Roshni🍒

But it wasn't always like that. Not for him.

Your father doesn't speak to his brother anymore, hasn't for a long time since he tied the knot with your mother, and honestly, it's for the best. At least according to the vague things you've heard through the years. If your mother was logic, then your father came from the opposite, raised by the chaotic hand of insanity.

Having another cousin—this time on your father's side—hadn't crossed your mind until the little notification bell pinged on Facebook, but nonetheless, there he was, same last name and everything.

Through a few surprisingly polite messages, it became clear that he needed your help. And since there was always that chance of him being nothing like his father, you accepted. After all, insanity can clearly skip a generation.

"It's so great to finally meet you. I'm Taehyung," the blonde-haired man exclaims when you meet him outside the predetermined café. He wears an infectious smile as he enters the building and shows you to a table. Right away, you're caught by surprise because, although his Facebook pictures showed a handsome man, he wasn't this good looking. How is he related to your uncle?

You take off your winter jacket, hands finally thawing as you place the coat over the back of your chair. The small café is not an unfamiliar place; Taehyung offered to come to you since you ‘so graciously’ agreed to help. The place is just a few minutes away from your apartment complex.

"You too," you mumble, watching him start to back away with his wallet raised in his hand. At his question concerning your order, you simply recite your usual: coffee and a blueberry muffin.

"I didn't even know you existed," you admit sheepishly when Taehyung returns to place the little tray down on the table.

"Well, it's not that weird, considering my mom only married your uncle a few years ago. I've heard that he doesn't have the best relationships with the rest of the extended family so..."

You nod, taking a bite out of the fluffy muffin. Makes sense. And if your father knows about the marriage, then he never told you. You didn't exactly consult him before you agreed to help Taehyung either, so it's not like it was brought up.

"And now he's sick?"

"Yeah. Well, he actually had a heart transplant two days ago, but they'll keep him at the hospital for a while since it’s a, you know, heart transplant. So that's why this was all on such short notice; you can't pass up a heart just because no one can watch the hybrid, you know?"

"Yeah, no, of course," you're quick to reassure. "I was just surprised, and well, I don't really have any experience with hybrids. I mean, caring for them."

"Yeah, once again, I'm sorry for the short notice. I would've taken him myself if I could, but I can't, and I knew you lived close by," Taehyung explains, large hands wrapped around the coffee as he sips on it. "But it'll only be for a few days until I can find someone else."

You nod hesitantly, wishing you won't have to take care of the hybrid for long because, truth is, it makes you a bit uncomfortable.

"So, you said before that it's a male? What kind of hybrid is he?"

"Oh, yeah. It's a kangaroo hybrid, and his name is Jeongguk. Rescued as a puppy, or whatever they're called, and had a few families before he ended up with us. Can be a bit of a brat if you spoil him, so make sure he knows you're in charge," a confident smile graces his joking lips.

Despite what you first believed, Taehyung isn't actually related to you or your uncle, and that in itself makes it easier to trust him. The other contributing factor is that smile, the somewhat innocent confidence with which he carries himself.

"And I'd keep him inside if I were you, just to be on the safe side, but if you have to go somewhere with him, then remember that he has to wear his collar and never be more than a few feet from you."

If he can see the look on your face, Taehyung doesn't acknowledge it. You know that hybrids can't be left unsupervised by their owners when out in public, but you’d forgotten about the collar.

"So, are you ready to meet him?" Taehyung raises his eyebrows over the drink he's just about to finish up. With his free hand, he’s collecting his wallet and phone to put in his pocket, and then, he’s rising from the chair.

"What? Now?" you ask, still chewing the last bits of the muffin. When Taehyung had been the only one to show, you assumed the hybrid would arrive later. Like, in a day or something.

"Yeah, he's in the car. Unfortunately, he can’t stay with me any longer, so I really have to drop him off today."

You wonder why he didn't bring the hybrid inside the café since they are welcome and it's cold, literally snowing, outside. But you don't say anything, just grab your things—half full paper mug included—and follow the tall man outside.

Hybrids are normally slightly smaller than the average human, mainly derived from house pets such as cats and dogs, although there are definitely other kinds. But the hybrid that steps out of Taehyung's sleek, black car is anything but small.

He's wearing a winter jacket similar to his owner's, only a bit thinner because 'hybrids run warm,' according to Taehyung. It makes it hard to describe his body shape, but it appears they are roughly the same height and size, at least.

He's got the black jacket zipped up to right beneath his chin, and after grabbing a duffel bag from the car, he remains standing there, dark and cold eyes staring you down. You gulp at his intensity.

"H–hello," you stutter nervously, obviously surprised and intimidated but not stunned enough to be rude. However, if you thought it would warm him up, perhaps even grant you a greeting in return, you’re mistaken; the hybrid just glares at you. Until Taehyung intervenes.

"Gguk, be nice," he voices sternly, making Jeongguk soften his glare a tad and bow his head reluctantly in your direction.

While Taehyung introduces the two of you, one thing keeps occupying your mind. Or, well, two things. Jeongguk's ears.

If Taehyung hadn't already told you beforehand what kind of hybrid the dark-haired male was, then the ears would've made you think donkey. And you mean that in the best way. They're big, longer than those of a regular horse but rounder than a rabbit's. And they're dark, almost black. Jeongguk keeps them turned back, a little lowered. He's not scared; they don't convey submission, more... suspicion. He doesn't trust you.

This isn't your first time seeing a hybrid or anything; you've met some of them before, although very briefly. You still consider yourself pretty knowledgeable; you're one of those people who know a little bit about everything, and hybrids aren't an exception. The thing is just that you've never had to put that hybrid knowledge to the test. Besides, the ones you met previously were all mellow, well-behaved, and with their owners. You'd expected a golden retriever puppy but were met with a wolf.

“It’s a birth defect,” Taehyung explains casually after catching your gaze. “They’re not supposed to be black.”

It throws you off, how he speaks of the hybrid, but since neither of them seem to share your opinion, you don’t question it.

Taehyung keeps chatting all the way up to your apartment, his voice becoming elevator music as you glance at the pair through the mirror in front of you.

It's not only the fact that Jeongguk already seems to despise you that makes you lower your gaze quicker than ever when it's met by his sharp, dark eyes.

Taehyung is gorgeous. Dark blonde hair covers most of his forehead except for a little sliver, and he's blessed with dark eyes, framed by long lashes, and that infectious smile. But Jeongguk is more than that; he has something else that catches your eye more so than Taehyung, and it's not his animal features.

When the elevator reaches the fifth floor with a 'ding,' you step out and take the lead. The sound of your keys jingling echoes through the hallway and intensifies when you reach up to unlock the door to your apartment.

"Here it is," you say, back turned against the others as you open the door wide and step inside.

"Cozy," you hear Taehyung compliment even before he's seen more than the first part of your hallway.

"Thank you."

You show Jeongguk where to hang his jacket and put his shoes while Taehyung remains dressed for the outdoors.

"He's not very complicated. Eats anything, sleeps anywhere. He has his clothes and other necessary stuff with him."

As Taehyung speaks, your eyes drift to the male in between you. He's facing you, still in the hallway, and he's wearing a hoodie and sweatpants. It's like he doesn't even hear that he's being talked about, his eyes staring into the air, and his face blank.

You don't think Taehyung is lying. Well, not intentionally. But you hesitate because Jeongguk still hasn't said a single word to you, and it's obvious he does not want to be there.

Taehyung reaches for the door handle.

"Wait!"

He stops to look at you.

"Are you sure?" you ask. It's Taehyung who you're speaking to, but your eyes are still carefully watching Jeongguk. "He doesn't... are you sure this is okay?"

"Look, I really need your help," Taehyung pleads, suddenly way more serious. "It'll be fine, and I'll try to find someone else as soon as possible, so hopefully it's only for a few days."

"Yeah, but he..."

What are you going to say? You won't lie and say the hybrid's hostility doesn't make you uncomfortable, because it does, but you're mostly asking for his sake. He doesn't want to be left with you.

Taehyung's eyes follow yours, but while you watch Jeongguk with worry, Taehyung's gaze burns holes in his head from behind.

"Don't worry, he'll behave. He knows he's not coming home otherwise."

There's a second of silence before Jeongguk gives one determined nod to show that he got it. You're left speechless, and Taehyung reaches for the door handle once again. But before he actually opens the door, he turns back one last time.

"Oh, I almost forgot. He has activities on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. I'll send a friend to pick him up and drive him, but just so you know, he'll be back late." With that, and a small wave your way, Taehyung leaves. And you're all alone with a strange hybrid.

"Well, uh, feel free to look around," you gesture around you before bending down to take off your shoes that you'd forgotten.

Jeongguk does that same kind of nod again, and then he walks past you, giving a clear view of something you didn't see before. His dark tail. Your fingers let go of the laces as you stare up at it in awe. It's huge, could easily sweep the floor after him if he didn't keep it up. Unlike the tails of other animals like, say lions, it's thick and looks a lot stiffer. But it’s still not as thick as the ones you’ve seen on real kangaroos.

Suddenly, Jeongguk stops. He's caught you staring. And now, he's glaring at you. Cheeks tinged pink, you return your attention to your boots, and you can hear Jeongguk disappear further into the apartment.

It doesn't feel good. This whole thing leaves a bad taste in your mouth. You think back to Taehyung's words, even those he said at the café, those you thought were meant as a joke.

Make sure he knows you're in charge? Those practices are outdated and were disproven years ago, even for raising dogs. And if Jeongguk doesn't behave? He's not allowed back home? What does that mean? Where would he go?

Minutes later, you find him in the living room, standing beside your large, gray couch.

"What are your rules?" he asks stoically. "I'm allowed to sleep on the couch back home, just so you know."

You can't help but furrow your eyebrows in confusion. Why does it sound a little like he's bragging?

"Rules? I don't know, uh, don't... intentionally break anything? And I already prepared the guest room for you. Clean sheets in the bed."

"Bed?" Now it's Jeongguk's turn to draw his eyebrows together, although he appears more skeptical. "I prefer the couch."

The way he says it is so confident that it sways you. But you still don't understand why he'd choose the couch over a bed.

"Uh, okay... Well, you can sleep wherever you want, I guess, but you're more than welcome to use the guest room and sleep in the bed there."

Jeongguk seems insistent, but after a very brief tour of your apartment, mostly you pointing to the kitchen and bathroom and assuring that he can take and use whatever he wants, he eventually does retreat to the guest room.

The closed door has you on your toes in the beginning, scared that he’ll appear at any moment and glare you to death, but he never does. You ask through it what he likes to eat, but you don't get an answer, and when you've gone ahead and cooked your favorite food, he doesn't come out to eat, either.

It doesn't feel very good to go to bed without having seen your guest eat anything, but your alarm will go off earlier than you'd really want the morning after, and you think Jeongguk would value being left alone without food higher than being nagged at.

After shutting the alarm off, you stretch your arms over your head and blink the sleep from your eyes. Slowly, you get up to head towards the bathroom, and just as slowly, yesterday’s events come back to you. On your way there, you have to pass by the living room, and when you do, you see him.

If you thought that the kangaroo hybrid locking himself in the guest room meant that he decided to sleep in there too... then you were absolutely wrong. He's tall, but even if he’d chosen to lie straight and not curled up like he is, he’d fit. One of the decorative pillows is under his head, but he doesn't have anything covering him. Not even though there are two soft blankets folded up and draped over the couch.

Your apartment is on the chillier side, and seeing Jeongguk in only a t-shirt and basketball shorts sends a shiver down your spine. Taehyung did say that hybrids run hotter, so you guess it's fine...

It doesn't take you long to get ready. A quick shower, clean clothes, some make-up, and then you're ready to go. You've never been one to eat breakfast, but when you fill a huge bowl with apples, bananas, and oranges, you grab an apple for yourself. You have a feeling that Jeongguk is the type to never want to owe anyone anything, even when there is no debt, but you're hoping he'll at least take some fruit. If he's going to stay multiple days, then he definitely needs to eat.

You could write a note, telling him that you've left for work. You should write the note. But your brain, still half asleep, tiptoes into the living room.

When he's sleeping, Jeongguk looks much nicer. Not at all the harsh looks and mean clench of his jaw. Black locks fall into his face, and the ears look so incredibly soft that you just want to reach out and touch. But that would be weird and not cool. And even if his face looks softer, his choice of sleep attire reveals that, physically, he’s very much capable of beating you to death. He lies on his side, facing you, but it’s still obvious how broad his shoulders are and how the muscles bulge under his skin. There are a few prominent veins stemming from the inside of his biceps and reaching all over his forearms and the backs of his hands.

The apartment really is cold at the moment, and despite Taehyung's words, you notice goosebumps lining the hybrid's naked arms. You step away to reach for the warmest blanket you own, unfolding it and gently draping it over Jeongguk's body. Luckily, it's big enough to even cover the tip of his tail.

And lastly, before you leave, you make the mistake.

"Jeongguk," you speak softly, putting your hand on his shoulder to gently wake him up. But it doesn't quite go as planned when he wakes and immediately slaps your hand off him.

"Don't touch me!" he growls, in a half-seated position and with his ears pinned back. "Don't ever touch me!"

Your blood freezes as you retract your hand and step back as quickly as you can. "I–I'm sorry," you whisper in a panic, so caught off guard, it's not even funny. "I'm sorry, I just wanted to say that I'm leaving for work."

He looks so angry, and the thought that it was you who made something so miscalculated and wrong makes your eyes tear up. But you don't think he notices because you're quick to turn away, and he lies back down again without a word.

You spend the next few hours at work completely thrown off. Black eyes haunt your mind, the way he jumped back to put more distance between you, and his snarled words... It's all burnt into your memory.

You can definitely say you're not in a hurry to get home. Grocery store, clothing shops, you even stop by a florist on your way. But food is the only thing in your bags as you unlock the door to your apartment.

It’s quiet when you enter, except for the sound of the tv, and when you step further into the apartment, your eyes meet. He's on the couch, staring at you. Well, at least he's not trying to end you with his fists. And so you offer him a small smile before you take the bags to the kitchen to unpack.

The fridge looks just as it did when you last checked it; the only sign of the hybrid eating anything is the fruit bowl that seems to be missing a few pieces. You chew on your lip, trying to decide what to cook for dinner. It's already eight p.m.

"Do you have a favorite dish?" you voice without even entering the living room, only approaching to the point you can see Jeongguk’s face.

He keeps his eyes on the tv where some old movie is playing. "No, I eat anything."

"Yeah, but... nothing you like the most?" You hold your breath, desperately wanting to make the morning's misstep up to him but hopefully without angering him again.

"No."

Well, you're not going to push him any further, so you nod and retreat into the kitchen. You just hope he wasn't lying and that you won’t accidentally cook him something that’ll make him hurl.

You end up making a stew, going through your emails while it cooks. The room fills with the smell of food, and you realize how hungry you are. When it’s done, you carry a large bowl of it along with some toasted garlic bread and a glass of water into the living room on a tray.

You notice Jeongguk discreetly sniffing the air as you put the tray down onto the coffee table. It's not directly in front of him due to what happened earlier, you don't want to make him feel suffocated by being too close. Not in any way. He shows no emotions, just looks at you, and you avert your gaze, feeling... embarrassed?

"Can't return you in bad shape," you smile awkwardly and mumble so quietly you doubt he even hears it before you turn around and leave, going back to eat your portion in the safety of the kitchen.

Spoonful after spoonful, you chew the meat while looking out the kitchen window. Most of all, you see the reflection of your own face.

What is Jeongguk's life like at home? You're aware that there are lots of bad hybrid owners who abuse the ones that need them the most, but except for Taehyung's parting words and that joke, there aren't any indicators that Jeongguk is being mistreated. Right?

He seems healthy. He might not have the hugest of appetites at your place, but he looks far from malnourished. It's not like he's small and defenseless either. However Jeongguk is treated, the fact that he despises you remains. You just don't understand why.

Jeongguk doesn't lock himself away inside the guest room that night, but he doesn't sleep in there either, still preferring the couch for some reason. At least he ate everything you put on that tray.

And when you leave for work the next morning, you don't make the same mistake again. You simply leave without saying anything to the hybrid curled up on the couch.

It isn't quite as late when you return home as it was the day before, and when you step into the hallway, you see Jeongguk bent over his duffel bag, seemingly... packing?

He zips it closed and stands up, eyes meeting yours. No greeting, but you honestly don't expect anything of the kind anymore.

"Are you going somewhere?" you ask, confused but minding your tone as to not sound accusing.

"It's Tuesday. Jimin is waiting." He walks around you where you stand, reaching for his jacket from the hanger. You step away, maybe too fast and too noticeable, but you really don't want to anger him by accidentally brushing against him. If he notices, he doesn't show it.

"Oh," you look away, embarrassed because you’d definitely forgotten. "When will you be back?"

“Don’t know.”

“Oh, okay. Be safe,” you speak, but he’s almost entirely out the door before you’ve finished. It’s not like you even know where he’s going or what he’s doing, and you certainly don’t think he’d appreciate you asking.

With a sigh, you lock the door behind him.

Taehyung said that Jeongguk would be late, but as movie after movie ends, and there’s still no sign of the hybrid, you begin to worry.

He left at around six p.m., and midnight passed an hour ago when you send a somewhat panicked text to Taehyung, asking if Jeongguk shouldn’t have returned by now.

‘Yeah, he should.’

You lick your lips as your anxious heart beats faster. What if something’s happened to him?

Before you’re able to ask what you’re going to do, Taehyung sends another text.

‘The gps in his chip shows he’s at yours, though?’

What?

You watched Jeongguk leave, and if he returned, you would’ve heard it. Still, with phone in hand and Taehyung’s messages open, you look through all the rooms.

No kangaroo hybrid to be seen.

The very last thing you do before you’ll admit defeat is to check the stairwell. There’s absolutely no reason Jeongguk would be there, but when the door glides open… he is. He sits on the stairs leading a floor up, with his bag beside him, jacket folded over his lap, and blood coming from his mouth.

“Oh my god, what happened?”

For a brief second, Jeongguk meets your eyes and looks… surprised? But it soon evolves into that familiar look of irritation as he regains control over the muscles of his face.

“Nothing.”

It’s clearly not nothing, and still very much worried, you open the door all the way and motion for him to enter.

“Let’s get you inside and cleaned up.”

But of course, you should’ve expected him to fight.

“It’s just a busted lip,” he argues quietly but still rises from the stairs and grabs his duffel bag by its handles.

“But you’re bleeding…”

When you peer back at him, you notice that he’s put the sleeve of the jacket he’s not wearing pressed to his mouth as if he hadn’t known the red liquid was still seeping from the wound. Also like he rather stains his jacket than your floor.

The first thing you do is head to the kitchen to retrieve some tissues, offering them up to Jeongguk when you return to the hallway.

“Why don’t you take a quick shower, and I can take a look at your lip after?” you suggest because not only is the hybrid injured, but he looks to have sweated a lot.

Reluctantly, he accepts the tissues, replacing the sleeve of his jacket with them and putting pressure on his lip. The jacket gets hung on a hanger, and then Jeongguk leaves, gathering a change of clothes and a towel from the guest room before he enters the bathroom, huffing angrily the entire time.

With the sound of the shower running as background noise, you sway from foot to foot in the kitchen, biting at your nails. What happened that resulted in such an injury? Why was he so sweaty? And what kind of friend was this ‘Jimin’ if he didn’t bother to clean Jeongguk up? Make sure he got home properly? Well, not home home, but still.

The sound of the bathroom door unlocking and opening is what snaps you out of your thoughts, and you go to meet him right outside. He’s wearing a new set of sleep attire, although the same style as yesterday; a black t-shirt and some gray shorts. His hair is wet but it doesn’t drip, and you fight the urge to just… stare at his ears. They’re partially pinned back like they always are, but when they and his black locks are wet, they’re more prominent and, well, cute.

Jeongguk observes you with suspicion and with paper still pressed to his mouth.

“Let me see?” you ask, trying to sound as non-threatening as possible.

“It’s nothing,” he grumbles the same words from earlier.

“Please?” You’re no expert on wounds but what if he needs professional care? How are you supposed to sleep without knowing?

“No,” he answers strictly and makes an attempt to walk around you. But you step in front of him, blocking his way.

Jeongguk stares down at you, but you can’t let it go. Not if he’s in pain and it could be somewhat serious.

“Weren’t you supposed to behave?” you remind sternly, and you can see the way a flash of surprise washes over his face before he’s pressing his lips together and clenching his jaw. You would never tell Taehyung, or anyone, that Jeongguk was misbehaving, not when you still don’t know what the consequences might be, and certainly not for something so insignificant.

But Jeongguk doesn’t know that.

With a cold glare, he lowers the tissue. But it’s too dark in the hallway, so you ask him to follow you back inside the bathroom where the ceiling lights are bordering on surgical.

Without touching him, you motion to the spot where you want him to stand, in front of the washing machine, and then, you rise to your toes to get a better look, trying to ignore the way his glare makes your intimidated heart beat faster.

You have to stop yourself from grasping his chin and so instead, your hand floats a few inches from his face. It makes it more difficult to see how deep the gash is when you can’t move his face around, but it will have to do. After all, you haven’t forgotten how he reacted to your touch the first time. First and last time.

“Does it hurt?”

“No,” he grumbles.

You lace your voice with that sternness again while looking him straight in the eye. “Are you lying?”

Your courage surprises you because Jeongguk is a lot bigger than you. He towers over you, and he’s fit and muscular, you’ve already established that. He’s also not very happy or fond of you, but glaring at you is the farthest he will go, you’re already a hundred percent certain of that. It doesn’t matter that his lip is wounded and that someone else might also be sporting injuries and bruises. If he wanted to hurt you, he would’ve done so already.

When he doesn’t say anything, only keeps his cold stare on you, you know two things. What the answer to your question is, and how to handle him. If necessary, that is, you don’t particularly enjoy threatening him.

Even though his lip is painful, Jeongguk’s wound doesn’t look too serious. And by that, you mean not serious enough for you to drag him to your car and speed toward the closest hybrid doctor. But you sink down from your toes as your eyebrows draw together.

When you open your mouth this time, your voice is softer. “So… what happened?”

He’s so pretty, he really is. You think back to the vision of him sleeping and how innocent and carefree he seemed. You’ve never seen him be anything besides angry while awake, and you absolutely hate that he feels the need to always be so guarded and hostile. And, of course, you also hate that someone, a few hours ago, split his skin open and made him bleed.

Taking advantage of the way you’ve softened, Jeongguk mutters, “Nothing,” and sidesteps you, disappearing through the door.

But you follow.

He’s about to pull back one of the blankets on the couch when you catch up, and you immediately gather all of that determination again.

“Nuh-uh, you’re not sleeping there.”

He halts his movements, standing there with the corner of the blanket in his hand, and you can see, even from the distance, how his grip tightens and jaw clenches. Then, he drops the blanket, still looking at it where it lies on the couch.

“When should I be back? Or should I not bother?” he mutters.

You don’t give yourself time to absolutely break at his words. “Guest room. Now.”

You turn on your heel, not staying to make sure he’s actually following, but as you open the door to the guest room, there he is, right behind you and obeying.

“This is where you’re sleeping.”

“No.”

“Yes, you are. I’ll lock you in here, I don’t care.”

“I can’t. There will be hair on the sheets. Maybe blood as well.”

“You listen to me. I don’t care. You’re sleeping in here, and if I wake up tomorrow to find you sleeping somewhere else other than in that bed, I will not be happy.”

For a few seconds, Jeongguk seems to believe that if he challenges you to an angry stare-off–and wins–you’ll surrender. However, you don’t give up that easily, and when those seconds have passed, you still gesture determinedly towards the bed.

“Get in. Now.”

Huffing, he passes you, and you watch as he reaches the bed and reluctantly pulls the white covers back like he had tried to do with the blanket, and gets inside. He doesn’t lie down, just sits there, watching you.

You point your finger at him. “Stay there, I’ll be back in a second.”

Without waiting for any kind of answer you don’t think he’d give you anyway, you return to the bathroom, opening the medicine cabinet in search of some painkillers. You pop a pill into your palm and on your way back to the guest room, you stop by the kitchen to get a glass of water as well.

Jeongguk remains in the same exact position you left him in, and he follows your figure with his eyes as you approach him to place the two things on the bedside table.

The second you straighten up, you suddenly remember something. Not used to sounding so harsh, you almost slip back into your usual voice and choice of words but manage to stop yourself at the last second. You clear your throat.

“Did you eat today?”

You’re taller than him when you’re standing and he’s sitting, but his eyes hold the same hostility as when he’d been towering over you previously.

“Yes,” he grits.

“When?” you push.

He stares at you with those eyes of death before he finally gives up. “Eleven,” he grits, staring right into your soul.

“A.m.? P.m.?”

“A.m.”

To be honest, it doesn’t surprise you, even if you feel terrible. But you don’t allow yourself to soften now either, knowing he won’t listen if you do.

“Okay. Here’s the deal, you’re going to sleep in here, in this bed, but not after you’ve eaten. Get it?”

Jeongguk doesn’t give you an answer, not even a nod of his head until you urge further. “Understood?”

And when he does, you march out of that room and into the kitchen where you’re pulling out the rest of what you cooked for dinner, the portion of lasagna he didn’t get to eat when he didn’t come home and that you forgot all about when the worry had started to set in.

It’s only when the microwave beeps that Jeongguk shows up, not exactly ecstatic but what’s new? You place the plate, a set of utensils, and another glass of water on the table, and then you wait until he turns the chair sideways and sits down.

You won’t deny how cute you find it that he prefers to sit like that, with his tail hanging towards the floor behind him. It makes sense that it’s more comfortable for him though, the tail isn’t as flexible as that of something like a cat.

You might be pretending to be mean—you wouldn’t think you’re doing a great job if it weren’t for the way Jeongguk is actually obeying—but even then, you decide to not be so weird as to stand and watch him eat.

Instead, you turn your back to him and busy yourself with the few plates needing to be washed, and you boil some water.

While he eats, Jeongguk doesn’t pay you any attention as you come and go. He just sits there and eats, and you can’t even tell if your cooking is the best he’s ever had or if it tastes like something out of a dumpster.

Before he’s finished, you have: done some dishes, taken out the trash, cleaned the microwave and wiped down the counter, and lastly, filled a hot water bottle and hidden it between the sheets in Jeongguk’s bed.

It’s not like you’ve missed the seemingly always-present goosebumps on his skin or the way he’ll sometimes rub at his arms when he thinks you aren’t looking. One Google search quickly informed you that, yeah, hybrids typically do run warmer, but it depends on the species, and Jeongguk, well, he’s a kangaroo hybrid. Not exactly an animal usually found at the poles. And since your apartment is chillier than average, you retrieved the blue hot water bottle from its forgotten place in your little storage closet.

When you return to the kitchen, Jeongguk has finished eating and is washing the plate and utensils in the sink. You would’ve gladly done it for him, but since he hasn’t spotted you, you back away quietly.

After a minute or so, he exits the kitchen, and you—typing a text to a friend despite the late hour—call out when he passes the guest room.

“Was gonna brush my teeth first…” he informs arrogantly, and you feel your cheeks heat up.

“Alright, do that. And then, straight to bed.”

You choose to wait a few minutes after he’s retreated into the guest room to follow him, knocking on the closed door. “Jeongguk?”

As expected, he doesn’t answer, so you wait a few more seconds—enough for him to cover himself if he happened to be naked—and then you open the door slowly.

He’s watching you from the bed, sitting with his back against the headboard and the white covers over his lap.

“Why were you in the stairwell earlier?” you ask, not bothering to beat around the bush.

Again, to no one’s surprise, he just stares harshly at you until you raise your eyebrows expectantly.

“I can’t disturb you.”

Oh, how your heart hurts. You let go of the door handle, stepping into the room to sit on the edge of the bed, as far away from the hybrid as you can.

“Were you going to stay there? All night?”

The pain in your voice is evident, and in that moment, something happens. Jeongguk doesn’t answer you, but he also turns his head away, tired eyes looking at the floor.

“Do you really think I’d go to bed without knowing where you were? That you were safe? I was waiting for you.”

Your eyes become glassy as you take in the being before you. Someone forced to be dependent on others, and who has learned not to make noise. He was going to sleep in the stairwell because he knew he shouldn’t bother you if you were sleeping already.

“You’re not a bother. Not to me.”

You don’t wait for an answer this time, feeling like the day has been emotional and draining enough, and after leaving the guest room with a whispered ‘good night,’ you spend an hour trying to fall asleep.

He hadn’t stretched his legs out enough to feel the hot water bottle when you sat with him, and you smile sadly as you try to imagine his reaction to the warmth. One thing’s for sure; Jeongguk deserves better.

In contrast to the letters you’re scribbling down, you’re smiling, and it’s with light hands and a quietly hummed melody you’re attaching the yellow sticky note to the pile of plastic wrapped waffles.

‘EAT!!!’

The plate goes into the fridge since you don’t know when Jeongguk will be up, and you’ll soon head to work.

Thirty more minutes roll by, until all that's left to do is to relay some information to Jeongguk. Softly, you knock on his door, opening it slightly when half a minute passes with no reply.

Instantly, you smile to yourself. The hybrid is all cuddled up in the bed; a surprisingly small ball covered in white. And at the top, his peaceful face, black locks and ears, and just a little bit of blue stick out.

The hot water bottle. He looks to be hugging it close to his body, content even though it’s long lost its heat.

“Jeongguk?”

He stirs at your quiet call of his name, but he doesn’t wake. And in the process, his arm peeks out from under the covers. You were going to call for him again, but his name dies on your tongue.

There are bruises lining his arm. You didn’t see them last night, and they’re still only a purplish red, meaning that they’re not very old.

The discovery leaves a bad taste in your mouth, and you close the door, looking for a piece of paper, preferably a bit larger than the sticky notes.

Despite starting off with a bit of sadness, your day at work is better than the previous ones, mostly because of the small break-through you think you witnessed the night before. It felt as if, without even really saying anything, Jeongguk opened up a little bit, and that makes you happy.

The moment you step back inside the apartment, you hear the telltale sound of Mario Kart, and you smile to yourself as you remove your jacket and shoes.

On your way to the living room, you stop by the kitchen to see the plate that held the waffles empty and beside it, the note you left.

‘Jeongguk, a friend of mine called Yoongi will stop by and install something for us today. He’s really nice, so I hope you’ll be nice to him as well!’

You hope that some entertainment might make Jeongguk’s stay a little more pleasant, and from what you see when you enter the living room, you’re happy with your decision.

Very briefly, dark eyes meet yours before they’re back on the screen to pause the game.

“Oh, I don’t mind if you play,” you exclaim, guessing that telling him that you specifically asked Yoongi to install it for him, wouldn’t be the best of ideas, even if Jeongguk surely knows it.

However, Jeongguk keeps it paused, watching you. He doesn’t look friendly, nor does he smile, but he... doesn’t look furious. Not like you just murdered his entire family.

“So, it went alright? When Yoongi stopped by?”

The hybrid gives his typical short nod, and you make a mental note to ask your friend as well. Mostly for your own curiosity.

Still satisfied with the albeit short exchange, you exit the living room to head into the kitchen, pulling out ingredients and tools onto the counter. You’ve been craving your grandmother’s homemade bread for literal weeks but haven’t had the time to bake until now.

A few minutes later, while you’re elbows deep into mixing the dough, two things happen almost simultaneously.

Jeongguk walks into the kitchen and with his polite but still somewhat stoic voice asks, “Can I have some water?”

To which you step aside to give him access to the tap, ensuring, “Of course! Just take whatever you want or need.”

And your phone rings.

It lies on the kitchen table, and with your relatively clean pinky, you answer the call, putting it on speaker.

“Hello?” you greet, sticky hands held in the air.

“Hi, it’s Taehyung!”

You freeze at the friendly voice. To say that your feelings and thoughts of Taehyung have changed during the past few days is an understatement. Or... well, you think. No one’s really explicitly told you anything, it’s mostly just signs, implications, and your own gut feeling.

You hope he’s just calling to check in.

“Oh, hi. How are you? And Jihoon?”

“We’re good! He’s still recovering. You know, a procedure of that kind is tough on the body, not to mention if you’re over fifty. They’re keeping him a bit longer, even if he tries to make them let him go earlier,” Taehyung laughs.

“Yeah,” you agree politely, “He should listen to the doctors and take it easy.”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell him. But anyway, I’ve got some good news for you!”

You glance worriedly at the phone. Good news?

“Oh?”

“Yeah! I spoke with a friend earlier, and he offered to take Jeongguk. He had some things to do out of town, but seems like he’ll be able to reschedule and take him after all. And I just spoke with Jimin; he’s close by and can pick Jeongguk up in half an hour if that works for you?”

“Half an hour?” you repeat with your heart falling.

When you turn around, Jeongguk stands behind you, sipping water from a glass and staring out the window. You don’t even see his entire profile, but he, as usual, doesn’t show very much emotion.

“Yeah.”

“And this friend...? Who... What’s his name?”

It’s not like you expect to know the person, but you can’t help it. You feel like you need to know.

“Namjoon,” Taehyung answers, and you see Jeongguk’s shoulders falling slightly, and what little you see of his face loses whatever tiny little glimpse of emotion it had before. “Don’t worry, he and Jeongguk know each other.”

It doesn’t take very long for you to come to a decision. The hybrid might not like you, but... you can at least guarantee he’s being looked after properly. That he has a bed to sleep in, all the food he can eat, and... someone who cares for him. And most importantly, you don’t know this Namjoon, but you guess that Jeongguk would rather stay with you judging by his reaction.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind if he stays.”

Taehyung is silent for a second, and you’ve turned away from Jeongguk, so if he reacts in any way, you don’t see it.

“Really? Are you sure? I mean, I know he can be a handful,” he chuckles.

“I promise, it’s fine. He’s not so bad.”

It’s not even a lie. Or maybe he is just a tad bit difficult sometimes, but you’ve already come to the conclusion that if anything, it’s not Jeongguk’s fault. The image of the kangaroo hybrid, all snuggled up to the hot water bottle in bed, flashes before your eyes. That alone is worth it.

“Oh... Well, okay then. That’s very generous of you, so thank you. I’ll let Jimin and Namjoon know.”

You don’t like Taehyung’s words or how surprised and even grateful he sounds. No wonder Jeongguk thinks he’s a burden, and you don’t even know how they treat him at home.

“Yeah, no problem.”

There are a few more sentences exchanged before you hang up—Jeongguk long gone from the kitchen by then—and you can resume your baking. It hits you then just how little you want Jeongguk to go home. To go anywhere. But you don’t think there’s really anything you can do; hybrids have few rights and are basically nothing more than possessions in the eyes of society.

“Can I play?”

Jeongguk looks at you where you stand beside the couch, and immediately, he pauses the game and holds the controller out to you. All while looking... stoic. There’s still almost always that underlying anger. Like he loathes humans so much, and that yes, he will obey, but only because he has to. A part of you wonders how his ‘caretakers’ succeeded in making someone so stubborn and strong comply; another part doesn’t even want to imagine it. 

“Oh, I meant with you? There’s another controller, right?”

Stepping in front of the tv, you crouch to look through the little box Yoongi left with games. And, yeah, there it is. You pull it out, fiddling a little with it in your hands as you move to sit down on the couch. With adequate space between you and the hybrid, of course.

“So, I’ve only played Mario Kart once and that was like... years and years ago. Do you think, maybe you could... teach me?”

Jeongguk looks at you, a softer than usual look of surprise on his face. His eyebrows are a tiny bit raised and his lips just slightly parted.

“I’ve never played before today.”

“Really? It certainly looks like you know what you’re doing,” you chuckle, noticing how his eyes flicker subtly in something other than anger?

“Uh, yeah... Yoongi showed me the controls.”

You make a mental note to send flowers and some kind of gift basket to Yoongi’s home. In a way, it doesn’t surprise you that the calm and almost somber-looking man was able to interact with the very suspicious hybrid. Yoongi doesn’t ponder too much; he’s more straight—but calmly so—to the point. 

“Will you show them to me, then?”

He nods, and with the controller in his hands, shows you what the buttons do and when to press them. When you feel like you’ve refreshed your memory enough to give it a shot, Jeongguk restarts the game. Of course, the hybrid’s superior reflexes and the few hours he already spent playing lead to his victory. The first time, you can see that he isn’t sure how to act, almost as if he knows not to seem satisfied with winning, but when all you do is complain about your own performance in a lighthearted way and compliment his, he smiles.

The thirty minutes you spent gaming influence the rest of the night, and you smile to yourself as you refill the hot water bottle for Jeongguk right before bed time. He doesn’t acknowledge the gesture, but he doesn’t argue it either, and that’s a win in your book, at least.

However, the next day—thursday—he’s back to being a grump, and at first, you have no idea why. Then it hits you. Thursdays mean ‘activity,’ which probably in turn means fighting. As a result, he’s holed up in the guest room for most of the day, eating only an apple and a banana after you open the door and physically place them and a big water bottle inside.

A few minutes before Jimin is supposed to pick Jeongguk up, you approach the tall hybrid in the hallway.

“So, what is it that you do? Are you… fighting?” you ask, trying to keep your worry and distaste out of your words.

He doesn’t answer, but you can feel his irritation grow and see his ears swivel back, which you by now can tell means that he’s not happy. Maybe you weren’t very successful. 

“Are they making you fight?”

Again, he remains quiet, zipping the bag shut.

“Can’t you just answer me for once?” you question, sounding more frustrated than you intended to.

“No.”

You lick your lips, silently cursing at yourself. Things were going so well. If you hadn’t asked—almost accused him—maybe his anger would’ve dwindled naturally.

“Do I come back?” he asks instead, staring at the wall, and you feel the heat radiating as his blood boils. He’s wondering if you’re kicking him out to the street for not answering your question.

“Come back? Of course,” you assure him, your own frustration exchanged for heartache and your voice taking on a softer tone once more. “I have an extra key you can have if that makes you more comfortable?”

“No,” he declines.

“Okay, but promise me you’ll knock, no matter the time?”

You think he’s about to nod, or at least give you some sort of answer, but you’re interrupted by the doorbell. 

