time ever, loving him doesn't feel easy at all.
pairing: brother's best friend!jungkook × f!reader
cw: age gap (jk is 32, reader is 22 ops), tension, reader is WHIPPED, pining, initial unrequited love (my fav), eventual smut
>> english is not my first language
chapter 01 | masterlist
⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒
There’s something strangely intimate about dancing with someone.
Maybe it’s the closeness of it all- the way hands instinctively find waists, shoulders, arms.
The sensation of intertwining beneath dim lights and slow music.
Or maybe intimacy has never really been about touch at all.
Maybe it’s simply about creating connections.
Unfortunately for you, Sophie decides everyone should experience that intimacy together.
Apparently, sometime during her latest wedding planning session, she became obsessed with the idea of “proper dancing”.
Which is exactly how an entire friday night ends up reserved at some overly expensive dance studio downtown for a group lesson no one actually asked for.
Of course you lied, said you couldn’t make it.
All you got as an answer was “attendance is mandatory”.
So here you are.
The studio itself is prettier than expected. Warm lighting spills across polished wooden floors while quiet music hums through hidden speakers.
One entire wall is covered in tall mirrors that reflect people slowly coming in.
Couples mostly.
Namjoon and his wife stand near the entrance arguing softly over whether he has “natural rhythm.”
Hoseok keeps trying to get his wife to spin around, obviously very excited.
Dohyun is already getting yelled at for bumping into someone (mind you, no one is actually dancing yet) while Jimin watches him amused.
You stay near the back beside Taehyung, arms folded tightly across your chest.
“I can physically feel your negativity from here” he says, trying not to laugh in your face.
“This is not funny Taehyung- God it’s going to be terrible”
He snorts quietly before stealing your water bottle without permission.
“You know” he says casually after taking a sip, “you could try having fun.”
The studio doors open again before you can answer.
Jungkook walks inside wearing a dark hoodie with the sleeves pushed to his elbows, hair slightly messy- like he rushed getting ready.
His phone is still in his hand, expression distracted until he looks up.
“No Sophie?” Taehyung asks as Jungkook walks over.
He sighs tiredly. “Emergency meeting.”
“She escaped” you whisper.
“That’s exactly what I said.”
His voice is warm with amusement as he stops beside you, close enough that you catch the faint scent of his cologne underneath laundry detergent.
That’s a low blow.
“She made me promise to still come” he continues. “Apparently knowing how to dance is ‘basic wedding etiquette’”
Taehyung looks disturbed. “That‘s horrifying.”
You silently agree, wishing for this to be over soon.
The instructor eventually gathers everyone toward the center of the room, explaining that the lesson will rotate partners throughout the night “to build comfort and connection.”
Which sounds absolutely terrible.
“Okay everyone!” she says brightly, clapping her hands together “grab someone!”
Couples separate naturally around the room.
You barely have time to react before Taehyung frantically grabs your wrist.
“You’re with me.”
“Oh- alright” you add.
Jungkook watches the interaction with quiet amusement before one of Sophie’s friends walks over to him with a smile, asking if he wants to partner up.
Something unpleasant twists in your chest immediately- which is ridiculous considering he’s getting married soon.
Still, your eyes drift toward him more than once while the lesson starts.
Jungkook dances easily- not perfectly, but comfortably enough that he looks natural doing it-hands set politely against his partner’s waist while she laughs at something he says.
“What are you looking at?” Taehyung murmurs while guiding you through another turn.
“Nothing, just checking if anyone’s judging my dance moves.”
“I am.”
“I hate you.”
He spins you, unnecessarily dramatic as always, and you nearly lose balance laughing.
“You’re horrible at this” you tell him.
“No, you’re just difficult to lead.”
You snort, “Well, can’t say that’s not true.”
The music changes again after a while, slower this time, softer.
Couples rotate.
Then rotate again.
You end up with Jimin briefly, who complains every time you step on his shoes.
Then Namjoon, who apologizes for everything despite being surprisingly decent at dancing.
Meanwhile, Jungkook somehow keeps ending up in your line of sight no matter where you move.
At one point, you catch him already looking at you through the mirrors.
Your heartbeat stumbles as he looks away first.
Eventually, during another partner switch, Taehyung’s phone starts vibrating nonstop in his pocket.
He checks the screen.
“Oh no.”
“What?”
“My sister locked herself out again.”
You both step aside when Taehyung grabs his jacket.
“You’re leaving?”
“If I don’t go, she’s absolutely climbing through the window.”
“That’s fair.”
Before leaving, he looks between you and Jungkook standing nearby.
“Have fun.”
“Wait take me with you-“
But he’s already on his way out.
The instructor calls you back toward the floor and claps impatiently. “Partners!”
And before you can even think about running away on your own, Jungkook steps forward.
“gotcha”
A few seconds later, his hand rests against your waist.
Everything in your body immediately forgets how to function properly.
It’s stupid, honestly.
Jungkook has touched you before. Hundreds of times probably. Casual hugs, hands guiding you through crowds, fingers brushing yours while handing you things.
But this feels different.
You look down at your feet, trying to remind yourself not to panic.
“You look nervous.” he murmurs.
“I am nervous.”
A quiet laugh leaves him.
And God, that sound this close to you should honestly be illegal.
The instructor starts counting steps again while couples begin moving slowly around the room.
Jungkook’s hand stays steady against your waist the entire time.
Every time you miss a step, his fingers tighten instinctively before guiding you back into rhythm.
“You’re thinking too hard” he says eventually.
“You say that like I know how to stop.”
“You don’t.”
The instructor walks past your pair before stopping nearby.
“Closer” she says casually “You’re supposed to look comfortable together.”
Your breath catches immediately.
Jungkook laughs softly under his breath before pulling you a little closer without hesitation.
And suddenly you can feel everything.
The warmth of him through your clothes.
The steady rise and fall of his breathing.
His thumb shifting slightly against your waist.
Your fingers tighten instinctively against his shoulder.
For one awful second, neither of you says anything.
Then your eyes lift.
Big mistake.
Because Jungkook is already looking at you.
Not teasing this time.
Not laughing.
Just looking.
And maybe that’s why your thoughts start slipping somewhere dangerous.
Your breath turns uneven first, then your brain betrays you completely.
You start thinking about what it would feel like if he kissed you.
This is so unbelievably stupid.
But now the thought is there and it keeps getting worse.
Would he pull you closer first? Kiss you slowly? Or eagerly, perhaps?
Maybe his hand would slide from your waist to your jaw.
Maybe he’d smile against your mouth afterwards.
Your stomach flips violently.
Heat rushes to your face so fast it’s almost painful.
You break eye contact immediately.
A soft crease appears between his brows while his hand tightens against your waist to steady you through the next step.
“What?” he asks quietly.
“Nothing.”
“That’s a lie.”
Your heartbeat stumbles.
Jungkook’s eyes stay fixed on your face for another second before the corner of his mouth lifts slightly.
“Your cheeks are red.”
Heat rushes straight back into your face somehow.
“They are not.”
“They definitely are.”
You let out an embarrassed laugh under your breath, trying to look literally anywhere else in the room except him.
“What’s going on in that little head of yours?” he asks quietly, voice automatically dropping.
The question settles directly beneath your ribs.
Holy shit.
You swallow hard, forcing yourself not to think about the fact that his face is way too close right now. About how easy it would be to lean in just slightly and-
Nope, absolutely not.
“You ask too many questions” you mumble instead.
“And you avoid all of them.”
“Okay!” the instructor suddenly calls out from the front of the room. “That’s enough for tonight!”
You step away from Jungkook so fast it’s almost embarrassing.
The loss of warmth hits immediately.
Around the room, everyone starts laughing and grabbing their things while the music fades softer into the background.
The goodbyes outside are quick.
You get in your car while waving goodbye to everyone.
Your hands tighten around the steering wheel while the parking lot blurs slightly through the windshield.
Because what the hell was that tonight?
You close your eyes briefly, leaning your head back against the seat.
This has gotten bad.
Before, loving Jungkook had always been manageable somehow.
You could ignore it when it stayed inside your head.
Tonight, you actually thought about kissing him.
Not figuratively. Not fantasies before bed: you looked at him and wanted to kiss him.
When you get home that night, the apartment feels unbearably empty.
You barely bother turning the lights on.
Just the small lamp beside your bed, casting a soft glow across the room while you kick your shoes off near the entrance and let your bag fall onto the floor.
Your body still feels off somehow- like Jungkook’s hands are still resting against your waist.
The memory hits so suddenly that you press both palms against your face with a groan.
“Oh my God.”
You drop onto your bed and stare at the ceiling for a while, trying to calm your thoughts down, but it only makes everything worse.
Every time you close your eyes, you see him again.
The way he looked at you during that dance. The way his thumb moved against your waist. The way he noticed you were blushing almost immediately.
Your stomach twists.
Eventually, you lean over and open the drawer of your nightstand, fingers brushing past tangled chargers and old receipts until they find the familiar dark blue notebook buried underneath everything else.
Your journal.
You hesitate for a second before opening it.
You’re used to writing things down when you get overwhelmed- and yes, you’ve been needing it a lot lately.
The pages are worn at the corners now, filled with years of thoughts you’d rather die than let anyone read. Of course, at least half of them are about Jungkook.
You grab your pen anyway.
I wanted him to kiss me tonight.
The sentence stares back at you instantly.
Your entire face burns.
You almost scribble it out, but instead you keep going before you can overthink it.
I think I would’ve let him.
If Jungkook had leaned in even slightly tonight, you genuinely don’t think you would’ve stopped him. Not when he was looking at you like that. Not when your brain completely shut down the second he pulled you closer.
You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, mortified with yourself.
This has gotten so much worse than it used to be.
Your pen taps nervously against the page before you start writing again, messier now.
He noticed I was blushing.
He kept looking at me.
And for one second I actually thought-
You stop writing.
Because even thinking the sentence feels insane.
For a moment, you let yourself believe he wanted to kiss you too.
Which is ridiculous.
Jungkook loves Sophie.
You know he does.
Anyone with eyes can see it in the way he talks to her, in the way his entire expression softens whenever she walks into a room.
And Sophie loves him too.
Even after everything- even after cheating on him.
Somehow they still look tied together in a way you can’t explain.
Meanwhile, you’re sitting alone in your bedroom writing about wanting your brother’s best friend to kiss you in the middle of a dance class.
Honestly humiliating.
You let yourself fall face-first into your pillow with another groan.
“This is so fucked.”
Your voice comes out muffled against the fabric.
After a minute, your eyes drift back toward the journal still lying open beside you.
A horrible curiosity takes over.
You flip through older pages.
July 12.
Jungkook fell asleep on my shoulder during movie night and I think this might be the happiest I’ve been all month.
You cringe immediately.
Another page.
He said I looked pretty today.
Would it be inappropriate for me to tell him I always think he looks beautiful?
Another.
I wish I knew how to stop loving him.
Your stomach sinks a little reading that one, because the date at the top is from almost two years ago.
You quickly shut the journal and shove it beneath your pillow like hiding it will somehow make the feelings disappear too.
it doesn’t.
Because the second you lie back down, your mind drifts right back to him again.
To the warmth of his hand against your waist.
To the quiet look in his eyes.
You pull the blanket over your face dramatically, already regretting every decision you made tonight.
.✦ ݁˖
Your father’s birthdays have always looked the same.
Too many voices overlapping each other, your mother insisting there’s never enough food on the table even when people are already full, music playing too loudly somewhere in the background while somebody complains about it every ten minutes.
The house feels warmer when it’s crowded like this.
By the time everyone arrives, the windows have already fogged slightly from the heat inside, your mother moving through the kitchen with flushed cheeks while your father pretends he hates being celebrated despite smiling through the entire thing.
You spend most of the evening drifting between conversations without really listening to any of them.
Of course Jungkook is here too.
Sometimes he’s talking to your father.
Sometimes laughing at something Taehyung says from across the room.
Sometimes listening to Sophie while she talks with her hands the way she always does when she gets excited.
At some point, the conversation shifts toward the wedding.
Sophie starts talking about invitations while sitting beside Jungkook on the couch, one of her legs tucked beneath her while she scrolls through pictures on her phone.
Your father gets invested immediately- your mother nods from time to time.
You avoid making eye contact with her as much as you can, not daring to look at her face.
“No cursive font please” he says seriously. “Nobody over forty can read those.”
You slip away from the living room quietly after that, mostly just needing a second away from all the noise.
.✦ ݁˖
At some point during the night, Taehyung realizes he left his phone upstairs.
He only notices because Jimin asks him to take a video of Namjoon attempting to open another wine bottle with “his special technique”, which apparently just means excessive confidence and no actual skill.
After checking every pocket twice, Taehyung groans annoyed.
“I swear this house steals my belongings.”
He heads upstairs, the noise downstairs fading softer with every step.
The hallway light is dim, music echoing faintly through the floorboards while laughter rises every few seconds from the living room.
He remembers tossing his jacket onto your desk chair earlier, so he heads toward your room automatically.
The door is cracked open slightly.
Taehyung pushes it wider, already reaching toward the chair.
His phone vibrates the second he pulls it from his jacket pocket.
But before he looks at the screen, something else catches his attention.
Your nightstand drawer is open just enough for the corner of a dark blue notebook to stick out.
At first, he barely pays attention to it.
Then his eyes catch a line written across the exposed page.
It happened on my birthday.
Taehyung’s gaze lingers unintentionally.
He knows he shouldn’t, but he still finds himself pulling the drawer fully open, carefully taking the journal into his hands.
Dohyun announced Jungkook’s and Sophie’s engagement like it was good news and everyone looked so happy while I sat there trying not to cry.
His expression changes immediately.
Taehyung decides to keeps reading before guilt stops him.
I remember Jungkook smiling at me first after the announcement.
Like he was checking if I was happy too.
Something sinks heavily in his chest.
Another line farther down:
I think that was the moment I realized loving him was going to break me eventually.
The room suddenly feels too heavy.
Taehyung flips back a few pages slowly.
Different dates, different years.
Jungkook’s eyes are hypnotizing, I wish I could spend hours staring into them.
Sometimes I hate how easy it is to love him.
Taehyung closes his eyes briefly.
Because now it’s obvious this isn’t temporary.
This is years of carrying something alone.
Taehyung’s eyes drift toward the doorway automatically, then back toward the journal in his hands.
And suddenly so many things make sense all at once.
The way you go quiet whenever the wedding comes up.
The way your smile never fully reaches your eyes anymore.
The way you look at Jungkook when you think nobody notices.
“What are you doing?”
Taehyung turns immediately at the sound of your voice, and there it is… your journal still in his hands.
For a second, neither of you moves.
The room suddenly feels too quiet. Downstairs, everybody is still laughing, music echoing faintly through the floorboards, your mother probably trying to force more cake onto someone.
Taehyung looks like he got caught doing something terrible.
You feel like your entire body just stopped working.
Slowly, your eyes drop toward the open page before lifting back to him again.
“Did you read it?” you ask quietly.
Taehyung hesitates, and that hesitation is enough of an answer.
Your stomach drops painfully.
“Oh.”
The sound barely leaves your throat.
You walk toward him before he can say anything else, taking the journal from his hands and holding it tightly against your chest, trying to shove every secret back inside.
“I’m sorry” Taehyung says immediately. “y/n, I swear I wasn’t trying to snoop. I just saw the page and-”
“And now you know.”
Your voice cracks slightly around the words.
Taehyung’s chest tightens instantly because you don’t sound angry.
You sound scared.
The silence stretches between you while you stare down at the journal in your arms.
“This was supposed to be a secret, I-” you whisper.
Taehyung watches your fingers tighten around the cover. Your knuckles are practically white now.
“How much did you read?”
“Enough” he answers honestly.
Your eyes close immediately and for a second, Taehyung genuinely thinks you might throw up.
Instead, you let out a quiet laugh that sounds painfully close to crying.
“Great.”
“Hey” he says softly, stepping closer without thinking. “I’m not gonna tell anyone.”
You finally look up at him then, and the fear in your face nearly knocks the air out of him.
“Promise?”
The word comes out small enough to break something in his chest.
“I promise” he says immediately. “Nobody’s hearing this from me. Not Dohyun, not the guys. Especially not Jungkook.”
