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You must be shitting me.

Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable.

Google Maps would one day pay for getting you and Jungkook lost. The bright neon “18+” sign is mocking him. The only lodging within 100 miles is mocking him. He rubs at his sleep-deprived eyes, hoping he’s hallucinating.

Unbelievable.

“Hell no, I can keep driving,” Jungkook turns to you. There’s no way you’d be okay with this.

And he would be correct. You’re reeling on the inside. Who the fuck opens a love hotel in the middle of nowhere?This is a sick joke, and your preferred punchline would be driving into a ditch.  But you know better. “Jeon Jungkook, if you stuff me back into that shitty truck, I’ll slash your tires.”

“You’re sure?” Jungkook asks again, unconvinced.

 “That I’ll slash your tires? Yes.” You flash him a stern look, “Coffee and 5-hour-energy can’t help us now, Bun. We were honked at five times because we were going off the road!" With a light smack of his chest, you giggle, "Besides, maybe they have a room with separate beds."

Every step towards the hotel is a year off Jungkook’s life, the gravel beneath his feet the soundtrack of his impending death.

A bell rings as you enter, catching the desk clerk's eye. The shabby motel is surprisingly chic inside, with modern hardwood tile and wallpaper patterned with soft wisteria, giving the space a fresh feeling.

Okay, so it’s a classy love motel.

“Hey there! Do you have a reservation?” The smile on the clerk’s face is practiced, but falters when he sees both of you in sweatpants and t-shirts, answering his question. As you awkwardly approach the desk, the clerk continues, “Just the two of you?”

Jungkook answers. "uh—yeah.” You spot a basket on the counter and tap Jungkook on the shoulder, pointing. Filled to the brim with different-sized condoms in every bright color imaginable. Pink, blue, orange, yellow, purple, green. You both hold back immature smiles, trying to keep cool, but failing miserably.

“And do you—” you pick up a condom out of the basket, and Jungkook chokes. He takes a moment before looking at the smiley clerk again, “have a room with separate beds?” The clerk stares at Jungkook. He’s never been asked such a ridiculous question in his entire life.

There’s been a handful of moments when Jungkook felt overwhelmingly flustered

Passing a confession note to Sandy Morrison in 2nd  grade.

His first, very awkward, and never-done-again kiss in 11th grade.

Telling his parents that he isn’t straight.

Watching as you, his best friend and crush of God-knows-how long, pick up a large condom. Neatly packed in neon orange wrapping, and pocketing it for some ungodly reason

You don’t know what the hell has come over you. There’s zero intention in your mind of using the highlighter condom, of course—not that you wouldn’t like to. But what else do you do in a love hotel? If you can’t fuck Jungkook, you can at least mess with him. With this in mind, you promptly lose all composure when you spot a shelf near the clerk’s desk displaying a variety of items.

Lube, lace garters, satin blindfolds, fuzzy handcuffs (coming in even more colors than the condoms), and the cherry on top: a brochure of Experimental Positions. They lay there begging for your attention, fancifully packaged in the finest of plastic.

Your body is shaking from the giggles you’re holding in. You practically skip over to the shelf and ask, “How much for these?” Pointing to the handcuffs.

The clerk can’t seem to figure the two of you out. Jungkook, desperate for separate beds and a face more flushed than a red rose, both from embarrassment and holding in his laughter, is a striking contrast to your prowling attitude. “Um... They’re all a buck fifty; the pamphlet is free. He focuses back on Jungkook, “and sir, I’m sorry, but we don’t have rooms with separate beds.” Leaning forward to whisper, he continues, “if you’re fighting, just take the couch. Doesn’t look like you need it, though.”

Such sage advice.

Once you’re both checked in, Jungkook is ready to get this horrendous ordeal over with and find your room. That is, before he sees you, go up to the desk clerk with one of each item from the display shelf.

Oh. My. God.

The clerk looks at Jungkook, thoroughly confused. Hopefully, the pay here is worth it.

