thee Red Room

Jungkook was lucky if he remembered his wallet when you were around.

"Come," you'd command, and he'd stumble over his ridiculous, thick boots to get to you fast enough.

"Good boy," You'd praise him, patting the top of his head as he met you at the front door. You grab the car keys, handing them to your love-sick boyfriend as you make sure you have your phone and wallet on you.

"Should we shop first or get lunch?" You ask as you head to the car. Jungkook doesn't hold your hand; instead, he trips over his feet to get the door open before you can even reach for the handle.

You reward him with a kiss on his cheek. "Aren't you a sweetie?"

Part of you knows he'd be panting if you called him a good boy once more. You smile smugly as he shuts your door before he runs to the driver's side of the car. You loathed driving, so he always took care of it.

"Whatever you want, love," Jungkook answers as you scroll through your socials.

"Lunch first," you decide as he backs out of the driveway with ease. He already knows where you want to have lunch, his braincell putting in extra work. When he's at your side, he doesn't need his brain; you handle everything for him, and he loves it, lives for it.

After lunch, you pass by a barbershop. Jungkook pauses, his hand still in yours. "Should I get a haircut?"

You hum as you reach for his hair. Jungkook easily meets your hand as you thread your fingers through the thick black strands.

"You can," You assure him, but then frown. "But just know I'll have less to hold onto when you're between my thighs tonight."

Jungkook gulps, blushes, then tugs you toward the car. You giggle as he pulls you into the cramped backseat, over his lap as he kisses your lips, your jaw, your throat until an officer taps his baton on the window.

The two of you separate, laughing as you climb into the front seats. You salute the officer, who shakes his head and waves you along. You place your hand on Jungkook's muscular thigh, rubbing it up and down.

"What are you thinking?" You ask softly as your hand moves closer to his erection. Jungkook clears his throat, using all his strength to focus on the road and not your soft hand moving closer to his cock.

"Not thinking," he admits bashfully, cheeks rosy.

"Good boy. Don't need to use that big brain around me. Gonna make you feel so good once we're home, baby. So get us there fast and safe."

Jungkook hired you because you were easy. He thinks that might be that right word, he doesn’t really care. One thing he did know was that he didn’t want to put up with a constant buzz of conversation around his office. He needed peace and quiet in order to work. And you — you gave him just that.

No compliments on the dress shirt he wore to the office that morning. No small talk as you dropped his coffee off at exactly 8:15 am. No complaints when he made you work overtime a fourth night this week. And most importantly, no interruptions when he was working. Jungkook thinks you might be the closest thing to perfection he’d ever stumbled across. 

It certainly helped that you were easy on the eyes as well. He often found his gaze lingering on the sliver of skin the tight black pencil skirt allowed. Or the way your blouse hugged your chest when you leaned forward to place organized papers on his desk. In fact, Jungkook would be lying if he said he hadn’t found his thoughts wandering across dangerous territories once or twice. 

Those thoughts never concerned him much though. He quickly explained his attraction as natural, given you were a beautiful woman — one he had become accustomed to seeing every day. 

So when the door to his office swings open at eight fifteen on the dot that morning, he hardly looks up from his papers. Instead he listens to your uneven footsteps as you stumble inside the room. You had been the least graceful one he’d interviewed, dropping your pencil and mixing up your cards at least three times as you blushed furiously whilst apologising. 

Jungkook however, found you to be quite endearing. And when compared to the other ladies he’d interviewed, who all bit on their sharp acrylic nails and batted their long lashes his way, Jungkook had quickly made a note about you on his list. He didn’t need a full display of poorly executed seduction, he needed a secretary. So despite your clumsy antics, he’d hired you. 

Once you make it to his desk, Jungkook finally lifts his gaze from the work in front of him. You send him an apologetic smile, carefully leaning forward to place his freshly brewed coffee on the mahogany wood. Jungkook’s attention lingers on your chest, just like it so often would. If you notice, you don’t comment on it. 

He sends you a short nod, muttering a quiet “Thank you” under his breath. 

You clasp your hands in front of you, giving him a quick bow as you turn on your heel once more. Jungkook listens to the sound of your departure, only speaking up when you had just about reached the door of his office. “One more thing”, he says as he glances up from the documents he’d been pretending to be indulged in. 

With a puzzled frown you halt, fingers wrapped around the door handle as you wait for him to continue. His gaze drags over your figure attentively, dark eyes narrowing on the curve of your hip before flickering back up to your confused expression. 

“You look nice today.” 

The simple compliment makes you blink twice, your mouth opening before closing again as you shift nervously under his watchful gaze. “Thank you, sir.” You send him an earnest smile, one that made him wonder why the hell you had chosen to work under someone like him. That smile could be used elsewhere, for others to see. — He tsk’s at the thought, brushing it off just as quickly as it had appeared.   

You disappear through the door without another word, and at the sound of its mechanism clicking in place, Jungkook leans back in his chair. He didn’t know where the sudden compliment had come from, he was never one to make small talk with you — no less shower you in praise. 

Whatever, you were easy enough to where you wouldn’t question his unusual behaviour. And for that, he was thankful. 

The day goes by agonisingly slow, even for Jungkook’s liking. You don’t interrupt him until lunch time, bringing him warm food made from the nearby restaurant a couple of blocks away. Even then, you excuse yourself just as quickly. It wasn’t unusual, in fact it was the way Jungkook had always thought he wanted it to be. 

Today he chews slowly, brows furrowed into an almost permanent frown as he stares blankly at his food. He’s unable to pinpoint exactly what it is that lingers in the back of his mind. Whatever it was it made him unable to focus as his thoughts would drift over to where you might be sitting, just outside his door by your own desk — waiting for his next command as you worked. 

Lunch time blends into early afternoon, and early afternoon turns into late afternoon. The clock on his wall had never bothered him before but today Jungkook finds himself counting down the minutes until four pm. That’s when you would bring him his afternoon coffee, everyday without fail. 

His eyes fixate on the second hand as it ticks forward, one agonizing step at the time. His fingers drum against the mahogany wood, the tapping noise falling in rhythm with the clock. He strains his ears in an attempt to catch your clumsy footsteps down the hall, not that it would be particularly hard given the way you stumbled your way through your workdays. 

But all he gets is silence. 

The minute hand moves from 4:00 to 4:01, and there was still no sign of you. Jungkook’s temporary confusion quickly melts into irritation as his fingers come to a halt on his desk. With a frustrated huff he leans back in his chair, giving you the benefit of a doubt. Perhaps the coffee machine had been broken, wouldn’t be a first. 

He tries to shift his attention back to work, you would come along eventually, there was no doubt about it. Yet no matter how hard he tries to, his eyes keep flickering back to the door every two seconds — the frown on his face only deepening. 

“How hard is it to get me coffee?” He scoffs under his breath as he pushes his chair back. With his patience down to a single thread, Jungkook crosses his office in four large strides, ripping the door open with more force than necessary. His eyes immediately fall on your vacant desk, papers still scattered in messy piles and your glasses left on full display. 

Jungkook pauses, his anger momentarily disputed as his hand reaches for your discarded glasses. His fingers wrap around their rim, the shiny lens flashing under the lights. He recalls how they would look on your face, how your eyes would dumbfoundedly blink at him behind them when he had said something you didn’t quite understand. Or how you would anxiously push them higher up on your nose bridge whenever you delivered bad news. 

The glasses clatter against your desk, discarded once more. Jungkook, not bothering to wait as much as another minute for your return, sets off down the hallway — intent on finding you himself. He passes crowded boarding rooms, open office doors, a few employees stuck in long phone calls. But no you. 

It’s not until he’s made it to the lounge room where the coffee machines are kept that he’s finally found his target. You’re standing near one of the machines, where you presumably have been for the past fifteen minutes judging by the large stain on your previously white blouse. Yet for some reason you’re smiling, despite your garments being ruined. — Jungkook’s gaze snaps to the left and he curses himself for not being able to put two and two together any sooner. 

Taehyung is right by you, an even bigger grin on his face as he helps you clean the mess on your shirt with a couple of napkins. “Seriously, I’m fine!” You giggle as you try to swat his hand away. But Taehyung merely shakes his head, “I insist, you can hardly return delivering coffee looking like this.” 

Jungkook knew Taehyung’s kind, and he didn’t like it one bit. Arrogant, self-centered and over the top. With an ego big enough to feed the homeless, no wonder he was first at the scene — getting to play hero as his filthy hands groped your chest. And you, in regular fashion, manage to spill coffee all over yourself. 

“I swear I’m not usually this clumsy…” You say with a sheepish smile as you gratefully accept Taehyung’s help. That was a lie, Jungkook knew that and it seemed his co-worker did as well. “It’s no harm, I’m happy to help you”, Taehyung assures as he grabs another napkin. 

“It really is so kind of you—” 

“O-Oh! Sir, hello.” 

Your eyes widen tenfold when he approaches, and Jungkook finds himself frowning at the fact that you won’t give him the same warm smile you had just flashed his colleague. He doesn’t say anything, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his suit pants. Taehyung also sends him a small glance, something that hints at an unspoken ‘What’s your problem?’. 

Jungkook nods toward the hallway he had just emerged from, “Let’s go.” You blink up at him, the way you always did when you didn’t quite register his words. “But wait– Your coffee!” You splutter as you motion toward the unfinished cup. Taehyung looks like he wants to butt in but Jungkook has had enough. His grip on your arm is unforgiving as he steers you out of the crowded lounge. 

“S-Sir, your coffee– Please let me just finish it for you, I’ll bring it right away!” You say as you stumble behind him, fighting to keep up as your heels clack against the floor. The high shoes were certainly at your disadvantage as you tripped over your own feet, shyly glancing around the hall as your eyes crossed paths with other confused employees. 

“It’ll only take a minute”, you then add. 

Jungkook resists the urge to roll his eyes, “No need”, he grunts as he yanks you forward. 

Once you reach his office, he barges through the door — giving it a firm push as he slams it shut behind the two of you. He doesn’t wait for you to speak, doesn’t intend to give you even the slightest bit of an explanation to his near outrageous behavior as he instead walks you up against his desk.

You yelp when the back of your thighs hit the edge of the wooden furniture, casting a surprised glance over your shoulder. “What are you–” There’s hardly time for you to even get the words out before Jungkook hoists you on to the forgotten paperwork, forcing his way between your spread legs as his hands slam against the table. 

His breath is hot against your face and he watches as your lips form into an ‘o’ shape, your eyes wide as saucers when you blink up at him dumbfoundedly. You shift awkwardly on his desk, swallowing audibly as you hesitantly meet his gaze. “I think um, I think m-my glasses are still outside…” You murmur. 

“So?” 

He leans even closer, “You can see me just fine from here.” 

“I…” Your words trail off into a quiet whisper when his fingers brush over your stained blouse. The coffee made for an ugly dark spot on the once white and ironed shirt. It made the fabric cling to your skin, the outline of your lace bra prominent from this close. 

Jungkook sighs as he flicks the top button open, ignoring the way your shoulders tense. “Do you talk to Taehyung often?” He asks as he moves down another button, pushing it apart with the nudge of two fingers. 

Taken aback by his sudden question, you don’t reply until he’s undone four buttons. “I… Sometimes?” You whisper as you squirm uncomfortably under his intense gaze. 

Your skin is still damp from the coffee, glistening under the dim lights provided by the lamp on his desk. Jungkook’s eyes roam your exposed skin as he rips the fifth button open, pushing your ruined shirt to the side — fingers brushing over the outline of your bra. “I’m not very fond of Taehyung”, he causally hums, the admission betraying the hint of irritation that simmered beneath. 

 “You’re not…?” 

“No.” 

He inhales slowly, the scent of your vanilla perfume invading his senses like it had always belonged. If you didn’t like what he was doing, you hadn’t made a move to stop him — Jungkook takes it as his sign to push even further. Things could never go back to the way they were if he didn’t stop himself now. But that would require an amount of self restraint Jungkook could only dream of having. 

His gaze drops to your lips, parted like they were waiting for him to come and claim them. “Would you let me kiss you?” He asks. The question comes out a hushed murmur, something for only your ears. And there it is again, that stupid look in your eyes that made him want to grab you by the shoulders and shake some sense into you. 

You bite the inside of your cheek, giving a small almost unnoticeable nod. He shakes his head, the hand previously on your chest moving to cup your chin gently. “No, I need to hear you say it. Tell me you want me to kiss you.” 

He can feel the small breath you suck in, filling your lungs with air as your chest rises. It takes everything in him not to let his attention stray. You exhale, a flustered expression creeping onto your face. “I do… I want you to kiss me.” 

“Please”, you quietly add. 

Your soft plea is enough to make him spiral. Jungkook had always prided himself on being somewhat of a gentleman, but he finds himself unable to hold back as much as a second longer. His lips press against yours with urgency he didn’t even realize he held. Your gasp of surprise is swallowed by his mouth on yours. 

To hell with being a gentleman, he thinks to himself as his hands slide down your body, squeezing around your hips before moving to push your ridiculously tight skirt up above your thighs. His rough hands are met by a stark contrast of soft skin, a revelation enough to make him dizzy. 

His tongue slips inside your mouth before he can stop himself, drinking up the almost soundless moan you emit. Jesus fuck, why hadn’t he done this sooner? Your fingers are in his hair within a matter of seconds, curling around his dark locks as you tug him closer. He should’ve known there was more to you than a sheepish smile when you had first stumbled into his office for your interview. 

Your thighs spread even wider when his fingers hook around the hem of your panties. He tests the waters by gently tugging on the fabric, only for you to lift your hips in a silent plea. Jungkook bites back a muffled sound as he complies without hesitation, peeling the garment from your body as he slides it down your legs. 

He pulls back for a brief moment, eyes shamelessly dropping down to your exposed cunt. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, his options weighing heavy on his shoulders. But the way you squirm under his gaze makes him come to a quick decision. He would have to taste you another time — God, the thought of there being another time makes his cock twitch in his pants. 

Jungkook groans when your hand tentatively brushes against the front of his suit pants, fingers twirling around the buckle of his belt in a silent question. The sound of metal clanking as you undo his belt and yank his zipper down is agonisingly loud in the otherwise quiet room. For someone so usually clumsy you move with precision as your hand dips beneath the restraining fabric of his briefs, fingers wrapping around his throbbing cock without hesitation. 

His kisses move down the side of your jaw, nipping at the skin of your neck when you give him a few firm strokes. The thoughts of Taehyung still swirls in the back of his mind, the fact that his colleague had as much as considered his shot at you made him frown in displeasure. 

You whine when his teeth move across the juncture of your neck, the tune like melody to his ears. “Please”, you gasp as your fingers squeeze around him, pulling a strained noise from deep within his throat. His hand quickly replaces yours, his patience boiling down into a simmering mess as he rubs his cock against your wet cunt. The sound of your bodies joining into one makes his head spin. 

Your legs wrap around him, eagerly pulling him deeper, your cunt sucking him in like it needed him to breathe. He can feel your short breaths against his neck, the grip you have on his hair damn near bruising. Jungkook hadn’t pegged you for the rough type, but fuck was it hot. 

His hips move with quick, deliberate thrusts — each one aiming to bury his cock as deep as it could go. “The way you were talking to Taehyung today…” He begins, his hands moving to grope to your chest just like his co-worker had been moments prior, “I didn’t like that.” 

The feel of your nails digging into his scalp sets fire to his spine, causing shivers to ripple through his body. He sucks your earlobe into his mouth, tongue swirling around the piece of jewelry you wore. “I don’t want you talking to him again”, he murmurs as he feels you clench around him, a soft moan slipping past your lips. 

“Can you promise me that?” 

His words are a breathless whisper against the shell of your ear before he pulls back to look you in the eyes. You gaze up at him with the same dumb look on your face, the one that had begun his slow descent into madness in the first place. “Uh-huh”, you hum as you pull him in for another kiss, your grip on his hair vice-like. 

Jungkook complies without second thought, teeth clashing against yours as his movements grow jerky. His hand moves from your chest down your stomach, fingers teasingly sliding over your inner thigh before finding their way to your fluttering cunt. You whine against his lips when his thumb brushes over your clit, the action making you clamp down on him hard. 

“I won’t.” The promise rings in his ears, making him push further as he feels you throb around his cock. Your orgasm sounds like heaven, the gentle noises rolling off your tongue as your cunt bites onto him. He fucks you through it, only slowing down when your moans turn into whines. The kiss goes on for what feels like forever — yet not nearly enough. 

Every tug to his hair makes him inch closer to a point of no return. In the midst of his scrambled thoughts Jungkook just barely manages to pull out, his hand unsteady on his cock as he jerks himself off with quick and harsh strokes. And when he cums he makes sure to coat not only your soft thighs but the fabric of your dark skirt. 

You gasp in ecstasy at the sight, eagerly tugging him closer. Entranced by the way the black cotton soaks his release up, Jungkook’s fingers spread the mess even further, relishing in the way you shiver under his touch. 

His brows furrow, chest heaving as he leans his forehead against yours. Soft panting fills the hot air of his office. “Make time for yourself in my schedule”, he murmurs as he pulls your skirt down, his hungry gaze trailing the messy white lines dented into its fabric. — “Huh?” You hum, slowly releasing your grip on his hair. Jungkook’s eyes flicker up to meet yours. 

“I want an hour with you everyday.”

He exhales, but he doesn’t pull away either. His brows knit together as he stares at the window. His gaze settles on the curtains. Thick, heavy material now, drawn shut, swallowing the room in a muted shade of dusk. He tilts his head, eyes narrowing slightly as if something doesn’t quite sit right.

“What happened to the see-through ones?”

You stand still, the emotions turning inside of you.  It’s such a simple question, but it knocks the air from your lungs. He remembers that those curtains were his choice, ones he picked specifically because you loved sunsets. Because he knew how much you liked the way the colors bled into the sky at the end of the day. 

He turns to look at you then, waiting for an answer, but all you can do is stare at him.  Of all the things time could have erased, all the memories that could have faded into nothing he remembers that. Your fingers tighten slightly around the fabric of his sleeve. You wet your lips, trying to compose your features into something neutral but you can’t stop the way your throat constricts, the way sorrow swells inside your chest like an ache you can’t soothe.

“We changed them a while ago,” you say quietly, voice steadier than you feel. The lie pierces through your heart but you felt like the truth would be open too many questions you weren’t sure how to answer.

“But you love sunsets.”

You did, but he decided to change that. He hated the light, the sunsets. Or perhaps he hated the curtains that reminded him of you. Of the warm love which had been replaced by bitterness that awoke emotions of resentment, grief. All the reminders of you irked him. The way he harshly yanked at them still rests in the back of your mind, a memory embedded with your own grief. The first piece you put together and the last you saw being destroyed as you left this apartment.

Jimin studies them for a moment longer before his lips press together. “Do you like them?”

 “The curtains?”

He nods.

You hesitate. “In a weird way I do.”

His head tilts slightly at that, like something about your answer doesn’t sit right with him but instead of pushing, he lets his fingers drop from the fabric and turns away.

“This place feels different,” he murmurs.

You step away from him as you lean against the wall. “Different how?”

“Some things are the same. Some aren’t. It’s like stepping into a memory that doesn’t fit right.”

You nod slightly, even if you wanted to you couldn’t replicate the apartment from five years ago. “Maybe that’s what happens when years go missing.”

Jimin’s lips twitch, but the smile doesn’t fully form. Instead, his gaze shifts to the bookshelves. His fingers trail along the spines, pausing on familiar titles. “We kept all my books?”

You hum in conformation, following his hand movements as he debates which one to pull out.  Jimin decides on one of his old collage micro economy textbook, flipping through the pages. “I thought you might’ve gotten rid of them.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “I’m not that cruel.”

His lips curve. “Debatable.”

You narrow your eyes. “I literally carried you to the elevator then towards the front door so you wouldn’t strain your ribs, and you’re calling me cruel?”

Jimin laughs, warm and light. “I said debatable.”

You shake your head, muttering under your breath as you move toward the kitchen. You don’t need to see his face to know he’s still smiling but just as easily as the teasing settles in, the weight of the past creeps back in. Jimin places the textbook back on the shelf.

“When we got this apartment,” he says, “I made sure it had everything you loved. So that when you were gone for long shifts, I’d be surrounded by things that reminded me of you.”

Your hands begin to tremble, so you tighten your grip around the edge of the counter to mask it. Namjoon prepared you for the emotional rollercoaster that this task might carry, and you truly thought you were prepared for any obstacle that might be thrown at you but the second Jimin began to reminisce, causing him to unconsciously peel all the emotions you securely cocooned, you felt like you bit off more than you can chew.

“Did you get better at chopping onions?”

You blink, lost in manging your emotions that you hardly register his question. “What?”

His grin returns. “Because last time I saw you in this kitchen, you were butchering them.”

The shift in the atmosphere was another proof of how perceptive he could be, sensing your change and proceeding to lighten the mood. Your mouth falls open in mock offense. “I was not!”

“You were! I had to take the knife from you before you lost a finger.”

You huff, crossing your arms. “You’re misremembering.”

Jimin raises a brow. “Am I?”

“Maybe.”

He takes a small step, fingers brushing over the shelf once more, then the couch, then the photo frames. Jimin speaks again, his tone subdued. ‘I think I expected everything to be exactly the same.’” 

Your lips part, but you don’t know what to say and Jimin glances at you, his gaze gentle but steady. “Nothing stays the same forever, huh?”

You swallow. “No. It doesn’t.”

Another silence. “So… what’s for dinner?”

You bite your lips as Jimin throws his head back laughing at your embarrassed expression. “I might have forgotten about that?”

He swats his hands, gesturing that it’s fine. “We can cook, right? Unless you want to order. I can, you know cook for us. It’s one of the many impressive skills you’ve forgotten about me.”

You scoff. “If I let you cook, you’ll hurt yourself and somehow make it my fault.”

Jimin gasps. “Y/N, how dare you?”

You roll your eyes but turn toward the fridge as his laughter follows you. The clinking of the knife against the cutting board echoes softly in the kitchen as you start chopping the onions.  Jimin leans against the counter, watching you with an expression that’s far too amused for your liking.

“So, you lied to me.”

You pause, glaring at him. “Lied about what?”

He gestures lazily toward the uneven slices of onion scattered across the board. “You still don’t know how to chop onions, yobo.” His voice is warm, teasing, laced with the kind of intimacy that makes your chest tighten. “And here I thought five years would have been enough for you to improve.”

You try to ignore the way your heart skipped at the nickname as you roll your eyes, nudging a piece of onion aside with the blade. “I didn’t lie. I just never promised I got better.”

Jimin laughs, stepping closer. “It’s quite a shame, really.” His voice drops, playful but feigning deep disappointment. “A cardiothoracic surgeon who can handle a human heart but can’t handle an onion? That’s embarrassing.”

You repeat his words in a mocking manner, sending him a sharp look. “I don’t see how they’re even remotely related.”

Jimin hums, closing the distance between you. “Both require precision. Technique. Control.” He dips his head slightly, his breath warm against your ear. “But I see you still lack all three when it comes to this.”

Before you can retort, he glides his hands around your wrists, his touch featherlight, but firm enough to still your movements. Your fingers twitch, your breath catching as his palms mold against yours.

“Here.” His voice is softer now, guiding. “Relax your grip.”

You hesitate, but your body betrays you and your fingers instinctively loosen under the warmth of his hands. He adjusts your grip on the knife, his chest just barely brushing against your back.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his chin almost resting against the curve of your shoulder. “Now, let the blade do the work. No unnecessary force.”

You swallow, nodding. He guides your wrist smoothly, showing you how to make precise, even slices. “Better,” he praises. And then, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, he tilts his head and presses a soft kiss to your temple.

You freeze.

His lips linger for just a second, a whisper of warmth against your skin, before he pulls back with a smirk. “You’re still lacking a lot, though,” he teases, his voice dripping with amusement. “But at least you’re slightly better than last time.”

You try to steady yourself, though the sudden tightness in your chest refuses to ease. This isn’t new. This isn’t foreign. Jimin has always been like this. Always lingering close, always touching without thinking, always kissing your temple as if he has the right to. For him, it’s just another evening. Another moment with his wife. For you, it’s a relic of something lost.

You clear your throat. “If you’re so good at this, why am I the one cooking?”

“Because you wanted to prove you could do it.”

“I never said that.”

He hums. “No, but I know you.” His fingers drift along your wrist before finally letting go, the warmth of his touch lingering long after he steps back. “You’re too stubborn to let me take over.”

Refusing to meet his gaze as you focus on the onions again. “Then maybe you should leave me to it.”

Jimin chuckles, but he doesn’t move away completely. Instead, he once again leans against the counter beside you, his presence unwavering.

“Alright, alright. I’ll just watch,” he says, though the mischief in his voice suggests otherwise. “But don’t blame me when you start crying.”

You frown. “Why would I—”

Then it hits. The sting. The unmistakable burn creeping into your eyes.

Jimin bursts out laughing. “Oh no. Oh no. The mighty surgeon is about to be taken down by onions.”

You glare at him through watery eyes. “Shut up, Jimin.”

He gasps dramatically. “Yobo. Such harsh words.”

You groan, wiping at your eyes. “This is your fault. You distracted me.”

“I barely did anything.”

You shoot him a sharp look. “Exactly.”

Jimin laughs again, reaching for your wrist and pulling you toward him slightly. “Come here,” he murmurs, thumb brushing under your eye. His touch is so unthinkingly gentle, so painfully familiar, that your breath stutters. For a moment, his amusement fades. His eyes trace your face, the laughter softening into something quieter.

You don’t move and neither doesn’t he. Just as quickly as the shift happened, he pulls back with a teasing smirk. “You’re such a mess, Y/N.”

You blink, the moment slipping through your fingers before you can grasp it. “You’re the mess.”

Jimin raises his eyebrows. “I am a very refined man.”

Focusing back on the cutting board you mutter. “Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Jimin watches you for a second longer, then reaches out removing a lash that rested on your cheek. In his ever-silly habit he looks at the lash before he blows at it. Something like a good luck omen, he used to say.

Dinner pass by quickly. Jimin again teases you over how you cut the onions (despite his expert guidance), complains dramatically about the lack of meat in the dish, and makes a show of sighing in exaggerated bliss after each bite, telling you he always knew you’d make a good housewife one day.

You again roll your eyes, swatting at him with a dish towel, and he just laughs in that way that makes your stomach clench. By the time you clear the plates and remind him about his medication, Jimin was in such a joking mode you were sure you’d kill him.

“Come on,” you murmur. “Let’s take care of your wounds before bed.”

Jimin groans while standing up, forgetting for a minute that he indeed had surgery but that didn't flatten the teasing mood he was in. “Ah, nurse Y/N is back on duty.”

As you walk toward the bedroom, Jimin hums thoughtfully behind you. “Didn’t realize surgeons did minor injuries too. Should I be worried you’re overqualified for this?”

You push the door open without looking back. “Don’t worry. If I get bored, I’ll find something to operate on.”

He chuckles, following you inside. The room is dimly lit, the bedside lamp casting a soft glow against the walls. You kneel on the edge of the bed, the first-aid kit open beside you, its contents neatly arranged.

With a casual ease, Jimin pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it aside. He moves like it’s nothing, because to him, it is nothing. His bare skin, the familiar curve of his back, the old scar near his ribs that you once traced absentmindedly in bed these are things he doesn’t think twice about. You’re his wife. There’s no hesitation in the way he reveals himself to you.

He sits in front of you, legs slightly spread, his arms resting lazily on his thighs. He watches as you peel away the old gauze from the wound just below his ribs, the dried edges sticking to his skin. A sharp intake of breath leaves him as you work, but he doesn’t complain.

The stitch has pulled open slightly not deep enough to be serious, but enough to need redressing. You’re about to reach for the antiseptic when you notice the bruising around it. A deep, ugly shade of purple spreads across his side, blooming outward like ink in water. It wasn’t just a minor fall. This was a hard, blunt impact, something that rattled through his body. Your fingers press lightly against the skin around the bruising. Jimin hisses softly, his stomach tensing under your touch.

“This wasn’t just from the stitches pulling,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him.

Jimin exhales through his nose. “Guess I took more of a hit than I thought.”

Your jaw tightens, but you say nothing, focusing instead on cleaning the wound. Your hands move with practiced ease, pressing fresh gauze into place, taping it down securely. You glance up, adjusting the bandage on his forehead next, making sure it sits properly.

As you do, your eyes trace the tattoos along his arms and collarbone.

The script curling over his ribs, half-covered by bruising. The delicate crescent moon near his wrist. The constellation mapped over his forearm, faint scars peeking through the ink. The phrase Nevermind etched onto his ribs, stark against the bruises, as if the words are mocking his current state. You don’t realize you’re staring until Jimin muses. “Didn’t take you for the staring type.”

You ignore him as you finish securing the last bandage. “I was checking for more injuries.”

Jimin hums, unconvinced. “Sure you were.”

You start to pull away, but your fingers graze against something unexpected. A shift in his posture, a glimpse of ink just beneath his ribcage. You still, nudging the fabric of his pants slightly downward to see it fully.

A lily.

The sight of the lily tattoo carves into you like a blade. Your birth flower. A symbol of hope. Something Jimin once considered you to be. Your breath falters. He never had this before. If he had, you would have noticed you would have known.

The weight of that realization slams into you all at once. Jimin got this after the divorce. Somewhere in the life he can’t remember, he marked his body with a piece of you..

Jimin, oblivious to the storm raging inside you, notices you stopped. His grip around your waist tightens and his warmth seeps through your clothes, anchoring you when you feel like you might collapse under the weight of it all.

He's watching you carefully. “What is it?”

You force yourself to swallow, to breathe, to keep your expression neutral but you fail spectacularly. Jimin’s gaze flickers downward, following yours. He frowns, as if trying to figure out what’s holding your attention. He looks at the tattoo, his own tattoo, as if he’s seeing it for the first time.

A deep crease forms between his brows. “Did I… always have this?”

His voice is soft, uncertain. Your throat is too tight to speak. Jimin studies it like it’s foreign, something detached from him. His fingers twitch slightly against your back before smoothing over your waist again, his hold instinctive. “It’s a lily,” he murmurs.

You nod, barely.

His gaze moves back to yours, searching. “That means something to you.”

Your heart slams against your ribs. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t remember why he has it. You have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep the emotion from rising too fast, too visibly. But Jimin isn’t stupid. Even without the memories, he knows you.

His voice dips. “Did I get this… for you?”

You can’t answer. You should but you can’t.

The truth sits heavy on your tongue, an unbearable weight pressing against your ribs. Jimin watches you, his confusion growing, his hands unmoving around your waist as if anchoring himself through you.

Seconds stretch between you. You feel his breathing slow, controlled measured, like he’s trying to make sense of all of this. The way your fingers hesitate. The way your gaze lingers on the ink like it holds something devastating.

Then, finally, softly and tentatively he speaks up.

“I got this for you, didn’t I?” It’s not really a question.

His voice carries no certainty, only quiet realization. You nod. Just once. Hi fingers flexing slightly before slipping away from your waist. He leans back a little, studying the tattoo again, trailing his fingers over the inked petals as if the touch alone might unlock something. But his expression remains blank. Empty.

“I don’t remember,” he murmurs, his brows drawing together.

You knew he wouldn’t. But hearing it out loud still feels like a sharp crack down your chest. He’s quiet for a moment, turning his hand to get a better look at the other tattoos marking his skin the ones he does remember, the ones tied to memories he still owns.

“Did I get it because you liked lilies?” he asks. “Or was it something else?”

Something else.

You force a breath past your lips, trying to keep your voice steady. “You always said lilies were a sign of hope.”

Jimin blinks. “I did?”

“You said they survive through seasons, no matter what.” A pause, “That’s what you thought I was.”

“I don’t remember that either,” he says quietly.

It’s too much. The weight of it, the ache in your ribs, the way his fingers keep brushing over the ink like he’s trying to will the memory back into existence. So, you do the only thing you know how to do, you ease the moment.

“Well,” you say, clearing your throat, reaching for the antiseptic again, “it would’ve been nice if you got it somewhere that didn’t make dressing your wounds a nightmare.”

Jimin's caught off guard but manages to show a ghost of a smile. “Seriously?”

You shrug, pressing a clean bandage over his ribs, careful with your touch. “I’m just saying. Of all the places.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

You know he won’t push, won’t ask the questions that might make your hands shake again. But something about the way he looks at you tells you this isn’t over. Eventually, he’ll remember. Or maybe, he’ll ask again but for now, you tape down the bandage, press your hands against your lap.

Jimin moves to the side, his gaze landing on the closet behind you. The door is slightly open, revealing his neatly arranged clothes the same ones he left behind. Everything of his is still here, untouched, exactly as it always was but something is missing.

“Where are your clothes?”

“Clothes? “ You freeze for half a second before glancing around, only now realizing that you never moved them back from the guest room. 

“Your clothes. Your books. Your skincare stuff that usually clutters up the counter.” He frowns. “Did you move them?”

“I’ve been… rearranging stuff.” It’s a weak excuse, and Jimin sees right through it.

 “You always do that. Used to drive me crazy.” A flicker of amusement dances across his face before his gaze softens in memory. “Remember when you moved in?” , he says, “You were so organized. Didn’t even let me touch a single box. I think I gave up after the first hour.”

The memory filters in like warm light through old curtains. The first night in your shared apartment-boxes stacked high, exhaustion weighing on you both, a failed attempt at getting the bed set up.

“You were so insistent that everything had to be in its place,” he continues, grinning. “And then we ended up sleeping on the mattress in the living room because you couldn’t finish unpacking.”

A small laugh escapes before you can stop it. You remember. Jimin catches the sound. “See? Not all my memories are gone.”

You force a small smile back, but it feels thin, fragile.  As you move through the room, still shaken from the moment before, his voice breaks the silence. “Turn off the lights before you go to bed.”

You reach for the switch, but as you take a step toward the door, Jimin’s voice stops you. “Did you forget something?”

“What do you mean?”

Whenever someone would describe you the first adjective they'd use was precise-aware, however the more you time you spent with Jimin the more you felt like you're everything but that. You would stumble over words, repeat questions in hopes that the outcome would be different.

Jimin points to you then to the doors as if the answer was obvious. “Well… you’re leaving.”

You begin to feel small, unsure how to respond so you go with the option you thought was solid. “Yeah. To sleep in the guest room.”

Boy were you wrong.

 “Come on,” he murmurs, eyes already half-lidded. “You’re going to lecture me about getting proper rest, right? So just sleep here What? You need an official invitation?” he sighs dramatically, patting the empty space beside him, “Y/N, just get in bed already.”

You shift awkwardly on your feet. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Jimin lifts his head slightly, his eyes telling you how much you're bullshiting. “Why not?”

You scramble for an excuse. “Your injuries. I don’t want to accidentally hit you while you’re sleeping.”

Jimin snorts, already having an arsenal of situations where you obviously didn't care about his comfort. “Y/N, don’t be ridiculous.” He props himself up on one elbow, looking entirely unconvinced. “Even on your worst nights when you tossed and turned like a possessed human tornado, you never hurt me.”

“Still, I don’t want to risk it. Your ribs are healing, and I—”

“Even when I broke my hand, you still slept beside me,” Jimin interrupts, tilting his head. “And when I got that horrible flu and was burning up? You didn’t leave my side for three nights straight.” He shakes his head, feigning offense. “Now suddenly, you’re acting like I’m made of glass?”

You try to deflect, the situation feeling like a boxing match where one waits for the knock-out . “I guess I just became more considerate over the years.”

Jimin narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

You try again. “Besides, I’ve been sleeping in the guest room. The bed is already set up for me, and I don’t want to—”

“If you don’t get in bed right now,” Jimin warns, “I’m going to pick you up and toss you in myself.”

Your eyes widen in alarm. “Jimin—your ribs—”

“Then hurry up,” he sing-songs, smirking as he shifts slightly, patting the mattress once more.

You linger in the doorway for a moment before exhaling. Maybe it is better to just join him. You sigh, realizing there’s no way out of this. “Fine.”

Moving slowly, you sit on the edge of the bed before cautiously laying down. Every muscle in your body is tense, keeping a careful distance from him.

Jimin stares at you, unimpressed. “Seriously?”

You blink. “What?”

He reaches over and tugs you toward him, his arm slipping comfortably around your waist. Your body stiffens. “Jimin—”

“Shh.” His breath brushes against your temple, warm and familiar. “Relax.”

You don’t. Not immediately. Softly, Jimin speaks up. “Did we have an argument before my accident?”

Your fingers curl into the blanket. “Why do you think that?”

He hums. “You moved your stuff, you’re tense around me, and you were obviously sleeping in the guest room.”

Your throat tightens, but you force a small sigh. “I told you. I’ve just been rearranging things.”

Jimin hums again, but this time, his hand finds yours in the dark, fingers intertwining. His lips press gently to the back of your hand, the warmth lingering even after he pulls away.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “Good night.”

You turn onto your side, curling in on yourself as the weight of everything crashes down all at once. Jimin’s breathing is steady beside you, deep and even completely unaware. The sedatives you gave him are working, keeping him locked in a dreamless sleep while you lie awake, drowning in the silence.

Your fingers press against your lips, desperate to muffle the sound as the first sob escapes. It’s quiet, nearly swallowed by the stillness of the room, but it shakes through you nonetheless.

Your shoulders tremble as you bury your face into the pillow, breath stuttering against the fabric. You don’t mean to fall apart not here, not now, not beside him. But the ache in your chest is relentless, clawing its way to the surface no matter how tightly you try to hold it down.

He doesn’t remember losing you and yet, he still holds pieces of you. In his body, in his skin, in the lily inked beneath his ribs a mark of something he can’t recall but must have meant everything once.

Your breath breaks again, a silent, gasping sob that you try to swallow.

Jimin stirs slightly beside you, shifting in his sleep, but he doesn’t wake. He doesn’t notice the way you clutch at your own arms, the way you tremble beneath the weight of a grief that doesn’t belong in the present but lives here anyway.

You press your face deeper into the pillow, squeezing your eyes shut.

Tomorrow, you’ll pull yourself together. You’ll find the right words, the careful lies, the quiet deflections that keep the truth buried but tonight, you let yourself break in silence.

And Jimin oblivious, untouched sleeps on.

_________

The next day is lighter or at least compared to yesterday.

The scent of fresh coffee is warm and inviting, mixing with the morning air seeping through the window cracks. Jimin follows it, adjusting to the unfamiliarity of movement, his feet pressing against the hardwood floor with quiet steps, careful but curious.

When he reaches the doorway, he stops. You’re sitting at the dining table, one hand curled around a mug, the other scrolling through your phone.

The steam from the coffee rises in lazy swirls, dissipating into the soft morning glow. He stays there, watching you, feeling at home in a way that doesn’t feel earned. 

You sense him before you see him, but you don’t look up immediately, taking another slow sip of your drink.

."Did Scarlett Johansson do anything new?"