You linger just inside the closed front door after they’ve left, wondering what you should do to pass the time. Whether you want to or not, you worry a whole lot about Jeongguk, hoping desperately he won’t come back injured.

While you wait, you decide to take the opportunity to cook for him. You’ve tried googling what kangaroo hybrids typically like to eat, but it hasn’t given you a very clear answer, so you settle on a pasta dish. You make sure to use extra cream and to also make him a dessert of banana slices with peanut butter. If he doesn’t want to eat like he should, you can at least try to pack as many calories into what he does eat. 

Then, you retrieve the first aid kit, just in case, and the last thing you do before sinking down on the couch to wait in front of the TV is to fluff his pillows and place the filled hot water bottle between the sheets. Hopefully his bed will be warm and ready whenever he returns. 

Despite finding a very interesting documentary to watch, you can’t stop yourself, checking your watch as well as the stairwell outside your apartment now and again.

Whether he’d actually knock or try to stay outside again, you won’t actually know because at two-thirty a.m., you hear the slightest of noise from outside and go to open the door, seeing Jeongguk approach.

If you hoped whatever he’s doing with Jimin would’ve made him more at ease, well, it didn’t. He doesn’t greet you, stepping inside and placing his duffel bag on the floor. You try to get a good look at him to see if he is injured, but he appears to move smoothly and without pain, and there’s nothing on his face that seems hurt either.

Unfortunately, Jeongguk doesn’t appreciate the things you did for him while you waited. He scoffs at the bowl of pasta you bring him when he comes out of the shower, and you won’t deny that it breaks your heart a little bit. Even more so when he peers into the guest room, seeing the fluffed pillows.

“I’m not a human nor a baby.”

Unsure of what to do, you give sternness another try. “Eat, Jeongguk.”

But he turns fully toward you, looking down at you like he doesn’t care if you live or die. Although his black eyes and hostile body language honestly do scare you a bit, you try not to show it.

“No,” he grits. “Kick me out, I don’t care.”

His words catch you off guard, and you open your mouth to say something but nothing comes out.

“Can I go to sleep now or do I leave?” he asks stoically when you don’t say anything.

You manage to mutter something about how he can go to sleep, and after he closes the bedroom door behind him, you stand there for a few seconds, stunned.

When you return from work the next day, Jeongguk is still in the guest room with the door shut like he was when you left. With a sigh, you contemplate your best course of action, until you decide on an approach. Perhaps you should’ve really considered what he wants.

“Jeongguk?” you knock on his door, “...I understand that you don’t really want to be here. If you want me to, I can call Taehyung and ask if Namjoon is still free to take you?”

You wait a few seconds, not surprised when there is no answer. Letting a few more seconds pass, you then open the door carefully.

“Jeongguk?”

As the gap in the door widens, you spot him, sitting on the bed with his back toward you.

“No.”

His voice sounds like it often does; informative and not very emotional. But you’ve come to know him and his language well enough to know that there’s a lot of feelings inside; he’s just not allowed to express them.

“‘No’ as in…?”

“I don’t want to go.”

You’re relieved. Both because he answered you and because of what that answer was.

“Okay,” you reply softly, “That’s alright. I baked more bread, do you think you could eat something?”

To your relief, he turns his head a little toward you and nods slightly, and a few minutes later, he comes out of his room to eat some home-baked bread.

That same night, you wake up at three a.m., feeling the telltale signs of something approaching; a very familiar sensation that happens once a month, and you pray to the gods to let you off easy this time. It’s hard enough when you’re alone and not caring for a mostly raging hybrid.

<previous | next>

It takes you an hour, mostly because you keep going back and forth regarding the layout, but when everything's transferred, you can't help but grab your favorite graphite pencil. It glides over a fresh page, depicting something you've had a hard time letting go since you saw it.

Another hour, maybe one and a half, and they're there: Jeongguk's laser-focused black eyes. Not pictured: the paperclip.

You keep going, and not long after, the next page contains a profile portrayal of his upper teeth. The central incisor, the lateral one, and then the long, thin, clearly superhuman canine. Behind it, you can glimpse the regular canine.

At nine-thirty pm, you're unlocking the heavy door, peering around carefully. There are no inpatient animals tonight, meaning the clinic should be entirely empty. Also meaning: you have no business inside the building.

Thus, it's dark as you enter, and you only turn on what light you absolutely need as to not risk being found out if any of your colleagues were to drive past—or God forbid, return to retrieve something forgotten—and see the place lit. Walking through the quiet corridors, you note that you have approximately twenty-five minutes to prepare.

At five minutes to ten, your phone dings. Since your outfit for once consists of something other than scrubs, you grab the device from your jean pocket to read the text displayed on the screen.

Jeon Jeongguk: I'm here

You don't reply, just stand from the chair you've been sitting on to note down some things, and head toward the entrance.

Like so many times before, you spot the tall, dark shape waiting just outside the door as soon as you enter the reception area, your heart skipping an excited beat.

With quick fingers, you unlock the door, and then you're peering up at him.

"Hi," you greet, backing up and watching as he steps inside, a tiny gust of wind accompanying him and making goosebumps rise on your arms.

He's wearing black again. A black leather jacket over a black shirt, and dark-wash jeans of the looser kind.

"Hi," he echoes, smiling down at you. His hair is windswept, and you swear his eyes might be even darker than last time you saw him.

You'd say you're quite a talented artist, but God, your drawing of his eyes is nothing compared to the real thing. You almost want to ask him whether all vampires are beautiful because you do remember his friends at the bar, and they were gorgeous as well.

"This way," you say, turning around.

Wordlessly, Jeongguk follows as you lead the way back to the room where he first apologized with the empty crate. Should someone, for some reason, visit the clinic, you'll be safest from discovery hidden away in the farthest room.

Keeping a distance of around a meter or so, Jeongguk's boots thump heavily against the floor as he trails behind you, a sound you're almost starting to find comfort in.

The door to the exam room is open, just like you left it, the light from inside pouring out into the otherwise dark hallway. You enter, shutting the door behind you when Jeongguk's through as well. You're not surprised to see him take his usual spot on the exam table, removing his jacket and folding it to lay beside him.

"You know, you can say no to this, right?" you ask, grabbing the sterile sheet of supplies you've prepared from the counter and placing it on the table next to him.

"It's fine. Consider it my apology for scaring you," he smiles warmly at you.

You return his gesture, pulling on some nitrile gloves.

"I'm very grateful. This is like…." you don't even know what to say as you drag the chair closer to him with your foot, sitting down and grabbing an antiseptic wipe to wipe down the inside of the elbow he wordlessly offers you. His skin is warm, radiating heat even through the gloves. "I feel like I'm the vampire, essentially vibrating at the thought of your blood."

He laughs at that, a lovely deep sound that goes straight to your heart.

"Well, I definitely don't need a tourniquet," you then mumble as you focus on his thick arm, pressing two fingers to the biggest vein and feeling it react almost like that of a human. It does give under pressure—but much less than a human's—quickly filling back up when you let go.

"Do you think this will work?" you ask, grabbing a needle and holding it up for him to see. It's one designed for the largest of dogs; the next step up in strength from a human grade needle.

"I don't know? I've never had my blood drawn."

Your eyes widen. "Really?"

You guess it makes sense, but it's still a surprise to hear.

"Yeah. Not really any use for it. And it wasn't really a thing when I was human."

"You sure you want to?"

"Yeah. How bad can it be? I'm not scared of pain or anything."

"Okay. Then I'll try with this one. It's usually a straight forward process, especially with veins like yours when you don't have to search for them. Or in my case, shave and search for them while holding the patient still."

Jeongguk grins.

"I'll try sticking you, and if it works, then I'll fill a few of these," you nod toward the vials on the blue sheet. "When I'm done, I'll remove the needle."

"Sounds good."

"Great."

Biting your lip, you focus on the needle as you angle it properly against the thick vein. You can't tell if Jeongguk is looking at your hands or your face, but you try not to think about his eyes on you.

Even though you've established that his skin doesn't feel too different from a human's besides the temperature, the needle is met with a surprising amount of resistance.

"Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?" you mumble, a little worried by the amount of pressure you're slowly forced to apply. You really don't want to accidentally stab him if his skin suddenly gives way.

Jeongguk only hums, clearly not that bothered. Slowly and very, very carefully, you increase the pressure, and then, the needle finally pierces through.

Relieved, you turn to the gathered equipment, reaching for some tape to fasten the needle against his skin, and then you're grabbing the first vial, attaching it.

Immediately, there's blood. It trickles in quicker than it would for an animal, or how you've seen your own blood do whenever you've had it drawn, and when you lean in, you notice that it's almost black. The gears inside your head are turning as you consider what it might mean. There's still a slight hint of red—a very dark red, which makes you wonder if his red blood cells are simply so tightly packed that—

Barely having time to finish the thought, you have to reach for the next vial, seeing the current one practically already filled to the brim.

Removing the full vial, you attach the new one, glancing up at his face when you're done. "Feeling okay?"

He nods and smiles softly, as if he realizes your (most likely very unnecessary) words are meant to be caring and not infantilizing.

"God, it smells of iron." You point out, blinking in surprise.

Jeongguk laughs. "Yeah. The iron also makes it a lot darker than human blood."

"I can see that," you say, replacing the second vial with the third and last one. "It looks like it's slightly more… viscous too," you comment, turning that second vial upside down. As you do, the blood pools at the new bottom, leaving a coat of dark red behind. Although it moves slower, its consistency is far from that of syrup; just a tiny bit less watery than your own blood.

"What are you going to do with them?"

"I'm bringing them home with me just so that no one sees them. I'll be looking at… Well, whatever I can see. Usually, putting a drop of blood under a microscope will let you see the red and white blood cells—which carry oxygen and keep one's immune system working, respectively—and then the platelets and plasma.

"Platelets can show things like how quick the body can heal a wound and plasma is basically the liquid that holds the proteins and electrolytes. So I'll be looking at shapes, amounts, and behaviors of the cells. Other than that, I can't really plan ahead because I have no idea what I'll see."

He nods, and you remove the last vial, placing it next to the other two on the sheet beside him. Giving him a quick warning, you then swiftly remove the needle, prepared to wipe any escaping blood with a bit of gauze. But there isn't any; not even a tiny pink dot remains as evidence.

"Uh…" you continue, trying to find your thoughts again as you peer between his flawless skin and the needle you definitely know you just pulled out. "Right… And if I can manage to do it without anyone noticing, I'd also love to analyze some of your blood here at the lab.

"I won't be able to look at the proteins themselves with my microscope at home, but I am particularly curious about them and why you can be so warm without the proteins in your blood essentially cooking. And also whether the lead poisoning you described has left any visible traces. And, of course, to see just how much iron is in your blood and whatnot."

You stand up, disposing the needle in the sharps container and remove the gloves to throw them in the trash. When you're done, you grasp two of the three vials from the table, backing toward the door. "I'll be right back, I'm just gonna put these in the centrifuge."

"Alright."

The dark hallways don't pose a problem for you, knowing every door and every turn like the back of your hand. Therefore, it doesn't take you more than a minute or two to locate the lab with the desktop centrifuge, popping the two vials in and starting the machine. It comes to life with a hum, and you leave the room to let it work in peace.

When you return to the exam room, Jeongguk is standing in front of the ultrasound machine you rolled into a corner prior to his arrival. It's an older model, bulky and ancient compared to the portable ones you take out into the field.

While he's watching that, you're watching him, having an embarrassingly hard time tearing your eyes from his wide, muscular back. And even though you just got to sit eye to eye with his veins, your gaze trails those veins spanning the back of his forearms almost hungrily. God, you can't remember the last time you had a crush like this. Wait, what?

"You wanted to use this one, right?" Jeongguk interrupts your thoughts as he gestures toward the machine, still inspecting it curiously.

"Yeah…" you confirm. He keeps looking at the machine as you retrieve the rest of the blood draw supplies, setting them on the counter along with the third vial; the one you're keeping un-centrifuged for your microscope at home.

"…But what?" he asks when he notices the slight hesitancy, looking back at you to see you leaning back against the counter, crossing your arms and biting your lip as you think.

"Well… your heart was a little hard to hear with the stethoscope, and considering everything—like how strong you evidently are—I'm just wondering if… maybe your muscles are somehow so dense that it's harder for sound to penetrate them?"

"Which would… make it difficult to see anything on an ultrasound as well?" he fills in.

Momentarily, your eyes lose their focus, staring into nothing but the air. "Realistically, they should still be soft enough to ultrasound 'cause, you know… they're not solid, but that bad boy over there is getting up there in age," you nod toward the ultrasound machine. "The portable one is with Yoongi, who's on call."

Jeongguk hums, dark eyes watching you and patiently waiting for your decision.

A thought hits you.

"Would you—" you start, gesturing toward the exam table before you have time to really consider whether your spontaneous idea will help or not. Unbothered, Jeongguk returns to his seated spot.

You approach, looking at his arm (entirely professional this time). You're curious about his muscles, and well, the arm he used to lift the car with is as good as any.

"Do you mind if I…?" you reach carefully for him.

He shakes his head, lifting his arm slightly toward you. You grasp it by the elbow as you consider where to start. God, it never stops surprising you how warm he is.

"Okay, relax," you mumble.

Besides warm like a radiator, his arm is so incredibly heavy, almost to the point where you lose your grip on it when he obeys your request and lets it go limp. Adjusting the hand under his elbow for support, you move the other to the inside of that same joint. All the while, you feel his curious gaze on you as you get to work.

"Not sore?" you ask, referring to how you just stuck a needle into that same spot.

"No. What are you searching for?" he asks, eyes on your fingers as you work them as gently as you can into the crease of his elbow.

"Your distal biceps tendon. Can you do this for me real quick? Make a fist and flex your arm, just a small bend at the elbow?"

He copies your brief demonstration, the contrast between your flexed arms almost comical. Still, it works, and you feel the tendon pop out under your thumb, its thickness and strength very obvious. The question is only: to what extent?

Using both hands again, you move one up his semi-flexed, very impressive biceps, and you try your best to trace the underlying anatomy, your eyes focused on the wall behind him. He's… firm. That's the best way you can describe him. Warm and firm.

"Can I fold this up?" you ask, tugging a little on the sleeve of his t-shirt in order to get to his shoulder.

"Yeah. Or I can just—?"

You take a step back when he grabs the shirt by the back of his neck and yanks it off.

"Yeah. Or that," you smile, trying not to stare at his golden chest. He just has to have your absolutely favorite body type, doesn't he? Wide shoulders, overall muscular but without too much, stringy definition. And that itty-bitty waist, complete with two tiny skin rolls as he sits? Not to mention the veins, but those practically never leave your mind anyway, spanning his hands and running all the way up his shoulders, even. And that's just his body; his face is even more gorgeous.

Oblivious to your infatuated thoughts—or maybe not, but you're not even going to consider that—he puts the shirt beside him, once more offering you his arm.

"Flexed? Or relaxed?"

"Relaxed. I'm just trying to locate some of your tendons and see if, for any reason, I wouldn't be able to ultrasound them."

"What would that reason be?"

"Not sure," you shrug, putting your hands back on his upper arm. "Maybe they're covered by super dense muscle? Maybe you have bone-plated armor covering weak spots like the crease of your elbows? Actually, nevermind; I wouldn't have been able to draw your blood if that were the case, but you get my point."

He grins, amused, eyes focused on your hands again as you start to move them, feeling the top of his shoulder.

"The two biceps heads go here," you explain, pressing your thumb near the front of his shoulder joint and your middle finger just a bit higher and inward. "Should be able to see them on the ultrasound as well. And the muscle, itself… It's definitely soft when relaxed," you murmur, running both hands down his relaxed arm again, palpating the thick tissue.

"While you have your shirt off… Can I..?" Slowly, you let go of his arm, pointing to his side.

"Yeah, go ahead. Whatever you want."

You laugh quietly at his complete compliance. "I appreciate it. Your sacrifice for science."

He chuckles too, moving his arm out of the way as you pull the chair closer with your foot again, sitting down. With your right hand, you feel his side, where multiple layers of muscle cover his ribs.

"I heard your heart better from here, and… while your serratus anterior is quite dense and strong—yeah, I can barely feel your ribs under these muscles—those are probably the real problem," you nod toward his pecs. "But I think I'll be able to see your heart as well, unless there's an internal aspect causing issues. If I can get a probe between your ribs, that is."

"Between them?" he lifts an eyebrow.

"I'm not gonna jam something between them or anything," you're quick to explain, placing two fingers against his side, in the space between two ribs. "I'll put the probe here in an intercostal space, against your skin, and hopefully the sound waves make it between the ribs."

"Hm," he leans back on his arms, and you remove your hand from his skin. "Well, you're welcome to try whatever you want."

Why does he always have to say things like that? Why?! Simply pretending like he said something that didn't make your chest warm, you offer a grateful smile and stand up.

The ultrasound machine squeaks as you roll it over to where you want it, positioning it next to the exam table.

"Do I lie down? People lie down for these, don't they?"

Walking over to the light switches, you flick one of the two main ceiling lights off. "You can, but it might not be very comfortable—"

Turning, you see him already flat on his back, his lower legs hanging freely off the edge and toward the floor.

"It's not so bad," he comments, earnestly.

"Heart this way, though, please," you smile as you approach, even more so when he sits up to lie the other way.

"Is there a reason you turned the lights off? Or just for coziness?"

You laugh. As if you—trying so hard to be professional in the most unprofessional situation ever—would turn the lights off for 'coziness.'

"It makes it easier to see the screen. These old screens aren't as powerful as the new ones."

Spending a moment in silence going through the probes available, you then settle for one and reach for the gel on the little tray.

"This can be a little cold," you warn, squeezing an appropriate amount onto the probe.

He doesn't say anything, his eyes focused on the ceiling.

"I'll start with your heart," you add, sitting down and adjusting the long white cable attached to the probe.

But then you realize that his arm is in the way. "Could you… put your arm either above or under your head?"

"Sure," he agrees calmly, lifting his arm and putting his hand under his head. It gives you a whole new angle of not only his thick and defined arm but his side and abdomen as well. Naturally, your eyes do a quick scan. There's a dark tuft of hair growing in his armpit, something you find unreasonably attractive.

Jeongguk doesn't react when you put the gelled-up probe to his pec. Using your left hand to angle it against his skin, you push the old, worn-down buttons on the machine's small desk with your right, trying to find not only the best angles but also settings.

You mutter your slight frustration when the display merely shows a foggy outline of a mass. Even though this particular machine still performs well enough on animals, it might just have met its match in Jeongguk's pectorals.

"Try to relax as much as possible for me, okay?" you say, eyes locked onto the screen as you hope a slightly softer muscle will be easier to see through.

It doesn't work though, and you're forced to give up. But only after another few minutes of double checking angles and settings, of course; you don't admit defeat that easily.

Jeongguk lets you work in silence. It's comfortable and calm, not awkward in the slightest. He breathes slowly and evenly, taking the odd deep breath when you ask him again to please do his best to relax as much as possible.

Moving the probe to his abdomen, right below the junction of his ribs as you try to tilt it up and underneath them, you spot something.

"Well, your liver looks rather… normal," you state quietly, watching the organ show up on screen like that of any human. At least as far as you know; you don't do ultrasounds on humans, but there shouldn't be that much of a difference.

"Oh—and there's your heart."

Jeongguk turns his head, and the movement has you losing the angle. "Wait. Hold on, lie still; I'll show you."

He keeps his head turned, his eyes warming your face as you adjust the probe, trying to find the image again. It takes you a few seconds, and then you feel yourself light up.

"Look," you say, carefully turning the machine to face him while trying not to move the probe. "It's not the best image, and it's from below, but there it is."

It's fascinating, the small, grainy glimpse of the powerful organ that graces the screen. It beats just like you've heard it, slowly, every contraction precise. Even watching it, a sense of calm washes over you. There's no rush; it does what it's done since long before you were born and what it will continue to do for however long Jeongguk lives. Another few centuries? Millennia?

"Cool."

You chuckle. Jeongguk grins youthfully when you meet his gaze. Of course, he's not as impressed by his own heart, maybe more so the technology that actually lets him see it.

"Yeah. And even though the image is kinda… meh, look here," you trace the faint outline of the heart wall with your finger. "See how thick it is?"

"Uh…" he watches but doesn't seem to quite understand your fascination.

"Okay, hold on," you say, removing the probe from him, and with a little more gel on the top of it, you grab the lower hem of your shirt and move the probe underneath. It doesn't take you nearly as long to find the corresponding angle on yourself—your abs aren't made of steel…—and there it is, only sharper and clearer.

"Do you see the difference? The walls of your heart—the muscle itself—are much thicker than mine," you trace the same shape on your own visualized heart; almost pathetically small compared to Jeongguk's. Not only that, but it beats fast, contracting quickly as if you're in the middle of a marathon. The contrast is almost absurd.

"Yeah," he smiles. "Seems like you're excited about something?"

You huff and remove the probe from your skin, watching the screen go dark. "Mean. And here I was going to show you my condition."

He tilts his head, his curiosity having lost that teasing edge, the tone bordering on worried. "You have a condition?"

"Kinda."

"Well, show me."

You give him the sternest look you can muster.

"I'll be nice, I promise."

"Fine."

Luckily, the shirt you chose to wear today is of the looser, boxier kind, allowing you to slide the probe back under it and against your side. You breathe slowly, trying to calm your heart at least a fraction.

Jeongguk sits up, dark eyes glued to the sight of your beating heart. It thumps evenly—if only faster than his—until it doesn't.

"Wait, that beat was much quicker?"

"Yeah."

"Is that not… dangerous?"

"Keep looking."

He returns his focus to the screen, watching intently. "It happened again. Your rhythm isn't even like mine."

"No. I have 'regular irregularities,'" you explain softly. "It's not dangerous since the rhythm doesn't deviate. Or at least from what's normal for me. It's more like a little quirk."

He bites his lip, and, for a long second, looks at you.

"Can I feel?"

"Feel?"

"Your pulse."

"Uh," you start, more surprised than unwilling. "Sure."

Before you know it, he's reaching his large hand out, gently grasping your neck—the back of it, at least—and with his thumb on your artery, immediately finds your pulse. You guess that's maybe even more of his expertise than it is yours, so you don't bother reminding him that it's generally best to feel for someone's pulse with a finger other than the thumb, which has its own pulse, easily confused with the subject's.

You try desperately to calm your poor heart, willing yourself to breathe slowly as every thump beats against his thumb.

"Relax," he mumbles.

"Be nice—"

"I didn't imply anything," he defends. "I think I have yet to meet even one human whose heart doesn't race when a vampire feels for their pulse. It's instinctual."

Maybe also because you're hot, you almost want to say.

It's only because he's staring into the air as he feels your pulse that you manage to lower it even slightly. A moment passes. And then another; the room enveloped in a thick silence, Jeongguk's warm hand still around the back of your neck, and his thumb on your carotid artery.

"Interesting. I'm not… new to wacky heartbeats, but I don't think I've ever felt one that's… regularly irregular."

He lets go of your neck, and you look at him. "Well, do you listen often? To someone who's not scared you'll eat them?"

"No, not really. Not that I eat humans, cause I don't—you saw the powdered blood I use—I just don't really listen to heartbeats," he explains, which has you nearly rolling your eyes. It's sweet, how he still really doesn't want you to misinterpret him. "Do you feel anything? Is it noticeable?"

"No, I don't feel it," you answer. "I've probably always had it. It's just the rhythm my heart has."

He hums, accepting your answer before he lowers his gaze to the probe in your hand. "…You're not done with me, are you?"

You grin. "No."

Admitting defeat with a smile of his own, he lies back down. You reach for the gel again, turning the screen back.

"Arm up, please."

He lifts his arm and tucks his hand under his head again. This time, you touch the probe to his side, trying to find another view of his heart.

Just like you hoped, a few moments of quiet searching later, and you have the clearest side view of his heart yet. The resolution still leaves quite a lot to be desired, but you're grateful nonetheless, your fingers tapping the buttons to activate the color Doppler mode.

"Do you want to see more? How your heart moves your blood?" you ask, smiling brightly but realizing that far from everyone is as nerdy as you.

"Sure," he answers. Having learned from last time, he doesn't move a muscle, instead waiting patiently for you to turn the screen toward him.

"So, this setting visualizes the blood flow as colors; red is the blood coming toward the probe. Blue is the blood going away from it."

"That's interesting."

"You think so?" you ask. You wouldn't be surprised if he's mostly pretending to be polite.

"I mean, yeah? It doesn't really tell me much, but it's fascinating to see. And I can tell that it makes you happy."

You turn the screen back, eyes locked onto his grainy, slightly foggy heart. With every slow beat, a portion of the screen lights up in red, then blue. You think that's when another realization hits you; not one that douses you in ice water, whispering that you're prey in the presence of a predator, but a calm excitement that… you found something. You found something amazing, something out of this world, and for all you know, you're one of few to ever have a heart like this under your ultrasound probe.

Calm yet powerful like nothing else, his heart moves what must be an immense amount of blood with every contraction.

"Have you ever had your blood pressure taken?" you mumble, pressing another button on the control pad.

"No. It's the tube that goes around your arm, right?"

Nodding, you turn your head to watch him. Or more specifically, his arm. "I'd love to measure yours," you admit almost longingly. "But we don't have any cuffs here that would fit you. We typically measure a horse's blood pressure around the base of their tail, so that's just a human cuff, but it's in the field bag with Yoongi. The canine cuffs we have here won't even clear your forearm."

"Well, if you find a way…" he says, still watching you with that calm, slightly curious look.

You return your attention to the screen, taking the chance to see Jeongguk's heart from every angle possible.

Ultrasonography is a skill learned through time and experience: lots of it. Still doesn't mean it's easy for you or that you can just slide the probe around willy-nilly and find what you're looking for simply because you've got hundreds of them under your belt. You need a light yet stable hand and the knowledge of where to go. Also a bit of luck.

"Do you need me conscious?" Jeongguk's low voice asks after a few more minutes. "Cause I might fall asleep."

"It's that boring?" You look at him, endeared and smiling. "Wait. You sleep?"

You're not sure why you're so surprised, staring at him like he just told you he can levitate. It would be exponentially weirder if he didn't sleep; it just never crossed your mind that he would. He chuckles.

"Yeah. It's not boring, it's just that I'm lying down, in a quiet and dark room. That… touch is pretty soothing, and you keep ordering me to relax."

You try not to blush, removing the probe from his skin and looking around for the tissues to remove the gel. "Do you want to stop? Or at least continue another day?"

"No. I don't mind," he yawns. "Continue. Test me, stick me, feel me up; I don't mind."

You pause, forehead creasing. "While you sleep?"

"Yeah? Just a warning, I sleep pretty heavily. If you need me awake, just… shake me. I'll wake up sooner or later."

"Okay," you snicker. That is such an apex predator advantage. No one is going to eat you, so why bother be on guard?

Not even five minutes later, he's out; his eyes closed and his breaths slow and even. Not entirely satisfied, you're still looking at the blood flow from his heart on the monitor, moving the probe around ever so slightly.

When you were in university, your class got to visit a zoo. The on-staff veterinarian demonstrated how they sedate their animals—large predators, mostly—by dart, and then they opened the enclosures and let you all inside. You particularly remember the lion, who they suspected had torn a ligament, and the brown bear requiring dental work.

It's a feeling like no other, working on a sleeping predator—the sleeping bear, quite literally—and with your elevated heartbeat, hoping to God they don't wake up before you're done and safely outside.

Working on Jeongguk while he sleeps feels similar in ways you can't really explain. While he's not a 200 kg lion, he's huge, lying on the table in front of you with his legs hanging down. And even if you're not actually scared that he'll wake up because you don't think he'll eat you, it's there regardless; the deep, subconscious knowledge that everything he lets you do to him, even if it's essentially whatever you want, is on his terms and his terms alone.

So while the smallest change in Jeongguk's breathing doesn't scare you shitless like the tiny groan the lion let out as you touched its paw, you're still aware of it.

Twenty minutes later, when you suspect you've seen everything the machine can show you of his heart, you carefully wipe the gel from his chest and move toward his abdomen. The moment you put the probe to his skin again, you wait, eyes on his face and awaiting a reaction of some kind, but there's nothing.

Considering his words of consent, you continue, moving the probe around to locate his organs. In humans and most animals, the intestines are always—to some extent—noisy. Food, liquid, and gas are constantly processed by the interior muscles, and it creates a steady background hum of activity. But from what you can see of Jeongguk's abdomen, it's entirely silent and still.

You see the organs relatively clearly through his abdominal muscles, which—despite being thick and surely strong as hell—aren't quite as dense as his pecs. And his organs are there; blood is circulating to and through them; they're just…dormant.

But as you glide the probe over to where his bladder should be, you don't find it. Only on the third pass do you spot it, appearing entirely empty and therefore tiny. It confirms what he said about his near-perfect closed-loop system, where his kidneys don't really output urine unless to get rid of excess fluid.

Quietly amazed, you wipe the gel from his abdomen and some stray streaks that you previously missed on his chest.

Your next target is his arm, but before you do anything else, you quietly stand from the chair, softly padding out of the exam room to pay the locker room a quick visit. Considering everything Jeongguk is doing for you and your curiosity, you can at least make it as comfortable as possible for him. That's the reasoning behind bringing him your personal pillow, carefully putting a hand under his head to slide the pillow in under it.

Just like the lion's paw, Jeongguk's limp arm is—besides warm—incredibly heavy. Struggling a little more than you care to admit, you maneuver it to hang off the edge of the table and into your lap, where his body heat radiates straight through your clothes.

Holding onto that big, heavy, veiny arm, you touch the probe to his biceps, and what you find is so, so interesting. While his heart looked a tad bit bigger than that of a regular man his size, it appeared disproportionately strong, the muscle responsible for its contractions dense and thick, almost like his pecs.

Similarly, the muscles in his arm show up bright on screen, so dense that you barely see through them. It explains perfectly why he's quite a bit heavier than he appears.

You don't rush, feeling alright about taking your time since Jeongguk is sleeping either way. Besides the muscle bellies themselves, you spend quite a while inspecting the different tendons in his arm. As well as you can, at least.

Where the tendons are exposed, like the biceps tendon on the inside of his elbow, they're thick and bright on screen. Clear and sharp. But where they disappear in under too much overlaying muscle, they blur as the soundwaves scatter. You can't conclude much more than that they're thicker than a human's, but you felt that even when you palpated him earlier.

The biggest discovery, however, is probably when you move the probe to the inside of Jeongguk's biceps and over his brachial artery. It's the arm's main blood supply, and it should be well-developed for any relatively fit and strong man. In fact, its size shouldn't be that much of a surprise when you can feel the outline of Jeongguk's even while he sleeps.

But the moment the artery is centered under the probe, and you see the on-screen numbers measure the diameter to be 5.6 millimeters wide, you blink in shock. Almost dropping the probe, you scramble to dig your phone out of your pocket and open the browser, searching for the average brachial diameter for a human man.

3-4 millimeters. Ish. Apparently, an exceptionally strong climber measured at 4.4 millimeters and attributed his almost superhuman strength to his wide arteries. And Jeongguk's is 5.6 millimeters.

His arm rests limply in your lap as you note the numbers down on a nearby stray piece of paper, underlining it twice, as if you'd possibly forget. That has to be one of the big explanations, right? For his super strength? His muscles and tendons are disproportionately strong on their own, yes, but they can generate so much more force and for so much longer because his body can provide them with an almost endless supply of oxygen.

God, now all you need to know is what the hell is in his blood. With that additional puzzle piece, you feel like you're one step closer to solving the mystery that is his strength.

When your own heart finally calms down from the discovery-induced adrenaline high, you find yourself simply watching the flow of his blood for a few minutes. For some reason, it's very soothing, like watching waves hit the shore on an empty beach.

Before you turn off the machine and clear Jeongguk's skin of the remaining gel, the last thing you do is adjust the settings to also thoroughly inspect the uppermost level. His skin.

As expected, and aligning with what you've already seen, it is noticeably thicker. There's not much fat, but the skin itself is thick. You reach for the pen again, writing down a question.

'Sensitivity?'

You power the machine off, the absence of the low humming suddenly making the room almost eerily quiet. Jeongguk is still fast asleep, his handsome face so youthful. You smile to yourself; he wasn't lying when he said that he was a heavy sleeper. Still, you don't watch his face for too long, for some reason convinced that he, at any second, will open his eyes and stare at you. You don't know what you find scarier: him suddenly and unceremoniously staring at you, or finding you staring at him.

Pushing the ultrasound cart away slightly, you settle back into your chair again, carefully grasping his arm. It's one thing to see something on screen—pretty badly portrayed, at that—it's another to feel it. In your line of work, your patients can sometimes show you what's wrong, even if they can't outright tell you. But they can also be entirely stoic or just simply unreliable, and so you've learned to rely a lot on your hands, feeling for whatever's not right.

Rolling your chair just a tad closer, still with his hand in your lap, you run your hands softly up to his shoulder, planning to get a better feel than the previous preview. Throwing a quick glance at his face, you confirm that he hasn't reacted.

You start by tracing your fingers over his shoulder cap, feeling exactly where the thick muscle fibers anchor onto his collar bone. Lifting one hand from his skin, you trace the same part on yourself just to compare. While your attachments are distinctly human; still relatively strong but with a certain degree of "give," Jeongguk's feel much harder. It makes sense because, as established, a muscle can't be stronger than its bone attachments allow it to be.

Returning your hand to his shoulder, you slide your fingers down a little further, carefully prodding the inside of his armpit for the lymph nodes.

There's a sound.

Almost like a quick exhale of air. Your gaze snaps to Jeongguk's face, but he hasn't moved a muscle, still entirely quiet and relaxed. You must've imagined it, or it was the ultrasound machine finally powering down completely. Old things like that make random sounds, after all.

You let your hands move again. Just like the lymph nodes in his neck, the nodes in his armpit are harder than normal, for a human at least.

Continuing further down, your hands reach his biceps and triceps. You've seen the thickness of his upper arm before, even had your hands on him briefly earlier tonight, but it's another thing to really get to feel. You won't deny that palpating the dense muscles makes your heart skip maybe an extra beat, but you'd absolutely keep that fact to yourself. Besides increasing the inevitable attraction you feel toward him, the curious scientist in you is thrilled.

Jeongguk's biceps is incredibly well developed, no surprise there, but you're almost surprised at just how dense his triceps is. Additionally, as you prod the muscles, eyes unfocused on the wall, you note that there's basically no intramuscular fat, or at least you can't feel any. You continue to trace the three heads of the triceps, mapping where they anchor to the elbow.

Concluding that, yeah, he's got a physique rather similar to human men, just leveled up and engineered to withstand more force—like… a lot more—you slide one of your hands down to his wrist, grasping it and lifting.

Struggling just a little, you move his heavy lower arm slowly back and forth, folding it at the elbow, just to get a glimpse of his range of motion. You think perhaps it's a little greater than what's considered normal in a human, but flexibility in humans is highly individual. It could be for vampires as well? You wouldn't call his range of motion unnatural, at least.

With that out of the way, you continue your descent, feeling for the elbow's attachments in the other direction, toward his forearm. They feel just as strong, no surprise there. With your left hand, you feel for the right spot in the middle of his forearm, carefully digging your thumb into the flesh. There's not a lot of give, and it takes a quite a lot of pressure, but then you see it; how his middle finger twitches. Moving your thumb a little to the side and pressing, you get the index finger to react, too.

His wrist is thick and so are the veins running on both sides of it. Actually, all sides of it. You lift his hand again, gently rolling his wrist to test the range of motion of that joint as well. There's zero friction, no sounds or jumps, just fluid motion.

The results remain consistent when you move on to feel the muscles in his hand and his fingers, very gently stretching and curling them. Your own wrist pops occasionally—something it's always done—a reminder that you, at least, are human.

"What are you feeling for?"

The low voice breaks the silence just as you're done with his pinky. It startles you, and your wide eyes flit to his face to find his dark eyes watching you.

"God, don't scare me like that," you complain, exhaling. But you also feel your cheeks heat. His voice didn't sound… newly awoken. "How long have you been awake?"

"Uh, since you started feeling me up," he grins lazily.

"I wasn't feeling you up," you defend, groaning internally. You've been 'feeling him up' for way too long. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Don't worry, I said that you could, didn't I?" he continues, and you can tell he doesn't mind. "And it felt nice; I didn't want you to stop."

You roll your eyes, cheeks very warm.

"So did you learn anything?"

You nod, excitement overriding your embarrassment because you did. "Yeah. So, in conclusion: your muscles are dense. So much so that it does make it more difficult to see past them on the ultrasound. And probably why it was a little harder to hear your heart as well. Your heart is a little bit bigger than what I'd consider normal in a human man, but it works roughly the same, only stronger and capable of moving more blood around. Your brachial artery, however," you say, lightly tapping the spot on his inner biceps. "Is insane."

Jeongguk lifts his eyebrows and sits up, stretching briefly. "How is it insane?"

"The average brachial diameter for a human man is around 3 to 4 millimeters; some peaking at roughly 4.5. Yours is not only thick and extra muscular, but it's 5.6 millimeters in diameter; that's a lot. Logically, that would mean that not only is your heart pumping a lot of blood around, but your veins and arteries are better equipped to deliver that blood to your muscles. And to your other organs, of course."

Jeongguk listens intently, quietly curious, as you continue.

"So not only are your muscles denser, your heart bigger, and your veins and arteries thicker to handle the added pressure, your tendons are crazy thick as well. If they weren't, you'd probably risk tearing the muscles from your bones with how strong you are. You also seem to have a slightly wider range of motion? I don't know if that is a vampire thing or a you thing? For humans, it varies a lot, even among those that don't have connective tissue disorders like Ehlers-Danlos."

"Never thought about it."

You shrug. "Then it's probably not a big deal. The movement of your joints, at least your elbow, wrist, and fingers, is very smooth. No clicking or incongruence."

"Like you have?"

"You noticed that?"

He smiles and nods. Then he tilts his head. "What… was it that you did when you pressed on my forearm?"

"I was feeling the tendons that control your fingers. Seeing if I could manipulate them."

"My fingers?"