While you take happy strides beside Jungkook through the motel hallway, valuable goods in hand, Jungkook carries the luggage. The hallway is pristine, but the scent of postcoital cigarette smoke lingers.

You feel insane for insisting upon staying here, no matter how desperate. And really, you deserve a lifelong sentence for each “souvenir” you purchased. You’re not sure Jungkook will ever recover.

Having reached room 40, you both realize Jungkook’s hands are full of your bags. Awkwardly, you dig into his front pocket, feeling for the keycard.

“It’s in the other pocket.” He speaks up.

Oh. Oops.

You dig through his other pocket.

Why are these damn things so dee—

What was that?

Jungkook gasps.

You gasp.

Realizing that you’ve just defiled your best friend, you flinch away. “Oh my god! I’m so fucking sorry—” Jungkook is utterly speechless. This night, this inconceivable, treacherous night won’t end until he’s dead. He says nothing as you dig more cautiously and finally yank out the godforsaken key.

One awkward minute later, you’re finally in the room. Yours and Jungkook’s cheeks throb.

“Oh...” in unison.

The bed is obviously heart-shaped. The sheets are bright red satin, with blankets of pink velvet. The mattress is adorned with frilly heart pillows and lacy detailing. The black quilted leather headboard is screwed into the wall, which is probably for the best. All at once, something snaps, and the sheer ridiculousness of this nights causes the both of you to fall into uncontrollable giggles. Worsened only by the package of edible cherry panties set on the nightstand. It’s really quite terrible.

Jungkook’s laughter only falters when he notices that there isn’t a couch. The desk clerk is promptly added to his hit list, right below Google. This leaves him with two options: Share the bed with you and sacrifice a sleepless night, resulting in another ten hours of hell tomorrow, or sleep on the plush black carpeted floor and spend the week with achy muscles and a crick in the neck.

He’s gonna have to sleep on the fucking floor, and he doesn’t wanna know what could be on it.

Quietly, Jungkook slips into the bathroom, leaving you to your own devices. One bed. What a despicable cliché. But Jeon Jungkook will not be brought down by some fanfic writer’s wet dream.

Despite the entire ordeal, Jungkook sighs a long breath of relief as hot water spews from the showerhead. He’s needed this all day. Each muscle loosens, and he finds himself relaxing as the pattering of the water hitting the floor puddles in his mind.

Six long years. Jungkook was twelve when he realized he had a big, fat, disgusting crush on you. But he brushed it off. He’d had plenty of crushes, all faded with no time at all. It’s impossible not to have a crush at that age.

Jungkook was sixteen when he accepted that this wasn’t just a crush anymore. It was incessant, and nagging. From all he’d heard about love from his parents, the conclusion seemed clear. The poor bastard was head over heels. Down for the count. Your uneven, toothy smile was often a jolt to his heart, hitting something soft—he’d do anything to see it. On the rare occasion he couldn’t see you, he’d scroll through his phone gallery, just for a small hit. Like any hormonal teen, he recalls feeling stupid for feeling so fuzzy about you all the time. But time eroded those fiddly feelings.

At some point, he really can’t pinpoint when, his physical ache took over. It was absolute hell. He felt complete and utter shame the first time he touched himself to the thought of you, the secret of it all only weighing in his stomach. It seemed deplorable how badly and how often he yearned for your lips on him.

Throughout high school, Jungkook could barely look at anyone else other than you. Others could tell; most didn’t bother to make a move. Except for his first kiss, taking place after prom in the dark parking lot. He apologized profusely to his date the next day, admitting that he didn’t feel the same.

During graduation, he almost slipped. His body buzzed with the urge to confess that, these days, when he said “I love you,” it was no longer platonic. It hadn’t been platonic in a long time. No matter how close he came to spitting it out, he’d always chicken out. You meant too much. It felt... wrong to spring it on you.

But tonight? He might break in two. He’s insane, he knows. But that millisecond where you accidentally touched him through his sweatpants almost made him hydroplane, losing all traction on reality.