You exhale a soft sound of amusement. Not startled. Not surprised. Just… expecting. “She’s still acting.” Your voice is even as turn your screen toward him. “A few indie films, some bigger projects. Emma Watson took a break but focused on activism.”

Jimin hums, stepping further inside. “Good for them.”

He moves to pour himself coffee, his fingers wrapping around the familiar handle of the mug. His hand moves automatically toward the sugar jar, fingers resting against the lid. Without thinking, he looks at you. “You still take two spoons, right?”

“Not anymore,”

Jimin’s frown deepens slightly, and his grip on the sugar jar loosens. That doesn’t make sense. His eyes dart to you, searching for something in your expression, but you remain impassive. Before he could question the answer, you turn back toward the sink, rinsing out your mug as if the conversation never happened.

When he reaches opens a drawer, he swore was where you place the utensils only for it to be filled with spatulas does he realize how much the apartment changed. The bones of the space are familiar the layout, but then there are the differences.

The arrangement of the kitchen utensils is different. The couch isn’t the same one he remembers it’s darker, newer, missing the faint tear in the cushion he swore he’d fix. The picture frames on the bookshelf are different, some missing entirely.

He pushes off the counter continuing yesterday’s exploration of the living room He hesitates in front of the framed photographs. Some of them are the same your wedding photo, a candid from your honeymoon, a snapshot of a festival you once attended together.

However, there are gaps. Spaces where photos used to be, now replaced with generic prints of landscapes or nothing at all. He lifts a hand, touching the frame of a photo he doesn’t recognize, you with a few people he doesn’t immediately recall.

It's a photo from your first day of fellowship, standing beside Hannah and Yoongi. The three of you are smiling, arms slung around each other, a moment captured in the midst of new beginnings. 

It’s a frozen piece of time Jimin was never a part of, one of many gaps he has yet to fill. He doesn’t know their faces, doesn’t recognize the context, but something about the image unsettles him, a subtle reminder of the years that exist beyond his reach.

You debated whether to include it, but you thought it would feel natural for you to have a memory of the beginning fellowship and friends you hang out with. 

He calls out for you, and once he grabs your attention he points at the photo. "I don’t know them."

"You never really got the chance to," you say walking towards him. "That’s Hannah, my best friend and Yoongi, co-worker. We started our fellowship together."

Jimin absorbs the information. "You should introduce me to them when we go to the hospital. I still need to see who’s new on the staff."

"They work at another hospital." 

Jimin, as extroverted as he might seem, he liked to have an inner circle of friends who he rarely expanded. Therefore, you never thought he’d ask to meet them. Sure, inquire who your new friends were, but to meet them? Not really.  

Perhaps you should’ve lied or never included the photography, but it eased your heart to have portions of your life after the divorce displayed for him to see. After the memories come back maybe he’ll resent you less if he knows not everything was a lie.

"Oh? Then how’d you meet them?"

"A conference," you smile as you remember the time your hospital provided a hall which was filled with future fellows who were finding seats.

They explained it as sort of a meeting conference where you could network with people. Unbeknownst to you, Yoongi or Hannah your paths intertwined way before you started working together.

Hannah ever the clumsy one slipped as she tried to maneuverer herself onto the seat next to, the sudden commotion making Yoongi spill his coffee all over you. "One of those long, drawn-out events where everyone fights to stay awake."

Jimin chuckles. "Sounds about right. Let me guess, you were the type to take actual notes?"

"And you would’ve been the one doodling on the pamphlet."

He laughs. "Hey, don’t underestimate the art of conference doodling. It kept me awake."

As if a thought had just sprung to his mind, his eyes widen as he claps his hands together. "What about Kaya? You guys still tight?"

"No," you say, snorting at the mention of her name. "We lost touch."

Jimin frowns. "Wait. What? You two were attached at the hip. What happened?"

You exhale briefly as pictures of her teareyed face flash in front of you. "She hurt someone we both care about."

Jimin watches you for a beat before realization flickers across his face. "Wait. No. Don’t tell me—Jungkook?"

You nod. "They broke up. Three years ago."

Jimin’s lips part slightly, eyebrows raising in genuine surprise. “Kaya and Jungkook broke up? I thought they were basically glued together. When did that happen?"

"Three years ago," you say, watching his reaction. You brace for his response, knowing that disbelief is about to hit.

Jimin waves his hands for a second, gesturing for you to reverse. "Okay, hold on. Kaya and Jungkook, the couple that made us all nauseous with their cutesy texts and matching outfits, broke up? I need details."

You press your lips together, debating how to soften the blow before deciding there's no point sugarcoating it. "She cheated on him."

Jimin stares at you for a long moment before he whistles. "Damn. And here I thought she was ride-or-die for him. Turns out she was just ride-for-someone-else."

He rubs his temples as if he has a headache. "I mean, I know relationships aren’t perfect, but they were basically the blueprint of a long-term couple. What, did she wake up one day and decide to self-destruct?"

You offer a small shrug. "Yeah. We all thought they were solid. Guess not."

You loved Kaya, after all she was someone with whom you grew up with. From high school to university and a small portion of your adult life but by the end of her relationship with Jungkook she changed. Never responded to any texts, always making excuses when you invite her for drinks and after a while you just let it be. 

Jimin runs a hand through his hair, still trying to process. "Man, I wish I could’ve been there when Jungkook found out. Did he flip a table? Punch a wall? Write a whole album about it?"

You shake your head with a light chuckle. "No table flipping, but I’d say his gym membership got put to very good use. And as for the album? Well, you should check his discography when you get the chance."

He moves towards the couch, finding a comfortable spot in the middle of it. He touches the soft fabric as if he’s contemplating something. You half expecting him to fish out his phone and blast Jungkook’s I hate you as a form of belated support for the chaotic breakup however, he glances at you, lips curving into something more mischievous. 

"You know this couch has seen a lot. Heard a lot, too."

You curse under your breath forgetting how Jimin tends to drop bombshell sentences here and there just to gloat at your reaction. Your cheeks warm instantly, and you shake your head, already regretting giving him any reaction. "Jimin—"

He winks, stretching out lazily as he settles into the cushions. "No need to get shy now. We practically lived here half the time. Spent majority of it watching k-drama."

Your lips part in protest, but no real words come out. He’s not wrong. The couch had been your shared sanctuary; movie nights turning into tangled limbs, lazy Sundays melting into laughter and stolen kisses. 

"While you pretended to hate them, but actually got really into the plot?"

Jimin drops his head onto the cushions. "I stand by my criticism. But yeah, maybe I got a little invested."

Before you counter back stating how it was more then little invested, he made charts of different characters to keep up with the plot, his stomach growls.

"Hungry?" you ask, needing something to do with your hands.

Jimin nods, placing a hand over his stomach. "You still make breakfast, or did you become one of those coffee-only morning people?"

You roll your eyes. "I still eat, Jimin."

He grins, standing up. "Good. Then let me help."

You stop him with a light push against his chest. "You should rest."

"I’m not an invalid," he counters, passing by you and moving toward the fridge. "Come on, I can still crack an egg."

You watch him, debating whether to argue before sighing. "Fine. But no lifting anything heavy."

Jimin smirks. "Relax, I’m just here for moral support."

The kitchen fills with the soft sound of movement, the clinking of plates, the sizzle of butter in a pan. Jimin listens to you hum a melody he can't pinpoint but it feels nice. "You still hum when you cook," he notes.

You pause, becoming increasingly aware of the melody dropping from your lips. "Maybe."

"No maybe," he teases. "You used to do it all the time. Even when you didn’t realize."

You focus on the food, flipping an egg carefully. "Muscle memory, I guess."

Jimin hums. "Seems to be a theme this morning."

You pull the food onto the plate pushing it towards him. "Eat. Before you start analysing me like one of your case studies."

Jimin picks up his fork. "Too late."

A small smile tugs at your lips as you both settle into the moment.

Jimin takes a bite, humming in appreciation. "Still good at this. I was half-expecting you to have turned into a takeout-only kind of person."

You stab at your food with a fork. "Just because you lived off convenience stores and ramen doesn’t mean I do."

Jimin nudges your foot under the table. "Hey, those were dark times. And I survived."

He takes his final bite pushing the plate away as he wipes his mouth. "So, what’s the plan for today? Or am I just supposed to lounge around and bask in your hospitality?"

You snort. "That depends. Think you can handle a short walk without me calling Namjoon for backup?"

"I’ll have you know, I am fully capable of walking without medical supervision."

"We’ll see about that. Get dressed, then."

Jimin stands up with exaggerated effort. "Fine, fine. But only because I’m curious where you’re planning to drag me."

You don’t answer as you clear the plates. He watches you for a moment before heading toward the bedroom, leaving you standing in the quiet hum of the kitchen, collecting yourself before what comes next.

___________

The days pass by in a blink of an eye.

One of the days Jimin spends most of it resting in the room, exhaustion pressing heavy against his bones. Sleep comes in short bursts, light, restless. The remnants of a headache cling to him, dull but persistent, and though his body craves rest, his mind refuses to settle.

When he finally wakes up, the apartment is cast in the soft glow of the evening. He checks his phone before stepping out of the bedroom, his feet moving without thought. As he comes closer to the living room, he hears it. 

Your voice.

Soft, delicate, threading through the apartment like silk. The melody is unfamiliar, but the moment he steps into the living room, the words settle into his chest.

“Be my only love”

You’re sitting near the window, the gentle city lights casting a warm glow on your skin. Your eyes focused on charts, lost in the music as you sing Only by Lee Hi, your voice wrapping around each note with quiet ease. The sound is hauntingly beautiful and pure woven into it.

He stills. His vision impairs with black and blue dots, a pain pierces through him as he slowly lowers himself to sit on the stair.

A memory flashes in bits and pieces. He sees you, but not here. Not now.

You at the Han River. The night sky stretched endlessly above, the lights reflecting on the rippling water like scattered stars. The laughter of a small crowd fills the air, a speaker crackling as music hums from it.

He watches as Jungkook pulls you forward by the wrist, a grin playing on his lips.

“Come on, you have to sing at least one song,” Jungkook teases, pushing you toward the makeshift stage where a small audience has gathered. “You can’t just sit there and enjoy everyone else—you’re the best singer here.”

You resist slightly, but Jungkook is relentless, playful yet firm as he pushes you closer. Hoseok and Namjoon clap from the sidelines, their cheers blending with the laughter of strangers encouraging you.

Jimin sees himself there too, standing just behind them, watching.

You turn, shooting Jungkook a mock glare before agreeing, not like you could ever refuse the younger friend. You take the microphone, adjusting it slightly, your fingers brushing against the metal and you sing. Body do you sing.

“The words I sincerely wanted to say”

Jimin’s breath catches as the memory sharpens, the lyrics spilling effortlessly from your lips. Your voice carries over the gentle hush of the river, weaving through the night like a whispered secret. Your eyes find him in the crowd, as you smile from ear to ear. All goes still, for a moment. 

His heartbeat. The murmur of the crowd. The distant cityscape blinking like fireflies against the dark. The only thing that exists in that moment is you.

“I say, ‘I love you'”

You close your eyes, letting the song carry you, and Jimin swears he can feel the love he has for you grow deeper and deeper, to a point where it hurt. The way your voice reaches him even through time. The way the lyrics guide him back to you.

Each word makes the memory clearer, each note threading through the haze of his mind, pulling him deeper, deeper—

Until he can almost feel it.

“Be my only love”

Jimin exhales sharply, the present rushing back in, slamming into him with quiet force. He manages to get up, his fingers curled around the handrail, his chest tight.

Two days later, he helps you rearrange the bedroom - more like annoys to oblivion - watching as you fold clothes and straighten up the space, your movements fluid, practiced. A part of him wants to ask if you could postpone this and just lazily spread on the couch as you watch a movie, but he knew you. Knew you well enough to already see you rolling your eyes and dismissing him.

As you smooth down the last bedsheet, something catches his eye. A door. It’s one he barely noticed before, but now it stands out, pulling at something in the back of his mind. A faint recollection.

“When we moved in, you didn’t know what to do with this room.” The memory comes in fragments, your voice, thoughtful and uncertain, as you had stood in the empty space, debating its purpose. He remembers suggesting a study. You had considered a reading nook. But beyond that, nothing. The rest of the memory remains blank.

His curiosity gets the better of him and he reaches for the handle and pushes the door open. The room is bathed in soft afternoon light. And in the middle of it a piano. A grand, glossy black piano.

Music sheets are scattered over the floor, some stacked haphazardly on a nearby shelf. The sight is so out of place, so unexpected, that Jimin feels the air leave his lungs because this isn’t just any piano. This is his. However, that doesn’t make sense.

The last time he touched it, he was eighteen. Still finishing musical academy, still pretending that playing could be more than just a fleeting dream before stepping into the real world. He had walked away from it, from the late-night compositions, from the melodies that once poured so naturally from his fingers. His parents made sure of that.

Jimin swallows, stepping further inside, his hand brushing the cool surface of the instrument.

“Why is this here?” he murmurs, almost to himself.

His gaze drifts to the doorway and you’re still standing there, frozen. Your fingers grip the doorframe like it’s the only thing keeping you upright, eyes locked onto the piano as if you’re staring at something impossible. It takes a moment, but he sees it the raw emotion flickering across your face, the dazed look in your eyes, the way your lips part but no words come out.

“You—” His voice is hesitant. “You look just as surprised as I am.”

You blink, snapping out of your trance. “I… I thought you got rid of it.”

Jimin’s chest tightens at that because that means he didn’t just forget this piano, he also forgot a choice he made about it and that realization unsettles him in ways he can’t quite explain.

“When did I buy this?”

 “You didn’t.”

Jimin steps closer, his fingers brushing the smooth surface. “Then who—”

“It was my wedding gift to you,” you say quietly.

Jimin stills, waiting for an explanation he’s not sure he’s ready for. “You loved playing. More than anything.” 

Because before he was anything else, Jimin was music.

Before his name meant something, before he was pulled into the rigid path his parents set for him, he was a boy who livedthrough sound. He didn’t just play the piano; he became it. The keys were an extension of his hands, his soul translated into notes that hung in the air like poetry. He could hear the emotions in a song before reading the sheet, could compose melodies before he could properly explain them.

But talent meant nothing to the people who raised him.

“Music is not a career,” his father had told him, dismissive and firm. “It’s a hobby. And hobbies don’t pay the bills.”

So, he studied economics instead. Sat in lecture halls with textbooks too heavy in his hands, numbers running together in front of his tired eyes. He went to meetings and luncheons with men who saw creativity as nothing more than a child’s whim. All while his piano sat untouched in his childhood home, the lid gathering dust.

When you bought him this one, when you placed the key in his palm on your anniversary day and told him, “If no one else lets you play, at least let yourself”, he had just stared at you, silent, breathless. That night he played for you, no sheet music, no rehearsed melody, jut him and the piano, filling the quiet of your new home with something raw and unspoken. That night, you sat beside him, your head resting on his shoulder as he played. That night, you had closed your eyes, listening to the way his soul bled through the music.

A gift.

A love letter in the form of sound.

And now he stands in front of the same piano, staring at it like it’s a stranger in his own home. You see the way his breathing hitches, how his hands shake, fingers itching to reach out for something, but he doesn’t know what. His frustration isn’t just from the missing years it’s from knowing that he left music behind, made amends with never touching the piano, then coming back years later only to not remember it.

And he wishes he could.

He wishes he could step into that old symphony, into the late nights spent at the keys, into the silent love confessions stuck in every note. He wants to remember the weight of them, the way music once felt like home. Before he can break apart in front of you, you take a step forward. “Make a new memory.” 

His eyes snap to yours.

“Not to replace the old one,” you say softly, “but you can make another.”

Jimin doesn’t speak, but you can see the battle, the hesitation in his stance.  “Play the first thing that comes to your mind.”

For a moment, nothing happens then, slowly, hesitantly, his fingers settle over the keys. A pause. A sound followed soon after. The first few notes are tentative, uncertain, but as the melody takes shape, something shifts in him.

Chopin’s Spring Waltz.

Your favourite.

Your eyes sting because you know what this means. Even if his memories are fragmented, even if the past is slipping through his fingers like sand somewhere deep inside, his love for you still lingers.

As the notes spill into the quiet apartment, something inside Jimin unravels. His movements grow more fluid, more certain, like he’s slipping into something familiar and safe. And for the first time since he walked through your door, he doesn’t feel lost.

You’re unaware of holding your breath until a gentle exhale escapes you. As Jimin diligently searches for something in the music, you’re gradually losing something precious because while Jimin is finding something in the music, you are losing something.

You remember watching him like this before his eyes half-lidded, his expression unreadable yet open in a way only music could make him. He used to play for you late into the night, the piano’s voice an extension of his own, speaking in ways he never could.

Back then, you thought you understood every unspoken thing between you. Now, you wonder if understanding ever mattered when fate was so cruel. The melody shifts, swelling into something delicate yet achingly powerful. You’re curious if he notices that his fingers press a little harder during certain passages, as if there’s something lingering in his chest that he can’t voice.

Maybe he does. Maybe he doesn’t but you notice.

Jimin’s hands remain on the keys, unmoving. His shoulders rise and fall with measured breaths, but he doesn’t speak, doesn’t look at you. You don’t realize your own eyes are glassy until you blink, and a tear that you weren’t even aware of slips down your cheek.

You wipe it away quickly, swallowing the lump in your throat. “That was beautiful.” 

Jimin's expression is unreadable, but there’s something fragile in his gaze. “I don’t remember playing this for you before,” he murmurs

“You did,” you whisper, forcing a small smile. “Many times.”

“I want to remember.”

It’s not a demand. It’s not spoken in frustration or anger. It’s quiet. Almost pleading. You open your mouth, then close it as you step closer, hesitating for only a moment before gently placing a hand over his on the keys.

“Then let’s keep playing,” you say, voice steady despite the ache in your chest.

Jimin doesn’t move for a moment. “Okay.”

So, you sit beside him and just like that night, years ago, he plays for you. 

A week later, you needed new books specifically, ones on medical advancements and cardiovascular research. Jimin hadn’t planned on coming along, but when you grabbed your coat, he instinctively reached for his own. Now, you’re wandering through the aisles of a quiet bookstore.

He trails behind you, watching as your fingers glide over the spines of books, pausing now and then to pull one free. There’s something peaceful about it, the way you move with familiarity, completely at ease in this space.

Jimin looks around. His interest lands on a display of fiction novels near the window, and for a moment, his eyes blur again like last time, the edges of his vision softening—

A different bookstore. A different time.

He sees himself walking down a narrow aisle, fingers intertwined with someone’s. The warmth of a hand in his own. A voice, light, teasing. “You always go for the same kind of books.”

He turns his head, catching a glimpse of blonde hair, tucked behind a delicate ear. The memory shifts, a quiet laugh, the press of a shoulder against his. He watches as she reaches for a book, flipping through the pages lazily before passing it to him.

“You should read this one.”

His chest tightens. It’s you. It has to be. The warmth, the familiarity—it’s you.

Except…

Except something is wrong.

The memory begins to fray at the edges. His grip on the past wavers as he tries to focus on the details. The blonde hair. The voice—so familiar yet… not quite right.

He blinks, the memory slipping away, and suddenly, he’s back in the present, standing in the middle of the bookstore. His pulse feels uneven, his palms slightly clammy. His eyes land on you again, standing a few feet away, flipping through a textbook.

“Did you ever dye your hair blonde?” The question leaves his lips before he even realizes he’s asked it.

You stand few feet away startled. “What?”

“Your hair.” Confusion is threading into his tone. “Was it ever blonde?”

“No. Why?”

Jimin doesn’t answer immediately. His mind reels, replaying the memory again, trying to make sense of it. He could have sworn it was you. The way she held his hand, the way she smiled up at him, the way she felt so…

Familiar.

But it wasn’t you. A strange sensation creeps into his chest an unsettling mix of doubt and unease. If the memory wasn’t of you, then who?

His breath catches. Did he cheat on you?

The thought is a punch to the gut. His stomach twists, nausea creeping up his throat. Why was he holding another woman’s hand? Why did the memory feel so natural, so intimate? His heart pounds in his chest, the walls of the bookstore suddenly feeling too close, too suffocating.

“No reason,” he finally says. “I just thought I remembered something.”

You sense something is wrong but you don’t ask. Instead, you turn back to the book in your hands, flipping a page absently.

For the rest of the afternoon, he’s distant. He barely speaks as you walk back home, his responses clipped, his thoughts elsewhere. His mind replays the memory over and over, searching for an answer that won’t come.

That night, he lies awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. The warmth of a hand in his. The soft murmur of a voice. A memory that doesn’t belong to you. Jimin turns onto his side, squeezing his eyes shut.

And for the first time since waking up, he’s afraid to remember.

The day you go back to work finally arrives. More than a week has passed since you two came home, and Jimin’s wounds are healed enough for him to move around without you having to micromanage every move of his. You walk through the apartment with quiet efficiency, pulling on your coat and gathering your things, preparing for your first day back at work.

Jimin watches from the couch, one arm resting on the back of the cushions, his gaze following your every movement. There’s something comforting about the routine the way you check your bag twice, the way you tie your hair up only to take it down again, second-guessing the style.

He doesn’t realize he’s smiling until you glance at him.

“What?” you ask, adjusting your watch.

“Nothing,” he says then after a beat, he sits up. “I’ll come with you.”

You pause, your fingers stilling on the buttons of your coat. “What?”

“I need to see Namjoon.” His voice is calm, but there’s something in his expression something unreadable. “The headaches… they aren’t going away, and it’s time for my check-up anyway.”

You study him for a moment, then nod. “That’s a good idea.”

Jimin stands, walking to the hallway and about to reach for his coat when he notices a dark bomber jacket that is hanging next it. His fingers automatically move to graze over the material before tugging at the sleeve.

"This is mine, right?" he asks, holding it up.

"Yeah. Namjoon was with you when you bought it," you say, "You saw it in a shop window and tried it on immediately."

Jimin’s fingers pause slightly before resuming their slow glide over the material. "Did I say something dramatic about it?"

"You went on about how it was 'the perfect balance between street style and functionality.'"

Jimin cringes. "Did I really say that?"

"According to Namjoon, you did. You even threw in the phrase timeless design. Namjoon was waiting for the sales rep to give you a sponsorship deal."

You weren’t there to notice this scene firsthand, but when Namjoon dropped by with Jimin’s clothes he saw the jacket and started laughing. You didn’t think too much of it, perhaps the absurdity of the situation got to him.

Or having to ask Jimin’s mother to collect his friend’s clothes at the current girlfriend’s apartment and then have him drop it, at his friend’s shared apartment with the ex-wife’s who is currently again playing the role of his wife, was top notch comedy material.

However, he pulled the jacket out of the box and told you this fond memory and the way he spoke about it left an impression that besides funny interaction at the store there was something else that made him so happy, something he wanted to keep to himself.

Jimin makes a grimace, second hand embarrassment settling in. "God, I sound pretentious. Poor guy probably had to listen to me overanalyse it the whole way home. “

"You sound like a man who owns way too much Marvel merch."

He pinches your shoulder, offended by your words. "Excuse you. My collection is a work of art. And it’s well-rounded, okay? I didn’t just collect one hero; I was fair to all of them."

You clutch your bag, one leg out of the door. "Right. Because you totally didn’t have one shelf dedicated to Spider-Man alone."

Jimin leaves the jacket, switching it with his coat as he grabs the keys. "That was for aesthetic purposes."

"Sure, it was."

“To resume the paused conversation,” he adds, locking the apartment, “it’s not fair if you get to go back to saving lives while I just sit around doing nothing.”

You're already near the lift pressing the button for downstairs. “You’ve been resting, not doing nothing.”

“Feels the same to me.”

The city moves past in a blur, a mixture of the familiar and the unfamiliar. The skyline stands like an old friend, unchanged, but everything beneath it has shifted in ways that make Jimin feel like a visitor in his own life. The streets are alive with the same energy, people weaving between each other, the distant wail of a siren swallowed by the hum of traffic, but the specifics betray time’s quiet betrayal. 

The ramen shop that once sat on the corner is gone, replaced by something sleeker, newer, detached. A boutique has taken over where a bookstore used to stand, its window displays full of things he wouldn’t know how to describe. He narrows his eyes slightly, as if looking hard enough might bring the past into sharper focus.

"That used to be a bookstore," he muses, nodding toward a sleek boutique with minimalist signage. His voice is casual, but there’s a slight tilt to his head, like his brain is struggling to process the change. "What happened to it?"

"Closed a while ago. Rent prices went up," you say, keeping your tone light.

"That ramen place is gone too and what's that? A boba shop?"

You don't need to follow his finger to know that he's talking about the colourful new signage that replaced the old family-run restaurant. "Boba became a trend nowadays, teenagers usually sit there after school. “

He exhales through his nose, lips pressing into a thin line. "I feel old.”

“You are.”

Jimin lets out an offended huff. “Thirty-three is not old Y/N. If I am old so, are you.”

You take a turn to the left, eyes focused on the road. “I never said I wasn’t.”

He doesn’t say it out loud, but you can tell it unsettles him. The city he thought he knew has shifted without him, leaving him slightly out of step with reality. 

The radio interrupts the silences that nested itself between you before Jimin turns to you, brows slightly furrowed. "I wanted to ask you yesterday, but I forgot," he says, his voice casual but laced with curiosity. His gaze flickers across the dashboard before he nods toward it. "This is a jeep."

“Was it the sheer height of it, or did the universe whisper it to you?"

Jimin rolls his eyes as he repeats your question, voice an octave higher to tease you before he answers. "You never liked big cars. You always said smaller ones were more practical."

You click your tongue. "You were very persistent about it, actually."

There's a flicker of intrigue in his dark eyes and you feel like he's waiting for you to fill in the blanks of a story he can’t quite remember. "I did?"

"Yeah. You didn’t want me to get the BMW. Said the Mercedes was better. And then you convinced me to get a jeep."

He blinks, his frown deepening as if testing the words, turning them over in his head. "Why would I push for a jeep?"

You hesitate before answering with a small shrug opting for a half-truth. "You always complained that my old car could never fit our suitcases when we went on trips. And you knew I never wanted to drive your car."

But the truth is heavier than that. The truth is, one evening over dinner, Jimin had dropped the kind of bomb that reshapes futures. 'If we ever have kids, your car wouldn’t be ideal,' he had said, so casually, so certain. His words had lingered in the air between you, not a suggestion, but a decision already made. 

And you, wanting to meet him in that imagined future, had adhered to his wishes without question. Your car had been replaced, the jeep had arrived, and in some small way, it had felt like preparing for something that never came. But now, looking at Jimin’s confused expression, that future feels further away than ever, like a dream you had once but forgot upon waking.

"Well, I can’t say the decision was bad, the car is spacious."

Beyond the windshield, the hospital comes into view, its reflective glass catching the morning sun. Jimin shifts in his seat, rolling his shoulders slightly as if bracing himself.

"This one I remember," he mutters, voice quieter now, almost to himself.

The car slows as you pull into the parking lot. The hospital looms ahead, all reflective glass and sterile walls, a place that should feel clinical and detached but instead carries the weight of something more personal.

When you step out of the car, Jimin follows suit, and you both barely have time to exchange a word before a familiar voice calls out.

"You made it," Namjoon says, standing near the entrance, his gaze flickers between you and Jimin, assessing without making it obvious.

"Of course," you say, locking your car. "Thanks for meeting us."

Namjoon's face holds one too many question to answer with a raise of your brow you gesture for him to move on. "How are you feeling?"

Jimin thinks for a second as if it was a million dollar question. "Like I should be remembering more than I do. But physically, I think I'm alright."

Namjoon offers him a smile with laced with pity. "That’s a start. Let’s get you checked in."

Before you can respond, a voice calls your name from behind. One of the residents, dressed in scrubs, approaches quickly. "Dr. Y/L, sorry to interrupt, but could you consult on a case? It’s a post-op patient with some complications."

You shift between Jimin and Namjoon which catches the latter's attenion and steps in easily. "Go ahead," he says. "I’ll stay with him."

Jimin lifts a brow. "You’re babysitting me now?"

Namjoon smirks. "Something like that."

You press a light touch to Jimin’s forearm before following the intern. "I’ll find you after." 

Jimin watches you disappear down the hall with the resident before Namjoon motions for him to follow inside. "Come on," Namjoon says. "Let’s get this over with."

Jimin's point of view

Inside an exam room, Namjoon moves methodically, checking Jimin’s reflexes, eye movement, and responses to simple neurological tests. Jimin ever the one to be awkward with a longer pause or silence, decides to break it by asking more questions to fill in the gaps. 

"So, how’s everyone been? Jungkook, Hoseok, the guys?"

Namjoon steps away, writing something on a pad before he continues the exam. "Hoseok’s doing well. Your company is still thriving, no surprises there. Jungkook’s finally gone global, and Seokjin opened a restaurant last year."

Jimin's leg bounces against the floor. "Seokjin in a kitchen for real? Feels illegal."

Namjoon presses two fingers against Jimin’s wrist, checking his pulse. "It was a shock to everyone, but he’s been killing it. Opened this fancy restaurant last year. Exclusive but not pretentious. Classic Seokjin. He’s hands-on with everything, too, always yelling at his chefs but somehow still their favourite person."

Jimin recalls the memory of Seokjin insisting he had 'natural chef instincts' flickering somewhere in the back of his mind. "He always did say he could outcook half the restaurants in Seoul. Guess he wasn’t bluffing."

Namjoon makes Jimin track his finger with his eyes. "It’s weird, isn’t it? Catching up on years you lived but don’t remember."

Jimin’s jaw tightens slightly. "Yeah. Feels like I’ve been given a highlight reel instead of the full thing."

Namjoon hums in response before switching gears. "Jungkook’s still traveling, by the way. Spends more time overseas than in Korea these days."

"Yeah? What’s he been up to?"

By the way Namjoon's feature soften, Jimin can conclude that whatever Jungkook is doing, Namjoon supports it. "What hasn’t he been up to? World tour, a couple of magazine covers, some random adventure sports phase where he started skydiving because of course, he did."

"Let me guess. He tried to get you to go with him."

"Tried and failed. You, on the other hand, would’ve been on that plane in a heartbeat." Namjoon, pinches his nose.

Jimin smiles at that, but it’s brief. "I can’t tell if I miss it or if I just miss remembering it."

Namjoon watches him carefully, giving a slow nod. "Reflexes are good. You’re healing well. No sign of complications."

Jimin's hand comes up absently, touching his ribs, and he stills for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly. Then, a memory flickers to life.

"Wait… the guys’ trip. We went away for a few weeks, right? Somewhere in the winter?"

Namjoon pauses mid-motion. "Yeah. A cabin trip. Jungkook dragged us all snowboarding. You nearly broke your ankle."

Jimin glances sideways, image sharp and fresh. "Hoseok kept yelling at me to stop being reckless. He was freaking out."

"Yeah, because you were trying to do a backflip off a jump that Jungkook barely landed."

The memory makes Jimin laugh, eyes crinkling into half-moons. "Taehyung was there too. He kept trying to record us, saying he wanted ‘cinematic footage’. He always acted like he was shooting a film, making us redo things just to get a better shot."

Namjoon's posture remains neutral, but there's a subtle flicker in his eyes brief but telling. It’s slight just a second of hesitation, the tiniest pause in his movements. Jimin catches it.  However, Namjoon recovers quickly, too quickly. "Yeah, he was. He always got the best shots."

The warmth in Jimin's smile fades as he studies him with newfound scrutiny. "How is he? I feel like I should've talked to him more recently than that trip, but I can't remember anything after that."

Namjoon schools his expression, but the hesitation is there, enough for Jimin’s stomach to begin flipping as he feels that there is more than meets the eye.

"He’s… in Switzerland. Getting treatment." He says it carefully, as if weighing how much to reveal.

Jimin straightens slightly, a crease forming between his brows. "Treatment? For what? He was fine before, wasn’t he?"

Namjoon presses his lips together before speaking. "He needed time away, so he went to Switzerland to recover. It was the best option. “

Jimin’s gaze sharpens, tension creeping into his voice. "Why didn’t I go see him? Did I even know?"

Namjoon meets his eyes. "You knew. You had a lot going on, work, your personal life. It wasn’t intentional, just how things unfolded."

Jimin absorbs the information, but something about the way Namjoon is answering feels too structured. Like he’s picking his words carefully, making sure they fit together in a way that keeps Jimin from looking too closely. Not lying, but definitely not telling the whole truth either.

Jimin leans back. "So, he’s still in Switzerland? Is he okay now?"

Namjoon licks his lips, feeling like he’s losing the secure grip he had over the situation. "Yes, he’s still in Switzerland. He stayed longer than expected, focusing on treatment. “

Jimin nods slowly, the way his friend slowly begins to close up, divert the conversation leaves a bad taste in his mouth. "It feels weird, like I should remember more. Like I was supposed to check in on him. Was I?"

Namjoon’s arms folding over his chest. "It’ll come back in pieces. Sometimes memories just need the right trigger."

Before Jimin can press further, Namjoon moves on, gesturing toward Jimin’s bandages. "Take your shirt off. Let’s see how you’re healing."

Jimin obliges, pulling the shirt over his head and throwing it onto the bed. The bandages covering his bruises stand out starkly against his skin, and for the first time, he truly looks at them.

Namjoon’s voice cuts through his thoughts. "She did these, didn’t she?" His tone is knowing, more of a statement than a question. He gestures at the neatly secured bandages, tilting his head slightly. "It’s stupid, but you can always tell when she’s the one who patched someone up. It’s a little too careful. Too precise. Like she’s making sure it holds even when it doesn’t have to."

Jimin feels like he should be serious, but he lived by the proverb asking stupid questions get stupid answer. " No I did them myself. With my impeccable one-handed skills and a tutorial video on how to make my injuries worse."

Namjoon rolling his eyes, steps away allowing Jimin to get dressed. "Right. Because that’s exactly what you’d do."

"Namjoon." His voice is quieter now. "When exactly did I get this?"

Namjoon turns around, following where Jimin’s finger was pointing. "Japan. About a year and a half ago.”

"Why, though? Why would I get this? Did I ever tell you?"

Namjoon shrugs, shoulders relaxing, for the first time he felt like he didn’t have to adjust the truth. "You never gave a straight answer. At first, you avoided talking about it completely. Then, one night after a few drinks you said it pained you. I thought you meant the tattoo itself, but you just shook your head and said, ‘Not the ink. The thought.’" He says rubbing a hand over his jaw. "You kept giving these cryptic answers, like it was something only you were supposed to understand. Hoseok and I were with you that night, but we couldn’t piece it together. It didn’t seem like something you wanted to explain."

"I call Y/N lily, you know. So, when I first saw this, I thought it had to be for her. But then…" He trails off. "Then I saw her reaction. She wasn’t just surprised, she looked hurt. Sad. It didn’t make sense. If this was for her, shouldn’t she have been - I don’t know, happy?"

Namjoon feels the guilt seep in, biting at his consciousness for he knew why her reaction was like that. "Jimin, sometimes things don’t fit into neat little boxes. Maybe you got the tattoo with one meaning in mind, but by the time you did, maybe things had already changed. Maybe it wasn’t about her the way you thought it was.“

Jimin stays quiet but his consciences doesn't let him rest. "It’s strange, though. How didn’t she know about it? If I got it for her, wouldn’t she have seen it before? Wouldn’t I have told her?"

Russian roulette, that’s how Namjoon feels like this conversation is going. One wrong move and he could be opening a pandora’s box with a bullet. "Maybe it just never came up or maybe you never showed her."

Jimin’s hands hit the table, irritation clear on his face. "Come on, hyung. You really think that makes sense? We lived together. There’s no way she wouldn’t have noticed."

Namjoon hesitates, already on the brink of slipping up. "You weren’t in the best place back then. Maybe you meant to tell her, but you never got around to it. Or maybe… you didn’t want to."

At this point Jimin was desperate, he felt like there was much to unbox but no matter how hard he tries it doesn’t budge. "That still doesn’t explain her reaction. She wasn’t just surprised, she looked..." he searches for the right word. "Like it hurt. Like it was something she never wanted to see."

Namjoon’s already sitting behind the desk, writing away his assessment, the conversation long finished in his mind and now he’s giving crumbles that could satisfy Jimin. "Then maybe it meant something different to her than it did to you."

"Hoseok was there too?"

Namjoon nods, silently apologizes to Hoseok hoping that he will find a better way to deal with Jimin. "Yeah. He might remember more, if you ask him. Maybe he caught something I missed."

Namjoon clears his throat. "Physically, you’re healing well. Reflexes are good, no sign of complications. Just keep taking it easy."

"You busy?" Jimin asks casually, though his tone is anything but.

"Depends. Why?"

Jimin shrugs, slipping his shirt back on. "Coffee. Or lunch. Something."

Namjoon understandes the underlying request. A moment to breathe. A moment to process outside of sterile walls and medical evaluations. "Alright. There’s a café a couple of blocks away. Let’s go."

Soon, Jimin finds himself sitting across from Namjoon at a quiet café near the hospital. Namjoon stirs sugar into his drink, his spoon tracing slow circles along the rim of the cup before he finally sets it down with a quiet clink.

“I’m glad you finally came in for your check-up,” Namjoon says, breaking the quiet first. “I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”

Jimin shifts his grip on the warm ceramic of his mug. “I’d never hear the end of it if I did.”

Namjoon exhales something between a chuckle and a sigh, taking a sip of his coffee before tilting his head slightly, studying Jimin. “How are you feeling? Any improvement?”

Jimin rolls his bottom lip between his teeth, considering. “The headaches come and go. Not as bad as before, but they still hit randomly.”

Namjoon runs his thumb over the edge of his cup. “That’s expected. Your brain is still trying to reconnect everything. The smallest things can act as triggers, scents, places, even a passing phrase.” He pauses. “Have you remembered anything new?”

Jimin drums his fingers once against the side of his cup before stopping himself. “Some things.” He keeps his tone light, casual, as if it isn’t keeping him awake at night. “Some are sharp, others feel… disjointed.”

“I remembered being in a bookstore,” Jimin draws circles on the table as he tries to remember more. “Walking through the aisles, holding Y/N’s hand.” He keeps his eyes on his coffee as he speaks. “She was laughing at something, me, maybe? She picked up a book and handed it to me like she already knew I’d like it.”

Namjoon is listening intently, trying to make something of what he is being told. “That sounds about right. Your memories might be resurfacing in pieces—details before context.”

Jimin leans back slightly, stretching his legs out beneath the table. “When did Y/N dye her hair blonde?”

Namjoon doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah. It was about a year ago, I think? She went lighter for a while but changed it back not long after.”

Jimin doesn’t react. He just lifts his coffee and takes a slow sip, letting the heat settle in his chest as his mind works through the information.

A year ago.

That’s not what you said. A strange sensation unravels inside him, curling its way into his ribs, squeezing just enough to make his breath feel shorter than before. Namjoon doesn’t seem to notice, continuing on, something about how the brain prioritizes emotional memories, but Jimin barely hears it. He keeps his expression neutral, nodding as though Namjoon’s words don’t shift the very foundation beneath him.