"Mhm. Look," you say, holding your hand out.

Jeongguk fulfills your request, holding out his forearm and watching as you trace his warm skin to find the spot again. "Relax your hand. Hold on. Okay, see?"

With your thumb pressing down, his middle finger moves, curling slightly.

"Oh? That's cool."

"Yeah. A bit of a party trick," you grin, letting go of his arm and leaning back. "Oh, almost forgot. Your abdomen is very… quiet. Not a lot going on there as you probably knew. And your bladder is practically entirely empty, which supports what you said about your mostly 'closed loop' system."

"Yeah. That, I knew," he smiles widely.

With your cheeks burning yet again, you reach for his shirt, handing it to him. "Thanks for… letting me do all of this."

Telling yourself that it's not weird to be fascinated by him and his anatomy doesn't make you feel any less of a perv, unfortunately.

"No problem. If this is how it is going to the doctor, I kinda wish I could go too."

You laugh. "This is not how it is at the doctor's. And if it is, you need to report the doctor."

"Why?" he smiles, and fuck, you dug a grave and stepped right in.

Why? Because it's inappropriate?

"Well… for one, I'd say we're… friends? I don't have the responsibility to treat you for something like a doctor would for their patient. I'm actually not even a doctor; I'm a vet, and the way I work is a bit different than how a doctor would with human patients."

"You go by touch?"

"Yeah. I use my hands to evaluate a lot. Besides, you're not a human, and you shouldn't be asleep at the doctor's."

He puts the shirt back on, amused.

A thought hits you. "You don't have any doctors of your own? Vampire doctors?"

It's still odd to say the word out loud.

"We do, but not a lot since we rarely need them. We have a few different… services, but they're more like caretakers. Like, if someone gets poisoned or actually dehydrated, they can help take care of them. Quite a few vampires live in solidarity, so it can be hard to survive things like that if you don't have anyone to take care of you."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Those friends you were with, at the bar that night?"

"Also vampires," he grins. "They're not from around here but Tae—Taehyung—is thinking of renting a house here for a few months."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

It makes you wonder…

"There aren't any other vampires here. At least not right now," he says, clearly having realized your train of thought and met you at the station.

"Oh."

He tilts his head. "Are you relieved?"

You think about it. "Uh… I don't know? I guess that makes the chances of being killed by something supernatural… lower, but… I mean, you're nice."

He laughs, lifting his arm to look at his watch. "Oh, shit. I have to go."

"You have… plans? At ass o'clock?"

"Uh… yeah. Vampire plans," he starts, eyes however widening slightly at his own words. "…That definitely do not involve hunting humans for food."

It's your turn to laugh. Does he sound like a bad liar? A bit, but it sounds more to you like he just wants to make sure you're not getting the wrong idea and trips a little over his words in the process.

"Okay. Have fun? And, uh, thank you again for… you know, letting me do all of this."

He grins. "Anytime. Text me when you're home."

Your cheeks get no break tonight, it seems. Still, you nod as you watch him throw the jacket back on as well.

You drive home, falling asleep right after putting his blood in the fridge. And you dream about his warm body and dark eyes. And it hits you as you wake up, that you weren't scared. Nervous and... aware, sure, because you inevitably like the very handsome and charming vampire, but even as he joked about his vampire plans, you were never truly scared.

<previous | next>

"Can I sleep with you?" you mumble tiredly when you realize that he's in the middle of carrying you to your room.

"On the first date?" his low voice teases, and it's so close it makes goosebumps rise on your arms.

"Are you slut shaming me?"

"Yes. That's kinda dirty."

In contrast to his words, he changes course, walking past your bedroom and instead toward his.

Sleep hangs over you like a weighted blanket, and by the time Jeongguk lowers you onto his bed in the dark room, you're almost drifting off again. With only one eye open, and by a sliver at most, you lift your head to see Jeongguk head over to his closet, pulling out a big t-shirt and some shorts which he then turns around to lay on the bed.

Your heart skips a beat and your skin warms because… you have your own sleepwear. They're a few steps away, in a room with so many of your things and clothes, and there's literally no need for you to sleep in his clothes. You know that, and he knows it too.

Without a word, probably figuring you're halfway to the Night Garden already, Jeongguk approaches the door.

"Where are you going?" you mumble.

He pauses, peering back at you softly. "To blow out all the candles."

You nod, your eyes already closing again. But before you can comfortably fall asleep, you realize somewhere that you'd actually prefer to change. Even in your nearly comatose state, you manage to reach for the oversized black shirt and clumsily change into it—intentionally leaving the shorts untouched—and burrow further into the bed before Jeongguk returns. There were a lot of candles after all.

You don't think he realizes that you're still awake when he returns, but since he most likely doesn't care if you watch him undress, you don't feel bad for the way you observe him as he pulls the shirt over his head. Facing the closet, he gives you the perfect view of his broad, naked back. A certain kind of awe and even pride fills your chest. You're always impressed by him, but sometimes, it definitely hits differently.

"How do you even get those muscles?"

"Hm?" Jeongguk turns, his eyebrows raised slightly.

"Those," you nod lazily. "On your back. Like, low, almost on your side. No. Come here."

Still holding his shirt in his hands, he walks over to your side of the bed. You reach an arm out, touching his lower side, a little further back. It's so attractive how wide his back is and how it slowly tapers into his tiny little waist. "These."

"Those are called 'Latissimus Dorsi,'" he informs, clearly amused.

"Oh. The 'lats,'" you nod, recalling the name. You know a few; bicep, tricep, gluteus maximus, hamstring, lats…

"Right," Jeongguk smiles. "And these," he lowers his hand to just underneath. "Are called 'external obliques.'"

Well, you've definitely heard of those too. While you still visit the gym occasionally—or at least you did until a few months ago—you've never taken the rabbit hole down into the deeper knowledge. Or… scratched more than the very surface, really.

"You can train lats by doing any kind of pull-downs," he states, showing how he'd pull a bar or something down in front of him. And while there's no weight, you can see the muscles flex ever so slightly.

"And obliques, you train effectively by twisting. Weights or body weight or whatever. Easy."

You watch him demonstrate by holding some kind of invisible dumbbell in front of him while twisting his upper body. Again, you can't help but glance a little extra at the muscle and how it moves.

You grin lazily. "Oh, so you're a nerd nerd. Got it."

Rolling his eyes endearingly, Jeongguk steps back, grabbing the folded shorts and changing into them, himself. He doesn't mention that he knows you're pantless in his bed.

A second later, he's lifting the duvet to get under it, but if you thought he was just lying down, you were mistaken. Instead, he remains upright as he scoots closer and places one hand on either side of you, carefully leaning over you.

“So I did okay?”

Your heart beats heavily because he's clearly really wondering. Like it's important to him. So, you bring your hands to his sides, running your nails over his skin, and wrapping your arms around him loosely.

He's so warm and so firm, and he smells so, so nice. It's the hint of masculinity and safety again, something so contradicting to you but feeling so right when it comes to him.

There's hope and curiosity and maybe a trace of uncertainty in his dark eyes as he smiles down at you. Even his dimple makes a show-stealing appearance. Your gaze travels over all of him briefly, from the tattoos to the scar on his chest. Everything you can see.

“You did okay," you confirm even though it's the understatement of the century. "Thank you. I don't remember the last time I… I don't remember ever feeling like this."

You've never felt wanted like this. Desired. Like you could be special in any remotely positive way to someone. If ever singled out from a crowd, it's only ever been bad. Or neutral at best. Jeongguk's expression fills of understanding, softening further.

"But don’t… unless you happened to find the roses on the side of the road for close to free, that’s too many flowers.”

He shakes his head, opening his mouth to argue, but you're quicker.

“Yes," you say, nodding determinedly. "Once was okay, but you can’t waste that much money again.”

“It’s not a waste if it makes you feel good.”

“Yeah, it is a waste if you do it more than once. I’ll feel bad instead.”

He pouts, and it makes your already warm chest even warmer. Instinctively, you pull him closer, smiling dumbly to yourself. As if trying to convey your gratitude by more than words, your fingers knead his back, eliciting a surprised yet deep groan from him.

“Can I… is this okay?” you ask, just to make absolutely sure. If you've expected something from him, you want to give him the same kind of consideration in return.

He breathes in deeply, clearly enjoying your hands on his back. “You don’t have to ask. As long as you touch me cause you want to and not because you feel like you should or because I expect you to.”

"Okay," you say quietly, admiring him, high on the content sounds he makes as he closes his eyes. In another setting, they'd turn you on, but at this time, they only make your heart soar. "…You don't have to be scared to touch me either."

"I will not take that responsibility lightly."

And while you can tell by his light tone and closed eyes that he's keeping it… easy, you don't doubt that he's very much serious.

You move your hand to the back of his neck, feeling his black hair between your fingers. "Kiss me?"

The next morning is a lazy one. It starts with you waking up, head resting on Jeongguk's tattooed bicep, his chest moving calmly against your back, and his slow, deep breaths in your hair. His other arm hangs limp from your waist.

You're happy. Content. Not even the fact that your—his—shirt has ridden up, exposing your blue cotton panties, worries you. Sure, Jeongguk is very much asleep but you don't think he'd make a big deal out of it.

Maybe that's what you need the most? Not necessarily positive affirmations because while it's nice to hear him say that you're pretty—and you definitely needed to hear that first—letting him see you however vulnerable sometimes feels easiest when you're not expecting any kind of reaction.

You wonder if he realizes that or if he's just winging it; choosing his actions and reactions as they come. After all, he said he consciously didn't comment on your looks when you first came to live with him so that you wouldn't second-guess his motives.

You stay where you are, your left hand softly tracing the inked designs in front of your face. Jeongguk sleeps for a few more minutes, until you hear him yawn behind you. He happens to move at the same time you adjust, and your lower halves bump into each other.

"Sorry," he mumbles, moving back a little.

"No need to apologize."

You shut your eyes for a moment. Waking up hard is definitely not his fault, and although you appreciate his consideration, knowing exactly how he feels in your hand—big and hard—nearly has you turning around, offering to help.

You do roll over though, but only to look at his sleepy face. Although tired, you've at least had a few more minutes to wake up.

Jeongguk's dark hair is messy, endearingly sticking out in multiple directions, and you raise your hand to gently brush it out of his face.

Sighing deeply, he shuts his eyes again. "I dreamed about you."

"Hm?" you voice, amused.

"Not… It's not why I have a boner," he clarifies after realizing your logical conclusion. "I dreamed that Jihyo had a new mission for us, and I got to have you as my wife again. Well, at first, she insisted that Jimin go with you? As your husband? But I fought tooth and nail and told her how good we look as a couple, and she finally gave in."

"Sounds toxic."

"Mhm. Only for you."

"And she really let you go with me because we looked good as a couple?" You chuckle. "No other qualifications?"

"Yes. Dream logic."

"Right. I mean Jimin's a good looking guy as well."

Jeongguk opens one tired eye, staring at you in silent warning.

"What? He's not my type, but you can't say that he's even remotely ugly."

"No, you're right. He's handsome. But what's your type then?" Jeongguk asks, smirking… curiously?

As if thinking about it, you let your fingers trace his features. His eyebrows, his nose, his cheekbones and jaw. But you know that he sees the admiration you can't keep from your gaze as it moves over his face, and he closes his eyes for another moment, satisfied and happy.

He's so clearly your type, there's no need to say it. But you do anyway, heart beating. "You've always been my type. At least physically."

"But not enough to remember when we first met," he questions lazily.

You think back to those months. They were all very dark for you. "When was it? October? I knew who you were even before you came, but I probably just didn't recognize you. I was under a lot of stress back then."

"No, I know," he says, his voice losing its teasing tone. The hand he's kept hanging off your waist strokes your back.

"The first time I remember seeing you at the station, you were talking to the Chief outside his office. I was sitting at Sana's desk, and she had just gone to the bathroom."

It feels like three lifetimes ago, how you straightened your back to peer over the monitor in front of you to catch a careful glimpse of the new intimidatingly handsome officer.

"You were wearing your uniform, and I think you'd just come back from your first shift after transferring. I'd seen pictures of you, including after you won the Officer Olympics, but I remember thinking that even the pictures didn't do you justice. Then you looked around, and I ducked behind the monitor."

"I didn't see you," he concludes. "Do you… remember the second time we met? Like actually interacted?"

You lick your lips, revisiting another memory. "I think so. Like a week or so later? You were entering the station with Hoseong and Ryung a few steps behind me, and I slammed the door in Ryung's face? And you asked me what my problem was and told me to grow up?"

You smile a small smile. Knowing now that they'd just started slowly and carefully putting their claws into Jeongguk, you don't blame him.

"Yeah. Sorry about that. They'd just told me that you couldn't accept that Hoseong didn't want to date you. It sounded so unrealistic that you would've actually shot him—and they had to convince me for like a week straight not to bring it up to the chief—but when you seemed so angry, doing stuff like that, seemingly unprovoked? And then looking at me as if you were surprised I was daring to speak up, but then giving me the finger? I guess I started buying it."

You remember his face; frustration overflowing when neither Hoseong nor Ryung told you off for your 'unprovoked' attack. A show of innocence for the gallery, of course. And then more frustration when you flipped him off.

You trace his jaw with feather light fingers. "Honestly, it was a bit out of character for me because you and I hadn't really talked yet. But they'd been calling me from unknown prepaid sim cards, just breathing and not saying anything, for like five consecutive nights, and I was just so tired. And you were a man in law enforcement and clearly already friends with them, so why would I even bother giving you the benefit of the doubt?"

Despite knowing everything you'd been subjected to, maybe it feels different to hear your side actually intertwined with his because he pulls you closer, hugging you tightly. He's so warm against you, so strong.

"So while I wish you would've talked to me about it, I don't blame you for that," you continue.

You imagine him pulling you aside, alone. The thing is that you could tell that he wasn't… mocking or taunting you in any way when he called you out for slamming the door, but he was frustrated and agitated, and it didn't make enough of a difference. But if he had asked one or two questions that would've clued you in on the fact that he wasn't aware of the full story, the actual reason you shot Hoseong…

If he either would've asked in a calmer voice why you felt the need to slam that door, or even if he'd just outright questioned why you shot his new-found friend or if it even ask whether it was true that you had…

"I'm sorry," he mumbles into your hair.

"I know. But it turned out alright in the end anyway, right?"

"Did it?"

"I'd say so? I mean… I'm in your bed?" you chuckle.

"Imagine we got to go undercover now though? Or if we'd been… civil while we were? Maybe that was the reason for the boner. The dream."

You burst out laughing, leaning back to look at his face. "Because you got to play house again?"

Jeongguk grins happily. "Yes. I can't believe how out of my mind I was, not realizing the opportunity I had."

"Opportunity to do what, exactly?" you quirk an eyebrow.

"To make things right? Say we were shipped out now instead of then and told to pretend to be married? Would you not have an at least alright time?"

You choose not to misunderstand his words. "I would. Being undercover is always a bit nerve-racking, though."

"Yeah, but pretending to be married to me?"

"Not having to be scared you'd kill me?"

"Yes," he says, pulling you just a little closer again as if he can't help it.

"I would have a better time, yes. A good time, even. Do you think they'd believe us, though?"

"They already did?"

"Hoseok outright asked me if you were abusing me."

"Yes, but he was reading you, not me. You were scared, understandably, but I was never even thinking about hurting you in any way."

"Oh, so it was my fault that they didn't believe us?" you tease.

"No? Because I still think everyone but Hoseok and Yoongi bought it. I mean, even they bought that we were married. I'm also sorry for making you have that conversation with Eunha and Hyeji. At least they seemed to believe you, and I also thought it was very sweet the way you spoke about me."

You let out a loud, painful groan. "Do not remind me. You know what, I think I'm still angry at you for that. Wait—exactly what did you hear?"

Jeongguk snickers, and you both know you're very intentionally skipping the heavier side of the topic, how he essentially but unknowingly joked about your assault when you confronted him about the handcuffs.

"I heard you say that you got a uniform and cuffs for role playing since you enjoy, what was it… 'a man in uniform,'"

"Jeongguk, domestic abuse or not, I will pinch you."

He continues to laugh, pulling you even closer. "I beg your mercy. But I also heard you say that I wasn't only hot and intimidating but also sweet and kind and your best friend in the whole world. And I think that was sweet, and it was super smart of you because I wholeheartedly think they believed you were just a bit embarrassed."

"You know I wasn't talking about you, though? I didn't consider you sweet, kind, or a good friend in the slightest."

"I know," he says, putting his nose in your hair and breathing you in without any sort of shame.

It feels like you're moving together, like you've wordlessly agreed that you've addressed the deepest issues and can now instead talk about other aspects without always apologizing. It's progress you never expected until very recently, but it feels good.

"Should we get up? Have some cheesecake for breakfast?"

At that, he moves back, stretching his arms over his head. "Yeah."

But then he makes no effort to get up, just looks at you. It's like you so often find yourself looking at him. Dreamily.

"What?"

"You are insanely gorgeous."

"Stop," you say, cheeks heating embarrassingly as you wrestle your way out of the covers. Being complimented into embarrassment isn't something you thought you'd ever experience, but… you've never been this happy.

"Alright. Why don't you go and prepare some cheesecake? I'll be with you in a moment; I just have to decide what to do with… this," he explains, casually putting a pillow over his crotch.

You grin, understanding his dilemma and definitely not jealous regarding it. Waking up hard, just as a bodily reaction, and then talking about matters which won't exactly rile you up further. Do you rub one out if it persists or just let it die down?

It's definitely some kind of torture, cutting up slices of cheesecake while wondering what Jeongguk decided to do. The knife you're using is dull, good enough for cheesecake and the safest choice for your fingers when you can't stop thinking about his hands wrapped around his thick cock, muscles tense, and his eyes shut in pleasure. Did he stay in bed or is he in the shower?

As you wait so that you can eat together, you take the opportunity to send your mom a text, and you look through your unread emails, answering some. By the time you hear his footsteps, you're just finishing pouring two cups of coffee.

"Am I correct in thinking we're not really doing anything today? I'm waiting on a call, but other than that…"

You turn, spotting Jeongguk behind you, his hair a little tamer than before but partially in his eyes. Like a real couple, you're sharing an outfit; he's wearing the black sweatpants to your black shirt, his muscular chest bare. If he in any way stopped to admire your legs, naked from where the shirt ends at right underneath your butt, you didn't see.

"You're working tomorrow right?" you ask. "Patrol?"

"Yeah. Night shift, though. For the entire week if I'm not mistaken."

You meet his eyes, and you can tell that he shares your quiet disappointment. You'll be preparing for the preliminary hearing, so you'll barely see each other.

"Then I think doing nothing today would be really nice."

You don't do nothing.

The cheesecake is just as delicious as yesterday. First, you watch a short Youtube documentary about the possible reasons humans dream, which ends just as the cheesecake does. Not ready to leave the couch just yet, you do some traditional zapping, ending up on a channel showing 'Back to the Future.'

You pay attention for a whole ten minutes, Jeongguk's arm around you and you resting against him, a blanket over your laps. He's wearing a black t-shirt, having gone searching for it after the cheesecake because it was a little too chilly to remain shirtless. You, however, still only wear his shirt that you slept in, satisfied with the blanket's warmth.

While Jeongguk watches the movie, you think about him. His body, his voice, his face, his touch… How he talks to you and how he treats you… The roses are where you left them last night, bouquet after bouquet lining the walls and decorating the surfaces.

The more you look at them, and the more you think about Jeongguk, breathing his scent with every inhale, you fill with something. It's a blend of confidence and… need? Or a want, at least. A desire to be even closer and to show him how good and confident he makes you feel. How grateful you are for him.

Putting your hand on his chest, you glance up when you feel his soft gaze on you and his hand gently tuck your hair behind your ear.

That's it. Nervous, yet more determined than you've felt in quite a while, you crawl onto his lap, straddling him. His hands fall to your naked thighs on either side of his as he watches you curiously, eyebrows raised slightly as to ask what you're up to.

"I want to kiss you," you whisper, admiring him with your heart beating rapidly and butterflies fluttering their wings.

"I'd love it if you did," is what he says, smiling in that way that makes his dimple appear.

So you do. With one hand gripping his shirt and the other at the back of his neck, you lean down, pressing your lips against his.

It's so different this time around. You've been seated on his lap a few times, kissing him, and while you've always wanted to feel his lips against yours, you've been different degrees of terrified.

Undercover, when you kissed on the hammock, thinking that he was planning to kill you, and then after everything, when you merely feared that he was lying about his intentions and feelings, bound to hurt you in one way or another.

This time, you're nervous, yes, but in a different way. It's more biological, a natural reaction to wanting to fit in and not disappoint, rather than thinking he's just with you because he pities you. You can never prove that he feels the same kind of irresistible attraction you feel toward him, but he likes you. Jeongguk likes you.

His hands stay respectful, one on your lower thigh and the other moving to hold your waist. They're both warm because of course they are. He hums appreciatively into the kiss, and you lift your hand that was gripping his shirt to carefully hold his jaw instead, kissing him slowly. God, he's addictive in the best way, letting you explore this kind of affection without the overhanging threat of a border with no return.

Feeling cheeky, you pull the tiniest bit on the hair at the back of his neck, immensely satisfied when he lets out an unmistakably appreciative groan. Grinning against his lips, you do it again.

Despite his still hands, he's not passive. Although letting you lead, he follows enthusiastically, even nipping your bottom lip at one point. You're high on something, maybe the roses or just him and his sounds and his touch, and you're full of something else, that deep and warm want.

Adrenaline fills your veins and your pulse kicks into another gear as you lower your left hand from Jeongguk's jaw to his hand that's resting on your thigh. You take it, placing it between your breasts, right in the middle. Since you're only wearing his thin, black t-shirt, you wouldn't be surprised if he feels every single beat of your heart against his palm.

Slowly, while still kissing him, you lower his hand, just like he lowered yours that time in the shower. But he catches on, stopping just before your hands venture between your spread legs.

"Are you sure?" he mumbles against your lips.

"Yes," you whisper. "I want you to. If you want to."

"Of course, I want to. You know that. But it's up to you."

You nod, closing your eyes and kissing him again as you lower your hands further, in under the shirt but on top of your panties. Your heart beats heavy with anticipation and nerves when you feel his hand right there. At first, he caresses carefully, rubbing with gentle pressure over your slit and to your clit, and it makes you break the kiss, unable to focus.

He watches you, you know that even if your own eyes are closed. Drawing a shaky breath, you grip his shirt at his chest again.

"Okay?"

"Mhm," you bite your lip, almost flinching when he adds pressure to your clit, circling it over the fabric of your panties. They seem to annoy him a little, and next thing you know, he's pulling them to the side, running his fingers through your almost embarrassingly soaked folds.

"You're a literal dream," he states, his words breathy.

"Jeongguk," you whisper quietly into his ear.

"Does it feel good?"

Leaning forward, you nod against the side of his face, whimpering when he rubs your clit again, this time harder. He spreads his legs and in turn, yours, giving him unrestricted access. It's vulnerable, and you feel so exposed, but in a mostly exhilarating way.

"What did I do to deserve you, huh? So beautiful and gorgeous and sexy; you take my breath away."

If you weren't so preoccupied, you would've gladly clued him in, telling him that you're not this fond of him purely by chance. But you don't have nearly enough brain power, and honestly, you hope he already knows.

Slowly, gauging your reaction, he trails his middle finger lower, circling. When you nod in approval, he pushes it in. You're so wet already that it slips right in, and he immediately finds that spot, rubbing against it as he pumps his finger in and out.

"Jeongguk…" you repeat. It's like he already knows everything about you and your body.

He stops, his finger still deep inside you.

"Is this okay?" he asks, voice deep and calm.

"Mhm, keep going," you hum. "Please…"

Something about your breathy pleading makes him groan lightly, but he resumes, even adds another finger to pump in and out.

"You are so pretty like this," he says. "The prettiest. My pretty girl."

Your grip on his t-shirt tightens, and your eyes are one second away from tearing up, feeling him hit your sensitive nerves every time. His other hand warms your waist through the t-shirt, his hold on you gentle but firm.

Every ragged breath you take, his scent is there, clouding your brain. Him, him, him; he's all you feel and all you think about. His big body, his muscular arms and shoulders, the tattoos, veins, his warm, golden skin. And that's not even mentioning his dark, dark eyes, capable of conveying so much strength but also gentleness. Or his long fingers, currently fucking in and out of you at a quickening pace.

His phone rings.

You don't know who's calling, but you don't spare it too much thought, seeing as he doesn't stop. Two seconds is all he needs to decide his next action.

"Can you be quiet?" he asks lowly, pulling his wet fingers out of you to eliminate the worst sounds but keeping them on your clit instead.

You take a deep, shaky breath, nodding, still with your eyes closed and your forehead pressed against the side of his face.

"Hey," he answers the phone, sounding entirely normal.

It sounds like a man on the other end of the line, although you can't discern more than a single word here and there.

"Yeah, okay, good. That's great. Listen, can I call you back in a few minutes?"

You bite your lip, feeling him casually roll your clit between his fingers as he waits for an answer. To stop any sound from escaping your lips without permission, you press them against his warm neck.

"Mhm, okay, I'll call you back. Bye."

You hear the faint thud of his phone hitting the couch further away.

"Sorry, about that," he apologizes, and his genuine words and deep voice has you weaker in the knees than his hand between your legs.

"It's okay," you mumble, because you absolutely don't mind. He wouldn't have answered if it wasn't important.

However, your knees definitely feel even weaker when he puts in another gear, clearly enjoying it when the your thighs shake and your hips move seemingly on their own, trying to deal with the intensity of his touches. It's definitely not ruthless, but he's braver than he was at the start, rubbing both quicker and with more force, alternating the pattern and motion.

"So mesmerized by you," he says, and you grip at what you can reach of his back.

As you hold onto him, your breaths become shorter and shorter as the sharp pleasure builds inside you, threatening to spill over.

"Jeongguk."

"I know, baby," he encourages, turning to kiss your jaw.

It builds and builds and builds, until those shallow breaths become one that you hold, biting your lip while the electricity pulses through your entire body, and you drop your head to Jeongguk's shoulder.

His fingers continue a few seconds longer, softly and smoothly letting you ride out the orgasm before he removes them, your panties snapping back in place. Still keeping your head on his shoulder, you open your eyes just in time to see him casually wipe his fingers on his pants.

A quiet moment passes, a chance for you to catch your breath, Jeongguk stroking your back in the meantime.

"I'm gonna live a long time on that," he admits, making you chuckle. "How are you feeling?"

"Good," you say, sliding off him and to the side. Your skin is warm, both because of the nature of what you just did but also since he made you come in like, what, less than five minutes? "I guess two minutes is all I need," you joke, referencing his words from that day at the station when he desperately wanted you to listen to him.

"If you think that makes you less irresistible…" he comments, his round eyes surprised yet slightly… wild.

You just chuckle again. Sure, men usually only come once and 'premature ejaculation' is a different 'problem,' but it still feels embarrassing. To show your gratitude, mostly for his comforting words and how well he treats you in general, you grab a soft hold of his jaw, leaning in to place a gentle kiss on his cheek.

When you straighten up, he takes it as his sign, reaching for the phone.

"Well, I need to make a call," he states, slapping his thighs and standing up. "And then… definitely take care of something this time."

You snort, finding him so incredibly endearing and lovable. You didn't look for the boner, and you don't see it as he leaves the room, phone held up to his ear. What you do see, however, is how he brings the fingers he used to get you off to his mouth, casually licking them clean as he waits for whoever called to pick up.

<previous | next>

"Can I sleep with you?" you mumble tiredly when you realize that he's in the middle of carrying you to your room.

"On the first date?" his low voice teases, and it's so close it makes goosebumps rise on your arms.

"Are you slut shaming me?"

"Yes. That's kinda dirty."

In contrast to his words, he changes course, walking past your bedroom and instead toward his.

Sleep hangs over you like a weighted blanket, and by the time Jeongguk lowers you onto his bed in the dark room, you're almost drifting off again. With only one eye open, and by a sliver at most, you lift your head to see Jeongguk head over to his closet, pulling out a big t-shirt and some shorts which he then turns around to lay on the bed.

Your heart skips a beat and your skin warms because… you have your own sleepwear. They're a few steps away, in a room with so many of your things and clothes, and there's literally no need for you to sleep in his clothes. You know that, and he knows it too.

Without a word, probably figuring you're halfway to the Night Garden already, Jeongguk approaches the door.

"Where are you going?" you mumble.

He pauses, peering back at you softly. "To blow out all the candles."

You nod, your eyes already closing again. But before you can comfortably fall asleep, you realize somewhere that you'd actually prefer to change. Even in your nearly comatose state, you manage to reach for the oversized black shirt and clumsily change into it—intentionally leaving the shorts untouched—and burrow further into the bed before Jeongguk returns. There were a lot of candles after all.

You don't think he realizes that you're still awake when he returns, but since he most likely doesn't care if you watch him undress, you don't feel bad for the way you observe him as he pulls the shirt over his head. Facing the closet, he gives you the perfect view of his broad, naked back. A certain kind of awe and even pride fills your chest. You're always impressed by him, but sometimes, it definitely hits differently.

"How do you even get those muscles?"

"Hm?" Jeongguk turns, his eyebrows raised slightly.

"Those," you nod lazily. "On your back. Like, low, almost on your side. No. Come here."

Still holding his shirt in his hands, he walks over to your side of the bed. You reach an arm out, touching his lower side, a little further back. It's so attractive how wide his back is and how it slowly tapers into his tiny little waist. "These."

"Those are called 'Latissimus Dorsi,'" he informs, clearly amused.

"Oh. The 'lats,'" you nod, recalling the name. You know a few; bicep, tricep, gluteus maximus, hamstring, lats…

"Right," Jeongguk smiles. "And these," he lowers his hand to just underneath. "Are called 'external obliques.'"

Well, you've definitely heard of those too. While you still visit the gym occasionally—or at least you did until a few months ago—you've never taken the rabbit hole down into the deeper knowledge. Or… scratched more than the very surface, really.

"You can train lats by doing any kind of pull-downs," he states, showing how he'd pull a bar or something down in front of him. And while there's no weight, you can see the muscles flex ever so slightly.

"And obliques, you train effectively by twisting. Weights or body weight or whatever. Easy."

You watch him demonstrate by holding some kind of invisible dumbbell in front of him while twisting his upper body. Again, you can't help but glance a little extra at the muscle and how it moves.

You grin lazily. "Oh, so you're a nerd nerd. Got it."

Rolling his eyes endearingly, Jeongguk steps back, grabbing the folded shorts and changing into them, himself. He doesn't mention that he knows you're pantless in his bed.

A second later, he's lifting the duvet to get under it, but if you thought he was just lying down, you were mistaken. Instead, he remains upright as he scoots closer and places one hand on either side of you, carefully leaning over you.

“So I did okay?”

Your heart beats heavily because he's clearly really wondering. Like it's important to him. So, you bring your hands to his sides, running your nails over his skin, and wrapping your arms around him loosely.

He's so warm and so firm, and he smells so, so nice. It's the hint of masculinity and safety again, something so contradicting to you but feeling so right when it comes to him.

There's hope and curiosity and maybe a trace of uncertainty in his dark eyes as he smiles down at you. Even his dimple makes a show-stealing appearance. Your gaze travels over all of him briefly, from the tattoos to the scar on his chest. Everything you can see.

“You did okay," you confirm even though it's the understatement of the century. "Thank you. I don't remember the last time I… I don't remember ever feeling like this."

You've never felt wanted like this. Desired. Like you could be special in any remotely positive way to someone. If ever singled out from a crowd, it's only ever been bad. Or neutral at best. Jeongguk's expression fills of understanding, softening further.

"But don’t… unless you happened to find the roses on the side of the road for close to free, that’s too many flowers.”

He shakes his head, opening his mouth to argue, but you're quicker.

“Yes," you say, nodding determinedly. "Once was okay, but you can’t waste that much money again.”

“It’s not a waste if it makes you feel good.”

“Yeah, it is a waste if you do it more than once. I’ll feel bad instead.”

He pouts, and it makes your already warm chest even warmer. Instinctively, you pull him closer, smiling dumbly to yourself. As if trying to convey your gratitude by more than words, your fingers knead his back, eliciting a surprised yet deep groan from him.

“Can I… is this okay?” you ask, just to make absolutely sure. If you've expected something from him, you want to give him the same kind of consideration in return.

He breathes in deeply, clearly enjoying your hands on his back. “You don’t have to ask. As long as you touch me cause you want to and not because you feel like you should or because I expect you to.”

"Okay," you say quietly, admiring him, high on the content sounds he makes as he closes his eyes. In another setting, they'd turn you on, but at this time, they only make your heart soar. "…You don't have to be scared to touch me either."

"I will not take that responsibility lightly."

And while you can tell by his light tone and closed eyes that he's keeping it… easy, you don't doubt that he's very much serious.

You move your hand to the back of his neck, feeling his black hair between your fingers. "Kiss me?"

The next morning is a lazy one. It starts with you waking up, head resting on Jeongguk's tattooed bicep, his chest moving calmly against your back, and his slow, deep breaths in your hair. His other arm hangs limp from your waist.

You're happy. Content. Not even the fact that your—his—shirt has ridden up, exposing your blue cotton panties, worries you. Sure, Jeongguk is very much asleep but you don't think he'd make a big deal out of it.

Maybe that's what you need the most? Not necessarily positive affirmations because while it's nice to hear him say that you're pretty—and you definitely needed to hear that first—letting him see you however vulnerable sometimes feels easiest when you're not expecting any kind of reaction.

You wonder if he realizes that or if he's just winging it; choosing his actions and reactions as they come. After all, he said he consciously didn't comment on your looks when you first came to live with him so that you wouldn't second-guess his motives.

You stay where you are, your left hand softly tracing the inked designs in front of your face. Jeongguk sleeps for a few more minutes, until you hear him yawn behind you. He happens to move at the same time you adjust, and your lower halves bump into each other.

"Sorry," he mumbles, moving back a little.

"No need to apologize."

You shut your eyes for a moment. Waking up hard is definitely not his fault, and although you appreciate his consideration, knowing exactly how he feels in your hand—big and hard—nearly has you turning around, offering to help.

You do roll over though, but only to look at his sleepy face. Although tired, you've at least had a few more minutes to wake up.

Jeongguk's dark hair is messy, endearingly sticking out in multiple directions, and you raise your hand to gently brush it out of his face.

Sighing deeply, he shuts his eyes again. "I dreamed about you."

"Hm?" you voice, amused.

"Not… It's not why I have a boner," he clarifies after realizing your logical conclusion. "I dreamed that Jihyo had a new mission for us, and I got to have you as my wife again. Well, at first, she insisted that Jimin go with you? As your husband? But I fought tooth and nail and told her how good we look as a couple, and she finally gave in."

"Sounds toxic."

"Mhm. Only for you."

"And she really let you go with me because we looked good as a couple?" You chuckle. "No other qualifications?"

"Yes. Dream logic."

"Right. I mean Jimin's a good looking guy as well."

Jeongguk opens one tired eye, staring at you in silent warning.

"What? He's not my type, but you can't say that he's even remotely ugly."

"No, you're right. He's handsome. But what's your type then?" Jeongguk asks, smirking… curiously?

As if thinking about it, you let your fingers trace his features. His eyebrows, his nose, his cheekbones and jaw. But you know that he sees the admiration you can't keep from your gaze as it moves over his face, and he closes his eyes for another moment, satisfied and happy.

He's so clearly your type, there's no need to say it. But you do anyway, heart beating. "You've always been my type. At least physically."

"But not enough to remember when we first met," he questions lazily.

You think back to those months. They were all very dark for you. "When was it? October? I knew who you were even before you came, but I probably just didn't recognize you. I was under a lot of stress back then."

"No, I know," he says, his voice losing its teasing tone. The hand he's kept hanging off your waist strokes your back.

"The first time I remember seeing you at the station, you were talking to the Chief outside his office. I was sitting at Sana's desk, and she had just gone to the bathroom."

It feels like three lifetimes ago, how you straightened your back to peer over the monitor in front of you to catch a careful glimpse of the new intimidatingly handsome officer.

"You were wearing your uniform, and I think you'd just come back from your first shift after transferring. I'd seen pictures of you, including after you won the Officer Olympics, but I remember thinking that even the pictures didn't do you justice. Then you looked around, and I ducked behind the monitor."

"I didn't see you," he concludes. "Do you… remember the second time we met? Like actually interacted?"

You lick your lips, revisiting another memory. "I think so. Like a week or so later? You were entering the station with Hoseong and Ryung a few steps behind me, and I slammed the door in Ryung's face? And you asked me what my problem was and told me to grow up?"

You smile a small smile. Knowing now that they'd just started slowly and carefully putting their claws into Jeongguk, you don't blame him.

"Yeah. Sorry about that. They'd just told me that you couldn't accept that Hoseong didn't want to date you. It sounded so unrealistic that you would've actually shot him—and they had to convince me for like a week straight not to bring it up to the chief—but when you seemed so angry, doing stuff like that, seemingly unprovoked? And then looking at me as if you were surprised I was daring to speak up, but then giving me the finger? I guess I started buying it."

You remember his face; frustration overflowing when neither Hoseong nor Ryung told you off for your 'unprovoked' attack. A show of innocence for the gallery, of course. And then more frustration when you flipped him off.

You trace his jaw with feather light fingers. "Honestly, it was a bit out of character for me because you and I hadn't really talked yet. But they'd been calling me from unknown prepaid sim cards, just breathing and not saying anything, for like five consecutive nights, and I was just so tired. And you were a man in law enforcement and clearly already friends with them, so why would I even bother giving you the benefit of the doubt?"

Despite knowing everything you'd been subjected to, maybe it feels different to hear your side actually intertwined with his because he pulls you closer, hugging you tightly. He's so warm against you, so strong.

"So while I wish you would've talked to me about it, I don't blame you for that," you continue.