A knock on the door yanks Jungkook out of his murky thoughts. “If you use up all the hot water, I’ll annihilate you, Koo!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m almost done.”

If hot showers were personified, you’d marry them. Specifically, the ones taken after your best friend, with his lingering scent of citrus and amber. This night has been a janky rollercoaster of potholes, sweat, and terrible interior design. You take your time washing away the 14 hours of uncomfortable driving, cleansing your airways. Sometime in the past decade, Jungkook started to smell like home to you. Not even your own family can make you feel at ease the way he does, with the way he shines. Bright enough to warm you, but never overbearing in his heat.

Seven years.

You were 11 when you realized you had a big, fat, disgusting crush on Jungkook. But you went through crushes like you went through Capri-Suns: quickly, and without much thought. He was just a crush born out of proximity.

Wrong.

By 16, you realized it wasn’t just a crush anymore. Something about Jungkook’s demeanor with you changed. He was always nice to you, but as he matured, his rough-and-tumble attitude crumbled away into something softer, cushier, and sweeter. It was unbearable. Whenever he put a secure arm around your shoulder, your heart would squeeze and then release. First yearning, then comfort.

You wanted him. Never in a million years would you live down that embarrassment from the first time you allowed him to invade your thoughts alone at night. It wasn’t that long ago, really. Jungkook had turned 18, and he wasted little to no time in getting a lip piercing. You nonchalantly said It looked cool, but it kept you up that night.

It was becoming too much, but with graduation fast approaching you thought you’d finally have an out. You’d go off to college, and as much as you’d miss your best friend, your heart begged to get away. And hopefully, with time, the love would fade and you could just be old friends.

But reality is sometimes cruel. Jungkook told you early on that he’d be applying to the same school as you as a safety net. You thought there was a fat fucking chance that he wouldn’t get into his first-choice college. He acted stupid, but you knew better than anyone how studious he truly was. What you didn’t expect was for him to choose your school anyway.

‘A better scholarship,’ he said.

So here you are. Desperately trying to wash away your increasing desire to stop being a coward.

Regretfully, you step out of the shower into the cold bathroom air. In an instant, you’re pulling Jungkook’s stolen hoodie over your head.

The room is dead silent when you leave the bathroom, and you spot Jungkook resting peacefully on the heart-shaped bed. His eyes are closed, chest falling and rising softly, lips parted delicately and fully showing off his labret. It’s this moment and a million more that have made you want to give in and tell him. So what if he doesn’t feel the same way? So what if he doesn’t fight the urge to kiss you every day?

But to risk rotting the root that bonds the two of you together is scarier than the ache in your heart.

“Gook? Jungkook is lightly startled, and you almost feel bad for waking him. “Hey, can you move over?”

“Huh?” His glazed, groggy eyes look around, “Oh—yeah, yeah, just a sec.”

The human equivalent of a sloth, Jungkook grabs a pillow and a blanket from the bed and lays them on the floor, but before he can slip down onto the carpet you stop him. “woah, woah, woah, what’re you doing?”

“Uhhh, going to sleep?”

“On the floor? We’ve shared a bed before, doofus.”

“sure, when we were like, nine.” Jungkook retorts. Please, God. Don’t do this to him.

You know it’ll be hell sharing a bed with him, but you’d feel like shit making him sleep on the floor. “What, are you afraid of catching cooties? C’mon, Bun, it’s not a big deal.” It is a big deal. It is such a stupidly big deal.

Jungkook takes a moment to read your eyes, only feeling a twinge of awkwardness. With reluctance, he moves back onto the bed. He can do this.

You climb in behind him, settling in quickly. His back is to you, but warmth radiates from his body. This is fine.

Deep, deep breaths. Focus.

Focus on the patter of the rain outside. The whirring of the ceiling fan above. The softness of the sheets against your skin. The warmth of the blankets trapping your heat. The smell of the detergent. The smell of Jungkook’s shampoo. Wait, no. Don’t focus on that.

Hell freezes over in the time it takes for you to get comfortable.

It feels like infinity has reached its end as Jungkook lies deathly still. One movement and he’ll shatter. The bed feels smaller than it looks. The proximity is too much. He can hear your deep breaths, can feel them in how your back lightly hits his with every intake of air. His body feels like it’ll start vibrating at any moment, followed by his chest imploding. His thoughts are spiraling. He wants you.

Eyes closed. Mouth closed. Mind, a work in progress. Sheep, count sheep.

1...

2...

3...

Please, just fall asleep. You beg yourself.

Closing your eyes, you count the seconds as they pass by into minutes. You’re on minute 28 when a haze finally begins to ease you, gently pulling you into escape. But some prick outside your room drops something heavy, and you hear them giggling and walking away. You hope they have a terrible night’s sleep. Even if they weren’t planning on sleeping anyway.

Being conscious again, it’s impossible to ignore it. You can’t take it. You can’t. His warmth, his smell. His smile, his laugh.

Him.

Something possesses you. A deep ache in your chest, one that makes your heart beat mercilessly.

You whisper.

“Jungook,”

“Hmm?” He curses the waver in his voice as your body shifts around to face his back. It takes a moment for him to gather his own courage and turn around.

Seeing your eyes, Jungkook can feel his nerves tingle. They’re big and wide, scared and excited all at once. His mind has no idea what’s happening, but every nerve can sense the shift happening.

“Jungkook, I...” What are you doing? You’re insane.

Do it.

Just say it.

Say it. Please say it.

No.

Jungkook gently reaches for your hand beneath the blanket. The mingling of your fingers calms your mind, eases your breathing. His hair is still damp from his shower, draping over his eyes as he watches, waiting.

It occurs to you, a split second before you allow yourself to speak: Jungkook’s love had absorbed all your “imperfections.” Melting them away to be simple facts. The facts making up every detail in each other's existence. Like the way you ‘forget’ to wear your retainer half the time, or the way he doesn’t know how to keep a poker face. Jungkook had long since experienced every fact you had to share. With clarity, you think that no matter what, he’ll stick around with every new fact that comes to be.

So you don’t hear yourself say it, but you do feel his hand slip away with a jolt of fear in your chest.

For years, Jungkook assumed he knew the right answer to this problem in his heart. Right now, he’s learning that the problem never was. Right now, he’s learning that he’s a little stupid.

And right now, he’s leaning over to cup your cheek, body hovering slightly over your own. Heat searing through the layers of clothes. An impatient tick makes you gently grasp the back of his neck to pull him closer.

Stilted and admittedly awkward, your lips press. Exploring and trying. Wanting and false. It takes a looming 15 seconds before you’re both pulling away. Your cheeks burn red, panting at each other. Tentatively, Jungkook’s lips approach yours again. They’re faltering, grasping for a rhythm.

He pulls away again.

Flushed but only a little embarrassed, you giggle at yourselves. Your eyes meet. He nods, his fingers brush through your hair, playing with it casually, and awaiting your direction. The prickle of his hands in your hair eases down your spine and calms your nerves.

“Third time’s the charm?”

With less hesitance than before, Jungkook finds your lips again, keeping his hand buried in your hair. This time, it’s more comfortable, and your lips tingle. Unsure of what to do with yourself, your hands grip his sweatshirt tight, and you find it in yourself to lean in closer. Finally, your breath quickens less from nerves and more from excitement.

How many times have you imagined this? Each scenario different, but always passionate and fiery. Hundreds of daydreams, none of them accurate, each of them quickly forgotten when compared to the softness of Jungkook’s lips. There’s no rush in the way he moves against you, seeking knowledge. This flow continues until his lips leave your own, and before you can pant out a protest, they fall upon your neck. All thoughts drift away.

Far more astonishing is when he drags you on top of him, changing your positions.

A quiet gasp escapes. Woah woah woah, buddy.

Your surprise doesn’t stop him from dragging his lips to the other side of your neck, making your legs go numb. With his stupid lips still pressed against your throat, he asks, “Is this okay?”