It could be nothing. A miscommunication, a lapse in memory. But it doesn’t feel like nothing.

It feels like proof.

One of you is lying.

And he needs to find out why.

By the time Jimin steps back into the apartment, the evening light has softened into gold, stretching long shadows across the floor. He toes off his shoes without thought, his mind elsewhere, tangled in the weight of the conversation he just had.

A year ago.

Namjoon’s words sit heavy in his chest, pressing against the space already thick with doubt. His body moves before his mind fully catches up, carrying him toward the bedroom with a quiet urgency.

He doesn’t know what he’s looking for only that he needs to find something. He pulls open the first drawer of the nightstand, fingers sifting through neatly stacked belongings. A watch he hasn’t worn in months, a stray receipt, a set of wireless earphones. Nothing. He shuts it with a quiet thud and moves to the next.

Papers. Old notebooks with hastily scribbled lyrics, corners folded from use. He flips through them on instinct, his own handwriting staring back at him, filled with half-finished verses, melodies he no longer remembers composing. Nothing.

The tension in his chest tightens, winding itself around his ribs like a slow, deliberate vice. His movements become more hurried, dresser drawers pulled open with less care, hands pushing past neatly folded clothes, rifling through stacks of old letters, envelopes, anything that might—

His fingers still.

A small box, tucked toward the back of the drawer. Plain, unmarked. Something about it feels familiar.

He pulls it free, heart hammering against his ribs as he lifts the lid. Inside, photographs. Some of them stacked haphazardly, others in envelopes, edges slightly worn. He reaches for the first one and it’s you.

A candid shot standing near a window, sunlight spilling over your shoulder as you laugh at something outside of the frame. His fingers tighten around the photo. He flips through the others, a silent reel of moments captured on film. The two of you at a café, leaning close. You mid-sentence, gesturing animatedly. A blurry shot of you in his hoodie, sock-clad feet curled beneath you on the couch. And then a photo that makes his stomach drop.

Blonde hair.

The same bookstore aisle from his memory. His own hand in hers. A book between them, her smile barely visible at the edge of the frame. The air in the room feels suddenly too thick.

Jimin swallows hard, his fingers pressing into the photo as his pulse pounds against his temple. The memory had felt so sure like it belonged to you. But here, in his hands, is proof that it doesn’t. That it never did.

The photograph burns in Jimin’s hands.

Blonde hair. A memory that doesn’t belong to you.

The truth slams into him with unrelenting force he’s been remembering the wrong person. Or worse, he’s been remembering someone else entirely.

A sharp breath leaves his lungs, his fingers shaking as he tosses the photograph onto the bed like it’s something toxic. His head feels light, spinning, thoughts colliding too fast for him to make sense of. Who is she? Why does he remember her? Why? Why did it feel so real?

His vision blurs at the edges, his breathing uneven as he starts tearing through the room, like a man possessed. Drawers fly open, clothes shoved aside.

His hands push past shirts, socks, old receipts, searching for anything, anything that will make this make sense. Bills, takeout menus, hospital documents with his name on them, your old notes, faded receipts from restaurants he doesn’t remember visiting.

His elbow knocks against the vanity. Glass shatters.

The sharp, unmistakable sound of something breaking against the floor rips through the air. He stills, staring down at the mess your serum, the one you always used, the one that sat in the same place on your dresser for as long as he can remember. A drop of liquid slides across the tile. The scent light, floral, unmistakably you, fills the room curling in the air around him.

And then a memory slams into him.

His voice is sharp, unrelenting. “Is this what you wanted?”

You flinch, standing in the center of the room, your arms wrapped around yourself, shaking. You won’t meet his eyes. Your breath comes uneven, raw, as if you’re barely holding yourself together.

“Jimin, stop—”

Glass shatters.

He’s thrown something. A frame. A photograph. It hits the floor with a sickening crack, the splintered glass scattering across the wood, reflecting fractured pieces of the two of you.

Jimin watches himself, watches the way his shoulders rise and fall, his breath ragged, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Watches the way you sink onto the edge of the bed, shoulders trembling, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes like you can push back the tears.

“You don’t get to cry,” he snaps. “Not when you did this.”

The memory fractures.

Jimin jerks back to the present, gasping, his fingers pressing against the edge of the vanity like it might ground him. His head throbs, his pulse hammering in his ears, but something clicks—

The blonde woman in the photo. The blonde woman who was sitting beside his parents when he woke up in the hospital. The one who was there when you walked in. The one who looked at you with something too familiar, too knowing.

Rosé.

His stomach drops. That was her. That was the woman in his memories. The pieces snap together with brutal clarity, forcing him to face what he’s been too disoriented to see. She wasn’t just there when he woke up. She was part of his life before he lost his memories.

But how? What was she to him? Why does he remember her hand in his at the bookstore, the softness in her voice, the way it felt like something that belonged to him?

And why, why did it feel more certain than anything else?

His knees feel weak. His hands tremble as he slowly crouches, picking up the broken shards of glass, setting them aside like it will somehow undo the destruction, like he can put back what’s already been broken.

By the time the floor is clear, and the vanity looks untouched again, Jimin walks to the living room. He sits on the couch, fingers pressed against his temples, his mind still racing.

Jimin doesn’t sleep. Not really.

When morning comes, he steps out of the apartment before you wake, his mind moving faster than his feet. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for, only that he has to keep searching.

The hospital feels like the logical place to start, but walking through those halls won’t give him anything new. Not yet. Instead, he pulls out his phone and scrolls through his contacts, his finger hovering over a name he hasn’t thought about in years—

Hoseok.

He doesn’t second-guess himself before pressing the call button. It rings twice before a familiar voice filters through the speaker.

“Jimin?” Hoseok sounds surprised, but not unpleasantly so. “How are you? I wanted to reach out sooner but man these kids are killing me”

“Are you busy?” Jimin asks, “I need to talk.”

A pause. Hoseok sighs. “No, meet me at Office.”

Jimin arrives at their office building, the glass doors reflecting the city skyline behind him. If anyone will give him a real answer, it’s Hoseok. His old friend is waiting inside, leaning back in his chair, flipping through reports. His desk is cluttered, stock reports, investment portfolios, documents requiring signatures. Things Jimin should be familiar with. Things he isn’t.

“You look like hell,” Hoseok says, setting a pen down and meeting Jimin’s gaze.

Jimin smirks faintly, lowering himself into the chair opposite. “You’re not the first to say that.”

Hoseok lets out a quiet snort, adjusting the sleeves of his shirt. “Guess I’ll hold back the lecture then.”

Jimin studies him, keeping his posture relaxed. Casual. Familiar. That’s the key. He can’t be too direct. Not yet. 

“So,” he skims through the papers spread across the desk. “How’s everything been? Business still holding up?”

Hoseok crossing his arms. “Yeah. You left a mess, though. Some accounts need approval, and a few big investors are waiting for your confirmation on projects.”

Jimin rests his hands on his lap, fiddling his fingers a habit he picked up whenever he felt nervous. “Guess I really made my absence known.”

“You did.” Hoseok answer before throwing one of the papers in to a shredder bin “People were nervous. Stocks dipped a little after the accident. Some of our investors thought you might not come back.”

Jimin angles his chin slightly. “Did you think that?”

Hoseok clicks his tongue against his teeth. “Nah. Figured you’d drag yourself back eventually.”

Hoseok’s always been good at playing the game. Always two steps ahead. “Have you remembered anything new?”

Jimin presses nails into the palm of his hand to easen the anxiety that he felt was seeping out of him. “Here and there.”

Hoseok waits for a second, thinking Jimin might explain further. “Anything important?”

Jimin diverts his attention to the window. Push. Just a little. And that he does, eyes looking directly into Hoseok's. “Must’ve been nice having people around,” he muses, voice light. My parents, familiar faces.”

Hoseok’s expression doesn’t waver. “Of course. They had a lot of support.”

Jimin shifts in his seat. Nothing. Hoseok won’t budge. He’s too careful. He lets it go for now, letting the conversation drift. “What about you?”

“Me?”

Jimin gestures toward the framed photo on Hoseok’s desk. His wife and two kids smile back at him, their faces bright and full of life. A family Jimin should know well.

“Still dealing with two gremlins at home?” Jimin asks, resting his elbow on the chair’s armrest.

Hoseok although grateful for his family, the undeniable exhaustion eats him alive. “They’ve gotten worse. I swear, the younger twin is an evil mastermind.”

“Takes after you, then.”

“You’re damn right.” Hoseok’s eyes soften. “Somin’s growing too fast. Wants to start dance classes. Can’t believe she’s already six.”

Somin. The name rings in his ears, familiar yet distant, like something just out of reach. “I used to babysit, didn’t I?”

Hoseok nods. “Yeah. You and —” He stops, just briefly, before clearing his throat. “You helped out a lot.”

Jimin stills. Whose name was he going to say?  Hoseok catches himself fast, covering the slip smoothly. But it’s too late. Jimin heard it.

He has to restrain himself from digging up more, it would raising suspicion. Instead, he pretends he didn’t notice. “Guess I need to catch up on everything, huh?”

“Yeah. But take your time. Don’t push yourself too hard.”

“You sound like Namjoon.” Jimin says as he reaches out for Hoseok's visit card, slowly playing with it.

Hoseok fixes a strand of hair that fell out of its place before answering. “Namjoon’s the smart one.”

Jimin quickly disagrees before rising to his feet. Enough for today.

“Good seeing you, hyung.” He pats Hoseok’s shoulder as he walks past.

Hoseok stands up as if jolted awake. “Jimin—”

“I’ll be fine,” Jimin cuts in, flashing an easy smile. Lying effortlessly. “I always am.”

And then, without another word, he walks out, the weight of everything he still doesn’t know pressing against his chest like a vice. Now, he knows exactly where to look next. Jimin doesn’t hesitate.

He calls Jungkook the moment he steps outside.

“HYUNG?!” Jungkook practically shrieks. “OH MY GOD. ARE YOU OKAY? DO YOU REMEMBER ME? WHAT YEAR IS IT? IS THIS A PRANK? WAIT, ARE YOU AN AI CLONE—”

“Jungkook,” Jimin interrupts, already wheezing from laughter. “Calm down.”

“I CANNOT BE CALM!” Jungkook yells. “I—OH MY GOD—OKAY—DO YOU REMEMBER ME?”

Jimin exhales dramatically. “Yes, Jungkook, I remember you.”

“WHO WAS MY FIRST CELEBRITY CRUSH?”

Jimin bites his tongue, even at the age of thirty Jungkook is behaving like a child. “IU.”

A half cry is heard from the other side followed by a minut elong silence. Jimin moves the phone away from his ear to check if the call is still on.

Just as he was about to call out his friend's name, Jungkook gasps as if he was fighting to catch air. “OKAY GOOD. YOU’RE REAL.”

Jimin rubs his temple, at least one person is the same as they were five years ago. Dramatic. “Can we meet?”

Jungkook pauses. “Serious talk?”

“Yeah.”

“Spain hyung,” Jungkook groans. “I’m in Spain, but I’ll be back in four days.”

Jimin looks around before he speaks, for some reason paranoia getting the best of him. “Keep this between us.”

“Hyung, do I look like a snitch?” something in the background breaks and Jungkook curses.

Jimin debates whether to ask what happened, but decides against it knowing that whatever happened Jungkook wouldn't explain it in three sentences. He would have to give a full report, all or nothing.

“Yes.”

Jungkook hisses, another thud sound. “Rude. Four days then.”

you feel the second blow land on your cheek, your eyes welling up more as you notice the blood rushing to your once gentle skin.

like always, it was your fault you were in this mess. you shouldn’t have worn such a short dress out, you knew you would be actively disobeying your boyfriend’s orders, but for once you wanted to feel like you were free, knowing damn well you were whatever he wanted you to be. you made a mistake, and now you were facing the repercussions.

“i don’t want to do this, you know that.” you watch as your boyfriend leans down, your eyes meeting as he matches your stance on the floor, allowing you to see eye to eye. you’re unable to gather a response, only look up at him through teary eyes as you wait for another strike.

he brings a hand up to your face, gently running a finger along the scattered marks on your cheek. the touch, although subtle, only making the burning worse. you wince in pain, slightly pulling your head away and watch as he notices your response and returns to his feet, his expression cold and distant.

“you did this to yourself, y/n.” you watch him carefully from the ground as he turns around, bringing his hands under the sink to wash specks of blood off his knuckles, which were now painted in velvet, ironically your favorite color.

“you know how much i love you, right?” his back is facing you as he speaks, his voice laced with what can only be described as fake as he reaches for a towel, drying his hands carefully.

“i know.” you mumble, your voice breaking as you feel yourself holding back tears, your throat almost on fire by how much you want to cry, but you knew better than to let him see you in this state.

he turns back around to face you, throwing the paper towel out and leaning down to your fragile state, using his hands to pick you up and stand you on your feet. he placed a finger under your chin, moving your face to the side to carefully inspect your wounds. you watch his face contort, his eyebrows furrow as he looks at the destruction he inflicted on your once perfect skin.

“tsk tsk, gonna have to wear a mask to work tomorrow, tell people you’re sick.” he speaks normally, unaffected, as if he doesn’t care, and begins walking away.

“when is this going to end?” you turn back to face him as he’s halfway towards your shared bedroom door.

“excuse me?” you watch as his feet shift, your eyes meeting as he stands across the room, his demeanor now more angry than he was before, if that’s even possible. you knew talking back was the worst possible thing to do in this situation, but you were tired, unhappy, and down right over it.

“i’m tired of this. tired of being pushed around, hit, unable to do anything or exist. im not happy anymore.” you watch as his face stays stone cold but you know his brain is turning.

you feel yourself back up instinctively as he approaches you, his steps swift and powerful as he stops right in front of your face.

“if you’re tired of it then stop doing things that you know are wrong.” god when did he become so mean? he was the sweetest boy in the world to you, it wasn’t until you moved in with each other about a year ago that he began to act like this.

you scoff at him, walking past him as you brush his shoulder in the process, picking up your jacket and heading towards the door, not even putting on shoes in the process.

“so what just like that you’re gonna leave?” he questions, watching as you put your hand on the doorknob to your once hope filled apartment. you turn back to face him, throwing your jacket on as you feel your eyes begin to well up again.

“i just… need some time.” you say as you begin to turn the doorknob, taking a step out of your apartment as you feel his hand on your wrist, turning you around to face him.

he’s mere inches away from you, his face contorted with rage as he grits through his teeth.

“if i find out you end up somewhere you shouldn’t be tonight… we’re done.” you examine his expression, your eyes dancing between his lips to his furrowed brows and then down to his hand around your wrist.

without another word, you pull your hand away and make your way out the door to the elevator.

despite his yelling from behind you about god knows what, you refuse to turn around, refuse to face him.

once you feel the cold cement against your bare feet, and the smell of the new york city air at night, you can’t help the tears that stream down your cheeks as you break down completely. and before you know it, you’re running.

it’s completely subconscious when your feet end up carrying you 10 blocks down, your chest heaving and your eyes swollen shut from the cold air combined with your overwhelming amount of tears. but here you were, collapsed on his door step.

this was the last place you should be, and you knew that. you remember your boyfriend’s words as you were leaving, you knew exactly who he was talking about, and yet here you were.

you’re unable to knock on his door, only lay sobbing on the cement stairs leading to his building. he was on the first floor, and you prayed he could hear you, sense you were here as you were unable to move anymore. your body completely overrun with exhaustion and pain as you fought for your breaths.

and then, as if it was a miracle, or maybe a sign, you heard the door creek, and the sweet familiar sound of his soothing voice as he fell to his knees, wrapping his arms around you and carrying you inside.

“are you okay? what happened? what’s wrong?” his voice was so gentle, so soothing, and although you were breathing too heavy to provide a response, you were still grateful for his thoughtfulness.

he laid you down on his couch carefully, his eyes quickly falling to the bruises and cuts on your face.

“oh my god y/n, what did he do to you?” you feel the tears begin to fall again at his words as he quickly went into his kitchen and grabbed a wash cloth, running it under some water and returning to your place on the couch.

he leaned before you, sat on his knees as he brought the towel to your face, the wetness soothing your marks much more than your tears had been doing as he places a hand on your chest in an attempt to calm you down.

“shhh just breathe, it’s okay, just breathe.” something about him always calmed you down, and before you knew it, you weren’t crying anymore, and instead were sitting across from him obediently as he tended to your wounds.

“what happened?” he questioned, and without the tears clouding your vision, you were able to see his beautiful sculpted face in front of you, his blonde hair sat messily on top of his head, slightly wet as if he had just showered, and his beautiful pink plump lips that you always stared at a little too long.

“i wore that dress you got me… for my birthday.” you spoke quietly, watching as your best friend’s face changed from soft to angry, almost infuriated at the idea that your boyfriend would lay a hand on you. jimin was your best friend, of course he knew things like this were happening, but he never knew the extent of it, and he never got involved because you begged him so many times to leave it alone. but things had gotten worse the past couple months, and you hadn’t been able to see him due to your boyfriend’s restrictions. he knew how much jimin cared about you, and knew that if you ever had to chose between the two of them, you wouldn’t chose him.

he brought a hand up to your face, carefully tucking a hair behind your ear as he scattered soothing strokes across your cheek that had yet to be marked.

“im so sorry, y/n. i should’ve never given that to you. god i should kill him for this. i should fucking kill him.”

“stop, jimin. this isn’t your fault and you know it.” you bring your hand up to his, taking his fingers within yours as you relish in the feeling of his warm skin against yours.

“i told him i needed time to think. i left. god i don’t know what im going to do.” you cover your face, trying your best not to cry again as you question whether or not you made the right decision. he would never leave you alone, he would track you down, go to your work, show up at your apartment. it happened before. where would you even live now that you’ve moved in together? you felt your head begin to spin with all the uncertainty and jimin quickly noticed, cupping your face with his hands as he brought your head up to look at him.

“hey, listen to me. you do not need to make a decision right now, okay? im here, im not leaving you. we’ll get through this together, okay?” you almost want to cry at his words. you had never met a man who cared about you as much as jimin. your whole life you had been pushed around and bullied by men, even by your father. and jimin came along and licked up every one of your wounds, he cared about you when no one else did.

you leaned forward, wrapping your arms around his neck as you pulled him into a hug, the feeling of his hands wrapping around your waist made you only melt deeper.

“thank you. im so sorry i know you like your quiet time and your space-“

“are you kidding? i haven’t seen you in weeks, you’re more than welcome here and you know it.” he pulls away from the hug smiling as he leans in and kisses your forehead, standing to his feet and walking over to the kitchen.

“now, let’s get you out of that dress, yeah? as beautiful as you look i doubt you’re comfortable.” he throws the towel down onto the counter as he walks back to you, taking your hand in his as he leads you to his bedroom.

“does this mean i can raid your closet?” you ask excitedly. you always loved stealing his t-shirts, you didn’t know why but they were just so damn comfortable.

you heard him laugh gently, “of course.” and you can’t help but use your last bit of energy to jump excitedly, running to his closet and quickly finding a t-shirt that you think you’d like the most.

as much as he was happy to see you, jimin was doing his best to keep his composure right now. he was insanely protective of you, and the fact that your piece of shit boyfriend was possibly going to get away with this drove him mad. this was the first time he had seen you smile in months, and he refused to let it be the last. he was going to keep you away from that man no matter what it took.

you turned to face him, holding the shirt up before receiving a nod of approval. you smile before your face turns slightly, watching as jimin stands across from you.

“umm hello? a little privacy?” you tease and watch as jimin chuckles lowly in response.

“why don’t you take a hot shower, it might help.” he walks closer to you, taking the shirt from your hand and leading you to the bathroom.

“come on i don’t want to use up all your hot water like i did last time, you know i take long showers.” you protest, but they’re no use as jimin leans into the tub and turns the shower on, the steam quickly filling the confined space.

“trust me, i’ll be fine.” he laughs again, before heading to the door. you feel a strange pang in your chest at the thought of being alone. it was a strange sensation, but it made you feel like your head was going to explode. you quickly grab his hand before he’s able to exit, turning him to face you.

“im sorry it’s just… i don’t really want to be alone right now.” you say meekly, looking down at your feet in embarrassment.

jimin’s blood runs cold at your proposal, but he was a good man, he wasn’t going to take advantage of you in this vulnerable state.

“i’ll be right on the other side of the door.” he says again, tapping your hand reassuringly before trying to leave again, only for you to pull his wrist harder.

“please.” jimin feels his dick twitch as your gentle begging, but quickly removes the thought from his brain. he stands still for a moment, looking at your state before landing on your eyes, they were full of desperation, not in a lustful way, but in a painful way. you had been through so much. he felt his heart break gently before turning his body around completely and shutting the door completely, now enclosing you both into the small space.

“okay.” he watches as a small smile appears on your lips.

“no looking though.” you tease as you place your hands on his shoulders and turn him around to face the door.

“yeah yeah.” you loved how you could be playful with him, it was something you never experienced with your boyfriend, he was always so serious all the time, never tried to make you smile or do little things to keep you happy. jimin was like a breath of fresh air, everytime you looked at him you could feel your heart flutter in your chest, he was more than just your best friend, he was your soulmate.

you carefully peel your dress off, checking occasionally to make sure he’s not peaking, but of course, he’s not.

you carefully step into the shower, pulling the curtain back and feeling a wave of warmth wash over your body. the gentle sting of the water against your wounds barely noticeable due to the pure relaxation you felt, your body being consumed by the heat of the shower.

“okay you can turn around now.” you say from behind the curtain, which concealed you from his view completely.

jimin turns around, carefully making sure you’re not visible, before taking a seat on the toilet and leaning back, allowing himself to relish in the humidity and warmth of the small room.

“how does it feel?” his voice is so perfect and sweet, the sound mixed with the subtle scent of his soap, and the heat of the shower sending shots to your core. his presence in the room felt so intimate, even though you weren’t touching.

“mmm it feels good.” you hum, leaning your head back to wet your hair completely, your body feeling fully at ease as you feel the knots in your back loosening, all stress from the day, from the last couple months washing away and swirling down the drain beneath you.

you enjoy the silence for a moment, knowing that jimin was close to you and still providing you with comfort despite the fact that you weren’t speaking. you begin to wash yourself carefully, starting with your hair, before landing on your body. you didn’t particularly want to clean yourself with men’s body wash, but you didn’t have much of an option, plus it was jimin’s, so you’d at least smell like him for a couple hours, and that thought alone made you feel completely full of love.

but you were missing something, a wash cloth.

“jimin do you mind grabbing me a wash cloth?” you ask through the curtain. you don’t hear a response from him, only the rustling of some drawers before you see his shadow approach the curtain.

you pull the side of it back slightly, and poke your head out to retrieve the towel, quickly realizing how close he was to the curtain, your faces only an inch apart as his eyes land on yours.

you’re unable to conjure any words, the closeness now feeling more intimate than you could’ve imagined, and you feel your core begin to tingle at the thought of his beautiful plump lips enclosing around yours.

you swallow the lump in your throat, your eyes tracing down his body and landing on his hand, which gripped the towel tightly, his knuckles white as opposed to the dark velvet of your boyfriend’s.

you bring your hand down, gliding it across his wrist gently as you note the subtle goosebumps that appear under his skin, before landing on the towel and slowly pulling it from his grip.

you bring your eyes back up to his, now slightly lidded as he looks down at you, his cheeks flushed and lips slightly parted.

it took nearly every bone in his body to keep from kissing you. he had always felt something special towards you, something he was never able to quite put his finger on. you were everything to him, his entire world, his best friend, his soulmate, but never once had you crossed the line and been anything else. you’d never even kissed each other, it was always strictly platonic. it was part of the reason why jimin always felt you had such a strong relationship, because you didn’t let your male-female instincts get involved. but right now, he wanted to cross the line, he wanted to show you what real love felt like, he wanted to ease all the pain in your body, take care of you in more ways than one. it was killing him.

you feel your cheeks blush as he brings a hand up to your face, his fingers cold as they run against your hot skin, the contrast quickly stirring something within your stomach.

“jimin.” your voice is a hushed whisper as you look up at him. you weren’t sure what you were begging for, whether or not you were begging at all. but you were overwhelmed with the tension between you too, it was more than you could bare.

he feels his dick twitch in his pants at the way you said his name, it was like an angel was stood before him, it would be almost sinful to now show you how much you meant to him.

his hand fully encloses around your cheek as he leans in gently, his eyes dancing between yours to look for any resistance, but he’s met with none. in fact, he notices how you gently lean in too, your eyes hooded as you feel your lips connect with one another, and just like that, everything else melts away.

his skin was cold against yours, his lips dry as yours were wet and warm, the contrast overwhelming you completely as you feel yourself fall into him. he brings his hand from your cheek to the back of your head, your wet hair tangling within his fingers as he pulls you deeper into the kiss, his tongue quickly swiping past your lips and into your mouth.

it was unlike any kiss you’d ever had, it wasn’t rough, in fact it was just the opposite; it was soothing. it felt like every wrongdoing you’d ever experienced in your life no longer existed, like you and jimin were the only two people on earth, like your souls were meeting together for the first time. it was pure passion, pure affection, pure love.

you moan gently into his mouth at his touch, his other hand slipping past the curtain and falling on your waist, rubbing gentle circles along your wet skin. your body was on fire, it was as if every move he made, every touch you felt was heightened, and you couldn’t get enough.

you bring your hands to his shirt, pulling him towards you, signaling for him to join you. jimin pulls away from the kiss slowly, his eyes falling on yours as you watch his lips turn a deeper shade of pink, his face slightly wet and shirt covered in small droplets of water as he looks at you deeply.

“are you sure?” his voice is velvety smooth as the words roll off his tongue, and unlike anything your boyfriend had asked of you, you knew jimin meant it.

you nod at him, feeling his hand fall from the back of your head back to your cheek as he gently rubs his fingers over the cuts and bruises, watching as you wince slightly from the pain.

his face turns slightly more serious now, his head tilting to the side and you know he’s worried about your mental and physical state. he’s a good man, and you loved that about him, but right now you wanted him to put his morals aside, just for tonight.

“im okay, i promise.” you reach up and grab his hand from your cheek reassuringly, and watch as he takes a step back from you before bringing his hands to the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head.

you admire the way his body is sculpted perfectly. of course you had seen him shirtless before, but never like this. it almost made him look more attractive in your eyes, and you found yourself noticing small freckles and moles you hadn’t noticed before, it was like your eyes were opening to what had been in front of you all along.

he brings his hands to the button of his jeans before looking up at you, his eyes silently signaling for you to turn around, and you roll yours in response before shutting the curtain and returning to your warm enclosure, hearing the sounds of his zipper and his pants being tossed carelessly off his legs somewhere in the background.

you close your eyes as you feel the water run down your chest and over your stomach, relishing in the tranquility of the situation for just a moment, until you hear the curtain pull back slowly, and small patter of his feet hitting the water before he joins in behind you.

you keep your eyes shut, your hands running through your hair as you allow the water to explore your face, running along the cuts and scrapes carefully, as if not to hurt you. and after what feels like hours, you feel a pair of hands land on your waist, rubbing gentle circles along your skin.

it feels like heaven, even the slightest touch from him is enough to overwhelm you completely.

you hear him take a step closer to you, his breath hot against your neck as leans down and places gentle kisses against your shoulder, lulling your head back against his chest.

“you’re so beautiful.” his voice is whispered as he continues to kiss up and down your shoulder before stopping at your neck. you feel your heart skip a beat as he breaths into the sensitive crook, almost as if he’s restraining himself, holding back. you bring your hand up to the back his head and pull him down into your neck, allowing him to roam free of your body, and he does just that. gently sucking and kissing every patch of skin he can find. it was completely different than what you were used to. your boyfriend was always so rough, marking you, bruising you in any way he possible could, but jimin was different, every touch, every kiss was deliberate, intricate, passionate. everything you could’ve ever dreamed of.

you can’t help the moans that slip past your lips as his hands begin to wander around your body, exploring your stomach, hips and waist, all while burying himself into your neck. it’s almost too much to bare.

you take a step backwards, now fully pressed against him as you feel his hard on slide up your back, earning a deep groan from him into your neck. you smile to yourself as you feel his movements become more needy, before finally landing between your legs. he stops for a moment, his hand trailing up your thighs as he waits for any signs of resistance, but you only spread them slightly to allow him better access.

he starts small, easy, bringing a finger up to your folds and tracing them carefully, watching as you moan and twist your body in response. to which he dives between your folds, taking his time on your clit, rubbing torturous circles on your bundle of nerves before falling down to your hole, prodding it gently as he watches your body melt against him.

he uses his other hand to move your hair to the other side of your neck, allowing him better access to your skin as he sinks his head closer to your ear.

“are you sure about this?” his voice is so sweet, so gentle, barely a whisper as he places another kiss on your neck, circling your hole gently and noticing the distinct difference between your slick and the wetness of the shower.

you nod again, not able to audibly respond as you feel overwhelmed with need and pleasure.

“gonna need you to use your words, love.” he begins to circle your cunt slower now, placing another gentle kiss behind your ear as he brings his other hand down to your hip, holding you against him in a way that’s firm, but still gentle.

you nod again, “im sure, jimin.”

he scans your face again for any signs of discomfort, but doesn’t notice anything, he only notices the way your eyebrows crease together the slower he plays with your cunt, the way your butt instinctively wiggles against his dick, and the way your legs subconsciously spread for him the closer and closer he gets to your entrance.

he smiles to himself before placing another kiss on your neck as he slowly inserts the first finger.

you feel a moan slip past your lips as his digit stretches you out carefully, slipping past your entrance with ease as he quickly lands on your g-spot, curling his fingers perfectly to release another moan from your throat.

you allow your head to fall against his chest again as he places another kiss on your shoulder, his other hand steadying you against him as he sets on a tireless but gentle pace within your cunt.

you feel like he’s kissing every wound you’ve ever felt, even with his fingers as you allow yourself to completely and fully submit yourself to him. you trusted him more than anyone else in this world, even in such a vulnerable state you knew he’d never do anything to hurt you.

“there you go, shhh it’s okay, im here now, i’ve got you.” he mumbles into your neck as he watches you come undone completely, fully falling into his grasp as he works his skillful fingers in and out of your cunt. you feel your legs shake gently at the knot building within your stomach, something you hadn’t felt in a very long time. in any other scenario you would be embarrassed by how quickly you began to reach your high, but not right now, not with him.

he notices how your legs begin to shake, how your moans begin to get louder and breathing increases, and he knows you’re getting close. as much as he wants to torture you, make you beg to cum, throw you over his leg and finger you until you can’t breathe anymore, he knows that what you need right now is relaxation. and if that means making you cum as many times as you want, he’s more than willing to oblige.

“close, baby?” he rasps against your ear, wrapping an arm around your stomach to better stabilize you as he continues to finger you, curling the single digit occasionally to only further your high.

you nod your head aggressively, getting lost in the way he feels, the way he talks, the feeling of the water against your chest, his dick poking your back slightly, his arm around your waist, and with the final curl of his finger, you feel yourself come undone completely.

you double over, your upper half only being held up by his arm around your waist as you tighten around his finger, pulling and pushing him out simultaneously as moans and hushed nothings spill from your lips.

“that’s it, good girl, good girl baby.” he praises, pulling his finger out of you and pulling your upper body back against him as he allows the water to run over your face and chest, bringing his hand up to your hair to push it out of your eyes gently, doing anything he can to soothe you during the intense wave of feelings.

you allow your breathing to stabilize as you relax against him, your legs shaking gently as you feel the water rush over you.

before you’re able to respond, you feel him lean in front of you, wrapping his hand against the knob and turning the water off.

you turn to face him, looking confused. “i-i wasn’t done.” your voice still shaking slightly from your interaction.

he shoots you a look, but still holds a slight smile on his face. “let’s be honest baby, you wouldn’t have been able to get anything done after that anyway.” you’re unable to gather a response as he begins helping you out of the shower, wrapping the towel around your body to dry you before carefully pulling the shirt over your head and body.

you stop for a moment, your eyes trailing down from his wet messy hair, to his chest, down to his perfectly pink throbbing cock.

you reach towards it, grabbing the head gently and watch as his knees buckle in response before quickly looking up at you and grabbing your hand, pulling it off carefully.

“don’t.” he shoots you a look, his voice sounding more serious than normal as he begins to dry himself off now, his eyes peaking through his hair occasionally and you admire how perfectly made he was. everything down to the very last detail, how could someone be so perfect?

“i want to.” you mumble, your eyes never leaving his.

“no you don’t, not tonight.” he breaks the eye contact as he puts the towel on a hook to dry, picking up his clothes from earlier and putting them back on.

“no, i do.” you take a step closer, placing a hand on his to stop his movements, pulling the clothes from his grip and dropping them back on the floor.

he looks at you for a moment, realizing your seriousness, and he knows he’ll only be able to restrain his desires for so long. without a response, he turns around and opens the door, walking back to his room as you hear him fumbling with some clothes in the closet as you quickly follow suit.

“you won’t hurt me, im okay.” you say popping into the room quickly. but still, no response.

he throws a clean shirt over his head and a pair of boxers over his legs as he faces the closet. you walk up behind him, admiring his shoulders for a moment before wrapping your arms around his waist and leaning your head against his back.

you’re still for a moment, allowing yourself to relish in the moment, in his scent, he doesn’t respond, but the silence isn’t uncomfortable, it never is with the two of you. you’re about to close your eyes when you feel him quickly turn around, his hands finding your cheeks as he attaches his lips to yours, the kiss much more heated than it was earlier as he backs you up towards the bed, laying you down on your back, but his lips never once faltering.

he pulls away to carefully observe your expression, which although surprised, is not upset. he examines the marks on your face one last time, before watching you nod your head reassuringly, this was something you wanted, and you knew he wanted it too.

he leans off the bed, pulling his boxers down swiftly as his cock springs free once more, and he returns to his place above you, a hand going in between the two of you as he aligns his cock with your entrance.

he brings the head between your folds, rubbing it up and down, collecting as much wetness as he can before stopping on your clit and pressing against it gently.

you moan in response, feeling more desperate than ever as he brings his cock back down to your hole, carefully nudging it and watching as your face contorts with pleasure.

“promise me this is what you want.” his eyes scan your face, dancing between your eyes as you nod your head in agreement, bringing a hand up to his cheek to stroke it gently.

“i promise.”

he leans down to kiss you, his lips feverish as he pushes his cock inside of you slowly, allowing your walls to stretch around his girth. you moan into the kiss, the feeling of his cock filling you up making your head spin with pleasure.

he continues to swallow your moans before bottoming out completely, his head nudging perfectly against your g spot as he adjusts his hips, rubbing against it teasingly, making you squeal out of sensitivity.

jimin pulls away from the kiss, looking down at your perfect face before leaning down and kissing the marks along your cheeks gently. he pulls his hips back as he begins to fall on a perfect pace, not too slow but not too fast.

“let me make it better.” his voice is almost a beg as he continues to kiss your cheek, one hand steadying himself by your head while the other holds your hip firmly in place.

you can’t help the noises that leave your body, the pleasure completely consuming you between his praises, and the way his cock perfectly fits inside of you.

“jimin.” you moan, your breath hot as he pulls back from your face and dives into the crook of your neck, continuing to place gentle kisses along your skin as his hips keep their pace perfectly.

your hands land to his hair, gripping it tightly as he works his magic on you. it was almost euphoric. the feeling of his cock stretching you out, the perfect words falling from his perfect lips, the trail of wet kisses along your body, it was pure bliss, and it was more than just sex. he wasn’t fucking you, you were making love.

he pulls away from your neck, his eyes landing on yours as his hips begin to roll into you, your eyes falling to the back of your head as he watches your face contort with pleasure.

“doing so well, baby. so perfect for me.” his praises shoot straight to your core as you feel another knot begin to build in your stomach. you wrap your legs around his waist, angling his cock directly into your g-spot as the pressure begins to build deeper and deeper, causing your moans to only increase in volume.

jimin carefully brings a hand up to your mouth, muffling your moans as his hips move faster.

“as beautiful as you sound, i still live in an apartment, baby.” he chuckles, feeling your breathing against his hand increase as you approach your second high of the night.

you feel your legs begin to shake again as you tighten their hold around his waist, causing his hips to stutter gently, the feeling of your walls constricting around him only making it harder for him to hold back.

“fuck, you’re close again, aren’t you?” he looks down at you, your eyes half shut as he removes his hand from your mouth to allow you to respond, but still, you only moan and nod your head in return.

“okay baby, it’s okay.” he says soothingly as he brings his now free hand between you to land on your clit, rubbing circles around it as his pace increases more now, watching as you begin to writhe in pleasure beneath him. he can feel how close you are, the way you tighten around him, the way your legs shake gently, and it’s only pushing him closer to the edge.

“fuck you’re gonna make me cum.” he groans, ducking his head into the crook of your neck as he ruts into you, feeling your walls constrict one last time as you release onto him, his cock now soaked with your juices as your body flinches beneath him.

his hips stutter for a moment at the feeling of you tightening around him again, and he barely has enough time to pull out of you before painting your stomach white. he would do anything to cum inside of you, coat your walls with his seed but he would save it for another time.

he collapses on top of you, both of your bodies heaving and sweaty as you hold each other close, the feeling of your breathing against each other being the most intimate moment of the night.

he pulls his head back to admire you for a moment, your cheeks flushed, your body panting, his cum perfectly scattered on your stomach, before quickly running off and grabbing a towel, returning as soon as he can to clean you off properly.

he pulls your shirt down over your body before laying down beside you and pulling you towards him, your bodies now meshed together perfectly as you fit into one another, your breathing still somewhat quick as you come down from what was probably the most intense moment of your life.

he looks down at you, a small smile on his face as he realizes he might’ve made your decision to leave your boyfriend a little easier knowing you had someone who actually loved you, and wanted to take care of you in any way he could.

he begins to draw small patterns on your arm, holding you close as he allows you to drift off into sleep on his chest, staring at the ceiling as he listens to your breathing slow and small snores escape your lips.

Nayeon shakes her head at you, turning her eyes back to the road. “That’s not true. I heard he only broke up with his ex recently. Maybe he’s just taking a break from … well, you know: other girls. I think that’s fair.” You don’t say anything, but you know she’s right. “And I think …” Nayeon follows, while you mentally prepare for what you know she’ll say, “I think you should learn to do that too.”

“Nayeon!” you whine.

“What? You also just broke up with Taehyun—there should be a waiting period, don’t you think? At least like—four months.”

“Four months?!” you screech. It’s a passing thought that she’s right. Deep down, you know that space is just what you need—a vacation from boys—all of them.

“Yes, four months. Seriously, do you think you’re even emotionally over Taehyun?”

You frown at her question, because you both know the answer to that. For god’s sake, you’d called her crying over how you fucked up by breaking up with him. “I mean—”

“You know, I don’t even think four months would be long enough for you. You’re so far gone, I think you might need at least a year before you can emotionally commit to someone.”