You imagine him pulling you aside, alone. The thing is that you could tell that he wasn't… mocking or taunting you in any way when he called you out for slamming the door, but he was frustrated and agitated, and it didn't make enough of a difference. But if he had asked one or two questions that would've clued you in on the fact that he wasn't aware of the full story, the actual reason you shot Hoseong…

If he either would've asked in a calmer voice why you felt the need to slam that door, or even if he'd just outright questioned why you shot his new-found friend or if it even ask whether it was true that you had…

"I'm sorry," he mumbles into your hair.

"I know. But it turned out alright in the end anyway, right?"

"Did it?"

"I'd say so? I mean… I'm in your bed?" you chuckle.

"Imagine we got to go undercover now though? Or if we'd been… civil while we were? Maybe that was the reason for the boner. The dream."

You burst out laughing, leaning back to look at his face. "Because you got to play house again?"

Jeongguk grins happily. "Yes. I can't believe how out of my mind I was, not realizing the opportunity I had."

"Opportunity to do what, exactly?" you quirk an eyebrow.

"To make things right? Say we were shipped out now instead of then and told to pretend to be married? Would you not have an at least alright time?"

You choose not to misunderstand his words. "I would. Being undercover is always a bit nerve-racking, though."

"Yeah, but pretending to be married to me?"

"Not having to be scared you'd kill me?"

"Yes," he says, pulling you just a little closer again as if he can't help it.

"I would have a better time, yes. A good time, even. Do you think they'd believe us, though?"

"They already did?"

"Hoseok outright asked me if you were abusing me."

"Yes, but he was reading you, not me. You were scared, understandably, but I was never even thinking about hurting you in any way."

"Oh, so it was my fault that they didn't believe us?" you tease.

"No? Because I still think everyone but Hoseok and Yoongi bought it. I mean, even they bought that we were married. I'm also sorry for making you have that conversation with Eunha and Hyeji. At least they seemed to believe you, and I also thought it was very sweet the way you spoke about me."

You let out a loud, painful groan. "Do not remind me. You know what, I think I'm still angry at you for that. Wait—exactly what did you hear?"

Jeongguk snickers, and you both know you're very intentionally skipping the heavier side of the topic, how he essentially but unknowingly joked about your assault when you confronted him about the handcuffs.

"I heard you say that you got a uniform and cuffs for role playing since you enjoy, what was it… 'a man in uniform,'"

"Jeongguk, domestic abuse or not, I will pinch you."

He continues to laugh, pulling you even closer. "I beg your mercy. But I also heard you say that I wasn't only hot and intimidating but also sweet and kind and your best friend in the whole world. And I think that was sweet, and it was super smart of you because I wholeheartedly think they believed you were just a bit embarrassed."

"You know I wasn't talking about you, though? I didn't consider you sweet, kind, or a good friend in the slightest."

"I know," he says, putting his nose in your hair and breathing you in without any sort of shame.

It feels like you're moving together, like you've wordlessly agreed that you've addressed the deepest issues and can now instead talk about other aspects without always apologizing. It's progress you never expected until very recently, but it feels good.

"Should we get up? Have some cheesecake for breakfast?"

At that, he moves back, stretching his arms over his head. "Yeah."

But then he makes no effort to get up, just looks at you. It's like you so often find yourself looking at him. Dreamily.

"What?"

"You are insanely gorgeous."

"Stop," you say, cheeks heating embarrassingly as you wrestle your way out of the covers. Being complimented into embarrassment isn't something you thought you'd ever experience, but… you've never been this happy.

"Alright. Why don't you go and prepare some cheesecake? I'll be with you in a moment; I just have to decide what to do with… this," he explains, casually putting a pillow over his crotch.

You grin, understanding his dilemma and definitely not jealous regarding it. Waking up hard, just as a bodily reaction, and then talking about matters which won't exactly rile you up further. Do you rub one out if it persists or just let it die down?

It's definitely some kind of torture, cutting up slices of cheesecake while wondering what Jeongguk decided to do. The knife you're using is dull, good enough for cheesecake and the safest choice for your fingers when you can't stop thinking about his hands wrapped around his thick cock, muscles tense, and his eyes shut in pleasure. Did he stay in bed or is he in the shower?

As you wait so that you can eat together, you take the opportunity to send your mom a text, and you look through your unread emails, answering some. By the time you hear his footsteps, you're just finishing pouring two cups of coffee.

"Am I correct in thinking we're not really doing anything today? I'm waiting on a call, but other than that…"

You turn, spotting Jeongguk behind you, his hair a little tamer than before but partially in his eyes. Like a real couple, you're sharing an outfit; he's wearing the black sweatpants to your black shirt, his muscular chest bare. If he in any way stopped to admire your legs, naked from where the shirt ends at right underneath your butt, you didn't see.

"You're working tomorrow right?" you ask. "Patrol?"

"Yeah. Night shift, though. For the entire week if I'm not mistaken."

You meet his eyes, and you can tell that he shares your quiet disappointment. You'll be preparing for the preliminary hearing, so you'll barely see each other.

"Then I think doing nothing today would be really nice."

You don't do nothing.

The cheesecake is just as delicious as yesterday. First, you watch a short Youtube documentary about the possible reasons humans dream, which ends just as the cheesecake does. Not ready to leave the couch just yet, you do some traditional zapping, ending up on a channel showing 'Back to the Future.'

You pay attention for a whole ten minutes, Jeongguk's arm around you and you resting against him, a blanket over your laps. He's wearing a black t-shirt, having gone searching for it after the cheesecake because it was a little too chilly to remain shirtless. You, however, still only wear his shirt that you slept in, satisfied with the blanket's warmth.

While Jeongguk watches the movie, you think about him. His body, his voice, his face, his touch… How he talks to you and how he treats you… The roses are where you left them last night, bouquet after bouquet lining the walls and decorating the surfaces.

The more you look at them, and the more you think about Jeongguk, breathing his scent with every inhale, you fill with something. It's a blend of confidence and… need? Or a want, at least. A desire to be even closer and to show him how good and confident he makes you feel. How grateful you are for him.

Putting your hand on his chest, you glance up when you feel his soft gaze on you and his hand gently tuck your hair behind your ear.

That's it. Nervous, yet more determined than you've felt in quite a while, you crawl onto his lap, straddling him. His hands fall to your naked thighs on either side of his as he watches you curiously, eyebrows raised slightly as to ask what you're up to.

"I want to kiss you," you whisper, admiring him with your heart beating rapidly and butterflies fluttering their wings.

"I'd love it if you did," is what he says, smiling in that way that makes his dimple appear.

So you do. With one hand gripping his shirt and the other at the back of his neck, you lean down, pressing your lips against his.

It's so different this time around. You've been seated on his lap a few times, kissing him, and while you've always wanted to feel his lips against yours, you've been different degrees of terrified.

Undercover, when you kissed on the hammock, thinking that he was planning to kill you, and then after everything, when you merely feared that he was lying about his intentions and feelings, bound to hurt you in one way or another.

This time, you're nervous, yes, but in a different way. It's more biological, a natural reaction to wanting to fit in and not disappoint, rather than thinking he's just with you because he pities you. You can never prove that he feels the same kind of irresistible attraction you feel toward him, but he likes you. Jeongguk likes you.

His hands stay respectful, one on your lower thigh and the other moving to hold your waist. They're both warm because of course they are. He hums appreciatively into the kiss, and you lift your hand that was gripping his shirt to carefully hold his jaw instead, kissing him slowly. God, he's addictive in the best way, letting you explore this kind of affection without the overhanging threat of a border with no return.

Feeling cheeky, you pull the tiniest bit on the hair at the back of his neck, immensely satisfied when he lets out an unmistakably appreciative groan. Grinning against his lips, you do it again.

Despite his still hands, he's not passive. Although letting you lead, he follows enthusiastically, even nipping your bottom lip at one point. You're high on something, maybe the roses or just him and his sounds and his touch, and you're full of something else, that deep and warm want.

Adrenaline fills your veins and your pulse kicks into another gear as you lower your left hand from Jeongguk's jaw to his hand that's resting on your thigh. You take it, placing it between your breasts, right in the middle. Since you're only wearing his thin, black t-shirt, you wouldn't be surprised if he feels every single beat of your heart against his palm.

Slowly, while still kissing him, you lower his hand, just like he lowered yours that time in the shower. But he catches on, stopping just before your hands venture between your spread legs.

"Are you sure?" he mumbles against your lips.

"Yes," you whisper. "I want you to. If you want to."

"Of course, I want to. You know that. But it's up to you."

You nod, closing your eyes and kissing him again as you lower your hands further, in under the shirt but on top of your panties. Your heart beats heavy with anticipation and nerves when you feel his hand right there. At first, he caresses carefully, rubbing with gentle pressure over your slit and to your clit, and it makes you break the kiss, unable to focus.

He watches you, you know that even if your own eyes are closed. Drawing a shaky breath, you grip his shirt at his chest again.

"Okay?"

"Mhm," you bite your lip, almost flinching when he adds pressure to your clit, circling it over the fabric of your panties. They seem to annoy him a little, and next thing you know, he's pulling them to the side, running his fingers through your almost embarrassingly soaked folds.

"You're a literal dream," he states, his words breathy.

"Jeongguk," you whisper quietly into his ear.

"Does it feel good?"

Leaning forward, you nod against the side of his face, whimpering when he rubs your clit again, this time harder. He spreads his legs and in turn, yours, giving him unrestricted access. It's vulnerable, and you feel so exposed, but in a mostly exhilarating way.

"What did I do to deserve you, huh? So beautiful and gorgeous and sexy; you take my breath away."

If you weren't so preoccupied, you would've gladly clued him in, telling him that you're not this fond of him purely by chance. But you don't have nearly enough brain power, and honestly, you hope he already knows.

Slowly, gauging your reaction, he trails his middle finger lower, circling. When you nod in approval, he pushes it in. You're so wet already that it slips right in, and he immediately finds that spot, rubbing against it as he pumps his finger in and out.

"Jeongguk…" you repeat. It's like he already knows everything about you and your body.

He stops, his finger still deep inside you.

"Is this okay?" he asks, voice deep and calm.

"Mhm, keep going," you hum. "Please…"

Something about your breathy pleading makes him groan lightly, but he resumes, even adds another finger to pump in and out.

"You are so pretty like this," he says. "The prettiest. My pretty girl."

Your grip on his t-shirt tightens, and your eyes are one second away from tearing up, feeling him hit your sensitive nerves every time. His other hand warms your waist through the t-shirt, his hold on you gentle but firm.

Every ragged breath you take, his scent is there, clouding your brain. Him, him, him; he's all you feel and all you think about. His big body, his muscular arms and shoulders, the tattoos, veins, his warm, golden skin. And that's not even mentioning his dark, dark eyes, capable of conveying so much strength but also gentleness. Or his long fingers, currently fucking in and out of you at a quickening pace.

His phone rings.

You don't know who's calling, but you don't spare it too much thought, seeing as he doesn't stop. Two seconds is all he needs to decide his next action.

"Can you be quiet?" he asks lowly, pulling his wet fingers out of you to eliminate the worst sounds but keeping them on your clit instead.

You take a deep, shaky breath, nodding, still with your eyes closed and your forehead pressed against the side of his face.

"Hey," he answers the phone, sounding entirely normal.

It sounds like a man on the other end of the line, although you can't discern more than a single word here and there.

"Yeah, okay, good. That's great. Listen, can I call you back in a few minutes?"

You bite your lip, feeling him casually roll your clit between his fingers as he waits for an answer. To stop any sound from escaping your lips without permission, you press them against his warm neck.

"Mhm, okay, I'll call you back. Bye."

You hear the faint thud of his phone hitting the couch further away.

"Sorry, about that," he apologizes, and his genuine words and deep voice has you weaker in the knees than his hand between your legs.

"It's okay," you mumble, because you absolutely don't mind. He wouldn't have answered if it wasn't important.

However, your knees definitely feel even weaker when he puts in another gear, clearly enjoying it when the your thighs shake and your hips move seemingly on their own, trying to deal with the intensity of his touches. It's definitely not ruthless, but he's braver than he was at the start, rubbing both quicker and with more force, alternating the pattern and motion.

"So mesmerized by you," he says, and you grip at what you can reach of his back.

As you hold onto him, your breaths become shorter and shorter as the sharp pleasure builds inside you, threatening to spill over.

"Jeongguk."

"I know, baby," he encourages, turning to kiss your jaw.

It builds and builds and builds, until those shallow breaths become one that you hold, biting your lip while the electricity pulses through your entire body, and you drop your head to Jeongguk's shoulder.

His fingers continue a few seconds longer, softly and smoothly letting you ride out the orgasm before he removes them, your panties snapping back in place. Still keeping your head on his shoulder, you open your eyes just in time to see him casually wipe his fingers on his pants.

A quiet moment passes, a chance for you to catch your breath, Jeongguk stroking your back in the meantime.

"I'm gonna live a long time on that," he admits, making you chuckle. "How are you feeling?"

"Good," you say, sliding off him and to the side. Your skin is warm, both because of the nature of what you just did but also since he made you come in like, what, less than five minutes? "I guess two minutes is all I need," you joke, referencing his words from that day at the station when he desperately wanted you to listen to him.

"If you think that makes you less irresistible…" he comments, his round eyes surprised yet slightly… wild.

You just chuckle again. Sure, men usually only come once and 'premature ejaculation' is a different 'problem,' but it still feels embarrassing. To show your gratitude, mostly for his comforting words and how well he treats you in general, you grab a soft hold of his jaw, leaning in to place a gentle kiss on his cheek.

When you straighten up, he takes it as his sign, reaching for the phone.

"Well, I need to make a call," he states, slapping his thighs and standing up. "And then… definitely take care of something this time."

You snort, finding him so incredibly endearing and lovable. You didn't look for the boner, and you don't see it as he leaves the room, phone held up to his ear. What you do see, however, is how he brings the fingers he used to get you off to his mouth, casually licking them clean as he waits for whoever called to pick up.

<previous | next>

Is a glass of water half-full or half-empty?

You observe the glass, hoping for a revelation or answer — a good distraction from your miscalculations all evening; well, miscalculations in the duration of meeting Jeon Jungkook. Tucking yourself further into your small couch, the corners of your lips tug at the reminder of the boy. The icy glass cools your hot skin, which still remembers the flames he left you surrounded in on the dancefloor.

And those eyes — his always spoke to you without words. 

Eyes smitten and playful all evening, you can’t forget how they morphed into fear and panic when you finally moved on the pathway he laid out for you. Were you wrong to assume he wanted more with you?

“Ah, so stupid.” You slam your eyes shut at the memory, shame heats your cheeks at his rejection — at another loss you’ll need to process on your own. Loss, after loss, after loss. It wears on your bones, empties your soul just like how you empty the glass of water clutched in your hand.

Didn’t matter whether your glass was ‘half-full or half-empty,’ the water will eventually be consumed. Jungkook had a way of overfilling your glass with an abundance of hope; however, you later found out the glass you shared with Jungkook contained holes and eventually left you empty.

No one leaves you empty like Jungkook does. 

Sitting up higher on your couch, you dig your lower back into your armrest, wanting to feel some form of support.

Maybe you should’ve stayed and taken the water Jungkook offered. Wake you up from that drunken state and snap you out of your innermost desires for your friend. You’d probably go as far as blaming the alcohol and the night would’ve just ended from there.

Probably would’ve been a better alternative than pathetically running away. Then again, there was no way you were going to last another second in the venue — not after the way he pulled away.

You know it’s rude to leave in the middle of the party. Can’t even bear looking at your phone since ordering a cab outside the club, opting to place it on silent afterwards. Now, the phone rests heavily on your kitchen counter, begging to be checked on.

You should text him. Tell him you’re safe and use indigestion as an excuse for your abrupt departure — no one would ever find fault in that reason. Another pang of anxiety holds you back from touching your phone. What if he didn’t bother checking on you? Upset with your bad habit of leaving? 

He has all the rights to.

Setting your feet into your house slippers, you’re thankful for the flat cushion after a night of dancing in heels. Bathroom first, then you’ll text Jungkook. The order of events seemed the most logical and definitely not your way of avoiding the inevitable. It’s a solid plan—

You jolt at the series of knocks against your door. Although your building was relatively safe, living alone had its downsides, especially at this hour. The grip on your glass changes and you ready yourself for self-defense. 

Best case scenario? A ding-dong ditcher. Worst? Nope. You don’t want your mind wandering there. 

One eye closed, you peer through the peephole.

The fisheye effect warps your vision, but you could easily make out the person standing facing away from your doorway. The dangly, silver five-hooped earrings were a dead giveaway to your visitor. Felt them graze the top of your hand every time he tilted his head in your touch. Felt them when you wrapped your hands at the base of his nape. They glimmered prettily under the club lights, but they look nearly dull now under your complex’s standard lightbulbs. 

He’s a few steps away, pacing, looking anywhere but your door as if it was the most offensive piece of object … as if your home was the most deplorable place he could be at right now.

And it should be. He should be at his party celebrating his wins and accomplishments, surrounded by people who love and care for him — not on shame’s breeding grounds. Shame nearly has you running to hide underneath your covers, hoping he’d leave if you refused to answer. Rather than give into shame’s call for isolation, your fingers flick the locks and wrap around the doorknob.

“Jungkook?” 

He’s still turned away from you, pacing back and forth in your building’s hallway. No longer styled how it was in the beginning of the night, his hair looks to be run through … whether it be by him or a stranger. 

Couldn’t be you.

Your mouth parts, words lodged in your throat, but you manage to utter, “What are you doing here?”

He lets out a breath. So unstable, you could feel the restraint in his action but he stops in his tracks, head tilting up at the ceiling to will the words.

“Why do you keep doing that?” His voice raises, back still turned to you.

You frown, looking around to see if there was anyone in the vicinity. Definitely not at this hour. Your neighbors should be asleep, which is why you don’t want to make a scene outside your home.

“Jungkook—”

Suddenly, harshly, his back shifts and his body whips around, “Why do you keep leaving me? Is that all you know how to do?” 

You’re standing face to face with his wide eyes and desperate furrowed brows. The hand raking through his hair only showcasing more of the distress forming on his forehead.

Your mind flashes back to your meeting at the milestone party. There was nothing wrong with your departure at that time. A small, but selfish part of you, doesn’t think you were at total fault for tonight’s departure either. 

“Jungkook … please,” you stammer, eyes drifting down to your feet. 

“I-I don’t fucking get it, Pix. I just–”

“Can you come inside?” You ask, looking around once more. And although Jungkook hasn’t made far enough noises to warrant a complaint, you’d rather talk inside the privacy of your home. “We can talk in here. Please?” You plead in a small whisper.

Jaw clenched as he looks at you and over the threshold of your home, he nods.

Citrus, with no more lingering scent of cigarettes, wafts past you. Even if he was upset with you, he’s still respectful in your home as he toes off his shoes at the entryway. He exhales through his nose, finally turning to face you. His jaw ticks, eyes bloodshot for multiple reasons but he’ll blame the alcohol and not the exhaustion of looking for you. 

You can’t meet his eyes, can’t even bring yourself to speak in the comforts of your home.

“You keep doing this.” His voice cracks.

“I-I,” Your own voice wavers at his statement, you fight the lump in your throat as you lie, “wasn’t feeling well—”

“Cut the bullshit.” 

You frown, having never seen Jungkook speak nor act this way towards you. He extends patience and understanding towards you like an additional limb on his body; perhaps, you’ve tested them enough tonight. Still, your own emotions come out just as unsteady and unreasonable.

“You’re being unfair.” You croak.

“I’ve been anything but that, Pix.” He retracts his head, brows furrowed. “You’re the one that left. Like you always do when things don’t go your way.”

Your brows pull together, unable to mask the hurt at the accusation. “What did you expect me to do? You—” Your bottom lip trembles.

“What?” He takes a step forward and you’re once again engulfed in his overbearing scent. The action stunts your train of thoughts, and for a split second, you think he’s almost just as affected.

You’re tired of going in circles, chasing but also running away from what appears to be your own desires.

“You led me on all night.” Voice small, Jungkook nearly misses what you say. 

His frustration morphs into surprise, then guilt at the sudden forwardness of your words.

“I …” His eyes widen at the realization as he chews on the inside of his cheeks. He shakes his head, denying the allegations. “I didn’t.”

“But you did.” You walk past him, lower back leaning against the kitchen island. Arms crossed, you don’t miss how Jungkook’s eyes drop to your breasts pushed together. His throat bobs, hands twitching on his sides as he tries to rack up an appropriate response.

“We were dancing. Having fun.” He reasons. “That’s all.”

Friends don’t dance the way you both did tonight; their touches don’t burn. They don’t leave the party after being deserted from a dodged kiss on the dance floor. They sure as hell don’t stare at you like you’re made of stardust. 

“Okay.” As if whatever happened in the last couple of hours could be reduced to ‘just dancing.’

His throat emits a low growl, patience once again tested. “Why’d you leave?”

Truthfully? There was no alternate reality where you’d stay after his rejection.

Your crossed arms drop to your sides, throat tightening to keep the contents in your stomach from hurling out. You can’t bear the truth, which seems to point at the fact Jungkook has moved on and there’s no more room for you in his life and heart. 

He’s left you behind.

Jungkook fills in the silence with the same words circling in your head, slipping from his mouth now directed at you with an ache you’ve done your best to forget. “You’ve moved on.”

Your face falls, having spent months trying to forget him through hobbies, friends, and even another person, only to find out … nothing’s worked.

Unable to meet his eyes, you mutter, “I had to.” 

“I know.” He says, “I know that.”

The filter on your fish tank acts as a buffer for the silence stretched in the small distance.

“You’ve moved on, too.” You don’t mention the woman you saw in his apartment lobby, too afraid of the confirmation that he has indeed moved on.

He lets out a shuddering breath, head hung low. “I tried, okay? I really did.”

Something within you shatters at his revelation. It hurts to be right, and it hurts more knowing no one was at fault in the aftermath of a heartbreak. 

He drags his hand down his face, fighting the drunken exhaustion and confusion. “Things got better, I swear. But then I see you and I’m just reminded …”

“Of what?” You ask.

He stays quiet. So different than the man who was just outside your door ready to scorn the world. You wonder how he has kept his composure during the times of your silence when all you want to do right now is shout for an answer, resolution … or ending. What was left after this? Was there another title after being demoted to friends?

… Strangers?

You don’t wait for his answer, choosing to fill the gaps of the conversation with your reality. “You don’t tell me about your life anymore. Like … like, I’m some sort of afterthought learning all these things about you after the fact.” Tears falling freely, you sniff and palm away the moisture on your cheeks.

“Pix–”

“Why did you push me away?” From his life, from the kiss … no clarification needed — it all bleeds together anyway. “Did I misunderstand?”

“Pix.” He repeats, eyes crestfallen and exhausted. “You’re with someone, there’s no way I would do that to you–”

“I’m not with him anymore.”

He pauses, drawing in a sharp breath. “Still doesn’t make it right.” Despite his words, you recognize a faint glint in his eyes.

Of course he becomes the voice of reason when this conversation shouldn’t exist among supposed friends. Now it’s your turn to stay quiet, too ashamed for further humiliation and rejection.

“All I do is remember you, Pix. All I find myself doing is thinking of you. Could never stop even if I wanted to.” He shakes his head. Your stomach sinks, an uncomfortable mass lodged in your throat as you process his words. “And I’m so tired of having to remember you.” He looks at you with so much anguish, wishing and begging for you to end this turmoil. 

“Jungkook …”

“I still think about the night at the hotel.” He continues, jaw clenched to stop the trembles. “And I feel so guilty.”

You shake your head vehemently. “You never once did anything I didn’t want to do.”

“I knew you couldn’t be with me, but I still pushed for more. It was selfish of me and I—”

“I’ve always wanted you, Jungkook,” you sob. “You never gave me the chance to make things work.”

Your hands cover your face as you heave into your palms, moist from your tears and breath. Jungkook tilts his head up at the ceiling, furiously blinking away the stray tears he thought he had swore away on the cab ride over to your place.

The buzzing travels up from your fingers to the back of your head. Your body convulses from your silent sobs, mind numbing from all the fog and confusion. Like a bee, refusing to leave you alone, you want to cower away from the source of noise. The buzzing continues for another fifteen seconds, too loud even when neither of you utter a word. It’s impossible to avoid when the buzzing happens from within. How do you remedy this? How do you run away? How, how, how—

The buzzing stops.

Zapped away by a strong pair of arms, the bees stop swarming in your mind, all honeyed scent — all citrus consuming your senses.

Jungkook holds you and it’s the closest thing to the security of your home. Possibly better. Home shelters you from the brewing storm, and as you cry into the expanse of Jungkook’s chest, he holds you tighter, chin resting on the top of your head.

“What are we even doing?” Jungkook mumbles against your hair, voice hoarse and tired.

You inhale into your hands and answer honestly, “I don’t know.” 

He swallows, breathing you in, “I hate this.”

Your heart crumbles again. Was this it? Has to be. He’s finally done and wants nothing to do with you anymore.

Instead of his warmth departing from your body like you’ve grown used to, he holds you tighter.

“I fucked everything up.” He says. “I messed you up, and I’m trying to do right by you, I swear, but I–”

His words are cut off with your arms around his waist. Face pressed into his chest, your tears became another source of darkness on his grey shirt, but neither of you cared. 

“You didn’t mess anything up.” You heave. Months passed, things changed. Time was a marker for healing and forgetting old wounds; though, there were just some things — some people — you can’t and don’t want to forget. 

“I missed you so much, Pix.”

You pull back a little to look at his face. Hurt and longing never needed a competition and there’s no winner when both of you were wounded in the process. The frame had always been a little unfocused and hard to decipher, but you’re both in view now.

“I never stopped thinking about you.” You confess.

He blinks twice, hand now coming to cup your wet cheek. Ache and remorse stretches over his face at the time lost in the absence of one another. He needs to be honest, barring out the truth if there was even a possibility to start anew. 

“I can’t promise perfection, P.” He admits, scared and worried for this potential dealbreaker. 

“I never asked for perfection.” You shake your head, breath finally coming out even. Pausing, you let the reality of your recent failures sink in, “I just got out of something and I don’t know if I’m any good, but I wanna figure things out with you — do things properly. Please give me time.” Please give us time.

You both loosen your hold on one another, but maintain your gazes as your hands finally intertwine. The hold is weak, full of uncertainty of the future, but you push forward, “Please?” You ask again, heart in your hands — no, heart in his hands. You pray and hope he handles it with care. He has all the power to do the opposite, turning your heart to cold steel for the next poor soul.

He doesn’t, though — can’t imagine anyone but him holding your heart with delicate hands if you allow him to. 

Jungkook’s always wondered when the world would bend for him; yet, he’s got the world in his arms right now willing to bend for his sake. 

He nods and the night bleeds into the morning as you and Jungkook sit on your small couch to catch up, mending lost time with one another. The hours of bitterness leading up to this moment was well worth it after you finally taste the hint of sweetness lodged behind his growing smiles. The catch up bounces back between idle chatters to late night secrets until you both settle into the mundane and content.

“Group work is the worst, P. Avoid it at all costs.” He recounts the number of times his classmates let him down on a project this past semester.

You laugh wholeheartedly. “Why’d you think I run this business alone?”

“Smart girl.” He grins, and your body warms from the small compliment. 

A natural silence fills you both at this time, between the chuckles and stares. You think you could get used to this. A new norm knowing you both want to start over with an agreed upon future. The two glasses of water on your coffee table gets refilled throughout the night, but sits empty now. 

Yet, you’re both so full. 

And you realize no one’s replenishing the glass the way Jungkook does. Around your imaginary glass filled with holes, Jungkook always does his best to cover and mend them.

“I’m sorry for not keeping you posted on my life.” Jungkook says, knees brushing against yours. “I was trying to figure things out on my own.” He leaves out the part where he wanted to reach out for your opinion, opting to struggle by himself.

“Could’ve reached out to me. I wouldn’t have minded.”

He nods, lips pursed debating his next words.

“What?” You ask, eyes heavy from exhaustion, but you don’t want to miss a single second with your special boy.

“Mm, nothing.” His trademark dimples make an appearance when he hides away a playful smile.

“Come on,” you push, “Tell me.”

He laughs softly, lips pulling to an embarrassed smile, “Wanted you to notice me, so I …”

Your eyes narrow, doing your best to piece together the meaning of his words. Something finally clicks as you lean back against your couch. You’d never peg someone like Jeon Jungkook to do things out of spite or attention, but you suppose love has a way of making people do stupid things.

This was love, right?

“I know. Stupid and immature.” He shakes his head.

“It worked.” You shrug, returning his sheepish smile. He interlaces his fingers with you, relaxed knowing you had been trying to keep up with his life in secret. 

He smiles, but shortly after dips a little at his next musing, “Classes have really taken up a lot of my time. I haven’t been able to work as much, but I still take on projects every month or so.”

Your expression falters a little, guilt filling your system as he relays this information. You nod, head leaning to rest on his shoulder.

“Does it bother you?” He asks another forward question. He doesn’t sound as uncertain as he did months ago in the hotel, courage coming as he knows your inevitable answer. 

“A little.” You admit.

You’ll get used to this just as Jungkook needs to get used to this too — that sometimes he will disappoint and hurt. Your acceptance isn’t a form of a bandaid over a reopened wound; instead, allowing the healing process to take on whatever form is needed. Eventually a scar tissue will rise over the persistent lesion, granting you the chance to perform better this time around.

Around 5 a.m. your sleepy eyes fight to stay open as you watch Jungkook put on his shoes. He stands up, eyes heavy but with so much anticipation. Realizes the moment the door shuts behind him, he’ll be left anticipating the next time he’ll be graced with your company again.

He comes close, and with a soft exhale through his nose, he presses his lips to your forehead. Breath fanning over, his voice is low and gravelly on your skin, “See ya, Pix.”

Life with Jungkook, again, is ever soft and changing. The effort is there, the pace of the relationship slow as it should be. Jungkook’s main focus is school now and you’re there to support him along the way. You come over to work while he’s studying or in virtual lectures.

He wants you close. Giving you access to his apartment by creating your personalized finger scan into his home. You also give him a spare key to your place, prompted by a recent out of the city wedding you had to attend and no one else was available to feed Gum and Bubba.

On his large couch, you sit on the opposite end as you answer email inquiries. Wedding season’s peaking again and no matter how busy you may get, you’re never too busy for Jungkook. Nothing stops Jungkook from remaining close to you — not even his overly large couch. He’s never too far, wanting your legs slung over his lap as he listens to his lecture through his headphones. His hands mindlessly massage the bottom of your soles, knowing exactly where you’re most sensitive and tired after a long weekend of being on your feet.

You aren’t quite lovers, but you definitely are not just friends. What you’re building with Jungkook takes time. Lots of failing and hard days, but there are just as many and if more, softer and gentler days where you’re reminded this was all worth it.

Things move as they intend to. Like your slow evening walks, shared hot meals, and camera shutters when Jungkook needs to work on his portfolio or an assignment for class. He tags along with you on a couple of weddings to keep you company, inevitably revealing to you that weddings aren’t his thing. It’s good to be honest with these truths — one less field he’d find himself dipping with in the world of photography. But no matter his contempt, he likes being where you’re at. 

His lecture finishes and he closes his laptop on his table, leaning back as he rests his eyes after realizing how long he’s been on the computer. Sure, school was difficult, but it was structured — no surprises. Just an obligation he willingly signed up for. 

You don’t look up from your laptop, speaking as you type up a response to an inquiry, “What’s on your mind?”

He debates sharing his predicament, hands haven’t stopped his ministrations on your feet as if you were his version of a stress-ball. You breathe through your nose when he hits a particular pressure point.

“I have to go to work next weekend.” He sighs, working on your other foot now. “I’m tired.”

“Can you decline or postpone?” You look up, blue light from your screen bouncing back to your face. 

He shakes his head. “Can’t. I signed a two-parter contract a while back and this is the last installment.”

You close your laptop, feet swinging down to touch his fluffy carpet rug as you scoot closer to him. You were aware contracts and waiver forms existed to protect a business and their clients. In Jungkook’s case, the production he signed with was protecting their assets and securing their future projects. It’s a little demoralizing to view Jungkook as an asset, but that’s how business worked. He had to fulfill his duties to avoid legal penalties.

You lean in and it’s a familiar sight Jungkook’s grown fond of these couple of weeks: cheek squished on his shoulder, you look up with reassuring eyes. ‘It’ll be okay.’

Slowly, you’ve grown to manage the unease of his work, ache returning similar to tides crashing onto land. Sometimes the waves hit stronger than anticipated, but smaller and more manageable tides come ashore.

“Just one day, and it’ll be over soon. Then you’ll be free to focus on your exams afterwards, hm?” You soothe, setting the scenario to make the finish line easier to visualize.

“Yeah.” He grunts, not completely relaxed at the idea of having to do something he doesn’t particularly want to, but a job was a job.

“Hey,” you sit up higher, “is there anything I can do to make it better?”

Shouldn’t have offered that because there’s probably a number of things Jungkook can list off the top of his head. His tongue grows heavy in his mouth at the mere idea of having anything he wanted from you. 

“Something sweet?” You suggest, brows wiggling up and down.

“Right now?” Declining was never in the books when it came to desserts.

You shake your head with a small laugh, “Whenever you’re done with the project. I can bring something after.”

“Okay, Pix. I’d love that.” His hand holds yours. “Surprise me.”

Nights were always spent like this until it was time for one of you to leave. He walks you to your car, waving at the kind receptionist on the way out to the guest parking lot. No longer embraced in summer’s sweltering heat, fall’s brisk air hits your cheeks when you both step out the complex. You never needed an excuse to press your body closer to Jungkook’s side, hand lodged deep in his coat pocket.

“Bye.” You whisper, tippy-toeing as you press a kiss to his cheek, letting your lips linger on his cold skin just a little longer.

The grip around your hands tighten as he fights off the intrusive thoughts of wishing for your lips to move over any expanse of his skin. There’s no need to deny the fact of having impure thoughts of you … had always been the case whether or not you were with him. It doesn’t help when you press your body closer to his, testing the boundaries of your new relationship with each other. Though, the test always stops where it is needed. 

Passing the test, he gulps, “Text me when you get home, ‘kay?”

“I will.”

Five hours of work and he’ll be free. Considering the masses need to work on average an eight hour shift and sometimes more, Jungkook is fortunate for his work hours to salary ratio. Still not easy doing what he does especially since he isn’t in the right headspace at the moment and school’s been eating up his time — a love-hate relationship when it comes to being in a new learning environment. 

He’s been reevaluating a lot these days, wondering how he’ll juggle his profession with school. And when he finds himself thinking too much of the possibilities, he forces himself to run from those thoughts of quitting everything all together. 

In those difficult moments, thinking about you helps calm his nerves about the future and he feels himself landing back on reality. Not everything needs an immediate answer or decision; moreover, he’s allowed to make mistakes. Much like your relationship with him, the ambiguity doesn’t make him run for the hills anymore. Although you and Jungkook don’t currently have any labels for what you are now, there isn't any uncertainty in his devotion towards you.

He checks his bathroom mirror one more time, piercings taken out because today’s shoot may be a little more physically demanding and he isn’t keen on risking any additional injuries like he had sustained in the first shoot. He signed up for the project on a whim because … well, at the time the money and deal seemed decent. BDSM isn’t something he dabbled a lot in on both the receiving or giving end. However, around the same time he signed the contract, he was still grieving the relationship with you and in need of a distraction — something to make him feel again no matter how painful or rigorous to the body. 

After the first shoot, he needed at least two weeks of rest … both mentally and physically. He isn’t fond of his co-star — Jungkook still remembers the numbers the man did to his body despite signaling his discomfort. 

Locking his door, he makes his way to the elevator. The doors open to reveal a familiar face: Yoona. 

She smiles at him, the lines around her eyes crease from the action. Jungkook nods and steps into the elevator next to her. Her strong perfume permeates his senses; a little too floral for his liking in comparison to the subtle cucumber and jasmine scent on your skin he’s grown attached to. 

“Work?” He asks, looking at his phone. It’s nearly noon, a little late to be going into the office. Then again, what does he know about the corporate life?

“Hyunbin wanted me to visit.” Ah, her ex-husband — explains her appearance and unusual demeanor. He assumes a revenge outfit underneath her long fur coat. “You working?”

“Yup.” He exhales through his nose.

Even without his explanation of his reluctance, Yoona reads him easily … just like how she read him the first two weeks after his split with you, choosing to end things with him because she wasn’t fond of messing with someone who was in emotional distress. She’s already got a lot going on and the last thing she wants is a fuckbuddy using her as an emotional crutch.

She’d rather be a friend or a … mentor? Maybe just a friendly neighbor until he got his shit together.

Be it her years of wisdom or her innate ability to read the younger man, she catches wind of his unwillingness to go to work.

“Hang in there.” She offers, just as her friends regurgitated on multiple venting sessions during the nasty divorce process. It’s the bare minimum as a friend if they aren’t able to do more for you.

“Thanks, you too.” He returns the encouragement with a toothy grin. One of the advantages of being taller than most is his ability to spy over people’s phones. Yoona types away in her phone, the prior messages included a clear image of a male’s lower half and her own response with an image of her freshly showered body in a towel. 

Even with her sunglasses on (which, by the way, are totally unneeded with this gloomy weather), she rolls her eyes under the elevator’s fluorescent lights.

“He’s been begging to make things work again.” She places her phone in her purse. 

“You gonna let him back in?” Surely would lessen the alimony she has to pay him.

Yoona scowls, “I may be single, but I am not lonely.” The elevator dings and signals their arrival on the ground floor. “I can have my cake and eat it.” She smiles, red blooming with her pearly white teeth.

Jungkook laughs under his breath, a surge of sweetness also embraces him now after realizing he also has his ‘cake’ too. Hasn’t quite eaten you the way he wants to, but he’s content. Loves where you are both at and is willing to wait till things settle more in life for the both of you.

Yoona clears her throat, strong floral scent leaving along with her as she steps out of the elevators first. “Take care, Jungkook.” Her heels click on the marble floors as she runs out to the cab waiting for her. 

Jungkook sighs again, making his way to his car and already programming the job site’s address into his Maps app.

Five hours and he’ll be done. 

As promised, you have a sweet treat ready to reward Jungkook after his shift.