Your breathing falters for half a second, your grip on the journal tightening all over again, and suddenly he understands that this isn’t just embarrassment over getting caught.
You’re terrified of Jungkook knowing.
Terrified of what would happen if he ever finds out.
You nod quickly after that and move past Taehyung toward the bedroom door before pushing it shut enough to muffle the noise downstairs.
The second the laughter fades, something in you finally snaps.
“I can’t do this anymore.”
Your voice breaks so suddenly that Taehyung feels his entire chest cave in.
You press a shaking hand against your mouth like you’re trying to hold everything inside, but tears spill anyway.
“I can’t-“ you whisper again, crying harder now. “Tae, I really can’t do this anymore.”
He moves toward you instantly.
“y/n-“
“No, you don’t understand-” you choke out, shaking your head desperately.
“Every single day it’s him. Every conversation, every room, every stupid little thing and I’m so tired.”
Taehyung’s eyes sting unexpectedly at the pain in your voice.
Because this isn’t just a crush, it’s years of heartbreak.
You laugh shakily through tears, wiping angrily at your face even though they won’t stop falling.
“I hear him talk about the wedding and I feel sick, and then I hate myself because he’s happy and she makes him happy and I still…” your voice breaks completely “I still love him anyway.”
Taehyung feels his throat tighten painfully.
“I tried to stop.” you sob quietly “God, I tried so hard.”
The honesty in your voice ruins him.
You sound exhausted, like loving Jungkook stopped feeling beautiful a long time ago and started feeling unbearable instead.
“Please make it stop.”
That sentence nearly breaks Taehyung’s heart.
He reaches for you immediately after that, pulling you into him before you can completely fall apart on your own.
And the second his arms wrap around you, you break.
Your face presses into his shoulder while quiet sobs shake through your entire body. Taehyung holds you tighter instinctively, one hand moving gently through your hair while he tries to steady his own breathing.
“You’re okay” he whispers softly, even though both of you know you’re not.
Jungkook’s downstairs, probably smiling.
You’re upstairs, crying in Taehyung’s arms because you can’t have him.
“The only person who knows is Layla” you whisper shakily after a while. “Mom definitely does too but we’ve never talked about it.”
Taehyung closes his eyes hard for a second because the fact you’ve been carrying this almost entirely alone feels unbearably cruel.
When he pulls back to look at you, there’s genuine heartbreak written all over his face.
His eyes are glossy now too.
“You know you don’t have to keep carrying this alone anymore, right?”
You pull back slightly, eyes red and exhausted.
“What?”
“You heard me.” His voice stays gentle. “When it gets bad… when it hurts too much… you don’t have to lock yourself in your room and write everything down”
Your grip tightens slightly around the journal.
Taehyung looks down at it for a second before meeting your eyes again.
“You can come talk to me instead.”
The sincerity in his voice almost makes you cry all over again.
You’ve talked to Layla about it before, of course you have. But Layla only knows the version of Jungkook you tell her about.
She doesn’t understand why loving him feels impossible to escape.
“Tae…”
“I mean it.” he says quietly. “I’m here now.”
Something in your chest aches painfully at those words.
Because maybe that’s what’s been hurting all this time: loving jungkook alone.
Your eyes fill again immediately and you let out the smallest sob.
“Thank you.”
Taehyung smiles sadly before reaching up to wipe another tear from beneath your eye with his thumb.
“C’mon” he murmurs after a moment. “If we stay up here any longer, Jungkook’s gonna come looking for you.”
You nod, taking a second to breathe properly before quickly fixing your makeup in the mirror beside your desk.
Your eyes are still a little swollen, hopefully nobody notices.
Taehyung waits quietly near the door while you shove the journal back into the drawer, this time pushing it all the way closed.
Then the two of you head downstairs together.
Jungkook looks up from the couch and the second he notices you, he furrows his brows.
“There you are” he says easily. “thought you disappeared.”
Your chest tightens on instinct.
Taehyung glances at you briefly as you softly smile.
“We’re here now.”
Later that night, after the house finally quiets down and everyone goes to sleep, you lie awake staring at your ceiling with your journal resting beside you untouched.
For the first time in years, you don’t open it.
────────────
Guys this was an emotional roller coaster lol
I hate making y/n feel that miserable but I promise good days will eventually come :,)
synopsis: your skills as a videographer gets put to the test when your friend, who happens to be in the same profession, falls victim to double-booking. problem is, you only specialized in weddings, not adult films. despite your initial reluctance, you take the job. cue the lights … you meet jeon jungkook, a pornstar, on set — in his world. you just never expected him to play a part in yours.
pairing: pornstar!jungkook x wedding videographer!fem reader
wc: 21.1k
genre: s2l, pornstar au, smut, angst, fluff
cw: slice of life, miscommunication, anxiety, fear of future, inaccurate adult filming industry discourse/depiction, jk had a tough time at work, mentions of injuries, tension, yearning, angsty confrontation, alcohol consumption, confessions, fluffy moments, 18+ ONLY, oral (f&m), rimming (f receiving), nipple play, fingering, cum eating, jk watches pix, protected sex, accidental orgasm delay, multiple orgasms, multiple sex scenes, aftercare
a/n: finally here!! 😛🎉 as always, enjoy~
masterlist | prologue | act i. | act ii. | act iii.
Is a glass of water half-full or half-empty?
You observe the glass, hoping for a revelation or answer — a good distraction from your miscalculations all evening; well, miscalculations in the duration of meeting Jeon Jungkook. Tucking yourself further into your small couch, the corners of your lips tug at the reminder of the boy. The icy glass cools your hot skin, which still remembers the flames he left you surrounded in on the dancefloor.
And those eyes — his always spoke to you without words.
Eyes smitten and playful all evening, you can’t forget how they morphed into fear and panic when you finally moved on the pathway he laid out for you. Were you wrong to assume he wanted more with you?
“Ah, so stupid.” You slam your eyes shut at the memory, shame heats your cheeks at his rejection — at another loss you’ll need to process on your own. Loss, after loss, after loss. It wears on your bones, empties your soul just like how you empty the glass of water clutched in your hand.
Didn’t matter whether your glass was ‘half-full or half-empty,’ the water will eventually be consumed. Jungkook had a way of overfilling your glass with an abundance of hope; however, you later found out the glass you shared with Jungkook contained holes and eventually left you empty.
No one leaves you empty like Jungkook does.
Sitting up higher on your couch, you dig your lower back into your armrest, wanting to feel some form of support.
Maybe you should’ve stayed and taken the water Jungkook offered. Wake you up from that drunken state and snap you out of your innermost desires for your friend. You’d probably go as far as blaming the alcohol and the night would’ve just ended from there.
Probably would’ve been a better alternative than pathetically running away. Then again, there was no way you were going to last another second in the venue — not after the way he pulled away.
You know it’s rude to leave in the middle of the party. Can’t even bear looking at your phone since ordering a cab outside the club, opting to place it on silent afterwards. Now, the phone rests heavily on your kitchen counter, begging to be checked on.
You should text him. Tell him you’re safe and use indigestion as an excuse for your abrupt departure — no one would ever find fault in that reason. Another pang of anxiety holds you back from touching your phone. What if he didn’t bother checking on you? Upset with your bad habit of leaving?
He has all the rights to.
Setting your feet into your house slippers, you’re thankful for the flat cushion after a night of dancing in heels. Bathroom first, then you’ll text Jungkook. The order of events seemed the most logical and definitely not your way of avoiding the inevitable. It’s a solid plan—
You jolt at the series of knocks against your door. Although your building was relatively safe, living alone had its downsides, especially at this hour. The grip on your glass changes and you ready yourself for self-defense.
Best case scenario? A ding-dong ditcher. Worst? Nope. You don’t want your mind wandering there.
One eye closed, you peer through the peephole.
The fisheye effect warps your vision, but you could easily make out the person standing facing away from your doorway. The dangly, silver five-hooped earrings were a dead giveaway to your visitor. Felt them graze the top of your hand every time he tilted his head in your touch. Felt them when you wrapped your hands at the base of his nape. They glimmered prettily under the club lights, but they look nearly dull now under your complex’s standard lightbulbs.
He’s a few steps away, pacing, looking anywhere but your door as if it was the most offensive piece of object … as if your home was the most deplorable place he could be at right now.
And it should be. He should be at his party celebrating his wins and accomplishments, surrounded by people who love and care for him — not on shame’s breeding grounds. Shame nearly has you running to hide underneath your covers, hoping he’d leave if you refused to answer. Rather than give into shame’s call for isolation, your fingers flick the locks and wrap around the doorknob.
“Jungkook?”
He’s still turned away from you, pacing back and forth in your building’s hallway. No longer styled how it was in the beginning of the night, his hair looks to be run through … whether it be by him or a stranger.
Couldn’t be you.
Your mouth parts, words lodged in your throat, but you manage to utter, “What are you doing here?”
He lets out a breath. So unstable, you could feel the restraint in his action but he stops in his tracks, head tilting up at the ceiling to will the words.
“Why do you keep doing that?” His voice raises, back still turned to you.
You frown, looking around to see if there was anyone in the vicinity. Definitely not at this hour. Your neighbors should be asleep, which is why you don’t want to make a scene outside your home.
“Jungkook—”
Suddenly, harshly, his back shifts and his body whips around, “Why do you keep leaving me? Is that all you know how to do?”
You’re standing face to face with his wide eyes and desperate furrowed brows. The hand raking through his hair only showcasing more of the distress forming on his forehead.
Your mind flashes back to your meeting at the milestone party. There was nothing wrong with your departure at that time. A small, but selfish part of you, doesn’t think you were at total fault for tonight’s departure either.
“Jungkook … please,” you stammer, eyes drifting down to your feet.
“I-I don’t fucking get it, Pix. I just–”
“Can you come inside?” You ask, looking around once more. And although Jungkook hasn’t made far enough noises to warrant a complaint, you’d rather talk inside the privacy of your home. “We can talk in here. Please?” You plead in a small whisper.
Jaw clenched as he looks at you and over the threshold of your home, he nods.
Citrus, with no more lingering scent of cigarettes, wafts past you. Even if he was upset with you, he’s still respectful in your home as he toes off his shoes at the entryway. He exhales through his nose, finally turning to face you. His jaw ticks, eyes bloodshot for multiple reasons but he’ll blame the alcohol and not the exhaustion of looking for you.
You can’t meet his eyes, can’t even bring yourself to speak in the comforts of your home.
“You keep doing this.” His voice cracks.
“I-I,” Your own voice wavers at his statement, you fight the lump in your throat as you lie, “wasn’t feeling well—”
“Cut the bullshit.”
You frown, having never seen Jungkook speak nor act this way towards you. He extends patience and understanding towards you like an additional limb on his body; perhaps, you’ve tested them enough tonight. Still, your own emotions come out just as unsteady and unreasonable.
“You’re being unfair.” You croak.
“I’ve been anything but that, Pix.” He retracts his head, brows furrowed. “You’re the one that left. Like you always do when things don’t go your way.”
Your brows pull together, unable to mask the hurt at the accusation. “What did you expect me to do? You—” Your bottom lip trembles.
“What?” He takes a step forward and you’re once again engulfed in his overbearing scent. The action stunts your train of thoughts, and for a split second, you think he’s almost just as affected.
You’re tired of going in circles, chasing but also running away from what appears to be your own desires.
“You led me on all night.” Voice small, Jungkook nearly misses what you say.
His frustration morphs into surprise, then guilt at the sudden forwardness of your words.
“I …” His eyes widen at the realization as he chews on the inside of his cheeks. He shakes his head, denying the allegations. “I didn’t.”
“But you did.” You walk past him, lower back leaning against the kitchen island. Arms crossed, you don’t miss how Jungkook’s eyes drop to your breasts pushed together. His throat bobs, hands twitching on his sides as he tries to rack up an appropriate response.
“We were dancing. Having fun.” He reasons. “That’s all.”
Friends don’t dance the way you both did tonight; their touches don’t burn. They don’t leave the party after being deserted from a dodged kiss on the dance floor. They sure as hell don’t stare at you like you’re made of stardust.
“Okay.” As if whatever happened in the last couple of hours could be reduced to ‘just dancing.’
His throat emits a low growl, patience once again tested. “Why’d you leave?”
Truthfully? There was no alternate reality where you’d stay after his rejection.
Your crossed arms drop to your sides, throat tightening to keep the contents in your stomach from hurling out. You can’t bear the truth, which seems to point at the fact Jungkook has moved on and there’s no more room for you in his life and heart.
He’s left you behind.
Jungkook fills in the silence with the same words circling in your head, slipping from his mouth now directed at you with an ache you’ve done your best to forget. “You’ve moved on.”
Your face falls, having spent months trying to forget him through hobbies, friends, and even another person, only to find out … nothing’s worked.
Unable to meet his eyes, you mutter, “I had to.”
“I know.” He says, “I know that.”
The filter on your fish tank acts as a buffer for the silence stretched in the small distance.
“You’ve moved on, too.” You don’t mention the woman you saw in his apartment lobby, too afraid of the confirmation that he has indeed moved on.
He lets out a shuddering breath, head hung low. “I tried, okay? I really did.”
Something within you shatters at his revelation. It hurts to be right, and it hurts more knowing no one was at fault in the aftermath of a heartbreak.
He drags his hand down his face, fighting the drunken exhaustion and confusion. “Things got better, I swear. But then I see you and I’m just reminded …”
“Of what?” You ask.
He stays quiet. So different than the man who was just outside your door ready to scorn the world. You wonder how he has kept his composure during the times of your silence when all you want to do right now is shout for an answer, resolution … or ending. What was left after this? Was there another title after being demoted to friends?
… Strangers?
You don’t wait for his answer, choosing to fill the gaps of the conversation with your reality. “You don’t tell me about your life anymore. Like … like, I’m some sort of afterthought learning all these things about you after the fact.” Tears falling freely, you sniff and palm away the moisture on your cheeks.
“Pix–”
“Why did you push me away?” From his life, from the kiss … no clarification needed — it all bleeds together anyway. “Did I misunderstand?”
“Pix.” He repeats, eyes crestfallen and exhausted. “You’re with someone, there’s no way I would do that to you–”
“I’m not with him anymore.”
He pauses, drawing in a sharp breath. “Still doesn’t make it right.” Despite his words, you recognize a faint glint in his eyes.
Of course he becomes the voice of reason when this conversation shouldn’t exist among supposed friends. Now it’s your turn to stay quiet, too ashamed for further humiliation and rejection.
“All I do is remember you, Pix. All I find myself doing is thinking of you. Could never stop even if I wanted to.” He shakes his head. Your stomach sinks, an uncomfortable mass lodged in your throat as you process his words. “And I’m so tired of having to remember you.” He looks at you with so much anguish, wishing and begging for you to end this turmoil.
“Jungkook …”
“I still think about the night at the hotel.” He continues, jaw clenched to stop the trembles. “And I feel so guilty.”
You shake your head vehemently. “You never once did anything I didn’t want to do.”
“I knew you couldn’t be with me, but I still pushed for more. It was selfish of me and I—”
“I’ve always wanted you, Jungkook,” you sob. “You never gave me the chance to make things work.”
Your hands cover your face as you heave into your palms, moist from your tears and breath. Jungkook tilts his head up at the ceiling, furiously blinking away the stray tears he thought he had swore away on the cab ride over to your place.
The buzzing travels up from your fingers to the back of your head. Your body convulses from your silent sobs, mind numbing from all the fog and confusion. Like a bee, refusing to leave you alone, you want to cower away from the source of noise. The buzzing continues for another fifteen seconds, too loud even when neither of you utter a word. It’s impossible to avoid when the buzzing happens from within. How do you remedy this? How do you run away? How, how, how—
The buzzing stops.
Zapped away by a strong pair of arms, the bees stop swarming in your mind, all honeyed scent — all citrus consuming your senses.
Jungkook holds you and it’s the closest thing to the security of your home. Possibly better. Home shelters you from the brewing storm, and as you cry into the expanse of Jungkook’s chest, he holds you tighter, chin resting on the top of your head.
“What are we even doing?” Jungkook mumbles against your hair, voice hoarse and tired.
You inhale into your hands and answer honestly, “I don’t know.”
He swallows, breathing you in, “I hate this.”
Your heart crumbles again. Was this it? Has to be. He’s finally done and wants nothing to do with you anymore.