“Wow,” you say dryly. “Didn’t know you knew me better than myself.”

Nayeon smirks at you. “I mean, I think we both know that’s true.”

You huff, crossing your arms over your shoulder, looking at the window. Even with her rather annoying (albeit correct) analysis of your feelings, you’re grateful for her emotional support, and her offer to pick you up from the airport.

“How have you and Cheol been,” you ask her a few moments later, hopefully diverting the conversation. Nayeon huffs at your persistence on not talking about this, but she finally lets up.

“We’ve been good. Long distance has been easier than we expected,” she replies honestly.

“That’s good, I’m glad,” you say, trying to ignore the way your heart pangs just a little. It’s unfortunate that you and Taehyun weren’t so lucky. You two lasted ten months of long distance before things began to crumble.

You push the thought of you and Taehyun to the back of your mind. Just even hearing his name is enough for your stomach to turning into ugly knots, memories flooding back to you about just how badly you fucked up.

You try to remind yourself that mistakes happen to be learned from.

You can only hope that you don’t let anything like that happen again. Ever again.

It’s the next night when Nayeon climbs into your car as you park out in front of her place. “Coming home for break never really gets old, huh,” she says, buckling up over her lacy top.

“Cute top,” you compliment as you pull out of her driveway and make your way back onto the road.

“Thanks. Cheol got it for me,” she replies with a grin. “You ready for the night?” she asks with a slightly sarcastic laugh.

“Rhetorical question?” you shoot back with a raised brow. “Honestly, I’m not sure. It might be nice to see everyone together again, but also I’m glad that we left a lot of those people in the past.”

“Ooh, what do you mean by that?” Nayeon coos, and you both laugh together.

“As if you don’t know what I mean. I can’t imagine you’re exactly looking forward to seeing Renjun again.”

Nayeon grimaces deeply when you say that. “Why would you say that?” she whines. “Just had to go and remind me about him …”

“Nayeon, I love you but I’m not apologizing because you’re literally going to see him in ten minutes.”

“Whatever. Anyways, I know I told you to take time away from guys, but you’ve been pretty mopey about this whole thing with Taehyun and—”

“Hey! You said it was okay if I talked about him.”

“Before you rudely cut me off,” Nayeon snaps, “I was going to say that it’s okay to be upset about him. I just think maybe it’s also okay to let him out of your system, y’know? Deep clean sorta thing.”

You cock an eyebrow at her. “And how do you suggest I do that?”

“Well I was getting to that! You know who’s going to be there tonight?” she says excitedly.

“Oh let me guess,” you say flatly, pausing for an intentional five seconds before deadpanning, “oh my gosh, Mingyu?”

“Yeah! Come on, be more excited about it!” Nayeon cheers you on.

You sigh dramatically. “You know, I would be a lot more excited about seeing him if he didn’t air me when I messaged him a month ago.” You physically cringe whenever the image of your lone message in the chat with Mingyu pops into your head.

are you going to be home for the break?

He never responded, casually on brand for Mingyu and his nonchalance.

“The others haven’t talked to him since high school right?” you confirm with Nayeon. “None of you guys were really friends with him, if I remember correctly.”

“Yeah, I mean all of them don’t like him,” Nayeon says, referring to her other group of friends. You furrow your eyebrows.

“I guess he was kinda mean in high school …” you reply with a sigh. It’s true. Mingyu was kinda mean. Nayeon gives you a questionable look.

“No—well yeah—but they all don’t like him because they liked him and he didn’t give a shit. Hell, even I thought Mingyu was cute, but he would like never do anything with any of us.”

You purse your lips. You didn’t know that. “Oh really,” you say dryly.

“Yeah,” Nayeon says with a half laugh, and then shoots you a smirk. “That’s kinda why at the beginning of senior year Seoyeon was kinda, well, you know—”

“Bitchy,” you finished off for her. “I guess it makes sense,” you continue with a little sparkle in your eyes. You feel a wave of giddiness wash over you as you let yourself smile when you say, “I mean, I did get to kiss him.”

When you were with Taehyun, you always tried to avoid thinking about what happened that one night in senior year. Drunk for the first time ever, sharing a few puffs of weed with Mingyu, and there you and him were, cuddling on Nayeon’s friend’s couch in the living room in front of all of your friends. And then eventually the couch turned into a bed, and you weren’t surrounded by your friends, you were surrounded by four walls and a locked door, and of course you weren’t cuddling—damn it—you were on Mingyu’s lap and kissing him.

But of course, it was no perfect evening, because then the ruckus that follows 10 shots of alcohol began to crawl up your throat, and Nayeon was banging on the door (god, who’s room even was this?); so you flung yourself out of the room and hurled into the toilet across the hall.

That’s all you remember from the night, but unfortunately your friends reminded you of your rather poor alcohol decisions when you were sober the next morning.

“You kissed Mingyu!” they had said. “That’s fucking crazy. Didn’t you like him like two years ago?”

You had grimaced at them. Shrugged, trying to act like that wasn’t all that was running through your head because yeah, you did like Mingyu two years ago and it might’ve been a silly little hallway crush but god, if he didn’t have your stomach doing twists and turns for no damn reason and—

Eyes on the road, you remind yourself when you feel like you’re getting too caught up in your thoughts. Clearing your mind as you near the parking lot of the bar, you and Nayeon chat up on the latest gossip about all the people you’re about to see.

Soon, you make it into the bar, and you’re met with a myriad of familiar faces. They greet you with polite small talk and it’s a little bit funny. You have seen these people at quite possibly the most embarrassing era of their lives; and they had seen you at yours. It’s funny how you now exchange awkward smiles and unfamiliar handshakes with these same people.

You say hi to them slowly, one by one, checking them off in your head. Renjun … Joshua … Wonwoo … Seungkwan … Soonyoung … and the list goes on. Silently, you brace yourself for the last person of the lot.

Everyone’s conversing among themselves, so you’re confident that no one’s going to watch the horribly awkward interaction you and Mingyu have when your eyes meet as you approach him. You both might have agreed to pretend nothing ever happened between you two, but there’s something uneasy in the air right now. You haven’t seen each other in over a year.

You’ve been watching him from the corner of your vision. He’s got on a black button up, casually unbuttoned, shiny watch glinting against the dim bar lights, dark wash jeans that make his butt look really nice and—

God, you need to stop getting so ahead of yourself. You find yourself almost faltering in your step, getting caught up in your thoughts when you approach him.

“Hi,” you say to Mingyu once you finally find yourself in front of him. You try and distract yourself from the way heat is rushing to your face as you remember that he’s probably read the message you sent him, but you hope he won’t bring it up.

“Long time no see,” Mingyu responds with a smile you can’t quite read. You two stand in a bit of an awkward silence before you get the feeling that you don’t really want to be in this situation anymore. You clear your throat and straighten your back upon the realization.

“Well,” you say, letting your eyes wander elsewhere in the bar. “It was nice seeing you. I’m gonna just—” you point at Nayeon with a few of your other friends by the barstools, “—get going, you know, and—” you almost find yourself rambling before you choose to shut yourself up and walk away.

As you’re turning away, you hear Mingyu call your name for god knows what reason.

“We should catch up,” he says casually.

There it is. That’s it.

You turn back to him for just a moment, flashing a smile and a nod, before going back to spend some time with your other friends.

It’s about an hour and a half later, and you and your girl friends are past the pleasantries and now knee-deep into sharing the raunchy details of the past few semesters at college.

At some point, the drinks everyone had gotten at the beginning seemed to be running dry, so Seoyeon says, “Hey ladies, anyone ready for another few rounds of drinks, or—”

“Or even better!” Sakura squeals. “Shots! Who wants shots?!”

All of your friends cheer, and you smile along with them. “You guys go ahead,” you tell them when they start picking their stuff from where you’re seated to the bar area. “I’m driving tonight, so I’ll pass,” you explain, patting Nayeon on the shoulder.

She hugs you from the side, murmuring, “Ugh, you’re the best,” before joining the others as they head for their new round of drinks—or shots, was it—or maybe both—who knows? As they start walking away, you see a tall figure walking toward you, and once you recognize just who it’s about to be, your stomach does a flip.

“Hey,” Mingyu greets you once again, after the others all leave, and you’re scared to look him in the eye. You can see it from the corner of your vision: that gleam in his eyes. It’s mischievous, almost, but mixed with something else you can’t quite figure out.

He’s an enigma, you remind yourself again, and you don’t think you’ll ever quite figure him out.

“Hey,” you say softly, unsure what to follow with. You grip your mocktail from earlier a little tighter, using your other hand to stir it round with the thin straw.

“So, how’ve you been?” Mingyu asks you with a smile, raising both his eyebrows in a way that almost makes you want to call him cute. He leans against a wall beside you both, and gosh—it’s sexy too, and it’s driving you ‘cause he’s cute and he’s sexy at the same damn time, and you just can’t wrap your mi—

The question. You need to answer his question.

“I’ve been … alright,” you tell him, finally lifting your gaze to look up at his eyes. They’re staring right back at you, and you may not be under the influence, but you’re definitely under his. “Pretty good, recently actually,” you decide to add, some rush of excitement flooding over you. “You?”

Mingyu smiles at your near chirpiness, still holding eye contact. “Guess I could say the same. I’ve been better,” he says, and you both chuckle. “But I’ve been doing good, especially back here at home,” he says.

“Yeah,” you agree, “Something about this place, huh?”

“Something about this place …” Mingyu repeats, “Yeah. Well that’s fuckin’ true. It makes me feel a certain way.”

“Brings back the memories for me,” you say.

“The good?” Mingyu asks with a bit of an open-mouthed smile. “Or the bad?”

You look up at the ceiling, holding a finger to your chin while pretending to think intensely. “Both!” you conclude after a few seconds. Mingyu lets out a small laugh at your display, and then you find yourself thinking about that stupid four letter word. Cute.

“Cheers to that,” he chuckles, holding his bottle of beer up to you. You hold your mocktail glass up as well, clicking the glass with Mingyu and smiling together.

“Hey,” he continues, “can I get you another drink? Not sure how long you’ve been holding onto that one, but it seems like it’s no good now anyways.”

“Oh, no, no, no! I’m not drinking tonight—gotta get Nayeon and myself home safely. This is so I still look like I’m having a drink. Mocktail,” you tell him.

“Oh really? That’s funny. I never took you as a DD kinda girl—I’m much more familiar with the version of you that … well, you know.”

Yeah, yeah you did fucking know.

“What can I say, I’m a changed woman,” you claim coolly, aiming to act unbothered by what he just brought up. You take this as your chance to lean into him a little closer, holding your drink up to his nose. “What? Don’t believe me? Smell it.”

This time, Mingyu leans in even closer to you, hardly a foot of space between you two. You can only hope no one sees you two like this. Luckily for you and Mingyu, everyone seems to be a bit preoccupied with their own shenanigans elsewhere.

“Guess I believe you,” he finally concludes, lifting his head back up and settling back in his previous position. “So how’s school? Heard you’re running with that—what is it—math degree?”

“Yeah,” you reply with a smile. The thought of Mingyu hearing about you and remembering the details has you feeling some kind of way. “Got a few more courses left and then I can graduate! I’m assuming the same for you—only two more semesters, yeah?”

“Yeah, pretty much. I might go abroad this next semester actually,” he tells you.

“Oh really. Where’re you headed?”

“Spain, hopefully. Still waiting to see if I’ll be able to graduate on time if I go.”

“Wow,” you say in a breath. The image of Mingyu walking the roads of Spain under the sun, his tan skin glowing from the— “Wow, yeah. Spain is really cool. I’ve never been.”

“You should stop by,” Mingyu says with a shrug, almost too casually. You narrow your eyebrows at him.

Just as you’re about to respond, Nayeon drapes herself over you from behind, a little more than tipsy to add. You’re a bit startled, eyes wide and facing Mingyu as you both take a few steps, backing away from each other.

“Hey,” Nayeon greets with a faint slur, pointing a lazy finger at Mingyu. “This,” she says exaggeratedly, this time moving her finger to point at you, “is my lovely DD for the night, so I’d appreciate it if you don’t take her out for a puff.”

Mingyu gives her a flat look. “Wasn’t planning on it,” he says dryly, clearly bothered by Nayeon’s interruption.

Nayeon shrugs and you’re a little bit confused as to why she’s suddenly acting with this edge of hostility towards Mingyu. (Last you checked, their families were friends, and Nayeon was one of the only girls here who didn’t truly dislike him.)

“Wouldn’t count on it, you know, given what happened the last time,” Nayeon bites back, and this time you’re the one to be slightly irritated.

You shrug her off your back, saying, “Nayeon, don’t worry, I’m not gonna smoke or anything—trust me.” You think thoughtfully, glancing between her and Mingyu who has an indecipherable look on his face, and then you add, “And Mingyu wouldn’t anyways. I already told him I’m driving home. Why don’t you go hang out with Sakura? Looks like she’s calling you over.”

“Really?” Nayeon squeals, and just as quickly as she showed up, she’s gone again.

You chuckle as she hurries off, turning back to Mingyu. “Sorry about that,” you tell him sheepishly when you catch the way his lips are pursed tightly.

“Your friends will never let that up, huh?” he says, and you think he almost sounds annoyed as he takes a sip of his drink.

You raise a brow. “Have your friends let it up? Probably not, huh?” you bite back, a little mischievously. You’re both teetering around the topic—not exactly talking about what happened that night years ago, but at the same time, you’re both definitely talking about just exactly that.

Mingyu chuckles. “Touche.”

You’re unsure of what to say next. You can’t quite tell where this conversation is headed—if it’ll lead you to another dead end—another few years of shoving your lust for Mingyu to the back of your mind before he pops up again and makes you start all over again. There’s always going to be a little spark though, kindling somewhere inside you, ready to plunge yourself into this man you hardly know.

“Senior year was kinda crazy, wasn’t it?” you say with a sly smile.

When Mingyu mirrors the look on your face, you swear you feel the spark turn into a small flame. “Yeah, you could put it like that.”

You’re surely not intoxicated, but when you sense him shuffling a little closer to you, running his hands through his thick dark hair, a wave of boldness courses through you. “Do you miss it?” you ask, almost innocently, with your big pretty eyes staring up at him.

Mingyu smirks. “I probably should say no … but that would be lying. And I am no longer a liar.”

“Oh, has the Kim Mingyu retired from his title of pathological liar?”

Mingyu laughs this time, and it’s hearty. “I have, but just for tonight.”

“Does that mean I’m never going to see this truthful, honest version of yourself again?” you whine with a fake pout. You’re treading unfamiliar waters here, but you can’t remember the last time you had this much fun single.

Mingyu gives you a warning look, but then smiles. He opens his mouth, ready to respond, when Joshua calls out his name.

“Yo Mingyu! Check this out!” he yells from across the bar.

“Give me a second,” Mingyu calls back, but just as he’s about to turn back to you, Wonwoo speaks up.

“Nah Mingyu, you gotta come over now. Soonyoung’s doing this weird ass thing and—hurry up! He’s not gonna do it again and—” You hear a series of unintelligible shouts come from that area, and Mingyu gives an apologetic look before tending to his friends.

There’s something in his eyes that told you, this isn’t finished yet, but before you know it your friends scoop you up from the table area and pull you over to where they’re playing pool. Soon, any hopes you had of talking to Mingyu again were slim to none, both of you two involved with whatever your friends were doing, but also conscious about how it would look if you guys talked alone for any longer.

You can’t handle the speculation.

You’re pretty confident Mingyu wouldn’t be a fan either.

Later that night, you drop Nayeon off at her house, and then make your way back to your own home. After doing your nightly routine, you slip into the soft covers of your bed when you hear a soft buzz come from your phone.

You’re not exactly sure who’d be texting you at this hour, but as you reach for your device, something in your stomach just knows.

You’re smiling before you even tap your screen.

You’re grinning by the time you see the name pop up brightly.

mingyu: my fault for not responding earlier mingyu: so boba tomorrow at 8?

“Can’t remember the last time I had boba past 6 pm, to be honest. Weird choice,” you remark, tapping on the kiosk to adjust your order to your liking.

“You gonna be sassy about every decision I make?” Mingyu huffs, standing right by you in the empty little boba shop. You hum, as you continue to finalize your order.

“Mm, that depends.”

“On?”

“On what kinda decisions you make.”

Mingyu scoffs. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, that’s kinda my thing, you know?” you reply cheekily, clicking on the ‘Ready to Pay’ option on the screen. Just as you’re about to pull out your card, a firm hand is on your shoulder. You look up at Mingyu as he gently pushes you to the side and replaces your spot in front of the kiosk.

You don’t say anything as he punches in his own order, pulls out his credit card, and pays for both of your drinks. As the machine outputs the receipt, you show him a small smile. “Thanks. You didn’t have to.”

Mingyu gives you a look. “Yeah, I did.” There’s a bit of an awkward silence. Mingyu paying for your drink isn’t too weird—your guy friends in college buy you food all the time! Albeit you do occasionally return the favor, it never feels anything more than platonic.

So why does it give you butterflies when Mingyu so casually puts you under his tab?

You choose not to care. You’re not expecting anything out of this, after all. This is just for all good fun—reminiscing, if you wanted to put it like that.

“What’d you get?” you ask him, breaking the silence, as you peer over his arm to glance at the receipt. The action has your cheek brushing against his shoulder, and something tells you the both of you are thinking about it just as much as the other.

“Passionfruit green tea,” he says, holding the receipt closer to you so you can read it more clearly.

“Mmm, yummy,” you say gleefully, giving Mingyu a cheeky smile.

“Hey,” he scoffs. “I didn’t say I’d let you try my drink! Don’t get ahead of yourself now,” he teases.

You pout and furrow your eyebrows. “What the hell, Mingyu? Why not?” you cry out overdramatically. “Oh come on, I was gonna share my toffee caramel tea with you!”

Mingyu rolls his eyes playfully. “I don’t like toffee.”

“I didn’t know that! I would have ordered something else then.”

“Too bad you didn’t,” Mingyu replies with a carefree shrug.

You glare at him, stomach fluttering with something youthful—you’re having fun with Mingyu. “That’s not fair!” you whine.

“Must suck,” he says indifferently, watching you cross your arms over your chest from the corner of his vision. Something sparks inside Mingyu in the moment, watching you look up at him through your thick lashes. “Maybe I can give you a sip or two …”

Your eyes glow. “Really?”

Mingyu grins. “Yeah, but you’re going to have to repay me.”

Your eyes meet, and there’s something electric in the way you look at each other. The thought crosses your mind that this is something you definitely shouldn’t be doing. That what you're just about to do will be a terribly wrong move for you and your freshly broken heart.

But Mingyu’s eyes are glimmering, and there’s something in your stomach that is yelling at you to stop thinking so damn much and slam on the accelerator. You beam up at him with a challenging gaze.

“How do you want me to do that?”

An hour later you’re in Mingyu’s room, stumbling through his door with your hands already all over each other. His lips are soft against yours, peppering short but hot kisses all over you, your face, your neck and—god, fuck, how does he know about that one spot on your neck?

“Ah, Mingyu,” you moan quietly when his hands palm at your hip, fingers sliding under your shirt and brushing over your skin. His hands are warm, but still you shiver at the touch—just knowing it’s Mingyu and you, alone in this moment, is enough to have your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Well, that, and the way he’s got his tongue tracing over your collarbone. He’s too good at this, you think to yourself for a moment, before getting lost in the feeling. Soon, he brings his lips back to yours, and you kiss fervently as you stumble backwards into his bed.

With the back of your knees hitting the mattress, you both go tumbling onto the sheets, and suddenly everything feels all too familiar. Mingyu’s hands in your hair. Your lips glossy and swollen as you start to press kisses into his neck. The growing heat between the two of you.

You and Mingyu twist around in the sheets for a blissful moment, clothes and hair going awry as your limbs intertwine in this hot, messy mess of a hook-up. At some point, Mingyu ends up underneath you, back propped up against the mattress so that he’s sitting up straight, your legs straddling him as you nestle in his lap.

With your hands all over each other, he’s got his grip on your hips, pushing them up and forward in a curved motion that has you grinding against him. “Fuck,” you whimper when you feel his painfully hard length brush against your throbbing heat.

Your tummy tumbles at the prospects of what’s to come. Pulling back from Mingyu’s hot lips, you get to see him in a way you never thought you’d get to again—cheeks flushed, eyes fluttered shutted, and swollen lips partially open and panting for breath. His dark wisps of hair come down over his forehead, sticking to the thin layer of sweat that coats his tan skin.

Slowly Mingyu begins to open high eyes, laughing lightly. The sound makes you want to grin into eternity. Gently, he cups your face and pulls you in for a kiss, this one much softer, much lighter than the ones before.

Mingyu kisses you with what—dare you say it—care. He kisses you with care, he holds your chin as if it were made of glass, he brushes his tongue against yours in a way that tells you he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but here and—

The thoughts have you reeling. Has being sexless for the past few months made you this vulnerable? you think to yourself in a passing moment; has the lack of male physical contact been this detrimental to your ability to have sex without feelings?

The moment passes, and you choose to push your thoughts to the back of your mind, pushing your lips harder into Mingyu’s to fuel a more fiery, more aggressive kiss. He groans into it, and the burning heat you feel every time you grind down on it makes it impossible for you to wait longer.

Slowly, you pull away from him and scoot down the bed between his legs. For a moment, Mingyu is still in a daze, eyes half open as he still imagines the feeling of his lips on yours. You inch down further, bringing your hands closer and closer to the waistband of his jeans.

Right as your fingers brush over the little bit of skin that peeks between his shirt and his belt, Mingyu lets out a soft gasp. Looking up at him, you’re met with the sight of his blown out eyes as he reaches down to hold your face again.

“I-I know I said you gotta repay me, but you know, you don’t really have to—not like this at least. I mean you can, but not if you don—” Mingyu rambles for a moment, and you almost want to use that god-forsaken word. Cute.

“Hey,” you say quietly, pressing your index finger to his lip. “Lemme do this—I want to.” You feel him relax under you, the finger that was on his lips slowly tracing down his jaw and then his neck, inching to his collar and—

Oh, he’s already gotten started on unbuttoning his shirt. You almost forget to get back at it, with the way you’re staring him down right now. Mingyu chuckles a little, watching the way your eyes dilate as you gaze over him.

“Like what you see?” He says it in a way like he knows what he’s doing to you. Like he knows you’ve got a puddle between the crest of your thighs.

You’re not shameful enough to stop yourself from grinning and nodding, “I do.”

Mingyu’s eyes flame with that hunger you’ve seen before. He likes the way you’re doing this. “You’re the fuckin’ devil aren’t you?” he coos, as you start to unbuckle his belt, pulling down the waistband of his pants. He lifts his hips as you pull them further down, patiently waiting for your response.

“The devil … you must think red suits me then,” you say it like a question. The way you smile tells Mingyu you’ve got something hidden up your sleeve. While he shrugs off his unbuttoned shirt, you sit nestled between his legs still fully clothed.

Mingyu watches you as you tug at the hem of your shirt before gently pulling it over your head, revealing a deep red lacy bra underneath.

“Speak of the devil herself,” Mingyu breathes out with a small smile, continuing to watch as you shimmy off your bottoms and reveal matching red panties. You admit: it’s doing a lot for a first boba date, but you can’t help but think it fits the scene perfectly.

Mingyu leans forward, pressing kissing on the bare skin of your chest as you play with the waistband of his briefs before finally pushing them down to reveal his length. Looking down, it’s long and it’s pretty and it’s thick, with veins pushing up against the sides.

With a soft gasp, you pull away from Mingyu and slowly settle yourself lower in the bed so that you’re laying stomach side down right in between his legs. Mingyu watches you from his view above; he watches the ways your eyes slowly gaze over his dick, fingers inching toward it before finally wrapping around the base.

He nearly gasps when you do—and Kim Mingyu is no virgin—but something about the warmth in your fingertips and the softness in your touch has him feeling electric. So when you bring your tongue to his shiny tip and lap, he straight up moans.

The sound alone has you opening your mouth wider, taking him fully into your mouth and down. Immediately, Mingyu’s hands shoot to your head, scooping up bundles of your hair and holding it behind your head. Slowly, you find yourself in a pattern of moving your head up and down, except there’s just one problem.

Mingyu is far too big and he’s far too gentle—you can’t fit enough of him in your mouth and he’s not exactly pushing you down so you think it’s time to take some action.

So as gently as you can, you begin to hollow out your cheeks and push yourself further down his length, eyes shutting when he hits the back of your throat. At once, you hear a loud groan and if you could move your lips right now, you’d be grinning.

And so you do it again. You pull your head back up and just as your lips are about to leave his tip you come back down and push as far as you can go, each time going a bit further down than the last. You do it a few more times before your jaw begins to ache for a break, and you pull yourself off of him completely.

You’re met with Mingyu’s dazed eyes as you look up. “You’re crazy,” he pants, fingers still tangled in your hair. “Holy fuck, you’re crazy.”

You grin up at him. “Sorry,” you say cheekily, watching as he throws his head back, taking deep breaths of air. His firm chest rises up and down heavily, and the heat between your legs grows at the realization that you’re the one to have him like this.

“Don’t apologize—shit—that was so—d-do that again,” he says, eyes darkening when he looks back down at you. His hands gingerly wipe some tears from your cheeks, going back up to hold your hair all the way back again. “That was so fucking hot.”

Your stomach churns as you part your lips again, wrapping them around his tip which now adorns a pretty stream of pre. He groans again when you envelop him in your mouth, hollowing out your cheeks as you start to move down again.

To be honest, you’re not usually this good at giving head, but with Mingyu, he’s got this—oh, there it is—the way your name rolls of his lips in a deep, guttural tone that has you gushing in your panties, and then you can’t help but press down more.

So you do it again, and again, until Mingyu’s practically thrusting his hips up as you take him into your mouth, his handsome face glistening with sweat from restraining himself. You don’t know how much time goes by but at some point you feel a tug; you look up and it’s Mingyu’s hands guiding your head off of him and pulling you into his mouth.

He kisses you messily, tongues licking into each others’ mouths as you shift so that you’re back at straddling him. With Mingyu fully naked, your bare stomach presses against his skin when his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you close.

Instinctively, your arms wrap around Mingyu’s neck as you continue to kiss into him, bodies melting into one. You ease back to your previous movement of grinding into him, but with such little fabric between the two of you this time, it’s getting harder and harder to wait.

It doesn’t take long for his hand to make its way to your panties, rubbing your heat over the soaked fabric for a moment before lifting it and pushing it to the side.

Mingyu pulls away now, watching your face slowly contort into expressions of pleasure as he runs his fingers up and down between your sopping hole and clit.

“Mingyu,” you manage to whimper through heavy breaths.

“Yeah baby?” The nickname itself nearly has your eyes rolling to the back of your head. He probably doesn’t have a clue about what he does to you.

“Can’t wait,” you tell him quickly, hands already grabbing for his glistening length. Mingyu, a little startled by your forwardness, falters back into the headboard a bit, relaxing for hardly a second before he feels your fingers guiding his dick toward your hole.

He thought he’d sit there and finger you first—give you a good eating out because if anything, Mingyu’s always really wanted a taste of you first—but something about the way you look at him with these eyes that look like you’d give him the world and more has him bending to your needy wishes/

So, when his tip is finally at your entrance, you both moan loudly. Your fingers make your way up to Mingyu’s neck, playing with the soft and short hairs that sit at the nape of his neck. “Oh,” you say in a sigh when his hips gently push you down to envelope his tip.

Even having him in your mouth couldn’t prepare you for taking Mingyu’s length inside of you. His tip, thick and bulbous, presses into you, and inch by inch you begin to let out small gasps.

“You’re—holy shit, you’re so big, M’ngyu,” you whimper.

You say it so cutely, Mingyu can’t help but groan under his breath. “Yeah?” he manages out, trying to hide the extent to which you’ve got him in a daze. “Can’t take it?” he coos.

Mingyu is, at the very least, extremely pleased when you—you, in your lustful, hazy state—still manage to cock an eyebrow at him and retort, “Of course I can.”

“Atta girl,” Mingyu murmurs, smiling with pride as he reaches for hips. Lowering your body over his dick, he watches you carefully while you continue to take him all in.

The way your chest heaves up and down in short breaths as you try to control yourself. The way your eyebrows pinch together every few seconds when you let out a small moan. The way your stomach twitches and turns when he brushes a finger over your clit.

You’re beautiful. You’re so beautiful to Mingyu, he doesn’t think anyone can comprehend all the ways he wants to fuck you right now. Well, that is, anyone but you, because as soon as your bottom is pressed against Mingyu’s legs and you’ve gone as far down as you can go, you bring yourself back up and grind back down on his dick.

“Fuck, do that again,” Mingyu demands, but it comes out as nothing more than a pleading gasp as you both get used to the feeling of each other—it’s overwhelming, yet in the best way possible. “You’re so damn hot,” he murmurs when you repeat the motion, pressing wet kisses into your neck.

Each roll of your hips is punctuated with a quiet moan from your lips, the two of your lips meeting every few moments in a fiery but fleeting kiss. Mingyu fills you up so deeply, in a way that leaves you wanting more and more.

Your body is on fire and you can’t seem to stop now. It’s just—Mingyu’s got his dick pressing all the spots inside of you that have you biting down on your bottom lip, that have you digging your fingers into the hard muscle of his shoulder, that have you moaning into his mouth.

But even your own body has limits, because while the feeling of you bouncing back down on his length every time is nothing short of euphoric, your legs only have so much strength. Gradually, your legs begin to get sore.

Within seconds Mingyu notices the falter in your movements, and suddenly his hands are under your thighs, picking you up, and flipping you onto your back. Your back is now against the mattress, head resting on a soft pillow as Mingyu readjusts above you.

“Getting tired?” Mingyu chuckles, as he reaches down for his dick, aligning it at your entrance once more. A needy whine escapes your throat when he finally is inside of you again, his length filling up what felt far too empty in those passing moments before.

“Didn’t—ah! D-Didn’t take you as the type to make the girl do a-all the work,” you bite back.

Mingyu cocks his eyebrow at you, and you almost want to grin at the way his eyes darken at your challenging comment. “You got a bad bad mouth, huh? Let’s see if you can talk much anymore soon.” You open your mouth to respond, but at the last moment, Mingyu pushes that last bit of his length inside of you, effectively rendering you speechless as you see stars and try to quiet the rush in your ears. Mingyu just laughs. “Didn’t think so.”

He pauses for a few seconds inside of you, and you take this chance to admire him in a way you didn’t get to before. His skin is flushed all over, pink blooming over his cheeks as he swipes a tongue over his lips. As your gaze travels down, you catch sight of his abs once again, and you can’t help but grin at just the idea of getting to see him like this.

Now, Mingyu starts out with his first thrust. It’s deep, and unforgiving might you add. You shriek loudly, not expecting to fill you up even more than before, yet somehow it’s both equally overwhelming and infinitely more euphoric.

Based on the volume of your response to the first, he follows with another thrust, this one nearly as moving. Your responses mimic the last, and soon, Mingyu enjoys the pleasure of seeing you become a moaning mess beneath him.

So there Mingyu is, fucking the daylights out of you, one his palm cupping your cheek. And now here he goes, jotting his thumb out and pushing against your lips. It doesn’t even take a second for you to part your lips, his thumb slipping inside.

“Good fucking girl,” he grunts under his breath where you roll your tongue over the pad of his finger tip. Faintly, Mingyu recalls the way you swiped your tongue over his dick and there he goes with a particularly hard thrust at the thought.

Your legs are folded up completely, thighs pressing into your chest deeply every time Mingyu pounds into you. A moan stifles up one after another, muffled by his thumb in your mouth, but somehow not getting any quieter.

It’s around this point when Mingyu starts to feel it, the way you squirm a bit more after each deep, pointed thrust. The way your mouth starts to widen more and more, moans getting louder by the moment. The way you’re tightening around him—and there goes his queue.

His thumb in your mouth is pulled out and quickly moved down your stomach between your legs and right on your clit. That’s when you move from moaning to downright whimpering—whining—into Mingyu’s shoulders.

Your toes begin to tighten as he continues to slam into you, every muscle in your body beginning to go limp as you rake your fingers into his back, trying to hold on to something to ground you.

“I know baby,” Mingyu moans, his hands holding onto your hips with such a tightness you know you’ll be left with bruises.

“I’m s’close,” you manage to gasp out, hips meekly pushing up as well to meet Mingyu’s half way. You’re trying your best to keep to it together but fuck, it all feels so good—his skin is so hot but somehow your core feels even hotter.

You feel tears of pleasure roll down your cheeks when you finally feel it—Mingyu’s length so deep inside of you, pressing up against your walls in all the right places—and so you crash.

Moaning and whimpering and writhing beneath him, you cry out when you finish, “Mingyu, fuck! I’m—’m coming.”

To which Mingyu gently kisses your neck while roughly pounding into you harder, now trying to meet his own end in deep fervor. “I know baby, I know jus’—fuck,” he nearly cuts himself off with his own moan when he feels your tight pussy squeeze around him. “Just’ hold on for me a little longer s—oh.”

You’ve got some spell on him. That’s got to be it. A damn spell has got to be the reason Mingyu’s finding himself way quicker than he’s ever before.

You’re brain is a bit too fucked to register the beautiful mix of shock and pleasure that crosses over Mingyu’s face when he begins to paint your soft walls white. “Fuck,” Mingyu groans loudly, pressing his dick so deep into you that you think you’d be able to feel it through your belly.

You squeal softly at the feeling—your pussy is now a hot, sopping, sensitive mess, and Mingyu’s cock is just far too long and far too fat for you to handle. However, the feeling of his seed fill you up has a warmth that overtakes the slight feeling of discomfort.

The air in his room begins to grow quiet and still as Mingyu finally slips his softening length out of you. You still lay with your back against the sheets, Mingyu pulling himself off without a word and flopping down on the bed next to you.

This silence is new.

It’s not uncomfortable, but there still seems to be some unspoken words that fill the space between you and Mingyu. Only the sound of your heavy breaths fills the room, the erratic patterns steadily starting to even out.

“Was that enough repayment for you?” you finally ask casually, breaking the silence. Mingyu chuckles softly.

“It was … pretty nice, I guess,” he responds, pushing himself up into a sitting position to fix the covers more comfortably over the both of you.

You narrow your eyebrows up at him. “Pretty nice? I’m gonna kill you!”

This time Mingyu laughs. “What do you want me to say? Yeah, it was fucking amazing?”

You try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. “Well, would that be the truth?” you challenge him, a smirk making its way onto your lips.

“Of course it would be,” Mingyu scoffs—something about his shameless admission of praise has your cheeks burning and eyes lighting up. “But if I say that, then it means you’ve fully repaid me, and that means that we don’t have to do this again.”

“Ah I get it, so you’re lying to me so you can fuck me again,” you reply. Mingyu rolls his eyes at you.

“If that’s what you want to call it,” he pauses, and looks like he’s contemplating something before continuing. “But I mean, you can totally say no. Because with the way you’re talking, it seems like you aren’t interested so why don’t I save you the pain of having to reject me and—” As he turns away to grab something from his night stand, you cut him off.

“Hey, I didn’t say that!” you exclaim once you catch where he’s going. You say it so brazenly it startles Mingyu a little, and he turns around to face you.

Your eyes meet and oh—there it is again. That feeling in your stomach, a warm knot that tumbles around. You’re not sure what it means. You’re not sure what this means—this being you laying in Mingyu’s bed.

Something in the way Mingyu looks at you tells you you’re not going to have an answer for a while.

Something in the way Mingyu smiles at you tells you that you’re at least going to have some fun trying to find out.

But it won’t. Reality fractures and he watches his mortal shell from above: a sight that still unnerves him after so many years. Two versions of one being: the peaceful sleeper below, the predator above. His ethereal form sneers at its human disguise. He observes his sleeping form with dark amusement. Such innocent appearance, such deadly truth. With serpentine grace, he slides through the window into the night's waiting arms. The night was young.

His humanity dissolves, leaving only hollow echoes where warmth once dwelled. He exists between heartbeats now, a creature born of twilight and shadow. They call his kind Dream Eaters - night's elite hunters. He doesn't waste time with sweet dreams; terror is his sustenance. Each nightmare consumed fills the endless void within, a momentary relief for an immortal hunger. True sleep eludes him now. Instead, dusk shatters his being like black ice, releasing his hunting self into the dark.

Seoul spreads beneath him, a fever dream in concrete and steel. Skyscrapers rise like obsidian monoliths, their windows gleaming with artificial souls. In their depths, forgotten screens pulse with electric prayers, while he glides past - a phantom in this vast urban wilderness that still hasn't discovered his true name, even after countless nights of feeding.

Like a shadow made of stardust, he dances across Seoul's skyline, his ethereal form weaving between moonlit spires and rain-slicked rooftops. The city breathes beneath him, each exhalation carrying whispers of secrets too delicate for mortal ears. In his wake, silence blooms, the rich stillness of midnight possibility.

Night after night, he slips into dreams uninvited yet inexorably summoned. These sleeping minds call to him like sirens, their fears pulsing like dark beacons through the city's unconscious web. He moves between them with practiced grace, a thief of terrors, collecting their darkness like black pearls.

The nightmares he finds are symphonies of fear, each uniquely haunting. Here, a father's dream crystalizes into gray horror: baby's breath turned to cinders. There, a bride-who-never-was wanders an infinite gallery of white gowns, each mirror reflecting a different life unlived. A child runs through corridors of betrayal, pursued by a mother's face worn like a mask by something ancient and hungry.

Some dreams twist reality until it snaps: vast oceans swallow the sky whole, wolves with mirror-glass eyes hunt through endless forests, smiles split open to reveal universes of teeth. Each nightmare carries its own signature of dread, and each feeds him differently- sending electric shivers through his being, temporarily filling the endless void within.

Yet this beautiful, terrible dance leaves him hollower with each performance. The feast brings no joy, only momentary relief from an hunger old as starlight. In the quietest hours, when the city holds its breath, he questions whether he has become the very nightmare that haunts other nightmares- a shadow feeding on shadows.

Though neither mercy nor comfort fall within his nature, he continues his eternal duty as a void that consumes the dark.

In the waking world, he is barely there- an outline at best, a quiet presence with a heartbeat too soft to echo. His voice, when used, never quite fills a room. His laughter, when forced, folds in on itself before it reaches the walls.

His sanctuary lies behind walls of code and LED glow, where ones and zeros don't ask questions. IT specialist: the perfect camouflage for someone who exists in binary- human by day, nightmare-devourer by night. Here, in this digital cocoon, the absence of human connection isn't loneliness- it's salvation.

Jimin shows up sometimes, arms full of takeout and stories that move faster than time itself. Taehyung lounges on his couch like he owns it, flipping through half-read books Jungkook never finished. Jin nags him to open the windows and let light in. Yoongi doesn’t say much, but when he does, it lands heavy- sharp and unafraid. Hoseok once cried laughing on Jungkook’s kitchen floor after too much wine. Namjoon leaves poems folded in the spines of Jungkook’s abandoned notebooks, like quiet offerings to whatever ghost he’s become.