It’s uncharacteristic of Jungkook to not answer your texts after a couple of hours. You push away the worry as you make your way up the elevators, tiny brown bag containing something rich and icy you’d typically save for the summer. 

Though, there were no rules on when to consume ice cream, especially if it was made by scratch — especially when you made it with your own spin. Anticipation brews as your steps near the front entrance of his home.

Your fingers press on the knob’s scanner and the latch clicks, ready for you to turn and enter into his home.

The living room’s dark, save for the small light Jungkook programmed to turn on at a specific time. There’s no greeting like you’re used to. Hanging your coat and scarf on the stand, you peer past the entryway as you toe off your shoes.

“Jungkook?” You call out with an air of uncertainty. 

Still no answer. Your eyes adjust to the dim surroundings, eyes eventually falling onto a figure you’d recognize in any condition. 

Jungkook’s laid down on his couch, one arm over his eyes. He’s in his sweats, showered and asleep. Your shoulders drop, tip-toeing past him to put the sweet treat into the freezer. You come back to the living room, not without picking up the fallen throw blanket on the ground, placing it on his body.

You could crack open your laptop to do some work in his kitchen until he stirs awake or just leave and let him rest. Straightening up from your bent position, a sharp inhale comes from below as Jungkook removes his forearm from his face and lifts his head up to peer around his surroundings. He sees you and drops his head in relief, breathing patterns stabilizing with a drag of his hand down his face.

“What time is it?”

“A little past 8.” You reply, sitting near his knees. 

“Sorry, Pix. I crashed.” His throat cracks from sleep, “Time slipped.”

“‘S okay.” You reply, pinkie hooking onto his. “Would you like to rest some more? I won’t bother you.”

He swallows, unsure if he would rather be left alone or if he needed your company. He’s not sure he would be good company.

“I don’t know.” His other arm comes up again to cover his eyes. Misery also needed company too, and he doesn’t want to be away from you.

You seem to get the hint. Couch, stiff and hard as ever, seems to bend at the weight of you both for this moment of tenderness. 

“Hard day?” You ask.

His throat bobs, and that’s when you notice the red marks near his Adam’s apple and his wrist. Your lips tug down, fingers itching to soothe the pain over his skin. You curl closer to him, hoping your presence would be enough to redirect his thoughts.

“Yeah. Was difficult.” He replies, voice shaky. His breath comes out uneven as he sniffles into his arm. “Ah, sorry, maybe it’s better if I’m alone.”

He hadn’t realized a couple tears had slipped out from the corners of his eyes until one of your hands cups his jaw, thumb rubbing away some of the moisture in your touch. He sucks in another breath, chest stuttering as a small sob tumbles out. He turns, burying his face into your chest as his arms come from underneath to hold you.

“I’m sorry.” He apologizes repeatedly. You repeatedly tell him you’re not leaving — that you’re here to stay. Fingers running through his dark locks, your touches force his eyes shut, a relieved sigh exiting as he regulates his breathing. 

“I’m here, you’re okay.” You promise, your nails scratching his head produces a soft whimper as he buries his bigger frame deeper into your body. When you try to pull away to assess his face, he only tugs you in tighter. You chuckle, hand patting and soothing the expanse of his back.

“Kook?”

He grunts, too exhausted to verbalize a reply.

“I’m gonna go make something, okay? You stay here and rest.”

He reluctantly loosens his grip on you, and holds onto the fact you were staying. Accepting your proposal, he goes back into a more dignified position with his arm slung over his eyes.

You move with precision; kitchen layout memorized of where all the seasonings and cooking utensils were located, you come back into the living room with a small pot of ramen in under ten minutes. The wooden heat protector clanks onto his coffee table in your descent to the ground. You wince, apologetic for startling him again.

“Didn’t have to make me food, Pix.” He pushes himself up slowly, face contorting in discomfort as he sits upright.

“Wanted to. Come on, have a bite, please?” You had already started rolling the noodles into the spoon, creating a perfect single bite. You blow on the food a little before Jungkook dips his head halfway to receive the food. 

Unlike the painful expression he previously sported, his brows furrow as he chews on the food — a good sign. Nothing’s more healing than a warm meal; a warm meal made with love. 

“Thanks, P.” He smiles, and the parts of him lost during the hours of the shoot are slowly coming back.

“I’m glad.” Your eyes land on his neck first, then over his wrists where the red rings were most prominent. “Did you want to put on ointment? Tell me where you keep your medicine and I can—”

“It’ll heal on its own.” He declines, ready and rehearsed for your concerns. And because he knows there were a billion other questions in that pretty head of yours, he comes clean on his reasons for tonight’s exhaustion. “Co-star went off script towards the end and it threw me for a loop.” He explains, head rested on the back of the couch.

You nod, arms tightening around him. “That sounds awful. I’m sorry …”

He releases another heavy breath. “I-I don’t know, Pix. It’s usually not this bad.”

“What do you mean?” Frowning, you didn’t think you’d ever witness Jungkook in this state: defeated over the profession he willingly chose and stayed for. 

His blank eyes stare off into the distance, zeroing on the corner of his flat screen television. The corners of his mouth twitch, exhaling a shaky breath before murmuring, “I’m scared to quit.”

And despite his discomfort with the subject, he continues, “I … I’ve been thinking about it and it feels like I can’t focus on other things when I have to think about work.” He also doesn’t want to mention the shame he has in quitting, inevitably proving people right that his line of work was not sustainable in the long-run. He doesn’t want to admit he’s outgrown the field that’s built everything around him: his friends, home, experiences, and … you. If it weren’t for his job, he wouldn’t have found you.

But was gratitude and loyalty needed for a profession that brings him more stress and worries?

Though rare, he’s wrestled with these difficult moments in this field, often wondering how life would be if he didn’t need to endure. What version of him exists outside of the industry? He knows what happiness is, but he’s also familiar with the deep dread and disappointment in staying. 

“It’s scary.” You concede, staring off into the same space Jungkook had fixated. “But I know you’ll figure it out. You’re not alone. I’m here with you no matter what you decide on.”

His eyes well up again. He used to think people were crazy for suffering, crying during and off work hours. Now? He’s no different. Change is scary, but remaining the same is scarier. And he’s remained the same for so long, fighting the norms and societal expectations of him.

All this to realize … he’s also just a boy with dreams and aspirations, hope cupped in his hands waiting to be discovered. The industry may be a part of him, but it was never all he was. While he doesn’t know what the future entails, he knows he needs to do something different — his profession does not define his identity.

“Yes, I know.” He lets you rub gentle circles on his bruised wrist, lets you bring up his wrist and blow a cooling breath over his skin before you lay a gentle kiss. “Thank you.”

You and Jungkook remain like this for a while, just sharing each other’s warmth and company until you perk up about the dessert you brought over. He chuckles as you pry open the container and a peek of light orange reaches his vision. Jungkook relishes in the small notes of cinnamon and persimmons hitting his taste buds.

The container of ice cream gets annihilated within fifteen minutes, cold running down your esophagus and tummy, but there’s always a source of heat in your stomach as you sit close to your biggest source of warmth.

Refusing his offer to walk you to your car, you only allow Jungkook to see you out his door in favor of him resting more.

“Thanks for tonight, P. I really needed this.” He needs you more than ever. Holding your hands, he lets his gaze trail down to your lips before he brings them back up to your eyes. He’s been through this route many times, showing restraint because he knows better than to do something too rushed despite his mind and body screaming at him to disobey the boundary you both set. 

As always, he presses a tender kiss to your forehead.

It’s enough. Because he feels you through the food you make for him, your touch, and your unwavering care.

As you stare up at him with starry eyes, he also realizes:

Intimacy doesn’t have to be perfect, but it is with you.

Jungkook completed his first semester of courses with flying marks. With a heavy heart, he decided to stop working in adult filming after another week of mulling through his options. In his resolve he tells himself the decision’s indefinite … subject to change. But ever since he let his agent know of his career change, he has not looked back. 

Though the weather remains chilly, spring’s around the corner. The season brings the birds in the early mornings, flowers blossoming around his apartment complex, and the love blooming in his chest whenever he sees you.

Tonight’s a special night for you. Your cohort wanted to do a little social gathering at a club and you invited Jungkook as your plus-one. He wasn’t planning on drinking, opting to be your designated driver for the night. He looks over at you, eyes sparkly with glitter … or perhaps, you glow more under his stares.

Weather’s still cold, but he knows it will warm up at the venue as the night progresses. He lays his brown jacket on your lap as he drives you both to the venue. You’re so pretty in your skin-tight black turtleneck and gold chain necklace. Upon final inspection in your body length mirror, you made a remark how you looked like The Rock minus the fannypack. Jungkook laughed and tugged you along, mumbling how you looked beautiful and how you were going to be late if you did another outfit change. And while the weather is ever turbulent, jumping between hot and cold days, there’s nothing turbulent between you and Jungkook.

Even though you abstained from changing out of your ‘Pre-2012 The Rock’ fit, you were late with how the parking situation worked out. Too many cars, too little parking options when you were deep into the nightlife district of the city. Jungkook parked at an open lot about a twenty minute walking distance. Terrible, you know. But the trip was well worth it with his company. Had you been alone, you probably would have chosen to order a cab, but you’ve never felt safer in Jungkook’s hand as you both walk down the busy streets on a Saturday night. 

“Thanks again for coming with me.”

“Wouldn’t miss it. Plus,” He squeezes your hand. “You’re coming with me to my friend’s wedding next weekend. So we’re even.”

“Oh no … weddings are so, so, so awful,” you chide with batted lashes. 

He grins, “It is when you gotta be in dress pants.”

You giggle, staring up at the illuminated neon lights around town. “My classmates are excited to meet you, Mr. 9th-Annual-Shutter-Winner.” You grin, the side of your body presses close to him. You look down at his phone where it navigates the leftover walking distance to the club: estimated time of arrival – five minutes.

Jungkook was nervous. Not as a result of meeting your classmates, but he knew a certain someone was going to be there. Kim Taehyung, your best friend and confidant, will also be in attendance. He’s gotten along with him in the past on set. Eccentric guy, a bit of a Namjoon fanatic, but birds of a feather flock together. Namjoon’s creative, kind, and visionary. It’s only natural Taehyung gravitates towards him in this industry.

Regardless, Jungkook’s nervous. He doesn’t voice his concern when you had disclosed that Taehyung was aware of your relationship history with Jungkook. He would never hold you back on talking about your troubles to your friends because it’s important to build that trust and rapport. He hopes his entire persona isn’t completely irreconcilable just yet with the time he’s spent trying to grow and cultivate a healthy relationship with you.

Once in the club, you make your rounds with Jungkook by your side. Lots of new faces, and maybe a select few that were recognizable as a result of the photography competition. 

“Hey Jungkook, heard you were in the photography program,” one of the judges for the past photography competition, Rowoon, smiles, “I know at the end of your photography program they’re going to request for an internship. Let me know if you need help connecting with a photographer.”

“That’d be awesome.” Jungkook smiles.

Jungkook’s appreciative for moments like these, easy conversations blending in with your life. You’ve been surrounded with good people. Well, good enough for you to want to rekindle and meet up every so once in a while.

He watches you from afar now, a mocktail in hand as he lets the ice melt and lessen the syrupy taste of the drink.

You smile into your cup as one of your classmates animate a pose of some sort — probably from a recent project or client. Regardless, he finds himself smiling too, eyes focused on your figure. It’s all tunnel vision, really, how everything around you blurs and this gooey feeling swirls and pools in the pit of his stomach.

He recognizes this, having experienced this similar breakthrough in the past with previous partners. While the hard impact of the realization came far less than this moment, his feelings were undeniable.

He loves you.

An awful realization to have when you guys are out in public and not in privacy, where he can bare his emotions to you freely. His palms sweat, heart accelerating at the welcomed epiphany and rush.

He has been patient and gentle in these last couple of months. That, he’ll give himself credit for. But all the self work he’s done is about to leave as he’s one mocktail sip away from walking over to you and declaring his feelings.

Not the right place nor time. Certainly worse when he can’t drink to distract himself.

“Mind if I join ya?”

Jungkook startles out his thoughts, craning his neck to the side to find Kim Taehyung smiling lazily at him. He simply gestures for the empty stool, all while trying to relocate you after the minor detractor.

Even with the heavy bass of the club music, Jungkook’s eyes still remain on your figure, making sure you’re safe and having fun — as you should always be. 

Taehyung grunts in his descent onto the barstool, gaze following where Jungkook looks at.

“You all socialed out?” Jungkook mindlessly asks — a miracle he’s strung up a coherent sentence. 

Taehyung scoffs at the lack of focus, but replies, “Gets a little tiring explaining my gigs and seeing them react the same way.”

This time, Jungkook stares back at the seated man, completely understanding his sentiment. He knows exactly what Taehyung has experienced being in the industry — their little common ground. 

“You know,” Taehyung begins, “I still don’t get the whole thing with you and her.”

Lips pursed, he drums his fingers on the bar counter, “How so?”

“Friends, but not. Lovers, but not.” Taehyung tips his drink back. “What are you guys even waiting for?”

What was Jungkook waiting for?

“Just want to take our time.” He replies. “Not trying to rush things.”

“Kind of backwards, don’t you think?” He shrugs his shoulders before continuing, “Look man, I’ll be upfront. I’m still on the fence about you.” 

“I know.” Jungkook’s aware he’s far from perfect, knowing his hesitancy in moving forward stems from his insecurities and his fears of hurting you in the process.

“She likes you a lot. And I trust my best friend. If things go sour, well … at least we’ll know how to pick up the pieces this time around.”

Taehyung waves down the bartender for a refill. “I give her a lot of shit for putting herself in a box, but all she does is try. So why don’t you guys try?”

Jungkook’s been so afraid of hurting. In turn, he’s robbing you both of the possibility for something so much more. He loves what he has with you, but was this enough?

You turn, also finding him, and smile.

It’s not enough. He wants more — he needs more.

Taehyung settles back as he watches the scene unfold in front of him with a smug smile. 

Finally.

Jungkook’s on autopilot as he weaves through the crowd. The back of his neck grows sweaty, less from the stuffy venue and more from his nerves and this final act of trying to do the right thing for once. He wants to do right by you, and right now all he wants is to be near you.

He needs to be near you.

You seem to think the same too, placing your empty glass onto the edge of the bar top. There aren’t any remnants of green or cherries, only a sliver of yellow on the bottom he recognizes as his trademark drink.

His heart drums against his chest as you do a quick side hug with the classmate, so eager to get to him in the midst of the hazy, man-made smoke and crowded dance floor.

The path to you was damn near impossible to get to, packed like sardines and people unwilling to move. Though, you both will always find a way to each other. Head tilted, you motion Jungkook to the side of the dance floor. It’s dimly lit, some of the club’s strobing lights don’t touch. Light’s not needed because you’re forever drawn to each other.

“Hi.” You smile up at him, eyes slightly droopy as your hand finds his. “Sorry. Haven’t been able to hang out with you that much tonight.”

He shakes his head, placing your hand behind his neck. Your fingers search for the longer locks he sported in the winter months, but you’ve always preferred his shorter cut. The prickle of the undercut was something you’ve longed for all night long. His silver hooped earrings graze your exposed wrist, the cold metal offering a nice touch on your hot skin.

He shakes his head, “‘S okay, Pix.” You both sway, neither of you really know what song is playing. It all blurs to white noise when you’re with each other. “Did you catch up with everyone?”

“Mhm.” You hum, leaning in to press your face against his chest. There’s a slight drop to your shoulders signifying your exhaustion, but Jungkook reads your demeanor like the back of his hands.

With a hum, he murmurs, “What’s on your mind?”

“Everyone’s in production companies.” You sulk, frown felt on his strong front. 

Your words hold a little bitterness, a hint of dejection at the idea you weren’t exactly doing what everyone was doing. But that’s what made you special. You’re doing what you want to do and you’ve stuck by it.

“You ever think about joining one?” He asks into your hair. 

You lift your head from his chest, chin digging into his sternum. “It’s not for me, but sometimes, I feel like I’m missing out.”

Just like how he thinks he might miss out on something wonderful if he continues as things are, but a club where you’re having a reunion with old classmates isn’t the right time or place for a confession.

Jungkook nods. “Can do whatever you want. The world’s your oyster.”

He doesn’t need any of the strobing lights or a spotlight in the tiny nook you’ve both claimed with the way you smile at him. Not when you stare up at him like he’s the world, ready to be claimed by you. Before he does anything too impulsive, he leads you both closer to the center of the dance floor. Back turned to him, his hands rest on the dips of your hips. Chin tucked in the crook of your neck, he takes in your jasmine and cucumber scent, wondering if you’re just as addicted to his scent. 

“Did you have your usual?” He mumbles into your ear.

You shake your head, shivering from his voice. “Midori sour’s not always on the menu.”

He hums in agreement, thinking back to the arrangements he made at the club he hosted his celebratory party at. Honestly, there was no major issue requesting the addition of the drink; the manager was happy to accommodate. 

“What’d you have earlier?” His voice comes out low, rumbling against you.

You nearly whimper your answer as he circles his arms around your midsection, not wanting to lose any physical contact from you. “Highball.”

His grin stretches across his face, muscle memory as his mouth salivates for the drink. “Did you like it?”

You turn around now, and Jungkook does little to reposition his forehead on yours. This time, another type of restraint courses through his body as his eyes bounce between your hooded stare and pouty lips.

“Mm, I wanted to try what you liked. Not my thing,” you conclude. “Wasn’t sweet at all.” 

Jungkook doesn’t need the additional sweetness in his drinks when he’s surrounded by sweetness in his life. Can do away with sugar because you’re here. 

“What did you have tonight?” You ask back.

“Wild night with some sort of wild berry mocktail.” He teases.

“Lucky, I wish I had that.” Your eyes drop to his lips — he follows your line of vision as you look back up at him.

“Was nice.” He concedes, voice dropping an octave. “Better if it was a highball.”

The music’s loud, but nothing’s louder than the drumming in his ears — the voice in his head yelling at him to close the gap between you two. The same gap you both maintained in these last couple of months. It’s been working so well for you two, reworking your foundation and taking things slow all while hoping it would lead to your desired goal: each other.

Jungkook’s forehead remains on yours, lips parted slightly at your delayed blinks. And although the label had always blurred between the two of you, he had always been yours. Yours, when he entered the establishment with his hand on your hips, guiding you away from rowdy groups at the main point of entrance. Yours, when all you’ve done tonight was match his stares, wanting so badly to be in his company instead of folks you haven’t spoken to in years face to face.

All yours.

“Want a taste?” You ask, making no move to go to the bar. He stays rooted there too, knowing full well he’s not allowed a single drop of alcohol in his system. The entrancement lasts all but a second before a flicker of fear flashes across your features. 

Deja vu.

Was this all a figment of your imagination and it could get ripped from you any moment? If you lean in like you did months ago, would you be punished by rejection again?

Your brows furrow, eyes pleading up at Jungkook to answer your unspoken questions.

And he reads you so easily — remembers you and knows your insecurities before you do sometimes.

He breathes you in, nose now nestled against your own with no intentions of ever leaving.

“Please?” Your warmth fans over to him, a soft plea worthy of ending wars Jungkook would only qualify as his own battles.

He thinks about that night at the club where you had left him, foolishly clutching onto the flimsy cone-shaped cups while the world spun with you nowhere in sight. Thinks about the prospect of you leaving again and how ruined he’d be without you.

Jungkook pleads with you too now, “Please don’t leave me.”

You shake your head. “I’m right here.”

He thinks he deserves a little bit of heaven. Funny, how he thinks the universe could grant him kisses from a million angels, but he’d only want a lifetime of yours. The last thing he sees are two slow blinks from your sparkly-glittered lids, pulling and signaling him into a soft landing: to home — he finally finds his way back home.

He cups your face, delicate in how he holds you because there’s nothing more he’d like to do than to handle you with all the care and tenderness in the world. He sighs into your lips, relieved to finally have you like this. Where you both meet in the middle now.

Highball, in the simplest terms, was bland whiskey. The taste of the drink was probably the furthest thing you can get to the sweetness of your typical midori sour. And yet, you still tried for him. He knows how much you try for him and you’ve done your best to accept him — the work and effort you put into adoring Jungkook never goes unnoticed.

He doesn’t taste the highball, none of the usual remnants of the drink he’s grown to like as he runs his tongue over your plump lips. Perhaps it’s also that he no longer searches for that familiar aftertaste; instead, welcoming something he’s longed for and missed these months. His tongue moves over your lips again, slow and deliberate to savor the sweetness. 

Your mouth parts for him, a tentative push of his tongue and you’re reduced to putty. He trails one hand down your hip, pulling you flush against him. 

It’s all muscle memory, how puzzle pieces fit just for you and Jungkook. He groans against your mouth, the low sound vibrates through your body, sending a shock through your body and heat building in your middle.

Your name is all but a rasp as Jungkook goes straight to your lips again after your small whine. He can’t get enough of you, the background noise and people blurring in his pursuit of you. You kiss him back. Months after months of waiting, slowly rebuilding, knowing exactly where the finish line is … and the kiss now was just one of your many monumental milestones with Jungkook.

He needs to pull away for air, mindful of your own state too despite his unwillingness to stray away. It’s everything he’d expect a kiss from you to be after all this time: sweet, with no hint of the drink he fancied. 

Nose nestled to yours and brazen smiles exchanged, Jungkook does his best to regulate his breathing.

“You’d ever give highball another try, Pix?” He breathes, peppering tinier kisses on your lips, rendering it nearly impossible to properly respond.

“Yeah.” You reply in between kisses. “I’d try it again. It’s worth another chance.”

When he finally pulls away with much reluctance, his heart drums against his chest at your response — at your implication. 

You wanted this with him. 

“You’ll teach me how to properly drink it?” You look at him with the softest gaze.

He shakes his head, a smile playing on his lips. “Will drink it with you.”

No one was talking about the drink. Though, much like the drink, love and affection was always better shared and experienced together. 

And it’s so much better savoring those moments with you.

You and Jungkook eventually leave the dance floor to socialize with your other classmates, catching Taehyung with a content smile as he peers down at your interlinked hands. Jungkook’s hand involuntarily tightens around yours and you look up, eyes holding a playful curiosity as to what he wants.

You mouth, ‘You tired?’

He shakes his head no, though, his droopy eyelids and slight sway to his body tells you otherwise. You’re also tired too, wanting nothing more than to be with your desired source of warmth.

You quickly make your rounds, bidding your farewells and blaming your age for not being able to stay longer. Thankfully, a couple of your other classmates left before you, so your attempt to leave didn’t look out of the blue. Your goodbye with Taehyung takes a little longer as he whispers something in your ear, eyes playful as you pull away and lightly smack his arm. 

Jungkook smiles once you’re back by his side, the cold night air hitting you both outside the club. He offered to run to the car while you wait back, but you insisted on coming with him. “Ready for the walk, Miss Rock?” 

With narrowed eyes, you huddle closer, pretty pout on your lips he so wants to kiss. 

“You said I looked great.” You huff, beginning the long trek back to the car. 

“The Rock looked great, and so do you, Pix.” He teases.

Three minutes into your walk, a random downpour starts out of nowhere. 

Jungkook takes off his brown jacket, slinging it over both your bodies as you do your best to run from the rain. Shared incredulous giggles and glances with each other made the trip back even better. Unable to fully avoid the downpour, Jungkook opts to just cover you with his jacket. The theatrics continue once a car passes, wheels producing a splash over your bodies.

Unneeding of the jacket now, you lower the jacket around your shoulder, tugging Jungkook through the rain as you both near the car. He looks at you from behind, catching your stare back while urging him to move quicker. 

But he’s in no rush.

He’s never been in a rush with you.

Steps coming to a halt, you look back again with a questioning expression. His hair’s matted on his forehead, eyes squinting from the rain water, but he can see you so clearly under the yellow of the streetlights.

He says your name, your steps stumble as you land in his embrace. Cold fingers run on your cheek before he admits, “I don’t think I can just be what we’ve been. I want this with you — I want to be with you.” 

He doesn’t ask you if you want the same. Didn’t have the chance as his eyes widened the same moment your lips met his.

Rain beats down on your bodies, hard and punishing. The cold water seeping through your clothing is nothing compared to the heat searing from your bodies. Your fingers run through his hair from behind, urging him closer if it were possible. His hold on you tightens and you unconsciously arch into him, no longer caring how the rain water runs down your face.

Jungkook breaks apart from the kiss, “It’s always been you, P.” Warm breath on your lips as he utters words he's long realized and wanted to tell you, “I … I’m in love with you.”

It’s freeing. Not just his confession, but how the rain continues washing out everything around you both. The good, the bad. The aftermath of a storm allows for rebuilding — for flowers to blossom, for growth and to start anew.

He thinks about all the time spent together and apart — the happiness, trust, and fears … it all inevitably brings him back to you. And as the rain waters continue to fall, he finds himself free falling into your embrace — the easy love.

“I love you,” You profess, brows pulling together tears mixing in with the rain, “So much. You know that, yeah?”

He does. But even so, he still asks, “Please be with me.” He chews on the inside of his mouth, so fearful of rejection as though you could choose any other route. “Please?”

You nod, leaning in for a kiss that could only seal your answer to him. “I’m yours. Always been yours.”

A relieved chuckle stutters from his chest, holding you close. “Home?”

“Home.” You reply.

Jungkook’s home was closer in proximity, so it would only be natural to head over there to change out of your soaked clothes. Even with the seat warmers turned onto the highest setting and his jacket slung over your lap like it was in the beginning of the night, you shiver and shudder in your seat.

“Can use my shower too, P.” He pushes his wet bangs back and reasons, “Don’t want you catching a cold.”

“Mmkay,” Your teeth involuntarily chatters, hands tucked in between your thighs underneath his jacket to retain your heat.

His hand naturally finds yours. “We’ll be home soon, ‘kay?”

Back at his home, he gives you a spare t-shirt with some sweatpants, letting you know that he’ll shower at the guest bathroom while you use the master bedroom’s. It’s not your first time in his bedroom, having been there a couple times when he was busy and needed you to retrieve something for him in there. The citrus scent embraces you as you walk in, fingers tightening around his clothes. He’s fumbling around his dresser to get his own clothing, hair dried to a damp mess and coarse at the ends from the washed away hair products. His shirt drags over his large frame, seemingly heavier around the shoulder area from the rainwater.

Back still turned away, he cranes his neck to you and catches your curious stare. “Go on and use the shower, P.”

You nod, clothes feeling unbearingly tight whether it be from the rain or the suffocating dilemma of not wanting to leave Jungkook’s side.

In the shower, he’s still with you through the shampoo and body wash. You run your hands around your body, knowing this is your way of keeping him close. Will you need to go home after this? Does the mirage end here with the suds of soap pooling at your toes?

Does it end with his scent on your body?

All dried and in his clothes, you stare at the mirror, a small smile playing at your lips at the visual of your body drowned in his oversized t-shirt. You roll the bottom of the sweatpants and tug at the drawstrings to secure around your waist.

You peer into his bedroom. “Jungkook?” No response. 

Walking out to the living space, you notice a tuft of hair on the large couch’s armrest. Two glasses of water — all full — just like your heart, rests on the coffee table. Peering over the couch, your lover lays there, eyes closed with a rhythmic breathing pattern nowhere close to being asleep.

You come around and seat yourself on the edge of the couch. An unsuspecting force pulls you down, followed by a small ‘oomph,’ you attempt to sit back up.

“Can we rest a little before I take you home?” He mumbles, breathing into your hair.

Your ear is pressed against his chest, his heart thumping way too fast for rest. Working up your courage, you snuggle into his warmth as you murmur, “It’s late. Don’t want you driving at this hour.” Before he could ask if you’d want him to fetch a cab, you follow up with, “If it’s okay … can I stay over tonight?”

The drumming in his chest speeds up, but his words come out assertive. “Of course, P.”

The guest room sits empty as Jungkook leads you back to his bedroom, a sleepy smile on his face as he catches your yawn and places the glass of water onto the nightstand closest to where you’ll sleep. He hooks his index fingers in the collar of his shirt and yanks it over his head, tossing the article of clothing on the ottoman near the foot of his bed.

You swallow, eyes raking over his toned body you’ve grown so familiar with. His tattoo lines look darker under the warm hues of his nightlight. Underneath his covers, your eyes fight to stay open, only allowing them to blink shut when he encircles his arms around you.

“Night, P.” He mumbles.

“Good night, Kook.”

Around 5 a.m. you wake up with the worst case of dry mouth, having already drank the glass of water in the middle of the night, and another time Jungkook refilled without your knowledge. You pout at the glass sitting pretty and empty on the nightstand.

There’s an unfamiliar weight on your midsection causing you to suck in a breath as you look down. Intricate patterns and faded colors greet you before you turn your head to meet their owner.

Jungkook’s on his front, pouty mouth parted and lashes kissing the top of his cheeks. His rhythmic light snores tell you he’s still in deep slumber if not for the sleep-lines on the side of his face where he buries himself further into his fluffy pillows.

There’s a stillness in waking up next to Jungkook like this — at the realization there’s no need to run or leave. He’s here within a distance you can comfortably reach. 

You think back to last night, between the kisses and confessions, everything seemed like a dream. You’re tempted to reach over to brush away the strand of his bangs. Want to see if he’d stir awake and look at you as he did before you both fell asleep last night.

That’s the funny thing about love — can’t bear the selfishness and greed of your own desires. So instead, you do your best to uncurl from his lazy hold, already missing his warmth as you grab the rims of your glass to fetch some water.

You’ve only been over in the afternoon and evening, never knowing the brisk morning air. Jungkook’s room was warm, temperature maintained by the heat of your bodies, but in the open living space, you shiver a little from cold and the absence of a familiar body.

Glass refilled, you make your way back to Jungkook, but something pulls you to an abrupt stop.

You’ve only seen this view at night, always curious how differing the morning view would be. Orange peeks and greets you on the horizon, begging for your presence even when there is another star you rather be with.

Just a couple more minutes and the sun will rise — a view you’ve never seen from here. Lips nursing on your glass, you smile as you hear another pair of feet shuffle in your direction. Not subtle at all. He makes his presence known with a small yawn, standing behind you, he presses his chest against you from behind and wraps his arms around your abdomen.

“Whatcha doing up so early?” Voice laced with sleep.

“Wanted to get water,” you bring the glass up to his view, “sun’s about to rise now.” You nod at the window. 

His body vibrates against yours at a particularly low chuckle. “‘S nice, isn’t it? Can see everything from here.”

You hum in agreement. You love the view, love his touch, love him. And because you love him, you give him the remainder of your water. Glass now empty again, he sets the cup on a small stand. The surrounding air stifles as a strong pair of arms wrap around you tighter, cluing in a shift in the easy morning conversation.

“P, I meant everything I said last night.” He says, afraid you hadn’t retained any recollection of last night’s event — as though all the magic last night was all but a trick and illusion.

There’s no illusion in your adoration for him, turning away from the sun, you realize you have everything in front of you worth orbiting for.

“I meant everything too.” You reply, feeling the sun warm your back, but even that source of warmth wasn’t enough incentive to have you turning away from Jungkook again. “I love you. Wanna be with you.”

You tip-toe, lips pressing delicately against his only spurs on his tiny moan as he meets you in the middle. His teeth nibble on your bottom lip, causing you to part them with a small gasp. He takes this moment to lick into your mouth, tongue running against yours to savor you. He could blame the morning wood on … well, the morning, and not your soft lips, but he’s wanted you like this for so long and now you’re finally his.

He angles your chin, doing his best to distract you from the bulge pressed against your stomach, to which you also push against. Grunting, he huffs into your mouth, “Pix, please.”

You hum a small ‘what?’

So dangerous of you to push something he’s been suppressing for months. Aching for your touch, but he’s respectful of the change in dynamics. He wants to be respectful now, but was there a need?

“I’m trying to be good.” He mumbles, kissing along your jaw and making his way down your neck. His teeth rake against the expanse of your skin, reveling in your shivers and the way your nails dig into his back.

“You are good.” You sigh prettily. “So good to me.”

And because of this, Jungkook wants to show you other ways he could be good to you. It’s what you deserve — nothing makes him happier than making you feel good. Back pressed against the glass panes, the initial cold morphs and changes with the sun and your combined body heat.

His hand snakes up your shirt, large palm halting at your stomach until you nod for him to move. You moan at the contact of his thumb moving over your hardening bud.

“Feels good, pretty?” He mouths against your neck.

You swallow and nod, “J-Jungkook, can people,” another moan slips as he sucks on a particularly sensitive juncture of your neck, “see us from here?”

Being on the thirty-fourth floor had its perks and advantages. He doesn’t have next door neighbors except for the floor above and below him, which works in his favor. 

“No one can see us, P.” He shakes his head, “You want them to?”

He grips your chest a little harder, urging for an answer before he continues. Head lifted to your face, his hooded eyes draw you in. 

“No,” you place a soft kiss on his jaw, “Want this just between us.”

He also can’t imagine having another person watch you both. Can’t imagine sharing an experience like this with someone other than you. 

“Yeah, it’s just you and me.”

The hand on your hip runs up your front, cupping your cheek first before he slips a soft request while looking at your lips, “Open, please.”

Your mouth parts, and his hand drags over your cheek, his middle and ring finger probing and sliding over your wet muscle. His cock twitches in his sweats at the thought of possibly feeling your mouth again. Those thoughts break the moment you close around his digits, warm and wet around him. Your cheeks hollow without command as you eagerly suck on his fingers. You look at him with determined eyes, fighting to stay open but loses the battle before fluttering shut when his thumb runs over your hard nipple again.

“Gonna make you feel good.” He promises, “‘s that okay?”

You nod, unable to verbalize a response with his fingers in your mouth. Soon his wet fingers slip out of your mouth and he slips them past the waistband of your folded sweats.

“Oh god,” Your hips buck back from the sudden contact of his fingers, ass pushed against the glass. “P-please.” You beg, unsure of what exactly but Jungkook takes it as a request to move. His middle finger slots perfectly between your wet folds, circling around the bundle of nerves. 

“Wanna touch you, too.” You plead, “Can I?”

He tips his forehead against yours, hips pushed against your hand. “Uh-huh, want you to touch me.”

Your hand slips into his sweats, making contact with his bare length. The angle of your bodies makes it difficult to tug or squeeze as you like, but he shudders just by the mere contact of your soft hand.

“P, don’t—” He moves back slightly to peer down at your hand working over his length. “Don’t tease.” 

Lip tucked between his teeth, his own hand speeds up over your clit, wet sounds growing by the second. He hopes you do the same too, but you keep your lazy strokes, watching him with hooded eyes. “Not,” you pause, eyes closing when he nears you, pressing a dainty kiss, “teasing.”

“Tell me what you need.” You murmur against his lips.

“Faster,” He whines, “need you to go faster—fuck—” He groans when you comply, hand picking up the pace.

And be it from the patience and time endured after months of dreaming of being with you … or he was just that easy, he finishes in his sweats in under a minute. Your hand slowly jerks over his length, hand coated in his cum.

“Koo, did you cum?” You breathe, unsure from the sudden liquidy warmth. He moans a small yes, angling his head for your kisses on his neck, teeth dragging over his collarbone as a reward for his confirmation. Your hand glides over the head of his sensitive cock. “Made a mess all for me.”

He kisses you, deft fingers on your clit as he touches away the embarrassment of cumming before he’s gotten to properly take care of you. It’s no give or take situation, but he wants to give back to you.

He removes his hand and you nearly cry out at the loss of his touch. Your cum covered hand gets tugged from his pants at the same time. Doesn’t care you’re unconsciously wiping away your hand on your shirt — everything was going into the wash anyway, ridding any evidence of the sinful acts you’ll both willingly partake in.

How sinful were they if they were embarked by two people in love? 

Fingers hooked on the waistband of your sweats, he drags them down your hips, leaving both your soaked underwear and pants pool at your ankles. His eye contact never wavers as he drops down on his knees, only breaking at the long shirt length covering your bare cunt. With a knowing glance, you hold the bottom of the shirt, while the other one falls on the side of his head for support as nudges your legs apart. 

“So perfect,” he praises, eyes peering up at you, “All mine.” His fingers form a ‘v’ as he spreads your glistening folds, mouth watering at the sight of your twitching clit. He moves in, placing a kiss on the side of your pussy, just shy of your nub. The action has you furrowing your brows, mouth dropping open as you involuntarily push your hips forward.

You mewl, thighs closing when he finally slots his tongue over the self-made opening between his fingers. He licks, sucks, and kisses the tiny nub. And you stand there, taking everything he’s willing to give you. He loves watching you struggle maintaining eye contact, loves the shy smile you give him when you had a moment of realization of how loud you were in the early hours of his home, and loves the small tug from your fingers in his hair when he repeatedly presses his lips to your clit.

You were already so close before this, but now he has you tipping on the edge again. Jungkook’s eyes close, tongue lapping your cunt.

Your thighs shake, breath caught in your throat as he continues the motions. And even though he’s not looking at you, he knows you’re about to let go as you rock your hips into his face. Using one hand, his fingers dig into the back of your thigh as he brings one of them over his shoulder.

“Baby–” You rasp.

“Hm?” He answers, muffled against your core. The vibrations against your cunt have your eyes rolling to the back of your head as your lids slam shut from the sensation.

You whimper, stomach clenching at the first signal of your orgasm. Your fingers clutch pathetically at the end of the shirt, mindful of the other hand interlocked with his locks. But you’re bolder now, know what you like and need … and what you like is Jeon Jungkook moaning against your core, encouraging you to cum. What you need is to extend this feeling for as long as you can, so you push his head closer as you grind your spasming cunt to his face.

“Cumming,” you manage to get out, “Oh fuck, I’m cumming.”

Jungkook can’t answer, wishes he could; though, all his wishes are being fulfilled as he’s head deep between your legs. He pulls away after your hips press back against the glass, signaling your sensitive state. Hooded gaze fixed, he takes in the visual of your cheek pressed onto your shoulder — a habit he’s noticed every time you’ve cummed. Your eyes blink open slowly, blinded by the light coming in from the rising sun.

“I’m sorry, P.” He doesn’t sound sorry at all with his mischievous grin as he kisses your inner thigh — the one he has thrown over his shoulder. “You missed the sunrise.”

You croon, a small playful pout on your lips. “I did.” You release his hair, hand cupping his jaw. You moan in surprise when he latches onto your clit again, lazy sucks as he peers up at you.

He places one last kiss to your nub and suggests, “Should turn around then, take in the current view.” He leaves out the fact that you’ll have plenty of more chances to see the view.

He places your leg down. While wobbly at first, you plant your feet sturdy before complying with his request. He’s right — the city’s beautiful. 

Jungkook also has the best view in the city too. 

You look back at him from your shoulder, eyes catching his, “You’re not watching with me?”

“Perfect view here.” He scoots back a little, ignoring the discomfort and numbness in his knees. You brace against the glass, fist clenched tightly at the anticipation of what your lover wants to do. No one cares about the prospect of a stained glass as you hinge your hips out to him, the underside of your wet pussy entrances him.

He pushes your shirt up over the curves of your hips and the sight before him has his cock hardening in his sweats again. A creamy white sheen trickles down your slit, begging to be licked up before it dribbles onto the floor.

And he does. With a cock to his head, he slots his mouth over your leaky cunt.

You wail, cheek pressed against the glass as you fog up a small section with your warm puffs of air. His tongue laps over your clenched hole, pleased you haven’t pulled away from him. He rewards you with a small probe of his tongue and you surprise him again by pushing back, tongue gliding into your warm cavern with little resistance.

You both moan, caught in the euphoric moment of this new experience. 

He reels his head back, spreading you wide to look at your gaping pussy — all his doing.

“Please,” you beg, greedy for his mouth. Without warning, he dives back in, tongue thrusting in and out of your hole with a new profound hunger. One of his hands comes from under and rubs at your clit. The new feeling has your legs shaking again, your hand coming around to place on top of his to ground yourself.

He pulls away, placing wet kisses alongside your thighs. “You liked that, Pix?”

“Yeah, I loved it.” You reply, looking back at him through your lashes.

“Good.” He chuckles, stomach warm from your confession, “Keep looking at the view though. Sun’s pretty today.”

The sun’s pretty every day, you think to yourself as you look at your source of light. But you turn away, obedient as you look at the rays the rest of the world relies on. 

“Gonna do something new, ‘kay?” He says, strained as he places a small kiss on one of your cheeks. He lets his teeth graze your skin, fingers digging into the meat of your ass to gain your confirmation. “Tell me if you don’t like it.”

You nod, can’t think of anything you won’t like aside from being away from Jeon Jungkook, but you’re sure to vocalize any discomfort for whatever journey he’s about to embark with you.

“Open wider for me.” He husks. You comply, feet shuffling apart as you hinge lower. 

You couldn’t predict what he wanted to try with you, certainly not anything remotely close to how he parts your ass and you feel his breath on your skin before he leans in.

You nearly cry out at the first lick over the tight ring of your asshole. There was an adjusting period, one that involved your breasts pressed hard against the window, mouth hanging open as Jungkook goes in for another lick.

It’s not unpleasant. New, like he mentioned.

“You taking in everything, P?” His finger slips over your cunt, long index finger teasing the entrance. He takes his time running his fingers between your wet folds, watching your bleary eyes struggle to stay open. It’s fine. You’ll have plenty more opportunities to see the view in the future — he’ll make sure of it.

You moan at the feeling of his finger probing the entrance of your pussy, hole clenched around nothing as he continues teasing you.

“Hm? Answer me, pretty.” His tongue teases around your taint. This time, you relax into it, even going as far as pushing back.

“Mhm,” you try, “‘s pretty.”

You have your head turned again, watching him the best you could, completely unfocused from the view beyond the massive curtain wall. A wrecked moan escapes the moment his long digit pushes into your sensitive cunt — just up to the first knuckle, nothing more. At the same moment, his tongue guides itself past the tight ring of your hole.

You don’t know what to focus on: his tongue fucking into your ass or his finger coated in your arousal as he has you plugged up on both holes simultaneously.

Jungkook’s always been an ass man, and he honors the title as he continuously dives his head between your cheeks. The finger inside your other hole stays in place, never pushing another inch until you whine and reach between your legs. Your fingers touch the top of his, pushing at them to sink deeper into your pussy.

He pushes his digit into you, the full length wrapped around your wet walls. “Do what you need to make this feel good.” He says. “Want you to feel good.”

A content sigh leaves your lips as you rub slow circles, pleasure building again in your stomach as each minute slips by. You’ve never been one to cum multiple times … unfortunately, you’re no better than a man. One and done type of girl, but the eagerness to cum again from this new experience has you motivated and greedy for more. Especially when the experience is with someone you love and care for.

“I-I think I’m gonna cum again.” You announce, pushing your ass back to his face as he continues fucking his tongue into your ass. He groans and nods, picking up the pace from behind with fervor at the mention of your orgasm.

His finger gradually speeds up, curling a little before he decides to add another finger in. 

Oh.

“This okay?” He asks as he senses a change in your demeanor at the sudden intrusion.

You whimper, body stiff and rigid during the adjustment period. The stretch has you halting before you’re rubbing feverishly against your clit, babbling and begging for him to move faster. 

Jungkook’s lucky on the thirty-fourth floor. So lucky no one’s able to hear the the sounds you make both from your mouth and wet cunt as he fucks his digits faster as requested. He curls his fingers and your legs start shaking, your hand no longer able to move as you take everything Jungkook gives from behind.

You gasp, his name falls from your lips as you let go. There’s definitely an imprint of your mouth and cheek on his glass window now, memoirs of the acts you both committed. 

The wetness grows between your legs, both holes pulsating as you finally cum around him again. Jungkook groans, letting you ride out your orgasm as you need.

He removes both his fingers and tongue from your holes and parts your ass to marvel at the mess you’ve made. The puffy ring of your ass shines with his spit, while your pussy quivers from the aftermath of your strong orgasm. He thinks about how it would be if you were stuffed full of him right now, but he’s in no rush with you. Knows there’s no time constraint to loving you right this time around. Your shirt drops from the curve of your hips and down to your knees as you stand upright, turning and pressing your back to the glass again. Jungkook stands up, fingers already in his mouth to lick up any remnants of cum. 

His arms wrap around your waist to hold you up, forehead touching yours as it’s meant to. Doesn’t go for a kiss no matter how much he wants to because he’s not sure of your aversion after where his mouth has been. But you don’t care, looping your arms over his neck and slotting your lips over his for a messy kiss, eventually reduced to small pecks.

“You okay, P?” He asks with round eyes. You nod and ask the same in a hushed whisper.

Why wouldn’t he be when he’s got all he’s ever wanted in his arms? He rubs over your back in a soothing motion, “More than okay, P.”

More kisses are shared, until Jungkook murmurs how he’s still tired and wants to go back to bed. You look at the clock and as tempted you are, you hum and shake your head. His eyes widen at your response, about to offer a quick retort, but you beat him to it.

“You said you had registration for the upcoming semester in a couple hours. Didn’t you say you needed to work on a schedule?”

He tips his head back, both grateful and upset at your memory after he mentioned it to you in passing last week. 

Still, these things can be done while in the comforts of his bed and your company. Hand enclosed in his, he tugs you back to his bedroom, no longer omitting the same warmth when you left.

But perhaps, the warmth was anywhere you were with Jungkook.

Saturn takes twenty-nine years to complete its cycle. When you turned twenty-nine, you thought your Saturn was still out there, taking their sweet time with the journey back home.

“Pixie?” 

“Coming!” You call out, finishing the last touch of your dusty-pink blush. Smoothing out your sage-green dress, you do a small once-over in your mirror before properly greeting your boyfriend. 

Your Saturn’s returned, watching you embark on your new adventure, cheering you on through your wins and losses. Jungkook smiles from the doorway, leather dress shoes placed neatly on the side. His hair is styled as he would for all the wedding events he’s gone to with you, but this was a new suit. Usually in black, the light grey suit brings out his dark features even more — boyish charms emulated with his suit jacket off and hooked on his fingers over a shoulder. The brooches on his vest glimmer on the side, adding a nice finishing touch to his wedding guest look for the evening.

He shines either way when his orbs land on your features, taking in your soft curls and dress you’ve chosen. 

“Pretty.” He’s kind enough to not kiss you, seeing you’ve just freshly applied your lipstick, but you’ve never been opposed to reapplying. You tip-toe to plant a soft kiss, not enough to transfer any product, but enough to tempt him for further damage.

“You look very handsome.” You say, hands automatically coming up to fix the angle of his tie. Spring’s weather is ever unpredictable and today’s one of the more warmer days of the week, but the temperatures rise in the small nook of your home as he stares at you.

To avoid any potential deterrence, you move behind him to get to your shoe rack. He presses his back against the wall opposite to you, watching as you crouch down to pick out a strappy nude heel.

“What if we skipped the wedding, Pix?”

You pout, blowing at the random strands of hair in your peripheral. “Your friend would be disappointed. Plus, we both got all done up. Would be a waste if we didn’t go.”

“It’s not a waste,” he replies, “can just have a night in.”

“Also would give me an excuse to get out of these dress pants.” He adds with a scowl. 

You lean away, doing a double take on the slacks he has on. You’ve always fancied a guy in dress pants and Jungkook was no exception. Loves how his thighs fill up the spaces and how his ass looks in them.

“Couple hours and we can have a night in.” You reassure with a soft smile. “I’ve got a watermelon in the fridge waiting for us.”

The wedding was standard, especially with it belonging to someone you don’t know. Technically most, if not all, weddings you’ve gone to have belonged to strangers. But there was something special about this wedding — it’s the first time you attended a wedding with Jungkook where you aren’t working.

Weddings have always felt magical; the usual string of fairy lights and flower arrangements appear even more enchanting tonight. And you realized, the enchantment started months ago at Yoongi and Hoseok’s union.

During cocktail hour, he made sure to get all your favorite finger foods without request. When the ring bearer and flower girl comes into view during the ceremony, he’s quick to move higher on his seat, letting you peer past him to get a better look at the little ones. And when he holds your waist during the reception’s dance, you know weddings are magical because the moment’s shared with him. 

“This was nice. Thanks for having me as your plus-one.” You sigh in content, cheek rested on his chest as you both slow dance to When a Man Loves a Woman. 

He snorts, lighthearted and warm. “I’m glad you enjoyed.” Meant as a sarcastic remark, he also agrees this evening was a lot nicer than he had anticipated in the month leading up to this day. 

“I really love weddings.” You mumble to yourself.

He loves weddings with you. Jungkook presses his cheek on the top of your head, “I know.”

You and Jungkook stay like this for a while through a couple slow songs until the DJ changes up the genre of the music, signaling older couples to evacuate the dance floors for the younger crowd to reminisce on an era where their knees existed for the thrill of it all.

Your bodies move in tandem: his, warming your back, and your bottom pushed against his groin with your preferred pressure, knowing you’d never go overboard at a wedding but just enough for him to have him let out a shy chuckle.

His breath fans over the shell of your ear, “I really hate these dress pants, P.”

You turn your head to him, sultry expression matching his hooded lids. “Why’s that?”

“Shows everything.” He laughs through his nose, “Can’t leave here any time soon now.”

You ease up a little, facing him again while your fingers slide over the brooches resting on the left side of his chest — where his heart resides. He’d argue his heart is in his arms staring up at him.

“I’ve always loved you in dress pants.” You confess. “‘Cause that’s when we’re at weddings together.”

Considering how he leans down, pressing a small kiss to your lips where you reciprocate with another lingering kiss, maybe being in dress pants isn’t that bad.

“Have we met our quota yet, Pix?” He nudges his nose against yours.

For someone who loves weddings, you’re eager to go home, too. You want nothing more than to just spend time with Jungkook in the comforts of your home.

“Quota met.”

Sheltered by the indoor venue, you didn’t realize how humid it got outside in the time spent at the wedding. Your apartment was practically a sauna by the time you and Jungkook arrived back at your place. Opening up your windows, you have a fan running in the background to air out the space.

“Sorry,” You say sheepishly while cutting into the watermelon. Your eyes rake over Jungkook where he unbuttons his grey vest and rolls up his sleeves to reveal his tattooed arm.

He shakes his head, taking two spoons from your drawers, “It’ll cool down.”

Will it? 

Air heavy with both the atmospheric moisture and tension brewing between you and Jungkook all evening, you’re not so sure if the temperatures will drop any time soon. The watermelon center caves as you both dig with the metal spoons. You favored the center; whereas, Jungkook aimed closer to the watermelon rind. 

He peers over at you where you stand. Hair now put up by a claw clip, he counts the baby hairs sticking onto the back of your neck, momentarily forgetting to dig into the watermelon when it’s his turn. 

“Why do you only pick at the sides?” Your brows twitch, digging into the middle again and turning to him with a center piece.

He shrugs, opening his mouth on cue for you to stick your spoon into his mouth. Sure, the middle pieces were sweet, but he thinks they might be sweeter coming from you. He chews and swallows, tilting his head a little to meet your equally sticky lips.

“Sweet either way, Pix.” He wonders if the salty moisture on your skin would pair well with the sweet watermelon.

Well, one way to find out.

No longer following a script, Jungkook moves on his own accord — loving and falling freely as he likes knowing you’ll be there to catch him. He shifts his body, head dipped in the crook of your neck as he licks a thick stripe over your neck. You gasp, spoon dropping onto the counter as your hands fly to grab onto his forearms for support.

He’s right; you do bring out more sweetness.

The half eaten watermelon sits on your counter, long forgotten in the pursuit of Jungkook’s body pressed to yours. His lips slot perfectly on you, a relieved sigh escapes as your bodies move as it’s desired all evening.

He trails kisses down the column of your throat, marking a pathway on your collarbone. Fingers in his hair, your grip on him tightens as you shyly ask, “Bed?”

Knees digging onto your bed, you sit up taller to kiss your still-standing boyfriend. He’s busy trying to unbutton his dress shirt while you race to unbuckle his belt — a race no one formally declared, but it was an unspoken need. And you both needed each other … badly.

You beat him, of course. The black Calvin Klein lettering on the banding greets you first as the front opening flaps of his pants fall to the side. He whimpers as you run your hand over his bulge. 

“Can I …” Your sentence trails off as you kiss along his exposed neck.

He nods unsure of what you exactly want, but the godforsaken dress pants drop and pool at his ankles without a second thought. You kiss your way down his torso, paying extra attention to his chest. With a determined look, you stick your tongue out on his hard nipple for a tentative lick to glean at his response.

Oh, it’s good — so, so, so good. 

He shivers, hand hitting your claw clip as it flies to the back of your neck to hold you in place. Your teeth grazes over the hardened bud, a sliver of pained pleasure courses through as you bite down with a gentle force. He hisses, mouth dropping open to bite back his moans. You remedy the pain with your tongue, silently apologizing without actually feeling sorry. 

You slither lower on all fours as you take his hard cock out of its confinements. Round eyes look up at him for permission to proceed. 

There’s a slight hesitance in your actions as the last time you wanted to give him a blowjob, he made it a goal to stay protected for both your sakes. He’s always for safe sex, but he knows he’s clean and wants to feel your bare lips around him as long as you’ll allow it. You seem to share the same sentiment as you tilt your head up, eyes burning with want and ownership of his bare skin.

Still, you ask, “Do we need a condom for this?” The thin straps of your pretty evening gown cascades loosely on your shoulders.

“No, but only if you want …” Jungkook pants, a harsh exhale when you give him a gentle squeeze. The small, pleased sound you make, paired with another harder tug confirms your answer.

He releases your hair from the clip, watching it cascade down your shoulders. Bunching your hair in a messy ponytail, he uses it as an anchor as you tug on his shaft. 

“Spit on it.” He pleads, groaning when you comply. Your saliva lands on the tip, dripping over the small bead of precum on his slit. So messy how your thumb glides over his slit, mixing the fluids together. Even messier when you place a kiss on his tip, mixed fluids tainting your pretty lips. His stomach contracts, the dips and ridges of his abs are even more defined as a result.

“Missed this with you, Pix.” He melts. It’s even better than how he imagined over the course of time spent with and without you. 

“I missed you, too.” You reply, tongue darting out and wetting your lips before moving in for a small lick over the head of his cock. “I wanna take care of you.” You mumble as you press messy kisses on the underside of his cock. “Is that okay?”

His stomach warms at your sentiment, knowing it’ll never be one-sided as he’ll always do the same for you. He nods, giving you the go ahead to do as you like. The grip on your hair increases and the hand cupped underneath your chin props you upright to take him fully.

He wonders how a place like heaven could ever beat this feeling with you.

Your eyes never stray from his, watching him through your lashes and how he struggles to maintain eye contact with you. It’s only when his cock begins hitting the back of your throat, your lids flutter shut. You gag from the action, pushing past the discomfort each time to hear more of his grunts and praises. Your skin prickles each time his thumb runs across your skin to soothe your aching jaw. 

“Fuck, Pix, if we keep going like — god,” he hisses, “I’m not gonna last long.” He warns.

“Mmhp,” You try to answer even with your mouth fully stuffed. He pulls back and you whine, robbed at the opportunity of having him release all over your tongue.

“Please,” you breathe, hoarse and rough, “wanna taste you.”

Your mouth falls open again. Instead of sliding in again, Jungkook jerks over his length, fast as he needs with the visual of you on your knees so readily to be ruined.

“Baby–I, I’m gonna cum. Fuck,” He tilts his head up to the ceiling.

And when he finally cums, he does so with your name and a string of praises. The first rope of cum lands on the corner of your mouth. Without another thought, you enclose your lips around his tip. His strangled noises spurs you on in your mission to suck and milk him dry.

When he finally slips out of your mouth, the hand underneath your chin guides you up and your knees walk you close to his standing body again. You still haven’t swallowed, unsure what you want to do with the fluid resting on your tongue.

Reading your expression clearly, Jungkook bites down a smile. “You don’t have to swallow, P.” He chuckles, placing a quick peck to your tightly shut mouth, “Want me to get the waste bin?”

He runs his thumb on the corner of your mouth, catching the stray droplet before wrapping his lips around his digit. Honestly, he doesn’t care for the taste and gets your hesitancy, but you hold his gaze and shake your head no, pressing your lips to his. He groans and opens his mouth for you to slip your cum-coated tongue in.

You whimper at his large hands running up and down your backside, ultimately landing on the bottom of your swelled ass. Absolute sin and filth personified when you both exchange and swallow your mixed fluids. 

Your body aches differently for Jungkook these days. Can’t believe he’s in front of you now in your home, surrounded by everything you love.

And you love him.

“I love you.” He says, as though all your internal thoughts and feelings are tethered to him. It’s no secret, and unworthy of hiding. 

You kiss him again, pulling him down with you. He giggles and shrugs off the rest of his clothing as he hovers over you with starry eyes.

Cupping his jaw, you reply, “I love you. Want this with you.”

The relationship. The love. The experience.

His heart — it’s all yours.

The long dimples appear again, disappearing from view once he lowers his head to kiss your neck all while fumbling on the thin straps of your dress and tugging it to expose your bare breasts.

He's said this before and thinks there’s no greater truth than this, “You’re perfect.” Leaning down, he places a wet kiss on your sternum, mouthing, “so beautiful.”

You keen into his touch, back arching when he takes one nipple in his mouth. He does this for a few minutes, teasing your nipples and rotating between them with equal amounts of love and attention.

Again, the ache runs through your entire body, gathering right at your core when his teeth bites down on your sensitive nipple. Your hand detaches from his hair and makes its descent down to his crotch.

He’s only half-hard, still sensitive from his first orgasm. 

Sensing your impatience, he chuckles against your skin. “Gimme some time, P.” Eyes closing as you squeeze around his length again.

You pout, but nod nonetheless, letting go of his shaft because the last thing you want is to do the opposite of keeping him hard.

“But,” he muses, “you could help me.”

And this is how you end up as equally naked as Jungkook on your bed. You’re supported by your numerous pillows as you lay there, watching his eyes jump between your face and closed legs.

His hands are on your knees, soft as he pries them apart to reveal your soaked core. 

You instinctively move to cover your mound, suddenly feeling shy even though Jungkook has seen you bare from below multiple times. His bigger hand covers yours, pressing against it just enough for you to feel the relief it brings. 

“‘S just me, pretty.” He says, eyes never leaving yours. His words and stare makes you sling your free arm over your eyes, blocking the visual of him: kiss-swollen lips, locks no longer in its styled state, red flush on his chest — a stark difference from the dark, solid ink on one of his arms … you can’t bear to look at him in this state. 

Can’t bear him looking at you either.

“I know,” you reply, “I’m just … embarrassed.”

You can’t see him, but you’re sure he’s giving you one of those smiles. One that asks ‘What for? You’re amazing.’

You think about the sheer amount of people who have watched Jungkook — yourself included — and wonder how he isn’t shy. And because of that, you feel yourself growing braver at the thought of giving Jungkook something to watch and appreciate.

Still, you keep your forearm over your eyes, but the other hand covering your pussy nudges Jungkook’s warm hand away. You move up a little. All practiced precision in how your middle finger dips between your slit, rubbing slow circles on your swollen clit.

“Oh, fuck.” He lets out a breathy laugh. Your senses are heightened in this self-visually impaired state; his swallow is heard in the distance.

You think about whether he’s just looking at your hand on your pussy or if he’s watching your covered face — if his eyelids are hooded … if the visual of you playing with yourself is ‘helping’ him. Perhaps it’s these thoughts that also make you grow wetter in between your legs, the wet sounds reach your ears through your staggered breaths.

You feel his lips press on the top of your knee, his breathing also coming out haggard.

“Is this enough?” You whimper, wanting him to take rein of your pleasure.

“A little longer, please?” He begs. “For me?”

He moans at your compliance, noting the speed change in your fingers. The bed shifts too, he nears your body again and you feel his warm breath fanning over your fingers. Suddenly, a dribble of wetness slides on top of your digits and trickles down to the entrance of your pussy, mixing with the rest of your arousal.

The feeling has you removing your arm, finally looking down where he’s at in between your legs. A small playful smile on his lips as he sits back up in his kneeled position. He's more than ready — just wants to see more of you. 

You take note of his hard cock in his hand, a slow stroke up before he thumbs at the slit like he likes to. A twinge of pleasure hits your core again and you’re forced to rub harder circles to relieve yourself of the heavy ache building up at the sight. He laughs again, a mixture of disbelief and horniness as the pace on his cock speeds up too.

“So much better seeing this in person.” His eyes involuntarily shut as he tilts his head to the side.

Huh?

The movement of your hand pauses and so does he with widened eyes. He clears his throat, trying to find the words before you ask, “W-what’s that supposed to mean?”

A sheepish smile stretches across his face and instead of explaining right away, he leans over your body now. Nose against yours, he places a tiny kiss on the corner of your mouth.

“Promise you won’t get mad?” He asks, his hand moves yours away from your pussy and slots his cock in between your soaked folds. Meant as a distraction or to ease your worries for his next words, he finds himself breathing heavier at the feel of your bare cunt with his shaft. The head of his cock slips over with ease onto your swollen clit, twitching as he moves his cock side to side now.

“I–fuck–Pix, you’re so wet.” He drops his head to your neck.

You nod, almost distracted as well, but you bring his head back to your eye level. He swallows nervously, wrist slowing the movement with his cock. Jungkook should’ve rephrased his question to ‘promise you won’t get embarrassed,’ because shortly after he slyly recounts the details of Your Video™ popping up in your living room, you lay there surrounded in the flames of humiliation.

“So embarrassing.” You mumble, unable to meet his eyes. 

Jungkook giggles, kissing your cheek, “Hey, I liked it a lot.”

You turn your head, nose touching his now, “Did you?”

“Uh-huh, more than you’ll ever know.” His hips shift, resuming the grind on your cunt again. “But I like this more.”

His movements get you worked up again, forgetting about your mortification just moments ago. You whine, whimper, and mew into his shoulder; the ache comes and goes — reminding you need more than just this.

“Jungkook,” You gasp at the taps of his cock against your folds.

“Hm?” Eyes hooded, he watches you through his lashes, mouth dropped open when your hands run down his torso.

“Need you.” You plead, hip angled up so you can press harder against him.

“I know, I know, pretty. Just–” He shuts his eyes, “I gotta get you nice and ready for me.”

He senses your hesitancy again and he stops to stare down at you.

“I-I’ve had sex already,” You say, teeth worrying on the bottom lip and debating if you should say your next words. “With, um, Mingyu. So, we don’t have to prep.” While both unnecessary to tell him and unreasonable to feel this way, guilt courses through your body at the confession.

“Doesn’t matter to me if you’ve had sex.” Jungkook says, “I always want you to feel good and comfortable.” He kisses you, soft just like the fingers he trails at your entrance gathering your arousal.

You swallow, “Are you upset it happened with someone else?”

He blinks, head tilting in confusion, “Not something for me to get upset over, P.” Studying your face, his brows eventually relax as he asks you, “Are you upset?”

You shrug, looking to the side. “It was … whatever.” That’s all you’re willing to say about the experience and you’re sure Jungkook doesn’t want to hear about another man while he’s just about to get intimate with you. At this point, maybe he’d opt out to stopping in general, but he sighs a small hey to gain your attention.

“The experience will always be yours.” He kisses your forehead. “Nobody can take anything from you.”

You nod, eyes closing at the feel of his finger at your entrance. He keeps his lips at your forehead, feeling it furrow as he sinks one finger into your pussy. It’s a slow and leisure pump, easy to have you forgetting about the prior conversation and putting the focus back on him. Penetration has never been your thing; technically, it’s still not. But there’s some relief as Jungkook curls and massages his finger against your walls, stretching you out as he intended to. He refuses to take his eyes off yours, especially when he decides to add in another finger.

“That’s it, baby. Taking it so well.” He praises, voice cracking at the end of the sentence.

“You make me feel so good.” You sigh, eyes closing as he speeds his fingers inside you. “Always feel so safe with you.”

He curses, mentally prepared to hear your choked whine when he removes his fingers from your sopping hole. He says your name sternly, followed by a thick swallow. You hum in response, hips mindlessly chasing after any part of his body for friction. He slots his hard shaft against your wet folds again, giving you both some form of pleasure in the interim. He looks down, moaning at the sight of his cock coated with your arousal.

“Need you inside me.” Your hands hold his waist in place to stop him from grinding against your clit, head of his cock positioned at your entrance. You bubble with anticipation, wondering how he’d feel inside you.

And as much as he’d like nothing more than to finally sink inside, a small part of his lovesick brain still holds some form of logic and manages to utter, “Birth control?”

You blink, a slight falter in your response as you shake your head shamefully. There wasn’t a medical necessity for you to be on birth control before and you didn’t think far enough when it came to intimacy with Jungkook.

He chuckles, “That’s okay, P. I just wanted to check.” He hops off the bed and fishes for his wallet. Another ten seconds go before he drops his wallet onto the ground with a triumphed smile and brings up the small squared package between his fingers. The smile drops a little at the sight of your tiny pout.

Beating him to his question, you remark, “I wanted to feel you …” 

He exhales hard through his nose. Keeping the condom in between his fingers, he makes his way back to you on your bed. You both seem to fall back into position again. 

“Not sure if either of us are ready for kids, P.” The thought of having kids is scary, but weirdly … he finds the fear lessening at the thought of it with you. Seen how you reacted and smiled around children — he wonders if his future kids would have your smile. Either way, too early for these thoughts.

“Okay, okay,” You let his words simmer a little and he suddenly wants to do away with the little package in his hands when you look up at him. “You’re right.” 

He’s right, knows he is when you blink away those irrational thoughts. The same thoughts get pushed to the side when the foil packaging tears and a sweet scent fills your nostrils. This time, hints of rich chocolate and confectioned goodness. You relax back onto your mattress, watching as he positions himself between your legs.

“Do you only have flavored condoms?” You ask, impish smile lifting the awkward conversation from before.

He grins, “Someone gifted a five hundred flavored pack for my birthday last year.” Hint: it was Hoseok. “So … we’re stuck with this for now. Do you hate it? I could stop using them–”

You shake your head and his eyes soften at your answer. There’s relief in knowing it’ll always remain sweet between you and Jungkook. 

“I wanna feel you, too.” He admits as he lines himself at your entrance. He doesn’t push in just yet, watching how your hole clenches around nothing … for now. “We’ll figure something out.”

The defaulted option is to simply have you go on birth control, but that’s something to discuss and for you to decide. If need be, he isn’t too opposed to a vasectomy. You both have all the time in the world to discuss.

“Okay,” you stutter as he begins pushing the head of his covered cock in. That’s all he does for now, opting to drop onto his forearms to kiss you, praise you — love on you. You do little to hide the sting, face contorting before you let out a couple shallow breaths.

“Too much?” He asks, hips stalling and fingers brushing away your hair.

You shake your head, “Hurts a little, but,” you lift your hips a little, legs parting to accommodate Jungkook's body. “Wanna keep going.”

He doesn’t move. 

Tattooed arm dropped in between your bodies, he rubs practiced circles on your clit. You sigh in content, wiggling your hips to push more of him into you. Eyes fluttering shut, similar to how your pussy flutters and gushes around his length after every little push inside as a reward for taking more of him. He shudders and grunts deeply, mentally counting backwards from a hundred to keep himself distracted by how snug your walls feel around him.

You moan, soft and saccharine at the stretch of his full length inside you.

“You feel so good.” He husks into the shell of your ear. “Feel that, Pix?”

“Yeah …” You keen, unable to verbalize a proper response.

“You gotta tell me how you feel, ‘kay?” He lifts his head up and connects his forehead on yours, but his heavy eyes observe how your lower halves connect.

“M-mhm,” You reply, eyes shutting at the fullness below. “Can we stay like this for a bit? I-It’s … it’s a lot.”

He nods. A part of him is thankful for this pause, allowing his mind to think of other things in the meantime so this experience can be better for you. The other part is worried you’re uncomfortable. He wants to make this good for you — wants you to feel good, so it doesn’t matter how long he needs to stay still inside you. Sex could end right now and he’d be okay with it.

“Kiss me, please?” Your request comes out small, but he feels the harsh drumming of your heart against his chest. Your hands are bunched up on his nape, not relaxed how they usually are when you’re with him. 

What else could he do but comply with your wishes?

Kissing’s good — the belief he’ll die on a hill for. Kissing’s even better with you; he loves your lips, the way you lick the seam of his lips, how you sound when you’re being kissed as you deserve. Could stay like this forever with you. The heavy making out goes on for another two minutes, until he unconsciously bucks his hips which forces you to detach from his lips in a loud gasp.

He immediately searches for your face, eyes swelling with concern. “Sorry, I–”

You shake your head, thighs clamping around to hold him still before he pulls out. “‘s okay,” you reassure, “That felt good. Just, go slow.”

The pace he sets out is controlled — slow, as requested. And god, is it good. Your bed creaks with every movement, but the sounds are overshadowed by your shared breathy moans and praises only heard between each other. His fingers move swiftly over your pussy, so love drunk with your body, he feels his balls tightening — a sign of his forthcoming orgasm.

Call it selfish or greedy, he doesn’t want it to end, pulling out at the last second to delay his orgasm. Typically so well-versed in your body cues of an impending orgasm, his own dilemma clouded his judgment when you let out an involuntary frustrated cry at the loss of contact. 

Your chest stutters, stomach clenching from your heavy breaths. And although you should question why he did that, you can’t think when he guides his cock into your warm cunt once more.

“You were gonna make me cum again, pretty.” He lets out a breathy laugh, hips resuming its pace.

You whine, “Was gonna cum, too.” You look down where he fucks his thick length into you. He makes up for the accidental edging by rocking his hips faster into you, fingers once again finding home on your clit forces a high pitched squeal from your kiss-swollen lips.

“Yeah? I’m sorry.” He truly is. Your pleasure’s always his top priority — you’re his priority. 

“You deserve to cum.” His fingers flatten on your mound, and the wet squelching sounds increase with the fastened movements. “Give it to me, pretty.”

So sensitive and lost in the pleasure, you gasp and arch your body into his, eyes slamming shut at the onset waves of pleasure building below. 

“Jung–” Couldn’t finish your sentence before you’re squeezing tightly around him. He doesn’t stop the movement of his fingers, but he stills himself in you, giving you a couple hard pumps while you ride out your sudden orgasm.

He doesn’t think he ever wants to forget this feeling. 

Finally letting off your clit and pushing himself up again, Jungkook marvels at the thin sheen of sweat in between your chest and the white ring of cum coated at the base of his cock where the condom doesn’t fully reach.

“Please, need you to cum inside me.” You beg.

He can’t, not with the condom on, but the sentiment makes him act like he doesn’t have one on. Parting your thighs wider, he thrusts in slowly, mindful of your oversensitivity. The ring of cum builds and thickens at the base, transferring some of your arousal over his pubic bone in a messy haze. Alas, the visual combination of your chest moving in tandem with his thrusts, your scrunched brows, and hand on his stomach was enough for him to release once more. 

Though, the final blow came from your soft declarations of love while you tell him how good he makes you feel.

“Baby,” He manages, hands dropping your thighs, his front also comes down onto your chest as he lazily pumps inside of you with his cum-filled condom. The pleasure continues in the form of your fingers raking up and down his back, drawing shapes and patterns of love.

You know things will always remain sweet between you and Jungkook — like the giggles, doting questions, and soothing hands as he brings you to the shower. It’s not the hot water you feel on your skin, but Jungkook’s tender kisses and embrace forever etched on your body.

“P, sit still, won’t you?” Jungkook stands behind the tripod, angling the camera.

“You ever consider modeling? You’re a natural.” You say as you sift through the album on the tablet. You’re doing everything to avoid Jungkook’s latest assignment in class. Sure, it’ll be a good headshot update for your business card and website, but you weren’t keen on having your picture taken. It was always better behind the camera.

He rolls his eyes, gentle smile on his lips as he walks over. “Flattery won’t get you out of helping me. You promised you’d be my model for this semester.”

“Camera shy.” You pout. “You know that.”

“I know.” Jungkook chuckles. “I’ll teach you.” Leaning down, he places a soft kiss on your lips.

The thing with teaching is that he inadvertently learns as well. Knows it’s also the same for you too. Skills refined, new ideologies unlocked, and discoveries waiting to be explored. He no longer follows a script anymore — no longer feels like he’s boxed in … life is forever limitless as long as he makes it to be.

A shutter goes off from behind capturing the two of you in the frame.

fin.

ending a/n: beta’d by @takeitawaykenny who sat thru my ridiculousness but also entertained it. prologue wouldn’t have existed without her, yall … she rly was brain behind rkivedshots' beginnings on god love u bookie ;__; and @lovieku who’s been nothing but supportive and rode thru my (many) moments of doubt. she was the angel i needed on my shoulder during the makings of my first series and helped shape so much of itf!! couldn't have done this without your guys unwavering love and support!! oceans of gratitude to my two champions 😭🫂

🧚🏻‍♀️࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

alas, thank YOU all for joining me on this fun ride. i hope you guys got something out of this whether it be a chuckle, life lesson, or soiled panties, i’m lucky yall stuck with me. to my lovelies who have been here since the beginning and cuties we picked up along the way: i appreciate your trust, patience, and overall enthusiasm for this series — you’re my dream!! i told yall i’d guide us to my desired ending with so much love and care. ain’t no way this couple wasn’t gonna be end game … i just had to make the journey difficult. oop. anyway call me #aftercarequeen 💅

with that said … epilogue? send your thanks to lovieku for convincing me bahaha it won’t come any time soon cuz i have other things i wanna work on, but do not fear … i have something planned!

in the meantime, feel free to send in your reaccs/thoughts for our lovely itf!couple. i’m here for ya just as you’ve been here with me xoxo ♡

Despite sharing a wall with the exam room, you leave the door to the break room ajar to better catch any important sounds, and then you set the first of your twenty-minute alarms. The couch you stretch out on has to be one of your all-time favorites; fortunate when you and your colleagues often need quick rest. Therefore, it's not long after you've propped your head on your pillow and pulled your blue blanket over your body that you drift off. Unsurprisingly, you dream of those dark eyes.

"So, nothing else that I should know?"

"No," you say, muffling a yawn with the back of your hand as Yoongi watches. "Good vitals, should start waking up soon. I haven't taken him for a potty break yet, so he might need to go soon. That's it. I've updated the chart."

"Mhm. Okay," Yoongi says. He hasn't even bothered with scrubs, showing up in gray sweatpants and a black hoodie, pushing the most minimalist-looking glasses you've ever seen higher on his nose.

"Okay. See you."

With a parting smile, you turn. But before you can head to the locker room to get changed, a call of your name has you pausing, looking back to see what else Yoongi wants.

"Maybe I should walk you to your car?"

"It's twenty meters from the entrance," you point out.

"I know. Still."

Your slight smile grows warmer. "I appreciate it, but I'll be fine."

He gives you a short nod. "Be careful."

You return the gesture.

Only a few months ago, you'd often end your day shift with a thirty-minute walk home. Headphones at the bottom of your bag, it would be just you and your thoughts. Borderline insane in this day and age, sure, but you find that you need to process your work before you fall asleep or you won't fall asleep. Especially if the day blessed you with delightful moments such as putting someone's best friend to sleep.

These days, however, you always take the car. Especially to and from night shifts. The few minutes behind the wheel—even if spent in silence—aren't nearly enough to decompress from a whole workday, but you try.

The air is cold as you step outside the clinic, but the shiver that runs down your spine isn't a result of the temperature. Tonight, walking out of the clinic and locking the door behind you feels more like stepping out on stage, lights already on and harshly focused on you. You try to dismiss it, but you can't shake the eerie feeling of being watched. Inconspicuously, you scan the quiet area as you quickly head toward your car, but there's no one around. Either way, you hurry, locking the doors around you the moment you get behind the wheel and driving off as soon as you can.

The short drive through the sleepy town is fortunately uneventful, and you feel the exhaustion creep up on you too; it takes you three tries to unlock your apartment door. But then you remember something, sleepiness momentarily washed away.

Fishing the phone from your pocket, you begin a new text, but then you pause, thumb hovering over the digital keyboard. Was he really serious about wanting you to message him in the middle of the night like this?