There’s a metric fuck-ton of fumbling in your brain before you can answer.  “Mhm... I’ve thought about this a lot.”

“Oh? How much of it?” This stupid bitch.

“Shut up before you ruin it, just keep going.” You have no clue, but to Jungkook, the breathlessness in your voice is kryptonite.

Slipping a hand beneath your hoodie, you jolt at his touch. “How far do you want me to go?”

You squirm, “Um... I don’t know yet.”

There’s a pause in his movements, and Jungkook keeps steady in your gaze. “I don’t really know either. We can stop any time.” A promise.

Becoming impatient, you give him a trusting nod before you guide his hand to slip further into your hoodie. The trail of his touch causes tingles to bloom and spread. It’s unpredictable, exciting. The gentle nature in the way he feels you causes your body to instinctively sink into his hips, forcing a groan from his parted lips. “Fuck, do that again.” You follow his instruction, and a pleasured moan escapes. A spark courses through you, leaning in to kiss him again. It’s messier this time, the caress of his hands across your skin making the simple task of breathing complicated. Your hips push down again, and the bulge you feel beneath you makes you gasp. In quick succession, Jungkook’s fingers brush over the tip of your breast. To your utter shock, a whine flows out of your lips, draining more of the strength from your legs. You follow instinct, one hand slipping beneath Jungkook’s shirt, and the jerk has the audacity to cup your breast in retaliation, dragging another whine out of you. Your head falls to his neck, partially because you feel like jelly, and partially because you want to leave a string of kisses to match what he so generously left on you prior.

With each kiss, your hands keep exploring his torso and chest. If he can play dirty, so can you.

Or so you thought.

He pulls the neckline of your hoodie down to gain access to your collarbone before leaning up and licking a bold stripe from your clavicle up to your neck, dragging your body closer all the while. When he latches onto the crook of your neck, sucking hard and meeting your hips as they subconsciously grind into him, you release a moan.

You see through hazy vision the smirk on his face. Different from any that you’ve seen in your countless years of friendship.

He does it again, latching onto a spot along your collarbone and sucking, harsh but loving. Easing the sting with another wipe of his tongue.

The room becomes an orchestra of heavy breaths, stifled groans, whines, and moans. Time feels nonexistent.

“I think I want you to touch me, koo—”

“You think?”

You whine, “I just need more—”

He groans, “Fuck, babe.”

The word slips from his tongue mindlessly, but it makes your heartbeat increase tenfold. Part of you expects this to be another daydream.

His hands securely grip your hips and guide them to grind down onto him, hard. His sweatpants a meaningless barrier.

You gasp at first, but as he keeps guiding your hips, you let out a moan, louder than the one before. You cover your mouth, not wanting to risk being overheard by anyone outside.

“No, baby, please don’t be quiet, please—”

As the rhythm of your hips continues, you lean down, resting your head beside Jungkook’s ear, hoping that the muffle of the pillows will prevent anyone other than Jungkook from hearing you. You let go, letting your moans flow as his hips meet yours; each sound you let out into his ear brings Jungkook close to his breaking point.

“Keep going, Koo, I’m close.” You whisper, and if you were anywhere but on top of him, you might’ve thought Jungkook was in pain, each moan more desperate than the last.

The slickness in your panties makes it easy to continue gliding along, each of you chasing the other until you’re cumming against each other.

You fall against Jungkook, the fumes of your energy now spent. His lips press tenderly against your hair.

As the panting dies down, the words bubble up from Jungkook’s mouth, quiet but sure. “I love you.”

“Love” was a commonplace word between you and Jungkook, almost second-nature in your friendship. A phrase uttered a million times, and to be uttered a million more.

“I love you.” You respond. Quiet but sure.

His hands are back to combing through your hair. The pattering rain, the whirring fan, the soft sheets, and the smell of Jungkook keeping your mind in the in-between of sleep and consciousness.

“We should clean up.” You almost don’t hear Jungkook, but when his words reach your mind, you groan in complaint.

“You’re not the boss of me.”

“Bro—”

“Don’t ruin it.”

“I’m not ruining it.”

“Yes, you are.”

You’re startled at the sudden feeling of being lifted off the bed.

“Hey!”

“Shut up.”

Yes, some things never change.

“Mmm, quiet baby.” Jungkook whispered softly against your lips. He had carefully positioned his mouth so that it only touched the corners of your lips, avoiding the new piercing in the center. As tender and sensitive as your bottom lip felt, it didn’t stop the aching need for him to commit to the kiss.

When you walked into his dorm that evening, ready to show off your new labret piercing, you hadn’t anticipated ending up like this, pressed firmly into Jungkook’s mattress as his hips moved rhythmically in and out of you. You let out a soft moan at the feeling, intense enough to make you need more, but too weak to ease the hot and twisting feeling in your stomach.

If anyone had told you two years ago that Jungkook would be such a bitch during sex, you would’ve actually stopped yourself from confessing to him. Where was the sweet, awkward Koo that was nervous and unsure underneath all the tattoos and piercings?

Maybe you didn’t mind whatever came over him.

“Koo—” Instinct takes over, and you almost bite your lip mindlessly to silence yourself. But Jungkook is quick to prod our mouth open with his fingers.  

“Baby, no, you’ll hurt yourself,” he’s infuriating, feigning concern, “the others are here, so you’ll just have to be a good girl,” There it is. His new favorite phrase. He presses a kiss to the corner of your lips “quiet.” His tone is gentle, but his thrusts are teasing, leaving you desperate and breathless. Your eyes plead as they latch onto his own and you grab for the pillow beneath. You almost can’t hold back the whimper trembling on the edge of your lips.

“I’m kinda annoyed that it’ll be a while til’ I can kiss you properly, but I like it,” another peck against the corner of your mouth, “I’ll have to pick a new spot for my kisses, won’t I?” His lips move slowly along your jaw, “maybe here…” up, grazing your neck, “or here…” further down to your collarbones, “you’d look precious if I left some hickies here, don’t ya’ think, baby?” He looks up at you, but you can’t find the voice to respond when his cock keeps slipping in and out of you tantalizingly.

“Koo—Koo please, I can’t.” You beg, knowing it will get you nowhere.

“What, you want my roommates to hear you? Want them to hear how good I fuck you? How pretty you always sound with me?”

You find the strength to vehemently protest, “N-no, you know I don’t like others hearing.”

“Then just hold on tight baby, no sound. Promise I’ll make my girl feel so good, yeah?”

And Jungkook makes good on his promise. Minutes of you holding onto the pillow for dear life, legs wrapped tightly around Jungkook’s waist pass by quickly. As your orgasm creeps closer, it becomes harder and harder to keep silent. The urge to close your mouth or bite your lip is intense, but you breath heavily, helpless. Meanwhile, Jungkook keeps fucking into you, gradually going harder and harder, knocking the air from your lungs. His hands roam your body, and his lips focus on the corners of your mouth, kissing, licking, sucking on any part that isn’t near the sensitive flesh of your fresh piercing. “Fuck baby, I won’t be able to keep my mouth off you once it’s healed—” he breathes into your mouth, “so hot.”

You’re on the edge now, ready to fall over. Breathing heavily, the ability to keep your voice down weakens. A soft whine escapes. You quickly cut it off, but immediately lose control again when Jungkook’s lips attach to your breasts, tongue feeling around your nipple before latching on. A quiet moan that just keeps coming and coming. Soon, all you can do is whimper at every touch, every small movement.

“B-bun—ah—fuck—” you’re barely audible, “I can’t, I’m sorry, I’m sorry— “

“Oh, baby, it’s okay.” He reassures you, continuing to fuck into you. You’re about to break. You’re seconds away. “Shhh, it’s okay.”

And for a moment, you're relieved. His thumb circles your clit sweetly, and it lulls you further into the illusion that he'd ever go back on his word. But you're lost. Right on the edge. Right there.

And he stops.

The bastard stops.