He’s grateful for them- a bittersweet anchor to reality- but even in their presence, he feels like a thread unraveling just beyond the edge of fabric. They don’t ask why he’s always tired, always pale, always late in answering, because they know better than to push. Still, none of them understand the weight he drags through each day, the way his hands tremble when someone mentions a dream too vividly.

The thought of accidentally stumbling into their dreams haunts him like a shadow he can't shake. Because what if- what if one night he sees Namjoon trapped beneath dark waters, lungs filling with infinity? Or finds Jimin screaming silently behind walls of glass that won't break no matter how hard he pounds his fists against them? Or watches, paralyzed, as Taehyung runs through endless corridors of flame, feet leaving burning footprints in his wake? He simply couldn't.

Sometimes, in moments when the night feels particularly heavy, he whispers desperate prayers to deities who've long since stopped listening, begging them to keep his friends' dreams far, far away from his hunger.

Reality slips through his fingers like smoke these days, all gossamer-thin and just as substantial. The walls breathe shadows, rooms fold in on themselves. Time stumbles forward in awkward lurches, dragging its feet across calendar pages that mean nothing anymore. The windows collect fog like secrets, exhaling quiet confessions into the dawn. His journals - half-burned, because some truths are too heavy to keep whole- gather dust in corners where light fears to tread. And that mirror in the hallway? It only remembers his face if he stares long enough to make it nervous, catching glimpses of himself like static between channels.

The only thing that ever feels real is the ache beneath his ribs followed by the loneliness: faithful shadows that never leaves.

And the slow, exquisite agony of wearing humanity like an ill-fitting coat.

It begins like breathing - not the shallow gasps of the living, but that bone-deep exhale when your body finally remembers how to let go. The surrender comes easy now, practiced as a prayer, inevitable as nightfall. His consciousness unspools like silk in water, each thread of reality slipping loose until he's floating free of flesh and bone and all those heavy human things.

The city cradles him in her concrete arms as he rises, weightless as midnight fog. Through layers of rust-worn pipes and grief-stained walls he drifts, each molecule of his being singing that ancient song of untethering. Seoul stretches below like a tired goddess, her neon veins pulsing dim beneath a blanket of shadow, her streets winding like whispered secrets. The streetlights flicker their morse code confessions to no one, while towers pierce the darkness like broken teeth, watching with eyes gone dull from seeing too much.

He drifts aimlessly through the night, a moth drawn to the flickering flames of human fear. It's funny, really, how terror became his true north- the only compass that ever made sense anymore. Because fear? That's the sweet poison that keeps his kind alive, the dark nectar they trade in whispers and shadows.

The night unfolds like delicate origami, each dream a different shade of darkness. First comes a whispered tragedy: woman dreams of her mother's voice echoes through a phone's dead silence, each unanswered scream carving valleys of helplessness into her soul. Then, a nightmare painted in motion - man’s caught in an infinite loop of terror, hands white-knuckled on a steering wheel that won't save anyone, least of all the child who keeps appearing in his headlights like a recurring heartbreak. And finally, there's the boy who could be a metaphor for longing itself, standing before an eternally closed door while flowers wilt and die in his grasp, hope rotting petal by petal in time-lapse agony.

He moves through dreams like a ghost through fog - quick, quiet, taking only what he needs to survive. Never lingering. Never looking too long at the faces of those whose fears he consumes. The moment that hollow ache inside him dulls to something bearable, he's already fading away, a shadow slipping between minds like smoke through fingers, nameless and untraceable as midnight itself.

And then your presence washes over him, unexpected and unmistakable in the dark. You are beautiful, he thinks, and the thought flutters like a trapped bird in his chest before he crushes it between his ribs. Dream eaters aren't meant for love, aren't built for the delicate dance of attraction. They consume fear, devour nightmares - they don't yearn for the very souls they feed upon.

It hits different this time. There's no screaming terror clawing at his consciousness, no desperate siren song of fear pulling him in. Your dream? It's barely a whisper, soft and hesitant like the ghost of a first kiss, tugging at something deep in his chest that he thought he'd buried years ago. And gods, isn't that the most terrifying thing of all?

The dream unfolds like an old photograph bleached by time - a street stretching endlessly into nothing, all washed-out greys and misted edges. Faceless figures move in perfect, terrible synchronization, their bodies flowing like water around invisible obstacles. There's something deeply wrong about the way they move, each step too precise, too rehearsed. Their features are smudged away by sleep's careless hand. They march onward, an army of beautiful emptiness, never breaking stride, never glancing down.

And then he sees you, a lonely figure kneeling in the heart of this indifferent choreography. The world spins madly on around you- a blur of faceless bodies moving in their perfect, terrible dance- but you remain still, an island of grief in an ocean of motion. Your hands- trembling like autumn leaves in a storm- cradle something (someone?) in your lap, the weight of it pressing crescents into your palms. A body, maybe, though the face is blurred into nothing, like your mind couldn’t bear to fill in the details.

He lingers at the edges of your dream like a half-formed thought, wrapped in shadows. He shouldn't care- you're just another dreamer, another midnight soul crying out in the dark. But here he is, watching the way grief pools in your hands like liquid silver, listening to the way your voice breaks around words meant for Death's ears alone.

"I'm here... I'm trying..." Your voice catches, breaks, shatters like glass in your throat. "please just- please wake up."

Your hands move with the desperate rhythm of someone trying to hold water, pressing against the faceless form again and again and again. Each motion is a prayer, each touch a plea bargaining with whatever gods might be listening. You're begging for warmth, for breath, for any sign that this horror cradled in your lap isn't as permanent as it feels. But the figure remains still, already dissolving. The crowd around you moves faster now, a tide of indifference with undertow teeth. Their gazes slide past you like oil on water, heads tilting just enough to say: we saw you fail, and we'll remember.

Jungkook can't help but lean closer, magnetized by something raw and familiar in your expression that makes his chest ache in ways he doesn't have words for. There's no panic painted across your features, no desperate thrashing against fate's cruel hand. Just pure, crystalline despair - the kind that settles in your bones like an old friend. He recognizes it instantly: the hollow resignation of someone who's danced this dance before, who knows with certainty that they'll waltz with failure again until the universe finally tires of their stumbling steps.

The colors begin to fade. That’s how it always goes, dreams eroding at the edges once the fear peaks, once the ending arrives. He's about to retreat into the safety of shadows, into the familiar dance of watching-but-never-seen, when something impossible happens.

Your head lifts, eyes finding him with unerring precision through the crowd - not searching, not begging the universe for mercy, but piercing straight through every careful barrier he's built, through the ancient veil between watchers and dreamers. Your gaze meets his with the quiet certainty of a key sliding home, soft as a secret yet steady as truth, seeing him with a clarity that defies all the rules that were ever written.

Jungkook stills.

His breath catches in his throat like a half-formed prayer. His body freezes mid-existence, every particle of his being suspended in perfect, terrible stillness. Because this? This is wrong. Impossible. This breaks every rule written in stardust and shadow.

Dreamers don't see Dream Eaters - it's the first law of their twisted existence, carved into the bones of reality itself. He is meant to be nothing more than a whisper between heartbeats, a shadow's shadow, the thief that slips between dreams like silk through trembling fingers. But your eyes don't look away.

“I’m sorry,” you say, the words barely above a whisper. “I really wanted to help. But I couldn’t. I guess I’m not good enough.”

And with that the dream shatters. Like a mirror hit with reality's sledgehammer. Reality folds like wet origami, space and time collapsing into themselves with the grace of a dying star. The sound doesn't just stop, it un-becomes, each frequency turning to static before dissolving into the void. Gravity forgets its own name, light breaks its promises, and the whole world turns itself inside out like a glove made of nightmares.

And Jungkook wakes.

He bolts upright in a body that suddenly feels too small for him. His breath comes in sharp, broken waves. The room around him doesn’t make sense for several long moments.

The digital clock's red glow illuminates 03:41 as moonlight streams through the perpetually open window, the silence broken only by his thundering heartbeat. His throat constricts as the impossible reality sinks in - dreamers aren't supposed to see Dream Eaters, yet you had not only seen him but acknowledged his presence with an apology that now echoes through his mind.

And he can’t even fall back to sleep now as his body and mind feel fully recharged for the first time in…years?

What the hell even happened and who are you?

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Daylight always arrived like a mistake in Jungkook’s world.

It slipped in sideways through the window, pale and apologetic, illuminating the floating dust and the edges of his too-quiet apartment. He lay there for a long time, not moving, watching the ceiling blur and sharpen as his vision shifted, over and over again. The sheets clung to him like a second skin, damp with the sweat of something he couldn’t name.

Your voice had followed him into waking. ‘I really wanted to help.” 

His chest ached like he’d run miles in a body he hadn’t worn right in years. His limbs felt heavier than usual, but it wasn’t the familiar hunger. It was something deeper. Something quieter. A seed of longing lodged beneath his sternum, pulsing.

When he finally sat up, it was with the dazed caution of someone who’d witnessed a miracle and didn’t trust himself to speak of it aloud. The morning passed in a blur - coffee untouched, the hum of his computer ignored, a dozen emails blinking like signals from a world he no longer felt part of.

By noon, desperation overruled disbelief. He sat cross-legged on the floor, laptop glowing in the dim cave of his living room, typing with fingers that trembled too much to be steady.

dreamers seeing things in dreams? 

lucid dreaming hallucination?

can dream figures see you back

person spoke to me in dream is it real

can people share dreams??

dreamwalking

spiritual visitation

ancient dream lore

Each query returned pages filled with contradictions and crystal shops. Forums full of strangers comparing stories of sleep paralysis and shadow men, Reddit threads dissecting shared hallucinations and “astral projection for beginners.” The phrase Dream Eater brought up one anime character, a few urban legends, and a horrifying deep-sea fish.

Each search result felt like chasing smoke - close enough to see but too insubstantial to grasp. None of it rang with resonance of truth, that quiet certainty that whispers "here, finally, are the answers you seek." How could it, really, when his entire existence was a footnote in reality's margins, a story written in invisible ink between the lines of what most people called "normal"? Still, he had to try. Had to know. The soft click of the laptop closing felt like admitting defeat.

But the memory of your eyes finding his through that veil of unreality haunted him like a half-remembered lullaby. You had seen him and that impossible fact echoed through his mind.

For the first time since forever, his thumb hovered over the cursed group chat icon.

[Jungkook]: anyone wanna hang out tonight?

[Jin]: the prophecy.... it's happening

[Taehyung]: screenshots or it didn't happen

[Hoseok]: HELLO??? WHO IS THIS AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH OUR HERMIT

[Yoongi]: squints suspiciously in elder

[Namjoon]: hold up let me check if hell froze over

[Jimin]: do we bring wine or whiskey

[Jimin]: omw with Both because this is clearly an emergency

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By seven, they arrived- five different energies orbiting his living room like planets around something newly magnetic.

Jimin swept in with enough takeout to feed an army and Taehyung materialized with his camera (because god forbid a moment go undocumented) and approximately one hundred and one questions burning holes in his tongue. Hoseok didn't just enter - he arrived, carrying sunshine in his pockets like it was spare change. Jin brought his particular flavor of chaos wrapped in sarcasm and perfect timing. Yoongi slipped in like a shadow with eyes that read novels in the spaces between words. And Namjoon brought books he forgot to give back two years ago and didn’t mention it.

And they all brought their eyes: wide and curious. Like they were witnessing the birth of something rare and wild and wonderful.

“You look… different,” Jimin said, biting into a tangerine like he was studying Jungkook instead of the fruit.

“Yeah,” Taehyung added, leaning in with narrowed eyes. “You sleeping now or what? The purple zombie rings are gone.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, though a quiet thrill climbed up his spine at the idea that maybe, just maybe, something in him had shifted enough for them to notice.

“Must be lighting,” he muttered, sinking deeper into the couch.

“Oh, he bites now.” Jin gasped. “Our boy’s got fight in him again.”

There was laughter. Real, echoing warmth. For the first time in ages, Jungkook didn’t feel like he was watching through glass. He spoke and laughed, carelessly. He accepted the second drink and let himself answer questions without flinching. And for a few minutes, the ache inside his chest dimmed, dulled into something almost human. But beneath the buzz and the hum, the stories and the teasing, something itched.

You weren’t there. He needed to try again. Not to see you. Not to hold you. Just… for research. Just to know whether it was a fluke. A misfire. A one-time glitch in a cursed existence.

"Hey," he said, halfway through Jin's story about a botched blind date, "hypothetically…how would you find someone if you only knew their face?"

The silence stretched for exactly 0.3 seconds - just long enough for his words to sink into their collective consciousness.

And then, like a dam breaking under the weight of six years' worth of pent-up matchmaking energy, chaos erupted: “You met someone?”, “Wait, is this about a girl?”, “Who is she? What does she look like?”, “Oh my God, finally!”, “Is she real, or one of your AI clients?”

Jungkook tried to look annoyed, but the heat in his cheeks betrayed him. “She’s just someone I saw… briefly,” he said, and it wasn’t a lie.

Jimin leaned in. “Where?”

Jungkook blinked, the weight of their expectant stares pressing against his skin like static electricity. The truth sat heavy on his tongue, a leaden thing threatening to spill past his lips. "Somewhere near... Jongno," he managed, the lie tasting like copper. It wasn't completely false. "I think."

"You should go back," Namjoon offered with that gentle wisdom of his, like he was suggesting something as simple as retracing steps to find lost keys. "If it was fate or whatever, maybe it'll happen again."

He nodded mechanically, swallowing back a laugh that might have come out too bitter. Fate? No, this was something else entirely - something written in the spaces between sleeping and waking. This was you.

They didn't know. And this should always stay like that. The truth was a luxury he couldn't afford, not when it meant risking the warmth in their eyes turning to horror. Not when it meant watching their smiles crack like porcelain hitting concrete. Better to keep this cursed existence locked behind his sleep deprived eyes where it belonged, where it couldn't hurt anyone but himself.

But after they left- after the dishes were cleaned and the last echoes of laughter faded into memory- he found himself drawn to the window like a moth to streetlight, watching Seoul's fog paint poetry across the skyline in shades of maybe.

His reflection stared back at him, a ghost caught between worlds, and wasn't that just perfectly fitting? Because how do you find someone who exists in the space between sleeping and waking? How do you trace footprints left in dreams?

You looked at his cursed existence and didn't turn away. The fog crawled closer, wrapping the city in its gentle suffocation, and he pressed his forehead against the cold glass. The worst part wasn't the not knowing. It wasn't even the ache of remembering.

No, the worst part was the quiet voice in his head whispering: what if that was it? What if that single moment of being truly seen was all he'd ever get?

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The next few nights unfolded like a punishment disguised as routine. Jungkook slipped into the dark as he always had, body hollowed out and spirit stretched thin, the hunger beneath his ribs pulsing like it had a voice of its own. But tonight? Tonight wasn't about feeding on fear. Tonight was about finding you.

Never in his years of navigating dreamscapes had he been picky about whose nightmares he consumed. Before you, he'd been content to drift through the dark like some cosmic vacuum cleaner of terror, taking whatever scraps of fear the universe saw fit to give him.

But now he moved through dreams like a lovesick ghost, all his usual grace replaced by desperate yearning. Each mind he touched was just another disappointment, another "sorry, wrong nightmare" in his endless search for you.

A boy dreamed of being trapped in a theater where the seats whispered his secrets aloud. A woman dreamt she was back in her wedding dress, but the aisle stretched endlessly, her legs frozen mid-step. A faceless man sprinted down a corridor made entirely of mirrors, each one showing his worst mistake on loop.

He fed, but it was a hollow thing. Like trying to fill an ocean with raindrops. His essence ghosted through their nightmares as he searched their unseeing faces for something. Recognition? A glimpse of what you'd given him? But their eyes slid past him, unseeing and unknowing.

And wasn't that just the way of things? The natural order he'd accepted since forever? He was meant to be unseen, unnoticed - a shadow between heartbeats, a whisper between worlds, the thing that makes you question whether that nightmare was real or just another bad dream.

So why had you looked right at him and seen straight through to his core?

The ache followed him into daylight like a particularly clingy ghost, settling somewhere between his ribcage and his common sense. It wasn't just hunger anymore, this was yearning -  and isn't that just the most inconvenient thing for a nightmare eater to catch?

So he did what any sleep-deprived supernatural being would do when faced with emotions: something absolutely ridiculous.

The notebook emerged from its tomb of tangled cables like some ancient artifact, blank pages accusingly white. The pencil felt wrong in his hands, like trying to hold onto stardust or catch morning fog in a jar.

He tried to draw you. And it was a foolish idea for someone whose artistic peak was stick figures in middle school. But how do you capture the way someone's soul looks when it's breaking? How do you sketch the sound of a voice that doesn't shake even when the world is falling apart?

The first attempt looked like something between a sleep paralysis demon and a badly photographed ghost. Your jaw came out looking like it belonged in a geometry textbook and your eyes were all wrong, missing that galaxy of sadness he'd seen. The mouth was either too soft or too harsh, never quite the perfect paradox he remembered.

But he kept going: page after page, like some possessed art student during finals week. It wasn't about getting it right. It was about holding onto that impossible second when warmth and sorrow danced together in your eyes, when your voice carried steel wrapped in silk, when your apology felt like a key turning in a lock he didn't know existed.

The final result looked less like a portrait and more like someone had given a pencil to a particularly emotional rain cloud. He stared at it, tasting failure like burnt coffee on his tongue, and wondered when exactly he'd lost his mind.

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Then, four nights later, the universe shifted on its axis. The feeling hit like a punch to the soul - not the usual gnawing hunger, but something electric. Something that made his phantom form vibrate like a tuning fork struck against destiny. The very air seemed to bend around him, dream-light filtering through reality's cracks in that impossible shade of lilac that screamed you.

He moved like a man possessed through the dreamscape, muscle memory pulling him across a city that existed only in shadow-space. Past landmarks that belonged to no waking map: a metal spire wearing its rust like a crown of thorns, obsidian rooftops with their hearts of green glass, a water tower that sang silence into the void.

And there you were.

You looked different in this light - clearer, sharper, like someone had wiped fog from a mirror. He watched you with the kind of intensity that would've been criminal in daylight, cataloging every detail like a drowning man counting his last breaths.

God, I'm literally stalking someone through their dreams, he thought, and the realization should've tasted like shame but monsters don't get to play by human rules, do they? And that's what he was now - something that lived in the spaces between heartbeats, feeding on fear like others fed on bread. So maybe this wasn't an obsession at all. Maybe this was devotion with teeth.

He stepped forward, and reality bent. The dream opened its arms like a lover welcoming him home, and he fell into your nightmare like he was always meant to be there.

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He feels it in his bones before his eyes catch up - that telltale whisper of wrong that makes the dream-edges curl like burning paper. Not because anything looks off. But because nightmares are patient things, content to wait until the perfect moment to shatter your happiness into glass.

The lights hit him like a physical thing, a cascade of stark white that makes his world spin sideways for a heartbeat. The air practically vibrates with sound - thunderous applause that seems to shake the very foundations of this dream-space, making reality tremble at its seams. His fingers part heavy velvet curtains just enough to see.

There you are, bathed in spotlight like some ethereal being stepped straight out of a fairytale. Silver and gold paint you in glory as you stand among your fellow dancers, clutching flowers like they're made of starlight. Your smile is soft and wide as you wave to the faceless crowd. Their features are a blur- a sea of mouths and hands and sound- but their adoration is unmistakable. The stage is yours.

And Jungkook forgets how to exist for a moment. Because you're not just beautiful, you're incandescent. Free. The weight of the world has slipped from your shoulders and left pure joy in its wake.

His heart stutters in his chest as he watches you spin across the stage, accepting another armful of flowers with a laugh that could make flowers grow in winter. Your happiness is a living thing, spilling from every movement, every gesture, until you're practically glowing brighter than the stage lights themselves.

This isn't fear or darkness or anything close to a nightmare. For a heartbeat, a dangerous sort of hope unfurls in his chest - what if the rules have changed? What if whatever cosmic force lets him devour nightmares has finally decided to let him taste sweeter dreams too?

Something shifts in the air like a record scratch in slow motion, like the moment before a glass hits concrete. A shiver crawls down his spine with icy fingers, and there's that familiar weight settling behind his ribs, cold and heavy as a tomb.

The applause warps, twisting into something wrong, something hungry. It's too sharp now, too insistent, like a thousand hands clapping in perfect, terrible synchronization. The lights stutter and snap, a violent morse code of white-hot panic. And the audience? Their faces blur and stretch like melting wax, features running together until they're nothing but a grotesque sea of emptiness. Then, cutting through it all like a knife through silk, a voice:

"Get off that stage." The words slice through the dreamlight like shattered glass, and then she materializes - all sharp angles and barely contained rage, heels striking the floorboards. She's a storm in human form, fury written in every line of her face, and when she reaches for you, her fingers are iron bands around your wrist.

"Mom, stop!" Your scream tears through the air, raw and desperate, but she's unmovable as marble.

The scene fractures - dancers reaching with helpless hands, voices rising in a desperate chorus. "Mrs. Y/L/N, don't take her away!" someone pleads into the chaos. "She has a god-given talent- please!"

But she might as well be carved from stone, deaf to everything but her own determination as she drags you backstage. Your sobs echo off the walls like broken music, and Jungkook follows because gravity itself couldn't hold him back now.

The dream twists and writhes around both of you, corridors sprouting like dark veins lined with ghostly posters and mirrors that reflect nothing but shadows. You're fracturing at the edges, voice splintering like crystal as you stumble in her wake, and something in Jungkook's chest aches with an intensity that threatens to tear him apart.

"Why?" Your voice breaks like shattered dreams. "Why are you destroying everything I've worked for?"

"A doctor,"she spits the word like venom, her grip a steel trap around your wrist. "That's what you'll be. This little... Dance fantasy? It dies. Tonight."

And your heart shatters. The sound of it must echo through the dreamscape because your next words come out raw, bleeding, "Please, I can't! I won't survive there. Don't make me live inside someone else's story, please, I'm begging you!"

"Your grandfather's deathbed wish," she wielded the words like a blade, each syllable precise and cutting. "Or did you forget? Did you think you could trade his legacy for…What exactly? Spotlights and pirouettes?"

The word “grandfather” hits you like a physical blow. Your soul folds in on itself like a dying star, grief and guilt gravitational forces too strong to escape. Your sobs aren't just sound anymore - they're poetry written in pain, each breath a verse of despair.

That's when Jungkook materializes from shadow and starlight, his presence suddenly solid as truth between worlds.

"Enough." Just one word, but it does the work. He moves like darkness given form, placing himself between you and her like a shield. And suddenly your dream bows to his will and your mother dissolves.

Reality bends. The backstage dissolves into the empty stage, now a hollow cathedral of shadows. You're there, crumpled on the floor like a discarded dream, flowers scattered around you like fallen stars. A single petal trembles by your ankle, then stills.

Moving silently across the stage, he watches your tears glisten like silver rivers on feverish skin until you lift your head and speak with a raw yet steady voice,"It's you again."

Those three words cascade through his reality like an avalanche, shattering every certainty he's ever known - this isn't merely coincidence or imagination or some flaw in the dream-fabric, but rather an impossible truth: among the billions of dreamers who forget him nightly, you alone can pierce his invisibility, can know him.

In that very moment Jungkook understands something terrifying and beautiful:

You’re not some glitch in his world.

He’s an aberration in yours.

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You're curled into yourself like a wounded bird when you finally meet his gaze again, your eyes tracing the planes of his face with the hesitant reverence of someone trying to piece together a dream from morning-fog memories.

"Where have I seen you before?" The words slip from your lips like a secret.

Jungkook's throat constricts around unspoken truths, but he plays his part like the supernatural being he is. He settles beside you- close enough to count your heartbeats, far enough that the space between you aches like a physical thing. Your sadness wraps around him like smoke, familiar as his own shadow.

"Nowhere," he breathes, the lie tasting like stardust on his tongue. "We're strangers."

But you just laugh, soft and worn around the edges, brushing away a wayward strand of hair with fingers that tremble ever so slightly.

“No way,” you say, shaking your head. “There’s no way I could make up a face like that.

His heart does this stupid little stumble in his chest at your words. You catch his expression, that deer-in-headlights look that makes him seem impossibly young for half a second and suddenly you're laughing, the sound pure and bright enough to make the dream-shadows retreat.

"Oh my god," you say, and there's a warmth in your voice he hasn't heard before, like honey in sunlight. "My subconscious really said 'here's an ethereally beautiful boy who blushes when you compliment him.' That's just... devastating, actually."

He turns away, but not before you catch the way his ears flush pink. It's not the embarrassment that makes his chest ache but the cruel irony of being seen so clearly by someone who thinks you're nothing but a dream.

"I'm nobody special," he murmurs to the floorboards, voice rough with something he can't name. "Just... just a guy."

The laugh you share is gentle as twilight. A fragile thread connecting two souls who shouldn't be able to touch at all.

But beneath his smile, something in Jungkook splinters like stained glass catching sunlight. Because you still don't know. How could you? To you, he's nothing but a beautiful fever dream, a figment spun from stardust and desperate wishes. Just another coping mechanism your mind conjured from the static between sleeping and waking. And maybe that's easier and safer. But it still burns.

He wants to say something about what just happened: about stages and spotlights and the way your mother's ghost left bruises on your dreams, but the words catch in his throat like broken wings.

"This was... a lot," he manages with a soft voice.

You laugh, but it's the kind of laugh that bleeds at the edges. Your eyes find the darkness above, searching for answers in the void.

"This?" The word falls from your lips like a tired prayer. "This is nothing compared to my real life."

And something in him shatters completely. "So this is just the tip of the iceberg?" he whispers, afraid of the answer.

"Yeah." You don’t elaborate further.

The dream-lights have long since faded, the phantom flowers scattered to dust. You sit there in the hollow dark, a masterpiece painted in shades of exhaustion, looking like the world took everything that made you shine and left behind only shadows.

"I haven't danced in six years," you confess to the darkness, each word heavy as lead. "Haven't even stepped on a stage. Med school swallowed me whole right after graduation. Now I work part-time in the emergency department. Night shifts, mostly." Your voice cracks on those last words like ice in spring.

His breath catches. The kind of work where Death sits in the break room, drinking coffee like just another coworker.

"I see things," you continue, voice hollow as autumn wind through dead leaves. "People bleeding out. Crying. Dying. Alone. I patch them up with steady hands and pretend my soul isn't unraveling stitch by stitch." The silence between you grows teeth. "Six years," you whisper to the shadows. "Six years of my life fed to the machine of parental pride while I slowly forget how to breathe."

Something ancient and wounded bleeds into Jungkook's voice. "You don't deserve to be anyone's sacrifice."

Your laugh sounds like glass breaking in slow motion. "And yet."

Then your eyes find his and the world tilts on its axis because you're looking at him like you can see straight through to where his soul should be. Not as shadow-walker or dream-fragment. As something terrifyingly, wonderfully real.

"I remember your last dream," Jungkook's entire being stutters to a halt. "The nightmare with the faceless thing."

"Please don't," you breathe, folding smaller, as if you could origami yourself out of existence. "I don’t want to talk about it."

He watches your breath catch like fabric on thorns and nods. Some wounds are still too fresh to name and he can wait. Or never bring it up again if you wish.

“You know,” he says gently, “this is a dream. You’re not a prisoner here. This world is your world, it can be whatever you want.”

He rises to his feet like morning mist, extending a hand that holds universes in its palm. For a heartbeat, you hesitate, but some offers transcend thought and your fingers find his.

"You can wish," he whispers, voice soft as starlight, and snaps.

In a blink, the lights return. So does the thunderous ovation. The spotlight glows around you like a blessing. Cameras flash, dancers reappear like smoke. The energy floods back into the dream like breath into a drowning chest.

A laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep inside you: pure, untamed, tasting of forgotten summers, and you throw up a hand against the brilliant chaos of it all.

Before you can think better of it, your fingers are tangled with his and you're running backstage, dragging this beautiful fever dream behind you. Your giggles echo off the walls like wind chimes, and for a moment you're seventeen again, before the world taught you how to be silent.

“That was fun,” you breathe, brushing rebel strands from your flushed face. "Wish I could handle my nightmares with that kind of flair."

His answering grin is soft at the edges, but something in your expression shifts before he can speak. "I don't... I don't actually want this anymore."

He blinks, starlit eyes questioning. "Why?"

"Because I grew up," you say, voice barely a whisper now. "I have responsibilities. Real ones. Dreams like this... they're not for people like me anymore. Back then I was seventeen and stupid and…" Your voice catches. "I can't afford to be that person now."

"What do you want, then?" The question hangs between you like suspended stardust.

"Nothing," you finally breathe, the word falling like autumn leaves. "I just want to stop existing in the real world for a while."

And the way you say it - there's no bitterness there. Just bone-deep exhaustion and raw honesty. Something in him fractures, and the words spill out before he can catch them.

"Can I…" he pauses, voice going soft. "I know it's weird but... can I hug you?"

Your eyebrow arches, a spark of mischief dancing in your eyes. "Look at you, consent-king behavior,” you tease, lips curving. "Of course you can, you absolute masterpiece of my subconscious."

He lets out a soft laugh that catches in his throat. His arms find their way around you with gentleness, but when you lean into him something ancient and lonely inside his chest just shatters. The hug deepens and suddenly there's nothing ethereal about it anymore; it's all solid warmth and thundering heartbeats and the impossible reality of two souls finding anchor in each other through the veil of dreams.

For the first time since this curse claimed him, Jungkook feels real. Not a dream-walker, not nightmare-eater, just a boy being held like he matters. You stay tangled in each other's gravity as the dreamscape bleeds away like watercolors in rain, both pretending you can't feel the way your fingers clutch a little tighter with each fading second.

When consciousness claims him back, dragging him gasping into dawn's tender light, something's different. The usual hollow ache is gone, replaced by something electric and alive that makes his whole being sing. And in that moment, with Seoul's sunrise painting his walls in gold, Jungkook knows it with the certainty usually reserved for natural laws: 

Even if it takes lifetimes, he's going to find his way back to you.

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Jungkook can't stop thinking about you.

You linger in his mind, seeping into every crack and crevice of his consciousness. Your presence is a ghost that haunts the spaces between keystrokes, between breaths, between the mundane moments when his hands forget their purpose and his thoughts spiral back to you like moths to flame.

He's memorized the cadence of your voice, cataloged every micro-expression that crossed your face, archived the exact weight of you against his chest like it's precious data his heart can't bear to lose. Time stretches like pulled taffy as he sits on his floor, back pressed against an unforgiving wall, absently tracing infinity symbols on a coffee mug that's as cold and forgotten as his attempts at productivity.

There's a quiet irony in how his relationship with sleep has transformed. What was once a velvet-lined prison cell where he performed his gim duty - has become something sacred. Something anticipated. Now he's a lovesick teenager checking his phone every five minutes, except instead of waiting for a text, he's waiting for consciousness to slip away so he can find you again.

But of course - of fucking course - that's when his brain decides to throw an absolute rebellion. Excitement pulses through him like caffeine. His body begs for rest while his mind runs circles. The very thing that once came without effort now eludes him.

When sleep finally deigns to take him, it's with all the grace of a drunk trying to fit a key in a lock. But none of that matters because he finds you. He knows the path now, could walk it blindfolded: past the skylight with its spiderweb cracks, around the chimney that leans like a tired soldier, beneath the neon sign that flickers like a dying firefly. This isn't wandering anymore, it’s muscle memory, this is gravity, the inevitable pull of two stars caught in each other's orbit. And there it is again - your window, soft light spilling through curtains, you're dreaming already.

He steps inside.

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The dream whispers into existence like a secret. Sterile white walls stretch endlessly, their fluorescent veins humming a synthetic lullaby that only hospitals know how to sing. The air tastes of antiseptic and quiet desperation.

You materialize before him - a warrior in wrinkled scrubs, squaring off against a bureaucrat whose clipboard might as well be a shield. Exhaustion paints shadows beneath your eyes, but defiance burns brighter.

"I need a day off," you say, each word precise as a scalpel.

The administrator's sigh could fill a balloon with disappointment. "We're understaffed. Again. Find someone to switch with you, then we'll talk."

Your jaw sets like concrete, shoulders bearing the weight of too many sleepless nights. "I've been on four night shifts in a row," you breathe, your voice carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken pleas.

He shrugs, armor-plated in indifference. "It's not personal."

Your laugh is sharp as broken glass. "It's exhaustion."

But then - your gaze catches on something beyond him, where Jungkook stands like a shadow. Your expression softens, relief bleeding into your features. "Oh, finally. Maybe you'll help me figure out a perfect excuse to give my boss so I can sleep for more than four hours."

Jungkook glides forward, midnight grace in human form. His head tilts, curiosity dancing in his eyes. "Exploitative boss?" he inquires, voice smooth as silk.

You nod, grave as a judge. "Master manipulator."

He considers this cosmic injustice for a heartbeat. Then, with elegant precision, he lifts a hand. One snap - and reality fractures. The administrator dissolves, leaving only empty air where bureaucracy once stood.

Your eyes spark with indignation. "Hey! I wanted to yell at him. At least here."

Jungkook's smile curves like a crescent moon. "Why waste dream energy on that?"

Before protest can bloom on your lips, the world begins to melt. Hospital walls dissolve like watercolors, sterile white bleeding into impossible color and the air transforms, becoming warm.

And suddenly - sky. Endless, infinite sky. Clouds drift beneath your feet like islands of sugar, while aurora colors paint the heavens in sweeping brushstrokes of pink and violet. You turn slowly, wonder breaking across your face like dawn.

Jungkook watches, memorizing the way joy transforms you. Then, with the gentleness of falling snow, he extends his hand, and you accept it. And together, you run.

You dance through dreams like starlight on water. No destination guides your steps - just pure, unbridled motion and laughter that tastes like champagne bubbles. Each leap between clouds is poetry, your movements fluid as mercury, untethered by earthly constraints. He watches, mesmerized, as this version of you. untouched by life's sharp edges, paints joy across the sky.

When exhaustion finally claims you both, you collapse onto a cloud that feels like silk, your hair a halo against the white. Jungkook settles beside you with careful grace, his hands folded in his lap. Silence stretches between you, sweet and elastic.

A laugh, soft as windchimes, escapes your lips. "I've been dreaming wrong my whole life."

He reclines, moonlight caught in his smile. "Most do."

You pluck a piece of cloud, tossing the ephemeral fluff at his chest. It dissolves like a secret.

"Rude," he grins, starlight dancing in his eyes.

Your gaze lingers on him now, wonder replacing mischief. "You came back."

"I did." His voice carries the weight of secrets that you are not ready to face yet.

"This is different," you murmur. "These dreams... seeing you again and again... it's never happened before."

Something tightens in his chest but he has to ask the terrifying question. "When you wake," he breathes, "do you remember me?"

"Yes." Simple and certain, you don’t even hesitate. The word ripples through him like waves through still water. "I remember all of it," you continue. "Every dream with you. And I never remember dreams - they usually fade."

Relief softens his shoulders; he hadn't realized they were carved from tension.

Your eyes find his, curious as cats. "So," you tease, "who are you, really?"

He hesitates, the question stinging more than expected. "I'm a Dream Eater," he says, leaning forward. "And my name is Jungkook. Did you know that already?"

You catch your lower lip between your teeth, considering. "Dream Eaters? Never heard of them. How did my mind even come up with that?"

He rolls his eyes skyward as you laugh, the sound pure as bells.

"Well then," you say, "I'm Y/N. A pleasure, Mr. Dream Eater."

He nods, something warm unfurling in his chest. "Likewise. Tell me about yourself.”

You hum thoughtfully, stretching like a cat in sunlight. “Imagine a very lonely girl,” you begin. “A girl who has a big, noisy family and few friends, but still feels like no one ever really gets her. Someone who works in a place where everyone is kind but exhausted. We bond over how much we hate what we do. I read romance novels when I’m not too tired, I go on runs to get out of my head, and the only time I feel like I’m me is when I’m asleep and nobody wants anything from me.”

Jungkook watches you as you speak. Every word feels like a note in a song he doesn’t realize he’s memorizing.

“And you, Dream Eater Jungkook?” you ask, inching closer. “Who are you?”

He stares at your hands, then up. “I’m an IT guy. I have friends. I’m not that close with my family, but we stay in touch. And as cliché as it is… I always feel alone. Not in the obvious way. It’s more like… the universe misjudged me somehow. Like I was born with the wrong fate. Like I’m stuck carrying something I never chose, cursed or something.”

You nod. “I know.” Your hand rises, slow and careful, and runs through his hair.

Jungkook's breath catches in his throat, every muscle going taut like a bowstring.

“No,” you state firmly now. “Someone with eyes like yours can’t be cursed.”

He laughs is that kind that wraps around your bones like honey-warm sunlight. His fingers find your retreating hand, catching you in a grip that's gentle as a prayer but sure as gravity. And there's something in your eyes that makes his heart stutter in his chest.

The world tilts and spins as he pulls you both down into the cloud-soft darkness, your combined laughter painting silver ribbons through the air. You land in a tangle of limbs and breathless giggles, his body half-draped over yours like the world's most perfect blanket.

Time stops. Or maybe it's just that neither of you remembers how to breathe properly anymore. His arm brackets your head, careful and strong, while his other hand hovers near your ribs like he's afraid you might shatter if he touches you. Your chest rises and falls beneath him in quick, butterfly-wing movements.

The silence between you crackles like lightning before a storm.

And then you look at him with eyes that Jungkook swears could drown worlds, lashes frozen mid-flutter, and his heart forgets every rhythm it's ever known. Your gaze drops to his lips just for a heartbeat, long enough to set his blood on fire. And he watches your hair catch the dream-light like captured aurora, wondering if his thundering heart might give him away.

Neither of you dares to move. His eyes trace constellations across your features - mapping the soft curve of your mouth, the way your breath catches when his thigh brushes yours. You don't pull away. Instead, you tilt your head, an invitation written in the language of almost-touches.

When you speak, your words ghost across his skin like butterfly kisses. "So..." Your smile returns, shy and knowing all at once. "Can you take me to other places too?"

His lips part but words fail him spectacularly, too busy fighting the gravitational pull of your mouth. You're watching him like he's something ethereal, something that exists beyond dreams and reality.

Words claw their way past the symphony of want thrumming through his veins. "I could," he whispers, each syllable a caress against your skin. "If you wanted me to."

"I think I do," you breathe, and your fingers that are still tangled with his against cloud-silk, tighten slightly. Something inside him unspools at that tiny pressure.

He shifts closer until the space between you becomes nothing but shared breath and possibility. His body settles against yours, solid and real in a way dreams aren't supposed to be. Your noses almost brush. But neither of you bridges that final gap.

The wanting hangs there between you, delicate as sugar, sweet as sin waiting.

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Jungkook wakes like shattered stained glass - all sharp edges and holy remnants, dragged from dreams by reality's merciless hands.

The dream bleeds away too cruel. Your phantom warmth haunts him still. Reality crashes through his consciousness like an uninvited guest: sheets cold as winter frost, his forgotten computer screen humming its electronic lullaby, dawn's sickly green fingers creeping through the blinds like unwanted prophecies. He lies there, a marble statue in rumpled sheets, watching the ceiling as if it holds the secrets to finding you in the waking world.

Time, he thinks, is the cruelest god of all - stretching endless in solitude, slipping through desperate fingers the moment joy takes root.

When the sun claims its throne in the sky, he moves. And it’s not from want but from the mundane tyranny of hours that refuse to pass unmarked. Emails become white noise, lines of code blur into meaningless symbols, breakfast turns to ash on his tongue. There's only one truth that keeps his heart beating: the promise of nightfall.

He counts heartbeats disguised as hours. The light softens like old photographs, his eyes burn like prayer candles. And finally sleep claims him like a lover's kiss.

And there you are, waiting for him.

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In dreams, you are free.

Jungkook makes sure of it: crafts entire universes with gentle hands and a craftsman's devotion. He builds you realms where gravity is just a suggestion, where shame dissolves like morning mist. The rules here drape around you like ribbons, weightless enough to forget they ever existed.

One night you're both cosmic wanderers, dancing through star-scattered void, your laughter echoing across light years as you spin through technicolor nebulae. "My knees!" you shout, delighted, breathless, "They don't even know what pain is here!" and his joy bubbles up like stardust, infectious and pure.

Another dream finds you towering like a goddess, him shrunk to pocket-size, playing an elaborate game of chase through a garden where teacups bloom like flowers. when you (deliberately) crush him beneath your heel, he gives an Oscar-worthy performance of despair.

He shows you the art of dream-weaving. How to coax reality into new shapes, how to whisper your desires into existence, to believe with your whole heart that anything is possible.

"This universe," he reminds you, voice soft with wonder, "it's yours. Completely yours. What do you want to make of it?"

So you create.

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One night, you materialize in wrinkled scrubs, your essence dimmed like a star fighting through smog. "I want something stupid tonight," you whisper, voice raw with reality's weight. So he gives it to you.

The air crystallizes into luxury - a red carpet unfurls like a dragon's tongue beneath your feet. Light fragments into a thousand camera flashes, each one capturing your metamorphosis as couture and tailoring dance across your form. The Met Gala rises behind you like a palace of dreams, while the Oscars beckon ahead, and somewhere beyond the marble horizon, Nobel laureates await your arrival. Your laughter cascades like champagne bubbles.

"We're absolutely shameless," you wheeze through tears of mirth. "Not a humble bone between us."

He sweeps into a bow that would make monarchs envious. “Welcome to your ego’s highlight reel.”

Pure delight propels you forward, arm threaded through his like a lifeline to sanity. The elite of every era gravitate toward you - Einstein debates quantum mechanics while you school him on cellular biology, Rihanna takes notes on your impromptu TED talk about mitochondrial DNA. Jungkook observes your radiance, wondering if happiness has ever worn a face so beautiful.

Then shadow creeps in, subtle as twilight. "If only reality had such magic," you murmur to no one.

The words strike like arrows. What can he say? His power extends to the horizon of dreams - he can architect castles in clouds, orchestrate symphonies in starlight, birth entire cosmos from your smallest smile. But he cannot heal the wounds reality has carved: the suffocating job, the mother's bitter words, the six years stolen from your timeline.

His domain ends where consciousness begins. In these ephemeral realms where you dismiss him as fantasy, a figment born of neurons firing in the dark.

Perhaps that's mercy's greatest gift because knowing his truth would shatter more than the dream. So he offers only a gentle smile.

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That night, he materializes behind you like stardust taking form, his presence a whisper against your skin.

"Close your eyes," he breathes, the words a spell woven in twilight.

His hands eclipse your vision with butterfly-gentle pressure, as if touching a dream too precious to risk breaking. The world shifts beneath his will - air crystallizing with electric possibility, carrying notes of steel and starlight and synthetic sweetness, like neon memories dissolved in rain. He speaks to reality itself, and reality bends.

"Okay, now open," he commands softly. Your eyes flutter open and the gasp tears itself from your throat, pure wonder given voice.

Before you unfolds an empire of light and shadow - a metropolis that touches the stars. Streams of vehicles paint luminous rivers through the sky, weaving between towers that pierce the heavens like silver needles. Landing platforms hover like geometric clouds, while the stars themselves peek through the urban tapestry, diamonds scattered on black velvet.

"Is this…Coruscant?" The question trembles with awe. His silence speaks volumes, curved in a smile you feel more than see.

Laughter bubbles up, bright with revelation. "You remember everything I say?" But reality's chains rattle, even here. Your hand cuts through the air, dismissing magic. "Well, of course. You're just my mind playing tricks, recycling old dreams."

His smile fractures at the edges. "Right," he whispers. "Just mind tricks."

But when your fingers find his, intertwining like fate's own threads, none of that matters.

"Quick," you grin, the universe reflected in your eyes, "we've got worlds to explore before morning steals you away."

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Jungkook melts watching you stumble through broken alien phrases, your pronunciation absolutely butchering three different languages at once. There's this six-eyed creature that just stares at your earnest bow, probably wondering what strange cosmic phenomenon dropped you into their path. And then, an absolute menace of a droid, barely reaching your knees, starts chasing you down demanding payment, beep-screaming about galactic credits. You scramble behind Jungkook like he's your last hope in the universe, fingers clutching his jacket, breathless giggles muffled against his shoulder. (He pays your debt with a shirt button because of course he does, you disaster.)

Later, you both claim a spot on the edge of a glowing walkway. Your feet dangle over an ocean of lights, streams of vehicles painting stories beneath you like shooting stars learning to dance. The sky above is alive, breathing with the pulse of ship lights, and sometimes a cruiser glides past like a metal whale, momentarily stealing the stars.

Your laughter settles into something softer now, something that fits in the spaces between heartbeats. Neither of you speak. Neither of you need to.

And if Jungkook knows the dream is slipping away like stardust through his fingers? Well. He keeps that knowledge locked behind his teeth. Instead, he drinks in the sight of you: the way city lights paint constellations across your skin, how perfectly you slot into this impossible moment like you were born to exist in worlds that break physics. Like you were meant to dream in technicolor.

But there's a question that haunts him, cruel as dawn's first light: When the sun rises and reality claims you back...

…will even a whisper of him linger in your waking thoughts?

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Jungkook's life has shifted in ways that feel like poetry written in invisible ink- you can only see it if you know where to look.

On paper, everything's the same: same apartment with its midnight creaks and perpetual scent of dust-and-tea memories. Same 7:30 alarm that screams into existence like an unwanted prophecy. Same mundane rituals: toast crumbs, news static, lines of code marching across screens like obedient soldiers. (And yes, that one stubborn fern that refuses to surrender to his chronic plant neglect.)

But there's something different now that whispers instead of shouts. Something that feels like stardust caught in his bones.

You see it in the way he carries himself, like gravity's finally made peace with his soul. In the way he moves through space like he's remembered how to belong in it. He's incandescent now, lit from within by some strange, soft fire.

His friends notice because of course they do, they're annoyingly observant like that.

"You look," Jimin declares one night, sprawled across Jungkook's couch like he owns it, soju bottle dancing between his fingers, "like God himself came down and gave you a spa day."

"Sleep," Namjoon squints at him, "you're actually sleeping?"

Jungkook's lips twitch. A maybe floats between them like a secret.

"Oh my god," Taehyung breathes, dramatic as always, "you're in LOVE."

The way Jungkook's eyes skitter away is all the confession they need. And then they're all talking at once, voices tumbling over each other like eager puppies: "Who is she?" and "Does she live here?" and "When do WE get to meet her?"

Jungkook smiles, sleeve-covered hands hiding trembles, letting them believe the flush on his face comes from the heater's gentle rage.

But there's this soft, aching thing in his chest. Because how do you tell your best friends that the person who rewrote your whole existence lives in a different layer of reality? That the only one who's ever seen past your skin and bones and into the truth of you... only exists in dreams?

Later, when his apartment's empty except for shadows and memory-echoes, he stands at his window. Forehead pressed to glass like a prayer, watching Seoul's heartbeat flutter beneath him.

The loneliness has evolved into something gentler now - no longer the razor-edged beast that once tore through his chest, nor the arctic waste that froze his bones.

But it's there. Because no matter how many times you laugh in his arms, no matter how many universes you explore together, you're not here. And he is. You both exist but in different verses of the same impossible song.

And sometimes he wonders if he's asking too much of the universe. If he's being greedy. Before you, he was nothing but shadow-stuff and nightmare-fuel, cursed to feed on other people's fears. He couldn't even dream of being perceived, let alone loved. And now he has the audacity to want more? To want daylight happiness?

Greedy, absurd boy.

But every moment he spends awake feels like holding his breath underwater. Every sunlit hour is just time he could've spent learning the constellations of your smile. So he closes his eyes. And waits for sleep to bring him to you.

The moment he slips into the dreamscape he feels your presence hitting him like the first breath after drowning, like gravity remembering its own name. And then you're there, crashing into him with the force of a supernova, arms wrapping around him as if he might dissolve into stardust. He catches you and pulls you close like you're made of moonlight and wishes.

"Thought you wouldn't come," you whisper into his collar, voice rough like you've been holding back for too long.

A laugh escapes him, soft and broken-edged. His hands trace constellations up your spine. "Do you ever…" he starts, then swallows hard. "Do you ever worry that one night we just... won't find each other here anymore?"

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes and there are already tears catching in your lashes. "Every single time I close my eyes."

His smile cracks at the corners because it’s exactly the same for him. Every night he lies awake wondering if the universe will finally notice its mistake- if whatever cosmic glitch allowed him to find you will correct itself. Maybe you'll stop dreaming of him and he'll be left holding nothing but memories and maybes. It's too perfect. You're too perfect. And he's never learned how to trust perfect things to stay.

"Jungkook." Your voice drops to something serious, something that makes his heart stutter in his chest. He meets your gaze. "I don't…I can't," You take a shaking breath. "I don't think I can face reality anymore if I'm not sure you'll be waiting here."

His heart stops. Instead of answering, he lifts his hand and traces your cheek with feather-light fingers, trying to memorize you in atoms and angles.

"I'll be here," he breathes, like a prayer, like a promise. "I don't understand any of this, but I swear I'll find you. Every night. No matter what."

Your eyes flutter closed at his touch, and in that moment, he knows exactly what tonight's dream should be.

The dreamscape ripples like disturbed water, reality shifting beneath your feet with all the grace of a universe rewriting itself. The salt-sweet breeze finds you first, carrying whispers of infinity, and when your eyes flutter open, the night sky stretches above you like a confession written in starlight.

The ocean sprawls before you, endless and moonlit, each wave a silvered promise rolling towards shore. You're both barefoot in the sand, the wind playing with your hair like an old friend while the sea hums ancient lullabies. Jungkook watches you the way people watch miracles unfold - careful, afraid to blink.

You're statue-still, eyes locked on the horizon like it might vanish if you dare to look away. The air between you tastes like possibility.

"You mentioned wanting to see the sea," he murmurs. "Why?"

You sink to the sand, pulling your knees to your chest like armor. "I've never seen it before."

His heart stumbles. "Never?"

A shake of your head, eyes still drinking in the waves that reach for your toes like shy lovers. He wants to ask more - what landlocked piece of the world kept you from this? But dreams have their own grammar, and some questions dissolve like sugar on the tongue. So he sits beside you in comfortable silence, letting the night wrap around you both like a blanket woven from sea spray.

When you finally turn to him, your eyes hold the weight of unspoken galaxies. And gravity seems to lose its grip on reality - the space between you collapses until you're breathing the same air, until his hands find your face like they've mapped this path in a thousand previous lives.

Your lips meet in a hesitant dance of breath and longing until something breaks inside the moment like a dam of restraint giving way to raw need. His hands tangle in your hair as your mouth parts with a soft, stuttering sound, fingers clutching desperately at his shirt while the kiss transforms into something urgent and wild, teeth grazing and breaths mingling as he tilts your head back to taste you deeper.

The sea's roar crescendos with your passion while you shift into his lap, knees straddling him and hands sliding up the curve of his neck, the weight of your body against his making him finally feel real. Your shared heat and the pressure of your hips leaving him dizzy with want.

Jungkook pulls back only enough to look at you, eyes tracing your face like it’s something sacred. Your skin is flushed, glowing under the silver wash of the moon, hair tangled from his hands. You’re still straddling him, your chest rising and falling in rhythm with his. There’s a silence that lives in that moment, but it’s not empty.

Then he grins, soft and breathless. “Good thing this is a dream,” he murmurs, brushing his lips across your jaw. “Sand won’t bother us here.”

You laugh, quiet and giddy, the sound catching in your throat as he leans in again, kissing the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then lower. He shifts, laying you back gently onto the soft, impossible sand. Moonlight spills across your skin like liquid silver, turning you into some ancient deity's forgotten masterpiece. He freezes, a worshipper before an altar, lungs forgetting their purpose as his eyes trace the sacred geometry of your existence. Time holds its breath with him.

Then he’s kissing your neck, slow and open-mouthed, leaving heat wherever his lips touch. His hands slide over your body like he’s memorizing you, like he’s terrified you’ll disappear. When he begins to undress you, his fingers move with a kind of careful urgency- unwrapping you like something he’s dreamed of holding all his life.

His lips trail down your collarbone, your chest, and lower, leaving warmth. Your breath catches sharply in your throat as pleasure ripples through you, your back arching delicately from the sand as a soft, yearning moan escapes your lips into the star-strewn night.

And when he comes back to you, body pressed to yours, both of you tangled in breath and want, you meet him with the same hunger. You pull him close, undress him with shaking hands, touch every inch of him with awe.

When Jungkook moves inside you, it feels less like an act of desire and more like the inevitable culmination of something the two of you had been building quietly between shared glances, trembling silences, and the quiet ache of always parting too soon. There is nothing rushed in the way your bodies meet: only a slow, deliberate joining, a stretch of time that suspends itself in the hush between heartbeats, as if the dream itself knows to hold its breath for you.

His weight settles gently over you, his mouth still hovering just above yours, the warmth of his breath mixing with your own as his hands frame your face with a tenderness that feels as overwhelming as it is fragile. Your eyes lock for a long moment, and in them there is no fear, only the echo of something deeper - yearning, devotion, maybe even a kind of wonder neither of you dares to name aloud. And then, without speaking, you arch toward him, and he begins to move.

The rhythm he finds is unhurried but purposeful, a slow, steady push and pull. His body presses against yours with the kind of urgency that isn’t frantic but is no less desperate - an urgency born from knowing how fleeting dreams are, how quickly time unravels beauty when it’s finally within reach.

His lips don’t stay still for long; they trace your collarbone, your throat, the curve of your jaw, trailing warmth that pools and spreads through your chest until your breath begins to shake beneath him. You can feel the way his body trembles slightly as he deepens the rhythm with intensity, as though every inch of his skin aches to be closer to yours, as though touching you more completely could somehow anchor him here.

When you moan his name, it comes out cracked at the edges, too soft and too honest to be anything but real, and he answers not with words but with a kiss that claims nothing, demands nothing, only offers himself and his quiet awe that you are here with him.

The dream sky above flickers faintly as a gentle reminder that even eternity here is borrowed. You feel it in your bones that this moment, as vivid and consuming as it is, will dissolve like sea foam the moment morning claims him back. That awareness sharpens everything. It makes each thrust feel more tender, each stroke of his hands across your sides more necessary, more desperate to memorize. Your fingers slide up into his hair, tugging him closer, your mouths finding each other again with increasing hunger, and when your hips rise to meet his, your bodies move in perfect synchrony.

It builds slowly, swelling until you can’t distinguish where you end and he begins, until the world narrows to the slick heat between your thighs, the throb of his heartbeat against your chest, the soft, breathless groans that pass between your lips like confessions. The pleasure comes in waves: deep and consuming, rising with every movement and whispered sound, until the moment it crests and breaks, flooding through you with a force so overwhelming you have no choice but to let go and ride it.

He follows you into it, burying his face in your neck as he comes undone, his body trembling with the effort of holding back everything he feels and failing in the most beautiful way. There are no words left, only breath and warmth and the weight of his arms around you as he collapses gently beside you, pulling you into him like something he’s afraid to lose.

A blanket materializes like a whispered wish, impossibly soft and warm against your skin. Jungkook pulls you closer, your bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces finally finding home. Your hands can't help but wander, mapping his skin in the aftermath, memorizing the geography of this moment. His lips ghost against your temple while you rest your cheek against his heart, letting its steady rhythm become your anchor.

The ocean serenades you both with its ancient song, waves kissing the shore in perfect tempo. Above, the stars hang in velvet darkness, too perfect to be anything but dreamscape magic. Words feel redundant here, in this pocket of forever where touch and breath say everything your voices can't.

But dreams, those cruel architects of almost-reality, never let you linger long enough.

The world starts to unravel: the sky loses its certainty, the breeze thins to whispers, and the ocean's voice becomes a distant echo of itself. Reality is calling, persistent as always. You tilt your face up to his, and his fingers find their way to your hair, tucking it behind your ear with a tenderness that aches.

"I wish this part didn't end so soon," you breathe out, voice trembling not with fear but with the weight of knowing what comes next.

He brings his forehead to rest against yours, eyes closed like he's trying to freeze time through sheer will. "So do I," he whispers back.

As the dream dissolves: the beach, the stars, your shared warmth all fading into morning light, he holds onto everything: the curve of your body against his, the ghost of your kiss, and the exquisite agony of loving someone who only exists in the space between sleeping and waking.

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When the dream opens again, it does so like a breath drawn after drowning- sharp and sudden and full of overwhelming relief. You’re already there, standing beneath a sky that isn’t real, though it holds more meaning than any sunrise you’ve ever seen. The moment your eyes meet Jungkook’s, you don’t wait, and neither does he. There is no hesitation or unsure beginning. You run into each other’s arms like you’ve been holding your breath for days, like everything depends on this collision of bodies.

“I don’t want to waste one second of the limited time we have here,” you whisper into the space between his breaths, your arms wound tight around his neck and your chest pressed firmly to his.

He nods, his voice caught somewhere between a laugh and a vow, and with a single brush of his hand against the air, the world changes.

Like mist before sunlight, the dreamscape dissolves - first the endless ocean retreating into nothingness, then the wind falling silent as if holding its breath, and finally the star-strewn horizon melting away.

And in its place appears something smaller and impossibly intimate: a bedroom, quiet and warm, the walls washed in golden light, the sheets still slightly rumpled like they’ve been waiting for you. It’s not dramatic, not grand, but it feels like a secret dream you never dared to say aloud.

“This feels so real,” you murmur, your voice already faltering as his hands begin to move slowly, working their way beneath your clothes as if they’re peeling away layers of exhaustion and everything that’s ever kept you from peace.

He undresses you without words, his fingers trailing down your sides with a patience that makes your skin tremble. When his lips touch your collarbone, your breath catches. When his hands slide lower, your knees weaken. And when he kneels before you, his eyes dark and full of something deeper than want, you whisper his name like it’s a confession.

His mouth is already on you, and he’s not simply tasting but studying the language of your body with the kind of patience that feels rarer than touch itself. Every movement is deliberate, almost aching in its care, as though he knows this is a dream and still doesn’t want to rush through it. His hands grip the backs of your thighs with that same quiet devotion, fingers spreading you open.

He dives in like a man starved of connection, like every slow drag of his tongue is an attempt to carve himself into your memory, so that even when you're awake, some part of your body will still pulse with the imprint of him.

At first, it’s soft, barely there, just the warm press of his mouth against you, lips brushing your folds. But then, when you gasp and your hips lift slightly, when your fingers curl in the sheets beneath you, he groans softly into you, like the sound of your need fuels something deeper in him, something greedy*.*

He licks you slowly at first, flat strokes that leave you trembling, your thighs tensing around his head even as his hands hold you open. But soon he changes rhythm, finding the place where your body begins to stutter and focus, and he stays there, working his tongue in tight, purposeful circles, pausing only to suck gently, and then again, firmer, just enough to make your voice crack when you call his name.

You reach for him without thinking, fingers sliding into his hair, anchoring yourself in him as the heat begins to mount. Your breath comes in shallow bursts, thighs shaking around him, and still he doesn’t let up. He wants this - to see you unravel, to taste what the world outside has never let you give.

“Why…” you whisper, the words breaking apart as your thighs begin to shake. “Why can’t this be real?”

It’s not a question you expect him to answer, it’s rather a confession or cry of longing too deep for reason. And if he hears it, he doesn’t stop, only moans into you, as if your heartbreak feeds his hunger, as if the taste of your pain is folded into your pleasure.

His tongue moves faster now, more focused, and the tension inside you coils to a near-breaking and all-consuming point

Your body begins to shake; can’t form words anymore. Your moans become breathless sounds, fingers digging into his scalp as your hips lift in desperate rhythm with the wave he’s building inside you. His grip tightens, keeping you grounded, and when he draws your clit into his mouth again, sucking slowly, deeply, your entire body snaps.

You come with a cry so raw it doesn’t even sound like your voice. It shudders through you, thighs clenching, stomach fluttering, your hands fisting the sheets and his hair and nothing at all, your back arching as the dream holds you still in its palm.

But he doesn't leave you. Jungkook stays between your legs, lapping at you gently, slowly, kissing you through the aftershocks like he’s coaxing every last tremble from your bones, like your pleasure is the only thing that matters in this moment.

When he finally pulls away and rises to meet you again, his mouth shines with you, and his eyes are dark with a mix of tenderness and awe that stirs something so deep in your chest it almost hurts.

He kisses you slowly and deeply, and you taste yourself on his tongue. You pull him closer, hands sliding down his bare back, and you know that even if this is only a dream, it is more real than anything else your life has ever given you.

When Jungkook enters you, it’s like the world narrowing to a single point of gravity, your body drawing him in with a heat that pulses low and deep in your belly. He presses into you with a slow, deliberate movement, his length stretching you inch by aching inch, and it’s enough to make your mouth fall open with a breathless gasp that doesn’t even sound like your voice. He’s thick and warm and impossibly hard, and the way he completely fills you sends a tremor through your thighs that you can’t control.

Your folds part for him, slick and open, your body welcoming him with the kind of wet, desperate readiness that makes his breath hitch above you. He pauses once he’s buried fully inside, one hand gripping your hip as the other slides beneath your spine, grounding you against the slow burn of pleasure already curling through your abdomen. The stretch stings in the most exquisite way, that sharp-edged fullness melting quickly into something sweeter, something deeper, something that makes your body cry out for more before you even realize what you're asking for.

When he begins to move, it’s a rhythm that’s devastating in its precision: deep, dragging thrusts that grind against your most sensitive places with such focused care you’re not sure whether you want to weep or scream. Each roll of his hips draws a whimper from your throat, your legs trembling as your body adjusts to him again and again, as though each motion is a new kind of claim. He kisses you through it: your shoulder, your jaw, your lips, his mouth greedy and soft and utterly wrecked with affection, like he wants to press himself into every inch of your skin and never come up for air.

He shifts you gently, guiding your body into his hands, pulling your hips back into his lap as he settles you onto all fours. You sink into the soft sheets, your spine curving as his hand steadies your waist, and when he slides back inside you from behind, the angle is so deep and so precise it knocks the breath from your lungs. You clench helplessly around him, the sound of your bodies joining filling the room with a rhythm that feels ancient, necessary, almost holy. His name leaves your mouth again as a cry drawn out and trembling, the only word that still feels real in the haze of heat and motion and want.

Your hands fist the sheets, your knees spreading wider, every nerve ending in your body tuned to the relentless drive of his thrusts. His grip on your hips tightens, and he leans over your back, the heat of his chest brushing your spine, his voice a broken thing in your ear.

“You feel… so fucking good,” he murmurs, not as a boast, but as a reverent truth, like he still can’t believe the way your body accepts him - tight and slick, made perfectly for him.

When his hand slips beneath you again, finding that swollen, throbbing place that already pulses from his mouth and now from his cock, you come apart so quickly and so violently, your entire body stutters around him. You cry out, broken and breathless, your climax crashing through you with a force that turns the world white at the edges. You feel yourself clench around him, wet and pulsing, and it takes everything in him not to follow you right then.

But he’s close and with a few more thrusts, rougher now, less controlled, he spills into you with a sound so low and guttural it feels like it echoes inside your own chest. He collapses against your back, his arms wrapping around your middle as you both breathe through the aftermath, tangled and shivering, still connected, still pulsing with the echo of each other’s release.

And when the high fades and the pleasure ebbs into something slower, quieter, he doesn’t pull away. He stays inside you for as long as he can, holding you in his arms like he’s afraid that if he lets go, you’ll dissolve into smoke with the rest of the dream.

You fall together onto your sides, your legs entwined, the thin dream-woven blanket curling around your bodies, soft and warm as moonlight. You press your cheek against his chest. His hand strokes your back slowly, like he’s still trying to memorize you. The sea outside the window murmurs, and stars flicker faintly above, but neither of you speaks because nothing could possibly be enough.

"I don't want the real world." Your voice cracks. "It doesn't have you in it."

He pulls you closer, like maybe if he holds you tight enough, reality won't be able to pry you apart. When he finally speaks, his voice carries the weight of every 3AM thought that's ever kept anyone awake, "I know. Me too."

You look up at him, moonlight catching on unshed tears. Not crying because what's the point when the sun will rise anyway? Your fingers twist in the blanket like you're trying to anchor yourself to this moment, to him, to anything that might let you stay. "Please," you whisper, "I want to stay here. With you."

This isn't just a dream anymore. It's the truest thing you've ever known, wrapped in fiction because reality doesn't know what to do with something this raw. He says nothing, only presses his forehead to yours and breathes you in like he's trying to memorize the way your souls fit together.

And just as the dream begins to thin at the edges: flickering like film exposed to light, you look up at him, eyes full of that same pleading ache, and he lowers his forehead to yours. If you could stay, you would.

But dreams never ask permission before ending.

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Jungkook wakes to emptiness, the kind that sits heavy in your lungs like smoke. The silence wraps around him like a second skin, suffocating in its completeness. There's no gentle transition between dreams and reality today - just a harsh snap from one world to another, leaving him raw and aching.

The bed feels too big, too cold, sheets twisted around him like they're trying to hold something that isn't there anymore. His chest feels hollow, carved out, each breath a little too shallow to fill the spaces where warmth used to live.

He lies there, staring at a ceiling he's known his whole life but suddenly feels like it belongs to someone else's story. His body shakes, not from cold (never from cold), but from something that lives deeper, something that has made a home in his bones and refuses to leave.

When he finally moves, it's pure instinct - frustration and grief tangled into one sharp motion. The pillow hits the floor with a soft thud that gets swallowed by the morning quiet. It doesn't help. Nothing helps. He sits up, fingers threading through his hair like he's trying to hold his thoughts together, eyes fixed on the slice of pre-dawn darkness outside his window.

His voice breaks the silence like glass shattering in slow motion, barely a whisper: "Why is it like this..."

But there's no answer waiting in the shadows. And yet, somewhere beneath the weight of his despair, something small flickered: thin, untrustworthy, but still breathing. He told himself he would see you again. A new day would bring a new night, and with it, the possibility of return. That had been the pattern, and though dreams rarely followed logic, hope was a creature that clung to even the most frayed of patterns.

The hours that followed passed in a haze. He moved through the day as though he had been placed behind a pane of glass: everything visible but inaccessible, everyone’s voices distant, every color dull. His body obeyed routine, but his mind remained curled around the shape of your absence.

When darkness finally returned, he didn’t hesitate. Sleep claimed him without struggle, and with it, the familiar ritual unfolded: the rooftops that stretched like memory, the path laid down by repetition and longing, the same constellation of buildings that had always, without fail, led him to your window.

But it was dark. No light pierced the glass, no shadows moved within. The bed lay pristine, untouched - a monument to absence. He waited. Minutes bled into hours as the dream stretched around him, but your silhouette never materialized. The emptiness felt louder than any scream.

Night after night, he returned. Each visit more desperate than the last. The room remained a void, sterile and cold as a tomb. His hope withered, then died. No trace that you'd ever existed. The question gnawed at him: had you been real? Or worse: had something taken you?

The days blurred together, each one weighted with loss and questions that found no answers. Had you chosen to vanish, or had the choice been stolen from you? The uncertainty was acid in his veins.

Before you, he'd been a ghost among the living, feeding on others' darkness, trapped in endless observation. But that emptiness was nothing compared to this. This was different. This was knowing paradise and being exiled. This was having his soul split open, filled with light, then sewn shut around the void you left behind.

The universe had cursed him twice: first with invisibility, then with the memory of being seen. Being known and loved by you. Only to have it ripped away without warning or farewell.

And now, more than ever, Jungkook felt the weight of solitude like a second skin - in a universe that had always been generous in showing him different angles of emptiness. 

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there’s a final part to this story already finished and available exclusively here .

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.

“Gonna ruin you” Jungkook murmurs, hand wrapped around his cock.

He pushes your legs a little higher up his shoulders, tongue running over his bottom lip when he watches your cunt clench around nothing. It was almost a feral need that consumed him in moments like these, rough hand fisting his cock, thick cockhead ready to spear you open. Precum leaking down his length, raw need to watch him mould your cunt for his cock only.

You watch down the length of your body as he presses the tip of his cock over your entrance, thumb pressing under the head, sinking the first inch of his length into you.

Your pussy clenches around the mushroom head, Jungkook’s thumb pressing over your clit to try and help loosen you up a bit.

“Such a small pussy” he braces a hand beside your head, body caging you beneath him as he ruts another inch into you.

You swallow down a moan, fingers tugging at the sheets below you.

Jungkook watches as his cock splits you open, pussy swallowing down everything he has to offer. Clenching ever so deliciously around him. His cock is shiny when he pulls back to his cockhead, watching you stretch around the widest part of him before he presses back into you, feeding you each agonizing inch so slowly you start to rut your hips upwards.

“Hold on baby” his hands spread over your hips, sinking into your flesh, “Be a good little thing and take what I give you… yeah?” he presses a wet kiss to your jaw.

A chesty laugh claws up his throat when he feels you clench at his words, pitiful whimper slipping off your tongue when he snaps his hips forward. Thick cock pressing against your sweet spot.

“Shit—Jungkook” you whine when he leans down a little, your legs still hooked over his shoulder pulling the bottom half of your body off the bed.

“Yeah? You like that?” he laughs, “Like me moulding your little pussy for my cock, and my cock only?”

You nod, hand splaying over your stomach when he sinks the rest of his length inside of you. Barely letting you feel all of him before he’s pulling his hips backwards, snapping forward, desperate to sink himself back inside of you.

Your back arches, wet squelch accompanying a moan as he starts to thrust into you, erratic. His eyes stay trained om where the both of you connect, base of his cock messy with your creamy arousal, pussy split, likely gaping if he slipped out of you.

“Fuck—that’s it baby” he groans, finding his rhythm, angling his hips where he knows he’s pressing against all the little spots that you love.

Your hand slips down your stomach, mouth falling open in a moan when you feel it.

“Jungkook” you moan, his name fogging your mind, “can feel you here” you slip one of his hands from your hip, pressing it over your stomach.

His hand presses down, deep rumble of a moan catching in his throat when he feels himself inside of you. His hand slips over your mound, both your eyes stuck on your stomach as you watch him beneath your skin; buldge of his cock pressing from within you.

“Shit” you cry, hips stuttering upwards.

“Fuck, you really are small, aren’t you, baby” his hand slips over your stomach, pressing down on the bulge.

He moans when he feels you constrict around him, cock twitching as he staves off his own orgasm when he can feel his hand pressing down on his cock.

“So small my cock is all the way in your tummy” it comes out as a breathless laugh, your mind barely processing what he was saying as you slip headfirst into your orgasm.

Barely able to warn him, words entirely broken, more a mantra of his name. Though Jungkook seems to know, pace slowing as he snaps his hips harder into you, cockhead pressing against your sweet spot, onslaught of pleasure bringing you over the edge.

Your cum coats his cock, world turning white for a moment before you get a glimpse of Jungkook’s body curled over your own. His eyes squeezed shut in pleasure as your cunt continues to pulse around him, slowly inching towards the bubbly sort of overstimulation that would no doubt send you reeling into a second orgasm.

You feel his cock twitch between your walls, hips losing their rhythm, thrusts turning sloppy as he nears his own release. His eyes slip open, holding himself up by one arm as he presses his hand over your stomach again. A long drawn moan falls past his lips as he cums, thought of his release coating so far into your cunt pulling another wave of cum out of him.

He barely ruts into you, hips pressed against your thighs as you clench around him, milking everything out of his spent cock. His eyes stay trained on the bulge of your stomach, thumb brushing over where he assumes his cockhead to be.

“Good morning.” You cheerfully smile, “Thought I’d make some breakfast before we leave.” You turn to lean back against the counter, the very sight of you has his mouth running dry as he takes you in. You’re wearing nothing but his black oversized shirt that ends above your thighs, underneath he can see your pretty panties you had surprised him with yesterday when you came over, and the rest of you is laid out bare for him.

Jungkook licks his lips and saunters over, “Not hungry–for food at least.” He eyes you up and down as he crowds you up against the counter, “Fuck, you look so good.” He whispers under his breath dropping his hands down underneath his shirt, his big hands cup both cheeks and give them a hard squeeze. “You should walk around my house like this more.” He chuckles.

“Yeah?” You softly purr as you wound your arms around his neck, “You like it when I wear your clothes?” Your eyes fall down to his lips, “I like them too, but I think I look better with nothing on.” You bite your lip with a soft giggle, watching as his eyes darken, “Don’t you think so?”

Jungkook groans under his breath and presses his lips to yours messily, “Fuck yes,” he whispers fiercely as he continues kissing you, “you’re a fuckin’ dream.” The noises his lips make when he smacks them against yours fill up the otherwise quiet kitchen. Jungkook’s moaning softly against your lips and his hands are greedily grabbing anywhere and everywhere.

You softly sigh into his mouth and lean back with him following, not wanting to separate from the heated kiss. When you began running out of air you swiftly pulled back and stared up at him with glossed over eyes. “The food is gonna get cold,” you murmur, “don’t want it to go to waste.”

Jungkook grumbles, “No, baby–c’mon,” he tries to reel you back in after you start side-stepping to get out from between him and the counter, “don’t want food, just want your little pussy..” He trails off as he corners you once again, “You feel that? How crazy you’re driving me?” He brings your hand down over his boxers, pushing his hard cock up against your soft hand.

You nearly drool when you feel the thick outline of his cock, and there’s a damp spot that has you internally whining. “And how do you want me?”

“Anyway, just wanna eat your pussy out baby.” Jungkook paws at your panties and tries to get you to take them off but you stop him, “Baby.” He whines again and steps back when you motion for him to move. He eyes you questioningly, watching with a pouty gaze as you slowly lift the hem of his shirt. “Oh fuck.” He whispers under his breath.

You smile teasingly at him and hook your fingers under the waistband of your panties, tugging them down slowly. He licks his lips hungrily and waits patiently, “C’mere love,” you curl your finger at him, “ah-ah, on your knees for me Jungkookie.” You purr.

Jungkook stumbles over eagerly, falling before you on his knees as he looks up at you waiting. “You’ll do anything I want?” You tilt your head.

“Anything.” He nods eagerly with his throat bobbing as he swallows harshly.

You slowly hook your leg over his shoulder and bring him closer, pussy hovering right over his lips. Jungkook licks his lips and turns his eyes up to you, as if he were asking for permission. “Go on, make me cum Jungkookie, you can have it baby.” You bite your lip. He immediately dives in and runs his tongue over your soft slicked up folds.

Jungkook’s eyes flutter shut and you watch a subtle shudder go through his body, like he’s getting pleasure from just eating you out alone. His hand comes up to pull you in by your ass cheeks and your pussy rubs over his face. His tongue slips past your folds and he circles it around your clit, moaning against your pussy. The vibrations have you whining quietly under your breath.

“Fuck.” You whisper under your breath.

Jungkook busies himself with sucking on your clit, licking at your inner folds, and letting his tongue prod at your slicked up hole. He pulls back to pant softly against your pussy, his eyes are glossed over and filled with dark desires. You guide him by the back of his head to your pussy, “Feels so good..” You whisper and feed your cunt to him, you let your hips roll forward slowly as you smother his face with your pussy.

He groans lowly and tilts his head up, “Need more,” he pants softly, “ ‘s not enough, need your pussy ‘round my cock. Gonna fuck you so good till you’re shaking baby.” He puts his hot mouth over your cunt once more and sucks harshly on your sensitive little bud.

“Oh,” you shudder and tilt your head back, “like that.” You shakily grind against his mouth and dig your fingernails into his scalp, “So good baby, you’re gonna make me cum.” You whine, “Bet you’re gonna fuck me so good, fill me till I’m dripping with your cum,” you purr out.

Jungkook’s moans mix with soft slupring noises, he digs his fingers into your soft cheeks and desperately chases after you when your hips move even the slightest bit away from his mouth. Your pussy throbs and a sharp wave of pleasure rolls over you as you cum on his tongue. He doesn’t let up on your poor throbbing clit, licking and sucking over it while you ride out the rest of your orgasm.

“Fuck that’s enough baby.” You whine quietly and push at his head, “C’mon, you said you’d fuck me good.”

Jungkook pulls back, panting heavily as he looks up at you with those doe eyes, “ ‘m gonna fuck you so good,” he replies as he slowly rises to his towering height, looking down as he pins you up against the counter once more.

You bite your lip eagerly and slip your hand into his sweats, happy to find that he forgoed wearing anything underneath. His cock throbs, it’s hot and sits heavy against your soft palm. You stroke him slowly, running your hand over every inch and vein that sits on his hard shaft. Jungkook moans low and kicks his hips into your hand, “Baby–let me have it,” he begs softly, “need your pussy around me cock.”

“Yeah? And if I said only the tip?” You grin when he whines, “What’s the matter baby? Thought you wanted my pussy ‘round your cock.”

Jungkook bites on his piercing and paws at your soft hips, “Please baby, you know what I’m gonna say.” He whispers as he licks his lips, “So let me have it, yeah?” He crowds you.

You bite your lip and nod, hiking your leg up around his waist and tugging his cock out of his sweats, letting the waistband sit below his swollen balls. You align the tip with your pussy, pressing the weeping head over your cunt and against your clit. He sighs softly and nudges forward, letting his cock slip right between your fat folds with a low squelch.

“More baby.” He groans and continues sliding his cock up against your messy pussy over and over again.

The glide is smooth, your slick coats his cock and makes it messy. His cockhead prods at your clit over and over again sending sharp jabs of pleasure down your spine. You guide his cock to your hole and whine quietly as he stuffs you full of him, letting it push past and slip right in where he belongs. It has your back arching in pleasure as he fills you up so perfectly.

“Oh fuck.” Jungkook moans out as he sets his hands on either side of you on the counter, caging you in so you don’t go running off anywhere. “Pussy so tight ‘round me, got you creaming all over me like a messy little slut. Gonna make you clean it with your mouth baby.” He pants hotly against your ear as he pumps his cock in and out of you.

Your mouth falls open and a shaky breath escapes you, you feel so full you’re rendered speechless from how good the pressure feels. Your leg that’s wrapped around his waist tightens, you roll your hips to meet his as the two of you fuck up into eachother desperately.

You claw at his shoulders and moan high and breathy, “Right there Kook, fucking me so good.” You whimper out.

Jungkook fucks into you harder, his knuckles turn white from how tight he’s gripping the counter. The sounds of his hips meeting your plush ass fill the entire kitchen, slick dribbles down his cock and stains his sweats and balls. The noises your pussy makes only fuels his desire for you, slamming home into your cunt over and over again.

“Right there baby? You’re gonna cum for me again?” He breathes out and turns his head to bury his face in your neck. “Yeah?” He whispers when he feels your pussy tighten around him, “Go on baby, cum on this cock.” He grins softly.

You moan loudly and throw your head back as your hips buck wildly against his own, “Kook..!” You gasp, your pussy flutters around his cock. Jungkook in response speeds up and hoists you up against him, his cock pushes right up against your g-spot and that’s your undoing.

“Fuck.” You sob out while coming around his cock.

Jungkook fucks into you a couple more times, shuddering when he feels your hand drop down to wrap around his balls and fondle them while he fucks you. “Shit.” He whispers and lets his eyes fall closed, his hips roll slowly until he cums, filling your slicked up pussy to the brim.

“I feel gross now.” You mumble out, reaching down between the two of you to swipe up some of his cum, bringing your finger up to your lips and sucking.

Jungkook shudders at the sight and gets an idea, “Can I..?” He asks softly as he slowly slips out of your messy cunt with a lewd squelch. You give him a cheeky smile and nod, leaning back against the counter and spreading your thighs apart for him. He falls to his knees and laps up the mess between your sticky folds, you sigh in relief when his tongue runs over your clit in a soothing manner.

When Jungkook finishes he comes up and you bring him down for a kiss, moaning into his mouth as you slip your tongue into his mouth. The taste of him and you definitely has you weak in the knees, and you know he feels the same way. “Breakfast?” You ask softly.

Jungkook licks his lips, “No thanks,” he smacks your ass as he passes by, “just had some.” He grins whistling softly.

"Hey," Jungkook softly interrupts you, getting your impatient hands away from his crotch. "Where are your manners, baby?" He frowns, lifting your chin up with his finger.

You then feel your face heating up, being scolded by him is always a little embarrassing. He doesn't do it to be mean or anything, but you're a bit sensitive when it comes to being reprimanded, especially when you thought you were doing nothing wrong.

You sit back on your knees and Jungkook has his back against the bed's headboard. You fidget with the hem of your skirt, looking aside while biting down on your lip. When you glance back at him, he seems to be waiting for an answer, looking at you with his mouth in a straight line.

"I'm sorry," you sigh. "But I just want to touch you. Can't I?" You say in a whiny voice, laying a hand on his thigh to tug at his shorts.

He smirks, liking how needy you are for him. So impatient you forget how to behave correctly. Jungkook is there for that; reminding you to always be good and polite.

"Sweetheart, you know I love you," he begins, taking your small hand in his big one. "But if you can't ask politely, I won't give you what you want."

You sigh again and pout. You just want to play with him without going through all of this talk beforehand. It's so unnecessary, you think. He knows you're a good girl and that you have manners.

"Please, let me suck you, Jungkookie," you beg, still pouting so he takes pity on you.

He looks at you as he plays with his lip piercing with his tongue, his eyes lingering on your body. He reflects, maybe trying to find an excuse to say no and punish you instead, but Jungkook's in the mood to relax today.

It's fun to give, but he'll never refuse to receive.

He lets go of your hand and places it under his head, shifting into a more comfortable position. "Do as you please, baby," he grins, sending you the green light.

You smile and fit yourself between his legs, laying down on your belly. He opens wider for you, bending one knee so you have more room.

You pull up his t-shirt to see his muscles and as you lean down to give them kisses, Jungkook comes to hold the t-shirt over his stomach for you.

You leave kisses everywhere, just wanting to appreciate his body and the amount of effort he put in to look like a literal god. Jungkook hums pleasantly, patting your hair as you go up to his nipples and then down to his belly button.

When you consider you've kissed every patch of skin on his stomach, you start lowering his sweats and Calvin Klein boxers. You hook fingers under the band and pull down, Jungkook lifting up his hips to help you, finally freeing his cock out of his briefs.

You don't hesitate to take it in your hand, always impressed at how big it is, and slowly begin to stroke him. "Wait, wait," Jungkook hisses. You stare up at him, worried, and he presents his open palm to you. "Here, spit on it," he instructs and you do so.

He spreads your saliva on his cock, pumping himself a couple of times. You watch him do it, your eyes following his hand as it runs up and down his hard erection.

"It's gonna be better like that. You can continue, baby," he kindly says and you nod your head, wrapping your hand around him again. "Yeah, good girl."

You can't help but shyly smile, loving the praise. You tilt your head toward his cock and take the red, leaky tip into your mouth, tasting his pre-cum on your tongue. You swirl it around, sucking on the head like it's a lollipop.

You kiss him just over the slit before sinking more of his length into your mouth. You stroke the rest that doesn't fit in and start bobbing your head, setting a slow but regular pace.

Jungkook groans, showing his appreciation, and pulls on your hair with his tattooed hand, watching his cock disappearing between your lips. You suck him the way he showed you the first time, using all the little tricks to make it more pleasurable like hollowing your cheeks and palming his balls.

You love blowing Jungkook so much because he's so vocal and nothing makes you wetter than hearing his pretty moans. Also the hand on the back of your head, guiding you and caressing you, it only encourages you to continue and never stops until he reaches his high.

"Shit, baby," he curses under his breath, throwing back his head and closing his eyes, enjoying your mouth around him completely. "Keep going, you're doing such a good job," he praises and you feel so proud of yourself right now.

You keep bobbing your head as he told you, but this time you go faster. You hear Jungkook hissing and you feel his hold on your hair tightening, being a little rougher in the heat of the moment.

You look up only to see a blissful Jungkook, eyes closed and brows knitted together, concentrating on his pleasure. His dark bangs are covering his forehead, mouth agape to let out heavy breaths.

You focus back on your task, flattening your tongue under his thick cock, your hand stroking the base of his erection. You moan around him, knowing he likes that, and the vibrations go through his entire body.

"Oh, fuck, I'm close, baby, I'm close..." He warns you, licking his dried lips and glancing down at you. "Don't stop, fuck." He doesn't have to ask because there's no way you don't make him cum when he sounds so hot and raspy.

His cock twitches and he shoots his cock into you, moaning out loudly, steadying your head over him. You take everything he has to offer, tasting the subtle saltiness of his cum on your tongue.

When he's finished, he lets go of your hair and you slowly slip out, his cock falling down on his stomach, covered in your spit. You swallow everything, sticking your tongue out to show him.

"Come here," he demands with a lopsided smile, bringing you in for a sweet kiss.

.

.

You can’t help but snort in mockery as you throw it back onto the table in front of you and say, “There’s no way in hell you actually believe that thing works.”

Your other friend, Yoona, walks out of your kitchen with another can of soda in her hand. She glances at the small pink package on the table as she plops down on your couch next to you, an amused grin on her lips.

Lee shrugs her shoulders as she zaps through the comedy movies catalogue on Netflix with your remote, her eyes absentmindedly shifting to the packaged pill. “I’m not sure. It was like 10 bucks on Amazon.” Her gaze lingers on the pill, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

You roll your eyes, annoyance bubbling in your chest at the fact that your friend is dumb enough to get scammed like this. “10 bucks? They just sold you some cinnamon powder in a capsule and called it a day,” you laugh, returning your attention to the TV as you throw your feet up onto the coffee table.

“Oh, yeah? Then why don’t you take it?” Lee challenges you, pushing the pill in the pink package toward you with her foot.

Your eyes shift toward the pill. “You want me to take that pill right now?” Your eyebrow cocks up and you stare at it for a moment as if it were poison before turning your attention to her. It could very well be poison, actually.

A smirk stretches onto Yoona’s lips as she seemingly enjoys the thought of Lee challenging the most stubborn person on planet earth. Yoona leans forwards after sipping her coke, parting her lips to say, “Yeah, since you don’t think that it works, right?”

You nonchalantly shrug your shoulders, hoping to appear unbothered. You raise your own drink to your lips and glance at your friends over the rim of your can. “I really don’t,” you say before you take a sip of your iced tea. “But Jungkook is coming over later.”

An evil look twinkles in Yoona’s eyes as your words reach her ears. “Ah, so you do think there’s a chance it works.” She’s proud of her little gotcha-moment but you make sure it’s short-lived.

She watches as you swallow too quickly, a low burp escaping your lips as you scramble to defend yourself.

“No, I literally don’t.” Why would you? Viagra is insanely expensive, to think it’s counterpart is available on Amazon for 10 bucks is insane.

“Then take it,” Lee tilts her head to the side, a shit-eating grin on her lips. “Besides… you keep saying there’s nothing going on between you and Jungkook. Why mention he’s coming over if you’re not fucking him and if you don’t think the pill works?” she adds, eyes twinkling with satisfaction as if she’s got you.

You place your can of iced tea back down on the table with a thud. “I’m not fucking Jungkook, you weirdo,” you grumble as you defiantly reach for the pill.

You and Jungkook have been best friends for years, they know that! They know how both you and Jungkook physically cringe and wince whenever someone mistakes the two of you for a couple. Now, they put the image of having sex with him in your brain and it’s weird.

(Read: Well, lately, it has been crossing your mind but it quickly gets ignored.)

You’re not dumb, you know Jungkook’s been popular for being attractive since forever but he was never really your type.

Keyword: was.

It’s not your fault, though! Jungkook has been growing out his hair and has been working out, his arm is covered in tattoos and he seems to be making good money as a freelance video editor.

“Well, if you’re not fucking him, can I? I don’t know what’s in the air but he’s been changing a lot lately. Like his beauty looks like it doesn’t even belong on Earth.” Yoona takes the final sip of her old drink after she says that, crumpling it up and slamming it down onto the table with an obnoxious exhale.

You can tell she’s saying it to get a rise out of you but you quite literally don’t care. Why would you care about who the hell your friend is fucking?

“Fuck him if you want, I literally don’t care,” you say quietly as you gather the empty cans onto the tray you brought them in. You actually can’t bring yourself to care about Jungkook’s sex life, in all honesty.

“See, you’re jealous! I bet you’re fucking.” Lee’s teaseful words and Yoona’s obnoxious giggles are starting to irritate you. Can’t they just accept the fact you’re not fucking your best friend just because he has a penis?

You glare at the both of them with a twitch in your brows, your nostrils flared and your fingers tingling with the urge to throw the empty cans of soda at them.

You make up your mind and say, “Alright, to prove to you that this stupid pink pill doesn’t fucking work and nothing is going on between Jungkook and I…” You pop the pill out of its pocket and place it on your tongue, swiftly swallowing it down with the rest of your iced tea. “Two birds, one stone.”

The room fills with obnoxious laughter and giggles as they watch you, shaking their head at your obstinance. “You’re so stubborn and so petty,” Yoona adds before taking a sip of her new coke after cracking it open.

“You really think the pussy equivalent of viagra would cost 10 bucks? Be serious,” you grumble in annoyance, throwing your feet up onto the table again and slouch further into your couch as you try to pay attention to whatever is playing on the TV.

They share a mischievous look but you can’t bring yourself to comment on it. “Okay, if you say so.” Lee brings her shoulders up in a shrug and drops the topic for now.

•••

About 45 minutes later as Yoona and Lee get ready to leave, Yoona nudges you with her foot. “Do you feel anything?”

“No. I don’t. I’m telling you, it’s not real,” you tell them in all honesty. You really don’t feel any different. You don’t show your relief, though.

“Bummer. I really wanted you to learn a lesson,” Lee laughs and blows you a kiss when you put up your middle finger.

You say goodbye as they walk out and you just return your attention to your TV, watching the sappy drama that Lee and Yoona are obsessed with for some reason.

After a few moments, your phone buzzes.

[7:02PM]

Jungkook

Lays or Pringles?

[7:03PM]

You

pringlessssss

[7:03PM]

Jungkook

Bet. Be there in about an hour

[7:04PM]

You

okiii

You mindlessly throw your phone somewhere on the couch beside you and rise to your feet to clean up the mess Lee and Yoona left behind.

•••

Well, fuck.

About another 40 minutes later, you’re starting to actually regret taking that damn pill.

You can’t fucking believe this. Your nipples have been erect for 20 minutes and you’re sure you’re in need of a change of underwear.

What the hell is in that pill?

You walk into the bathroom to examine your appearance in the mirror. The air knocks out of your lungs at the sight in front of you.

Your pupils are dilated, your cheeks and nose are piping hot. Your lips are swollen and a thin layer of sweat is draped over your forehead.

Your heart has also been beating quicker than usual.

You want to hump everything in your sight. Is this what it’s like for an animal in heat? Fucking hell. You’ve never been this aroused.

Your hand slowly travels down your stomach and under the hem of your sweats. Reaching into your underwear, your fingertips are met with a disgusting amount of pure stickiness.

If you weren’t wearing your sweatpants so low on your hips, you definitely would have soaked through the thick material of your sweats, that’s how fucking drenched you are.

What should you do? Take a quick shower? It’d be useless to shower now since the effects can last for days. You’d just continue to produce your body’s natural lubrication and you don’t have the time to be showering every hour.

Clean up and change your underwear? That sounds like it’d make the most sense but you’d go through a lot of panties in a couple days too. Maybe you should literally just wear a tampon?

Fucking hell. You should’ve never taken that fucking pill. Damn those fucking friends of yours.

Like a gag in a sitcom, just as you reach for your underwear drawer, your front door swinging open rips through your eardrums. Regret immediately seeps into your stomach for giving Jungkook your spare residence key.

“Honey, I’m home,” Jungkook jokes and the sound of him kicking off his shoes as he closes the door rings in your ears like a blaring alarm.

You want to drop onto your knees and scream until you pass the fuck out. Your eyes flicker between the drawer and your bedroom door. What should you do?

He doesn’t give you much of an option when you hear him searching for you. “Y/N? Where are you?” Jungkook’s voice rings even louder in your ears this time and you can hear him approaching your room. You internally cry out and quickly head towards your bedroom door.

You walk into the hall and watch as he stops in his tracks. He’s wearing a black beanie, grey sweatpants and a grey sweater with a plastic bag in his tattooed hand which you assume are the snacks he picked up on his way here.

Grey fucking sweats.

Jungkook has always been handsome but for fuck’s sake. Your core literally pulsates at the sight of him right now.

“Hey,” you breathe out and walk up to him, brushing past him and into the living room in a straight line.

“Hey… You okay?” His eyebrows shoot up in surprise and quickly pinch into a frown as he follows you into the living room.

You quickly nod your head, hand on your head as you try to collect your thoughts. “Yeah, I’m fine. You?” you say, trying to appear casual as you head into the kitchen to grab a can of his favorite beer.

The sound of the plastic bag full of snacks hitting your coffee table and his body plopping onto your couch doesn’t go unnoticed by you. “I’m great, work was chill.”

You place your hands on your kitchen counter and lean forwards, taking a moment to catch your breath but your breath is not steadying at all.

Your feet carry you to the living room and you carefully place the cans onto the coffee table, trying your best not to look at him in those damn sweatpants.

Jungkook has ditched the beanie and his long black locks are sprawled on the backrest of the couch as he has comfortably sunk into your sofa, hair messy and screaming to be tugged on. You have to fight every bone in your body to not climb onto his lap right now and grind into him.

Have some fucking decorum, he’s your friend. Not an object.

Your chest deflates as you softly exhale, making your way to the couch as you carefully sit down, hoping to the Lord that you don’t soak through your clothes. You normally sit next to him but this time you sit at the other end of the couch.

He aims his frown at you but you pretend not to notice. He doesn’t comment on it, though. You crack your new can of iced tea open because there’s no way you’re putting alcohol in your system with this amount of arousal pooling inside of you.

“What movie are we watching?” he asks after a moment of silence in hopes of deterring the awkwardness as he turns his head to the TV, his thumb pressing one of the arrows on your remote, going through the catalogue of available movies.

“Uh… I don’t know. You can choose,” you mumble as you take a few more gulps to distract yourself.

He frowns at your words but keeps his eyes glued to the TV. “I chose last time. It’s your turn to choose.”

“Yeah, sorry, I just–” you start, which makes him look at you, “just put that one on.” You wave your hand toward the TV and he turns his head to look at the one he’s landed on before you return your attention to chugging your iced tea.

“We watched that one 3 weeks ago.” He sits up this time. “Are you okay? You look like you’re about to keel over,” he says, quietly. He sounds concerned and you sound fucking stupid.

You shake your head as the sparkling beverage burns your throat, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “I’m fine, I’m okay,” you mumble under your breath.

“Are you trying to convince me or you?” he asks, “And why are you sitting so far away?” he whines as he scoots closer to you, his hand reaching out to grab your waist but you shoot up out of the couch and onto your feet, avoiding his touch by a hair.

The moment he touches you, you’re going to pounce on him. No doubt in your mind.

“No, don’t,” you squeal, taking a step away from the sofa.

Now Jungkook is really fucking confused.

He quickly stands up as well, a concerned yet confused frown on his face. He probably thinks he did something wrong which makes your chest tighten with guilt. “What’s going on? Why are you acting like you’re about to have a fucking stroke?”

You breathe loudly as you pace around the living room with your hands on your head and say, “I might.”

Jungkook’s breath abruptly hitches in his throat as your concerning words ring in his ears. “Wh– Huh? What? Should I call an ambulance?”

You shake your head. “No, it’s not like that,” you mumble before you finally turn to him, dropping your hands from your head and let your fingers fidget, picking at the loose flesh around your nails.

His eyes drop down to your anxious fidgeting before traveling back up to stare at you. “Then, what is it? You’re scaring the shit out of me right now, Y/N.”

He actually does look terrified right now, staring at you with wide eyes as his teeth absentmindedly play with his lip piercings.

You loudly exhale in exasperation and rub your forehead as you consider just telling him. “I fucked up, Jungkook, and I’m panicking,” you say, rubbing your eyes until there’s colored spots in your vision. “I never should’ve taken that fucking pill.”

You watch as his face becomes that of a cartoon character, eyes wide, brows raised to the stars, mouth twitching. “What? Pill? What pill? Are you high?”

You roll your eyes and grunt in annoyance with yourself for phrasing it like that. “No, I–” you groan loudly before cutting yourself off and heading into the kitchen. You wince as you shove your hand into the trash can, taking the ripped pink piece of carton out of the garbage. You stare at it for a while but already find yourself heading back into the living room before you overthink it and change your mind.

Jungkook is still standing in front of the couch, his big brown eyes still wide with concern and his bottom lip reddened from how much he’s been chewing on it.

You walk up to him and with a flick of your wrist, you toss it onto the table in front of him. He glances at the pink package before glancing back up at you but you’re already looking away with your arms crossed.

He slowly sinks back down and takes the ripped package into his hands to examine it. He reads the words for a few seconds but he still seems confused. “Female sexual enhancement and libido boosting? What the fuck is this?”

You groan as you drop to your knees on the floor across from him, in front of the coffee table.

“It’s like viagra for people with pussies and it’s supposed to make you horny as fuck. My friends dared me to take it because I told them it wasn’t real.”

He looks up at you through his brows, a mix of surprise and confusion still on his face. “Do you think it’s laced with something dangerous?”

“No, nothing like that but whatever the fuck they put in it is working. It’s fucking working,” you whine as you place your elbows on the coffee table in front of you with a loud thud, burying your face in your palms.

There’s a moment of silence between you two.

“So like…” he begins, trying to stifle a laugh, “you’re really horny? Right now?”

“Jungkook,” you groan, eyes shamefully looking up at him and you’re just in time to watch him clutch his arms around his stomach as he just obnoxiously laughs in your face. “Stop laughing!”

He chuckles for a little while longer before calming down. “I’m sorry, I’ve just never heard of this before. How are you feeling?” He places it back onto the table and returns the eye contact, still an annoying grin on his soft lips.

“Like I could fuck the fridge if it had a dick.”

Jungkook bursts out laughing maniacally, throwing himself back onto the couch as he exaggeratedly gasps for air.

“Jungkook! I’m panicking, stop laughing!” you whine, standing back up on your feet as heat rushes to your face, a lump of embarrassment forming in your throat.

“Sorry, sorry,” he chuckles as he wipes a tear at the corner of his eye. “You’re just so fucking stupid.”

You huff in response and glare down at him, his eyes slowly trailing up your body to meet yours and the single act of his black eyes drinking you in makes a curtain of lava drape over your already burning body.

You tap your foot against the floor impatiently. “What should I do?” You chew on your lip as you ask him the impossible question.

He simply shrugs his shoulders and leans back into the couch, hands on his upper thighs right below his hips. He’s not making this any fucking easier. “Masturbate. Or go get fucked.”

You wince, a thousand volts of electricity travelling up your vertebrae at his words. “Tonight’s our movie night, though.”

“Babe, you’re clearly not in the right headspace to be watching a movie with me.”

You internally scream at the pet name he sometimes uses when the both of you are alone. It never makes you feel anything in particular but right now, your stomach clenches at the pet name and you’re painfully reminded that it didn’t help your sticky underwear situation at all.

“Still, I don’t want to ditch you. That’s not cool,” you mutter as you take a seat on the couch, cringing as your panties stick to your core and your slick is undoubtedly smeared all over your sex and inner thighs. No matter how nonchalant he is about the situation, you’re too embarrassed to excuse yourself now to go change your damn underwear.

“So what? You’re just gonna sit next to me and squirm all evening?” he asks you, a genuine look of confusion on his face.

“Mhm.” You shrug your shoulders in hopes of appearing nonchalant and unbothered as you reach for the remote.

But you’re extremely bothered. Hot and fucking bothered.

“You can go masturbate, you know. I’m not going to act weird about it,” he tells you with a carefree air around him as he tears a bag of chips open.

His words make your pussy clench around nothing and you have to actively remind yourself to cross your arms to hide your erect nipples, despite the fact he has probably already noticed.

“I doubt masturbating will do the trick. Besides, it says the effects can last up to 72 hours. I’m not going to masturbate for 3 days.”

He breaks into a fit of giggles again, making you roll your eyes as you swing one of your legs over the other. It appears casual but really, you’re just looking for some friction.

“You’re so dumb for taking that pill.” He reminds you, as if you don’t already know that. He glances at you when a childish huff pushes past your lips.

Neither of you say anything else but the moment of silence is disturbed by the scrunching of the bag of chips in Jungkook’s hands.

You take a moment as you consider what you really want to ask him. Should you just say fuck it and ask him to fuck the shit out of you?

The idea quickly gets obliterated by your rational self and you finally choose a movie to play.

Throughout the movie, you notice Jungkook’s eyes on you every now and then. The constant crossing of your legs and arms doesn’t go unnoticed by him but he never comments on it.

You’re doing great until a sex scene starts playing on the screen. You suck in a breath as you watch intently, your fingers twitching in your lap.

The actress on the screen is crying out in – over the top – pleasure as the man pounds into her, the headboard of the bed banging against the wall exaggeratedly makes the frames that are hung up on the wall crash to the ground with a loud clatter. You know it’s all fake but that doesn’t stop the gushing in your panties.

“Y/N,” Jungkook chuckles as he motions for you to skip the scene but you don’t react to him.

You stare blankly ahead of you at the TV, sitting in silence. You can see Jungkook shaking his head at your stubbornness in the corner of your eye as he stretches his arm over your lap, reaching for the remote that’s next to your thigh. His arm is hovered over your lap, face almost pressed into your chest and his cologne is the final drop that has your head spinning.

The silence that falls around the two of you as you impulsively wrap your hand around his wrist – that’s reaching for the remote – is suffocating.

He instantly freezes, eyes glued to the remote that he had just wrapped his fingers around. He’s in an awkward position, lying on his hip and his arm stretched out over your thighs with his face mere inches away from your breasts.

You finally decide to speak up.

“Will you do me a favor?” you quietly ask him after those few moments of silence as you let go of his wrist, your eyes nervously glued to your fingers as you fidget with the laces of your sweatpants.

This time, Jungkook is quiet.

Jungkook is never quiet.

The tension is palpable and it makes you want to jump off your balcony right now. His silence is already starting to make you regret asking him.

He slowly moves back to his seat but you can’t see much else as you refuse to look away from your lap.

He finally speaks up and you’re conflicted on whether you’re relieved that he does or not. “Are you asking me what I think you’re asking of me?” His voice is lower than usual. It sends a quick shiver down your spine and awakens the goosebumps on the upper layer of your skin.

You don’t even look at him and in response, you just stay quiet, your silence confirming his speculation.

You two sit in unbearable silence for what seems like a damn eternity, the obnoxious moaning coming from the TV is not making this any easier. Jungkook seems to be in deep thought before you see him rise to his feet in your peripheral vision. You swallow thickly as he starts heading towards the entrance hall.

Shit. He’s leaving.

You don’t blame him, though. Who the fuck asks this of their best friend?

You shut your eyes tightly, holding your breath as you patiently wait for the sound of the door clicking close to hit your ears.

But it never comes.

“Are you coming or not?”

His words shoot into your eardrums like a thousand needles and it makes your heart violently jerk against your ribcage.

You crack your eyes open to see him standing in the doorway of the hall, back turned to you but his head turned over his shoulder as he stares you down with an unreadable expression clouding his face. A frown climbs its way onto your brows as you slowly get up. Your feet take you to him on their own, body magnetizing towards him as your stomach bursts with excitement and your veins are set aflame with desire.

You shyly follow him into your bedroom as if you’re the one visiting his home. “Are you sure?” you quietly ask him as you enter your bedroom after him, closing the door with a soft thud.

He slowly turns to you, head cocked to the side as his black gaze drapes over your body and makes you feel incredibly small. “You’re my friend in need of some help. Why would I not be sure?” His face is a bit expressionless and his voice sounds different than what you’re used to.

Your brows pinch together at his disregardance. “Jungkook, this isn’t a usual request. I’m not asking you to drop me off at home after work or to delete an ugly picture of me you posted on your instagram. I’m–”

“You’re asking me to fuck you. I don’t see why it has to mean anything more than what it is. Sex isn’t that big of a deal, Y/N.”

You idly blink at him, listening to his blunt words as he casually tells you he’s down to fuck you. All those years of the two of you swearing you had never crossed any lines, how you don’t see each other that way, how you’re like family and this is what it’s come to?

The doubt glimmering in your eyes doesn’t go unnoticed by him, evident by the crossing of his arms over his chest and the cocking of his head to the side. “Are you sure?” he asks you this time, his voice soft and his tone neutral.

You stare at him for a couple seconds but you’ve made up your mind.

You start walking past him, heading for your bed. You tuck your fingers under the hem of your sweats and wiggle them off your hips as you turn around to face him again, stepping out of the sweats pooling at your ankles. You take a seat on the edge of your bed and kick your sweats away, all whilst looking up at him through your pretty lashes.

You notice that his own breath is getting heavier. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he watches you slowly lean back on your hands, bending your legs at the knees and propping your feet up onto the edge of the mattress as you spread your thighs wide apart, allowing him to witness your extreme arousal firsthand.

Jungkook’s eyes drop down to what’s between your legs, the massive wet patch of slick on your panties and your inner thighs lathered in your stickiness make his eyebrows twitch.

“Is that pill giving you a major confidence boost too?” he mumbles as he walks up to you, referring to how you’re usually on the shy and modest side. He tugs his sweatshirt off and throws it somewhere on your floor.

“I don’t give a fuck about what it’s given me, I need you to fuck me like you’ve never fucked anyone before. Right now,” you say with a hiss to your tone as you ditch your t-shirt, leaving you in your sheer tank top and no bra.

Your erect nipples haven’t gone unnoticed by him and your words make him grunt in response. You watch as he starts palming himself through his sweatpants, body now towering over you as he stares down at you.

You’ve seen Jungkook shirtless before, when he’s working out or playing some random sport with his friends that you agreed to cheer him on for, from the sidelines. Even when he stays over or you stay over at his. So, his physique shouldn’t be surprising to you and it isn’t, but the sight of his bare torso right now drives you up the fucking wall.

He reaches for the hem of your panties, making you close your thighs as he yanks them down your legs. The massive string of slick still connected to your underwear makes him swear loudly, your panties aggressively tossed to the floor by him.

“I can’t believe how wet it’s made you,” he grunts as he places his hands on your knees and gently spreads your thighs again, eyes glued to your sticky pussy. “I’m pretty confident I’ve satisfied all the people I’ve had sex with but I’ve never seen anything like this. You’re fucking dripping.”

And you are. You can hear the splatter of a droplet hitting your floor and the embarrassment drives you absolutely insane.

You notice his hand tightening around his boner. “Fuck, I want to taste.”

You can tell he wants to touch, lick, taste you but you’ve already made it clear that you need him to fuck you right this instant.

“Jungkook, I’ll literally die if you don’t fuck me right now.” You lean back onto your elbows, eyes still staring up at him as he slowly starts tugging his sweatpants down his legs. Soon he ditches the Calvin Klein boxers too, allowing his erection to spring free.

Your eyes drop down to the dick in his hand, hard as a rock as he spits in his hand and strokes himself whilst eyeing you. His dick is red at the tip but darkens at the shaft, it’s not massive but it’s not small either. It’s just the right size. The sight alone could have you squirting hands-free.

You need to be sedated.

“I don’t have any protection on me,” he begins, “Are you–”

You cut him off. “I’m clean. Are you?”

You know Jungkook is incredibly responsible when it comes to his sex life but you still make it a thing to ask.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, upper teeth sunken into his bottom lip as he strokes his own dick.

“Good, ‘cause I need to feel everything,” you grunt as you reach for your clit. You drag your fingers up your wet slit and pull your fingers away from your pussy to show him the thick string of your slick that stays connected from your pussy to your fingers. The string doesn’t break even though you’ve stretched it out a few inches.

It’s your way of telling him you don’t need any prep because you are disgustingly drenched.

“Fuck,” he mumbles under his breath, running a hand through his hair. He takes a few moments to collect himself before he positions himself at your sex. He rubs the head of his dick up and down your slit, gathering your slick onto his tip with a hiss escaping his mouth. “Birth control?”

Your legs violently jerk at the sensation of the head of his dick rubbing up and down your slit. You could cum right now. “Yeah.” Your reply leaves your lips in a pornographic moan and you can’t even bring yourself to be embarrassed about it.

He positions his dick at your hole with one hand whilst the other supports your leg by the back of your knee. “Ready?”

“For fuck’s sake, just put it in already. I feel like I’ll come undone any second,” you whimper, your chest rising and falling dramatically as you pant.

A deep chuckle rumbles in his chest, looking up into your eyes for the first time since you showed him your wet pussy. He slowly starts pushing into you, his eyes watching your face as your mouth falls open and your eyebrows scrunch together at the intrusion.

A whiny groan leaves his throat as your walls wrap around him. “Holy shit. You’re so fucking tight. So fucking wet,” he mumbles more to himself as he starts pushing further in, the sweet moans spilling from your lips raising goosebumps on his arms as you clench around him, threatening to milk him of everything he’s worth.

He leans forward and hovers over you, wedging himself in between your legs as he keeps fucking into you. His hands are flat against the mattress on each side of your waist, the back of your knees bent at his forearms, around his elbows. You’re spread so wide that the sound of your soaking pussy is, at times, louder than the slapping of his skin against yours.

You cry out at the pleasure, it’s like your sensitivity has been cranked up to a hundred. Your senses are sent into overdrive, the tiniest friction has your head spinning because nothing compares to how you’re feeling right now.

You open your eyes to the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen, Jungkook on top of you with his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes closed. He’s gorgeous.

Tears prick in your eyes at the pleasure, the head of his dick rubbing against your walls so good has you seeing stars. You can feel every single ridge, vein, nook and cranny of his dick as he fucks into you. Your walls tighten around him so well, your slick already making a sticky mess against his sex and your bum.

As if he sensed you looking at him, his eyes crack open and stare down at yours. His gaze drops down to your lips and before you know it, he has his lips pressed to yours. You’re surprised at first but your lips quickly work back, a moan escaping your throat which allows him to lick into your mouth.

After several minutes of making out and fucking, Jungkook pulls back to catch his breath. “Sorry about that but you feel– you feel so fucking good,” he grunts as he leans back again, turning you onto your side and lifting your leg as he continues to fuck into you.

You yelp at the switch of position, your fingers tightly wrapping around the sheets under your waist, watching as your leg slightly jerks against his chest but he restrains your thigh as he holds onto it tightly.

The familiar clench in your stomach takes you by surprise. Already?

“I’m gonna fucking cum. I’m gonna–” You have never orgasmed this fast and definitely not from solely penetration before but this pill is working wonders.

Jungkook nods his head in understanding as he kisses your calf that’s up on his shoulder. “Cum on my dick, babe,” he says with a moan before he tilts his head back in bliss.

Fuck him for using that pet name.

“Oh, fuck. Oh, my God. I’m gonna…” you cry out as your orgasm drops onto you like a pile of fucking bricks, a million volts of electricity frying your brains and making your heart beat a thousand miles a minute.

You’re grateful that Jungkook keeps fucking you because your orgasm has never lasted this long before. Your legs are shaking, your hands are bunching up the sheets around you and your throat burns from the cries you’ve let out.

The continuous clenching of your pussy during your orgasm has pushed Jungkook to the edge as well, his brows furrowed in concentration.

His own orgasm approaches him as his thrusts get a little rougher, your breasts bouncing from the momentum of his hips slamming into yours.

Not long after you, he pulls out in one swift motion. It seems like he pulled out right on time because ropes of his warm cum instantly land all over your sex and stomach the moment he pulls out.

He reaches for his dick and pumps himself to milk himself of every drop, bottom lip trapped between his teeth as he watches himself cum all over his best friend.

His hand comes to a halt and he collapses on top of you, face buried in the crook of your neck as he tries to catch his breath.

After a few moments of silence and no movement other than the heavy breathing, you say, “Jungkook…”

He pauses for a moment and then says, “Give me a few minutes, I’ll be ready for round two in a bit.” His voice is quiet and muffled from being buried in the crook of your neck.

“Round two?” you ask him, a scrunch on your brows as you frown at the ceiling.

He slowly lifts his head, his eyes searching yours. “Yeah, you don’t wanna go for round two?” he asks, his voice is neutral as if he’s asking you about the weather. Doesn’t he realize he just fucked you? He’s talking to you with the sweetest look in his eyes as if he didn’t just give you most mind-blowing orgasm of your life.

“Well… Yeah. But I don’t expect you to,” you quietly say, blinking up at him with doe eyes.

“Nonsense,” he grumbles as he finally pushes himself off of you, his softening dick retreating from you. He glances down at your chest and looks back up at you. “Can I take this off?” he asks, gently tugging at your tank top.

Without another word, you reach for the hem of your tank top and pull it over your head. He quietly apologizes as he takes it from you and uses it to wipe your body clean before tossing it aside. He knows you’re too fucked out to scold him for it.

Jungkook’s eyes immediately drop down to your breasts, his big brown eyes practically bulging out of their sockets. His hands reach up but freeze right above your breasts, eyes glancing up to read your expression and see if it’s okay to touch them.

Your eyes flicker with desperation. “Please,” you breathe out, encouraging him to go ahead.

He brings his hand up to his mouth and licks at his thumb, bringing it down to toy with your erect nipple. “Wow,” he whispers, closing in on your other breast with his mouth as he gently licks and sucks on your nipple.

Your moans sound pathetic, hips involuntarily thrusting up into his. It makes him chuckle like the cocky asshole that he is, his hand gently pressing against your stomach to push your hips down. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone this horny,” he states as he rolls off of you and props himself up next to you, leaning on his elbow to support his own weight.

His hand slowly trails from your breast down to your stomach and you’re already spreading your thighs further apart for him which makes him chuckle again. The tips of his middle and ring finger find your clit, the direct contact to the most sensitive area in your body sends a shiver down your legs.

Small circles are being rubbed onto your clit by his soft fingers and after a few moments, his eyes shift down to his fingers as he pulls them away from your pussy. “Look,” he says in a deep exhale.

You glance down at his hand like he’s asking you to. He’s showing you the string of slick that’s connected to his fingers and if you weren’t high off arousal right now, you’d be extremely embarrassed at how wet you are.

His fingers dive back in, sliding in between your folds and massaging all around before he plunges his fingers into you. This makes you thrust your hips straight up into his hand, a pornographic moan spilling from your lips.

“You’re so needy,” he chuckles, pushing you down as he starts furiously fucking his fingers into you, curling them repeatedly to assault your g-spot.

You yelp at the torture on your sweet spot. “Shut the fuck up,” you grunt, your reaction to his teaseful words makes him chuckle.

He presses his soft lips into the side of your neck as he continues his abuse on your pussy, not commenting on the way your legs jolt and jerk with every curl of his fingers but forcefully restraining you from writhing with his own body.

“Jungkook, I’m gonna–”

“Already?” he teases you, twisting his body so half of it is now hovering over you. You turn to look at him as you sob, the squishing sounds your pussy makes are loud enough to finally embarrass you. His face is hovering right over yours as his hands slam into your sex. Your hands reach up to the back of his head, pulling him down to press your lips into his so you can avoid his piercing gaze.

He wastes no time kissing you back, his hand picking up its insanity-inducing pace. White spots cover your eyelids as a strange sensation washes over you. It’s not an orgasm, you don’t recall ever feeling this before. You cry into his mouth and it takes you a second to realize you’re squirting all over your bed.

“Fuuuck,” Jungkook grunts into your mouth, the pace of his hand never faltering as it continues to slam into your sex. Tears stream down your face as your second orgasm quickly approaches you right after your squirt session, your legs continuously jerking and squirming under him.

“Jungkook–!” you sob as your hips involuntarily recoil against the mattress, your orgasm finally hitting you directly after your squirt session. Your hips running away from Jungkook’s hand doesn’t mean anything to him, he just keeps fucking his fingers into you, lips still pressed to yours as he swallows your pleading cries.

He hums against your mouth, lips wrapping around your tongue as he gently sucks on it. You aggressively squirm under him, your hands weakly pressed up against his shoulders and chest in an attempt to push him off. He finally gets the memo and retreats his fingers.

He can’t help himself as he pulls away from your lips, bringing his sticky fingers to his mouth and sucking them clean, humming in delight at the taste of his best friend.

He pulls his fingers out of his mouth with a pop and sits up, looking down at the mess you created. “Damn. I didn’t know you could do all that,” he mumbles before running his hand back up your disgustingly wet slit, holding you down with his other hand to keep you from squirming.

You can’t even answer, you’re completely fucked out under him, trying to catch your breath.

“You’re not giving up on me, are you?” he quips, using his sticky hand to pump his growing erection.

Your eyes drop down to his hand, swallowing hard as you eye his dick. “Get on all fours, come on,” he says as he slaps your thigh, getting on his knees on your mattress in front of you.

“Give me a second, you freak,” you mumble as you prop yourself up on your elbows. You shake your head in an attempt to gather your thoughts but it doesn’t do much.

You finally turn over and lazily get onto your hands and knees, arms shaking and you try your best to ignore your slick trickling down the back of your thighs.

His hand comes down to knead your asscheek, a low grunt leaving his throat. “If there’s one thing I’ve fantasized about when it comes to you, it’s your ass,” he mutters under his breath, both his hands now kneading the soft skin of your bum.

“You’ve fantasized about me?” you ask him, glancing over your shoulder to look back at him.

His eyes glance into yours before they return to your perky ass in front of him, one hand stopping the kneading of your cheek to pump his dick and position it at your sex.

“I’d be lying if I said I haven’t,” he starts, “but it was only a handful of times and it was way back when we first met, no worries,” he adds, rubbing the tip of his dick up your slit. “I take our friendship seriously.”

It knocks a moan out of you and your arms already give out, your face colliding with the mattress under you. How seriously did you both take this friendship if you’re rubbing your genitals together right now?

“Have you fantasized about me?” he quietly asks you, a quiet hiss leaving his lips as he continues to rub his tip up and down your wetness.

You sniff, silently thinking about your answer for a moment before sighing and saying, “Maybe once a year.”

A soft chuckle escapes his lips at your response and he shakes his head. He doesn’t reply and instead pushes into you, groaning at the stretch again. “I literally just fucked you, how are you still so–” he groans loudly as he bottoms out. He throws his head back as he starts fucking into you but quickly tilts it back down to watch the skin of your asscheeks recoil against his hips.

Your pathetic wimpers make him reach around your hip, gently rubbing your clit as he starts thrusting into you. You cry out at the overstimulation, stretching your arm out behind you to push into his lower stomach in an attempt to push him off but there’s absolutely no strength behind the push because you don’t want him to stop.

“You sound so fucking pretty like this,” he grunts, fingers continuing to rub circles on your overstimulated clit and he pays absolutely no mind to your hand pressing into his lower abdomen. “Tell me how I’m making you feel.”

With another sob into your pillow, you shake your head at his request. He can’t possibly expect you to form a coherent sentence, right?

That’s until you feel a sharp sting against your asscheek, your ass recoiling from the spanking he just gave you. You gasp and lazily turn your face to look over your shoulder at him as you shout, “Jeon Jungkook!”

He leans over, his chest pressed into your back and his lips pressed against your ear. “Tell me,” he whispers as he pushes you forward, watching you fall flat onto your stomach, face pressed into the pillows. You’re now fully lying face down on the mattress.

Just as you turn to look over your shoulder at him, he has entered you again. The fact that you’re lying face down with your legs together makes him curse as he struggles to enter you all the way but he does, the feeling of being wrapped all around him has you seeing stars.

He places his hands on each side of your elbows as you prop yourself up on them, his lips pressed to the shell of your ear and his chest pressed into your back as he starts thrusting into you again.

“Jungkook,” you moan as you turn your face slightly, eyes staring up at him. His face is so close to yours, eyes glued to the mattress underneath you.

“Tell me how it feels, baby.”

Fuck. Why would he call you that?

Your mouth is agape and your eyebrows are furrowed as Jungkook keeps fucking into you from behind, his eyes finally shifting to yours. His proximity and intense eyes make you finally comply as you say, “It– It feels so fucking good.”

His black eyes penetrate yours and you can’t tear your eyes away from his. “You look so fucking pretty like this, Y/N, holy shit. I just wanna–” he grunts as he cuts himself off, dropping his forehead onto your shoulder as he keeps fucking into your tightness.

“You just wanna what?” you say, a soft whimper following your words as you encourage him to finish his sentence.

“Destroy you.”

A cry spills from your lips the moment he says that, the pace in which he’s thrusting picks up and it’s getting rougher with each passing second. At this point you’re almost getting hatefucked and you can’t help but love every second of it.

“I hope that’s a promise,” you manage to reply.

“Oh yeah?” His hand wraps around your throat from the back, making you lift your head up, the back of your head colliding with his shoulder. Your temple is pressed against his jaw as he gently squeezes your throat.

The sinful sounds such as his skin slapping against yours, the squelshing of your wet pussy and the moans spilling from your lips are the only things you can hear and want to hear at this moment.

Jungkook’s lips and nose graze the shell of your ear, quiet moans leaving his mouth and you can only describe it as liquid gold being ladled into your ear by angels.

“Fuck, come ride me.” He doesn’t even wait for a response as he slides right out of you, lets go of your throat and drops his body next to yours before rolling onto his back. His strong arms reach for you and yank you up by your arm and waist, pulling you toward him.

A surprised yelp leaves you as you’re forced to climb onto him, every single time your clit grazes his skin has you biting back a pathetic sob. You guide his dick toward your sex and without hesitation, you sink right down onto his sex.

He grunts at the way you tightly wrap around him, hands reaching for your hips. You start bouncing on him, thighs and ass slapping into his hips which makes him moan your name softly.

You throw your head back in pure bliss and place your hands on his thighs, allowing yourself to lean back on them and support your weight as you fuck yourself on his dick.

“Holy shit,” he mumbles as he watches your every movement, eyes scanning the way your face twists in pleasure, the way your breasts bounce, the way your stomach jiggles, the way pretty moans continuously fall from your lips.

He brings his fingers to your sex and rubs that pattern that you like directly onto your clit. He watches as your body starts jerking and your legs start trembling with a shit-eating grin.

“I’m gonna… I’m gonna–”

He cuts you off. “I know, pretty. Cum all over me,” he says as he continues to stimulate your already overstimulated clit.

You want to keep riding, you really, really want to but you can’t. Your body collapses right on top of his torso, breathless and a mess. He jumps right into action as he holds onto your forearms and pins them into your lower back, holding you tightly against his chest as he thrusts up into you.

Your face is buried in the pillow right next to his head, your cries probably deafening him as he fucks you toward your 3rd orgasm of the hour. Your body is moving like jelly at this point and you can’t contain your sobs as your body continues to tremble like a leaf in the wind.

Your 3rd orgasm hits you like a fucking train and you can’t even move, you keep crying in Jungkook’s hold as he mercilessly pounds his hips up into you.

Fireworks explode on the back of your eyelids, electricity fries your brain into a pile of mush and your body is set alight, all your nerve endings bursting with magma.

When you’ve ridden out your orgasm, a surprised whimper rips through your throat when you’re suddenly flipped, thrown onto your back against your mattress and your legs pushed back towards your torso.

He climbs onto you and slides right back in, ignoring your cries of overstimulation as he harshly fucks into you, his hands placed against the mattress right next to your ribs on each side of your body.

You weakly crack your eyes open to glance up at him, your gaze shifting all over his face. The layer of sweat covering his forehead and nose, his bottom lip trapped in between his bunny teeth, his eyes staring deep into your fucking soul.

“Where… Where do you want me to cum?” he breathily asks, his hips aggressively recoiling against yours as his own orgasm approaches him rapidly.

“Fill me up until you pass out, Jungkook.” Your voice is hoarse at this point, cracking at the end of your sentence. He knows it’s nothing more than a figure of speech but it’s got his hips stuttering for a moment.

“Fuck, you’re so…” He can’t even finish his sentence as he’s finally releasing his load, shooting ropes of his cum straight into his best friend.

“Fuck,” he curses continuously as his thrusts get inconsistent. His head drops onto your shoulder, eyes squeezed shut as he moans softly with each sloppy thrust, the disgusting squelching of his cum being fucked into you rings louder than any alarm. After his climax has washed away, he finally collapses on top of you, face nuzzled in the crook of your neck.

You stay like that, staring up at the ceiling as tears roll down the sides of your face from the pleasure, overstimulation and sensitivity still pulsating in your veins.

After a few more moments, Jungkook quietly rolls off of you and tries to catch his breath.

You wipe your cheeks with the back of your hands and exhale deeply before whispering his name.

He opens his eyes and turns his head to you, humming softly in response.

“Thank you.” Is all you can say.

He shakes his head and props himself up on his elbows as he glances at you. “Don’t thank me yet. You said it can last up to 3 days, right?”

Your brows pinch together and your stomach bursts into flames. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I’m not done with you yet.”

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a sigh leaves you lips, your chest moving up and down as you try to catch your breath. a warm feeling pervades your body, as your laboured breathing gets louder in the silent room.

you’re too focused on trying to regain consciousness that you miss jungkook’s gaze on you.

he doesn’t even hide his smirk as he stares at your fucked out expression, your eyes closed as your mouth is slightly open. he doesn’t miss the sweat forming on your forehead, and with a gentle movement of his hand, he moves some strands of your hair away from your face.

you turn your head at the sudden contact, his hand slightly cold against the warmth of your skin. you try to open your eyes, and jungkook lets out a chuckle as you struggle to keep them open.

“that’s all it takes, huh?” he says cockily, and you huff in annoyance at his words. but of course, it’s only fake annoyance. and jungkook knows it too, just by the way your mouth inevitably forms a knowing smile.

“shut up, jeon” you shut him down, your hand finding his face as he chuckles against it.

“oh, i wasn’t even talking,” he says, wetting his lower lips “it was all you, honey”

a grunt leaves you as he smirks at you, his words a not-so-subtle reminder of what happened just a few minutes prior; when he was between your legs, eating you out as if you were his last meal.

you didn’t even try to hide your obscene moans, jungkook purposely teasing you as he moved his skilful tongue against your cunt, alternating between bringing you closer to your edge and taking his mouth off of you, delaying your orgasm.

it wasn’t jungkook if he didn’t play with you before giving you everything you wanted; and you know that it wasn’t over. he never left you unfinished, not without making you come at least two times. and one always with his cock.

that’s why you slightly move away from his touch, brushing off the sheets from your body as you try to sit up on the bed.

“hey, hey” jungkook calls you, instinctively bringing an arm around your waist “where are you going?”

he knew exactly where you’re going. where you’re supposed to be. at your boyfriend’s house, hanging out with him and his friends.

it wasn’t your initial intention, that of meeting with your… you don’t even know how to call him. jungkook is many things to you: he’s a friend, perhaps a close one. he’s the type of person who you would call when you find yourself alone, and he always comes to help, no matter what. he’s everything a woman, or a man, could dream of. except, he’s also unavailable.

that’s what he told you after you tried countless times to set him up with your friends. ‘i’m just not looking for anything serious’ he told you many times, brushing off your attempts of matching him with someone.

so you wonder why, why did he end up hooking up with none other than you, his dearest friend. who just casually happens to have a boyfriend. the most boring, bland boyfriend that could exist, jungkook is sure of that.

he doesn’t understand how you could have fallen for that, why you would possibly find him attractive in any way. perhaps you didn’t, not seriously. because if you did, you wouldn’t cheat on him.

especially with jungkook.

“jungkook,” you call his name, trying to push his hand away. he hears the tone of your voice, not begging but not demanding either. it sounds almost frustrated, and that makes jungkook tighten his grip on you.

“don’t go,” he whispers against you, his forehead pressed against your arm. you can’t help gazing down at him, your expression faltering as he silently begs you not to leave him.

you sigh loudly at his words, not even trying to move away as he keeps you caged on his arms.

“i don’t even know why you’re still with him,” his voice is muffled, but you hear him clearly “i don’t think anyone does”

you scoff at his words, knowing exactly where this is going; you’re now used to it, hearing jungkook say that your boyfriend doesn’t deserve you. not as much as him.

“tell me, why do you even like him in the first place?” he asks bluntly, and you roll your eyes in response.

“he’s always been nice to me,” you try to come up with a reasonable response, but he just shakes his head at your weak attempt to convince him.

“that’s the bare minimum,” he replies “and by the way, i’m nice too. does it mean you let me fuck you because i’m nice? or… nicer than him, at least?”

he doesn’t hide the smirk plastered on his face, as his words hit you with the truth that you’ve been trying to deny it for god knows how long.

“i let you fuck me because you have a big cock, jungkook” you respond challengingly and he shakes his head in disbelief.

“you know what?” he asks suddenly, and you send him a questioning look “he is nice, after all. especially compared to you, who’s been busy being fucked hard by her friend instead of spending time with him.”

you don’t expect such crude words to come out from him, but who are you to deny them? you know you’re on the bad side, sneaking away with him instead of being with your boring boyfriend. but not even once you’ve felt guilty about it.

“but don’t worry,” he says, coming closer to you as he whispers in your ear “i enjoy fucking someone else’s girlfriend”

you feel yourself blushing at his words, his tone purposely lustful as a silent beg of convincing you to stay with him.

as if you would be able to stay away from him for too long.

“and if we stop?” you ask, a subtle attempt to tease him further.

but he simply chuckles at your question, giving you a knowing look. “oh baby,” he calls you with a seductive tone “i don’t even know if you can stop.”

you know he’s right, and he does too. how can you even think about stop seeing him, touching him, letting him do everything he wants to you?

your boyfriend has never touched you as jungkook does, so carefully yet so aggressively. he doesn’t know how to make you cum, let alone do it multiple times. he doesn’t know the parts of your body that shiver just at the mere touch. he doesn’t know how loud you can be when you reach your peak. he doesn’t know your body, not like jungkook does.

his words send shivers down your spine, eyes locked on his as he lets go of your waist, before placing a hand behind your neck. and with a slow, tempting motion, his lips find the sweet spot on your neck, a way to show that his words were, in fact, true.

you moan at his touch, feeling yourself getting wetter the more his lips graze your soft skin.

“kook…” you call him, but he shuts you down as his mouth finds yours unexpectedly. his lips feel rough against yours, still wet from how much your tongue grazed them.

a whine escapes you when you suddenly taste your own cunt on his tongue, the memories of him between your legs making you shiver in anticipation. he hums in appreciation when your tongue swirls against his, moving you down on the bed as he places himself on top of you.

you break the kiss to stare at his godly body, his hair framing his beautiful face as he looks down on you in awe.

“you like when i’m on top of you, baby?” he asks bluntly, and you respond with another kiss, bringing him down on you as he rolls his hips against your naked body.

he moans loudly as his hands move all over your figure, his calloused touch is not foreign anymore against the softness of your curves.

another whines escapes you as you feel the rough fabric of his boxers against your center, grinding against his hard member.

he chuckles against your lips at your eagerness, and without stopping kissing you, he brings his hand down, lowering his boxers. you hear the soft slapping sound of his cock against his abdomen, painfully hard, and starts grinding against your nakedness.

you both moan at the touch, his precum coating your pussy as his movements become more and more erratic. your hands grab his boxers, helping him to get rid of them completely, all without breaking the kiss.

only when you’re in need of air, you leave his lips, catching you breath as you match the movement of his hips. you look down at his aching cock, moaning shamelessly at the sight.

“yeah, you like that?” he says, noticing you staring down at his cock sliding up and down your pussy, that grows wetter and wetter the more he moves. he teases your entrance when you don’t respond, his head pressing against you making you whine loudly.

“jungkook!” you slightly jump at his action, and he chuckles at your eagerness.

he can’t help but stare at you in awe, so needy and perfect for him — as you’ve always been.

“you might be his girlfriend,” he says, slowly widening your legs even more “but you belong to me.”

he looks down on your perfect body, your glossy eyes and lips making him even harder as his hands graze your skin. he sits down a little, skilfully groping each part of your body.

“these perfect tits,” he grabs your chest, thumbs flicking your nipples as you moan at the stimulation.

“these beautiful hips,” he says, sliding his hands down your sides.

“these lovely thighs,” he messages the skin of your upper legs, admiring its softness.

“this fucking pussy,” he moans at the sight of your wet center, still slightly abused from his tongue as his eyes struggle to move away from it.

“this whole perfect body,” he kisses up from your clit, making you jolt slightly, to your lips “it all belongs to me.”

and before you could react to his words, you feel him position at your entrance, entering you in a slow, long motion. you can’t help the strings of moans leaving your lips, loud ‘huh’s echoing in the room as you try to accommodate his size.

he feels so big inside you, especially now that you’ve been squeezing him tighter than ever.

“fucking hell, baby” he moans, his head meeting your shoulder as he tries to compose himself from fucking you against the mattress.

after letting you adjust, he starts moving slowly, purposely angling his hips up to find your sweet spot as he moans loudly at your tightness.

“oh yes…yes, baby” he moans, more to himself. “this pussy feels so fucking good”

you moan at his words, squeezing him tighter as a silent beg to make him go harder. he knows your body too well to let it go unnoticed, immediately knowing what you’re asking for.

he sits down, his hands finding your hips as his movements start getting faster and harder, reaching deeper inside your pussy.

you can’t help the loud moans escaping you, your eyes rolling back as he hits your sweet spot over and over again. “fuck, fuck, fuck!”

he’s so focused on every single sound you make, as if they can make him even harder that he already was. “yeah, you like how that feels baby?”

you stare into his black eyes, as much as you struggle to do it you don’t wanna miss the way they stare at you with so much lust while yours depicts all the sinfulness. that of shamelessly cheating with your friend, knowing that you could never stop being obsessed with him, just as much as he’s obsessed with you.

“yeah keep looking at me like that” jungkook praises you, sending shivers right down your pussy.

“fuck, this pussy gets tighter and wetter baby” he moans as you squeeze him, not even in purpose anymore “it’s only this wet for me, right?”

you immediately nod at his words, your voice broken as you lamely try to answer. “y-yes – oh fuck!”

“mhmm,” he bites his lips, his hips never stopping their harsh movements “good girl”

the room is filled with your moans and his filthy words, alongside the rough sounds of your bodies slapping against each other.

one thing about having sex with jungkook is that it’s never a good fucking session without his nasty dirty talk, his appreciative words somehow making you cum faster.

and that’s how your orgasm approaches you, almost unexpectedly as his sinful mouth keeps showering you with dirty praises.

“yeah, keep taking it like a good girl”

“oh yes, such a naughty fucking girl”

“what a fucking cheating slut, enjoying this big cock behind your boyfriend’s back– fuck yeah!”

“just give this perfect pussy to me, just like that baby”

“you need this big cock all the time, do you baby? you fucking love it, my little slut”

his words only come to a stop when you let out a loud scream of his name, coming undone against his cock as your pussy spasms violently.

he moans in appreciation at the sight in front of him as your pussy squirts everywhere, on his cock, on his thighs, on his lower abdomen. he helps you prolong your orgasm, slapping his cock against your pussy as your body jolts at the overstimulation.

“jungkook!- stop, stop please…” you beg him, moving his cock away as he chuckles viciously at your fucked out state.

he kisses your chest, massaging your sides to calm you down as you catch your breath for the millionth time. “my good girl, squirting on my cock like that…”

you whine at his words, feeling his hard cock pressed against your belly; of course he’s still hard, you wonder how he still hasn’t exploded inside you with how much he’s been holding himself from coming.

“jungkook…” you call him, slightly rotating your hips against his cock to signal him to keep going, wanting to make him cum.

“baby, fuck…” he moans against your neck, grabbing your hips hard as he slips against your pussy. you suddenly feel the urge to have him inside you again, instantly grabbing his cock with one of your hands and bringing it to your entrance.

“waitwaitwait baby, are you sure?” he asks, unsure if you want to go at it again, probably too absorbed in the subspace to think straight.

“yes, i’m sure kook,” you say firmly, leaving a peck on his needy lips “fuck me hard,”you whisper on his ear, and he grunts at your demanding words.

“yeah? you want it harder?” he asks, bringing your knees to your chest.

your pussy looks even smaller like this, and he wastes no time in entering you, immediately finding a fast pace.

you loudly whine at how fast he’s moving, his eyes shutting tightly as he hums in appreciation. he goes crazy for the wet sounds of your pussy, that grows wetter as he keeps hitting your cervix.

your eyes widen as your mouth remains open, unable to keep your moans down as he keeps pounding you without any intention of slowing down.

sweat starts forming on his neck, the sight making you hornier as if he isn’t already the most handsome man you’ve ever laid eyes on; and especially naked, you can’t help but notice how much he reminds you of a greek god, sculpted by the best master of the arts.

“can’t stop staring?” it’s almost admirable how he’s able to joke while being deep inside you, but you like it nonetheless; it makes sex more personal, more intimate somehow. or maybe it’s just jungkook that makes everything feel special.

you shake your head at his words, bringing him down by the back of his neck to kiss him tenderly. you can’t help but notice how his hips falter, matching the movement of your kiss as he hums against your lips.

his hips move slower, more sensually, as he focuses on kissing you and a sudden warmth engulfs you, making you shiver.

“mhm, baby…”

his moans get louder, needier, as his body slightly shakes against you — a signal that he’s about to come. you immediately put your arms around his neck, making him impossibly closer to your body.

“tell me i’m better than him,”

his words hit you like a truck, not expecting him to say them so bluntly. why does he have to remind you of your boyfriend when he’s deep inside you?

you’re too absorbed in pleasure to respond him right away, and that only enlightens him a fire you’ve rarely seen before in him.

“turn the fuck around,” he demands suddenly, his body leaving yours as he gives you space “you hear me? face down, ass up c’mon”

you immediately do as he says, a bit reluctantly as you don’t know what to except. he barely gives you time to position yourself as he slaps your ass, making you whine in surprise.

“god, you look so fucking sexy like this… ready to take me”

he spanks you again, the burning feeling making you hornier as he keeps massaging the roundness of your ass. you look back at him, noticing his cock against his lower abdomen, and you wish he could just stick it inside you.

“beg me to fuck you like this,” he demands, as if he just read your mind. “since you don’t want to talk, i’m going to make you do it the hard way”

he then grabs his cock, harshly teasing your pussy with his tip, making you involuntary push against him. he slaps you cheek again, a warning to use your voice.

“p-please jungkook…” you beg him, turning your head to look at him. “please, fuck me!”

he only stares at you with a smirk, his cock moving faster against your ass as he admires your glistening pussy. “yeah, you want me to fuck you like this? to prove you i can fuck you better than him?”

you’ve never proved him otherwise, so you wonder why he’s suddenly self-conscious about being better than your boyfriend… or maybe he’s just doing it for his own pleasure.

you don’t have time to respond before he harshly trusts his cock inside you, grabbing the soft flesh of your ass with his big hands. he wastes no time in sliding fast, reaching deeper the more he moves.

“oh god, yesyesyesyes” you moan out loud, your face pressed against the pillow as he keeps trusting.

“who’s better? who’s fucking better?” he repeats and you whine loudly in response, your pussy tightening.

he lets out a grunt at your pussy squeezing him, making him slap your ass again.

“you won’t answer me, huh?” he says, snapping his hips faster as you fail to respond once again, the pleasure too overwhelming.

you don’t remember the last time you’ve been fucked this good; jungkook has always been passionate during sex, but there is something carnal about this time. as if he’s fucking you as his life depends on it.

“since you won’t fucking talk,” he says, suddenly grabbing your hair, making you moan at the sudden action “come with me”

he manhandles you so swiftly, moving you from your current position to where he previously was, turning you around. that’s when your eyes meet your own, staring back at you through the mirror in front of the bed.

he’s not thinking about fucking you like this… right?

“now keep your eyes fucking open,” he says, whispering in your ear “and watch me fucking you better than he’ll ever do”

you stare at the way his body presses against you from behind, immediately entering you with a quick movement, his head rolling back in pleasure. you don’t realise how handsome he looks while fucking you from behind, praises leaving his lips as he stares at you from the mirror.

“fuck baby, look at yourself” he says, and you nod eagerly as whines leave your lips. although your eyes can’t stop staring at his body, his chest heaving up and down as his hips snap against yours.

the sight alone is enough to make you come closer to the edge, his dirty words making it harder for you to hold your orgasm.

his hips suddenly falter, slowing his movements as he slaps your ass again. “you’re about to cum, huh?” he asks, chuckling as if he already knows the answer.

you nod weakly, your ass slightly moving against him to make you cum faster. this time he spanks you harder, making you stop your movements as he grabs your hair, making you stand at his same height.

“don’t you dare cum,” he says harshly “not before you do what you were told”

and just like that, he starts fucking you again, pushing you down by your hips as your ass is up in the air. he moves faster, giving you little time to adjust to the new position as he shows no sign of restrain.

“jungkook!” you manage to moan, slapping sounds almost covering your voice.

“look at you, so helpless…” he says, looking at the mirror with a smirk on his face as he sees a tear rolling down your cheek, soon followed by others as pleasure takes you completely.

at this point, he doesn’t need to hear you say it. that he’s better than any other man, not just your boring boyfriend. but he craves it more than anything else — hearing you saying it out loud, clearly and without any doubt.

“jungkook, you’re so fucking good– fuck!”

he responds with a teasing ‘yeah?’, urging you to go on with a slap on your ass cheek.

“so fucking good… no one– fuckfuck right there!– fucks me like this!”

he mocks you with his laughter, keeping his pace steady as he feels himself coming closer to his peak — he just needs a little push, your push to make him come undone.

“no one?” he asks, his tone breathy.

“n-no one, ah!”

but that’s not enough, and you realise it as he turns your body around, bringing you to your back as he opens your legs wide. he reenters you quickly, his tattooed hand on your neck as he’s careful to keep your eyes on him.

“fuck, feel how hard i am,” he moans loudly “how fucking hard i am inside of you”

he’s close, you can feel it from the movement of hips, slightly faltering as he messily moves against you. you try to focus your watering eyes on his figure, and you purposely squeeze your pussy against him.

but you know what will make him come faster and harder.

“jungkook, fuck…” you moan, matching his movements as much as your limping body permits “you’re the best f– you’re better than everybody who’s ever fucked me!”

“better than everybody?” he asks, voice breaking as he anticipates the words he needs to hear so badly.

“yes, fuck!” you exclaim, a knowing smirk appearing on your fucked out face “better than my fucking boyfriend!”

you don’t miss the way his eyes roll back his head, hand tightening on your neck as his hips piston against you faster and faster, trying to reach his peak.

that’s all he needs to hear, you telling him that no one, especially your boyfriend you’re so keen on being with, is better at fucking you.

and without giving you time to process it, he cums inside you, emptying himself as strings of moans leave his sinful mouth.

and maybe it’s the way he’s been fucking you all this time, or how strangely close you feel to him in this very moment, but you find yourself coming on his cock once again, stimulating his orgasm even more.

you stare at him with teary eyes as he pushes his cum inside you even deeper, an habit he’s been having since the first time you let him fuck you raw.

his body falls heavily on yours, his head caged on the crook of your neck as your hand finds his hair, playing with them gently. he hums against your touch as he tries to catch his breath, his arms unconsciously caging you.

you’ve always cuddled after sex, jungkook himself being an overly romantic even with his fuck buddy, even if there were no feelings involved.

although you can’t help but pretend that your boyfriend wasn’t the one you left at home doing whatever he’s doing, but jungkook, whose arms feel more and more like home whenever you find yourself trapped in them.

and never, not even once, he lets you go easily, not before he silently demonstrates you that he’s, in fact, better than you boyfriend.

and not just at sex.

“Wow. A new MacBook?”

With an eye roll, you brush off your roommate’s obnoxious teasing. Every time Jungkook buys you something she can’t wait to bring up that you’re fucking your weed man.

“Yup,” is all you reply.

But today she’s just got it out for you.

“Hm, how long were you on your knees for that one?” she smirks.

Instead of getting mad, you take a break from your work and sit back on the couch, gracing her with a mischievous smile. She has no idea how far off she actually is.

-

“You taste better when you’re desperate.”

Jungkook moans his words into your pussy, edging you closer to a long-awaited orgasm.

Your hands fist strands of his wavy hair, hanging on for your dear life as he continues to mercilessly sucks your pulsing clit.

“Fuck. Please let me cum. I can’t—”

Jungkook chuckles as he lifts his head. 

“You can cum, but you know what you have to give me first.”

Your withers and contorts within his hold, his strong arms pinning you down so you can’t run from him.

“Come on, baby. You can do it,” he coaxes.

There’s nothing sweet or innocent in his tone. It’s all driven by the eagerness to break you. Your stubbornness has always been his pet peeve, and he knows that you’re willing to lay here and suffer than give him what he wants.

“This isn’t fair!”

Your cries mean nothing to him as he teases you until you reach your peak, only to let the momentum fade away. Sweat begins to form on your skin, and your body begins to tremble with need. You’re close to giving in, but you still hold on with everything you have.

“Shit, Jungkook! Don’t you get tired?”

“Fucking right,” he scoffs. “Tired of your bullshit.”

You can feel his fingers tracing your slit, indicating your impending defeat. Once they slip into your pussy, he’ll control you like a puppet.

“Fuck,” you sob.

He shushes you, then dips his digits inside of you.

“I know, baby. Just let go. It’ll be alright,” he whispers.

Those words paired with the pads of his fingertips touching your spot leave you mumbling a breathless mess.

No longer caring about your pride — tears rolling down your cheeks — you utter the words he’s been expecting since earlier.

“I’m sorry!” you confess. “I should have told you.”

You can smell the satisfaction emitting from his body when he hears you speak. Only then does he take you to the finish line. Your body is taken over by a wave of hot pleasure, freezing your body where it lies on the messy sheets.

Jungkook praises your submission, and licks your sensitive cunt until there’s not a drop of arousal left over. Kissing his way up your exhausted body, he smiles as he reaches your lips.

“Was that so hard?” he teases.

“Shut up.”

When he lies beside you, you roll over and allow him to wrap his arms around you. He rests his chin on top of your head while he talks to you.

“Why are you scared to ask me for stuff?”

You shrug. “It’s not as easy as you put it.”

“I’m not the kind of guy that fucks you and leaves you to fend for yourself. The sooner you realize that the better, baby.”

“I know. It’s just taking me a while to get used to that,” you express.

“It’s all good. I just gotta do a better job at making you see how serious I am about you.”

-

But he didn’t need to. You understood once he said it. 

You can tell by his approach that it’s not about throwing money around. He does small things like checking your car for anything weird, asking about your day and actually allowing you to vent, and just being there mentally and emotionally; along with physically. 

Nobody is there for you like he is. He doesn’t just come in and fix the problem, he helps you figure it out and if you need help he offers.

He’s been to hell and back with you dealing with your old laptop, and he finally gave up on it yesterday. So no, you didn’t spend a second on your knees for it. But you will be on your knees tonight. 

Your poor miserable roommate will just have to rub her sour pussy to the sound of Jungkook getting his dick swallowed. 

It felt so good sucking this big cock. Your lips wrapped around his shaft, his taste on your tongue as you took him into your mouth. His girth was a challenge, but you were able to handle him.

Your friends watched in awe, some of them having their phones out and recording the blowjob you were giving the guy.

“Fuck her! Fuck her! Fuck her!” Your friends chanted.

At that, Taehyung pulled his cock away and looked down at you. His eyes were dark with lust and desire.

“Come on guys!” You rolled your eyes.

“What? We paid him, it’s all good!” One of the girls giggled.

You got up and took Taehyung’s hand, and the girls cheered as they followed you to the bedroom. Everyone was barely able to fit in the small bedroom, but they were far too excited to miss out on the action.

Taehyung picked you up and laid you down on the bed, pressing his lips against yours, and you kissed him back, and like that, you were soon bouncing on his cock.

The room was full of laughter, the sounds of skin slapping against skin, and your moans and the others' cheers.

“Such a slut!” One of the girls giggled as she held onto one of your boobs. “Look at how hard her nipples are, she is sooo enjoying herself!”

You were.

You couldn't help it. You loved how you felt riding that big cock, and you loved how wet it made you. Plus, this stripper was fucking hot.

The girls cheered and clapped as you bounced on his cock, and he pounded you deep, the room full of your moans.

You let out a cry of pleasure as you felt the heat spread through your body. Your other friend placed a hand on your shoulder. “How does it feel?” She asked.

“It is so fucking good.” You gritted your teeth, slamming yourself as hard as you could on his cock.

The girls laughed.

Then Taehyung gripped onto your hips to force you to stop, before he pushed you down onto the bed, getting on top of you. He grabbed hold of your thighs and pushed them against your chest. Some girls stepped in and grabbed onto your legs, spreading and exposing yourself to him, their hold on your ankles strong and firm as Taehyung pushes himself into you.

The room erupted into cheers, everyone watching as he fucked you deep and hard.

And you loved it.

You loved being watched, the cheers, the lust, the smell of sex in the room. You could feel yourself growing wetter, your pussy clenching and releasing around his cock, your body going rigid.

You could feel hands gripping and kneading onto your boobs, while some played with your clit, and other hands caressed your face and hair as Taehyung was slamming into you.

The room was hot, and you could feel yourself burning up, your body shaking from all the attention and the pleasure, and you could feel yourself so close, so close, so close...

“Fuck her harder! Fuck her! Fuck her harder!” The crowd cheered.

Taehyung thrusted into you hard, his movements forceful and relentless. He grabbed hold of your thighs and pulled you back and forth, your body shaking from the intense pleasure and the intensity of his movements.

You cried out in pleasure, gripping onto the sheets as he fucked into you.

“Oh.. oh…” You couldn't find the words, your body shaking from pleasure and the overwhelming desire to cum.

You felt hands touching and caressing your body, not being able to see who did what anymore as you were overcome with pleasure.

“Eh you are such a whore, y/n, just listen to those sounds, haha!” One of your friends giggled as you let out a high pitched cry, the girl who said it still groping at your boobs.

You were in heaven.

This is what heaven felt like, you were sure. The heat, the smell of sex, the sound of skin slapping against skin, and the cheers.

Your friends cheered louder, and you felt so close, your body trembling as you were being fucked to oblivion, and you could feel yourself about to explode, the pleasure too much.

Taehyung was hitting you just right, and you couldn’t hold onto it any longer. You were cumming hard, your body shaking and you screamed, gripping onto the sheets, your toes curling.

It was the most intense orgasm you had ever had.

It took a few seconds for you to come back down to reality, your friends laughing as you were breathing hard, still twitching and shaking from the aftershocks.

Taehyung pulled his cock out, at which your friends started to cheer again. “Cum on her face! Cum on her face!” They cheered again.

You were feeling dizzy when one of your friends pulled you up to sit. Then, your friend wrapped your fingers around Taehyung’s shaft and you started to rub him off.

The girls cheered as he shot his cum all over your face, his hot load covering you. You could feel some cum on your nose, your mouth, and even in your hair.

Then you let go and laid down on the bed, completely exhausted.

“Mmm, quiet baby.” Jungkook whispered softly against your lips. He had carefully positioned his mouth so that it only touched the corner of your lips, avoiding the new piercing in the center.

When you walked into his dorm that evening, ready to show off your new labret piercing, you hadn’t anticipated ending up like this, pressed firmly into Jungkook’s mattress as his hips moved rhythmically in and out of you. You let out a soft moan at the feeling, intense enough to make you need more, but too weak to ease your hunger.

If anyone had told you two years ago that Jungkook would grow into such a bitch during sex, you would’ve actually stopped yourself from confessing to him. Where was the sweet, awkward Koo that was nervous and unsure? When did he turn into a monster with a full sleeve of tattoos and several new facial piercings?

Let’s face it, you didn’t actually hate it. And you'd be more than willing to get more piercings if this was the result.

“Koo—” you almost bite your lip mindlessly to silence yourself, but Jungkook is quick to prod your mouth open with his fingers.

“Baby, no, you’ll hurt yourself,” he feigns concern, “the others are here, so you’ll just have to be a good girl,” There it is. His new favorite phrase. A despicable trick he now had in his top hat of magic. He presses a kiss to the corner of your lips, “Quiet.” His tone is gentle, but his thrusts are teasing, leaving you desperate and breathless. You almost can’t hold back a whimper, looking desperately into his eyes as you grab for the pillow beneath you.

“I’m kinda annoyed that it’ll be a while til’ I can kiss you properly, but I like it,” another peck against the corner of your mouth, “I’ll have to pick a new spot for my kisses, won’t I?” His lips move slowly along your jaw, “maybe here…” up, grazing your neck, “or here…” further down to your collarbones, “you’d look cute if I left some marks here, don’t ya’ think?” He glances up at you, but you can’t find the voice to respond when his cock keeps slipping in and out of you tantalizingly.

“Koo—Koo please, I can’t.” You beg, knowing it will get you nowhere.

“What, you want my roommates to hear you? Want them to hear how good I fuck you? How pretty you always sound with me?”

You find the strength to vehemently protest, “N-no, you know I don’t like others hearing.”

“Then just hold on tight baby, no sound. Promise I’ll make my girl feel so good, yeah?”

And Jungkook makes good on his promise. Minutes of you holding onto the pillow for dear life, legs wrapped tightly around Jungkook’s waist pass by quickly. As your orgasm creeps closer, it becomes harder and harder to keep silent. The urge to close your mouth or bite your lip is intense, but you breath heavily, helpless. Meanwhile, Jungkook keeps fucking into you, gradually going harder and harder, knocking the air from your lungs, His hands roam your body, and his lips focus on the corners of your mouth, kissing, licking, sucking on any part that isn’t near the sensitive flesh of your fresh piercing. “Fuck baby, I won’t be able to keep my mouth off you once it’s healed—” he breathes into your mouth, “so precious.”

You’re on the edge now, ready to fall over. Breathing heavily, the ability to keep your voice at bay weakens. A soft whine escapes. You quickly cut it off, but immediately lose control again when Jungkook’s lips attach to your breasts, tongue feeling around your nipple before latching on. A quiet moan that just keeps coming and coming. Soon, all you can do is whimper at every touch, every small movement.

“B-bun—ah—fuck—” you’re barley audible, “I can’t, I’m sorry, I’m sorry— “

“Oh, baby, it’s okay.” He reassures you, continuing to fuck into you. You’re about to break. You’re seconds away.

Right.

There.

But he stops.

The bastard stops.

Jungkook smiles devilishly, “We’ll just try again, precious."

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

“Just like that, such a good Good girl.”

You’re on the edge again. Finally. You almost lose control of yourself, but you stubbornly remain silent. Jungkook can tell when you start to pull on him more and more that you’re only moments away from cumming. One last hard thrust breaks you, releasing your high, and with it, strangled and low moans release from your throat.

“K-koo, bun—”

Relief. The feeling of his cum releasing into you causes another sensation that makes your spine shiver.

You ride out your highs together, letting your breathing calm and letting your bodies become grounded again.

“You’re a prick.” You complain.

“What do you mean, I said I liked the piercing! And I let you cum, didn’t I?

“Oh, fuck off!”

“You broke the rules, babe.” Giggling, he shifts positions, pulling you on top of him, “It’s not my fault you can’t keep quiet, precious.” He leans in nuzzling your neck, “How bout’ we try another position?”