Instead of his warmth departing from your body like you’ve grown used to, he holds you tighter.
“I fucked everything up.” He says. “I messed you up, and I’m trying to do right by you, I swear, but I–”
His words are cut off with your arms around his waist. Face pressed into his chest, your tears became another source of darkness on his grey shirt, but neither of you cared.
“You didn’t mess anything up.” You heave. Months passed, things changed. Time was a marker for healing and forgetting old wounds; though, there were just some things — some people — you can’t and don’t want to forget.
“I missed you so much, Pix.”
You pull back a little to look at his face. Hurt and longing never needed a competition and there’s no winner when both of you were wounded in the process. The frame had always been a little unfocused and hard to decipher, but you’re both in view now.
“I never stopped thinking about you.” You confess.
He blinks twice, hand now coming to cup your wet cheek. Ache and remorse stretches over his face at the time lost in the absence of one another. He needs to be honest, barring out the truth if there was even a possibility to start anew.
“I can’t promise perfection, P.” He admits, scared and worried for this potential dealbreaker.
“I never asked for perfection.” You shake your head, breath finally coming out even. Pausing, you let the reality of your recent failures sink in, “I just got out of something and I don’t know if I’m any good, but I wanna figure things out with you — do things properly. Please give me time.” Please give us time.
You both loosen your hold on one another, but maintain your gazes as your hands finally intertwine. The hold is weak, full of uncertainty of the future, but you push forward, “Please?” You ask again, heart in your hands — no, heart in his hands. You pray and hope he handles it with care. He has all the power to do the opposite, turning your heart to cold steel for the next poor soul.
He doesn’t, though — can’t imagine anyone but him holding your heart with delicate hands if you allow him to.
Jungkook’s always wondered when the world would bend for him; yet, he’s got the world in his arms right now willing to bend for his sake.
He nods and the night bleeds into the morning as you and Jungkook sit on your small couch to catch up, mending lost time with one another. The hours of bitterness leading up to this moment was well worth it after you finally taste the hint of sweetness lodged behind his growing smiles. The catch up bounces back between idle chatters to late night secrets until you both settle into the mundane and content.
“Group work is the worst, P. Avoid it at all costs.” He recounts the number of times his classmates let him down on a project this past semester.
You laugh wholeheartedly. “Why’d you think I run this business alone?”
“Smart girl.” He grins, and your body warms from the small compliment.
A natural silence fills you both at this time, between the chuckles and stares. You think you could get used to this. A new norm knowing you both want to start over with an agreed upon future. The two glasses of water on your coffee table gets refilled throughout the night, but sits empty now.
Yet, you’re both so full.
And you realize no one’s replenishing the glass the way Jungkook does. Around your imaginary glass filled with holes, Jungkook always does his best to cover and mend them.
“I’m sorry for not keeping you posted on my life.” Jungkook says, knees brushing against yours. “I was trying to figure things out on my own.” He leaves out the part where he wanted to reach out for your opinion, opting to struggle by himself.
“Could’ve reached out to me. I wouldn’t have minded.”
He nods, lips pursed debating his next words.
“What?” You ask, eyes heavy from exhaustion, but you don’t want to miss a single second with your special boy.
“Mm, nothing.” His trademark dimples make an appearance when he hides away a playful smile.
“Come on,” you push, “Tell me.”
He laughs softly, lips pulling to an embarrassed smile, “Wanted you to notice me, so I …”
Your eyes narrow, doing your best to piece together the meaning of his words. Something finally clicks as you lean back against your couch. You’d never peg someone like Jeon Jungkook to do things out of spite or attention, but you suppose love has a way of making people do stupid things.
This was love, right?
“I know. Stupid and immature.” He shakes his head.
“It worked.” You shrug, returning his sheepish smile. He interlaces his fingers with you, relaxed knowing you had been trying to keep up with his life in secret.
He smiles, but shortly after dips a little at his next musing, “Classes have really taken up a lot of my time. I haven’t been able to work as much, but I still take on projects every month or so.”
Your expression falters a little, guilt filling your system as he relays this information. You nod, head leaning to rest on his shoulder.
“Does it bother you?” He asks another forward question. He doesn’t sound as uncertain as he did months ago in the hotel, courage coming as he knows your inevitable answer.
“A little.” You admit.
You’ll get used to this just as Jungkook needs to get used to this too — that sometimes he will disappoint and hurt. Your acceptance isn’t a form of a bandaid over a reopened wound; instead, allowing the healing process to take on whatever form is needed. Eventually a scar tissue will rise over the persistent lesion, granting you the chance to perform better this time around.
Around 5 a.m. your sleepy eyes fight to stay open as you watch Jungkook put on his shoes. He stands up, eyes heavy but with so much anticipation. Realizes the moment the door shuts behind him, he’ll be left anticipating the next time he’ll be graced with your company again.
He comes close, and with a soft exhale through his nose, he presses his lips to your forehead. Breath fanning over, his voice is low and gravelly on your skin, “See ya, Pix.”
Life with Jungkook, again, is ever soft and changing. The effort is there, the pace of the relationship slow as it should be. Jungkook’s main focus is school now and you’re there to support him along the way. You come over to work while he’s studying or in virtual lectures.
He wants you close. Giving you access to his apartment by creating your personalized finger scan into his home. You also give him a spare key to your place, prompted by a recent out of the city wedding you had to attend and no one else was available to feed Gum and Bubba.
On his large couch, you sit on the opposite end as you answer email inquiries. Wedding season’s peaking again and no matter how busy you may get, you’re never too busy for Jungkook. Nothing stops Jungkook from remaining close to you — not even his overly large couch. He’s never too far, wanting your legs slung over his lap as he listens to his lecture through his headphones. His hands mindlessly massage the bottom of your soles, knowing exactly where you’re most sensitive and tired after a long weekend of being on your feet.
You aren’t quite lovers, but you definitely are not just friends. What you’re building with Jungkook takes time. Lots of failing and hard days, but there are just as many and if more, softer and gentler days where you’re reminded this was all worth it.
Things move as they intend to. Like your slow evening walks, shared hot meals, and camera shutters when Jungkook needs to work on his portfolio or an assignment for class. He tags along with you on a couple of weddings to keep you company, inevitably revealing to you that weddings aren’t his thing. It’s good to be honest with these truths — one less field he’d find himself dipping with in the world of photography. But no matter his contempt, he likes being where you’re at.
His lecture finishes and he closes his laptop on his table, leaning back as he rests his eyes after realizing how long he’s been on the computer. Sure, school was difficult, but it was structured — no surprises. Just an obligation he willingly signed up for.
You don’t look up from your laptop, speaking as you type up a response to an inquiry, “What’s on your mind?”
He debates sharing his predicament, hands haven’t stopped his ministrations on your feet as if you were his version of a stress-ball. You breathe through your nose when he hits a particular pressure point.
“I have to go to work next weekend.” He sighs, working on your other foot now. “I’m tired.”
“Can you decline or postpone?” You look up, blue light from your screen bouncing back to your face.
He shakes his head. “Can’t. I signed a two-parter contract a while back and this is the last installment.”
You close your laptop, feet swinging down to touch his fluffy carpet rug as you scoot closer to him. You were aware contracts and waiver forms existed to protect a business and their clients. In Jungkook’s case, the production he signed with was protecting their assets and securing their future projects. It’s a little demoralizing to view Jungkook as an asset, but that’s how business worked. He had to fulfill his duties to avoid legal penalties.
You lean in and it’s a familiar sight Jungkook’s grown fond of these couple of weeks: cheek squished on his shoulder, you look up with reassuring eyes. ‘It’ll be okay.’
Slowly, you’ve grown to manage the unease of his work, ache returning similar to tides crashing onto land. Sometimes the waves hit stronger than anticipated, but smaller and more manageable tides come ashore.
“Just one day, and it’ll be over soon. Then you’ll be free to focus on your exams afterwards, hm?” You soothe, setting the scenario to make the finish line easier to visualize.
“Yeah.” He grunts, not completely relaxed at the idea of having to do something he doesn’t particularly want to, but a job was a job.
“Hey,” you sit up higher, “is there anything I can do to make it better?”
Shouldn’t have offered that because there’s probably a number of things Jungkook can list off the top of his head. His tongue grows heavy in his mouth at the mere idea of having anything he wanted from you.
“Something sweet?” You suggest, brows wiggling up and down.
“Right now?” Declining was never in the books when it came to desserts.
You shake your head with a small laugh, “Whenever you’re done with the project. I can bring something after.”
“Okay, Pix. I’d love that.” His hand holds yours. “Surprise me.”
Nights were always spent like this until it was time for one of you to leave. He walks you to your car, waving at the kind receptionist on the way out to the guest parking lot. No longer embraced in summer’s sweltering heat, fall’s brisk air hits your cheeks when you both step out the complex. You never needed an excuse to press your body closer to Jungkook’s side, hand lodged deep in his coat pocket.
“Bye.” You whisper, tippy-toeing as you press a kiss to his cheek, letting your lips linger on his cold skin just a little longer.
The grip around your hands tighten as he fights off the intrusive thoughts of wishing for your lips to move over any expanse of his skin. There’s no need to deny the fact of having impure thoughts of you … had always been the case whether or not you were with him. It doesn’t help when you press your body closer to his, testing the boundaries of your new relationship with each other. Though, the test always stops where it is needed.
Passing the test, he gulps, “Text me when you get home, ‘kay?”
“I will.”
Five hours of work and he’ll be free. Considering the masses need to work on average an eight hour shift and sometimes more, Jungkook is fortunate for his work hours to salary ratio. Still not easy doing what he does especially since he isn’t in the right headspace at the moment and school’s been eating up his time — a love-hate relationship when it comes to being in a new learning environment.
He’s been reevaluating a lot these days, wondering how he’ll juggle his profession with school. And when he finds himself thinking too much of the possibilities, he forces himself to run from those thoughts of quitting everything all together.
In those difficult moments, thinking about you helps calm his nerves about the future and he feels himself landing back on reality. Not everything needs an immediate answer or decision; moreover, he’s allowed to make mistakes. Much like your relationship with him, the ambiguity doesn’t make him run for the hills anymore. Although you and Jungkook don’t currently have any labels for what you are now, there isn't any uncertainty in his devotion towards you.
He checks his bathroom mirror one more time, piercings taken out because today’s shoot may be a little more physically demanding and he isn’t keen on risking any additional injuries like he had sustained in the first shoot. He signed up for the project on a whim because … well, at the time the money and deal seemed decent. BDSM isn’t something he dabbled a lot in on both the receiving or giving end. However, around the same time he signed the contract, he was still grieving the relationship with you and in need of a distraction — something to make him feel again no matter how painful or rigorous to the body.
After the first shoot, he needed at least two weeks of rest … both mentally and physically. He isn’t fond of his co-star — Jungkook still remembers the numbers the man did to his body despite signaling his discomfort.
Locking his door, he makes his way to the elevator. The doors open to reveal a familiar face: Yoona.
She smiles at him, the lines around her eyes crease from the action. Jungkook nods and steps into the elevator next to her. Her strong perfume permeates his senses; a little too floral for his liking in comparison to the subtle cucumber and jasmine scent on your skin he’s grown attached to.
“Work?” He asks, looking at his phone. It’s nearly noon, a little late to be going into the office. Then again, what does he know about the corporate life?
“Hyunbin wanted me to visit.” Ah, her ex-husband — explains her appearance and unusual demeanor. He assumes a revenge outfit underneath her long fur coat. “You working?”
“Yup.” He exhales through his nose.
Even without his explanation of his reluctance, Yoona reads him easily … just like how she read him the first two weeks after his split with you, choosing to end things with him because she wasn’t fond of messing with someone who was in emotional distress. She’s already got a lot going on and the last thing she wants is a fuckbuddy using her as an emotional crutch.
She’d rather be a friend or a … mentor? Maybe just a friendly neighbor until he got his shit together.
Be it her years of wisdom or her innate ability to read the younger man, she catches wind of his unwillingness to go to work.
“Hang in there.” She offers, just as her friends regurgitated on multiple venting sessions during the nasty divorce process. It’s the bare minimum as a friend if they aren’t able to do more for you.
“Thanks, you too.” He returns the encouragement with a toothy grin. One of the advantages of being taller than most is his ability to spy over people’s phones. Yoona types away in her phone, the prior messages included a clear image of a male’s lower half and her own response with an image of her freshly showered body in a towel.
Even with her sunglasses on (which, by the way, are totally unneeded with this gloomy weather), she rolls her eyes under the elevator’s fluorescent lights.
“He’s been begging to make things work again.” She places her phone in her purse.
“You gonna let him back in?” Surely would lessen the alimony she has to pay him.
Yoona scowls, “I may be single, but I am not lonely.” The elevator dings and signals their arrival on the ground floor. “I can have my cake and eat it.” She smiles, red blooming with her pearly white teeth.
Jungkook laughs under his breath, a surge of sweetness also embraces him now after realizing he also has his ‘cake’ too. Hasn’t quite eaten you the way he wants to, but he’s content. Loves where you are both at and is willing to wait till things settle more in life for the both of you.
Yoona clears her throat, strong floral scent leaving along with her as she steps out of the elevators first. “Take care, Jungkook.” Her heels click on the marble floors as she runs out to the cab waiting for her.
Jungkook sighs again, making his way to his car and already programming the job site’s address into his Maps app.
Five hours and he’ll be done.
As promised, you have a sweet treat ready to reward Jungkook after his shift.
It’s uncharacteristic of Jungkook to not answer your texts after a couple of hours. You push away the worry as you make your way up the elevators, tiny brown bag containing something rich and icy you’d typically save for the summer.
Though, there were no rules on when to consume ice cream, especially if it was made by scratch — especially when you made it with your own spin. Anticipation brews as your steps near the front entrance of his home.
Your fingers press on the knob’s scanner and the latch clicks, ready for you to turn and enter into his home.
The living room’s dark, save for the small light Jungkook programmed to turn on at a specific time. There’s no greeting like you’re used to. Hanging your coat and scarf on the stand, you peer past the entryway as you toe off your shoes.
“Jungkook?” You call out with an air of uncertainty.
Still no answer. Your eyes adjust to the dim surroundings, eyes eventually falling onto a figure you’d recognize in any condition.
Jungkook’s laid down on his couch, one arm over his eyes. He’s in his sweats, showered and asleep. Your shoulders drop, tip-toeing past him to put the sweet treat into the freezer. You come back to the living room, not without picking up the fallen throw blanket on the ground, placing it on his body.
You could crack open your laptop to do some work in his kitchen until he stirs awake or just leave and let him rest. Straightening up from your bent position, a sharp inhale comes from below as Jungkook removes his forearm from his face and lifts his head up to peer around his surroundings. He sees you and drops his head in relief, breathing patterns stabilizing with a drag of his hand down his face.
“What time is it?”
“A little past 8.” You reply, sitting near his knees.
“Sorry, Pix. I crashed.” His throat cracks from sleep, “Time slipped.”
“‘S okay.” You reply, pinkie hooking onto his. “Would you like to rest some more? I won’t bother you.”
He swallows, unsure if he would rather be left alone or if he needed your company. He’s not sure he would be good company.
“I don’t know.” His other arm comes up again to cover his eyes. Misery also needed company too, and he doesn’t want to be away from you.
You seem to get the hint. Couch, stiff and hard as ever, seems to bend at the weight of you both for this moment of tenderness.
“Hard day?” You ask.
His throat bobs, and that’s when you notice the red marks near his Adam’s apple and his wrist. Your lips tug down, fingers itching to soothe the pain over his skin. You curl closer to him, hoping your presence would be enough to redirect his thoughts.
“Yeah. Was difficult.” He replies, voice shaky. His breath comes out uneven as he sniffles into his arm. “Ah, sorry, maybe it’s better if I’m alone.”
He hadn’t realized a couple tears had slipped out from the corners of his eyes until one of your hands cups his jaw, thumb rubbing away some of the moisture in your touch. He sucks in another breath, chest stuttering as a small sob tumbles out. He turns, burying his face into your chest as his arms come from underneath to hold you.
“I’m sorry.” He apologizes repeatedly. You repeatedly tell him you’re not leaving — that you’re here to stay. Fingers running through his dark locks, your touches force his eyes shut, a relieved sigh exiting as he regulates his breathing.
“I’m here, you’re okay.” You promise, your nails scratching his head produces a soft whimper as he buries his bigger frame deeper into your body. When you try to pull away to assess his face, he only tugs you in tighter. You chuckle, hand patting and soothing the expanse of his back.
“Kook?”
He grunts, too exhausted to verbalize a reply.
“I’m gonna go make something, okay? You stay here and rest.”
He reluctantly loosens his grip on you, and holds onto the fact you were staying. Accepting your proposal, he goes back into a more dignified position with his arm slung over his eyes.
You move with precision; kitchen layout memorized of where all the seasonings and cooking utensils were located, you come back into the living room with a small pot of ramen in under ten minutes. The wooden heat protector clanks onto his coffee table in your descent to the ground. You wince, apologetic for startling him again.
“Didn’t have to make me food, Pix.” He pushes himself up slowly, face contorting in discomfort as he sits upright.
“Wanted to. Come on, have a bite, please?” You had already started rolling the noodles into the spoon, creating a perfect single bite. You blow on the food a little before Jungkook dips his head halfway to receive the food.
Unlike the painful expression he previously sported, his brows furrow as he chews on the food — a good sign. Nothing’s more healing than a warm meal; a warm meal made with love.
“Thanks, P.” He smiles, and the parts of him lost during the hours of the shoot are slowly coming back.
“I’m glad.” Your eyes land on his neck first, then over his wrists where the red rings were most prominent. “Did you want to put on ointment? Tell me where you keep your medicine and I can—”
“It’ll heal on its own.” He declines, ready and rehearsed for your concerns. And because he knows there were a billion other questions in that pretty head of yours, he comes clean on his reasons for tonight’s exhaustion. “Co-star went off script towards the end and it threw me for a loop.” He explains, head rested on the back of the couch.
You nod, arms tightening around him. “That sounds awful. I’m sorry …”
He releases another heavy breath. “I-I don’t know, Pix. It’s usually not this bad.”
“What do you mean?” Frowning, you didn’t think you’d ever witness Jungkook in this state: defeated over the profession he willingly chose and stayed for.
His blank eyes stare off into the distance, zeroing on the corner of his flat screen television. The corners of his mouth twitch, exhaling a shaky breath before murmuring, “I’m scared to quit.”
And despite his discomfort with the subject, he continues, “I … I’ve been thinking about it and it feels like I can’t focus on other things when I have to think about work.” He also doesn’t want to mention the shame he has in quitting, inevitably proving people right that his line of work was not sustainable in the long-run. He doesn’t want to admit he’s outgrown the field that’s built everything around him: his friends, home, experiences, and … you. If it weren’t for his job, he wouldn’t have found you.
But was gratitude and loyalty needed for a profession that brings him more stress and worries?
Though rare, he’s wrestled with these difficult moments in this field, often wondering how life would be if he didn’t need to endure. What version of him exists outside of the industry? He knows what happiness is, but he’s also familiar with the deep dread and disappointment in staying.
“It’s scary.” You concede, staring off into the same space Jungkook had fixated. “But I know you’ll figure it out. You’re not alone. I’m here with you no matter what you decide on.”
His eyes well up again. He used to think people were crazy for suffering, crying during and off work hours. Now? He’s no different. Change is scary, but remaining the same is scarier. And he’s remained the same for so long, fighting the norms and societal expectations of him.
All this to realize … he’s also just a boy with dreams and aspirations, hope cupped in his hands waiting to be discovered. The industry may be a part of him, but it was never all he was. While he doesn’t know what the future entails, he knows he needs to do something different — his profession does not define his identity.
“Yes, I know.” He lets you rub gentle circles on his bruised wrist, lets you bring up his wrist and blow a cooling breath over his skin before you lay a gentle kiss. “Thank you.”
You and Jungkook remain like this for a while, just sharing each other’s warmth and company until you perk up about the dessert you brought over. He chuckles as you pry open the container and a peek of light orange reaches his vision. Jungkook relishes in the small notes of cinnamon and persimmons hitting his taste buds.
The container of ice cream gets annihilated within fifteen minutes, cold running down your esophagus and tummy, but there’s always a source of heat in your stomach as you sit close to your biggest source of warmth.
Refusing his offer to walk you to your car, you only allow Jungkook to see you out his door in favor of him resting more.
“Thanks for tonight, P. I really needed this.” He needs you more than ever. Holding your hands, he lets his gaze trail down to your lips before he brings them back up to your eyes. He’s been through this route many times, showing restraint because he knows better than to do something too rushed despite his mind and body screaming at him to disobey the boundary you both set.
As always, he presses a tender kiss to your forehead.
It’s enough. Because he feels you through the food you make for him, your touch, and your unwavering care.
As you stare up at him with starry eyes, he also realizes:
Intimacy doesn’t have to be perfect, but it is with you.
Jungkook completed his first semester of courses with flying marks. With a heavy heart, he decided to stop working in adult filming after another week of mulling through his options. In his resolve he tells himself the decision’s indefinite … subject to change. But ever since he let his agent know of his career change, he has not looked back.
Though the weather remains chilly, spring’s around the corner. The season brings the birds in the early mornings, flowers blossoming around his apartment complex, and the love blooming in his chest whenever he sees you.
Tonight’s a special night for you. Your cohort wanted to do a little social gathering at a club and you invited Jungkook as your plus-one. He wasn’t planning on drinking, opting to be your designated driver for the night. He looks over at you, eyes sparkly with glitter … or perhaps, you glow more under his stares.
Weather’s still cold, but he knows it will warm up at the venue as the night progresses. He lays his brown jacket on your lap as he drives you both to the venue. You’re so pretty in your skin-tight black turtleneck and gold chain necklace. Upon final inspection in your body length mirror, you made a remark how you looked like The Rock minus the fannypack. Jungkook laughed and tugged you along, mumbling how you looked beautiful and how you were going to be late if you did another outfit change. And while the weather is ever turbulent, jumping between hot and cold days, there’s nothing turbulent between you and Jungkook.
Even though you abstained from changing out of your ‘Pre-2012 The Rock’ fit, you were late with how the parking situation worked out. Too many cars, too little parking options when you were deep into the nightlife district of the city. Jungkook parked at an open lot about a twenty minute walking distance. Terrible, you know. But the trip was well worth it with his company. Had you been alone, you probably would have chosen to order a cab, but you’ve never felt safer in Jungkook’s hand as you both walk down the busy streets on a Saturday night.
“Thanks again for coming with me.”
“Wouldn’t miss it. Plus,” He squeezes your hand. “You’re coming with me to my friend’s wedding next weekend. So we’re even.”
“Oh no … weddings are so, so, so awful,” you chide with batted lashes.
He grins, “It is when you gotta be in dress pants.”
You giggle, staring up at the illuminated neon lights around town. “My classmates are excited to meet you, Mr. 9th-Annual-Shutter-Winner.” You grin, the side of your body presses close to him. You look down at his phone where it navigates the leftover walking distance to the club: estimated time of arrival – five minutes.
Jungkook was nervous. Not as a result of meeting your classmates, but he knew a certain someone was going to be there. Kim Taehyung, your best friend and confidant, will also be in attendance. He’s gotten along with him in the past on set. Eccentric guy, a bit of a Namjoon fanatic, but birds of a feather flock together. Namjoon’s creative, kind, and visionary. It’s only natural Taehyung gravitates towards him in this industry.
Regardless, Jungkook’s nervous. He doesn’t voice his concern when you had disclosed that Taehyung was aware of your relationship history with Jungkook. He would never hold you back on talking about your troubles to your friends because it’s important to build that trust and rapport. He hopes his entire persona isn’t completely irreconcilable just yet with the time he’s spent trying to grow and cultivate a healthy relationship with you.
Once in the club, you make your rounds with Jungkook by your side. Lots of new faces, and maybe a select few that were recognizable as a result of the photography competition.
“Hey Jungkook, heard you were in the photography program,” one of the judges for the past photography competition, Rowoon, smiles, “I know at the end of your photography program they’re going to request for an internship. Let me know if you need help connecting with a photographer.”
“That’d be awesome.” Jungkook smiles.
Jungkook’s appreciative for moments like these, easy conversations blending in with your life. You’ve been surrounded with good people. Well, good enough for you to want to rekindle and meet up every so once in a while.
He watches you from afar now, a mocktail in hand as he lets the ice melt and lessen the syrupy taste of the drink.
You smile into your cup as one of your classmates animate a pose of some sort — probably from a recent project or client. Regardless, he finds himself smiling too, eyes focused on your figure. It’s all tunnel vision, really, how everything around you blurs and this gooey feeling swirls and pools in the pit of his stomach.
He recognizes this, having experienced this similar breakthrough in the past with previous partners. While the hard impact of the realization came far less than this moment, his feelings were undeniable.
He loves you.
An awful realization to have when you guys are out in public and not in privacy, where he can bare his emotions to you freely. His palms sweat, heart accelerating at the welcomed epiphany and rush.
He has been patient and gentle in these last couple of months. That, he’ll give himself credit for. But all the self work he’s done is about to leave as he’s one mocktail sip away from walking over to you and declaring his feelings.
Not the right place nor time. Certainly worse when he can’t drink to distract himself.
“Mind if I join ya?”
Jungkook startles out his thoughts, craning his neck to the side to find Kim Taehyung smiling lazily at him. He simply gestures for the empty stool, all while trying to relocate you after the minor detractor.
Even with the heavy bass of the club music, Jungkook’s eyes still remain on your figure, making sure you’re safe and having fun — as you should always be.
Taehyung grunts in his descent onto the barstool, gaze following where Jungkook looks at.
“You all socialed out?” Jungkook mindlessly asks — a miracle he’s strung up a coherent sentence.
Taehyung scoffs at the lack of focus, but replies, “Gets a little tiring explaining my gigs and seeing them react the same way.”
This time, Jungkook stares back at the seated man, completely understanding his sentiment. He knows exactly what Taehyung has experienced being in the industry — their little common ground.
“You know,” Taehyung begins, “I still don’t get the whole thing with you and her.”
Lips pursed, he drums his fingers on the bar counter, “How so?”
“Friends, but not. Lovers, but not.” Taehyung tips his drink back. “What are you guys even waiting for?”
What was Jungkook waiting for?
“Just want to take our time.” He replies. “Not trying to rush things.”
“Kind of backwards, don’t you think?” He shrugs his shoulders before continuing, “Look man, I’ll be upfront. I’m still on the fence about you.”
“I know.” Jungkook’s aware he’s far from perfect, knowing his hesitancy in moving forward stems from his insecurities and his fears of hurting you in the process.
“She likes you a lot. And I trust my best friend. If things go sour, well … at least we’ll know how to pick up the pieces this time around.”
Taehyung waves down the bartender for a refill. “I give her a lot of shit for putting herself in a box, but all she does is try. So why don’t you guys try?”
Jungkook’s been so afraid of hurting. In turn, he’s robbing you both of the possibility for something so much more. He loves what he has with you, but was this enough?
You turn, also finding him, and smile.
It’s not enough. He wants more — he needs more.
Taehyung settles back as he watches the scene unfold in front of him with a smug smile.
Finally.
Jungkook’s on autopilot as he weaves through the crowd. The back of his neck grows sweaty, less from the stuffy venue and more from his nerves and this final act of trying to do the right thing for once. He wants to do right by you, and right now all he wants is to be near you.
He needs to be near you.
You seem to think the same too, placing your empty glass onto the edge of the bar top. There aren’t any remnants of green or cherries, only a sliver of yellow on the bottom he recognizes as his trademark drink.
His heart drums against his chest as you do a quick side hug with the classmate, so eager to get to him in the midst of the hazy, man-made smoke and crowded dance floor.
The path to you was damn near impossible to get to, packed like sardines and people unwilling to move. Though, you both will always find a way to each other. Head tilted, you motion Jungkook to the side of the dance floor. It’s dimly lit, some of the club’s strobing lights don’t touch. Light’s not needed because you’re forever drawn to each other.
“Hi.” You smile up at him, eyes slightly droopy as your hand finds his. “Sorry. Haven’t been able to hang out with you that much tonight.”
He shakes his head, placing your hand behind his neck. Your fingers search for the longer locks he sported in the winter months, but you’ve always preferred his shorter cut. The prickle of the undercut was something you’ve longed for all night long. His silver hooped earrings graze your exposed wrist, the cold metal offering a nice touch on your hot skin.
He shakes his head, “‘S okay, Pix.” You both sway, neither of you really know what song is playing. It all blurs to white noise when you’re with each other. “Did you catch up with everyone?”
“Mhm.” You hum, leaning in to press your face against his chest. There’s a slight drop to your shoulders signifying your exhaustion, but Jungkook reads your demeanor like the back of his hands.
With a hum, he murmurs, “What’s on your mind?”
“Everyone’s in production companies.” You sulk, frown felt on his strong front.
Your words hold a little bitterness, a hint of dejection at the idea you weren’t exactly doing what everyone was doing. But that’s what made you special. You’re doing what you want to do and you’ve stuck by it.
“You ever think about joining one?” He asks into your hair.
You lift your head from his chest, chin digging into his sternum. “It’s not for me, but sometimes, I feel like I’m missing out.”
Just like how he thinks he might miss out on something wonderful if he continues as things are, but a club where you’re having a reunion with old classmates isn’t the right time or place for a confession.
Jungkook nods. “Can do whatever you want. The world’s your oyster.”
He doesn’t need any of the strobing lights or a spotlight in the tiny nook you’ve both claimed with the way you smile at him. Not when you stare up at him like he’s the world, ready to be claimed by you. Before he does anything too impulsive, he leads you both closer to the center of the dance floor. Back turned to him, his hands rest on the dips of your hips. Chin tucked in the crook of your neck, he takes in your jasmine and cucumber scent, wondering if you’re just as addicted to his scent.
“Did you have your usual?” He mumbles into your ear.
You shake your head, shivering from his voice. “Midori sour’s not always on the menu.”
He hums in agreement, thinking back to the arrangements he made at the club he hosted his celebratory party at. Honestly, there was no major issue requesting the addition of the drink; the manager was happy to accommodate.
“What’d you have earlier?” His voice comes out low, rumbling against you.
You nearly whimper your answer as he circles his arms around your midsection, not wanting to lose any physical contact from you. “Highball.”
His grin stretches across his face, muscle memory as his mouth salivates for the drink. “Did you like it?”
You turn around now, and Jungkook does little to reposition his forehead on yours. This time, another type of restraint courses through his body as his eyes bounce between your hooded stare and pouty lips.
“Mm, I wanted to try what you liked. Not my thing,” you conclude. “Wasn’t sweet at all.”
Jungkook doesn’t need the additional sweetness in his drinks when he’s surrounded by sweetness in his life. Can do away with sugar because you’re here.
“What did you have tonight?” You ask back.
“Wild night with some sort of wild berry mocktail.” He teases.
“Lucky, I wish I had that.” Your eyes drop to his lips — he follows your line of vision as you look back up at him.
“Was nice.” He concedes, voice dropping an octave. “Better if it was a highball.”
The music’s loud, but nothing’s louder than the drumming in his ears — the voice in his head yelling at him to close the gap between you two. The same gap you both maintained in these last couple of months. It’s been working so well for you two, reworking your foundation and taking things slow all while hoping it would lead to your desired goal: each other.
Jungkook’s forehead remains on yours, lips parted slightly at your delayed blinks. And although the label had always blurred between the two of you, he had always been yours. Yours, when he entered the establishment with his hand on your hips, guiding you away from rowdy groups at the main point of entrance. Yours, when all you’ve done tonight was match his stares, wanting so badly to be in his company instead of folks you haven’t spoken to in years face to face.
All yours.
“Want a taste?” You ask, making no move to go to the bar. He stays rooted there too, knowing full well he’s not allowed a single drop of alcohol in his system. The entrancement lasts all but a second before a flicker of fear flashes across your features.
Deja vu.
Was this all a figment of your imagination and it could get ripped from you any moment? If you lean in like you did months ago, would you be punished by rejection again?
Your brows furrow, eyes pleading up at Jungkook to answer your unspoken questions.
And he reads you so easily — remembers you and knows your insecurities before you do sometimes.
He breathes you in, nose now nestled against your own with no intentions of ever leaving.
“Please?” Your warmth fans over to him, a soft plea worthy of ending wars Jungkook would only qualify as his own battles.
He thinks about that night at the club where you had left him, foolishly clutching onto the flimsy cone-shaped cups while the world spun with you nowhere in sight. Thinks about the prospect of you leaving again and how ruined he’d be without you.
Jungkook pleads with you too now, “Please don’t leave me.”
You shake your head. “I’m right here.”
He thinks he deserves a little bit of heaven. Funny, how he thinks the universe could grant him kisses from a million angels, but he’d only want a lifetime of yours. The last thing he sees are two slow blinks from your sparkly-glittered lids, pulling and signaling him into a soft landing: to home — he finally finds his way back home.
He cups your face, delicate in how he holds you because there’s nothing more he’d like to do than to handle you with all the care and tenderness in the world. He sighs into your lips, relieved to finally have you like this. Where you both meet in the middle now.
Highball, in the simplest terms, was bland whiskey. The taste of the drink was probably the furthest thing you can get to the sweetness of your typical midori sour. And yet, you still tried for him. He knows how much you try for him and you’ve done your best to accept him — the work and effort you put into adoring Jungkook never goes unnoticed.
He doesn’t taste the highball, none of the usual remnants of the drink he’s grown to like as he runs his tongue over your plump lips. Perhaps it’s also that he no longer searches for that familiar aftertaste; instead, welcoming something he’s longed for and missed these months. His tongue moves over your lips again, slow and deliberate to savor the sweetness.
Your mouth parts for him, a tentative push of his tongue and you’re reduced to putty. He trails one hand down your hip, pulling you flush against him.
It’s all muscle memory, how puzzle pieces fit just for you and Jungkook. He groans against your mouth, the low sound vibrates through your body, sending a shock through your body and heat building in your middle.
Your name is all but a rasp as Jungkook goes straight to your lips again after your small whine. He can’t get enough of you, the background noise and people blurring in his pursuit of you. You kiss him back. Months after months of waiting, slowly rebuilding, knowing exactly where the finish line is … and the kiss now was just one of your many monumental milestones with Jungkook.
He needs to pull away for air, mindful of your own state too despite his unwillingness to stray away. It’s everything he’d expect a kiss from you to be after all this time: sweet, with no hint of the drink he fancied.
Nose nestled to yours and brazen smiles exchanged, Jungkook does his best to regulate his breathing.
“You’d ever give highball another try, Pix?” He breathes, peppering tinier kisses on your lips, rendering it nearly impossible to properly respond.
“Yeah.” You reply in between kisses. “I’d try it again. It’s worth another chance.”
When he finally pulls away with much reluctance, his heart drums against his chest at your response — at your implication.
You wanted this with him.
“You’ll teach me how to properly drink it?” You look at him with the softest gaze.
He shakes his head, a smile playing on his lips. “Will drink it with you.”
No one was talking about the drink. Though, much like the drink, love and affection was always better shared and experienced together.
And it’s so much better savoring those moments with you.
You and Jungkook eventually leave the dance floor to socialize with your other classmates, catching Taehyung with a content smile as he peers down at your interlinked hands. Jungkook’s hand involuntarily tightens around yours and you look up, eyes holding a playful curiosity as to what he wants.
You mouth, ‘You tired?’
He shakes his head no, though, his droopy eyelids and slight sway to his body tells you otherwise. You’re also tired too, wanting nothing more than to be with your desired source of warmth.
You quickly make your rounds, bidding your farewells and blaming your age for not being able to stay longer. Thankfully, a couple of your other classmates left before you, so your attempt to leave didn’t look out of the blue. Your goodbye with Taehyung takes a little longer as he whispers something in your ear, eyes playful as you pull away and lightly smack his arm.
Jungkook smiles once you’re back by his side, the cold night air hitting you both outside the club. He offered to run to the car while you wait back, but you insisted on coming with him. “Ready for the walk, Miss Rock?”
With narrowed eyes, you huddle closer, pretty pout on your lips he so wants to kiss.
“You said I looked great.” You huff, beginning the long trek back to the car.
“The Rock looked great, and so do you, Pix.” He teases.
Three minutes into your walk, a random downpour starts out of nowhere.
Jungkook takes off his brown jacket, slinging it over both your bodies as you do your best to run from the rain. Shared incredulous giggles and glances with each other made the trip back even better. Unable to fully avoid the downpour, Jungkook opts to just cover you with his jacket. The theatrics continue once a car passes, wheels producing a splash over your bodies.
Unneeding of the jacket now, you lower the jacket around your shoulder, tugging Jungkook through the rain as you both near the car. He looks at you from behind, catching your stare back while urging him to move quicker.
But he’s in no rush.
He’s never been in a rush with you.
Steps coming to a halt, you look back again with a questioning expression. His hair’s matted on his forehead, eyes squinting from the rain water, but he can see you so clearly under the yellow of the streetlights.
He says your name, your steps stumble as you land in his embrace. Cold fingers run on your cheek before he admits, “I don’t think I can just be what we’ve been. I want this with you — I want to be with you.”
He doesn’t ask you if you want the same. Didn’t have the chance as his eyes widened the same moment your lips met his.
Rain beats down on your bodies, hard and punishing. The cold water seeping through your clothing is nothing compared to the heat searing from your bodies. Your fingers run through his hair from behind, urging him closer if it were possible. His hold on you tightens and you unconsciously arch into him, no longer caring how the rain water runs down your face.
Jungkook breaks apart from the kiss, “It’s always been you, P.” Warm breath on your lips as he utters words he's long realized and wanted to tell you, “I … I’m in love with you.”
It’s freeing. Not just his confession, but how the rain continues washing out everything around you both. The good, the bad. The aftermath of a storm allows for rebuilding — for flowers to blossom, for growth and to start anew.
He thinks about all the time spent together and apart — the happiness, trust, and fears … it all inevitably brings him back to you. And as the rain waters continue to fall, he finds himself free falling into your embrace — the easy love.
“I love you,” You profess, brows pulling together tears mixing in with the rain, “So much. You know that, yeah?”
He does. But even so, he still asks, “Please be with me.” He chews on the inside of his mouth, so fearful of rejection as though you could choose any other route. “Please?”
You nod, leaning in for a kiss that could only seal your answer to him. “I’m yours. Always been yours.”
A relieved chuckle stutters from his chest, holding you close. “Home?”
“Home.” You reply.
Jungkook’s home was closer in proximity, so it would only be natural to head over there to change out of your soaked clothes. Even with the seat warmers turned onto the highest setting and his jacket slung over your lap like it was in the beginning of the night, you shiver and shudder in your seat.
“Can use my shower too, P.” He pushes his wet bangs back and reasons, “Don’t want you catching a cold.”
“Mmkay,” Your teeth involuntarily chatters, hands tucked in between your thighs underneath his jacket to retain your heat.
His hand naturally finds yours. “We’ll be home soon, ‘kay?”
Back at his home, he gives you a spare t-shirt with some sweatpants, letting you know that he’ll shower at the guest bathroom while you use the master bedroom’s. It’s not your first time in his bedroom, having been there a couple times when he was busy and needed you to retrieve something for him in there. The citrus scent embraces you as you walk in, fingers tightening around his clothes. He’s fumbling around his dresser to get his own clothing, hair dried to a damp mess and coarse at the ends from the washed away hair products. His shirt drags over his large frame, seemingly heavier around the shoulder area from the rainwater.
Back still turned away, he cranes his neck to you and catches your curious stare. “Go on and use the shower, P.”
You nod, clothes feeling unbearingly tight whether it be from the rain or the suffocating dilemma of not wanting to leave Jungkook’s side.
In the shower, he’s still with you through the shampoo and body wash. You run your hands around your body, knowing this is your way of keeping him close. Will you need to go home after this? Does the mirage end here with the suds of soap pooling at your toes?
Does it end with his scent on your body?
All dried and in his clothes, you stare at the mirror, a small smile playing at your lips at the visual of your body drowned in his oversized t-shirt. You roll the bottom of the sweatpants and tug at the drawstrings to secure around your waist.
You peer into his bedroom. “Jungkook?” No response.
Walking out to the living space, you notice a tuft of hair on the large couch’s armrest. Two glasses of water — all full — just like your heart, rests on the coffee table. Peering over the couch, your lover lays there, eyes closed with a rhythmic breathing pattern nowhere close to being asleep.
You come around and seat yourself on the edge of the couch. An unsuspecting force pulls you down, followed by a small ‘oomph,’ you attempt to sit back up.
“Can we rest a little before I take you home?” He mumbles, breathing into your hair.
Your ear is pressed against his chest, his heart thumping way too fast for rest. Working up your courage, you snuggle into his warmth as you murmur, “It’s late. Don’t want you driving at this hour.” Before he could ask if you’d want him to fetch a cab, you follow up with, “If it’s okay … can I stay over tonight?”
The drumming in his chest speeds up, but his words come out assertive. “Of course, P.”
The guest room sits empty as Jungkook leads you back to his bedroom, a sleepy smile on his face as he catches your yawn and places the glass of water onto the nightstand closest to where you’ll sleep. He hooks his index fingers in the collar of his shirt and yanks it over his head, tossing the article of clothing on the ottoman near the foot of his bed.
You swallow, eyes raking over his toned body you’ve grown so familiar with. His tattoo lines look darker under the warm hues of his nightlight. Underneath his covers, your eyes fight to stay open, only allowing them to blink shut when he encircles his arms around you.
“Night, P.” He mumbles.
“Good night, Kook.”
Around 5 a.m. you wake up with the worst case of dry mouth, having already drank the glass of water in the middle of the night, and another time Jungkook refilled without your knowledge. You pout at the glass sitting pretty and empty on the nightstand.
There’s an unfamiliar weight on your midsection causing you to suck in a breath as you look down. Intricate patterns and faded colors greet you before you turn your head to meet their owner.
Jungkook’s on his front, pouty mouth parted and lashes kissing the top of his cheeks. His rhythmic light snores tell you he’s still in deep slumber if not for the sleep-lines on the side of his face where he buries himself further into his fluffy pillows.
There’s a stillness in waking up next to Jungkook like this — at the realization there’s no need to run or leave. He’s here within a distance you can comfortably reach.
You think back to last night, between the kisses and confessions, everything seemed like a dream. You’re tempted to reach over to brush away the strand of his bangs. Want to see if he’d stir awake and look at you as he did before you both fell asleep last night.
That’s the funny thing about love — can’t bear the selfishness and greed of your own desires. So instead, you do your best to uncurl from his lazy hold, already missing his warmth as you grab the rims of your glass to fetch some water.
You’ve only been over in the afternoon and evening, never knowing the brisk morning air. Jungkook’s room was warm, temperature maintained by the heat of your bodies, but in the open living space, you shiver a little from cold and the absence of a familiar body.
Glass refilled, you make your way back to Jungkook, but something pulls you to an abrupt stop.
You’ve only seen this view at night, always curious how differing the morning view would be. Orange peeks and greets you on the horizon, begging for your presence even when there is another star you rather be with.
Just a couple more minutes and the sun will rise — a view you’ve never seen from here. Lips nursing on your glass, you smile as you hear another pair of feet shuffle in your direction. Not subtle at all. He makes his presence known with a small yawn, standing behind you, he presses his chest against you from behind and wraps his arms around your abdomen.
“Whatcha doing up so early?” Voice laced with sleep.
“Wanted to get water,” you bring the glass up to his view, “sun’s about to rise now.” You nod at the window.
His body vibrates against yours at a particularly low chuckle. “‘S nice, isn’t it? Can see everything from here.”
You hum in agreement. You love the view, love his touch, love him. And because you love him, you give him the remainder of your water. Glass now empty again, he sets the cup on a small stand. The surrounding air stifles as a strong pair of arms wrap around you tighter, cluing in a shift in the easy morning conversation.
“P, I meant everything I said last night.” He says, afraid you hadn’t retained any recollection of last night’s event — as though all the magic last night was all but a trick and illusion.
There’s no illusion in your adoration for him, turning away from the sun, you realize you have everything in front of you worth orbiting for.
“I meant everything too.” You reply, feeling the sun warm your back, but even that source of warmth wasn’t enough incentive to have you turning away from Jungkook again. “I love you. Wanna be with you.”
You tip-toe, lips pressing delicately against his only spurs on his tiny moan as he meets you in the middle. His teeth nibble on your bottom lip, causing you to part them with a small gasp. He takes this moment to lick into your mouth, tongue running against yours to savor you. He could blame the morning wood on … well, the morning, and not your soft lips, but he’s wanted you like this for so long and now you’re finally his.
He angles your chin, doing his best to distract you from the bulge pressed against your stomach, to which you also push against. Grunting, he huffs into your mouth, “Pix, please.”
You hum a small ‘what?’
So dangerous of you to push something he’s been suppressing for months. Aching for your touch, but he’s respectful of the change in dynamics. He wants to be respectful now, but was there a need?
“I’m trying to be good.” He mumbles, kissing along your jaw and making his way down your neck. His teeth rake against the expanse of your skin, reveling in your shivers and the way your nails dig into his back.
“You are good.” You sigh prettily. “So good to me.”
And because of this, Jungkook wants to show you other ways he could be good to you. It’s what you deserve — nothing makes him happier than making you feel good. Back pressed against the glass panes, the initial cold morphs and changes with the sun and your combined body heat.
His hand snakes up your shirt, large palm halting at your stomach until you nod for him to move. You moan at the contact of his thumb moving over your hardening bud.
“Feels good, pretty?” He mouths against your neck.
You swallow and nod, “J-Jungkook, can people,” another moan slips as he sucks on a particularly sensitive juncture of your neck, “see us from here?”
Being on the thirty-fourth floor had its perks and advantages. He doesn’t have next door neighbors except for the floor above and below him, which works in his favor.
“No one can see us, P.” He shakes his head, “You want them to?”
He grips your chest a little harder, urging for an answer before he continues. Head lifted to your face, his hooded eyes draw you in.
“No,” you place a soft kiss on his jaw, “Want this just between us.”
He also can’t imagine having another person watch you both. Can’t imagine sharing an experience like this with someone other than you.
“Yeah, it’s just you and me.”
The hand on your hip runs up your front, cupping your cheek first before he slips a soft request while looking at your lips, “Open, please.”
Your mouth parts, and his hand drags over your cheek, his middle and ring finger probing and sliding over your wet muscle. His cock twitches in his sweats at the thought of possibly feeling your mouth again. Those thoughts break the moment you close around his digits, warm and wet around him. Your cheeks hollow without command as you eagerly suck on his fingers. You look at him with determined eyes, fighting to stay open but loses the battle before fluttering shut when his thumb runs over your hard nipple again.
“Gonna make you feel good.” He promises, “‘s that okay?”
You nod, unable to verbalize a response with his fingers in your mouth. Soon his wet fingers slip out of your mouth and he slips them past the waistband of your folded sweats.
“Oh god,” Your hips buck back from the sudden contact of his fingers, ass pushed against the glass. “P-please.” You beg, unsure of what exactly but Jungkook takes it as a request to move. His middle finger slots perfectly between your wet folds, circling around the bundle of nerves.
“Wanna touch you, too.” You plead, “Can I?”
He tips his forehead against yours, hips pushed against your hand. “Uh-huh, want you to touch me.”
Your hand slips into his sweats, making contact with his bare length. The angle of your bodies makes it difficult to tug or squeeze as you like, but he shudders just by the mere contact of your soft hand.
“P, don’t—” He moves back slightly to peer down at your hand working over his length. “Don’t tease.”
Lip tucked between his teeth, his own hand speeds up over your clit, wet sounds growing by the second. He hopes you do the same too, but you keep your lazy strokes, watching him with hooded eyes. “Not,” you pause, eyes closing when he nears you, pressing a dainty kiss, “teasing.”
“Tell me what you need.” You murmur against his lips.
“Faster,” He whines, “need you to go faster—fuck—” He groans when you comply, hand picking up the pace.
And be it from the patience and time endured after months of dreaming of being with you … or he was just that easy, he finishes in his sweats in under a minute. Your hand slowly jerks over his length, hand coated in his cum.
“Koo, did you cum?” You breathe, unsure from the sudden liquidy warmth. He moans a small yes, angling his head for your kisses on his neck, teeth dragging over his collarbone as a reward for his confirmation. Your hand glides over the head of his sensitive cock. “Made a mess all for me.”
He kisses you, deft fingers on your clit as he touches away the embarrassment of cumming before he’s gotten to properly take care of you. It’s no give or take situation, but he wants to give back to you.
He removes his hand and you nearly cry out at the loss of his touch. Your cum covered hand gets tugged from his pants at the same time. Doesn’t care you’re unconsciously wiping away your hand on your shirt — everything was going into the wash anyway, ridding any evidence of the sinful acts you’ll both willingly partake in.
How sinful were they if they were embarked by two people in love?
Fingers hooked on the waistband of your sweats, he drags them down your hips, leaving both your soaked underwear and pants pool at your ankles. His eye contact never wavers as he drops down on his knees, only breaking at the long shirt length covering your bare cunt. With a knowing glance, you hold the bottom of the shirt, while the other one falls on the side of his head for support as nudges your legs apart.
“So perfect,” he praises, eyes peering up at you, “All mine.” His fingers form a ‘v’ as he spreads your glistening folds, mouth watering at the sight of your twitching clit. He moves in, placing a kiss on the side of your pussy, just shy of your nub. The action has you furrowing your brows, mouth dropping open as you involuntarily push your hips forward.
You mewl, thighs closing when he finally slots his tongue over the self-made opening between his fingers. He licks, sucks, and kisses the tiny nub. And you stand there, taking everything he’s willing to give you. He loves watching you struggle maintaining eye contact, loves the shy smile you give him when you had a moment of realization of how loud you were in the early hours of his home, and loves the small tug from your fingers in his hair when he repeatedly presses his lips to your clit.
You were already so close before this, but now he has you tipping on the edge again. Jungkook’s eyes close, tongue lapping your cunt.
Your thighs shake, breath caught in your throat as he continues the motions. And even though he’s not looking at you, he knows you’re about to let go as you rock your hips into his face. Using one hand, his fingers dig into the back of your thigh as he brings one of them over his shoulder.
“Baby–” You rasp.
“Hm?” He answers, muffled against your core. The vibrations against your cunt have your eyes rolling to the back of your head as your lids slam shut from the sensation.
You whimper, stomach clenching at the first signal of your orgasm. Your fingers clutch pathetically at the end of the shirt, mindful of the other hand interlocked with his locks. But you’re bolder now, know what you like and need … and what you like is Jeon Jungkook moaning against your core, encouraging you to cum. What you need is to extend this feeling for as long as you can, so you push his head closer as you grind your spasming cunt to his face.
“Cumming,” you manage to get out, “Oh fuck, I’m cumming.”
Jungkook can’t answer, wishes he could; though, all his wishes are being fulfilled as he’s head deep between your legs. He pulls away after your hips press back against the glass, signaling your sensitive state. Hooded gaze fixed, he takes in the visual of your cheek pressed onto your shoulder — a habit he’s noticed every time you’ve cummed. Your eyes blink open slowly, blinded by the light coming in from the rising sun.
“I’m sorry, P.” He doesn’t sound sorry at all with his mischievous grin as he kisses your inner thigh — the one he has thrown over his shoulder. “You missed the sunrise.”
You croon, a small playful pout on your lips. “I did.” You release his hair, hand cupping his jaw. You moan in surprise when he latches onto your clit again, lazy sucks as he peers up at you.
He places one last kiss to your nub and suggests, “Should turn around then, take in the current view.” He leaves out the fact that you’ll have plenty of more chances to see the view.
He places your leg down. While wobbly at first, you plant your feet sturdy before complying with his request. He’s right — the city’s beautiful.
Jungkook also has the best view in the city too.
You look back at him from your shoulder, eyes catching his, “You’re not watching with me?”
“Perfect view here.” He scoots back a little, ignoring the discomfort and numbness in his knees. You brace against the glass, fist clenched tightly at the anticipation of what your lover wants to do. No one cares about the prospect of a stained glass as you hinge your hips out to him, the underside of your wet pussy entrances him.
He pushes your shirt up over the curves of your hips and the sight before him has his cock hardening in his sweats again. A creamy white sheen trickles down your slit, begging to be licked up before it dribbles onto the floor.
And he does. With a cock to his head, he slots his mouth over your leaky cunt.
You wail, cheek pressed against the glass as you fog up a small section with your warm puffs of air. His tongue laps over your clenched hole, pleased you haven’t pulled away from him. He rewards you with a small probe of his tongue and you surprise him again by pushing back, tongue gliding into your warm cavern with little resistance.
You both moan, caught in the euphoric moment of this new experience.
He reels his head back, spreading you wide to look at your gaping pussy — all his doing.
“Please,” you beg, greedy for his mouth. Without warning, he dives back in, tongue thrusting in and out of your hole with a new profound hunger. One of his hands comes from under and rubs at your clit. The new feeling has your legs shaking again, your hand coming around to place on top of his to ground yourself.
He pulls away, placing wet kisses alongside your thighs. “You liked that, Pix?”
“Yeah, I loved it.” You reply, looking back at him through your lashes.
“Good.” He chuckles, stomach warm from your confession, “Keep looking at the view though. Sun’s pretty today.”
The sun’s pretty every day, you think to yourself as you look at your source of light. But you turn away, obedient as you look at the rays the rest of the world relies on.
“Gonna do something new, ‘kay?” He says, strained as he places a small kiss on one of your cheeks. He lets his teeth graze your skin, fingers digging into the meat of your ass to gain your confirmation. “Tell me if you don’t like it.”
You nod, can’t think of anything you won’t like aside from being away from Jeon Jungkook, but you’re sure to vocalize any discomfort for whatever journey he’s about to embark with you.
“Open wider for me.” He husks. You comply, feet shuffling apart as you hinge lower.
You couldn’t predict what he wanted to try with you, certainly not anything remotely close to how he parts your ass and you feel his breath on your skin before he leans in.
You nearly cry out at the first lick over the tight ring of your asshole. There was an adjusting period, one that involved your breasts pressed hard against the window, mouth hanging open as Jungkook goes in for another lick.
It’s not unpleasant. New, like he mentioned.
“You taking in everything, P?” His finger slips over your cunt, long index finger teasing the entrance. He takes his time running his fingers between your wet folds, watching your bleary eyes struggle to stay open. It’s fine. You’ll have plenty more opportunities to see the view in the future — he’ll make sure of it.
You moan at the feeling of his finger probing the entrance of your pussy, hole clenched around nothing as he continues teasing you.
“Hm? Answer me, pretty.” His tongue teases around your taint. This time, you relax into it, even going as far as pushing back.
“Mhm,” you try, “‘s pretty.”
You have your head turned again, watching him the best you could, completely unfocused from the view beyond the massive curtain wall. A wrecked moan escapes the moment his long digit pushes into your sensitive cunt — just up to the first knuckle, nothing more. At the same moment, his tongue guides itself past the tight ring of your hole.
You don’t know what to focus on: his tongue fucking into your ass or his finger coated in your arousal as he has you plugged up on both holes simultaneously.
Jungkook’s always been an ass man, and he honors the title as he continuously dives his head between your cheeks. The finger inside your other hole stays in place, never pushing another inch until you whine and reach between your legs. Your fingers touch the top of his, pushing at them to sink deeper into your pussy.
He pushes his digit into you, the full length wrapped around your wet walls. “Do what you need to make this feel good.” He says. “Want you to feel good.”
A content sigh leaves your lips as you rub slow circles, pleasure building again in your stomach as each minute slips by. You’ve never been one to cum multiple times … unfortunately, you’re no better than a man. One and done type of girl, but the eagerness to cum again from this new experience has you motivated and greedy for more. Especially when the experience is with someone you love and care for.
“I-I think I’m gonna cum again.” You announce, pushing your ass back to his face as he continues fucking his tongue into your ass. He groans and nods, picking up the pace from behind with fervor at the mention of your orgasm.
His finger gradually speeds up, curling a little before he decides to add another finger in.
Oh.
“This okay?” He asks as he senses a change in your demeanor at the sudden intrusion.
You whimper, body stiff and rigid during the adjustment period. The stretch has you halting before you’re rubbing feverishly against your clit, babbling and begging for him to move faster.
Jungkook’s lucky on the thirty-fourth floor. So lucky no one’s able to hear the the sounds you make both from your mouth and wet cunt as he fucks his digits faster as requested. He curls his fingers and your legs start shaking, your hand no longer able to move as you take everything Jungkook gives from behind.
You gasp, his name falls from your lips as you let go. There’s definitely an imprint of your mouth and cheek on his glass window now, memoirs of the acts you both committed.
The wetness grows between your legs, both holes pulsating as you finally cum around him again. Jungkook groans, letting you ride out your orgasm as you need.
He removes both his fingers and tongue from your holes and parts your ass to marvel at the mess you’ve made. The puffy ring of your ass shines with his spit, while your pussy quivers from the aftermath of your strong orgasm. He thinks about how it would be if you were stuffed full of him right now, but he’s in no rush with you. Knows there’s no time constraint to loving you right this time around. Your shirt drops from the curve of your hips and down to your knees as you stand upright, turning and pressing your back to the glass again. Jungkook stands up, fingers already in his mouth to lick up any remnants of cum.
His arms wrap around your waist to hold you up, forehead touching yours as it’s meant to. Doesn’t go for a kiss no matter how much he wants to because he’s not sure of your aversion after where his mouth has been. But you don’t care, looping your arms over his neck and slotting your lips over his for a messy kiss, eventually reduced to small pecks.
“You okay, P?” He asks with round eyes. You nod and ask the same in a hushed whisper.
Why wouldn’t he be when he’s got all he’s ever wanted in his arms? He rubs over your back in a soothing motion, “More than okay, P.”
More kisses are shared, until Jungkook murmurs how he’s still tired and wants to go back to bed. You look at the clock and as tempted you are, you hum and shake your head. His eyes widen at your response, about to offer a quick retort, but you beat him to it.
“You said you had registration for the upcoming semester in a couple hours. Didn’t you say you needed to work on a schedule?”
He tips his head back, both grateful and upset at your memory after he mentioned it to you in passing last week.
Still, these things can be done while in the comforts of his bed and your company. Hand enclosed in his, he tugs you back to his bedroom, no longer omitting the same warmth when you left.
But perhaps, the warmth was anywhere you were with Jungkook.
Saturn takes twenty-nine years to complete its cycle. When you turned twenty-nine, you thought your Saturn was still out there, taking their sweet time with the journey back home.
“Pixie?”
“Coming!” You call out, finishing the last touch of your dusty-pink blush. Smoothing out your sage-green dress, you do a small once-over in your mirror before properly greeting your boyfriend.
Your Saturn’s returned, watching you embark on your new adventure, cheering you on through your wins and losses. Jungkook smiles from the doorway, leather dress shoes placed neatly on the side. His hair is styled as he would for all the wedding events he’s gone to with you, but this was a new suit. Usually in black, the light grey suit brings out his dark features even more — boyish charms emulated with his suit jacket off and hooked on his fingers over a shoulder. The brooches on his vest glimmer on the side, adding a nice finishing touch to his wedding guest look for the evening.
He shines either way when his orbs land on your features, taking in your soft curls and dress you’ve chosen.
“Pretty.” He’s kind enough to not kiss you, seeing you’ve just freshly applied your lipstick, but you’ve never been opposed to reapplying. You tip-toe to plant a soft kiss, not enough to transfer any product, but enough to tempt him for further damage.
“You look very handsome.” You say, hands automatically coming up to fix the angle of his tie. Spring’s weather is ever unpredictable and today’s one of the more warmer days of the week, but the temperatures rise in the small nook of your home as he stares at you.
To avoid any potential deterrence, you move behind him to get to your shoe rack. He presses his back against the wall opposite to you, watching as you crouch down to pick out a strappy nude heel.
“What if we skipped the wedding, Pix?”
You pout, blowing at the random strands of hair in your peripheral. “Your friend would be disappointed. Plus, we both got all done up. Would be a waste if we didn’t go.”
“It’s not a waste,” he replies, “can just have a night in.”
“Also would give me an excuse to get out of these dress pants.” He adds with a scowl.
You lean away, doing a double take on the slacks he has on. You’ve always fancied a guy in dress pants and Jungkook was no exception. Loves how his thighs fill up the spaces and how his ass looks in them.
“Couple hours and we can have a night in.” You reassure with a soft smile. “I’ve got a watermelon in the fridge waiting for us.”
The wedding was standard, especially with it belonging to someone you don’t know. Technically most, if not all, weddings you’ve gone to have belonged to strangers. But there was something special about this wedding — it’s the first time you attended a wedding with Jungkook where you aren’t working.
Weddings have always felt magical; the usual string of fairy lights and flower arrangements appear even more enchanting tonight. And you realized, the enchantment started months ago at Yoongi and Hoseok’s union.
During cocktail hour, he made sure to get all your favorite finger foods without request. When the ring bearer and flower girl comes into view during the ceremony, he’s quick to move higher on his seat, letting you peer past him to get a better look at the little ones. And when he holds your waist during the reception’s dance, you know weddings are magical because the moment’s shared with him.
“This was nice. Thanks for having me as your plus-one.” You sigh in content, cheek rested on his chest as you both slow dance to When a Man Loves a Woman.
He snorts, lighthearted and warm. “I’m glad you enjoyed.” Meant as a sarcastic remark, he also agrees this evening was a lot nicer than he had anticipated in the month leading up to this day.
“I really love weddings.” You mumble to yourself.
He loves weddings with you. Jungkook presses his cheek on the top of your head, “I know.”
You and Jungkook stay like this for a while through a couple slow songs until the DJ changes up the genre of the music, signaling older couples to evacuate the dance floors for the younger crowd to reminisce on an era where their knees existed for the thrill of it all.
Your bodies move in tandem: his, warming your back, and your bottom pushed against his groin with your preferred pressure, knowing you’d never go overboard at a wedding but just enough for him to have him let out a shy chuckle.
His breath fans over the shell of your ear, “I really hate these dress pants, P.”
You turn your head to him, sultry expression matching his hooded lids. “Why’s that?”
“Shows everything.” He laughs through his nose, “Can’t leave here any time soon now.”
You ease up a little, facing him again while your fingers slide over the brooches resting on the left side of his chest — where his heart resides. He’d argue his heart is in his arms staring up at him.
“I’ve always loved you in dress pants.” You confess. “‘Cause that’s when we’re at weddings together.”
Considering how he leans down, pressing a small kiss to your lips where you reciprocate with another lingering kiss, maybe being in dress pants isn’t that bad.
“Have we met our quota yet, Pix?” He nudges his nose against yours.
For someone who loves weddings, you’re eager to go home, too. You want nothing more than to just spend time with Jungkook in the comforts of your home.
“Quota met.”
Sheltered by the indoor venue, you didn’t realize how humid it got outside in the time spent at the wedding. Your apartment was practically a sauna by the time you and Jungkook arrived back at your place. Opening up your windows, you have a fan running in the background to air out the space.
“Sorry,” You say sheepishly while cutting into the watermelon. Your eyes rake over Jungkook where he unbuttons his grey vest and rolls up his sleeves to reveal his tattooed arm.
He shakes his head, taking two spoons from your drawers, “It’ll cool down.”
Will it?
Air heavy with both the atmospheric moisture and tension brewing between you and Jungkook all evening, you’re not so sure if the temperatures will drop any time soon. The watermelon center caves as you both dig with the metal spoons. You favored the center; whereas, Jungkook aimed closer to the watermelon rind.
He peers over at you where you stand. Hair now put up by a claw clip, he counts the baby hairs sticking onto the back of your neck, momentarily forgetting to dig into the watermelon when it’s his turn.
“Why do you only pick at the sides?” Your brows twitch, digging into the middle again and turning to him with a center piece.
He shrugs, opening his mouth on cue for you to stick your spoon into his mouth. Sure, the middle pieces were sweet, but he thinks they might be sweeter coming from you. He chews and swallows, tilting his head a little to meet your equally sticky lips.
“Sweet either way, Pix.” He wonders if the salty moisture on your skin would pair well with the sweet watermelon.
Well, one way to find out.
No longer following a script, Jungkook moves on his own accord — loving and falling freely as he likes knowing you’ll be there to catch him. He shifts his body, head dipped in the crook of your neck as he licks a thick stripe over your neck. You gasp, spoon dropping onto the counter as your hands fly to grab onto his forearms for support.
He’s right; you do bring out more sweetness.
The half eaten watermelon sits on your counter, long forgotten in the pursuit of Jungkook’s body pressed to yours. His lips slot perfectly on you, a relieved sigh escapes as your bodies move as it’s desired all evening.
He trails kisses down the column of your throat, marking a pathway on your collarbone. Fingers in his hair, your grip on him tightens as you shyly ask, “Bed?”
Knees digging onto your bed, you sit up taller to kiss your still-standing boyfriend. He’s busy trying to unbutton his dress shirt while you race to unbuckle his belt — a race no one formally declared, but it was an unspoken need. And you both needed each other … badly.
You beat him, of course. The black Calvin Klein lettering on the banding greets you first as the front opening flaps of his pants fall to the side. He whimpers as you run your hand over his bulge.
“Can I …” Your sentence trails off as you kiss along his exposed neck.
He nods unsure of what you exactly want, but the godforsaken dress pants drop and pool at his ankles without a second thought. You kiss your way down his torso, paying extra attention to his chest. With a determined look, you stick your tongue out on his hard nipple for a tentative lick to glean at his response.
Oh, it’s good — so, so, so good.
He shivers, hand hitting your claw clip as it flies to the back of your neck to hold you in place. Your teeth grazes over the hardened bud, a sliver of pained pleasure courses through as you bite down with a gentle force. He hisses, mouth dropping open to bite back his moans. You remedy the pain with your tongue, silently apologizing without actually feeling sorry.
You slither lower on all fours as you take his hard cock out of its confinements. Round eyes look up at him for permission to proceed.
There’s a slight hesitance in your actions as the last time you wanted to give him a blowjob, he made it a goal to stay protected for both your sakes. He’s always for safe sex, but he knows he’s clean and wants to feel your bare lips around him as long as you’ll allow it. You seem to share the same sentiment as you tilt your head up, eyes burning with want and ownership of his bare skin.
Still, you ask, “Do we need a condom for this?” The thin straps of your pretty evening gown cascades loosely on your shoulders.
“No, but only if you want …” Jungkook pants, a harsh exhale when you give him a gentle squeeze. The small, pleased sound you make, paired with another harder tug confirms your answer.
He releases your hair from the clip, watching it cascade down your shoulders. Bunching your hair in a messy ponytail, he uses it as an anchor as you tug on his shaft.
“Spit on it.” He pleads, groaning when you comply. Your saliva lands on the tip, dripping over the small bead of precum on his slit. So messy how your thumb glides over his slit, mixing the fluids together. Even messier when you place a kiss on his tip, mixed fluids tainting your pretty lips. His stomach contracts, the dips and ridges of his abs are even more defined as a result.
“Missed this with you, Pix.” He melts. It’s even better than how he imagined over the course of time spent with and without you.
“I missed you, too.” You reply, tongue darting out and wetting your lips before moving in for a small lick over the head of his cock. “I wanna take care of you.” You mumble as you press messy kisses on the underside of his cock. “Is that okay?”
His stomach warms at your sentiment, knowing it’ll never be one-sided as he’ll always do the same for you. He nods, giving you the go ahead to do as you like. The grip on your hair increases and the hand cupped underneath your chin props you upright to take him fully.
He wonders how a place like heaven could ever beat this feeling with you.
Your eyes never stray from his, watching him through your lashes and how he struggles to maintain eye contact with you. It’s only when his cock begins hitting the back of your throat, your lids flutter shut. You gag from the action, pushing past the discomfort each time to hear more of his grunts and praises. Your skin prickles each time his thumb runs across your skin to soothe your aching jaw.
“Fuck, Pix, if we keep going like — god,” he hisses, “I’m not gonna last long.” He warns.
“Mmhp,” You try to answer even with your mouth fully stuffed. He pulls back and you whine, robbed at the opportunity of having him release all over your tongue.
“Please,” you breathe, hoarse and rough, “wanna taste you.”
Your mouth falls open again. Instead of sliding in again, Jungkook jerks over his length, fast as he needs with the visual of you on your knees so readily to be ruined.
“Baby–I, I’m gonna cum. Fuck,” He tilts his head up to the ceiling.
And when he finally cums, he does so with your name and a string of praises. The first rope of cum lands on the corner of your mouth. Without another thought, you enclose your lips around his tip. His strangled noises spurs you on in your mission to suck and milk him dry.
When he finally slips out of your mouth, the hand underneath your chin guides you up and your knees walk you close to his standing body again. You still haven’t swallowed, unsure what you want to do with the fluid resting on your tongue.
Reading your expression clearly, Jungkook bites down a smile. “You don’t have to swallow, P.” He chuckles, placing a quick peck to your tightly shut mouth, “Want me to get the waste bin?”
He runs his thumb on the corner of your mouth, catching the stray droplet before wrapping his lips around his digit. Honestly, he doesn’t care for the taste and gets your hesitancy, but you hold his gaze and shake your head no, pressing your lips to his. He groans and opens his mouth for you to slip your cum-coated tongue in.
You whimper at his large hands running up and down your backside, ultimately landing on the bottom of your swelled ass. Absolute sin and filth personified when you both exchange and swallow your mixed fluids.
Your body aches differently for Jungkook these days. Can’t believe he’s in front of you now in your home, surrounded by everything you love.
And you love him.
“I love you.” He says, as though all your internal thoughts and feelings are tethered to him. It’s no secret, and unworthy of hiding.
You kiss him again, pulling him down with you. He giggles and shrugs off the rest of his clothing as he hovers over you with starry eyes.
Cupping his jaw, you reply, “I love you. Want this with you.”
The relationship. The love. The experience.
His heart — it’s all yours.
The long dimples appear again, disappearing from view once he lowers his head to kiss your neck all while fumbling on the thin straps of your dress and tugging it to expose your bare breasts.
He's said this before and thinks there’s no greater truth than this, “You’re perfect.” Leaning down, he places a wet kiss on your sternum, mouthing, “so beautiful.”
You keen into his touch, back arching when he takes one nipple in his mouth. He does this for a few minutes, teasing your nipples and rotating between them with equal amounts of love and attention.
Again, the ache runs through your entire body, gathering right at your core when his teeth bites down on your sensitive nipple. Your hand detaches from his hair and makes its descent down to his crotch.
He’s only half-hard, still sensitive from his first orgasm.
Sensing your impatience, he chuckles against your skin. “Gimme some time, P.” Eyes closing as you squeeze around his length again.
You pout, but nod nonetheless, letting go of his shaft because the last thing you want is to do the opposite of keeping him hard.
“But,” he muses, “you could help me.”
And this is how you end up as equally naked as Jungkook on your bed. You’re supported by your numerous pillows as you lay there, watching his eyes jump between your face and closed legs.
His hands are on your knees, soft as he pries them apart to reveal your soaked core.
You instinctively move to cover your mound, suddenly feeling shy even though Jungkook has seen you bare from below multiple times. His bigger hand covers yours, pressing against it just enough for you to feel the relief it brings.
“‘S just me, pretty.” He says, eyes never leaving yours. His words and stare makes you sling your free arm over your eyes, blocking the visual of him: kiss-swollen lips, locks no longer in its styled state, red flush on his chest — a stark difference from the dark, solid ink on one of his arms … you can’t bear to look at him in this state.
Can’t bear him looking at you either.
“I know,” you reply, “I’m just … embarrassed.”
You can’t see him, but you’re sure he’s giving you one of those smiles. One that asks ‘What for? You’re amazing.’
You think about the sheer amount of people who have watched Jungkook — yourself included — and wonder how he isn’t shy. And because of that, you feel yourself growing braver at the thought of giving Jungkook something to watch and appreciate.
Still, you keep your forearm over your eyes, but the other hand covering your pussy nudges Jungkook’s warm hand away. You move up a little. All practiced precision in how your middle finger dips between your slit, rubbing slow circles on your swollen clit.
“Oh, fuck.” He lets out a breathy laugh. Your senses are heightened in this self-visually impaired state; his swallow is heard in the distance.
You think about whether he’s just looking at your hand on your pussy or if he’s watching your covered face — if his eyelids are hooded … if the visual of you playing with yourself is ‘helping’ him. Perhaps it’s these thoughts that also make you grow wetter in between your legs, the wet sounds reach your ears through your staggered breaths.
You feel his lips press on the top of your knee, his breathing also coming out haggard.
“Is this enough?” You whimper, wanting him to take rein of your pleasure.
“A little longer, please?” He begs. “For me?”
He moans at your compliance, noting the speed change in your fingers. The bed shifts too, he nears your body again and you feel his warm breath fanning over your fingers. Suddenly, a dribble of wetness slides on top of your digits and trickles down to the entrance of your pussy, mixing with the rest of your arousal.
The feeling has you removing your arm, finally looking down where he’s at in between your legs. A small playful smile on his lips as he sits back up in his kneeled position. He's more than ready — just wants to see more of you.
You take note of his hard cock in his hand, a slow stroke up before he thumbs at the slit like he likes to. A twinge of pleasure hits your core again and you’re forced to rub harder circles to relieve yourself of the heavy ache building up at the sight. He laughs again, a mixture of disbelief and horniness as the pace on his cock speeds up too.
“So much better seeing this in person.” His eyes involuntarily shut as he tilts his head to the side.
Huh?
The movement of your hand pauses and so does he with widened eyes. He clears his throat, trying to find the words before you ask, “W-what’s that supposed to mean?”
A sheepish smile stretches across his face and instead of explaining right away, he leans over your body now. Nose against yours, he places a tiny kiss on the corner of your mouth.
“Promise you won’t get mad?” He asks, his hand moves yours away from your pussy and slots his cock in between your soaked folds. Meant as a distraction or to ease your worries for his next words, he finds himself breathing heavier at the feel of your bare cunt with his shaft. The head of his cock slips over with ease onto your swollen clit, twitching as he moves his cock side to side now.
“I–fuck–Pix, you’re so wet.” He drops his head to your neck.
You nod, almost distracted as well, but you bring his head back to your eye level. He swallows nervously, wrist slowing the movement with his cock. Jungkook should’ve rephrased his question to ‘promise you won’t get embarrassed,’ because shortly after he slyly recounts the details of Your Video™ popping up in your living room, you lay there surrounded in the flames of humiliation.
“So embarrassing.” You mumble, unable to meet his eyes.
Jungkook giggles, kissing your cheek, “Hey, I liked it a lot.”
You turn your head, nose touching his now, “Did you?”
“Uh-huh, more than you’ll ever know.” His hips shift, resuming the grind on your cunt again. “But I like this more.”
His movements get you worked up again, forgetting about your mortification just moments ago. You whine, whimper, and mew into his shoulder; the ache comes and goes — reminding you need more than just this.
“Jungkook,” You gasp at the taps of his cock against your folds.
“Hm?” Eyes hooded, he watches you through his lashes, mouth dropped open when your hands run down his torso.
“Need you.” You plead, hip angled up so you can press harder against him.
“I know, I know, pretty. Just–” He shuts his eyes, “I gotta get you nice and ready for me.”
He senses your hesitancy again and he stops to stare down at you.
“I-I’ve had sex already,” You say, teeth worrying on the bottom lip and debating if you should say your next words. “With, um, Mingyu. So, we don’t have to prep.” While both unnecessary to tell him and unreasonable to feel this way, guilt courses through your body at the confession.
“Doesn’t matter to me if you’ve had sex.” Jungkook says, “I always want you to feel good and comfortable.” He kisses you, soft just like the fingers he trails at your entrance gathering your arousal.
You swallow, “Are you upset it happened with someone else?”
He blinks, head tilting in confusion, “Not something for me to get upset over, P.” Studying your face, his brows eventually relax as he asks you, “Are you upset?”
You shrug, looking to the side. “It was … whatever.” That’s all you’re willing to say about the experience and you’re sure Jungkook doesn’t want to hear about another man while he’s just about to get intimate with you. At this point, maybe he’d opt out to stopping in general, but he sighs a small hey to gain your attention.
“The experience will always be yours.” He kisses your forehead. “Nobody can take anything from you.”
You nod, eyes closing at the feel of his finger at your entrance. He keeps his lips at your forehead, feeling it furrow as he sinks one finger into your pussy. It’s a slow and leisure pump, easy to have you forgetting about the prior conversation and putting the focus back on him. Penetration has never been your thing; technically, it’s still not. But there’s some relief as Jungkook curls and massages his finger against your walls, stretching you out as he intended to. He refuses to take his eyes off yours, especially when he decides to add in another finger.
“That’s it, baby. Taking it so well.” He praises, voice cracking at the end of the sentence.
“You make me feel so good.” You sigh, eyes closing as he speeds his fingers inside you. “Always feel so safe with you.”
He curses, mentally prepared to hear your choked whine when he removes his fingers from your sopping hole. He says your name sternly, followed by a thick swallow. You hum in response, hips mindlessly chasing after any part of his body for friction. He slots his hard shaft against your wet folds again, giving you both some form of pleasure in the interim. He looks down, moaning at the sight of his cock coated with your arousal.
“Need you inside me.” Your hands hold his waist in place to stop him from grinding against your clit, head of his cock positioned at your entrance. You bubble with anticipation, wondering how he’d feel inside you.
And as much as he’d like nothing more than to finally sink inside, a small part of his lovesick brain still holds some form of logic and manages to utter, “Birth control?”
You blink, a slight falter in your response as you shake your head shamefully. There wasn’t a medical necessity for you to be on birth control before and you didn’t think far enough when it came to intimacy with Jungkook.
He chuckles, “That’s okay, P. I just wanted to check.” He hops off the bed and fishes for his wallet. Another ten seconds go before he drops his wallet onto the ground with a triumphed smile and brings up the small squared package between his fingers. The smile drops a little at the sight of your tiny pout.
Beating him to his question, you remark, “I wanted to feel you …”
He exhales hard through his nose. Keeping the condom in between his fingers, he makes his way back to you on your bed. You both seem to fall back into position again.
“Not sure if either of us are ready for kids, P.” The thought of having kids is scary, but weirdly … he finds the fear lessening at the thought of it with you. Seen how you reacted and smiled around children — he wonders if his future kids would have your smile. Either way, too early for these thoughts.
“Okay, okay,” You let his words simmer a little and he suddenly wants to do away with the little package in his hands when you look up at him. “You’re right.”
He’s right, knows he is when you blink away those irrational thoughts. The same thoughts get pushed to the side when the foil packaging tears and a sweet scent fills your nostrils. This time, hints of rich chocolate and confectioned goodness. You relax back onto your mattress, watching as he positions himself between your legs.
“Do you only have flavored condoms?” You ask, impish smile lifting the awkward conversation from before.
He grins, “Someone gifted a five hundred flavored pack for my birthday last year.” Hint: it was Hoseok. “So … we’re stuck with this for now. Do you hate it? I could stop using them–”
You shake your head and his eyes soften at your answer. There’s relief in knowing it’ll always remain sweet between you and Jungkook.
“I wanna feel you, too.” He admits as he lines himself at your entrance. He doesn’t push in just yet, watching how your hole clenches around nothing … for now. “We’ll figure something out.”
The defaulted option is to simply have you go on birth control, but that’s something to discuss and for you to decide. If need be, he isn’t too opposed to a vasectomy. You both have all the time in the world to discuss.
“Okay,” you stutter as he begins pushing the head of his covered cock in. That’s all he does for now, opting to drop onto his forearms to kiss you, praise you — love on you. You do little to hide the sting, face contorting before you let out a couple shallow breaths.
“Too much?” He asks, hips stalling and fingers brushing away your hair.
You shake your head, “Hurts a little, but,” you lift your hips a little, legs parting to accommodate Jungkook's body. “Wanna keep going.”
He doesn’t move.
Tattooed arm dropped in between your bodies, he rubs practiced circles on your clit. You sigh in content, wiggling your hips to push more of him into you. Eyes fluttering shut, similar to how your pussy flutters and gushes around his length after every little push inside as a reward for taking more of him. He shudders and grunts deeply, mentally counting backwards from a hundred to keep himself distracted by how snug your walls feel around him.
