you're okay.

In this tumult, he didn’t think of the intimate sight he’s unintentionally offering to you: exposed skin from head to toe. Such an outcome was rooted in other intentions before. Deliberate. 

Only hurts more to think about now.

But he doesn’t care. No, he cannot care. And he genuinely wouldn’t if you weren’t in the exact same state.

His eyes stay glued to the tree trunk, never panning to you. His body, no longer buoyed by the water, suddenly feels unbearably heavy; and by the time his clothes are close enough to grasp, he’s already fallen to his knees. He turns, his back meeting the rough tree.

He’s not concerned with what crawls up his skin or about the splinters the wood might punish him with. He needs to breathe.

The towel underneath offers at least some comfort, and he remembers to drag his shirt over the parts that aren’t yours to look at anymore.

There’s no time or mind for anything else. Your existence at this very clearing makes him want to throw up. He needs to focus on heaving his chest. On pulling in the crisp oxygen that the forest so generously provides.

But you don’t disappear. The illusion stays, still surrounded by a fairy tale mist that dips you in something utterly surreal.

Your form surfaces the way he did, as naked as he is. You’re a blurry figure; his vision trembles like his limbs. The elegance and beauty with which you walk aren't new to him, but they are taunting him in a manner he has never perceived before.

And once you tower above him, looking down soon enough and your chest as calm as his isn’t, he knows he’s doomed.

There’s only so long that he can keep denying you.

You kneel. Pulling your legs in, you wrap your arms around them tightly; concealing the parts of you he always craved. Even now, a carnal desire grows within, but it is so promptly and swiftly overshadowed by the pain you cause him.

The lack of readiness to stay. The urge to bid him goodbye one more time. The entirely missing fabric covering your skin, adding to your mock.

He sees your willingness to love him one last time and cut him into pieces so clearly. You do not understand what you do to him, how this final meeting severs his heart.

Or maybe you do but cannot find it in you to care.

Everything you’re doing might mean something. All of this exists to scramble his mind and hurt him further.

Your intentions have never been simple to decode, so he asks, “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

You’re right. Doing what, anyway? Why is he so dizzy, so… so out of it? And why does the world, turning too fast up until now, suddenly stop spinning when you put a hand to his chin, lifting his head to… to do what?

It’s like you’re examining him.

Then, you whisper, “I… can’t stand him.”

Is that why you’re here? Because he could’ve figured this out himself, effortlessly too. Your face is too close now, nipples barely a hand-width from his chest when he breathes, “I… I know. I always knew.”

“I hate him,” you emphasise, “I hate how he talks to me. How he looks at me. And…” Your eyes wander down, along Jungkook’s body, pupils moving over the shirt and then back to your hand on his chin, “And I despise how he touches me. How he claims me.”

Jungkook will throw up. His chest is on fire.

He can feel the agony growing with every second and every syllable. It’s not like he hasn’t thought about it either. But hearing you say it, confirm it, shatters him.

How he claims me.

“What is he…” Jungkook starts but then stops again. Even if there was something happening behind closed doors that he’d like to resolve, you won’t let him.

That’s always been the entire point. You do not want to fight for this.

“Nothing forceful. But also nothing I didn’t expect,” you say, “I hate how he reminds me what I had.”

Jungkook shakes his head and your finger off in the process. You curl it in, your hand a fist now. He says, “I told you so many times. It’s too late.”

“It’s… it’s not.”

You always say whatever you want so blatantly. No regard for this human heart of his. What are you made of?

Jungkook’s limbs resemble the liquid water when you’re near; he can’t move or avert his gaze, can’t send you off with actual, true conviction in his words. It’s always been like this: him melting into the ground or the sheets or the fabric of his bed; and you stand tall, a brightly lit candle incinerating him.

Yet, he can’t help but let the fury spread in his chest. It’s scorching hot, and your weak, tentative smile fuels it further. Your words and your expressions — none of it help him calm the riot. Instead, his nostrils flare. A scream climbs up his throat.

But he doesn’t yell at you. Not even when you add a whispered, “I’m sorry. But it’s not. I just…”

You don’t finish your sentence and he doesn’t urge you to. No matter what you say, there’ll be nothing but torture ahead. Your Sorries are a constant, but only half-sincere, and after stomping on a fragile heart, you do not get to apologise anymore.

Jungkook shakes his head again, finally able to look away as if your eyes had his gape trapped before. A tongue darts out to lick his lower lip wet, and you, observing his every subtle touch, place a gentle thumb to the corner of his mouth, ghosting over the plushness before he dodges.

You push yourself up a little, some dirt on your legs. The lower parts that your pulled-in limbs hid so far are on full display again, and Jungkook tries, really, truly tries not to stare. But you’re not having any of it.

You’re not standing to leave. You’re still half-crouching, and soon, too sudden, dragging your left leg over to his right hip, straddling him with nothing between him and you but the thin piece of pathetic clothing.

The gasp he breathes is immediate and unintentional. Even if he tried to push you away now, you’d look through him instantly. His mind wants to fight you, but his body can’t. There are multiple ways he’s always belonged to you, and his body always revealed as much.

And still…

That smile. The pleading eyes. Your damn touch on his neck.

He gulps hard, hands rushing up to your waist. Softly, he tries to shove you off of him, but not really. It’s too much of an easy play for you, having him like this. And when you grip his face, it costs him an amount of energy that he certainly does not possess. Not anymore.

The escape out of your grip is tough, and the word he utters is feeble, “Don’t.”

But you insist. “One more time.” Nothing but whispers, even at such an empty place where nobody listens but the water, the birds and the moon. “I need you one more time.”

He’s lightheaded. Again. His words are mumbled; he thinks that if he was you, he wouldn’t quite believe himself either, “I’m not a puppet. I have… I’ve got real feelings. Unlike you.”

A smidge of pride blooms in him. He didn’t think he’d pull off such a confession, but you seem visibly startled. Somewhat irritated. He could never guess as much if he focused on your eyes only, but the slightly clenched jaw is… telling. New.

“You really think that?” you ask, still patient but… something is off. He doesn’t understand the approaching temper in your voice. You left him. “That I have no real feelings? That’s what you think?”

“I tried to love you,” Jungkook attempts, repeatedly swallowing the dry lump. “To help you see how I loved you and how you loved me. What we could’ve been if you’d let us.”

“Back then… Love wasn’t enough, Jungkook.”

Jungkook smirks. A hollow, sarcastic smirk.

His body feels drugged, but he keeps himself upright. Perhaps his emotions have reached a point that exhausts him inside out, and he’s lost the capability to face you by now.

White flag, must be.

He repeats, one eyebrow cocked, “Love wasn’t enough?”

“Mh-mh,” you voice, a slight shake of your head. “Love isn’t stronger than grief, at least. They fulfill different purposes.” He looks up at you; your head is tilted, your lips a gorgeous curve. Prettier when you speak. “We break first and then love harder. We can use that love.”

Use that love…

It took you this long to paraphrase an idea he’d already presented to you, over and over again.

A click of his tongue, and he wonders, “You want to use it now that… that we’ve become impossible? What about him?”

“I will find a way.”

“Empty promises.”

“No,” you vow, harsher this time. “Never empty.”

Your grip on his jaw is strong; he’s not used to you grabbing him like this. Your face draws in, and as your upper body leans forward, your lower half moves, too. Grinds on him. Or at least, grazes along just the length that he tried to hide under the shirt.

His fingers dig deeper into your waist. You sigh, and he knows exactly what this means. He can distinguish your breaths, can interpret your sounds. You’re not frustrated anymore, not tired like he is. You are pleased.

Because he’s growing; fuller and harder by the second.

“No,” he tries, “this might end horribly. If you end up… with…” His hands grip your shoulders, but he isn’t really pushing. Not lifting you off of him. “They will kill you and me both.”

Your smile widens, as if you’ve thought it all out; as if you’ve come here with a plan that presumably profits nobody but you. And Jungkook already knows he doesn’t want, doesn’t need to hear it before you say it, “They can’t. Even if… they’ll just think it’s his.”

No. No, no, no.

Have you hiked up all the way to this place to use him as a rebound? All the promises you’re forming right now, are they in vain, to offer some fleeting relief?

I will find a way.

You won’t.

“That’s not enough for me,” Jungkook mouths, his words stuck at the back of his tongue, muttered, “it means… you’re not truly trying to call him off. You’ll go back and find an excuse. Not to leave him, but me.”

“I only gave an answer to your statement, Jungkook,” you defend, sugarcoating your words, honey in your voice, “truth is: I’m ready to die for this one moment alone. Aren’t you?”

“No… no—”

“Please. Even if you don’t have it in you to fight anymore…” You lean in further, your nipples touching his chest. You keep grinding. “Just this once. Give me one more night.”

His shirt slides off his lap just a little but not enough; not in the way Jungkook inwardly hopes, just so he can blame the lust multiplying on anything but himself. Despite everything — the anger, the disappointment, the approaching, everlasting pain — he wishes he could feel you better.

Just like you are perceiving the constant twitches below. No hiding it.

And then, you take it a step further, sending a shiver down his spine, cold under his burning skin, “You can do whatever you want with me.”

His chest and stomach stir. His body feels heavy, your touch razorsharp. “What?”

“Whatever you want,” you reiterate, “I want you to. I need you to.”

Your breath shakes as you shift back again, all along the line of his stiffening cock, the shirt moving off more. You can already see the V-line when you glance down, and if you weren’t sitting on your throne the way you are, his entire shaft would jump out beneath the clothing.

It doesn’t. Instead, it stays trapped under you, blue and aching and never reversed to its previous state; even less when you repeat yet again—

“Anything… anything you want.”

The control diminishes; and despite all his attempts, Jungkook snaps.

wow, it's been aaaages since i posted a teaser. :') i was originally just going to release the fic directly, but i miss posting around here... and i wanted/needed some motivation as well. sorry the teaser got so long but there was no way to shorten it and i'm also too exhausted today to tweak stuff fksjakfjkd

In this tumult, he didn’t think of the intimate sight he’s unintentionally offering to you: exposed skin from head to toe. Such an outcome was rooted in other intentions before. Deliberate. 

Only hurts more to think about now.

But he doesn’t care. No, he cannot care. And he genuinely wouldn’t if you weren’t in the exact same state.

His eyes stay glued to the tree trunk, never panning to you. His body, no longer buoyed by the water, suddenly feels unbearably heavy; and by the time his clothes are close enough to grasp, he’s already fallen to his knees. He turns, his back meeting the rough tree.

He’s not concerned with what crawls up his skin or about the splinters the wood might punish him with. He needs to breathe.

The towel underneath offers at least some comfort, and he remembers to drag his shirt over the parts that aren’t yours to look at anymore.

There’s no time or mind for anything more. Your existence at this very clearing makes him want to throw up. He needs to focus on heaving his chest. On pulling in the crisp oxygen that the forest so generously provides.

But you don’t disappear. The illusion stays, still surrounded by a fairy tale mist that dips you in something utterly surreal.

Your form surfaces the way he did, as naked as he is. You’re a blurry figure; his vision trembles like his limbs. The elegance and beauty with which you walk isn’t new to him, but they are taunting him in a manner he has never perceived before.

And once you stand tall above him, looking down soon enough and your chest as calm as his isn’t, he knows he’s doomed.

There’s only so long that he can deny you.

You kneel. Pulling your legs in, you wrap your arms around them tightly; concealing the parts of you he always craved. Even now, a carnal desire grows within, but it is so promptly and swiftly overshadowed by the pain you cause him.

The lack of readiness to stay. The urge to bid him goodbye one more time. The entirely missing fabric covering your skin, adding to your mock.

He sees your willingness to love him one last time and cut him into pieces so clearly. You do not understand what you do to him, how this final meeting severs his heart.

Or maybe you do but cannot find it in you to care.

All that you’re doing might mean something. All of this exists to scramble his mind and hurt him further.

Your intentions have never been simple to decode, so he asks, “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

You’re right. Doing what, anyway? Why is he so dizzy, so… so out of it? And why does the world, turning too fast up until now, suddenly stop spinning when you put a hand to his chin, lifting his head to… to what?

It’s like you’re examining him.

Then, you whisper, “I… can’t stand him.”

Is that why you’re here? Because he could’ve figured this out himself, effortlessly too. Your face is too close now, nipples barely a hand-width from his chest when he breathes, “I… I know. I always knew.”

“I hate him,” you emphasise, “I hate how he talks to me. How he looks at me. And…” Your eyes wander down, along Jungkook’s body, pupils moving over the shirt and then back to your hand on his chin, “And I despise how he touches me. How he claims me.”

Jungkook will throw up. His chest is on fire.

He can feel the agony growing with every second and every syllable. It’s not that he hasn’t thought about it either. But hearing you say it, confirm it, shatters him.

How he claims me.

“What is he…” Jungkook starts but then stops again. Even if there was something happening behind closed doors that he’d like to resolve, you won’t let him.

That’s always been the entire point. You do not want to fight for this.

“Nothing forceful. But also nothing I didn’t expect,” you say, “I hate how he reminds me what I had.”

Jungkook shakes his head and your finger off in the process. You curl it in, your hand a fist now. He says, “I told you so many times. It’s too late.”

“It’s… it’s not.”

You always say whatever you want so blatantly. No regard for this human heart of his. What are you made of?

Jungkook’s limbs resemble the liquid water when you’re near; he can’t move or avert his gaze, can’t send you off with actual, true conviction in his words. It’s always been like this: him melting into the ground or the sheets or the fabric of his bed; and you stand tall, a brightly lit candle incinerating him.

Yet, he can’t help but let the fury spread in his chest. It’s scorching hot, and your weak, tentative smile fuels it further. Your words and your expressions — none of it help him calm the riot. Instead, his nostrils flare. A scream climbs up his throat.

But he doesn’t yell at you. Not even when you add a whispered, “I’m sorry. But it’s not. I just…”

You don’t finish your sentence and he doesn’t urge you to. He doesn’t want you to. No matter what you say, there’d be nothing but torture ahead. Your Sorrys are a constant, but only half-sincere, and after stomping on a fragile heart, you do not get to apologise anymore.

Jungkook shakes his head again, finally able to look away as if your eyes had his gape trapped before. A tongue darts out to lick his lower lip wet, and you, observing his every subtle touch, place a gentle thumb to the corner of his mouth, ghosting over the plushness before he dodges.

You push yourself up a little, some dirt on your legs. The lower parts that your pulled-in limbs hid so far are on full display again, and Jungkook tries, really, truly tries to not stare. But you’re not having any of it.

You’re not standing to leave. You’re still half-crouching, and soon, too sudden, dragging your left leg over to his right hip, straddling him with nothing between him and you but the thin piece of pathetic clothing.

The gasp he breathes is immediate and unintentional. Even if he tried to push you away now, you’d look through him instantly. His mind wants to fight you, but his body can’t. There are multiple ways he’s always belonged to you, and his body always revealed as much.

And still…

That smile. The pleading eyes. Your damn touch on his neck.

He gulps hard, hands rushing up to your waist. Softly, he tries to shove you off of him, but not really. It’s too much of an easy play for you, having him like this. And when you grip his face, it costs him an amount of energy that he certainly does not possess. Not anymore.

The escape out of your grip is tough, and the word he utters is feeble, “Don’t.”

But you insist. “One more time.” Nothing but whispers, even at such an empty place where nobody listens but the birds, the water and the moon. “I need you one more time.”

He’s lightheaded. Again. His words are mumbled; he thinks that if he was you, he wouldn’t quite believe himself either, “I’m not a puppet. I have… I’ve got real feelings. Unlike you.”

A smidge of pride blooms in him. He didn’t think he’d pull off such a confession, but you seem visibly startled. Somewhat irritated. He could never guess as much if he focused on your eyes only, but the slightly clenched jaw is… telling. New.

“You really think that?” you ask, still patient but… something is off. He doesn’t understand the approaching temper in your voice. You left him. “That I have no real feelings? That’s what you think?”

“I tried to love you,” Jungkook attempts, repeatedly swallowing the dry clump. “To help you see how I loved you and how you loved me. What we could’ve been if you’d let us.”

“Back then… Love wasn’t enough, Jungkook.”

Jungkook smirks. A hollow, sarcastic smirk. His body feels drugged, but he keeps himself upright. Perhaps his emotions have reached a point that exhausts him inside out, and he’s lost the capability to face you anymore. White flag, must be.

He repeats, one eyebrow cocked, “Love wasn’t enough?”

“Mh-mh,” you voice, a slight shake of your head. “Love isn’t stronger than grief, at least. They fulfill different purposes.” He looks up to you; your head is tilted, your lips a gorgeous curve. Prettier when you speak. “We break first and then love harder. We can use that love.”

Use that love…

It took you this long to paraphrase an idea he’d already presented to you over and over again.

A click of his tongue, and he wonders, “You want to use it now that… that we’ve become impossible? What about him?”

“I will find a way.”

“Empty promises.”

“No,” you vow, harsher this time. “Never empty.”

Your grip on his jaw is strong; he’s not used to you grabbing him like this. Your face draws in, and as your upper body leans forward, your lower half moves, too. Grinds on him. Or at least, grazes along just the length that he tried to hide under the shirt.

His fingers dig deeper into your waist. You sigh, and he knows exactly what this means. He can distinguish your breaths, can interpret your sounds. You’re not frustrated anymore, not tired like he is. You are pleased.

Because he’s growing; fuller and harder by the second.

“No,” he tries, “this might end horribly. If you end up… with…” His hands grip your shoulders, but he isn’t really pushing. Not lifting you off of him. “They will kill you and me both.”

Your smile widens, as if you’ve thought it all out; as if you’ve come here with a plan that presumably profits nobody but you. And Jungkook already knows he doesn’t want, doesn’t need to hear it before you say it, “They can’t. Even if… they’ll just think it’s his.”

No. No, no, no.

Have you hiked up all the way to this place to use him as a rebound? All the promises you’re forming right now, are they in vain, to offer some fleeting relief? I will find a way.

You won’t.

“That’s not enough for me,” Jungkook mouths, his words stuck at the back of his tongue, muttered, “it means… you’re not truly trying to call him off. You’ll go back and find an excuse. Not to leave him, but me.”

“I only gave an answer to your statement, Jungkook,” you defend, sugarcoating your words, honey in your voice, “truth is: I’m ready to die for this one moment alone. Aren’t you?”

“No… no—”

“Please. Even if you don’t have it in you to fight anymore…” You lean in further, your nipples touching his chest. You keep grinding. “Just this once. Give me one more night.”

His shirt slides off his lap just a little but not enough; not in the way Jungkook inwardly hopes, just so he can blame the lust multiplying on anything but himself. Despite everything — the anger, the disappointment, the approaching, everlasting pain — he wishes he could feel you better.

Just like you are perceiving the constant twitches below. No hiding it.

And then, you take it a step further, sending a shiver down his spine, cold under his burning skin, “You can do whatever you want with me.”

His chest and stomach stir. His body feels heavy, your touch razorsharp. “What?”

“Whatever you want,” you reiterate, “I want you to. I need you to.”

Your breath shakes as you shift back again, all along the line of his stiffening cock, the shirt moving off more. You can already see the V-line when you glance down, and if you weren’t sitting on your throne the way you are, his entire shaft would jump out beneath the clothing.

It doesn’t. Instead, it stays trapped under you, blue and aching and never reversed to its previous state; even less when you repeat yet again—

“Anything… anything you want.”

The control diminishes; and despite all his attempts, Jungkook snaps.

wow, it's been aaaages since i posted a teaser. :') i was originally just going to release the fic directly, but i miss posting around here... and i wanted/needed some motivation as well. sorry the teaser got so long but there was no way to shorten it and i'm also too exhausted today to tweak stuff fksjakfjkd

In this tumult, he didn’t think of the intimate sight he’s unintentionally offering to you: exposed skin from head to toe. Such an outcome was rooted in other intentions before. Deliberate. 

Only hurts more to think about now.

But he doesn’t care. No, he cannot care. And he genuinely wouldn’t if you weren’t in the exact same state.

His eyes stay glued to the tree trunk, never panning to you. His body, no longer buoyed by the water, suddenly feels unbearably heavy; and by the time his clothes are close enough to grasp, he’s already fallen to his knees. He turns, his back meeting the rough tree.

He’s not concerned with what crawls up his skin or about the splinters the wood might punish him with. He needs to breathe.

The towel underneath offers at least some comfort, and he remembers to drag his shirt over the parts that aren’t yours to look at anymore.

There’s no time or mind for anything more. Your existence at this very clearing makes him want to throw up. He needs to focus on heaving his chest. On pulling in the crisp oxygen that the forest so generously provides.

But you don’t disappear. The illusion stays, still surrounded by a fairy tale mist that dips you in something utterly surreal.

Your form surfaces the way he did, as naked as he is. You’re a blurry figure; his vision trembles like his limbs. The elegance and beauty with which you walk isn’t new to him, but they are taunting him in a manner he has never perceived before.

And once you stand tall above him, looking down soon enough and your chest as calm as his isn’t, he knows he’s doomed.

There’s only so long that he can deny you.

You kneel. Pulling your legs in, you wrap your arms around them tightly; concealing the parts of you he always craved. Even now, a carnal desire grows within, but it is so promptly and swiftly overshadowed by the pain you cause him.

The lack of readiness to stay. The urge to bid him goodbye one more time. The entirely missing fabric covering your skin, adding to your mock.

He sees your willingness to love him one last time and cut him into pieces so clearly. You do not understand what you do to him, how this final meeting severs his heart.

Or maybe you do but cannot find it in you to care.

All that you’re doing might mean something. All of this exists to scramble his mind and hurt him further.

Your intentions have never been simple to decode, so he asks, “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

You’re right. Doing what, anyway? Why is he so dizzy, so… so out of it? And why does the world, turning too fast up until now, suddenly stop spinning when you put a hand to his chin, lifting his head to… to what?

It’s like you’re examining him.

Then, you whisper, “I… can’t stand him.”

Is that why you’re here? Because he could’ve figured this out himself, effortlessly too. Your face is too close now, nipples barely a hand-width from his chest when he breathes, “I… I know. I always knew.”

“I hate him,” you emphasise, “I hate how he talks to me. How he looks at me. And…” Your eyes wander down, along Jungkook’s body, pupils moving over the shirt and then back to your hand on his chin, “And I despise how he touches me. How he claims me.”

Jungkook will throw up. His chest is on fire.

He can feel the agony growing with every second and every syllable. It’s not that he hasn’t thought about it either. But hearing you say it, confirm it, shatters him.

How he claims me.

“What is he…” Jungkook starts but then stops again. Even if there was something happening behind closed doors that he’d like to resolve, you won’t let him.

That’s always been the entire point. You do not want to fight for this.

“Nothing forceful. But also nothing I didn’t expect,” you say, “I hate how he reminds me what I had.”

Jungkook shakes his head and your finger off in the process. You curl it in, your hand a fist now. He says, “I told you so many times. It’s too late.”

“It’s… it’s not.”

You always say whatever you want so blatantly. No regard for this human heart of his. What are you made of?

Jungkook’s limbs resemble the liquid water when you’re near; he can’t move or avert his gaze, can’t send you off with actual, true conviction in his words. It’s always been like this: him melting into the ground or the sheets or the fabric of his bed; and you stand tall, a brightly lit candle incinerating him.

Yet, he can’t help but let the fury spread in his chest. It’s scorching hot, and your weak, tentative smile fuels it further. Your words and your expressions — none of it help him calm the riot. Instead, his nostrils flare. A scream climbs up his throat.

But he doesn’t yell at you. Not even when you add a whispered, “I’m sorry. But it’s not. I just…”

You don’t finish your sentence and he doesn’t urge you to. He doesn’t want you to. No matter what you say, there’d be nothing but torture ahead. Your Sorrys are a constant, but only half-sincere, and after stomping on a fragile heart, you do not get to apologise anymore.

Jungkook shakes his head again, finally able to look away as if your eyes had his gape trapped before. A tongue darts out to lick his lower lip wet, and you, observing his every subtle touch, place a gentle thumb to the corner of his mouth, ghosting over the plushness before he dodges.

You push yourself up a little, some dirt on your legs. The lower parts that your pulled-in limbs hid so far are on full display again, and Jungkook tries, really, truly tries to not stare. But you’re not having any of it.

You’re not standing to leave. You’re still half-crouching, and soon, too sudden, dragging your left leg over to his right hip, straddling him with nothing between him and you but the thin piece of pathetic clothing.

The gasp he breathes is immediate and unintentional. Even if he tried to push you away now, you’d look through him instantly. His mind wants to fight you, but his body can’t. There are multiple ways he’s always belonged to you, and his body always revealed as much.

And still…

That smile. The pleading eyes. Your damn touch on his neck.

He gulps hard, hands rushing up to your waist. Softly, he tries to shove you off of him, but not really. It’s too much of an easy play for you, having him like this. And when you grip his face, it costs him an amount of energy that he certainly does not possess. Not anymore.

The escape out of your grip is tough, and the word he utters is feeble, “Don’t.”

But you insist. “One more time.” Nothing but whispers, even at such an empty place where nobody listens but the birds, the water and the moon. “I need you one more time.”

He’s lightheaded. Again. His words are mumbled; he thinks that if he was you, he wouldn’t quite believe himself either, “I’m not a puppet. I have… I’ve got real feelings. Unlike you.”

A smidge of pride blooms in him. He didn’t think he’d pull off such a confession, but you seem visibly startled. Somewhat irritated. He could never guess as much if he focused on your eyes only, but the slightly clenched jaw is… telling. New.

“You really think that?” you ask, still patient but… something is off. He doesn’t understand the approaching temper in your voice. You left him. “That I have no real feelings? That’s what you think?”

“I tried to love you,” Jungkook attempts, repeatedly swallowing the dry clump. “To help you see how I loved you and how you loved me. What we could’ve been if you’d let us.”

“Back then… Love wasn’t enough, Jungkook.”

Jungkook smirks. A hollow, sarcastic smirk. His body feels drugged, but he keeps himself upright. Perhaps his emotions have reached a point that exhausts him inside out, and he’s lost the capability to face you anymore. White flag, must be.

He repeats, one eyebrow cocked, “Love wasn’t enough?”

“Mh-mh,” you voice, a slight shake of your head. “Love isn’t stronger than grief, at least. They fulfill different purposes.” He looks up to you; your head is tilted, your lips a gorgeous curve. Prettier when you speak. “We break first and then love harder. We can use that love.”

Use that love…

It took you this long to paraphrase an idea he’d already presented to you over and over again.

A click of his tongue, and he wonders, “You want to use it now that… that we’ve become impossible? What about him?”

“I will find a way.”

“Empty promises.”

“No,” you vow, harsher this time. “Never empty.”

Your grip on his jaw is strong; he’s not used to you grabbing him like this. Your face draws in, and as your upper body leans forward, your lower half moves, too. Grinds on him. Or at least, grazes along just the length that he tried to hide under the shirt.

His fingers dig deeper into your waist. You sigh, and he knows exactly what this means. He can distinguish your breaths, can interpret your sounds. You’re not frustrated anymore, not tired like he is. You are pleased.

Because he’s growing; fuller and harder by the second.

“No,” he tries, “this might end horribly. If you end up… with…” His hands grip your shoulders, but he isn’t really pushing. Not lifting you off of him. “They will kill you and me both.”

Your smile widens, as if you’ve thought it all out; as if you’ve come here with a plan that presumably profits nobody but you. And Jungkook already knows he doesn’t want, doesn’t need to hear it before you say it, “They can’t. Even if… they’ll just think it’s his.”

No. No, no, no.

Have you hiked up all the way to this place to use him as a rebound? All the promises you’re forming right now, are they in vain, to offer some fleeting relief? I will find a way.

You won’t.

“That’s not enough for me,” Jungkook mouths, his words stuck at the back of his tongue, muttered, “it means… you’re not truly trying to call him off. You’ll go back and find an excuse. Not to leave him, but me.”

“I only gave an answer to your statement, Jungkook,” you defend, sugarcoating your words, honey in your voice, “truth is: I’m ready to die for this one moment alone. Aren’t you?”

“No… no—”

“Please. Even if you don’t have it in you to fight anymore…” You lean in further, your nipples touching his chest. You keep grinding. “Just this once. Give me one more night.”

His shirt slides off his lap just a little but not enough; not in the way Jungkook inwardly hopes, just so he can blame the lust multiplying on anything but himself. Despite everything — the anger, the disappointment, the approaching, everlasting pain — he wishes he could feel you better.

Just like you are perceiving the constant twitches below. No hiding it.

And then, you take it a step further, sending a shiver down his spine, cold under his burning skin, “You can do whatever you want with me.”

His chest and stomach stir. His body feels heavy, your touch razorsharp. “What?”

“Whatever you want,” you reiterate, “I want you to. I need you to.”

Your breath shakes as you shift back again, all along the line of his stiffening cock, the shirt moving off more. You can already see the V-line when you glance down, and if you weren’t sitting on your throne the way you are, his entire shaft would jump out beneath the clothing.

It doesn’t. Instead, it stays trapped under you, blue and aching and never reversed to its previous state; even less when you repeat yet again—

“Anything… anything you want.”

The control diminishes; and despite all his attempts, Jungkook snaps.

wow, it's been aaaages since i posted a teaser. :') i was originally just going to release the fic directly, but i miss posting around here... and i wanted/needed some motivation as well. sorry the teaser got so long but there was no way to shorten it and i'm also too exhausted today to tweak stuff fksjakfjkd

In this tumult, he didn’t think of the intimate sight he’s unintentionally offering to you: exposed skin from head to toe. Such an outcome was rooted in other intentions before. Deliberate. 

Only hurts more to think about now.

But he doesn’t care. No, he cannot care. And he genuinely wouldn’t if you weren’t in the exact same state.

His eyes stay glued to the tree trunk, never panning to you. His body, no longer buoyed by the water, suddenly feels unbearably heavy; and by the time his clothes are close enough to grasp, he’s already fallen to his knees. He turns, his back meeting the rough tree.

He’s not concerned with what crawls up his skin or about the splinters the wood might punish him with. He needs to breathe.

The towel underneath offers at least some comfort, and he remembers to drag his shirt over the parts that aren’t yours to look at anymore.

There’s no time or mind for anything more. Your existence at this very clearing makes him want to throw up. He needs to focus on heaving his chest. On pulling in the crisp oxygen that the forest so generously provides.

But you don’t disappear. The illusion stays, still surrounded by a fairy tale mist that dips you in something utterly surreal.

Your form surfaces the way he did, as naked as he is. You’re a blurry figure; his vision trembles like his limbs. The elegance and beauty with which you walk isn’t new to him, but they are taunting him in a manner he has never perceived before.

And once you stand tall above him, looking down soon enough and your chest as calm as his isn’t, he knows he’s doomed.

There’s only so long that he can deny you.

You kneel. Pulling your legs in, you wrap your arms around them tightly; concealing the parts of you he always craved. Even now, a carnal desire grows within, but it is so promptly and swiftly overshadowed by the pain you cause him.

The lack of readiness to stay. The urge to bid him goodbye one more time. The entirely missing fabric covering your skin, adding to your mock.

He sees your willingness to love him one last time and cut him into pieces so clearly. You do not understand what you do to him, how this final meeting severs his heart.

Or maybe you do but cannot find it in you to care.

All that you’re doing might mean something. All of this exists to scramble his mind and hurt him further.

Your intentions have never been simple to decode, so he asks, “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

You’re right. Doing what, anyway? Why is he so dizzy, so… so out of it? And why does the world, turning too fast up until now, suddenly stop spinning when you put a hand to his chin, lifting his head to… to what?

It’s like you’re examining him.

Then, you whisper, “I… can’t stand him.”

Is that why you’re here? Because he could’ve figured this out himself, effortlessly too. Your face is too close now, nipples barely a hand-width from his chest when he breathes, “I… I know. I always knew.”

“I hate him,” you emphasise, “I hate how he talks to me. How he looks at me. And…” Your eyes wander down, along Jungkook’s body, pupils moving over the shirt and then back to your hand on his chin, “And I despise how he touches me. How he claims me.”

Jungkook will throw up. His chest is on fire.

He can feel the agony growing with every second and every syllable. It’s not that he hasn’t thought about it either. But hearing you say it, confirm it, shatters him.

How he claims me.

“What is he…” Jungkook starts but then stops again. Even if there was something happening behind closed doors that he’d like to resolve, you won’t let him.

That’s always been the entire point. You do not want to fight for this.

“Nothing forceful. But also nothing I didn’t expect,” you say, “I hate how he reminds me what I had.”

Jungkook shakes his head and your finger off in the process. You curl it in, your hand a fist now. He says, “I told you so many times. It’s too late.”

“It’s… it’s not.”

You always say whatever you want so blatantly. No regard for this human heart of his. What are you made of?

Jungkook’s limbs resemble the liquid water when you’re near; he can’t move or avert his gaze, can’t send you off with actual, true conviction in his words. It’s always been like this: him melting into the ground or the sheets or the fabric of his bed; and you stand tall, a brightly lit candle incinerating him.

Yet, he can’t help but let the fury spread in his chest. It’s scorching hot, and your weak, tentative smile fuels it further. Your words and your expressions — none of it help him calm the riot. Instead, his nostrils flare. A scream climbs up his throat.

But he doesn’t yell at you. Not even when you add a whispered, “I’m sorry. But it’s not. I just…”

You don’t finish your sentence and he doesn’t urge you to. He doesn’t want you to. No matter what you say, there’d be nothing but torture ahead. Your Sorrys are a constant, but only half-sincere, and after stomping on a fragile heart, you do not get to apologise anymore.

Jungkook shakes his head again, finally able to look away as if your eyes had his gape trapped before. A tongue darts out to lick his lower lip wet, and you, observing his every subtle touch, place a gentle thumb to the corner of his mouth, ghosting over the plushness before he dodges.

You push yourself up a little, some dirt on your legs. The lower parts that your pulled-in limbs hid so far are on full display again, and Jungkook tries, really, truly tries to not stare. But you’re not having any of it.

You’re not standing to leave. You’re still half-crouching, and soon, too sudden, dragging your left leg over to his right hip, straddling him with nothing between him and you but the thin piece of pathetic clothing.

The gasp he breathes is immediate and unintentional. Even if he tried to push you away now, you’d look through him instantly. His mind wants to fight you, but his body can’t. There are multiple ways he’s always belonged to you, and his body always revealed as much.

And still…

That smile. The pleading eyes. Your damn touch on his neck.

He gulps hard, hands rushing up to your waist. Softly, he tries to shove you off of him, but not really. It’s too much of an easy play for you, having him like this. And when you grip his face, it costs him an amount of energy that he certainly does not possess. Not anymore.

The escape out of your grip is tough, and the word he utters is feeble, “Don’t.”

But you insist. “One more time.” Nothing but whispers, even at such an empty place where nobody listens but the birds, the water and the moon. “I need you one more time.”

He’s lightheaded. Again. His words are mumbled; he thinks that if he was you, he wouldn’t quite believe himself either, “I’m not a puppet. I have… I’ve got real feelings. Unlike you.”

A smidge of pride blooms in him. He didn’t think he’d pull off such a confession, but you seem visibly startled. Somewhat irritated. He could never guess as much if he focused on your eyes only, but the slightly clenched jaw is… telling. New.

“You really think that?” you ask, still patient but… something is off. He doesn’t understand the approaching temper in your voice. You left him. “That I have no real feelings? That’s what you think?”

“I tried to love you,” Jungkook attempts, repeatedly swallowing the dry clump. “To help you see how I loved you and how you loved me. What we could’ve been if you’d let us.”

“Back then… Love wasn’t enough, Jungkook.”

Jungkook smirks. A hollow, sarcastic smirk. His body feels drugged, but he keeps himself upright. Perhaps his emotions have reached a point that exhausts him inside out, and he’s lost the capability to face you anymore. White flag, must be.

He repeats, one eyebrow cocked, “Love wasn’t enough?”

“Mh-mh,” you voice, a slight shake of your head. “Love isn’t stronger than grief, at least. They fulfill different purposes.” He looks up to you; your head is tilted, your lips a gorgeous curve. Prettier when you speak. “We break first and then love harder. We can use that love.”

Use that love…

It took you this long to paraphrase an idea he’d already presented to you over and over again.

A click of his tongue, and he wonders, “You want to use it now that… that we’ve become impossible? What about him?”

“I will find a way.”

“Empty promises.”

“No,” you vow, harsher this time. “Never empty.”

Your grip on his jaw is strong; he’s not used to you grabbing him like this. Your face draws in, and as your upper body leans forward, your lower half moves, too. Grinds on him. Or at least, grazes along just the length that he tried to hide under the shirt.

His fingers dig deeper into your waist. You sigh, and he knows exactly what this means. He can distinguish your breaths, can interpret your sounds. You’re not frustrated anymore, not tired like he is. You are pleased.

Because he’s growing; fuller and harder by the second.

“No,” he tries, “this might end horribly. If you end up… with…” His hands grip your shoulders, but he isn’t really pushing. Not lifting you off of him. “They will kill you and me both.”

Your smile widens, as if you’ve thought it all out; as if you’ve come here with a plan that presumably profits nobody but you. And Jungkook already knows he doesn’t want, doesn’t need to hear it before you say it, “They can’t. Even if… they’ll just think it’s his.”

No. No, no, no.

Have you hiked up all the way to this place to use him as a rebound? All the promises you’re forming right now, are they in vain, to offer some fleeting relief? I will find a way.

You won’t.

“That’s not enough for me,” Jungkook mouths, his words stuck at the back of his tongue, muttered, “it means… you’re not truly trying to call him off. You’ll go back and find an excuse. Not to leave him, but me.”

“I only gave an answer to your statement, Jungkook,” you defend, sugarcoating your words, honey in your voice, “truth is: I’m ready to die for this one moment alone. Aren’t you?”

“No… no—”

“Please. Even if you don’t have it in you to fight anymore…” You lean in further, your nipples touching his chest. You keep grinding. “Just this once. Give me one more night.”

His shirt slides off his lap just a little but not enough; not in the way Jungkook inwardly hopes, just so he can blame the lust multiplying on anything but himself. Despite everything — the anger, the disappointment, the approaching, everlasting pain — he wishes he could feel you better.

Just like you are perceiving the constant twitches below. No hiding it.

And then, you take it a step further, sending a shiver down his spine, cold under his burning skin, “You can do whatever you want with me.”

His chest and stomach stir. His body feels heavy, your touch razorsharp. “What?”

“Whatever you want,” you reiterate, “I want you to. I need you to.”

Your breath shakes as you shift back again, all along the line of his stiffening cock, the shirt moving off more. You can already see the V-line when you glance down, and if you weren’t sitting on your throne the way you are, his entire shaft would jump out beneath the clothing.

It doesn’t. Instead, it stays trapped under you, blue and aching and never reversed to its previous state; even less when you repeat yet again—

“Anything… anything you want.”

The control diminishes; and despite all his attempts, Jungkook snaps.

wow, it's been aaaages since i posted a teaser. :') i was originally just going to release the fic directly, but i miss posting around here... and i wanted/needed some motivation as well. sorry the teaser got so long but there was no way to shorten it and i'm also too exhausted today to tweak stuff fksjakfjkd

In this tumult, he didn’t think of the intimate sight he’s unintentionally offering to you: exposed skin from head to toe. Such an outcome was rooted in other intentions before. Deliberate. 

Only hurts more to think about now.

But he doesn’t care. No, he cannot care. And he genuinely wouldn’t if you weren’t in the exact same state.

His eyes stay glued to the tree trunk, never panning to you. His body, no longer buoyed by the water, suddenly feels unbearably heavy; and by the time his clothes are close enough to grasp, he’s already fallen to his knees. He turns, his back meeting the rough tree.

He’s not concerned with what crawls up his skin or about the splinters the wood might punish him with. He needs to breathe.

The towel underneath offers at least some comfort, and he remembers to drag his shirt over the parts that aren’t yours to look at anymore.

There’s no time or mind for anything more. Your existence at this very clearing makes him want to throw up. He needs to focus on heaving his chest. On pulling in the crisp oxygen that the forest so generously provides.

But you don’t disappear. The illusion stays, still surrounded by a fairy tale mist that dips you in something utterly surreal.

Your form surfaces the way he did, as naked as he is. You’re a blurry figure; his vision trembles like his limbs. The elegance and beauty with which you walk isn’t new to him, but they are taunting him in a manner he has never perceived before.

And once you stand tall above him, looking down soon enough and your chest as calm as his isn’t, he knows he’s doomed.

There’s only so long that he can deny you.

You kneel. Pulling your legs in, you wrap your arms around them tightly; concealing the parts of you he always craved. Even now, a carnal desire grows within, but it is so promptly and swiftly overshadowed by the pain you cause him.

The lack of readiness to stay. The urge to bid him goodbye one more time. The entirely missing fabric covering your skin, adding to your mock.

He sees your willingness to love him one last time and cut him into pieces so clearly. You do not understand what you do to him, how this final meeting severs his heart.

Or maybe you do but cannot find it in you to care.

All that you’re doing might mean something. All of this exists to scramble his mind and hurt him further.

Your intentions have never been simple to decode, so he asks, “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

You’re right. Doing what, anyway? Why is he so dizzy, so… so out of it? And why does the world, turning too fast up until now, suddenly stop spinning when you put a hand to his chin, lifting his head to… to what?

It’s like you’re examining him.

Then, you whisper, “I… can’t stand him.”

Is that why you’re here? Because he could’ve figured this out himself, effortlessly too. Your face is too close now, nipples barely a hand-width from his chest when he breathes, “I… I know. I always knew.”

“I hate him,” you emphasise, “I hate how he talks to me. How he looks at me. And…” Your eyes wander down, along Jungkook’s body, pupils moving over the shirt and then back to your hand on his chin, “And I despise how he touches me. How he claims me.”

Jungkook will throw up. His chest is on fire.

He can feel the agony growing with every second and every syllable. It’s not that he hasn’t thought about it either. But hearing you say it, confirm it, shatters him.

How he claims me.

“What is he…” Jungkook starts but then stops again. Even if there was something happening behind closed doors that he’d like to resolve, you won’t let him.

That’s always been the entire point. You do not want to fight for this.

“Nothing forceful. But also nothing I didn’t expect,” you say, “I hate how he reminds me what I had.”

Jungkook shakes his head and your finger off in the process. You curl it in, your hand a fist now. He says, “I told you so many times. It’s too late.”

“It’s… it’s not.”

You always say whatever you want so blatantly. No regard for this human heart of his. What are you made of?

Jungkook’s limbs resemble the liquid water when you’re near; he can’t move or avert his gaze, can’t send you off with actual, true conviction in his words. It’s always been like this: him melting into the ground or the sheets or the fabric of his bed; and you stand tall, a brightly lit candle incinerating him.

Yet, he can’t help but let the fury spread in his chest. It’s scorching hot, and your weak, tentative smile fuels it further. Your words and your expressions — none of it help him calm the riot. