♡ s n o w ♡

[5:49PM]

from: My idiot

I’m right around the corner, see you in a bit

You smile at your phone as you read the new text from your best friend, the urge to just snatch the boxes off the counter and pay the lady is growing by the second. Luckily, the lady notices you seem in a hurry and puts the boxes into a plastic bag as she waits for your payment.

You give her an apologetic smile as you slide your phone back into your pocket and take out your wallet, struggling to get your card out but you eventually do and quickly press it against the payment terminal. The payment goes through without you needing to give in your code and you slide your card back into your wallet.

You thank the lady quietly before taking the bag and slowly walking out of the building, looking around to see if your friend’s car is in view.

You spot his car slowing down in front of you, watching as the car comes to a halt. He gets out and jogs to your side, his black hair bouncing. He keeps telling you to ‘take it easy’ as he takes the bag from you and helps you into the passenger’s seat. You glance at his outfit, knowing he has just clocked out from work.

He’s wearing a buttoned shirt that he hadn’t buttoned up all the way so you could see the silver necklace clinging around his neck. Black jeans hugged his amazing thighs, in which his shirt was tucked into paired with black ankle boots. He jogs around the front of the car and hops behind the steering wheel, kissing your forehead as he always does when he greets you and whenever you part ways.

You smile and thank him quietly, buckling your seatbelt as he buckles his own and starts driving the familiar way to your home. The smell of food enters your nostrils and you look over your shoulder to notice a plastic bag probably full of takeout food he picked up on the way to you placed in the backseat.

You feel like the luckiest person to have someone as thoughtful and considerate as him in your life, you hadn’t even asked him for it. You never had to ask him for anything. He bought some just in case you hadn’t eaten.

You could’ve very well already eaten but then he’d say something along the lines of ‘eat it tomorrow then’ or ‘have some more’. He’s such a worrywart but your heart bursts every time he does something for you because you love how much attention he pays to you.

The song playing on the radio is some sappy love song that you don’t pay attention to but it reminds you of the text you just got from him for some reason.

“I told you not to text and drive,” you sigh, slapping his knee as you lean back into your seat, referring to when he texted you that he was around the corner. He sends a glance your way before he starts the car and starts driving, a shit-eating grin forming on his lips.

“I’m serious, Jimin,” you whine annoyingly, snatching the phone that was between his thighs and placing it in the cupholder next to the gear shift. He chuckles quietly and rubs your knee in return, mumbling a quick worthless promise about how he won’t do it again.

The rest of the ride to your home is quiet but comfortable, the both of you just humming along to the music on his radio. Soon you reach your block and the motion of Jimin parking his car makes you unbuckle your seatbelt. When the car completely stops, you open the door but he immediately jumps out and almost runs to your side to help you out.

“I sprained my ankle, I didn’t give birth.” The joke makes him shake his head in disagreement, dismissing your playfulness about the situation as he hands you the crutch and takes the bag of pharmaceutical products as he helps you out of the car. After making sure you’re stable, he swings open the door to his backseat and reaches for the bag of food. He gives you a couple ‘be careful’s and ‘watch out’s as he helps you onto the steps of the entrance to your apartment.

He uses the emergency key to your residence he got from you because he doesn’t want to make you look for yours. You roll your eyes as you walk into your lobby, hearing him press the button on his car keys and locking his car from a distance as he enters the lobby after you. He closes the door and helps you into the elevator, pressing the seventh floor button and leans against the elevator wall, his eyes now staring into yours.

“How long do you get to stay home before you have to go back to work?” he asks you, his free hand gripping the metal handrails against the wall on his right side.

“Three weeks,” you sigh in content, happy you finally get a break from work for the first time in the year you’ve worked there, your first job fresh out of university. He drops his head in jealousy, shaking his head. He runs his hand through his black hair and lifts his head again, making eye contact with you again.

“I don’t mean to call you lucky for being in pain…but you’re lucky,” he jokes, making you chuckle at his words and watch the little screen in the elevator that tells you which floor you’re on, realizing you’ve arrived at the seventh. He steps out first and holds his hand against the sliding doors of the elevator, making sure it doesn’t shut on you as you limp out.

You finally arrive at your front door and insert your key into the keyhole before he can, muttering a quiet statement about being able to handle yourself. He pretends he doesn’t hear you and just pushes the door open when you unlock it, letting you in first before entering and kicking his shoes off.

Without even needing to be asked, he places the bags on the small table by your entrance and drops to one knee to help you out of your shoes, making sure to be careful with your injured foot. He places your shoes neatly by the door and helps you take off your coat, hanging it up on your coat rack.

He grabs the bags and walks into the living room, placing them on the dining table. He finds his way into the kitchen and comes back out with utensils, plates and cups. You limp to the dining table and sit in your usual seat and watch as he sets the table quickly, a small smile sitting on your lips. It’s almost…nostalgic.

You and Jimin go way back, your first meeting was on the first day of sophomore year in high school. He had just moved from the big city to your small, beloved hometown. Back then you weren’t exactly the best of friends but after sharing classes everyday throughout high school, seeing the only familiar face in university is the true reason why you two grew so close. Always hanging out, looking out for each other, caring for each other. He was one of your best friends, and still is to this day.

It inevitably reminds you of the first time you had sex with him. And the time after that. And the time after that. And after that time. And after that.

However, nothing romantic ever happened between you two. Neither of you were interested in that, not with each other. At least, that’s what you thought.

You don’t like to call him your ‘fuck buddy’ or ‘friends with benefits’, generally because you just didn’t like those terms, not to describe him of all people. You feel like it undermines the bond you two share.

He’s just…your best friend. That takes care of you and helps you when you need it. That you take care of and help when he needs it. That you sometimes have mind blowing sex with – that was it. You just know in your heart, you could always and forever count on him and vice versa.

You have a lovely dinner with him, talking about everything and nothing at the same time. After feeling like you had been sitting there for 30 minutes, your eyes trail to the clock and you realize 2 hours have already passed. You slowly rise to your feet and start piling the dirty dishes on top of each other – but not for long as Jimin reaches forward and slaps your hand away.

“Ow!” you shriek, “what the hell?” You look down at the man who just smacked your hand, gently rubbing your knuckles with your other hand. He has a stern look on his face, his eyes widening – telling you to sit the hell back down while he takes over, gathering the dishes and used napkins.

“You do know I’ll have to do this by myself when you’re not around, right?” Annoyance is present in your voice, your eyes watching him sternly as he simply shrugs.

“What makes you think I’m not going to be here everyday for the next three weeks?” he hums as he walks into your kitchen without listening to what you have to say about that. You hear him turning on the tap water and loading your dishwasher.

Rolling your eyes, you shake your head as you wipe down whatever mess you two had made with one of the left over napkins. You throw the dirty napkin with the mess on the table into the bag he brought the food in, waiting for him to return.

It doesn’t take long for him to walk back into the room, he takes the bag off the table and throws it in the bin before returning to your side and helping you out of your seat. You could do all of these things by yourself and even though you pretend you’re annoyed – deep down you enjoy his proximity and concern.

He assists you to your bedroom, letting you sit down on your bed. Your eyes follow him as he’s in search mode, looking for comfortable pyjamas you can wear. He knows the way around your room like the back of his hand – explanations not needed. (Read: he’s been in your bedroom almost everyday since you started living here 3 years ago.)

After he places the neatly folded clothes on top of your dresser, he walks up to you and hands you your makeup removal wipes as he tugs on your shirt.

“Jimin! I can do this myself,” you groan for the nth time today but he doesn’t listen as usual. However this time he taps your lips once slightly to shut you up as he raises your shirt over your head. His eyebrows raise and his bottom lip sticks out when he notices you’re wearing his favorite bra, an apologetic look on his face as he gently places your shirt on your bed.

“I wish I could destroy you,” he mumbles quietly with a pout on his lips.

“You know we can still fuck, right? I’m just not doing anything that involves me putting my weight on my foot.” Your fingers rub circles into your eye with the makeup wipe in an attempt to remove your eyeliner and mascara – but the growing grin on his lips doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Oh? Like what?” he purrs.

“Well,” you say, trying to think of sexual positions you can’t do with an injured foot. “Basically only missionary.”

He begins to unbutton his shirt but his phone vibrates, so he continues with one hand as he takes his phone out of his pocket and looks down at his phone. You can’t tell what it is but his face shifts, something you can only assume is because of whoever just texted him. He reads whatever it is he was notified of and quickly types a response, throwing his locked phone somewhere on your bed.

By that time, you’ve finished wiping off your makeup and you place the used wipe on your nightstand. Jimin is standing in between your legs, just staring down at you as he unbuttons his shirt. He rubs your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, inserting the tip of his thumb into your mouth.

You slowly close your mouth around his thumb, the tip of your tongue circling the tip of his finger without breaking eye contact. You move to unbuckle his belt but he stops you by grabbing your wrists, his fingers wrapped around them tightly.

He shakes his head, making you relax your fingers. “No. Tonight I’m spoiling you.”

He drops your hands and you let him gently push you back onto your back. He helps you lay down, making sure your head is comfortably on your pillows. He carefully helps you out of your pants, throwing it somewhere on the growing pile of clothes on the floor. He lays on his hip horizontally on the bed, placing his hands on the back of your knees and gently holds your legs back, being wary of your injured foot.

He starts by placing gentle kisses through the thin fabric of your panties before helping you out of your panties as well. He throws them off the bed, holding your legs back again. When you don’t feel anything for a few moments, you look down at Jimin in between your thighs. He’s just staring at your sex, insecurity seeping into your stomach.

“Is something wrong?” you ask him, trying to suppress the concern in your voice.

“No, just admiring what a pretty pussy you have and how I should do this more often.” He licks a stripe up your slit and begins circling your clitoris with his tongue. You hiss slightly, running a hand through his hair and gently tug at it.

He looks up at you — you can’t even see the smirk on his face but you can definitely feel it against your skin.

He pulls away to spit on your pussy, using his fingers to spread his saliva all around, making your hips jolt. He starts sucking on your clit with so much fervor that you can already feel your stomach clenching.

“If you keep doing that, I will–” You don’t even finish your sentence because Jimin has plunged 2 of his fingers into you, massaging your inner walls whilst sucking on your pulsating clit.

He rotates his fingers so he can curl them, a smirk on his lips as he uses his other hand to press you down and stop you from bucking your hips up into his face. He continues the torturous assault on your g-spot, enough to send you over the edge.

Your entire body clenches as the sensation of pure pleasure and bliss spreads through every single one of your nerve endings. Pathetic moans spill from your lips and white spots take over your vision as you squeeze your eyes shut.

You cry out his name with a thrust of your hips, grinding into his face as you orgasm. Your hands tightly grip his hair as he keeps sucking on your clit, your legs uncontrollably jolting under him. You’re on the verge of sobbing as Jimin keeps going, his torture never ending and your legs fall limp as your orgasm comes to an end.

“Already? You must’ve been really horny,” he chuckles as he wipes his chin with the back of his hand. You glare at him with a scowl on your face and he just throws a wink your way.

He gets onto his knees against your mattress and unbuckles his belt. He tugs his pants and boxers down his legs, his erection slapping against his stomach in the process as he hurriedly kicks the remaining clothing off the bed. He crawls back over to you, wrapping his hand around the back of your knee and slowly spreads your thighs again.

He positions himself at your sex, glancing up at you as if asking for permission. After you finally catch your breath, your gaze shifts to his and you realize he’s waiting for your confirmation. He impatiently slaps his dick against your pussy, urging you to give him permission. You bite your lip and nod at him, your hands gripping onto the sheets on either side of your hips.

You don’t think any longer about it as he slides into you, placing his hands on the back of your knees again and gently pushing them back, still wary of your injury. He begins to thrust slowly, gently and delicately rolling his hips against yours. You don’t think you have ever had sex with him this sensual, except for maybe the night you let him take your virginity.

A pathetic moan spills from your lips, your eyes dropping down to where you’re connected and watching how he slides in and out of you so gently yet so passionately. It feels weird. In a good way.

Whenever you two fucked – which was at least 3-4 times a week – it was usually pretty kinky and on the rough side.

This just felt like…love making. But you quickly shut that thought out because you know Jimin is just trying to be thoughtful of your injury.

He motions for you to hold the back of your knees and you do. You idly watch as he places his hands on your mattress, on each side of your waist. Your eyes watch as he lowers his head and gently sucks on your right breast, his tongue circling your nipple. Your head sinks into the pillows, pressing your cranium deeper into the pillows as lewd moans escape your pretty lips.

Jimin grins against your skin when he hears you moan for him, his thrusts slightly picking up the pace as he raises himself back up to face you. He moves up, placing his hands on your pillows, on each side of your head. His chain dangles in front of your face, a sight that always drives you crazy.

Soft moans spill from his lips too, his eyes boring into yours as he bottoms out. Your mouth falls open at how full you feel and Jimin’s consistency never falters as he continues to thrust into you, the pace not fast but not slow either. Just perfect.

“I’m…going to cum soon,” he warns, spreading his legs further apart to support your thighs so neither of you have to hold them back. This allows you to reach for the back of his head and you pull him close to press your foreheads together, giving you both the ability to watch him slide in and out of you.

“Cum inside,” you quietly moan, eyes still on where you’re connected. The command takes Jimin by surprise, his hips stuttering for a moment. What made you break your own rules?

The rules both of you agreed on is that you would have raw sex with only each other and protected with other people, but no cumming inside. Yes, you are on birth control but it was too much of a hassle to clean up.

“Are you– are you sure?” he asks you, lifting his forehead slightly off yours to be able to read you better, his thrusts returning to the perfect pace.

“What? Are you scared? I said put a fucking baby in me before I change my mind,” you grunt as you let go of his hair, pressing your head back into your pillow and you never break eye contact with him. He knows it’s just a figure of speech but the choice of words drives him fucking crazy.

Your pretty eyes, your dilated pupils, your furrowed eyebrows, your slightly parted lips and the soft moans leaving your lips make him act before thinking.

Before you realize what he’s about to do, Jimin leans down and presses his lips softly against yours. For him to do that is so rare, so very rare, specifically in an intimate situation like this. You have kissed each other before but it was usually rough and sweaty and heavy and horny and used to get ready or in the mood to have sex.

However in this moment you don’t only not mind, you enjoy it. Maybe a bit too much. Maybe somewhere even hoping for it to happen.

Your heart pounds in your chest, you want to pull him even closer. The taste of him drives you crazy and you want more. More of him.

But now his thrusts were getting a bit rougher, his lips still on top of yours, his tongue licking into your mouth. If he notices your hand reaching down and rubbing your clit furiously in an attempt to orgasm together, he doesn’t comment in it but he does speed up the pace of his hips.

He moans into your mouth as his hips stutter and warm ropes of his cum shoot into you, his thrusts getting sloppy. But he keeps going nonetheless, his moans turning into groans and grunts as you clench around him.

Exhaustedly, he keeps thrusting to help you reach your climax as well, luckily it doesn’t take long after for you to cum, his lips never leaving yours. Your second climax hits you like a ton of bricks, gushy sounds and slapping noises get quieter as the both of you come to a full stop.

You get why people say to not let someone kiss you whilst they’re in missionary, especially when they’re cumming inside of you. Because it really did make you think that maybe one baby isn’t so bad.

He kisses you long after both of you orgasm, after he’d stopped fucking into you. Your hands are on his face as you kiss back with equal fervor. His soft lips on yours feel like you’re literally being kissed by clouds, his naked body still on top of you makes you feel like you’re being caressed by angels.

As if a pile of bricks drops on him, he pulls away abruptly without looking at you. He immediately drops his head into the crook of your neck and stays inside of you, feeling some of his load leak out of you but neither of you really care. At this moment you feel strange. That climax was just – strange. The best you ever had – but strange.

Probably the best either of you ever had.

You’re reminded of what you told him in the heat of the moment and the kiss. The kiss.

You know Jimin well.

You know damn well he’s staying like this, hiding his face in the crook of your neck because he knows how awkward this is now, avoiding your gaze, avoiding your questions, avoiding everything.

But are you in any position to question him? You were into the moment just as much as he was. Hell, you might’ve liked it even more than he did.

It doesn’t last too long before he pushes himself back up and pulls out slowly, reaching for the used makeup wipe on your nighstand to wipe some of the leaked cum from your mattress and quietly hops off of you.

“I uh–” he starts, “I’m going to take a shower,” he mumbles, placing a box of wet wipes on your nightstand before he hops off your bed and quietly enters the bathroom. You hear the water running and for a moment, you don’t really do anything. You stare at the ceiling.

What the hell was that?

•••

You haven’t seen Jimin since that weird night. You have never felt this strange about the sex you two had. Whatever the hell happened, it couldn’t be the end of whatever you had, right?

Spoiler alert – it was, in a way.

Because here Jimin stands, a week after no speaking – the longest you’ve gone without talking – in your living room, fidgeting with his sweatshirt.

“I– uh…want to talk about why I left so suddenly.” He looks at the floor, avoiding your gaze. You’re seated on the couch and usually he’d sit by you, rub your feet, play with your hair, anything. This time he stands there in front of you, nervously avoiding your gaze.

“It’s okay, Jimin, really,” you chuckle, trying to brush it off because it genuinely isn’t a big deal. The thing that bothered you about it wasn’t the act itself, it was the no texts – no calls combo for a week after. You aren’t just one of his hoes. You’re his friend. His best friend.

He shakes his head, “No,” he pauses, “No, it’s not – I’ve been seeing someone.”

Oh.

Oh.

Mind racing. Mouth empty.

Who?

When?

Why?

No, not why. Both of you have always supported each other in your romantic relationships and respected it. That meant obviously no sex and less hanging out.

Instantly, you’re reminded of that night. The way he looked at his phone when he got that text…seemed off. It makes sense now. Leaving so suddenly. No texting. No calling. No randomly showing up in your home, using the key you gave him.

You wonder what it was that made you feel weird about that night, before knowing he was seeing someone.

Was it the fact that you allowed him to ejaculate inside of you for the first time? Maybe it was the intimate way Jimin had kissed you. Like mentioned before, obviously the two of you had kissed before but usually it was after a night out and the both of you were drunk and horny and it was rough and sexual and needy and hot and heavy and loud and it always led to sex. You had never just gently kissed each other, not in that way.

The pieces finally start falling into place. He left in a hurry that night because he felt guilty. To that person, to you, to himself. It wasn’t fair to anyone.

“Is that why you just shut me out for an entire week after…” you pause, realizing that night will now forever be an awkward topic for the both of you to talk about, “…that night?” you finish, swallowing in an attempt to get rid of the lump in your throat.

“I’m sorry. I know our communication has been impeccable since the start and we always sort stuff out but…it was different this time. It is different this time,” he slowly takes a seat across from you, folding his leg and placing his right foot on top of his left knee.

“Y/N, I really like them and it’s serious,” he says, a serious expression on his face as he finally makes eye contact with you for the first time. For whatever reason there’s a sharp sting in your chest, the words taking you by surprise. He anxiously waits for your response but nothing comes out. You’re just…staring at him.

“Please, say something,” he pleads, he can’t stand the silence. Not from you. Even if Jimin is falling in love with someone else, he can’t imagine ever living the rest of his life without you. Maybe that isn’t fair to his partner but you are too important to him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you blurt out. You didn’t mean to make it sound like you are hurt, but you fail at hiding it. You actually are.

He takes a deep breath and rubs his eyes, letting all of it out in a deep sigh. He knew the question was coming and he knows you deserve the truth.

“I was planning to, I promise – but things kept getting in the way. Then you sprained your ankle and when I helped you undress and saw what you were wearing and…I just–” he keeps stuttering, a slight tremble present in his voice. “I felt like telling you in the moment would’ve ruined it.”

“In other words, you saw me wearing something I wore for you and felt bad about what? Rejecting me? Is that what that was? Pity sex?” you question, your cheeks starting to heat up and your eyes staring at him in disbelief. His eyes widen at your assumption, shaking his head quickly as he drops to his knees in front of you, holding your hand in his.

“No, no! Not at all, you know that!” he claims desperately, his eyes still wide in hope you’d believe him but you just feel…humiliated.

“How long have you been seeing them?” you cut him off, staring at your hands in his hold. You can sense the hesitation, his eyebrows twitching at the question. You know him, he’s trying to look for a way to be careful with his words after what just happened.

“…About two months.”

The feeling of nausea makes you rise to your feet immediately after those words leave his mouth, his eyes following your face as you get up.

“Get the fuck out.” You point towards your front door, keeping eye contact with him. He immediately gets up, his eyes wide with confusion and concern. At this point it isn’t even the revelation that makes you want him to leave, it’s the unbearable feeling of your chest being on fire.

“Wait–”

“You kept fucking me while you were taken?” you snap at him, pushing him back towards your front door by roughly pushing against his chest. You can tell he wants to stop you, grab you by the wrists, defend himself, but he also knows you’re right, it’s unacceptable. You’re reminded of all the times he had fucked you into his mattress, into your mattress, these past two months.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I was selfish and took advantage of the situation,” he whimpers as he owns up to it, his back now against your front door. “But it hadn’t been that serious in the beginning and I just now realiz–”

“Why the fuck did you kiss me like that?” you hiss at him and a quick, sharp cough follows your words.

“I–I was caught up in the moment and I thought it was going to be our last time toget–”

“Wait a second–” you cut him off, the look of realization taking over your face. “Did you imagine or pretend that I was them?” you ask, accusatory. You watch as he starts quickly shaking his head in panic, his eyes wide and eyebrows furrowed.

“What the fuck? No. I would never do that, Y/N, what the fuck do you take me for?” he snaps right back, his cheeks reddening and his irises slightly shaking as his gaze jumps from your left eye to your right consistently. You can tell that by his reaction, he’s being sincere. Your assumption is way out of line, especially with how well and how long you’ve known him.

Another cough irritates your throat and you start to feel insanely nauseous. As soon as you’ve made it to the front door, you quickly open it with one hand as your other hand shields your mouth. You notice the concern in his eyes but before he can ask anything, you let go of the door handle and hold out your hand to him.

“Give me back my keys. There’s no need for you to have them if you’re dating someone,” you tell him, your voice coming out muffled because of your mouth being covered by your hand, another few coughs escaping your throat. You hold your other hand out to him.

He takes a breath to start protesting but notices the seriousness in your eyes, the look of defeat immediately plastered on his face. He shoves his hand into his pocket and places the cold, metal key in your palm.

He slowly backs out of your apartment, his hand running through his hair, a habit he’s had ever since you’ve known him. He keeps eye contact with you which allows you to notice the tears pooling in his eyes but you don’t care at the moment. Right now, you feel nauseous, shocked, disgusted, pained. You want to throw up your guts.

You slam the door shut in his face but there is no more time for you to make it into the bathroom. You feel something coming up your esophagus, already coming up the back of your throat. You immediately fall to your knees, coughing some more into your hand.

Cough.

Cough.

Gag.

Cough.

Gag.

Until you notice something sitting on your tongue.

You slowly lower your hand from your mouth, taking a look at your palm to notice it covered in saliva and blood. Your eyes shoot open at the sight, a frown on your eyebrows. You have never coughed up blood before. But the shock doesn’t stay for long because you remember something else is still inside of your mouth.

You slowly open your mouth, pushing your index finger and thumb inside until they meet whatever it is sitting on top of your tongue. You squeeze it in between the pads of your fingers and slowly pull it out, your eyes following your fingers as they do.

It’s small and white, as thin as a leaf. Then it dawns on you.

A flower petal, but not just any flower petal.

A petal of the Bridal Wreath Spirea flower.

Jimin’s birth flower.

•••

Days have passed and you haven’t seen or heard from Jimin, your condition has been getting worse. Days have turned into weeks. Weeks have turned into months. Violent coughs would erupt from your throat, always leaving your hands covered in sticky saliva and blood with a scent of nectar that was left by the flowers growing in your lungs.

You have already visited multiple doctors and they all say the same thing: get the disease surgically removed. You have your doubts obviously, since they have also made you aware about the new procedure.

Apparently with the original surgery, only your romantic feelings for that person would be removed in the process but this procedure has been discontinued for 10 years already, since some victims would develop romantic feelings again for the same person or another person which makes a second surgery extremely dangerous.

That is why the new procedure completely removes your ability to ever love again.

To live but to never love.

It’s why you’ve been scared shitless to agree to the surgery. Never loving anyone again? Is that really a life anyone would ever want?

You haven’t told anyone yet. Of course you haven’t, you’re terrified. The thought of something growing in your lungs that will eventually suffocate and kill you is a scary thought for anyone. Perhaps the scariest of all is the one fact that you had been ignoring all this time.

Being in love with your best friend, Park Jimin.

You still can’t believe this is where your life was headed. Dying? Over that piece of shit?

You shake your head, shutting out your own thoughts. Jimin isn’t a piece of shit. The opposite actually, you have never met anyone like Jimin. You had never even thought of someone being on this earth like Jimin.

He’s caring, genuinely. Compassionate. Considerate. Kind. Sensitive. He truly is one of a kind. And if that’s the norm, perhaps you are praising the bare minimum.

Like the time he raced for 3 hours to come pick you up from the airport after you’d been harassed on your trip. Or whenever he drove past your place and saw your lights off, he’d pick up food and drive to your workplace. Or whenever you weren’t at your best, he could tell and insisted on taking care of you. He noticed every single detail about you. Observed you every chance he got. It’s almost like he had a sixth sense.

He has been texting you since that fight but you haven’t replied, haven’t called him back and have avoided him like the plague.

You honestly don’t know if you’re ever going to tell him about it. Just because you know Jimin, and you know his heart. He’d never forgive himself for being the ‘cause’ of your pain, your suffering, your death. He would much rather take the burden on himself, he would much rather die.

The fact that it took Jimin falling in love with someone else for you to realize you had felt this way pisses you off. You could have avoided this. You could have made your move on Jimin, you could have started distancing yourself from him a long time ago. Anything to avoid this.

But guilt bubbles in your stomach. You know him, you know he's concerned, sick to his stomach. You owe him. He deserves to know you’re okay – even though you’re quite literally not.

•••

You find yourself at his doorstep, nervously fidgeting. You shift your weight from one foot to another as you gently knock at his door. It’s 11:19PM. You’re lucky he’s a light sleeper. You are out of your mind for even showing up right now, but the longer you stay away from him, envisioning him loving another person, the worse the coughing and vomiting becomes. And it’s been months since you’ve seen him.

The sound of the keys rattling against the other side of the door snaps you back into reality, your eyes blinking quickly as your gaze is now focused on the door handle turning.

As the door opens, you see the silhouette of the man who’s going to be the death of you – literally. One of his eyes is closed, the other is half closed and his lips puffy. His hair is messy and one of his hands is under his shirt, scratching his chest. His eyes shoot open at the sight of you, the door swinging open in the process.

“Y/N,” he breathes, sounding relieved to see you standing in front of him. You see him moving to take a step towards you, to hug you, to hold you. Until he noticeably stops himself, hesitant to walk any closer. You nervously rub the back of your arm and look to the side, wanting the ground to just swallow you whole.

“You uh– you want to come in?” he asks you, opening the door wider to make enough room for you to walk through but a frown sits on his brows as you shake your head at his offer.

“No, I…I don’t want…” Your gaze drops to the floor by his feet, noticing the unfamiliar pair of shoes by the doormat and another key bunch on top of the accent table by the door. “…To intrude,” you say, quietly. He notices your realization and swallows, scratching the back of his head.

“I’m just here to tell you something,” you sigh, a lump forming in your throat. You can’t tell whether it is from the anxiety or if it is another petal, but you swallow hard in an attempt to get rid of it.

“Tell me.” He steps out and closes the door behind him, making you instinctively take a step back. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants after rubbing the sleep out of his eyes to take a better look at you. After he does, that’s when he clearly sees how bad you look. You have lost weight, dark circles sit around your eyes, your skin is crude.

“Wow! What the fuck happened to you?” he gasps as he steps forwards, his hands reaching out to your cheeks and cupping them despite you stepping back. He firmly holds your face and stares at it intently, his eyes roaming all over your features.

Your heart jumps at his proximity, at his touch. The moment his skin touches yours, the burning in your chest disappears. His concerned eyes are searching yours as you blink up at him, his soft thumbs rubbing your cheeks. You swallow back the cry threatening to spill from your mouth.

You had wished he wouldn’t notice your state but it’s Jimin. He knows when you haven’t slept well, he knows when the barista gets your order wrong, he knows when you’re about to cry when watching a movie. Let alone the fact that you’re dying.

Right.

You’re dying.

You reach up to his wrists, gently tugging his hands off your face and dropping them by his sides.

“I’m going to tell you something and I want you to stay calm, okay?”

You honestly don’t know why you’re telling him at this point. Do you want him to feel bad for you? To be concerned? To give you attention like he used to?

You want to tell him because you don’t want him to wake up one day to hear you have passed away, right? You don’t want him to blame himself for not being able to take care of you. Yeah. You’re sure it’s that.

Maybe those things can coexist.

“Y/N, you’re scaring the shit out of me. Are you dying or something?” he humorlessly jokes, trying to make light of the situation in hopes this conversation stops being eerie and somewhat disturbing.

You look at him with guilt in your eyes, your lips parting because your mind is telling you to answer him and confirm his suspicions but your body isn’t listening. Your heart isn’t.

You notice the instant fear in his eyes, his breath getting hitched in the back of his throat. He slightly shakes his head, his hand reaching out to you but your body stops him before you can even think about it, a firm hand pressed up against his chest to stop him in his tracks.

“No, you damn idiot,” you lie.

You lied.

You lied.

You lied.

You lied.

You lied.

Why did you lie?

“I just– I came to tell you that I also met someone and I uh…want us to mend our broken friendship. I should also apologize for ignoring your attempts to fix our problems.” Your mouth blurts these words out before you can stop yourself.

He raises his eyebrows and a smile stretches across his face before he pulls you into a big hug, your face buried in his chest. You inhale his scent, your eyes prickling with tears. Being held by him stops the pain, it really does. The sensation of having flowers bloom in your lungs suddenly subsides when he touches you, when you smell him, when you’re with him.

He sways with you from side to side, kissing the top of your head and stroking your back soothingly, but your arms stay limp by your side. He takes a deep breath before he whispers, “If you ever need anything, just let me know. You know I’d die for you, Y/N.”

And it hurts. It hurts a lot.

“But wait–” he pauses, pushing you back by your shoulders slightly, “why would I have to be calm about that? It makes me super happy to know that I won’t have to worry about you anymore because I trust you and your gut, and I’m sure you chose the right person to take care of you like you deserve.”

Cough.

Cough.

Cough.

Cough.

“Are you okay? Do you need some water?” he asks you, concern in his tone as he gently pats your back.

“No, I’ll be fine.” You shake your head. “It’s late. I’m going home, you should go back to sleep. I’ll talk to you later, alright?” You quickly brush him off and wave at him as you walk down the hall, into the elevator and disappearing before he can say anything else.

•••

You don’t know how long it’s been since that night in front of Jimin’s front door. Days? Weeks? Months? You had filled your work in on why you aren’t in any shape to come to work and thankfully they were happy to grant you time off.

The only thing you know, is you are on the verge of life and death. You don’t know what to do. Your condition is worsening and there’s nothing you can do about it. You could die at any given moment at this point and the thought of it is terrifying.

After contemplating the biggest dilemma of your life yet, you have officially decided to agree to the surgery.

You don’t want to think too much about it and risk backing out but you’ve pretty much made up your mind.

However, that’s not the dilemma.

It’s telling Jimin the truth or not that is the dilemma. Your biggest dilemma.

Should you tell him that you’ve got the disease? Should you tell him you’ve decided on getting it surgically removed? Should you tell him that it’s because of your feelings for him? He’d undoubtedly ask you that. He’d also encourage you to get the surgery.

You don’t want to worry him.

Would you worry him, though? You haven’t spoken to him in quite some time.

Of course he’d be worried. Jimin didn’t spend al those years proving to you that you’re his soulmate for you to wonder if he’d care about the fact that you’re actually dying.

But the surgery gives you the opportunity to never tell him. How would he ever know? He wouldn’t unless you explicitly tell him. There’s no need to worry him if you decide to get the surgery, he’d never have to know.

•••

You mindlessly scroll through your Instagram feed, eyes scanning the images and captions. You comment on a few of your friend’s posts, you check out your favorite celebrities’ new stories. Right when you think you’ve had enough, your curiosity gets the better of you and you find yourself looking up Jimin’s instagram handle.

Your heart skips a beat as a collage of him and his new partner fills your screen. You tap on the newest one, a picture of their laughter frozen in a moment captured at the edge of a small cliff. Both of them wore athletic attire, their bodies clinging to each other. It’s a scene of happiness, a stark contrast to the void that now consumes your own heart.

There’s a purple circle around his profile picture, letting you know he’s posted stories today. You know you shouldn’t watch it but your thumb taps on the icon before you can stop yourself. The sound of Jimin’s laughter rings in your ears as the video plays. It shows him and his new partner, immersed in joy and adventure at what appears to be an aquarium. Your heart clenches at the sight. You love aquariums. Jimin had always taken you to them whenever your dates turned out to be disappointing, whenever you had a shit day, whenever you wanted to go.

The burning in your chest intensifies, a constant reminder of the void that now occupies your own life. With a heavy sigh, you rise from your seat on the couch, a desperate longing for escape leading you to your cupboard. You rummage through it, searching for any trace of alcohol that could dull the ache in your heart.

As you take massive swigs of the alcohol, your drinking grows excessive. You prefer the burning in your throat from the alcohol compared to the burning in your chest from Jimin’s growing birth flower.

The drinking is a futile attempt to forget the image of Jimin and his new partner that had etched itself into your mind, burned into your brains and branded into the back of your eyelids. Tears well up in your eyes, blurring your vision, yet the image of them together persists, haunting you even when you close your eyes.

Loud sobs escape you, echoing through the empty room as the alcohol begins to take its toll. The stinging in your lungs gets intense, your mind still clouded with Jimin’s happy face and then it begins. The violent coughing fit overtakes you.

You double over as gags and coughs tear through your already burning throat, until you can’t contain it any longer. The view before you blurs through your tears as you vomit all over your kitchen floor, the acidic mixture mingling with blood and flower petals, symbols of the shattered fragments of your heart.

You sob uncontrollably on your knees as you’re hunched over, blood and saliva still decorating the corners of your mouth. You press your hand into your chest where your heart is located and cry, the torturous burning in your chest never subsiding.

It intensifies whenever you think of Jimin and you wish, oh how you wish you could just completely forget about him. What if you’d never approached him that day back in uni? Starting conversation about how he seemed familiar and him telling you that you went to highschool together? Getting fucked into his mattress a month later?

You continue to sob as the memories that are burned into your brain keep playing on a continuous loop, straight up mocking you.

Breathing is getting painful. Your hands are shaking. Your forehead is covered in sweat. You’re surrounded by blood, vomit and pretty white flower petals.

Everything fucking hurts.

That’s all you remember before completely blacking out, sprawled in your own vomit on your kitchen floor tiles.

•••

Your phone buzzes next to your passed out body.

[11:34PM]

My idiot

Missed call (1)

[11:36PM]

My idiot

I miss you. Up for dinner tomorrow?

You stir, body aching as you slowly regain consciousness. Memories of the previous night flood back and you wince at the realization of what had transpired. Sobbing, drinking, vomiting – a pathetic attempt to escape your pain. Your nose scrunches up at the stench of vomit mixed with alcohol and nectar from the petals.

With a heavy sigh, you remain still for a moment, staring up at the ceiling as your thoughts swirl within you. The weight of your choices weigh heavily on your conscience, adding to the physical soreness that’s spread throughout your body.

You finally push yourself up from the floor, your movements sluggish and labored. Every muscle protests against the exertion, a reminder of the toll your emotional turmoil had taken on your physical well-being.

Reaching for your phone to check the time, which is 3:03AM, a pang of anxiety shoots through you as you notice the notifications waiting for your attention. Jimin’s contact name plastered on your phone has your stomach twisting with a mixture of emotions.

You contemplate for awhile before you unlock your phone and start typing out a message. You try to type out several responses, each one quickly deleted the moment you’ve typed them out.

– yeah sure

– i would love to :)

– sorry i can’t

– i miss you too

– i need you

– you fucking ruined me

– fuck you

– please come back to me

– i love you

You groan loudly and decide to just ignore him like you have the past several months. It never gets any easier. You lock your phone, setting it aside for the time being.

You lazily shuffle your way towards the bathroom, determined to find solace in the refreshing embrace of a shower. The warm water trickles down your body, offering relief from the ache that radiates through your bones.

Clad in fresh clothes, you make your way to the kitchen, your steps a touch unsteady. The sight of the aftermath from the previous night’s chaos greets you and you sigh heavily. Cleaning up the remnants of your despair has become a depressing task, the bloody flower petals mockingly laid out before you.

With each wipe of a cloth and each item placed back in its proper place, a small sense of guilt burns in your chest. You’re not sure why. Or to who. Jimin? His relationship? Yourself?

You blink your tears away as you continue cleaning up your kitchen, ignoring the burning in your chest and the lump threatening to bubble up the back of your throat.

•••

“I’m in love with you. It’s always been you.”

“What? Why did you wait so long to tell me?”

“Because I was scared.”

“So, you think it’s a good idea to tell me on the day of my wedding?”

You groan as you watch the two actors dramatically yell at each other in the sappy romcom playing on your TV. You roll over on your couch, fingers lazily reaching for the remote on the other end.

Oh, right. It’s been about a month since you’ve had the surgery.

You drown yourself in romantic movies and TV shows before you have to return to work in a few days, so you can feel normal again but you feel nothing. Absolutely nothing.

You don’t even enjoy the way your feet touch the cold tiles on a hot day, how the first sip of coffee tastes, eating your favorite meal.

You feel nothing.

If there’s anything you feel, it’s like a zombie. You don’t even feel human anymore and you realized directly after the surgery that you regret ever agreeing to it.

If you could turn back time, you would have just suffocated to death. Let your best friend’s beautiful birth flower bloom inside your lungs and slowly kill you, squeeze out every bit of oxygen you have left.

Because living like this isn’t the way. It isn’t living at all.

You sigh as you raise the remote, muting the TV with a single button and rise to your feet. You rub your eyes as you head into the kitchen to heat up yesterday’s leftovers. Your eyes idly watch the white container of Chinese food spin on the microwave plate and your ears are filled with the humming sound of the microwave.

You’re snapped back into reality when you hear heavy pounding on your front door. A frown makes it’s way onto your brow as you glance at the clock in your kitchen, 10:33PM. You aren’t expecting anyone.

You walk up to your door, wary of whoever is behind it. “Who’s there?” you call out, hand on the door handle.

“Open the fucking door, Y/N.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. Are you dreaming?

You’d recognize your best friend’s voice anywhere. Sweat collects on your palms, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip. The pounding continues and you realize you are in fact, not dreaming.

He sounds pissed. You haven’t spoken to him in a while, why could he be mad? Maybe specifically because you haven’t been talking to him.

You inhale deeply as you unlock your front door and try to peek your head around it but Jimin has other plans. He pushes the door further open and forces his way into your home, his arms roughly wrapping around you instantly.

You stumble back from the impact, your arms still limp by your side. His scent fills your nostrils, vanilla and a hint of wood and musk.

You’re surprised by the sudden intimacy but you don’t feel anything else. The man you loved, almost died for, is hugging you and you feel nothing like you did before. No pounding heart, no racing thoughts, no butterflies. Nothing.

You still appreciate his company as his best friend, of course. His proximity quickly makes you realize you’d still die for him, no matter what.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

The moment he says these words, your heartbeat stutters for a second. His heartbreaking tone of voice knocks the air out of your lungs. You gulp, tears threatening to spill from your eyes but you stay silent, not daring to speak up but you know you have to. “Tell you what?”

“Don’t.” He shakes his head as he pulls back, his hands tightly gripping your upper arms as he stares at you. His eyes are red and puffy, his nose glistening and it’s clear he’s been crying.

“How did you find out?” you quietly ask him.

Jimin’s eyes bore into yours as he takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself as he reveals the truth. “I bumped into your manager at a bar,” he confesses, voice tinged with guilt. “He told me about the illness and surgery, and I came straight down here.” He runs a hand through his disheveled hair, his fingers trembling slightly. “Are you okay? Have you healed?”

You nod in response, but the sight of Jimin standing before you is a stark reminder of the pain you had endured. The sight of him makes the scar on your chest burn uncomfortably. You shift uneasily, attempting to conceal the discomfort that coursed through your bones.

Jimin’s eyes searched yours, seeking answers to the questions that burn within him. “Who was it?” he presses, his tone laced with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.

Your voice goes quiet, barely above a whisper, as you respond, “Who was what?”

His brows furrowed, frustration mingling with his concern. He steps closer, his hand gently cupping your face as he pleads with you to be honest. “The other person,” he clarifies, his gaze unwavering. “I just want to know who is stupid enough to not see you and cherish you like you deserve. And maybe have a little chat with them.”

Your silence speaks volumes, lips pressed together as you struggle to find the right words, the right way to tell him. You idly blink at him, eyes brimming with unshed tears, heart on the verge of breaking all over again. A pathetic cry threatens to spill from your throat, your inner conflict making it hard to even form a coherent sentence.

You muster the courage to meet his gaze as you gently tug his hands down from your face, needing the space to breathe, to collect your thoughts. “Jimin,” you whisper, pleading with him to just let it go whilst simultaneously answering his question.

Jimin’s voice cracks with vulnerability as he calls out to you, a plea laced within the syllables of your name. “Y/N.”

The longing in his eyes is matched by the frustration etched on his features. His eyes tell you that he can’t understand why you won’t confide in him, share your burden with him. “Why won’t you just tell me?”

“Why do you think?” You stare at him with a blank expression but you’re betrayed by the quiver in your lips once you literally see the gears in his head start to work.

The room falls into an eerie silence as the weight of realization settles heavily upon him. Your gaze drops down to look at the tremor in his hands as he slowly shakes his head, as if trying to deny the truth that had just been revealed to him.

He looks absolutely broken, causing your own emotions threatening to consume you as tears well up in your eyes, and you can’t help but drop your gaze to the floor. You reach up and rub your own arms absentmindedly, trying to find comfort in the familiar gesture.

The distress in Jimin’s voice stings, it does. He runs a hand through his disheveled hair, shaking his head in disbelief as his words escape in a pained whisper. “No. Tell me that’s not true.”

The only confirmation you’re giving him are your sniffles and lack of eye contact.

His eyes widen, the initial shock wearing off and the actual realization hitting him like a punch to the gut. He takes a step backward, his back hitting the wall opposite of you as he struggles to comprehend the magnitude of what he had just learned. “Fuck, I…” he pauses, “I’m sorry,” he mutters, his voice filled with anguish. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Confusion settles on your face once the apology leaves his lips. You knew this was going to happen if he ever found out.

You reach out and gently grasp his hand, “Why are you apologizing?” you ask, already knowing the answer to your own question.

Jimin’s face crumples as tears well up in his eyes, his voice shaking, “Fuck!” he yells, “I’m so stupid. I should have been there for you,” he chokes out, “You were… suffering on your own? All alone? Because of me?”

When he asks you this, you’re inevitably reminded of all the times you cried from the pain so hard that you passed out, all alone. The thought of Jimin suffering hurts enough as is, you understand why he’s so freaked out.

Your heart is being squeezed by his words, your own tears falling freely now. You take a step closer, holding his hand up to your heart. “Hey,” you whisper, “we are not going to do that, okay? None of this is your fault. It’s no one’s fault. I chose to avoid you, remember? Not the other way around.”

Jimin lets out a shuddering breath, his gaze locked with yours. He reaches up, using the back of his other hand to wipe away his tears, a soft sniffle from him makes you squeeze his hand. And then, in a moment of overwhelming vulnerability, he pulls you into a bone-crushing hug, desperate to hold onto the connection that had faded between you two over the past few months.

As Jimin holds you tightly, his sobs ring in your ears as his body trembles in your arms. You swear you can hear your own heart breaking at the hurt in Jimin’s cry, his body clinging to yours. A quiet sob comes up the back of your throat as you squeeze him, tears staining your cheeks.

“You endured all that pain alone,” he cries, his breathing inconsistent from the violent sobs leaving his body. You internally shame yourself for ever doubting Jimin’s love for you. He loves you. Just not in the way that would have saved you.

His words extract an ugly cry from you, the memories of you suffering playing on a loop in your head. “I was in so much pain,” you whimper, finally allowing yourself to be heard.

Soon, your cries subside, leaving behind a heavy silence.

As you pull away from him, you gently lead Jimin to the nearby couch, guiding him to sit beside you. Your hands remain tightly intertwined, your thumb gently caressing the skin of his knuckles.

With a deep sigh, he breaks the silence. “Was the surgery painful?” he asks, his puffy eyes searching yours.

You can’t help but offer a faint smile at his question, his worrywart tendencies making an appearance again. You’ve missed it. “Healing was a bitch,” you admit, “But other than that, physically, I feel okay.”

Jimin’s shoulders sag in relief. “That's good to hear,” he murmurs, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. And then, his voice grows softer, “What about mentally, Y/N? How are you holding up?”

You blink at your hand in his, eyes reflecting a whirlwind of emotions. You take a moment to gather your thoughts before responding. “Honestly?”

He nods slowly, uncertainty flickering in his eyes, but a genuine desire to understand on his face.

You rub your forehead with your other hand, a gesture of weariness and internal struggle. You finally meet his gaze. “I regret getting the surgery,” you confess, words cutting through the air like a double-edged sword. “I would rather be dead than live like this.”

Shock and anger mingles on Jimin’s face, his brows furrowing as he processes your words. “Y/N!” he exclaims, his voice laced with a mixture of disbelief and frustration. You understand him, though. He had just sobbed for a good 5 minutes at the thought of you dying, and here you sit, telling him you would’ve preferred that outcome.

You shake your head, eyes reflecting the weight of your pain. “You don’t know what it’s like, Jimin,” you mumble, voice heavy with the burden you forced yourself to carry alone.

His expression shifts from confusion and anger to concern and understanding as he processes your words. He tightens his grip on your hand, his thumb tracing soothing circles on the skin of your knuckles. “I understand I might never fully comprehend what you went and are going through, but I promise everything will be okay,” he reassures you, gentle yet resolute.

You shake your head, “How can everything be okay if I’ll never love again?” Your voice pathetically quivers with vulnerability and despair.

Jimin’s thumb continues its gentle motion, his touch a grounding force in your fragile moment. “Don’t be pessimistic,” he implores softly, his eyes searching yours with unwavering determination. “You will find someone. I know you will. You’re the most loveable person I know.”

There’s a stinging in your chest again when you realize that there is something else you need to confess, something he still doesn’t know. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for his reaction. “Jimin,” you begin, voice quiet yet steady. “The new procedure.”

Confusion climbs its way onto his face, his brows furrowing. “What? What do you mean, new procedure?”

You exhale the breath you’d been holding, your fingers reaching for your phone. With swift motions, you pull up the relevant information and present it to him, eyes locked on his face, waiting for him to read and understand.

Jimin’s gaze drops to the screen, his face softly illuminated by the light of your phone. His eyes rapidly scan the words with growing intensity. As he absorbs the information, a frown climbs onto his features and he looks up at you, his expression still confused. “So... the old procedure only removes the romantic feelings you have for that specific person,” he murmurs, recalling everything he just read. “But the new procedure removes your ability to love altogether?”

You can only bring yourself to nod in confirmation. Jimin’s voice wavers with a disbelief as he questions the existence of such a procedure. “Why is that even a thing?” he mumbles in disapproval.

Your eyes meet his, “Apparently, there were cases where people who had undergone the original surgery would fall into a one-sided love again, whether with the same person or someone else,” you explain, voice laced with a hint of bitterness. “And that makes a second surgery extremely dangerous, so they don’t perform it anymore.”

Realization slowly settles upon Jimin’s features as the weight of the situation becomes clear to him. He clears his throat, his voice faltering slightly as he attempts to articulate his thoughts. “Wait, so…” he begins, his voice trailing off momentarily. “You’ll never fall in love again?”

You simply nod again. The truth of your reality is painful to acknowledge and your heart bears the weight of that knowledge. “That’s...fucked,” he mutters. He clears his throat once more, his mind still reeling from the revelation.

A heavy silence settles between you two as you grapple with the implications of your decision. Nothing feels the same anymore and the weight of your circumstances hangs in the air, destroying any hope of normalcy.

You roughly bring your hands down to your thighs as you get up. “Have you eaten?” you ask gently, attempting to divert his attention from the painful truth you had just dumped on him. “I have some leftover Chinese.”

Jimin’s gaze shifts toward you after a few seconds of no response, his mind still caught up in his thoughts. “Huh? Oh... yeah, sure, I’d like some,” he replies absentmindedly, his voice distant. His gaze shifts back to the muted TV. He reaches for the water bottle on the table, taking a sip to clear his throat once more.

You return to the kitchen, closing the door behind you to give Jimin some time to process in silence as you reheat the leftovers in the microwave. There’s a distant sound coming from another room but the humming of the microwave makes it hard to make out. You place two plates and two forks on the counter, reaching for 2 glasses while you wait for your food to heat up.

However, your attention is abruptly diverted when the microwave stops and you realize the distant noise is incessant coughing.

Concern bubbles in your chest, quickly hurrying out of the kitchen with the hot container of food in your hands, only to be met with the sight and sound of Jimin coughing. “Are you okay? Do you need some water?” you ask, reaching for the water bottle in front of him that he could easily take himself.

Jimin tries to dismiss your concern, shaking his head as he musters a weak smile. “No, I’m fine, something must’ve caught in my throat,” he reassures you, only to be interrupted by another fit of coughs. His hand flies up to his mouth, shielding it as his body convulses with the force of the coughing and gagging.

Your stomach drops, a sense of foreboding creeping into your chest. “Jimin?” you call out, taking another step toward him.

Abruptly, Jimin’s coughing stops. He stays with his hand pressed against his mouth for a few seconds before he slowly lowers his hand, staring at his palm with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Jimin?” you repeat, your voice carrying an underlying wave of panic this time.

His shocked eyes slowly trail up to yours, his hand lowering further to reveal his hand to you. You gulp as you let your eyes trail to his open palm.

Your eyes widen, your breath hitches in your throat and the container of hot Chinese food in your hands crashes to the floor, making the contents splatter all over your carpet.

Amidst the saliva and blood coating his palm, there sits a singular delicate flower petal in the center of his palm, mockingly staring at you.

A petal directly plucked from your birth flower.

.

.

.

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You can’t help but snort in mockery as you throw it back onto the table in front of you and say, “There’s no way in hell you actually believe that thing works.”

Your other friend, Yoona, walks out of your kitchen with another can of soda in her hand. She glances at the small pink package on the table as she plops down on your couch next to you, an amused grin on her lips.

Lee shrugs her shoulders as she zaps through the comedy movies catalogue on Netflix with your remote, her eyes absentmindedly shifting to the packaged pill. “I’m not sure. It was like 10 bucks on Amazon.” Her gaze lingers on the pill, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

You roll your eyes, annoyance bubbling in your chest at the fact that your friend is dumb enough to get scammed like this. “10 bucks? They just sold you some cinnamon powder in a capsule and called it a day,” you laugh, returning your attention to the TV as you throw your feet up onto the coffee table.

“Oh, yeah? Then why don’t you take it?” Lee challenges you, pushing the pill in the pink package toward you with her foot.

Your eyes shift toward the pill. “You want me to take that pill right now?” Your eyebrow cocks up and you stare at it for a moment as if it were poison before turning your attention to her. It could very well be poison, actually.

A smirk stretches onto Yoona’s lips as she seemingly enjoys the thought of Lee challenging the most stubborn person on planet earth. Yoona leans forwards after sipping her coke, parting her lips to say, “Yeah, since you don’t think that it works, right?”

You nonchalantly shrug your shoulders, hoping to appear unbothered. You raise your own drink to your lips and glance at your friends over the rim of your can. “I really don’t,” you say before you take a sip of your iced tea. “But Jungkook is coming over later.”

An evil look twinkles in Yoona’s eyes as your words reach her ears. “Ah, so you do think there’s a chance it works.” She’s proud of her little gotcha-moment but you make sure it’s short-lived.

She watches as you swallow too quickly, a low burp escaping your lips as you scramble to defend yourself.

“No, I literally don’t.” Why would you? Viagra is insanely expensive, to think it’s counterpart is available on Amazon for 10 bucks is insane.

“Then take it,” Lee tilts her head to the side, a shit-eating grin on her lips. “Besides… you keep saying there’s nothing going on between you and Jungkook. Why mention he’s coming over if you’re not fucking him and if you don’t think the pill works?” she adds, eyes twinkling with satisfaction as if she’s got you.

You place your can of iced tea back down on the table with a thud. “I’m not fucking Jungkook, you weirdo,” you grumble as you defiantly reach for the pill.

You and Jungkook have been best friends for years, they know that! They know how both you and Jungkook physically cringe and wince whenever someone mistakes the two of you for a couple. Now, they put the image of having sex with him in your brain and it’s weird.

(Read: Well, lately, it has been crossing your mind but it quickly gets ignored.)

You’re not dumb, you know Jungkook’s been popular for being attractive since forever but he was never really your type.

Keyword: was.

It’s not your fault, though! Jungkook has been growing out his hair and has been working out, his arm is covered in tattoos and he seems to be making good money as a freelance video editor.

“Well, if you’re not fucking him, can I? I don’t know what’s in the air but he’s been changing a lot lately. Like his beauty looks like it doesn’t even belong on Earth.” Yoona takes the final sip of her old drink after she says that, crumpling it up and slamming it down onto the table with an obnoxious exhale.

You can tell she’s saying it to get a rise out of you but you quite literally don’t care. Why would you care about who the hell your friend is fucking?

“Fuck him if you want, I literally don’t care,” you say quietly as you gather the empty cans onto the tray you brought them in. You actually can’t bring yourself to care about Jungkook’s sex life, in all honesty.

“See, you’re jealous! I bet you’re fucking.” Lee’s teaseful words and Yoona’s obnoxious giggles are starting to irritate you. Can’t they just accept the fact you’re not fucking your best friend just because he has a penis?

You glare at the both of them with a twitch in your brows, your nostrils flared and your fingers tingling with the urge to throw the empty cans of soda at them.

You make up your mind and say, “Alright, to prove to you that this stupid pink pill doesn’t fucking work and nothing is going on between Jungkook and I…” You pop the pill out of its pocket and place it on your tongue, swiftly swallowing it down with the rest of your iced tea. “Two birds, one stone.”

The room fills with obnoxious laughter and giggles as they watch you, shaking their head at your obstinance. “You’re so stubborn and so petty,” Yoona adds before taking a sip of her new coke after cracking it open.

“You really think the pussy equivalent of viagra would cost 10 bucks? Be serious,” you grumble in annoyance, throwing your feet up onto the table again and slouch further into your couch as you try to pay attention to whatever is playing on the TV.

They share a mischievous look but you can’t bring yourself to comment on it. “Okay, if you say so.” Lee brings her shoulders up in a shrug and drops the topic for now.

•••

About 45 minutes later as Yoona and Lee get ready to leave, Yoona nudges you with her foot. “Do you feel anything?”

“No. I don’t. I’m telling you, it’s not real,” you tell them in all honesty. You really don’t feel any different. You don’t show your relief, though.

“Bummer. I really wanted you to learn a lesson,” Lee laughs and blows you a kiss when you put up your middle finger.

You say goodbye as they walk out and you just return your attention to your TV, watching the sappy drama that Lee and Yoona are obsessed with for some reason.

After a few moments, your phone buzzes.

[7:02PM]

Jungkook

Lays or Pringles?

[7:03PM]

You

pringlessssss

[7:03PM]

Jungkook

Bet. Be there in about an hour

[7:04PM]

You

okiii

You mindlessly throw your phone somewhere on the couch beside you and rise to your feet to clean up the mess Lee and Yoona left behind.

•••

Well, fuck.

About another 40 minutes later, you’re starting to actually regret taking that damn pill.

You can’t fucking believe this. Your nipples have been erect for 20 minutes and you’re sure you’re in need of a change of underwear.

What the hell is in that pill?

You walk into the bathroom to examine your appearance in the mirror. The air knocks out of your lungs at the sight in front of you.

Your pupils are dilated, your cheeks and nose are piping hot. Your lips are swollen and a thin layer of sweat is draped over your forehead.

Your heart has also been beating quicker than usual.

You want to hump everything in your sight. Is this what it’s like for an animal in heat? Fucking hell. You’ve never been this aroused.

Your hand slowly travels down your stomach and under the hem of your sweats. Reaching into your underwear, your fingertips are met with a disgusting amount of pure stickiness.

If you weren’t wearing your sweatpants so low on your hips, you definitely would have soaked through the thick material of your sweats, that’s how fucking drenched you are.

What should you do? Take a quick shower? It’d be useless to shower now since the effects can last for days. You’d just continue to produce your body’s natural lubrication and you don’t have the time to be showering every hour.

Clean up and change your underwear? That sounds like it’d make the most sense but you’d go through a lot of panties in a couple days too. Maybe you should literally just wear a tampon?

Fucking hell. You should’ve never taken that fucking pill. Damn those fucking friends of yours.

Like a gag in a sitcom, just as you reach for your underwear drawer, your front door swinging open rips through your eardrums. Regret immediately seeps into your stomach for giving Jungkook your spare residence key.

“Honey, I’m home,” Jungkook jokes and the sound of him kicking off his shoes as he closes the door rings in your ears like a blaring alarm.

You want to drop onto your knees and scream until you pass the fuck out. Your eyes flicker between the drawer and your bedroom door. What should you do?

He doesn’t give you much of an option when you hear him searching for you. “Y/N? Where are you?” Jungkook’s voice rings even louder in your ears this time and you can hear him approaching your room. You internally cry out and quickly head towards your bedroom door.

You walk into the hall and watch as he stops in his tracks. He’s wearing a black beanie, grey sweatpants and a grey sweater with a plastic bag in his tattooed hand which you assume are the snacks he picked up on his way here.

Grey fucking sweats.

Jungkook has always been handsome but for fuck’s sake. Your core literally pulsates at the sight of him right now.

“Hey,” you breathe out and walk up to him, brushing past him and into the living room in a straight line.

“Hey… You okay?” His eyebrows shoot up in surprise and quickly pinch into a frown as he follows you into the living room.

You quickly nod your head, hand on your head as you try to collect your thoughts. “Yeah, I’m fine. You?” you say, trying to appear casual as you head into the kitchen to grab a can of his favorite beer.

The sound of the plastic bag full of snacks hitting your coffee table and his body plopping onto your couch doesn’t go unnoticed by you. “I’m great, work was chill.”

You place your hands on your kitchen counter and lean forwards, taking a moment to catch your breath but your breath is not steadying at all.

Your feet carry you to the living room and you carefully place the cans onto the coffee table, trying your best not to look at him in those damn sweatpants.

Jungkook has ditched the beanie and his long black locks are sprawled on the backrest of the couch as he has comfortably sunk into your sofa, hair messy and screaming to be tugged on. You have to fight every bone in your body to not climb onto his lap right now and grind into him.

Have some fucking decorum, he’s your friend. Not an object.

Your chest deflates as you softly exhale, making your way to the couch as you carefully sit down, hoping to the Lord that you don’t soak through your clothes. You normally sit next to him but this time you sit at the other end of the couch.

He aims his frown at you but you pretend not to notice. He doesn’t comment on it, though. You crack your new can of iced tea open because there’s no way you’re putting alcohol in your system with this amount of arousal pooling inside of you.

“What movie are we watching?” he asks after a moment of silence in hopes of deterring the awkwardness as he turns his head to the TV, his thumb pressing one of the arrows on your remote, going through the catalogue of available movies.

“Uh… I don’t know. You can choose,” you mumble as you take a few more gulps to distract yourself.

He frowns at your words but keeps his eyes glued to the TV. “I chose last time. It’s your turn to choose.”

“Yeah, sorry, I just–” you start, which makes him look at you, “just put that one on.” You wave your hand toward the TV and he turns his head to look at the one he’s landed on before you return your attention to chugging your iced tea.

“We watched that one 3 weeks ago.” He sits up this time. “Are you okay? You look like you’re about to keel over,” he says, quietly. He sounds concerned and you sound fucking stupid.

You shake your head as the sparkling beverage burns your throat, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “I’m fine, I’m okay,” you mumble under your breath.

“Are you trying to convince me or you?” he asks, “And why are you sitting so far away?” he whines as he scoots closer to you, his hand reaching out to grab your waist but you shoot up out of the couch and onto your feet, avoiding his touch by a hair.

The moment he touches you, you’re going to pounce on him. No doubt in your mind.

“No, don’t,” you squeal, taking a step away from the sofa.

Now Jungkook is really fucking confused.

He quickly stands up as well, a concerned yet confused frown on his face. He probably thinks he did something wrong which makes your chest tighten with guilt. “What’s going on? Why are you acting like you’re about to have a fucking stroke?”

You breathe loudly as you pace around the living room with your hands on your head and say, “I might.”

Jungkook’s breath abruptly hitches in his throat as your concerning words ring in his ears. “Wh– Huh? What? Should I call an ambulance?”

You shake your head. “No, it’s not like that,” you mumble before you finally turn to him, dropping your hands from your head and let your fingers fidget, picking at the loose flesh around your nails.

His eyes drop down to your anxious fidgeting before traveling back up to stare at you. “Then, what is it? You’re scaring the shit out of me right now, Y/N.”

He actually does look terrified right now, staring at you with wide eyes as his teeth absentmindedly play with his lip piercings.

You loudly exhale in exasperation and rub your forehead as you consider just telling him. “I fucked up, Jungkook, and I’m panicking,” you say, rubbing your eyes until there’s colored spots in your vision. “I never should’ve taken that fucking pill.”

You watch as his face becomes that of a cartoon character, eyes wide, brows raised to the stars, mouth twitching. “What? Pill? What pill? Are you high?”

You roll your eyes and grunt in annoyance with yourself for phrasing it like that. “No, I–” you groan loudly before cutting yourself off and heading into the kitchen. You wince as you shove your hand into the trash can, taking the ripped pink piece of carton out of the garbage. You stare at it for a while but already find yourself heading back into the living room before you overthink it and change your mind.

Jungkook is still standing in front of the couch, his big brown eyes still wide with concern and his bottom lip reddened from how much he’s been chewing on it.

You walk up to him and with a flick of your wrist, you toss it onto the table in front of him. He glances at the pink package before glancing back up at you but you’re already looking away with your arms crossed.

He slowly sinks back down and takes the ripped package into his hands to examine it. He reads the words for a few seconds but he still seems confused. “Female sexual enhancement and libido boosting? What the fuck is this?”

You groan as you drop to your knees on the floor across from him, in front of the coffee table.

“It’s like viagra for people with pussies and it’s supposed to make you horny as fuck. My friends dared me to take it because I told them it wasn’t real.”

He looks up at you through his brows, a mix of surprise and confusion still on his face. “Do you think it’s laced with something dangerous?”

“No, nothing like that but whatever the fuck they put in it is working. It’s fucking working,” you whine as you place your elbows on the coffee table in front of you with a loud thud, burying your face in your palms.

There’s a moment of silence between you two.

“So like…” he begins, trying to stifle a laugh, “you’re really horny? Right now?”

“Jungkook,” you groan, eyes shamefully looking up at him and you’re just in time to watch him clutch his arms around his stomach as he just obnoxiously laughs in your face. “Stop laughing!”

He chuckles for a little while longer before calming down. “I’m sorry, I’ve just never heard of this before. How are you feeling?” He places it back onto the table and returns the eye contact, still an annoying grin on his soft lips.

“Like I could fuck the fridge if it had a dick.”

Jungkook bursts out laughing maniacally, throwing himself back onto the couch as he exaggeratedly gasps for air.

“Jungkook! I’m panicking, stop laughing!” you whine, standing back up on your feet as heat rushes to your face, a lump of embarrassment forming in your throat.

“Sorry, sorry,” he chuckles as he wipes a tear at the corner of his eye. “You’re just so fucking stupid.”

You huff in response and glare down at him, his eyes slowly trailing up your body to meet yours and the single act of his black eyes drinking you in makes a curtain of lava drape over your already burning body.

You tap your foot against the floor impatiently. “What should I do?” You chew on your lip as you ask him the impossible question.

He simply shrugs his shoulders and leans back into the couch, hands on his upper thighs right below his hips. He’s not making this any fucking easier. “Masturbate. Or go get fucked.”

You wince, a thousand volts of electricity travelling up your vertebrae at his words. “Tonight’s our movie night, though.”

“Babe, you’re clearly not in the right headspace to be watching a movie with me.”

You internally scream at the pet name he sometimes uses when the both of you are alone. It never makes you feel anything in particular but right now, your stomach clenches at the pet name and you’re painfully reminded that it didn’t help your sticky underwear situation at all.

“Still, I don’t want to ditch you. That’s not cool,” you mutter as you take a seat on the couch, cringing as your panties stick to your core and your slick is undoubtedly smeared all over your sex and inner thighs. No matter how nonchalant he is about the situation, you’re too embarrassed to excuse yourself now to go change your damn underwear.

“So what? You’re just gonna sit next to me and squirm all evening?” he asks you, a genuine look of confusion on his face.

“Mhm.” You shrug your shoulders in hopes of appearing nonchalant and unbothered as you reach for the remote.

But you’re extremely bothered. Hot and fucking bothered.

“You can go masturbate, you know. I’m not going to act weird about it,” he tells you with a carefree air around him as he tears a bag of chips open.

His words make your pussy clench around nothing and you have to actively remind yourself to cross your arms to hide your erect nipples, despite the fact he has probably already noticed.

“I doubt masturbating will do the trick. Besides, it says the effects can last up to 72 hours. I’m not going to masturbate for 3 days.”

He breaks into a fit of giggles again, making you roll your eyes as you swing one of your legs over the other. It appears casual but really, you’re just looking for some friction.

“You’re so dumb for taking that pill.” He reminds you, as if you don’t already know that. He glances at you when a childish huff pushes past your lips.

Neither of you say anything else but the moment of silence is disturbed by the scrunching of the bag of chips in Jungkook’s hands.

You take a moment as you consider what you really want to ask him. Should you just say fuck it and ask him to fuck the shit out of you?

The idea quickly gets obliterated by your rational self and you finally choose a movie to play.

Throughout the movie, you notice Jungkook’s eyes on you every now and then. The constant crossing of your legs and arms doesn’t go unnoticed by him but he never comments on it.

You’re doing great until a sex scene starts playing on the screen. You suck in a breath as you watch intently, your fingers twitching in your lap.

The actress on the screen is crying out in – over the top – pleasure as the man pounds into her, the headboard of the bed banging against the wall exaggeratedly makes the frames that are hung up on the wall crash to the ground with a loud clatter. You know it’s all fake but that doesn’t stop the gushing in your panties.

“Y/N,” Jungkook chuckles as he motions for you to skip the scene but you don’t react to him.

You stare blankly ahead of you at the TV, sitting in silence. You can see Jungkook shaking his head at your stubbornness in the corner of your eye as he stretches his arm over your lap, reaching for the remote that’s next to your thigh. His arm is hovered over your lap, face almost pressed into your chest and his cologne is the final drop that has your head spinning.

The silence that falls around the two of you as you impulsively wrap your hand around his wrist – that’s reaching for the remote – is suffocating.

He instantly freezes, eyes glued to the remote that he had just wrapped his fingers around. He’s in an awkward position, lying on his hip and his arm stretched out over your thighs with his face mere inches away from your breasts.

You finally decide to speak up.

“Will you do me a favor?” you quietly ask him after those few moments of silence as you let go of his wrist, your eyes nervously glued to your fingers as you fidget with the laces of your sweatpants.

This time, Jungkook is quiet.

Jungkook is never quiet.

The tension is palpable and it makes you want to jump off your balcony right now. His silence is already starting to make you regret asking him.

He slowly moves back to his seat but you can’t see much else as you refuse to look away from your lap.

He finally speaks up and you’re conflicted on whether you’re relieved that he does or not. “Are you asking me what I think you’re asking of me?” His voice is lower than usual. It sends a quick shiver down your spine and awakens the goosebumps on the upper layer of your skin.

You don’t even look at him and in response, you just stay quiet, your silence confirming his speculation.

You two sit in unbearable silence for what seems like a damn eternity, the obnoxious moaning coming from the TV is not making this any easier. Jungkook seems to be in deep thought before you see him rise to his feet in your peripheral vision. You swallow thickly as he starts heading towards the entrance hall.

Shit. He’s leaving.

You don’t blame him, though. Who the fuck asks this of their best friend?

You shut your eyes tightly, holding your breath as you patiently wait for the sound of the door clicking close to hit your ears.

But it never comes.

“Are you coming or not?”

His words shoot into your eardrums like a thousand needles and it makes your heart violently jerk against your ribcage.

You crack your eyes open to see him standing in the doorway of the hall, back turned to you but his head turned over his shoulder as he stares you down with an unreadable expression clouding his face. A frown climbs its way onto your brows as you slowly get up. Your feet take you to him on their own, body magnetizing towards him as your stomach bursts with excitement and your veins are set aflame with desire.

You shyly follow him into your bedroom as if you’re the one visiting his home. “Are you sure?” you quietly ask him as you enter your bedroom after him, closing the door with a soft thud.

He slowly turns to you, head cocked to the side as his black gaze drapes over your body and makes you feel incredibly small. “You’re my friend in need of some help. Why would I not be sure?” His face is a bit expressionless and his voice sounds different than what you’re used to.

Your brows pinch together at his disregardance. “Jungkook, this isn’t a usual request. I’m not asking you to drop me off at home after work or to delete an ugly picture of me you posted on your instagram. I’m–”

“You’re asking me to fuck you. I don’t see why it has to mean anything more than what it is. Sex isn’t that big of a deal, Y/N.”

You idly blink at him, listening to his blunt words as he casually tells you he’s down to fuck you. All those years of the two of you swearing you had never crossed any lines, how you don’t see each other that way, how you’re like family and this is what it’s come to?

The doubt glimmering in your eyes doesn’t go unnoticed by him, evident by the crossing of his arms over his chest and the cocking of his head to the side. “Are you sure?” he asks you this time, his voice soft and his tone neutral.

You stare at him for a couple seconds but you’ve made up your mind.

You start walking past him, heading for your bed. You tuck your fingers under the hem of your sweats and wiggle them off your hips as you turn around to face him again, stepping out of the sweats pooling at your ankles. You take a seat on the edge of your bed and kick your sweats away, all whilst looking up at him through your pretty lashes.

You notice that his own breath is getting heavier. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he watches you slowly lean back on your hands, bending your legs at the knees and propping your feet up onto the edge of the mattress as you spread your thighs wide apart, allowing him to witness your extreme arousal firsthand.

Jungkook’s eyes drop down to what’s between your legs, the massive wet patch of slick on your panties and your inner thighs lathered in your stickiness make his eyebrows twitch.

“Is that pill giving you a major confidence boost too?” he mumbles as he walks up to you, referring to how you’re usually on the shy and modest side. He tugs his sweatshirt off and throws it somewhere on your floor.

“I don’t give a fuck about what it’s given me, I need you to fuck me like you’ve never fucked anyone before. Right now,” you say with a hiss to your tone as you ditch your t-shirt, leaving you in your sheer tank top and no bra.

Your erect nipples haven’t gone unnoticed by him and your words make him grunt in response. You watch as he starts palming himself through his sweatpants, body now towering over you as he stares down at you.

You’ve seen Jungkook shirtless before, when he’s working out or playing some random sport with his friends that you agreed to cheer him on for, from the sidelines. Even when he stays over or you stay over at his. So, his physique shouldn’t be surprising to you and it isn’t, but the sight of his bare torso right now drives you up the fucking wall.

He reaches for the hem of your panties, making you close your thighs as he yanks them down your legs. The massive string of slick still connected to your underwear makes him swear loudly, your panties aggressively tossed to the floor by him.

“I can’t believe how wet it’s made you,” he grunts as he places his hands on your knees and gently spreads your thighs again, eyes glued to your sticky pussy. “I’m pretty confident I’ve satisfied all the people I’ve had sex with but I’ve never seen anything like this. You’re fucking dripping.”

And you are. You can hear the splatter of a droplet hitting your floor and the embarrassment drives you absolutely insane.

You notice his hand tightening around his boner. “Fuck, I want to taste.”

You can tell he wants to touch, lick, taste you but you’ve already made it clear that you need him to fuck you right this instant.

“Jungkook, I’ll literally die if you don’t fuck me right now.” You lean back onto your elbows, eyes still staring up at him as he slowly starts tugging his sweatpants down his legs. Soon he ditches the Calvin Klein boxers too, allowing his erection to spring free.

Your eyes drop down to the dick in his hand, hard as a rock as he spits in his hand and strokes himself whilst eyeing you. His dick is red at the tip but darkens at the shaft, it’s not massive but it’s not small either. It’s just the right size. The sight alone could have you squirting hands-free.

You need to be sedated.

“I don’t have any protection on me,” he begins, “Are you–”

You cut him off. “I’m clean. Are you?”

You know Jungkook is incredibly responsible when it comes to his sex life but you still make it a thing to ask.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, upper teeth sunken into his bottom lip as he strokes his own dick.

“Good, ‘cause I need to feel everything,” you grunt as you reach for your clit. You drag your fingers up your wet slit and pull your fingers away from your pussy to show him the thick string of your slick that stays connected from your pussy to your fingers. The string doesn’t break even though you’ve stretched it out a few inches.

It’s your way of telling him you don’t need any prep because you are disgustingly drenched.

“Fuck,” he mumbles under his breath, running a hand through his hair. He takes a few moments to collect himself before he positions himself at your sex. He rubs the head of his dick up and down your slit, gathering your slick onto his tip with a hiss escaping his mouth. “Birth control?”

Your legs violently jerk at the sensation of the head of his dick rubbing up and down your slit. You could cum right now. “Yeah.” Your reply leaves your lips in a pornographic moan and you can’t even bring yourself to be embarrassed about it.

He positions his dick at your hole with one hand whilst the other supports your leg by the back of your knee. “Ready?”

“For fuck’s sake, just put it in already. I feel like I’ll come undone any second,” you whimper, your chest rising and falling dramatically as you pant.

A deep chuckle rumbles in his chest, looking up into your eyes for the first time since you showed him your wet pussy. He slowly starts pushing into you, his eyes watching your face as your mouth falls open and your eyebrows scrunch together at the intrusion.

A whiny groan leaves his throat as your walls wrap around him. “Holy shit. You’re so fucking tight. So fucking wet,” he mumbles more to himself as he starts pushing further in, the sweet moans spilling from your lips raising goosebumps on his arms as you clench around him, threatening to milk him of everything he’s worth.

He leans forward and hovers over you, wedging himself in between your legs as he keeps fucking into you. His hands are flat against the mattress on each side of your waist, the back of your knees bent at his forearms, around his elbows. You’re spread so wide that the sound of your soaking pussy is, at times, louder than the slapping of his skin against yours.

You cry out at the pleasure, it’s like your sensitivity has been cranked up to a hundred. Your senses are sent into overdrive, the tiniest friction has your head spinning because nothing compares to how you’re feeling right now.

You open your eyes to the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen, Jungkook on top of you with his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes closed. He’s gorgeous.

Tears prick in your eyes at the pleasure, the head of his dick rubbing against your walls so good has you seeing stars. You can feel every single ridge, vein, nook and cranny of his dick as he fucks into you. Your walls tighten around him so well, your slick already making a sticky mess against his sex and your bum.

As if he sensed you looking at him, his eyes crack open and stare down at yours. His gaze drops down to your lips and before you know it, he has his lips pressed to yours. You’re surprised at first but your lips quickly work back, a moan escaping your throat which allows him to lick into your mouth.

After several minutes of making out and fucking, Jungkook pulls back to catch his breath. “Sorry about that but you feel– you feel so fucking good,” he grunts as he leans back again, turning you onto your side and lifting your leg as he continues to fuck into you.

You yelp at the switch of position, your fingers tightly wrapping around the sheets under your waist, watching as your leg slightly jerks against his chest but he restrains your thigh as he holds onto it tightly.

The familiar clench in your stomach takes you by surprise. Already?

“I’m gonna fucking cum. I’m gonna–” You have never orgasmed this fast and definitely not from solely penetration before but this pill is working wonders.

Jungkook nods his head in understanding as he kisses your calf that’s up on his shoulder. “Cum on my dick, babe,” he says with a moan before he tilts his head back in bliss.

Fuck him for using that pet name.

“Oh, fuck. Oh, my God. I’m gonna…” you cry out as your orgasm drops onto you like a pile of fucking bricks, a million volts of electricity frying your brains and making your heart beat a thousand miles a minute.

You’re grateful that Jungkook keeps fucking you because your orgasm has never lasted this long before. Your legs are shaking, your hands are bunching up the sheets around you and your throat burns from the cries you’ve let out.

The continuous clenching of your pussy during your orgasm has pushed Jungkook to the edge as well, his brows furrowed in concentration.

His own orgasm approaches him as his thrusts get a little rougher, your breasts bouncing from the momentum of his hips slamming into yours.

Not long after you, he pulls out in one swift motion. It seems like he pulled out right on time because ropes of his warm cum instantly land all over your sex and stomach the moment he pulls out.

He reaches for his dick and pumps himself to milk himself of every drop, bottom lip trapped between his teeth as he watches himself cum all over his best friend.

His hand comes to a halt and he collapses on top of you, face buried in the crook of your neck as he tries to catch his breath.

After a few moments of silence and no movement other than the heavy breathing, you say, “Jungkook…”

He pauses for a moment and then says, “Give me a few minutes, I’ll be ready for round two in a bit.” His voice is quiet and muffled from being buried in the crook of your neck.

“Round two?” you ask him, a scrunch on your brows as you frown at the ceiling.

He slowly lifts his head, his eyes searching yours. “Yeah, you don’t wanna go for round two?” he asks, his voice is neutral as if he’s asking you about the weather. Doesn’t he realize he just fucked you? He’s talking to you with the sweetest look in his eyes as if he didn’t just give you most mind-blowing orgasm of your life.

“Well… Yeah. But I don’t expect you to,” you quietly say, blinking up at him with doe eyes.

“Nonsense,” he grumbles as he finally pushes himself off of you, his softening dick retreating from you. He glances down at your chest and looks back up at you. “Can I take this off?” he asks, gently tugging at your tank top.

Without another word, you reach for the hem of your tank top and pull it over your head. He quietly apologizes as he takes it from you and uses it to wipe your body clean before tossing it aside. He knows you’re too fucked out to scold him for it.

Jungkook’s eyes immediately drop down to your breasts, his big brown eyes practically bulging out of their sockets. His hands reach up but freeze right above your breasts, eyes glancing up to read your expression and see if it’s okay to touch them.

Your eyes flicker with desperation. “Please,” you breathe out, encouraging him to go ahead.

He brings his hand up to his mouth and licks at his thumb, bringing it down to toy with your erect nipple. “Wow,” he whispers, closing in on your other breast with his mouth as he gently licks and sucks on your nipple.

Your moans sound pathetic, hips involuntarily thrusting up into his. It makes him chuckle like the cocky asshole that he is, his hand gently pressing against your stomach to push your hips down. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone this horny,” he states as he rolls off of you and props himself up next to you, leaning on his elbow to support his own weight.

His hand slowly trails from your breast down to your stomach and you’re already spreading your thighs further apart for him which makes him chuckle again. The tips of his middle and ring finger find your clit, the direct contact to the most sensitive area in your body sends a shiver down your legs.

Small circles are being rubbed onto your clit by his soft fingers and after a few moments, his eyes shift down to his fingers as he pulls them away from your pussy. “Look,” he says in a deep exhale.

You glance down at his hand like he’s asking you to. He’s showing you the string of slick that’s connected to his fingers and if you weren’t high off arousal right now, you’d be extremely embarrassed at how wet you are.

His fingers dive back in, sliding in between your folds and massaging all around before he plunges his fingers into you. This makes you thrust your hips straight up into his hand, a pornographic moan spilling from your lips.

“You’re so needy,” he chuckles, pushing you down as he starts furiously fucking his fingers into you, curling them repeatedly to assault your g-spot.

You yelp at the torture on your sweet spot. “Shut the fuck up,” you grunt, your reaction to his teaseful words makes him chuckle.

He presses his soft lips into the side of your neck as he continues his abuse on your pussy, not commenting on the way your legs jolt and jerk with every curl of his fingers but forcefully restraining you from writhing with his own body.

“Jungkook, I’m gonna–”

“Already?” he teases you, twisting his body so half of it is now hovering over you. You turn to look at him as you sob, the squishing sounds your pussy makes are loud enough to finally embarrass you. His face is hovering right over yours as his hands slam into your sex. Your hands reach up to the back of his head, pulling him down to press your lips into his so you can avoid his piercing gaze.

He wastes no time kissing you back, his hand picking up its insanity-inducing pace. White spots cover your eyelids as a strange sensation washes over you. It’s not an orgasm, you don’t recall ever feeling this before. You cry into his mouth and it takes you a second to realize you’re squirting all over your bed.

“Fuuuck,” Jungkook grunts into your mouth, the pace of his hand never faltering as it continues to slam into your sex. Tears stream down your face as your second orgasm quickly approaches you right after your squirt session, your legs continuously jerking and squirming under him.

“Jungkook–!” you sob as your hips involuntarily recoil against the mattress, your orgasm finally hitting you directly after your squirt session. Your hips running away from Jungkook’s hand doesn’t mean anything to him, he just keeps fucking his fingers into you, lips still pressed to yours as he swallows your pleading cries.

He hums against your mouth, lips wrapping around your tongue as he gently sucks on it. You aggressively squirm under him, your hands weakly pressed up against his shoulders and chest in an attempt to push him off. He finally gets the memo and retreats his fingers.

He can’t help himself as he pulls away from your lips, bringing his sticky fingers to his mouth and sucking them clean, humming in delight at the taste of his best friend.

He pulls his fingers out of his mouth with a pop and sits up, looking down at the mess you created. “Damn. I didn’t know you could do all that,” he mumbles before running his hand back up your disgustingly wet slit, holding you down with his other hand to keep you from squirming.

You can’t even answer, you’re completely fucked out under him, trying to catch your breath.

“You’re not giving up on me, are you?” he quips, using his sticky hand to pump his growing erection.

Your eyes drop down to his hand, swallowing hard as you eye his dick. “Get on all fours, come on,” he says as he slaps your thigh, getting on his knees on your mattress in front of you.

“Give me a second, you freak,” you mumble as you prop yourself up on your elbows. You shake your head in an attempt to gather your thoughts but it doesn’t do much.

You finally turn over and lazily get onto your hands and knees, arms shaking and you try your best to ignore your slick trickling down the back of your thighs.

His hand comes down to knead your asscheek, a low grunt leaving his throat. “If there’s one thing I’ve fantasized about when it comes to you, it’s your ass,” he mutters under his breath, both his hands now kneading the soft skin of your bum.

“You’ve fantasized about me?” you ask him, glancing over your shoulder to look back at him.

His eyes glance into yours before they return to your perky ass in front of him, one hand stopping the kneading of your cheek to pump his dick and position it at your sex.

“I’d be lying if I said I haven’t,” he starts, “but it was only a handful of times and it was way back when we first met, no worries,” he adds, rubbing the tip of his dick up your slit. “I take our friendship seriously.”

It knocks a moan out of you and your arms already give out, your face colliding with the mattress under you. How seriously did you both take this friendship if you’re rubbing your genitals together right now?

“Have you fantasized about me?” he quietly asks you, a quiet hiss leaving his lips as he continues to rub his tip up and down your wetness.

You sniff, silently thinking about your answer for a moment before sighing and saying, “Maybe once a year.”

A soft chuckle escapes his lips at your response and he shakes his head. He doesn’t reply and instead pushes into you, groaning at the stretch again. “I literally just fucked you, how are you still so–” he groans loudly as he bottoms out. He throws his head back as he starts fucking into you but quickly tilts it back down to watch the skin of your asscheeks recoil against his hips.

Your pathetic wimpers make him reach around your hip, gently rubbing your clit as he starts thrusting into you. You cry out at the overstimulation, stretching your arm out behind you to push into his lower stomach in an attempt to push him off but there’s absolutely no strength behind the push because you don’t want him to stop.

“You sound so fucking pretty like this,” he grunts, fingers continuing to rub circles on your overstimulated clit and he pays absolutely no mind to your hand pressing into his lower abdomen. “Tell me how I’m making you feel.”

With another sob into your pillow, you shake your head at his request. He can’t possibly expect you to form a coherent sentence, right?

That’s until you feel a sharp sting spread through your asscheek, your ass recoiling from the spanking he just gave you. You gasp and lazily turn your face to look over your shoulder at him as you shout, “Jeon Jungkook!”

He leans over, his chest pressed into your back and his lips pressed against your ear. “Tell me,” he whispers as he pushes you forward, watching you fall flat onto your stomach, face pressed into the pillows. You’re now fully lying face down on the mattress.

Just as you turn to look over your shoulder at him, he has entered you again. The fact that you’re lying face down with your legs together makes him curse as he struggles to enter you all the way but he does, the feeling of being wrapped all around him has you seeing stars.

He places his hands on each side of your elbows as you prop yourself up on them, his lips pressed to the shell of your ear and his chest pressed into your back as he starts thrusting into you again.

“Jungkook,” you moan as you turn your face slightly, eyes staring up at him. His face is so close to yours, eyes glued to the mattress underneath you.

“Tell me how it feels, baby.”

Fuck. Why would he call you that?

Your mouth is agape and your eyebrows are furrowed as Jungkook keeps fucking into you from behind, his eyes finally shifting to yours. His proximity and intense eyes make you finally comply as you say, “It– It feels so fucking good.”

His black eyes penetrate yours and you can’t tear your eyes away from his. “You look so fucking pretty like this, Y/N, holy shit. I just wanna–” he grunts as he cuts himself off, dropping his forehead onto your shoulder as he keeps fucking into your tightness.

“You just wanna what?” you say, a soft whimper following your words as you encourage him to finish his sentence.

“Destroy you.”

A cry spills from your lips the moment he says that, the pace in which he’s thrusting picks up and it’s getting rougher with each passing second. At this point you’re almost getting hatefucked and you can’t help but love every second of it.

“I hope that’s a promise,” you manage to reply.

“Oh yeah?” His hand wraps around your throat from the back, making you lift your head up, the back of your head colliding with his shoulder. Your temple is pressed against his jaw as he gently squeezes your throat.

The sinful sounds such as his skin slapping against yours, the squelshing of your wet pussy and the moans spilling from your lips are the only things you can hear and want to hear at this moment.

Jungkook’s lips and nose graze the shell of your ear, quiet moans leaving his mouth and you can only describe it as liquid gold being ladled into your ear by angels.

“Fuck, come ride me.” He doesn’t even wait for a response as he slides right out of you, lets go of your throat and drops his body next to yours before rolling onto his back. His strong arms reach for you and yank you up by your arm and waist, pulling you toward him.

A surprised yelp leaves you as you’re forced to climb onto him, every single time your clit grazes his skin has you biting back a pathetic sob. You guide his dick toward your sex and without hesitation, you sink right down onto his sex.

He grunts at the way you tightly wrap around him, hands reaching for your hips. You start bouncing on him, thighs and ass slapping into his hips which makes him moan your name softly.

You throw your head back in pure bliss and place your hands on his thighs, allowing yourself to lean back on them and support your weight as you fuck yourself on his dick.

“Holy shit,” he mumbles as he watches your every movement, eyes scanning the way your face twists in pleasure, the way your breasts bounce, the way your stomach jiggles, the way pretty moans continuously fall from your lips.

He brings his fingers to your sex and rubs that pattern that you like directly onto your clit. He watches as your body starts jerking and your legs start trembling with a shit-eating grin.

“I’m gonna… I’m gonna–”

He cuts you off. “I know, pretty. Cum all over me,” he says as he continues to stimulate your already overstimulated clit.

You want to keep riding, you really, really want to but you can’t. Your body collapses right on top of his torso, breathless and a mess. He jumps right into action as he holds onto your forearms and pins them into your lower back, holding you tightly against his chest as he thrusts up into you.

Your face is buried in the pillow right next to his head, your cries probably deafening him as he fucks you toward your 3rd orgasm of the hour. Your body is moving like jelly at this point and you can’t contain your sobs as your body continues to tremble like a leaf in the wind.

Your 3rd orgasm hits you like a fucking train and you can’t even move, you keep crying in Jungkook’s hold as he mercilessly pounds his hips up into you.

Fireworks explode on the back of your eyelids, electricity fries your brain into a pile of mush and your body is set alight, all your nerve endings bursting with magma.

When you’ve ridden out your orgasm, a surprised whimper rips through your throat when you’re suddenly flipped, thrown onto your back against your mattress and your legs pushed back towards your torso.

He climbs onto you and slides right back in, ignoring your cries of overstimulation as he harshly fucks into you, his hands placed against the mattress right next to your ribs on each side of your body.

You weakly crack your eyes open to glance up at him, your gaze shifting all over his face. The layer of sweat covering his forehead and nose, his bottom lip trapped in between his bunny teeth, his eyes staring deep into your fucking soul.

“Where… Where do you want me to cum?” he breathily asks, his hips aggressively recoiling against yours as his own orgasm approaches him rapidly.

“Fill me up until you pass out, Jungkook.” Your voice is hoarse at this point, cracking at the end of your sentence. He knows it’s nothing more than a figure of speech but it’s got his hips stuttering for a moment.

“Fuck, you’re so…” He can’t even finish his sentence as he’s finally releasing his load, shooting ropes of his cum straight into his best friend.

“Fuck,” he curses continuously as his thrusts get inconsistent. His head drops onto your shoulder, eyes squeezed shut as he moans softly with each sloppy thrust, the disgusting squelching of his cum being fucked into you rings louder than any alarm. After his climax has washed away, he finally collapses on top of you, face nuzzled in the crook of your neck.

You stay like that, staring up at the ceiling as tears roll down the sides of your face from the pleasure, overstimulation and sensitivity still pulsating in your veins.

After a few more moments, Jungkook quietly rolls off of you and tries to catch his breath.

You wipe your cheeks with the back of your hands and exhale deeply before whispering his name.

He opens his eyes and turns his head to you, humming softly in response.

“Thank you.” Is all you can say.

He shakes his head and props himself up on his elbows as he glances at you. “Don’t thank me yet. You said it can last up to 3 days, right?”

Your brows pinch together and your stomach bursts into flames. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I’m not done with you yet.”

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