You moan, soft and saccharine at the stretch of his full length inside you.
“You feel so good.” He husks into the shell of your ear. “Feel that, Pix?”
“Yeah …” You keen, unable to verbalize a proper response.
“You gotta tell me how you feel, ‘kay?” He lifts his head up and connects his forehead on yours, but his heavy eyes observe how your lower halves connect.
“M-mhm,” You reply, eyes shutting at the fullness below. “Can we stay like this for a bit? I-It’s … it’s a lot.”
He nods. A part of him is thankful for this pause, allowing his mind to think of other things in the meantime so this experience can be better for you. The other part is worried you’re uncomfortable. He wants to make this good for you — wants you to feel good, so it doesn’t matter how long he needs to stay still inside you. Sex could end right now and he’d be okay with it.
“Kiss me, please?” Your request comes out small, but he feels the harsh drumming of your heart against his chest. Your hands are bunched up on his nape, not relaxed how they usually are when you’re with him.
What else could he do but comply with your wishes?
Kissing’s good — the belief he’ll die on a hill for. Kissing’s even better with you; he loves your lips, the way you lick the seam of his lips, how you sound when you’re being kissed as you deserve. Could stay like this forever with you. The heavy making out goes on for another two minutes, until he unconsciously bucks his hips which forces you to detach from his lips in a loud gasp.
He immediately searches for your face, eyes swelling with concern. “Sorry, I–”
You shake your head, thighs clamping around to hold him still before he pulls out. “‘s okay,” you reassure, “That felt good. Just, go slow.”
The pace he sets out is controlled — slow, as requested. And god, is it good. Your bed creaks with every movement, but the sounds are overshadowed by your shared breathy moans and praises only heard between each other. His fingers move swiftly over your pussy, so love drunk with your body, he feels his balls tightening — a sign of his forthcoming orgasm.
Call it selfish or greedy, he doesn’t want it to end, pulling out at the last second to delay his orgasm. Typically so well-versed in your body cues of an impending orgasm, his own dilemma clouded his judgment when you let out an involuntary frustrated cry at the loss of contact.
Your chest stutters, stomach clenching from your heavy breaths. And although you should question why he did that, you can’t think when he guides his cock into your warm cunt once more.
“You were gonna make me cum again, pretty.” He lets out a breathy laugh, hips resuming its pace.
You whine, “Was gonna cum, too.” You look down where he fucks his thick length into you. He makes up for the accidental edging by rocking his hips faster into you, fingers once again finding home on your clit forces a high pitched squeal from your kiss-swollen lips.
“Yeah? I’m sorry.” He truly is. Your pleasure’s always his top priority — you’re his priority.
“You deserve to cum.” His fingers flatten on your mound, and the wet squelching sounds increase with the fastened movements. “Give it to me, pretty.”
So sensitive and lost in the pleasure, you gasp and arch your body into his, eyes slamming shut at the onset waves of pleasure building below.
“Jung–” Couldn’t finish your sentence before you’re squeezing tightly around him. He doesn’t stop the movement of his fingers, but he stills himself in you, giving you a couple hard pumps while you ride out your sudden orgasm.
He doesn’t think he ever wants to forget this feeling.
Finally letting off your clit and pushing himself up again, Jungkook marvels at the thin sheen of sweat in between your chest and the white ring of cum coated at the base of his cock where the condom doesn’t fully reach.
“Please, need you to cum inside me.” You beg.
He can’t, not with the condom on, but the sentiment makes him act like he doesn’t have one on. Parting your thighs wider, he thrusts in slowly, mindful of your oversensitivity. The ring of cum builds and thickens at the base, transferring some of your arousal over his pubic bone in a messy haze. Alas, the visual combination of your chest moving in tandem with his thrusts, your scrunched brows, and hand on his stomach was enough for him to release once more.
Though, the final blow came from your soft declarations of love while you tell him how good he makes you feel.
“Baby,” He manages, hands dropping your thighs, his front also comes down onto your chest as he lazily pumps inside of you with his cum-filled condom. The pleasure continues in the form of your fingers raking up and down his back, drawing shapes and patterns of love.
You know things will always remain sweet between you and Jungkook — like the giggles, doting questions, and soothing hands as he brings you to the shower. It’s not the hot water you feel on your skin, but Jungkook’s tender kisses and embrace forever etched on your body.
“P, sit still, won’t you?” Jungkook stands behind the tripod, angling the camera.
“You ever consider modeling? You’re a natural.” You say as you sift through the album on the tablet. You’re doing everything to avoid Jungkook’s latest assignment in class. Sure, it’ll be a good headshot update for your business card and website, but you weren’t keen on having your picture taken. It was always better behind the camera.
He rolls his eyes, gentle smile on his lips as he walks over. “Flattery won’t get you out of helping me. You promised you’d be my model for this semester.”
“Camera shy.” You pout. “You know that.”
“I know.” Jungkook chuckles. “I’ll teach you.” Leaning down, he places a soft kiss on your lips.
The thing with teaching is that he inadvertently learns as well. Knows it’s also the same for you too. Skills refined, new ideologies unlocked, and discoveries waiting to be explored. He no longer follows a script anymore — no longer feels like he’s boxed in … life is forever limitless as long as he makes it to be.
A shutter goes off from behind capturing the two of you in the frame.
fin.
ending a/n: beta’d by @takeitawaykenny who sat thru my ridiculousness but also entertained it. prologue wouldn’t have existed without her, yall … she rly was brain behind rkivedshots' beginnings on god love u bookie ;__; and @lovieku who’s been nothing but supportive and rode thru my (many) moments of doubt. she was the angel i needed on my shoulder during the makings of my first series and helped shape so much of itf!! couldn't have done this without your guys unwavering love and support!! oceans of gratitude to my two champions 😭🫂
🧚🏻♀️࿐ ࿔*:・゚
alas, thank YOU all for joining me on this fun ride. i hope you guys got something out of this whether it be a chuckle, life lesson, or soiled panties, i’m lucky yall stuck with me. to my lovelies who have been here since the beginning and cuties we picked up along the way: i appreciate your trust, patience, and overall enthusiasm for this series — you’re my dream!! i told yall i’d guide us to my desired ending with so much love and care. ain’t no way this couple wasn’t gonna be end game … i just had to make the journey difficult. oop. anyway call me #aftercarequeen 💅
with that said … epilogue? send your thanks to lovieku for convincing me bahaha it won’t come any time soon cuz i have other things i wanna work on, but do not fear … i have something planned!
in the meantime, feel free to send in your reaccs/thoughts for our lovely itf!couple. i’m here for ya just as you’ve been here with me xoxo ♡
We are going to say it takes 3 containers for a foot of hair, along with the thickness of her hair. Takig in those that factor along with the fact that Rapunzel’s hair is approx. 70 feet (canonically), that makes 70 x 3 =
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
summary: you drunkenly confess something to bucky. he makes sure to remember.
warnings: no use of y/n, gn reader, lee!reader, ler!bucky, established relationship, drunk reader for a part, one suggestive line from reader
word count: 1.8k
authors notes: i watched the winter solider and then only slept for four hours that night, and then when i had a nap during the day this came to me in my dream. quite literally.
///
Your hand slipped, tip of the key scraping against the door noisily.
"God damnit - piece of -" you hissed under your breath, trying to aim for the lock again. You hand swayed, aiming too high, then too far to the left, then too low. Huffing, you shook your arm out, hoping to reset it somehow. You aimed at the lock again.
"Come on, come on, come o-" you whispered.
The door opened.
You blinked. Looked up.
"Hey!" You called, grin splitting on your face.
"Hey." Bucky echoed, already stepping aside and ushering you in.
"I coulnd't get the-" you said, stumbling in over the doormat, bumping into the doorframe, and reaching out to push the door shut.
"The key, yeah." Bucky finished your sentence for you, hand coming up to steady you by your upper arm. "I heard you cursing it out."
"We need a bigger lock." You said, bending down to force your shoes off.
"Yeah?" Bucky asked with a light chuckle, already crouching in front of you to help with your shoes.
You looked down at him, immediately distracted. His hair was inky in the low light that barely filtered in from the kitchen. It looked really soft.
You weaved your fingers into his hair, brushing it back off his forehead in repetitive motions. It was even softer than it looked.
Bucky eased both of your shoes off, placing them neatly by the door like you always did. You kept your hands in his hair.
"Did you have fun?" He looked up at you, hands cupping the back of your calves.
"Bucky, it was so fun!" You exclaimed, lolling your head back dramatically. "I had so much to drink."
"I can tell." He teased, getting to his feet. His arm, warm and solid, wrapped around your shoulders and steered you towards the kitchen. "Let's get you some water."
"We danced, too." You told him, wobbling over to lean against the dining table. "The music wasn't that good but then Lady Gaga came on so we had no choice."
"Gotta dance to Gaga." Bucky agreed, handing you a glass of water.
"Gotta dance to Gaga." You nodded, the movement making your head swim. You grimaced, shutting one eye.
"You okay?" Bucky's hands rubbed your arms gently. You waved off his worry, taking a drink from your glass. "You didn't walk home, did you?"
You shook your head, swallowing. "Alex was the debi- devis- devig-"
"Designated driver." Bucky supplied.
"That." You snapped your fingers and pointed at him. "She drove us all back. Waited till I was inside the building."
"Good." His eyes were soft when you looked up at him.
"She's a gentleman." You said gravely.
The smile that spread on his face was blinding. "That she is."
You set the glass next to you on the table and leaned your weight onto Bucky. His arms wrapped around you protectively.
"You should come next time." You said, cheek squished into his collarbone.
"I thought the rule was no boyfriends allowed." Bucky sounded amused.
"Rule-schmule." You grumbled, making his shoulders shake with quiet laughter. "Would've been better with you there."
"Aw," his hands started trailing delicate lines over your back. "You flatter me."
You let out a small huff through your nose, relaxing against him, enjoying the tingling sensation from his fingers. Your eyes slipped shut. Bucky's shirt smelled faintly of cologne, familiar and comforting. Your focus divided between his hands and how his chest rose and fell slowly with each breath he took. You were warm, and comfortable, and you never wanted to move.
Bucky's hands caught on the back of your ribs, making you squirm.
"That tickles." You mumbled sleepily.
"Sorry." Bucky's voice was hushed, and his hands stilled, resting gently against your shoulder blades.
"It's okay, it's nice." You said, pressing your face further against his shoulder like a cat. "I like it."
"Oh?"
"Mhm. I like it when you tickle me." You continued, getting dizzy again as your brain turned more and more asleep. "You should do it more often."
"I see." You heard him say through the fog of sleep. He gathered you up in his arms, ignoring your groans of protest. "Come on, let's get you to bed."
@
You woke with a start, choking on half a snore.
You coughed half-heartedly, cleared your throat, and breathed deeply. Eyes still closed, you mentally assessed your situation.
Headache, yes, but no nausea. That was a good sign. It meant that while, yes you did get completely drunk last night, you had not gone over your limit.
You stretched your body carefully. Your legs and feet ached, and you vaugely remembered attempting a death drop to Lady Gaga. You groaned, turning onto your stomach. Your phone buzzed, so you forced your eyes open.
Your friend group chat had thirty-six messages. Twenty of those were pitcutes from last night.
You decided to deal with that later.
You turned in bed until you started tipping off the edge of the mattress, bracing your legs against the cold floor. Then, with great effort, you pushed yourself up by your palms. You paused, reassesing.
Still no nausea.
Slowly, you made your way to the kitchen.
Bucky stood at the counter, scraping butter onto some toast.
"Morning." He said over his shoulder when he heard you enter.
"Hi." Your voice was croaky. Bucky didn't comment, simply passing you a mug of coffee. "Oh, thank god."
You leaned your hip against the counter, taking a long drink. Bucky, finished with his task, placed the toast on a plate and slid it over to you. You moved the mug to your other hand and snatched a slice of toast, whipping it up to your mouth. Bucky leaned back against the counter not too far from you, holding his own mug.
He was looking at you curiously.
After a moment, you stopped mid-chew. "What?"
He didn't answer, but shook his head lightly to indicate nothing was going on.
"Did I do something last night?" You asked, suddenly nervous. "Oh god, was I a lot to deal with?"
"No, you were fine." Bucky was quick to reassure. He paused for a moment, then added, hiding his curving smile in his mug. "Chatty."
Dread crawled up your spine. You lowered the toast back onto the plate.
"What did I say?"
"Nothing." Too quick.
"Bucky."
"Nothing bad." He amended, smile still in place.
"But something." You insisted. "I embarrassed myself, didn't I?"
"I wouldn't say it's embarrassing." Bucky said. "Cute, though."
"Are you going to tell me what I said, or are you going to stand there all smug?" You demanded, setting your mug down on the counter as well. You tried looking stern, but you were too flustered by how amused Bucky looked. Almost gleeful.
"I don't know," he mused, teasing, "I kind of like you like this."
"I'll freak out if you don't tell me." You threatened, feeling anxiety crawl up your throat.
"You'll freak out if I do."
You covered your eyes with your palm. "So it is bad."
"Hey, come on." The mug clinked against the counter as Bucky set it down. His hands came to your shoulders, squeezing in reassurance. "I promise it's fine. You were fine. You didn't say anything bad, or embarrassing, or weird. I think it might make you feel a little exposed, though."
"Just say it." You lowered your hand and looked at him. That odd half-smile, part satisfaction, part glee, returned to his face.
"Well," he said, slowly dragging his hands down your arms. "It involves a certain activity. And your enjoyment of it."
You frowned at him. "What, did I try to climb you like a tree? Why is this even a conversa-"
"No, no." The smile widened. His hands trailed to your sides. "It's more to do with making you laugh."
You watched him for a moment as your mind, slower because of the hangover induced headache, absorbed his words. When it did, you felt your face heat.
"Oh my god." You whispered in horror, closing your eyes. Bucky drew you in closer.
"You said tickling is nice." He continued, happiness dripping from his voice. "That you like it when I tickle you."
"I'm going to walk off a cliff." You groaned, bringing a hand up to your face.
Bucky dipped his head closer to your ear. "You said I should do it more often."
You froze completely, as if, maybe, if you didn't move - didn't breathe - then this situation would disappear.
"I'm not hearing a 'no'." Bucky said.
You paused in your sprialling for a moment. Considered the circumstances.
Technically, you reasoned with yourself, this was probably the best case scenario for you. The difficult - and embarrassing, regardless of what Bucky thinks - part was done. You didn't have to work through anxiety and self-consciousness and freaking out to get the words out to him. You just said them, no second guessing.
Now you culd just…enjoy the results.
And still freak out a little.
So, instead of pulling back, shutting yourself away, pulling your walls back up, you wrapped your arms around Bucky. Your cheek pressed into his collarbone, in much the same way as the night before.
"It's not a 'no'." You said quietly. "But you're not allowed to be mean about it."
"I'd never be mean." He reassured, hands tentatively starting to move over the fabric of your tshirt. When you didn't pull away, he sped up slightly, just enough to make you shiver and squirm. "You're not really laughing."
"Mm." You hummed, suddenly feeling bolder. "Maybe you're not good at this."
"Oh, okay." Bucky said, instantly scribbling against your ribcage. You burst out laughing immediately at the change. "I see how it is."
"Alright, alrihight!" You pushed at his shoulders. "I'm sohory!"
"Are you?"
"Yehes, I take it back!" You twisted to try and ease away from the feeling. "Please, I have a headache."
"Okay." Bucky obediently stopped his hands. "But only because of the headache."
He let you step away from his embrace, and you leaned over the counter to grab your coffee. Bucky waited until you were taking a sip before speaking.
"We'll continue when you're not hungover."
You choked on the coffee, coughing and spluttering, warm liquid dripping down your chin and the front of your tshirt. Bucky burst into bright, unashamed laughter.
You ignored him, as well as the heat in your cheeks, and meandered around his shaking body to grab a paper towel. Bucky's laugh filtered out to a soft snicker behind you as you dried your face.
"Let me get you some painkillers." He said, mirth still playing around in his voice. His hand trailed lightly over your lower back as he walked past you to the medicine cabinet.
Silently, you raised your eyes to the havens with a plea.
You may have accidentally unleashed something too flustering to deal with.
bisexual disaster @blackthorngirl - Tumblr Blog | Tumlook