Fuck it. You're too tired to overthink it: not the concept of sending a text nor the words themselves.

You: I'm home safe now :)

Pressing send, you place your phone on the bathroom sink as you reach for the face wash, beginning the process of cleansing your skin from makeup and whatever other fun things cling to it from an entire day of handling sick animals. You'll shower and change the sheets tomorrow.

Something between a minute and two passes before your phone vibrates, and you lean your dripping face over the screen to read the notification.

Jeon Jeongguk: 😀👍🏼

Staring at the odd reply until the screen goes dark again, you're not sure what you expected. A cryptic message of some kind? Maybe even something… flirty considering his last words and the way he held your hand and twirled you back inside the clinic?

You grab a towel, dabbing your face dry, and then your lips pull into a dumb smile. It's kinda cute, though.

"Hey, slept well?" Nayeon grins when you step inside the main exam room at ten p.m. the following night. You slept until three and then spent the next few hours cleaning your apartment and doing a well-needed load of laundry before you drove out to the clinic.

"Yeah, was super tired. Any plans for the night?"

Leaning back in the chair, Nayeon stretches her arms high over her head, her blue scrub shirt lifting slightly at the waist. "If I do. Carbs and TV, baby. I'm having the worst noodle cravings. Funny how I never eat noodles except when I'm like… day four into my period."

You laugh. "Yeah, I've never heard anyone period-crave noodles. I was just craving chocolate or something super salty."

"Hm. You know, I'm thinking about getting a new IUD but the last insertion was…" she trails of, grimacing. "Yours was alright?"

You shake your head, mirroring her pained expression. "Passed out."

"Fuck. Honestly, the people that claim it's not painful, I think they're just bullshitting."

"Definitely. I dread getting mine out, but it's reaching the end of its life," you answer, turning your focus to the patient before the painful memories have you hurling. "Anyway, anything I need to know?"

Nayeon rises from her seat and comes to stand beside you, her eyes following yours and landing on one of the largest dogs the clinic's probably ever seen, currently snoring in the lowest of the wall-built kennels. It's a male Broholmer; a danish mastiff type of dog with short brown fur.

"No, not really. We puked him, and I explained that the amount of chocolate isn't really dangerous for this type of dog. More specifically, this size of dog and the type of chocolate."

"Milk?"

"Yeah. Like 50 grams. Well, they weren't sure, but most likely."

You nod. "Not enough theobromine either way."

"Yeah, but they wanted us to keep him overnight regardless. He peed like… an hour ago."

"Alright. Well, I'm here to relieve you of your duty, so you're free to go."

"Thanks!" she claps her hands once before letting her quick feet take her in the direction of the locker room. "Tell Yoongi that I ate his chips."

Your eyes widen. "Wait! No, Nayeon! Oh my God."

Her laughter echoes down the hall, and you sigh. You love the woman, but she has a talent for putting you in mildly inconvenient situations. "Send a text when you're home, at least!" you call after her.

"Of course!"

Shaking your head, you sink down onto the black swivel chair she just occupied, pulling up your phone to scroll all of your social media apps. The uneventful shifts are the longest, and while you honestly wish a certain mythical creature would stop by, you haven't planned anything. You'd text him, but God, you need to preserve at least a little bit of what dignity remains, right?

However, twenty minutes into a Youtube video—an hour and a half after Nayeon left—a notification drops from the top of your screen.

Jeon Jeongguk: Knock knock

It's almost scary how your heart skips a beat and you feel your mood lift beyond what's probably good for you. Standing, you push your phone into your scrub pocket as you leave the exam room and head toward the dimly lit entrance.

Despite your previous dignity-related concern, not even embarrassment can stop your face from lighting up when you spot him outside the door. You hadn't noticed, but it looks like it's raining? Quite a bit at that.

Unlocking the door, you can't help but smile as you meet his dark eyes through the glass.

You push the heavy door open, greeting him through the first sliver. "Hi."

"Hey," he smiles confidently. "I'm here for my daily dose of attention."

You gasp, pulling the door shut before Jeongguk's even made the slightest of efforts at entering.

Though he could very well grab the door and pull it open by force, he doesn't. He just stands there, in the rain, looking down at you through the glass with a curious smile and a tilt of his head. As if patiently wondering when—or even if—you're gonna let him in.

It's such a dangerous mix; his very, very slight teasing, blended thoroughly with how gentle he is. Of course, you only take one deep breath, and then you're opening the door again.

"Don't be mean," you warn as you let him through. It doesn't help that he's wearing a black leather jacket and dark jeans, and there's a few drops of water rolling down the leather and others threatening to fall from his hair.

"Mean?"

"Yeah, teasing me for being interested in you."

He chuckles, running his hand through that dark, slightly wet hair. "Wasn't my intention. I was merely referring to myself as… what do you youngins call it these days? An attention… whore, is it?"

"Okay, grandpa."

"See, now that's mean."

You laugh, cheeks still a bit warm but the unintentional offense already forgotten.

Jeongguk's heavy boots thud against the linoleum floor as he follows you past the dark reception and back into the main exam room, reclaiming his spot on the exam table. But as he starts to remove his jacket—and you see how much rain he's actually collected—you back up toward the doorway.

"I'll be back in a second."

With a nod of his, you head toward the locker room, quickly grabbing one of two towels folded on the top shelf of your locker.

Jeongguk is waiting patiently when you return. But as you do, rounding the corner to enter the room, for a brief second, it looks like he's… scenting the air. Very subtly and reminding you of a dog; just a slightly lifted head, short inhales, and an analyzing but unfocused gaze.

It hits you that you haven't asked him about his sense of smell, and he might very well be smelling… Nayeon? God, you've never been so relieved not to have a period. It's not something you should be embarrassed about, but your cheeks heat a little either way; you wouldn't want anyone to know your cycle without your consent. You'll definitely ask about his sense of smell. …Another time.

"The clinic towels—although washed—always seem to have just a bit of fur stuck to them. This is mine," you say, throwing the towel at him and watching him catch it effortlessly. "Also clean, of course," you're quick to add.

He doesn't comment on it, just bows his head in casual gratitude, and begins to dab his hair dry. Already forgetting about him potentially smelling period blood, you watch him, particularly mesmerized by his thick, bulging bicep, generously exposed by the black t-shirt he wears. At least the rain didn't soak him to the bone.

"Who's that?" he asks, gesturing toward the massive, brown dog.

"Mo. He ate some chocolate and is staying the night for observation."

"Mo?" Jeongguk questions, brows furrowing slightly.

Having just woken up, Mo looks at you and Jeongguk before he drops his head back down and lets out a sigh so big his jowls bubble in the wind.

"Short for 'Thermostat.' Apparently, he's a splendid bed-warmer. He'll be fine."

"So… fluids?" you start—hand on the back of the swivel chair—before Jeongguk can comment on your patient's unusual name, unable to contain your curiosity any longer. "You can't possibly mean that you don't have to consume fluids at all? You mean besides the blood, right?" you ask, eyes so focused on him, you almost miss the chair when you go to sit down.

He's grinning happily, surely amused by your almost-accident. You scratch the back of your neck, feeling the heat rise once again.

"No, I do mean that I don't really need to consume them. Technically, sure, certain circumstances could force me to drink even water, but normally, no."

You feel the confusion grow, and you blink rapidly, trying desperately to understand. "Huh?"

What on earth does that mean? Normally…. no? But… other times?

What?

"Okay, so we need a certain amount of fluids in our bodies, right? For our own blood and venom and whatnot."

You nod, showing that you're following along, at least so far. It would definitely be easier if his thick arms weren't on display, big hands gripping the edge of the table.

"But normally, we don't lose fluids," he continues. "We're really, really efficient at extracting all the nutrients, so it doesn't really leave any waste that needs to be flushed out. We don't really sweat either, as overheating isn't usually a problem for us. So, we don't lose a lot of fluids. In general."

Subconsciously, you lean in. "What's the exception?"

"Just because we don't usually sweat doesn't mean we can't. My body is a lot less heat sensitive than yours. I'm fine until around 44-45 degrees Celsius, after which I start to slow down."

"As in your metabolism stalls? To prevent overheating?"

He nods, and when a strand of his black, almost entirely dry hair falls into his face, he runs one veiny hand through it. "Yeah. Basically all of me slows down. I get a little sluggish, you know, my body tells me to take it easy. And then I start to sweat; It's a bit like a last resort."

"So you can die from overheating?"

"Yeah, but it's very uncommon."

You pat your pockets, realizing that you should be taking notes. "But sweating means you lose fluid."

"Right. We can lose more than a human can without it being close to severe, but if we sweat profusely, or… get injured and lose a lot of blood, we do need to replenish it. The best way is through consuming blood."

"If you don't have access to any, though?"

"It depends on how much we need. A bit, we can pull from our venom, saliva, skin… all that. If it's bad, and there's no blood, even water will do. Or anything liquid, really."

The letters you rush to put down on paper are messy to say the least, and you hide your gaze in them as you formulate your next question. "Is there a… rage element to it? Getting fluids no matter what?"

He licks his lips, looking a little… unwilling to share when you finally look up again. "I mean… it can be. But it's rare. In this day and age especially. Water or something else is practically always available; having to feed from a human just to get fluids is uncommon."

You nod. "And when you feed, you replenish whatever you might need. The rest, you pee out?"

"Exactly. So normally, there's nothing to replenish, and just… all water is peed out."

"And that means you could also consume powdered blood," you conclude, consumed by just how amazing that is. "For a long time, just powder. No liquids at all. Everything is just circulated."

"Yeah."

"That is so interesting," you speak without really thinking, pen hot against the paper.

"Thank you."

You think even your ears heat up this time. "I gotta stop," you mumble, glancing at him.

Jeongguk chuckles, leaning back on his arms. "Don't stop, please. I never get to feel special like this."

God. For a quick moment, you let yourself drink in the vision of his thick forearms, inner sides exposed and veins out for you to admire, thinking to yourself that you never in a million years would've imagined a vampire both exist and somehow be this… masculine, intimidating, and endearing.

But also…. he never gets to feel special? As if this isn't the most head-turning man you've ever seen? The inhabitants of your boring little town all practically getting whiplash as they turn to get a second look at him? You have absolutely no doubt that the effect is the same regardless of city size.

You meet his eyes, hoping he doesn't notice just how much you like to simply… look at him. "You also said something about… super strength, was it?"

"Mhm."

"So… how strong are you?"

Humming, he looks around the room, clearly in search of something. And so do you, following his gaze curiously.

"Don't really know how to show you, doesn't seem to be anything heavy in here."

You guess he's right. While you'd struggle immensely to lift the table he's perched on, you'd imagine it's not actually that heavy. The heaviest thing inside the room that isn't bolted to the floor or wall is probably you or Mo, and you're not about to ask him to toss either of you around. While you're sure the huge ultrasound machine sits unused in the next room over, a crack in that would lead to your demise.

What your eyes instead land on is a recently opened bag of dog food, slumped against the wall. 10kg / 22lbs is printed toward the bottom. You consider it, but then you look away.

"You think that's too heavy for me?"

Your eyes shift back to his inquiring ones, and you smile. "No, even I can carry that. But it's too difficult for the… test I'd like to do."

"Huh? Why would it be too difficult?"

"'Cause—" you start, but instead of explaining it to him, you decide to just let him try. It might still provide a glimpse into his physical capabilities.

"Look," you say, approaching the bag. Using both hands, you grab it at the top, swinging it forward barely above the floor as you return to him. You could hoist it into your arms, but for such a short distance, you don't bother. "I'd like you to do an isometric hold, which is already extremely difficult with something this heavy. But this bag doesn't even have any handles or anything."

The kibble settles when you lower the bag down to the floor. Jeongguk stands from the table, listening to your explanation and watching you talk with your hands.

"So you can try grabbing it at the top here and then lift it, keeping your arm straight and parallel to the floor, but it's not really a failure if you can't. You'd have to have an extreme grip strength to do it, and that's not even what the test is supposed to—"

Like it's an apple in a plastic bag, Jeongguk grabs the top of the bag you just let go off and lifts, the kibble inside shifting audibly.

"—test… Uh… Humans… aren't built to do that," you mumble, watching with wide eyes. The fact that he can even lift it off the floor with one hand is a feat in your book, and you rush to gather your thoughts.

"…Especially not for a long time, and that is a very heavy weight to attempt it with. No matter how strong, a human man's arm will start to tremble pretty soon, like way before a minute—I think—and he'll have to drop it."

"A minute?" Jeongguk asks in mild disbelief, something you find almost unreasonably attractive.

"Yeah. For a lot lighter weights. Something like a few-kilo dumbbell. Or at least I think so; humans aren't my area of expertise. But still, believe it or not, we're better at it than say, apes and gorillas, who in general are a lot stronger."

"Why is that?" he asks, unbothered, like he's not currently accomplishing a feat deserving of an Olympic medal.

You're definitely blaming biology because the showcased strength—so much worse when you're up close and can see his body working—undoubtedly has you feeling things. Either his body heat is warming you, or it's that flexed strength and those dark eyes, watching you intently.

"Humans have longer—slower, I guess—muscle fibers that make us good at endurance strength. Apes and gorillas have shorter, faster muscle fibers. They're a lot more explosive, which generally generates more 'pure' strength. But those faster fibers also burn out quicker."

"Hmm. Interesting."

You nod, glancing back at the clock on the wall. 50 seconds. Wow.

"Can I?" you ask, meeting his eyes while reaching for his wrist.

Already watching your face, Jeongguk nods. But just as you take an additional step closer, you think you hear him inhale a breath slightly stronger than before. Not like he suddenly needed more oxygen but more like… as if he was smelling the air again.

Being so close, you don't feel embarrassed. If he has a good enough sense of smell to know that someone—who was in the room more than an hour earlier—was on their period, he should for sure be able to tell that it isn't you.

But if it had been you? For a brief second, you consider what bleeding around him could lead to. Period blood is much more than just pure blood, but still… blood is blood, right? What did he say last time? When you revealed that you were still a bit nervous around him and his urges?

“I feel it. I can always smell a human this close. But… I mean, do you want to eat everything you pass at the grocery store? Or just the fresh store-grilled chicken?”

“Depends?”

“On?”

“If I’m the bruised apple or the fresh store-grilled chicken?” you answer, smiling just a tad nervously.

“Well,” he says, and you don’t miss how he very briefly looks you up and down. “You smell very nice, but you wouldn’t be the grilled chicken unless I was hungry and you were actively bleeding in front of me.”

Surely, he must come across menstruating human women all the time? But what if being alone with one happens to be the one irresistible temptation? What would've happened if Nayeon was still around when he arrived? Or… well… if it had been you?

Pushing those thoughts away, you press your fingers softly to his wrist, feeling for the radial pulse. It's slow, and while you didn't expect it to go ham from exhaustion considering Jeongguk's unaffected face and the remarkable lack of tremors, it amazes you.

With your eyes on the clock, you count the beats of his pulse while putting your other hand gently on his forearm. Doing your best not to affect his performance—not that he needs it—you softly run that other hand up his warm, naked arm.

There's no extra heat generated from what you can tell, but you definitely feel how his muscles are working. All the way from his thick forearm to his honestly huge, rock-hard bicep and then the impressive deltoid in the shoulder; they're all taut and firm under your light touch.

You feel the prominent veins spanning his arm, curious to see if there's an added palpable pressure anywhere, but there's not. Nothing that snitches on his muscles' added oxygen requirements or his blood supply straining to provide it. His skin isn't flushed red with effort, either.

"42 beats per minute," you conclude, lowering your hands and taking a small step back.

"What does that tell you?" he asks, peering down at you curiously.

"That you're insane?" you chuckle. "Your resting heart rate last time was 36 beats per minute, so—disregarding fluctuations—your muscles are working. It's just not a lot of added effort, it seems. No extra heat, no tremors, no added pressure to your veins. At least nothing noticeable."

"So you can tell that I'm strong?" He grins.

You nod. "Yeah. And it's been well over a minute, so you can put it down."

"No."

"No? How long are you gonna hold it for?"

"I don't know?"

You laugh, honestly a little speechless. Should you check the ceiling for hidden wires? Or hidden cameras?

"Okay? Do you wanna hold it while I write some notes down then?"

Jeongguk nods, and you go to retrieve your notebook and pen, but right at that moment, there's the sound of plastic ripping and then kibble meeting the floor.

"Shit," you exclaim, seeing Jeongguk already lowering the bag to prevent more of its contents from spilling out.

"Sorry."

"Don't worry, it's not your fault," you say, kneeling to assess the damage to the bag. The hole is around ten centimeters long and toward the bottom on one side.

Fortunately, only a kilo or so has made it out onto the floor, and so you stand up, locating the trashcan and its spare bags, one of which you then kneel down to scoop the spillage into. Jeongguk tries to help, collecting and dropping a handful of kibble into the bag.

"Can you see if there's duct tape somewhere in there?" You gesture toward the white-painted cupboards that line the wall to your left.

He nods, rising to his feet, and you hear cupboard after cupboard open. Then, he's crouching in front of you again, a roll of gray duct tape offered from his large hand.

"You're really gonna throw that away? Surely it's not bad just because it was on the floor for a minute; dogs eat literal shit outside all the time, right?"

You laugh quietly. "Yeah, while our floors are kept as clean as possible, unfortunately, it's a liability. Things like these happen sometimes, but Namjoon usually brings it home with him; his sister has like… I think it's five dogs at this point. So it's not wasted."

"Okay, that's good. I was feeling guilty."

You look up at him, endeared by his admittance. The feelings your poor heart is made to feel around him are giving you a metaphorical whiplash. "Wouldn't have been your fault either way."

You tape up the tear best you can, cursing quietly when you realize that, to make it truly secure, you should wrap the tape also around the bag. It's going to be difficult since the bag is still mostly full and thus super heavy to move even without a large hole.

However…

You glance at Jeongguk, your… friend, who conveniently (or not: it was the very feat the bag was used to test) comes equipped with super strength.

"Could you… lift this for me?"

He nods, and the only hesitance he shows as he picks the bag up horizontally instead of vertically is whether the tape is sticking. It is, and Jeongguk holds the bag away from his body, giving you enough space to wrap the tape around it, your hands grazing his chest now and again as you work.

When you deem it secure enough, you lean in, biting the tape from the roll with your teeth. And then you stand, pointing to a table further into the room. "Would you mind placing it there?"

Without a word, he obeys, and you don't miss how he handles the bag with care. When it's delivered to its designated spot, he turns back to you, appearing almost like he's waiting for more assignments.

"Thank you. Clearly, you're very strong," you smile, your ears heating just a tiny bit. "Makes me wonder what your muscle fibers look like. You evidently do great at endurance type strength, but how good are you at explosiveness?"

You don't miss how his eyes light up. "Want to see?" he asks, scanning the room again.

"Definitely," you answer, trying to think of ways to test it. "You know what, why don't we start with your reflexes?"

"Sure, what do you have in mind?"

Spotting a pair of heavy bandage scissors lying on a counter, you grab them. With your other hand, you gesture toward the exam table. "Sit? Relax your legs; just let them hang," you instruct, turning the scissors around so that you're holding them by the blades.

Jeongguk takes a seat, watching as you step into his space and gently prod the space just below his kneecap until you find the right spot. As soon as you tap the heavy metal handle to his patellar tendon, his leg kicks out. Almost as if he kicked it out before you even made contact.

"That tickles."

You smile, trying to stay focused. "Close your eyes?"

Looking up at his face to make sure he obeys, you feel your heart stutter the way it so often does when you watch him.

God, he's handsome, even more so up close. You want to say that his nose—so masculine yet almost elegant—is your favorite of his facial features, but that would mean pitting it against his dark eyes or… his cheekbones—currently kissed by his black, rather straight lashes—or even his brow bone and eyebrows. And that's without even mentioning his pink lips or the sculpted area around them, including that dimple that only pops out with specific expressions.

To not raise suspicion, you force yourself to focus. Your gaze—lingering on that glabella of his, partly hidden by his black hair—drops to your hands, and you repeat the motion you did only a few seconds ago.

The effect is undoubtedly the same, and he's just as quick to kick his leg out, but he's definitely also intentionally lessening the impact of it. Maybe he's worried about kicking you?

"You have good reflexes. Very quick, even when you try to resist," you conclude, taking a step back. Being close to him is very… intense, after all. "You can look."

It's like you can feel the moment he opens his eyes, his gaze heavy and warm on your face. When you peer up at him again, he smiles. "And now?"

You dig out a paperclip from your breast pocket, stepping closer once more and holding the small item in the air between you, roughly at eye-height.

"I drop this. You try to catch it."

At the challenge, you notice how he gains a certain kind of focus you haven't really seen before. He's quick to place his fingers just below your hand, intently watching the paperclip pinched between your fingers.

"This is allowed?" he asks, referring to the small space between your hands. Is his voice suddenly… deeper?

"Yes."

As you wait for the golden moment, trying to catch him off guard, it doesn't even look like he's breathing. He's entirely still, eyes frozen on the paperclip. You don't even think he blinks.

When you drop it, he simply pinches his fingers together, catching the bottom of the clip between them, meaning… he was faster than required.

Seeing that he succeeded, he breaks out into a wide grin, holding the paperclip victoriously.

"Again?" he asks, practically beaming.

Nodding with a smile of your own—he's honestly adorable—you take the paperclip from him, returning to your previous position. This time, you wait longer.

Hyper focused, Jeongguk only opens his mouth when something like a whole minute has passed.

"Are you gonna—"

Mid-sentence, you drop it.

"You're gonna have to try harder than that," he chuckles, holding the paperclip up for you to see.

"Fine." You take it from him once more.

This time, you opt for another tactic.

After you've held it above his awaiting fingers for twenty or so seconds, you pinch your own fingers together, trying to see if you can trigger him to close his without you actually dropping the paperclip.

And you can because he does. You hurry, actually releasing the paperclip the moment you see him put his fingers together, hoping he won't be quick enough to reset and try again before it falls to the floor. But he's fast—a human would've already failed—and you laugh, seeing him fumble the paperclip. It bounces off his fingers as he tries to catch it.

"Got it," he declares a second later, finally having gotten a good grip on it.

"Barely," you comment, knowing full well you would not have achieved anything close to that.

You sit down on your chair, notebook in your lap.

"What are you writing?" he asks, approaching where you sit. "I still caught it, if you write that I didn't, you're lying."

You can't stop giggling as he tries to peek at the words you write down, still maintaining a respectable distance. More than you've given him, but you guess he's more worried about intimidating you than the other way around.

"Don't worry, I'm noting that you have above average reflexes."

"A—above average?" he repeats, blinking in playful offense. "Not 'incredible?'"

"Fine, 'possibly supernatural?'"

"'Possibly?'"

"Yeah, three times is not nearly enough to draw an indisputable conclusion. Besides, you almost didn't catch it that last time."

"I'm offended."

Smiling widely, you keep writing. "No, but honestly? Your reflexes are very impressive, especially your focus. But there's a surprising amount of… humanity? to you. And by that I mean that while you're very clearly superhuman, you're not a machine."

"Hmm," he says. "I guess I can accept that."

"Good," you agree, putting the pen and paper down on the table next to you. "It's not meant to be negative."

"Do you want to see what else I can do?"

"Sure?"

It's so effortless, the way he leans down, putting his hands flat to the floor while simultaneously kicking his legs into the air. He tucks one of his arms uselessly behind his back and then lowers himself.

Despite not being a gym girl, you're wholeheartedly impressed. Surprisingly often, your social media algorithms put gym content on your feeds, and so you watch women and (mostly) men perform absolutely insane stunts.

But you've never seen anyone do one arm handstand pushups.

At least not unassisted and this… effortlessly. The muscles of his arm are bulging, and while he doesn't look too strained, it's definitely a bit of a challenge, even for him. His entire body works, not only to carry all of his weight but to keep his form and balance. Because you're clearly not suffering enough, gravity causes his black t-shirt to slide down, exposing the lower half of his abdomen.

"Oh, wow," you mumble, eyes wide, before you even realize. To be fair, it's mostly a reaction to his performance and not his defined obliques and abs. You're more nerd than you're thirsty.

You hear him chuckle as he repeats the motion, doing at least five more pushups before he straightens up again, only a very, very slight flush to his face. Now, there's also an attractive fluff to his black hair.

"Can all vampires do that?"

He shakes his head. "No. Almost all vampires could do it if they only practiced a little, though. It's not only about strength but balance and body control as well."

"That's so cool. I noticed you used your right hand, is that your dominant hand and arm? Can you do them using your left?"

Happy to take on yet another challenge, he gets down again, repeating the motion using his left arm. You don't notice any kind of struggle, and he's practically beaming when he straightens up, even more so when he sees how truly amazed you are.

"Do you have a dominant arm and hand? Or are you ambidextrous?"

"Uh… " he looks at his hands. "I use mostly my right hand, but my left isn't necessarily worse? Maybe it's mostly out of habit?"

"Hmm. Interesting. Close your eyes for me?"

Without a word, he shuts his eyes. His willingness to follow instructions makes your skin heat and your heart skip yet another beat, and you're certainly not wasting the opportunity to admire his face again.

"Put your arms out to the sides. Good. Now, without opening your eyes, touch your nose. One hand at a time."

You watch, seeing him find the tip of his nose quickly and without the slightest bit of hesitation.

"Good."

He opens his eyes, looking down at you with amusement brimming in his black eyes. He's clearly in a good mood today. "Are you impressed?"

You laugh. "That last one isn't all that hard if you're sober and have at least normal coordination. Watch."

To demonstrate, you close your eyes and reach your arms out. Then, you touch your nose, one index finger at a time. "I can do it too."

As you open your eyes—just about to say something about hand-eye coordination—you hear something down the hall.

Rushed footsteps. A frantic call of your name.

You turn, focus shifting to the doorway and whatever situation will appear in a few seconds. "…Momo?!"

"Where are you?! Luci can't breathe; please help!"

"Main!" you call, hands already searching for the stethoscope when you suddenly remember the conundrum you've put yourself in. You have a vampire in the clinic.

"Jeongg—"

But as you turn back to where he was just a moment ago, he's gone. Your confused eyes search the room; there's nowhere for a being his size to hide.

---

Only an hour and a half later—as you lean back in the rolling chair with a deep exhale—do you remember your vampire. Exhausted and emotional, Momo sits on the exam room floor with her beloved cat in front of her on a blanket, holding an oxygen mask to his face. You pull out your phone.

You: Where did you go? And HOW?

You put the phone back in your pocket. "Yoongi should be here soon. Do you want me to stay as well?"

Momo looks at you, tired yet relieved that you managed to get Luci stable. "No, it's okay. Thank you, though."

"Of course."

In your pocket, you feel your phone buzz against your leg. Momo has returned her attention to Luci, gently petting his white fur. The phone vibrates once more as you pull it out.

Despite the heaviness in the room, the words on the screen bring a small smile your way.

Jeon Jeongguk: I ran out the room, you just didn't see me because I'm so fat

Jeon Jeongguk: *fast

The bubble pops up, indicating another incoming message.

Jeon Jeongguk: 🧛🏻

While the vampire emoji is a fun touch, you're mostly stuck on the implication that he also possesses super speed. Like, The Flash kind of speed.

You: Are you saying you're so fast you're invisible?? Can't be true??

Your logic-wired brain tries to find a scientific explanation as to how he could possibly move faster than you'd be able to see. You watched the doorway, the only doorway. He'd have to be able to move quicker than light? You might have accepted that he's a bloodsucking, fang-having vampire, but faster than light?

Jeon Jeongguk: Okay, you got me. I left through the window. I couldn't lock it from the outside though so remember to do that. I hope the cat is okay.

You roll your eyes. Still, your chest is just a little warmer, even if the warm-blooded vampire isn't physically close anymore, and a small part of you wonders whether that's a good thing. A larger part ignores it.

Also… possessing the speed and agility to leave through the window without you noticing still requires him to be something definitely superhuman.

---

"Okay. Well, besides the flu outbreak, it's great that your work is… great."

You take a bite of your Caesar salad; your favorite out of the town's five restaurants and their versions.

"Mhm," you agree. "I like my work."

"Yes, and that's lovely. Have you met a man yet?"

You cough. While it's not a surprising question from your mother; she always manages to catch you off guard. Hand reaching for the glass of water, you take a generous gulp.

"I'm not really dating right now."

"I know, but if it happens, it happens, right? I'm sure there are many animal owners coming through? Aren't there any nice men?"

You look at her with slightly tired eyes. And then you actually look at her. Golden heart pendant hanging from her neck and hair dyed dark even though it's been graying since her thirties, she looks like she always does. And you bet you look like you always do. And you talk like always. Not about the same things necessarily, but about the same things.

You don't like discussing your love life with her, finding her optimism often a little too much, and as she's looking off into the distance, at a new patron entering the restaurant, you can tell she doesn't expect you to actually share anything because you never do. But is it her fault that she married her high school sweetheart and it worked out?

"Actually," you say, pressing your fork into a square piece of grilled chicken. "There's this… man. He found a stray cat who had kittens."

Your mother's eyes widen, and your heart fills with a certain sense of relief but also guilt.

"I've helped him take care of them."

Does it matter if it's unreasonable and entirely out of the realm of possibilities? Your mom wanted to know if you're interested in anyone, and you definitely are.

"Oh? Is he nice? What's his name?"

"He's really nice. His name is Jeongguk, but you can't tell anyone, okay?"

Of course, your mother isn't going to spill your secret; at least not in any way that counts. She doesn't live in town anymore and is merely visiting her only child. What would it matter if she told her neighbor Patricia? It's not like Jeongguk would find out and tease you for it.

"And you like him?"

You nod, gaze falling casually to your plate. "I do, but it's kinda… complicated, so even if he likes me—which I'm not sure he does; he might just be a friendly guy—it's not… it wouldn't work out."

From the corner of your eye, you see how your mother tilts her head. "Why not? Your brain is so complex that sometimes you make things unnecessarily hard. Does it have to be so complicated?"

You roll your eyes subtly as you move some croutons around with the fork. Maybe you shouldn't have told her. "He's not staying in town."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"And you are not movable?"

You sigh. You know she's not suggesting you ask a guy who you just said might not even like you if you could please follow him across the world or wherever he's moving. She's… inquiring gently whether you'd compromise for love.

"Mom. What I have here… I have a great job that I love. I don't go too bed dreading Mondays. I have such good friends that I love, and I have an apartment that I feel at home in. It would be foolish to give that up for a guy. Maybe if it's someone I've dated for years and years or already married."

"I'm just saying. I know you love your job, but this is a very small town, and I don't want you to miss out on something. There are veterinary clinics in all cities."

"I know. I'm staying here though, at least for the time being."

Seeing that she's not entirely satisfied, still worried about you, you offer her a soft smile and something resembling an olive branch. "The perfect man might come find me first, though, right?"

The texts exchanged after Luci's emergency—that he luckily recovered from—remain the latest communication between you and Jeongguk, and you don't think much of it, even two days later. Of course, your thoughts still drift to him every other undisturbed moment; any other claim would be a lie. And while you're mostly busy cooking up purely scientific theories that fit both known biology and his peculiar anatomy, you have a hard time tuning out the butterflies that always accompany.

The flying critters are even present as you steer your car into the grocery store's parking lot, the conversation between you and your mother still occupying your thoughts.

You raise an eyebrow. There are surprisingly many cars already parked outside the store considering it's almost ten p.m. on a Thursday.

No, wait.

You reach for your phone, thrown onto the passenger seat. Shit, it's Friday; that's why it's packed. You guess not working a typical nine-to-five, Monday-to-Friday sometimes messes with your perception of time (and days).

There aren't that many spots out of the parking lot open to choose from, and so you don't think much of the one you glide into. Not until you realize that the car in front of you, parked with its nose toward you, is too far ahead, and you'll have to leave the butt of yours sticking out just a tad more than you'd like. Whatever, you'll be in and out.

Should you have moved to another spot? You definitely would have, if you knew that the car belonged to your former classmates, but you don't learn that until you're stepping out of yours. Coincidentally, it's also then that you realize just how much of a lousy parker whoever parked their car is because not only is the vehicle too far into the spot, its back left wheel is entirely inside an adjoining one.

Either way, it's too late to move.

"Oh, hey!"

You curse to yourself. They're approaching the back of their car, fittingly standing between you and the store. Whatever, you'll just be polite.

"Hi," you answer, briefly taking in the sight of the three men loaded with supplies.

"How's it going?" Mingyu asks, looking surprisingly genuine.

"It's fine. You're having a party?" you nod toward the stacked pastry boxes in DK's hands that you recognize as the store-baked ones. There must be six of them, almost more than he can carry.

The biggest party clue, however, is probably the alcohol; all men carry multiple plastic bags that sound suspiciously much like glass bottles clinking against each other.

Joshua even carries an additional case of beer, grinning smugly at you. "Just a small one to celebrate the anniversary and DK's published paper."

Considering the amount of supplies, it's not that small. It's probably just you they haven't invited.

"What about you? Gotten anything published? Any… exciting discoveries? Like a… werewolf or something?"

The snickers that follow has you feeling like you're in elementary school. Not even your own—because even the nine year old kids there were nicer than this—but the stereotypical elementary school in movies.

But what can you do? Telling them about Jeongguk, even if you had his permission, which you don't, is out of the question. It wouldn't help; If anything, it would make it worse. So all you do is roll your eyes, wishing they'd either get inside their car so you could squeeze past, or just shut up so you're socially allowed to round the cars next to you and leave that way.

But even before their teasing laughter dies down, you hear a sound. It's very distinct; something heavy being dragged against asphalt.

"Having a hard time parking within the lines?"

It's Jeongguk's voice, and as your eyes find him behind the guys, at the back of their car, you also see that he's the source of the sound.

Or rather, their car is, as he's picked up the back of it with one hand to adjust within the parking space, the locked front tires dragging against the ground as he pulls it back and slightly to the right.

Your classmates turn to look too, but just as they've quieted down to take in the scene in front of them, it's over; the car casually dropped to bounce on its tires.

You're about just as stunned, but before anyone can say anything—and like he didn't just do… that—Jeongguk calls your name.

"You're going inside?"

You nod, squeezing past the speechless men, their gazes warm on your face and then your back as you reach Jeongguk's side.

The mere thirty or so meters to the store's entrance, you spend most of in silence. Only when the guys are truly out of earshot do you voice your thoughts.

"Thank you," you begin by saying, a small, surprised smile playing on your lips. Do you think your lovely friends would've hurt you? No, but seeing them anywhere is the opposite of a fun situation. "Are you… supposed to do that, though?"

"Not really. But who are they supposed to tell?" he answers with a smile of his own, his voice low as you enter the store. "They've made damn sure no one's believing anything of the kind, right?"

"That's true," you agree. It then hits you just what actually happened, and you let out a snicker. "I can't even imagine what they're thinking right now."

You glance at the wall that separates you from the parking lot. Are they still standing there or have they gotten into the car? Are they quiet? Pretending like nothing happened? Or are they desperately trying to explain among themselves what the hell they just saw? They're scientists just like you; they know what Jeongguk did isn't humanly possible. It surprised you too—you had no idea he was that strong—but you at least knew something superhuman existed in town.

Jeongguk chuckles too. "I'd imagine they at least think twice before harassing you again."

"I wouldn't call it harassing…" you argue quietly, following him mindlessly inside the store. "So many people go through worse things."

"I would. Three grown men taunting a lone woman in a parking lot? You don't do that."

You don't say anything to that because, yeah, he's right. At the least, they're assholes.

Despite cat food being like… the main thing Jeongguk would need from a grocery store, you're almost surprised when that's where he leads you. You're entirely in your thoughts, your eyes taking him in, top to bottom, as he stops at a specific shelf, grabbing container after container of wet food.

He's wearing that leather jacket again, paired with blue jeans on the looser side, and when he reaches for the last container, somehow stuck at the back of the shelf, his jacket and shirt ride up.

Although you've never considered vampires' underwear habits, it's still a bit of surprise to see the Calvin Klein letters on the gray waistband that peeks out.

He's just a man. The most attractive man you've ever seen, who undeniably draws you in like you've never felt before. But… he's not actually a man, at least a human man. Your eyes glide over his arms, carrying what must be ten containers of wet food for cats.

"I wish they'd make these containers bigger, so I don't have to buy them so often," he mumbles, balancing them in his arms. "Or at least so many."

"Would you… let me run some more tests on you?" you ask quietly. "Cause… I mean I knew you were strong, but… lifting a car?" Your voice turns to a whisper. "With one hand? I didn't know you were that strong?"

He looks at you, a slight smile on his face. "What kind of tests? It's hard to demonstrate unless you have something heavy. Car-heavy."

"Oh, no, I meant tests as in ultrasounds and maybe… taking your blood? If you're okay with that?"

He licks his lips, considering. "Are you going to show anyone?"

You shake your head earnestly.

"Okay. At the clinic then, I assume?"

"Yeah. You don't happen to be free tomorrow night?"

"Sure. Ten p.m.?"

You nod, already excited.

Jeongguk smiles at you again, dark eyes so warm against your face. "This is all I'm gonna get, but I'll wait in my car if they haven't left yet."

The heat spreads to your chest. "Thank you."

"No worries, I'll see you tomorrow."

You watch his back until he's out of view, and then you're just a woman in a grocery store, no cart and no memory of what you were even supposed to be buying. Just in case they haven't left, and Jeongguk is just waiting in his car for you to finish, you grab a seemingly abandoned cart, hoping it wasn't occupied, and try to remember what it was that you needed.

Ten minutes later, you're finished, carrying some groceries and the laundry detergent you were out of out into the parking lot. The spot in front of your car is empty, and as you look around, you don't see the black SUV you assume Jeongguk drove there either.

<previous | next>

But down here, it’s dark. The long and steep descending stairs start out gray, green moss that matches the surrounding flora creeping into every crack of the steps under you and the stone walls around you. All of it is hidden from humans and anyone unauthorized; you wouldn't know of the steps behind the thick slab of rock unless you knew the command to move it.

With every step down, the gray turns darker, colder, as if the stone is more charred the lower you get. Fitting, you guess. The very last steps and the other huge slab of rock posing as a door are nearly black. On either side of the door, someone has mounted a torch, its fire burning with the eternal flame. It's the only light source present beside the remaining daylight reaching its last, thin rays down from the top of the stairs.

It’s admirable, really, how his effort to remain ‘dark’ trumps his living standards and convenience. But you haven't been sent here to judge someone’s sense of style. A moment after knocking on the obscenely large door and wondering how on earth anyone is supposed to hear it, the rock slides slowly against the ground underneath, a deep, grinding sound filling your ears.

A red-horned lady dressed in black leather appears. A demon. “You have an appointment?” she asks casually, one hand on the rock beside her head.

“Uh… no?” you answer, confused rather than arrogant. “But it’s important.”

She purses her lips, glancing back behind the door. If she’s considering letting you in or awaiting someone’s approval, you can’t tell.

Finally, she turns back to you, and with a nod, she opens the door wider to let you through. The first rock at the top of the stairs glides shut behind you, cutting off the last of the daylight as you step through the gap in front of you.

Despite the descent down feeling like walking into a literal darkness, this feels even more so. Do they really keep it pitch black inside?

The woman leads you through a tunnel, the stone walls fortunately decorated with a few more eternal flame torches. Your white strappy sandals—almost luminescent in the warm, dim light—echo against the ground, and your eyes land on the woman’s braided hair and her long, thin tail as she walks in front of you.

She definitely fits the vibe; your flowy, layered white chiffon dress with the lightest of blue details sticks out like a sore thumb.

Soon enough, the tunnel opens up into a large room, the woman gesturing past her and forward. As you walk, you feel eyes on you, but you keep your head held high. It’s the demons loitering, comfortably yet fashionably positioned on wine red furniture like couches and loveseats, black stone pedestals, or even on the floor. The men and women are dressed in either black or red; most of it leather. You won’t deny that they have a certain… pull, their colorful eyes either sultry or glaring as they follow your shape.

At least there’s a gigantic live chandelier illuminating the space.

Two seconds later, you reach the… throne. You’ve heard about this place and what it looks like, but actually being here is another thing. More than anything, you thought the man himself would be present, maybe draped confidently and lazily over that very throne. But it’s vacant?

Peering to your left and then right, your gaze catches on the wall of mirrors opposite the throne, some large and others huge, but all framed with intricate gold.

“An angel?” a low voice suddenly muses from inches behind you, its owner’s breath stirring your hair. “What brings you here?”

Startled, you turn, only to see the devil himself, an amused smirk playing on his lips as his black eyes peer down at you. Goosebumps line your arms.

“I think you know why, sir,” you answer politely, watching as he rounds you.

Of course, you’ve heard a few things about him as well, but you’ve never met anyone who’s met him. As far as you know, the contact between the devil and the upper levels has been minimal for quite some time now.

What you have heard about him, however, includes how handsome he is. Tempting, even. And that’s definitely correct. He’s dark-haired, tall, and dressed in all black as he backs up toward his stone throne, still watching you. The expensive dress shirt is fitted perfectly, accentuating his thick, muscular arms and the impressive build of his chest, a few open buttons exposing a naked strip of it. At the same time, he’s got a surprisingly slender waist.

“Like what you see?” he asks, rolling the sleeves up his thick forearms as your eyes travel down his pants and clearly muscular thighs. 

When you lift your eyes, however, you see that he’s definitely checking you out too, your white, partly sheer dress a real rarity down here, you assume. 

“Let him go,” you instruct softly, not letting his words get to you. “Do that and we’ll be out of your way.”

“No,” he smiles, for some reason having changed his mind about taking the throne and instead taking step after slow step toward you again.

You see it in his dark, sultry eyes, and you feel it—no, you smell it—in the air.

“That doesn’t affect me, you know that. I’m a pure being.”

He comes to stand before you, looking down at you as if trying to figure you out is his new favorite hobby. “Exactly how pure are you? I guess I can try to make you… un-pure.”

“Pure as in you can’t influence me with your lust pheromones. So, will you let him go?”

“No.”

“Please?”

He tilts his head, surprised but still smirking. “I have never heard an angel say ‘please.’”

“Some of us are rather nice, you know. Most of us, actually. Being respectful increases your chances of success, I find.”

“Hm. I like it.” He licks his lips, his gaze dipping down to your mouth. “What do I get in return?”

“In return? Why not just be nice in return?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

You find his eyes, asking genuinely. “What do you want then?”

“Hmm,” he hums again, briefly looking away as he considers. A second later, his intense gaze warms your face. “What if I say ‘you?’”

“Why would you?”

You can still feel his demons' eyes on you. Half of the fifteen or so present are women—all quite pretty, even if the intense stares fill you with unease—and you've heard about how he fucks them. But while you're sure you're not the first angel to venture into his home, you're still a rarity. You'd be a challenge, or at least a change.

“I don’t usually like angels; I find you stuck up and uptight. But it’s been a while since I saw an angel, even more so a female angel.”

Right.

“Maybe for a reason?”

He tilts his head again, this time the other way. “Are you implying I force myself on women?”

“No, but you’re definitely bordering on harassing me right now.”

He takes a big step backward, bowing slowly and theatrically, but not necessarily mockingly. 

“I apologize,” he says, straightening up and smiling down at you. This time, it's less arrogant and more… happy? “I have a thing for pretty women. More so when they come here, looking all innocent and pure. But even though I might be the devil, I would never force myself on anyone.”

It is, however, an easy decision to hold off on wholeheartedly trusting his words because, like he said, he is the devil. And technically, he’s a lot more powerful than you. You, an angel, are nothing more than the equivalent of one of his demons. While you don't think he's interested in hurting you, he's not supposed or allowed to, and that's the closest thing to a guarantee regarding your safety that you'll have.

“Apology accepted,” you state, believing that staying in his good graces truly is the best choice. Still, you allow yourself to politely and softly correct him. “You have an outdated worldview, you know? Wearing white doesn’t mean innocent or uptight.”

He raises his eyebrows curiously. “It doesn’t? But you all wear white? And you are innocent and uptight?”

“Technically, correlation doesn’t mean causation, even though I’d argue that we are innocent, maybe not per the same definition you consider. I don’t know who you’ve met, but I wouldn’t call all of us ‘uptight' either.”

“Really? But something like… sex… is a sin, is it not?” he questions, speaking slowly. The way he pronounces the word 'sex' has something stirring inside you, his voice dripping with something you can't precisely name.

“Sex is not a sin, no,” you explain, looking at him. 

You can’t tell to what degree he’s seriously wondering versus how much he’s just steering the conversation where he wants it. But he does look at you, clearly curious and trying to figure you out. 

Taking a step closer, you lift your hand before pausing and letting it hang mid-air. “Do I have your permission to touch you?”

Perhaps even more surprised, he quirks an eyebrow to go with the smile he's still wearing before he nods his permission.

Slowly, you close the distance, and with gentle fingers, brush his black hair away from his face, softly tracing his cheek. He’s incredibly handsome, quietly watching you.

“Pleasure is what you want?” you ask, searching his face for clues. You know roughly what he wants but not necessarily why.

He nods. “I thought it was a sin, though?”

You shake your head. “As long as you’re respectful, pleasure is not a sin.”

His apparent curiosity puzzles you. Everything can become a sin if you hurt others by doing it; shouldn’t he know that? Or is he still stuck in the old ways of looking at things, where anything good is a sin?

Realizing that it’s the easiest way to hopefully get what you want, you let your fingers follow the curve of his sharp jaw and then his neck, until they reach the collar of his black shirt.

“Can I undress you?”

“Go ahead,” he answers, entertained.

You lower your hand to his chest, adding your other to undo the buttons. It’s silent as you work, though you know he’s still looking down at you, watching with amusement as you open button after button and pull the shirt out from where he kept it tucked inside his pants. Not to mention the audience of demons you still have, their previously quiet voices having gone entirely silent.

You breathe slowly as more and more of him is revealed to your eyes. You knew he was muscular, but to this extent? His golden skin is warm and inviting, and he’s all bulging muscles and prominent veins. If virility had a face…

He lets you step closer to pull the shirt down his shoulders. A second later, you have it in your hands, making a conscious effort to handle it with care. The fabric, which you guess is fine Egyptian cotton, is incredibly soft against your skin, sleek almost like silk, and a result of perfect craftsmanship.

Reluctantly, you let it carefully fall to the floor, your eyes returning to the man in front of you. If the shirt was perfect craftsmanship, you don’t have words for what he is.

“So you do like what you see?” he asks, clearly very amused.

It has you chuckling because anyone, no matter species or orientation, can tell that he’s one of a kind.

“I do. You're gorgeous.”

It’s like he almost… beams at the compliment, which you’d argue is even endearing.

Carefully, you put your palm back on his warm chest, letting it slowly slide down his skin before it stops right above his belt.

“You’ll tell them to leave?” you ask as you glance around, at least ten or so demons currently watching intently, their focused eyes ranging from yellow to black.

With a wave of his hand, they disappear, one by one dissolving into black smoke. But when you’re alone—the new silence a different kind—and your fingers reach for his belt, the devil puts his big hand over yours, holding it in place.

You look up at him.

“You don’t have to.”

He has the darkest eyes you think you’ve ever seen. Deep, deep pools of pitch black, yet they’re surprisingly gentle when he offers you an out. 

“Are you going to let him go if I don’t?”

He’s quiet, appears to be thinking. It’s a bit of a surprise to see the devil look even the slightest bit conflicted. He clearly doesn’t want to give you what you want without a fight, but… persuading you into doing something you really don’t want to would maybe… make him feel bad? It’s not something you expected from the devil.

You think about it, assuming his non-answer gives you a bit of wiggle room. You could probably convince him to release his prisoner without having to touch him further, but… you kinda wouldn’t mind.

“If you are nice to me… I want to.”

For a long moment, he watches you, serious yet… curious. Then, he nods his promise, and while you wouldn’t put it past the devil to be a liar, he appears genuine.

“Okay then. Will you get naked for me?” you ask softly, walking slowly toward his throne. It's big, most of it sculpted from stone except the insides, which are made of soft, padded, black leather.

The devil's belt clangs behind you, but when you turn, pointing to his throne to wordlessly ask for permission, he's just standing there, watching you with that same confident smile you saw earlier. Your request is answered with a casual nod, and so you take a seat.

“How do I look? Does it suit me?” you ask, placing your arms on the armrests and crossing your legs.

“No,” he grins, “you’re too pretty.”

“Oh?” you say, smiling. It’s always nice to receive compliments, after all. 

“Tell me, then, devil, what brings you pleasure?” you continue, leaning back to the side and lifting one leg over the armrest. Your long white skirt still keeps you decent, its rather high slits—practically invisible when standing—granting you freedom to move.

“All sorts of things,” he says, his eyes glued to the way you slowly but surely pull the white fabric hanging between your legs higher, revealing more and more of you.

“Do you know what an angel tastes like?” you ask. His gaze, entirely focused on what you’re doing, brings you immense satisfaction. Especially paired with the way he licks his lips.

“No.”

“No?" You definitely thought he would've done it with an angel at some point. "Would you like to?”

Transfixed, he watches you reveal your bare core to him. Seemingly forgetting about his promise of getting naked, he instead closes the distance and drops to his knees. His hands are warm when he grabs your knees, spreading you wider and taking in the sight of your offer with what you interpret as enthusiasm. But then he closes his eyes.

“Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts…”

You chuckle in surprise. “A—are you… saying grace?”

Opening his eyes, he smirks at you. “...Amen.”

And barely half a second later, you feel his mouth on you as he begins to eat you out as if he’s a starved man, and you’re an all you can eat buffet, only open for five more minutes. His warm, wet tongue works your pussy hard, making your breath hitch as your poor nerve endings are jolted.

Gasping, and with your legs nearly automatically closing around his head, you pull on his hair. “Careful,” you scold him gently.

“Sorry,” he mumbles against you, returning to eat you out, still sloppily but calmer.

Groaning deeply, he sends vibrations throughout your entire body. “Is there some kind of magic potion in here?”

“No,” you say, your voice breathy as you try to deal with the intense sensation of his mouth on you. If you weren’t so preoccupied, you might’ve laughed. “I can control you just as little as you can control me.”

You keep your fingers in his raven hair, tugging a little and finding it incredibly soft. The devil doesn't seem to mind.

“You sure? 'Cause your pussy’s calling for me in a way I’ve never felt before.”

“Y—yes,” you breathe, your back arching when you feel him flick your clit with the tip of his tongue.

“What if I just keep you here? Fuck you as often as I’d like?”

“And you think I'd—I’d put up with that?” you groan, breath uneven.

He hums, eagerly licking up your cunt before he tears away again. “Wait until I'm done with you. I'll make you want to stay here forever. You’ll be begging for me, I promise.”

As if to show you how serious he is, he pulls you closer to the edge of his throne by your thighs, spreading you wider. Your hips move on their own, unsure how to handle the sensation of his lewd mouth.

“Show me your tits.” 

You’d think someone eating you out would be a quiet ordeal.

“Show me your tits, what?” you repeat, looking down at him and meeting his eyes. Your breath hitches again when he moves his fingers to rub your slick clit.

“Show me your tits, please.”

“I don’t know,” you tease, chest heaving embarrassingly heavy.

“Please,” he begs, and you nearly laugh when the devil leans his head against your thigh—still hanging over the arm rest—and gives you what you can only describe as puppy eyes. He’s not innocent; there’s a mischievousness blended into his black eyes, and he’s still very much rubbing your clit in slow circles, but you can appreciate the gesture for what it is.

“Fine,” you say, the amused smile impossible to hide.

Using one hand, you move it up your dress, gripping the milkmaid top and pulling it down, letting your tits spill out.

The devil rises to his knees, keeping one hand on your cunt while taking a nipple into his warm, wet mouth. The lazy circles on your clit, an even and bearable kind of stimulation, he mirrors with his tongue around your nipple. Sighing, you return your hand to his hair.

But only a second later, he lets go of your nipple, keeping his face a mere inch from yours. “Can I put one in?”

You nod, his husky voice really doing things to you, and your hands drop to his wide, muscular shoulders.

Like the devil he truly is, he holds eye contact, his dark eyes seeing what feels like every corner of your soul as he sinks a finger inside you.

“Sucking me in, huh?”

You focus on his pretty face as he moves one long finger slowly in and out of you. Knowing exactly what he's doing, he curls it to rub your sweet spot.

“Kiss me.”

For half a second, his movement inside you stops. It’s not the only sign of his surprise, his face shows it too.

“You don’t kiss?” you ask, embarrassingly out of breath.

“Not very often, no,” he smiles. “Can I add another?”

You nod, biting your lip when he works another finger inside you. It’s not a struggle; you’re soaked and relaxed, but it still elicits something like a whimper from you. There’s something in his gaze as he watches you, and then he leans in. It’s slow, even more so in comparison to the fingers he fucks in and out of you at a medium pace, setting your insides on fire.

His lips graze your open ones. He keeps them there, barely touching yours, for a while.

“Devil,” you breathe against him, a quiet scolding for not giving you what you want.

He laughs but a second later finally grants you your wish. His lips are soft, and he kisses you with experience even though claiming not to do it often. But it’s surprisingly innocent. No tongue, no sloppily mixing of saliva, just lips.

In contrast, he pulls back a few inches—and you follow, still holding onto his shoulders—so that he can use both his hands on your cunt and try to make you come. And make you, he does.

His left hand, already pushing two of his thick, long fingers in and out of you, speeds up, the sounds of it almost vulgar. The new addition—the other hand—he uses to rub your clit in determined circles. In response, your thighs try to close around him, and you both hear and feel him chuckle as he kisses you again. There’s not much you can do but grip his shoulders tighter and whimper against his mouth.

When you can barely breathe, the onslaught of sensation rapidly bringing you closer to the edge, you throw your head back.

“Devil,” you plead quietly.

“Mhm?”

But you don’t really have anything to say, and you guess he very well already knows you’re close, seeing as even your thighs start to shake and your breaths lose even more depth.

You feel him kiss your jaw, and a moment later, you’re closing your eyes and biting your lip to stay quiet, but the gasp comes anyway. Stars shoot across your eyelids and the warm pleasure washes over you and your entire body.

He lets you hold onto him, continuing his actions until your whimpers turn into those of overstimulation. At that point, he stops and removes his hands from you.

Chest heaving, tits out, you open your eyes to see him a few inches away, his hands now on the armrests as he cages you in. He grins proudly, looking down at you, and you’re a breathy, shaky mess under him.

“So, what do you think?” you ask, smiling coyly.

His eyebrows rise. “Huh?”

“About tasting an angel?”

“Oh. Ten out of ten.”

It makes you laugh, and you find yourself thinking that… he’s kinda sweet.

“What about you? Did I make you see heaven?”

Rolling your eyes, another chuckle escapes you. 

“So, is that enough for you?” he asks, and while his dark eyes are warm, you can tell even through the relative darkness that his pupils are blown, and it's clear that he's hoping for a certain answer. And even if you’re not technically providing sexual favors as a way of payment (anymore), the original purpose of all of this was to provide him pleasure.

“What do you want?” 

He looks at you with a smile you can’t describe as anything but handsome. 

“While merely eating you out has been the highlight of the century, I'd love to continue. But again, I don’t force myself on anyone,” he reminds you, his voice smooth as he rests all his weight on one arm, using the other to gently tuck your hair behind your ear and then trace your jaw. “If it were up to me, though, I’d already have you bouncing on my cock.”

You gasp at the dirty words coming from the sweet smile.

“You have a filthy mouth, you know that?”

“Too filthy? Want me to rephrase that in a… pure way?”

“Depends. Can you?” you ask, amused.

“Of course,” he says, “If it were up to me, I’d already…”

His voice trails off as he struggles to think of something, and every second makes it funnier to you.

“Too difficult?”

“You know what? Respectfully, I’d love to make you come on my cock.”

His words elicit another laugh from you, something that has him grinning widely.

“Good enough?”

“Sure.”

“Great. So we’re on the same page?”

“Mhm.”

“Perfect."

Effortlessly, he grabs you by your armpits and lifts you onto the armrest, turning you outward. You watch him come to stand between your legs, your fingers itching to touch him.

“Oh?” He pauses whatever he was going to do, looking down at your hand on his stomach. 

You observe it together, how it glides over his warm, smooth skin as it travels south. He’s so impressive; so thick and built. Literally all thick muscle under warm skin. Surprisingly enough, he doesn’t complain about what could be considered teasing, so you continue, loving the sound of his breaths becoming just a bit less even.

Your hand moves over the opened belt and the soft fabric of his dress pants. There’s an evident bulge there; it's big, and you swear you see it throb.

“Can I?” you whisper, biting your lip.

“Please.”

He’s thick under your touch. Hard, thick, and warm, even through the pants.

“Oh, you’re a monster,” you say, clearly impressed with what you feel as you rub your hand over the bulge.

“Not unless you want me to.”

It’s something about the way he says that that’s… sweet? Something about it, about him that makes your heart race and your nerves light up and… your heart also skip a beat. Slowly, you unbutton his pants and pull the zipper down. He helps you by pulling his pants and black underwear down his legs, stepping out of them and his socks and shoes.

“Are you really supposed to be this pretty?” you wonder, gazing up at him. “'Cause you’re… beating the male angels by a long shot.”

It’s true. As he stands proud before you, you take a second to really marvel at him, top to bottom. The black, luscious hair, the dark eyes, strong jaw and eyebrows, the masculine nose. His muscular shoulders—there’s even a vein there, at the front—and his bulging biceps and abs. The defined v-line and waist, his thick, throbbing cock, precome glistening at the tip, and his muscular thighs. Everything.

“You know this isn’t entirely me, right? Just as I assume you have actual wings?”

Eyes on the prize and hands quick to follow, you grip him, enjoying the tiny little gasp he lets out. Even getting to stroke him satisfies something in you, although it makes you crave him more too.

“No, I didn’t know that. I’ve only ever heard that you’re handsome.”

“Yeah. Not all of me adheres to whatever standards of beauty you have,” he says, and while he’s still smiling confidently, you wonder if he keeps some things hidden because he might not like whatever they are. In comparison, you keep your wings hidden because they’re big and rather clumsy to walk around with.

“What are you gonna do with that?” he asks, curiously looking down at your hand slowly stroking his cock.

It’s a marvelous sight already, his hard cock flushed a pretty pink. His breaths are even—his stomach tensing deliciously with every single one—but there’s… an inherent sigh to them? Smiling, you use your grip on him to carefully guide him closer, lifting the hem of your dress that’s fallen down your legs up and out of the way. 

He watches you adjust, and there’s a collective groan when you guide him to your cunt. Despite licking you very clean not long ago, you’re of course drenched again, and you see how he takes in a few shorter breaths when you coat him in your wetness.

But when you place his thick head at your entrance, intending on teasing him just a little before letting him in, he’s already pushing inside.

“Fuck,” you gasp, throwing your arms around his neck to hold onto him. He leans forward, his face just an inch away and his eyes locked onto yours.

"What does my little angel like?" he grunts, gripping your thigh with one large, warm hand and pressing the other against your back as he rolls his hips into you.

"Whatever you want, devil," you say, your reminder breathy. "As long as you're nice to me."

"Of course, but I live to please."

You lean your head back, shutting your eyes as you feel him slide in and out of you, filling you to the brim every time. "I thought you were supposed—supposed to be selfish."

"Who says I'm not?" he asks, ghosting his lips over your throat.

You don't answer him, your mind too busy processing the slow kisses he places against the skin of your neck. "I feel you everywhere," you mumble instead, words more air than voice.

"Good."

"Am I right to assume that… fuck… you've never… fucked an angel before, either?"

"You are, yeah," he answers against your skin.

"And I've—never fucked a devil before."

"Well, there's only one devil, so.."

You chuckle, desperately hugging him closer when he suddenly ups the gear, the force punching the air out of your lungs. "Oh, my…!"

"You okay?" he asks, and his voice carries traces of… worry as his hips slow down momentarily and he leans back to look at you.

But the change of pace was surprising rather than too much, and so you nod. "It's okay, I'm good."

Relief spreads through his round eyes, and you laugh.

"Why are you cute?"

"Cute?"

"Yeah? I didn't expect you to be either kind or cute, but you are?"

"Sure about that?" he asks, putting more force behind his thrusts again. But he only proves your point, intentionally increasing the force and pace gradually this time.

You gasp, small whimpers pushed out of you with every hit against your insides. But then you make eye contact again, and while he's so incredibly sexy, he also happens to give you another glimpse of his big, round eyes.

"You might be the devil, but you have the kindest eyes I've ever seen," you laugh, clinging onto him.

"I guess I'll have to be less kind, then," he says, moving one of his hands in between your legs, the pressure of his skilled fingers straight on your clit making you gasp once again.

"Why?" you breathe, words barely able to leave your mouth as more than a whisper. "I like kind."

His lack of reply goes practically unnoticed when he instead chooses to fuck you even harder, your sounds increasing in both volume and frequency and your nails surely leaving marks on his warm, wide back.

"Oh, God," you groan when he taps your clit determinedly.

"Taking her name in vain, huh?" he teases, but at this point, his voice is strained too, and his breaths are definitely labored.

"It's a habit."

"Still a sin."

You chuckle, out of breath. "I thought you complained that angels were too innocent? But sudd—suddenly, I'm not innocent enough?"

"Angel…" he starts, tone teasing. "You're being fucked by, literally impaled on, the devil's cock. You're obviously not that innocent."

"This is far from sin, though," you defend against his neck. "We're both… doing this will—willingly; no one is hurt in any way by this. Quite the… opposite, really."

"Really?"

"Yes. In a surprising… turn of events, you're actually much more… pleasant than I thought you'd be."

"Pleasant?"

"Yeah? And kinda endearing."

"While I fuck you like this?" he wonders, making a point of rolling his hips into you with extra precision, expertly hitting the sweet spot inside you with every thrust.

You lean your head back, shutting your eyes. "Yes. Mhm, just like that. Fuck."

"Like what? This?" he repeats his actions, earning another set of moans from you.

"Yeah. God, you're so good. I feel you everywhere."

"Good."

"Mhm." You bite your lip, barely able to think. "You're so good. Fuck, I'm close."

Clinging to him, you let the shallow breaths he fucks out of you warm his ear and the side of his neck.

"You feel like heaven, little angel," he leans down to mumble against your neck. He doesn't say anything else besides that, just keeps going at the same pace, drinking up your reactions as you near the edge.

You tense up, your entire body pulsing when you finally come, and the moan that slips out of you is quiet and breathy.

The devil fucks you through it, although slower for a while. All until you notice that he speeds up, evidently starting to chase his own high.

"Wait," you beg, still out of breath.

The devil, definitely not as evil as you would've guessed, slows down and even stops entirely. Still inside you, he looks down at you. It's those big eyes of his; they're not good for you.

He doesn't voice his confusion, just waits for your words.

"Do something for me?"

"What?" he's quick to ask, in no way beating the kind allegations.

You move, feeling his very much still hard cock slide out of you. The only sounds in the room are your breaths; his more strained and therefore louder than yours, and even if you don't watch him as you slide down to position yourself properly on the throne again, you feel his eyes on you.

"These are your mirrors? That you watch people through?" you ask, gesturing to the wall of five or so large mirrors, hanging on black stone wall as you adjust your dress. The reflected you looks alive but definitely more put together than you feel. Your hair is a little messy and your face flushed, but that's mostly it.

He stands confused in front of you, wondering what you're up to and why you seemingly wanted to stop. "Yes."

But you didn't. Instead, you pat the spot between your legs. "Sit."

The devil watches you with a confused and maybe even hesitant look, still catching his breath.

Your eyes turn even more hopeful. "Please?"

As if going 'fuck it,' he turns around, sitting down. You lean to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of his face as you wrap your arms around him, splaying your hands across his sweaty chest. He's so warm and firm under your touch, so large and muscular, and he even smells like nothing you've ever experienced.

"Do you usually have sex here? On your throne?"

"Sometimes, but I prefer the bed. More comfortable."

"When you do, though… Do you watch? The mirrors?" you say, nodding toward the large mirrors twenty feet away.

"Mhm. If they ride me then I watch."

"You watch them?"

"Yeah, I don't typically watch myself," he smiles.

"I want you to," you reveal, your voice quieter, more hopeful. A little mischievous, even.

At your words, you watch him lift his head, finding your eyes already observing him through the largest mirror, its intricate golden frame nothing compared to the vision reflected within.

Your gaze travels over his body; his golden skin, the bulges of his muscles, and the paths of his veins. Besides handsome, you've only ever heard him described as difficult and evil, but can something this beautiful really be evil? Sure, there's a darkness in his eyes that's probably not only due to their color, but… You don't know, you're just not sure.

"How many times do you usually come?" you ask, feeling him momentarily tense up when your hand slowly trails his stomach on its way down.

"In a week? A month?"

"In a row."

He looks at you through the mirror, eyebrows raised slightly. "Once?"

"Can you come more times, though?"

"Don't know," he answers. "Haven't tried. I usually just give the ladies what they want and however much they want first. By the time I come, everyone's spent."

You smile warmly at him. "Well, would you like to…? Try?"

"Sure."

Your heart beats with excitement as you move your hands to the armrests, pushing yourself up and folding your legs under you, just to gain some height against him.

"What are you up to?"

"Do you trust me?" you ask, gently pulling his torso back toward you.

"Do I trust you? An angel who I've just met?" he asks, and although his choice of words are skeptical, his voice isn't, and he leans back against you just like you wanted.

You understand, of course, you do, but… you'd say you'd trust him if the roles were reversed. And after all, you're an angel, and he's the devil.

"Keep your hands here, on the armrests," you instruct.

Obeying, he places his large, veiny forearms on the armrests, letting his hands hang off the edges. Satisfied, you wrap your arms around his chest, stroking his warm skin. You were told he can't affect you, can't make you abandon your logic in favor of his own agenda, but maybe they were wrong because he feels a little too right.

Slowly, you let your right hand descend again, finally gripping his hard cock, still coated in your wetness.

"I want to see how many times you can come. Is that okay with you?" you ask, nothing more than a whisper in his ear. To your delight, you glance down, seeing goosebumps erupt on his arms.

He doesn't answer you verbally, just nods.

"Okay. And if you don't like it, I will stop. But I hope you do."

He's thick and hard in your grasp, and you waste no time, moving your hand up and down, up and down. He's not the loudest, even though you don't think he purposely keeps the sounds from you. But the sound of his breaths, growing more and more shallow, and the way he seems to grip the armrests, tell you he's enjoying it when you pick up the pace. It brings what you'd consider a little too much satisfaction your way.

"I'm going to edge you, that okay?"

"Mean," he huffs, to which you laugh.

"I'll try to stop right before you ejaculate. That way, if I succeed, you can experience more orgasms."

"How does one make 'ejaculate' sound hot?" he comments, and while he's trying to remain his cheeky self, you see how his hand fidgets as you keep stroking him at a fast pace.

Somewhat… flattered?, you don't even think before you press a small kiss to his cheek.

Not long after you started, his big, muscular body starts to tense, and you notice his grip on the armrests tighten again, the veins on his hands and forearms popping.

You stop, carefully pinching his cock, hoping it was right before the edge. He lets out a groan, still tense and fidgeting.

"How does it feel?" you ask, sincerely hoping you're doing it right. It's not the easiest when you don't really know him or his body and preferences.

"It feels… good."

"Good. Look at yourself, please."

He does, biting his lip. You know, because you're also looking at him through the mirror in front of you. He's so beautiful, so intimidating yet inviting, splayed out in a way you'd still very much describe as confidently. His legs are spread, and his cock, hard and flushed an angry red, looks even bigger in your small hand. You see him look at the image of himself, hooded eyes showing no discernible emotion as his gaze travels up and down.

"I'll continue now," you warn, resuming the motion of your hand but at a slower pace.

He sighs, licking his lips, and you can tell that he tries to keep still.

"You're doing so well," you tell him, meeting his focused eyes in the mirror. His jaw is tense, and his eyebrows furrowed.

He groans in response, either to your words or your tightening grip on his slippery cock.

"You're so good. So good for me."

"Hmm?"

"Yeah. Gorgeous and handsome and kind and respectful, trying so hard to please."

You hope he doesn't interpret your words of encouragement as insulting or belittling in any way because they're not meant to be. But you think your calm, soft voice gets the point across. There's a faint hint of something in his posture, as if he's dropped a little of his arrogance.

You move your other hand, softly circling his left nipple. It hardens under your ghosting touch, and to your delight, you hear him inhale forcefully and feel him lean back further against you.

Jerking faster, you work him until you notice the signs again. The hardening grip of his hands on the armrests, the tensing of his stomach, and the increase in breaths. You see another pearl of precome appear, and so you stop, fingers pinching.

"Okay?" you check in on him.

He licks his lips. "Yeah."

While you wait for the orgasm to subside again, you move your hand from his nipple to slowly stroke his chest.

"You might be a more adept devil than I am," he laughs, out of breath.

You smile, trying to take it as a compliment. "But do you like it?"

"I do. It's frustrating, but it feels… amazing."

"Good, that's the point. Work up to it but postpone ejaculation. Works for most but not all enjoy it. Or they're just too impatient."

"Unless they have no choice?" he teases, turning his head as if to look back at you as much as he can.

"Oh, you have a choice, mister. Just say the word, and I'll stop."

Demonstrating, you let go of him, both hands hovering above his skin.

"No. Don't want you to."

"Don't want me to what?"

"To stop. Continue," he orders, grabbing your hands and putting them back on him, one on his cock and the other on his chest.

"Sure?" you ask, but you don't doubt that he's truthful. In fact, you don't think he would've let you even try what you're doing if he wasn't feeling it.

"Yes," he nods. "Please."

The added 'please' definitely does something to you, and you go back to stroking his chest comfortingly, smiling warmly at him even if he doesn't see it.

This time when you resume, you not only jerk him at a moderate pace and pinch and roll his nipple, but you nibble on his ear as well. It makes him grip your thigh and arch his back briefly.

"You're doing so well," you let go of his ear to whisper.

It takes less and less time to get him right to the edge with every turn, and this time—when his chest is heaving, and he's worked up a new sheen of sweat—you decide that it's the last.

With your fingers pinching his cock again, you kiss his neck and stroke his black hair. "Hold it," you encourage, noticing that he struggles more than before. He's so tense, his breathing so quick and labored, and he can't keep still. After a few seconds, he relaxes, breathing heavily and deeper.

"Good boy. I'll let you come for real this time, alright?"

He nods, but you can tell by the mirror that his eyes are closed.

For the last time, you reposition your hand around him, swiping your thumb over the head to collect the few pearls of precome that have oozed out to aid the glide. He jolts, clearly sensitive. You don't think you've ever felt a cock this hard in your hand, and it has you licking your lips as you admire it. He really is so, so pretty.

You begin again. Slow at first, up and down, thumb gliding over the head and the ridge below it. The devil leans his head back further, resting it on your shoulder. Of course, you don't pass up on the chance to kiss him where you can; his cheek, his jaw, and a little bit of his neck and ear.

His grip on your thigh tightens further when you pick up the pace, also stroking his chest all the way from his neck to his very defined abs. When you focus on his nipple again, he lets out a loud moan.

It doesn't take long until the signs reappear, but this time, you stroke him through it, mumbling praise in his ear and watching when he tenses up. His eyes are shut tight, and he lets out the most divine whimper you've ever heard a man make. Vulnerable but not quite pathetic. He comes a lot, his muscular stomach painted in white, some of it getting onto your hand as well.

You continue.

"Tell me to stop, and I will," you remind, not even giving him a break but stroking him into oversensitivity. You know some find it painful, but you hope it's not for him. "I think that you can come again."

He tenses and fidgets, his hand squeezing your thigh, but he doesn't say anything, so you take it as permission to keep going.

"You're such a good boy for me, Jeongguk. So, so good."

To your satisfaction, he remains hard and only a few moments later, he's coming again. His bottom lip bitten, a small whine slips past anyway as his cock throbs in your hand. It's only a small rope of come this time.

Breathing hard, he keeps his eyes shut, and his hands alternate between gripping your thighs and the armrests. His skin glistens with sweat.

"One more; we'll try for one more," you encourage, letting up the pressure and only stroking him with your thumb and index finger.

So obediently, he allows you to keep going, his stomach more flexed than relaxed and his head thrown back, eyes shut tight and lip still harshly bitten. Waiting for him to tell you to stop—or to go soft—you're pleasantly surprised when he groans deeply, and there's yet another small spurt of come painting your hand.

This time, you stop when the orgasm dwindles, letting go of him carefully. You wipe your hand on your dress where it won't be visible either way, and then you stroke his chest slowly, comfortingly.

"You okay?"

Keeping his eyes closed, he doesn't sound to be more than barely conscious when he mumbles a "yeah."

You smile, pecking his cheek again and stroking his hair. He hasn't said anything about it nor showed any discomfort, so you assume he's fine with your perhaps unusual show of affection.

For maybe five minutes, you caress him, the room comfortably silent. With every minute, his breathing calms and his body relaxes. Lightly, you trace the lines and ridges of his chest with your nails, smiling at the goosebumps on his arms.

Then, a black cloud of smoke appears. And another. And two more. They solidify into wide-eyed demons, staring at you, understandably surprised and worried as they spot their master basically unconscious, naked, and coated in his own release. Two of them look at each other, but no one seems to find their words.

"He's fine," you assure, tracing his jaw with featherlight fingers as his forehead slowly drops to lean against your neck. "He agreed to release the trickster, so I'd be grateful if one of you went and got him."

One of the demons nods, dissolving into black smoke again.

While you wait, you point to the devil's shirt on the ground, nodding gratefully when one of the other demons steps forward to pick it up and hand it to you. You don't know how much he cares, but as more and more demons appear, you make sure to cover the devil's soft cock with the shirt, just in case. You have no intention or desire to humiliate him in any way.

Wiggling out from behind him isn't the easiest, but you manage, adjusting your dress and your hair in front of one the mirrors just as the first demon appears with Jin in tow.

The trickster adjusts his purple linen shirt, tucked into black pants, as he peers over to the practically knocked-out devil.

"What happened here?" He shares the demons' wide-eyed expression, peering between you and the devil, and while you definitely look clean and put-together enough to not be involved, you know Jin knows.

"Nothing. Now come on. This is the last time we're getting you out of here. Next time, we'll let him keep you."

Jin nods, but by the growing smirk on his face, you can tell he's not about to stop his tricks.

You gesture toward the dark tunnel, walking a few steps behind Jin. The demons are all back now, most of them quietly watching you as you leave. One of them walks you, quietly opening the door for you as well, and you slip past it, faced with the steep stairs up to the earth plane. The slab of rock up there is ajar again, golden rays hitting the top part of the stone stairs.

You make it halfway up, fifty of the hundred or so steps, when you hear the grinding of the door reopening behind you. Halting, you look back to see the devil stand at the bottom, shirtless but wearing his unbuttoned pants and with his black hair messy.

The muscular build, so clear when he's holding onto the door, is such a contrast to his dark eyes. You're not sure if it's mostly the angle as you're looking down at him, but they look rounder than before. More innocent. Although he still looks rather confident, there's no trace of the cocky devil you first met.

"What can I say to make you come back?"

And just like that, it becomes real, and you fill with something heavy and unpleasant, watching him with somber eyes.

"It's not a good idea."

More like, it's a terrible idea. You're not allowed to, and it would be so incredibly risky.

"Please?"

You're not sure whether you enjoy having been right about him or not. But all you can do as you back up the stairs is to give him a shake of your head and a sad smile. He doesn't say anything else, and you turn, climbing the rest of the steps, Jin already nearing the top. He waits for you there, and when you're one step away, you glance back.

Having just turned his head, the devil doesn't notice that you've halted to watch him one last time. He's clearly stayed, quietly watching you climb all the way up. Defeated, he heads back inside, his head lowered, and the door shuts behind him.

You feel torn. Of course, you knew that you'd only visit him once and leave, either successful and with Jin in tow or alone. But you'd leave. And Jeongguk, the devil, would stay, doomed to sit at his throne in the underworld for eternity, never able to take even a step outside.

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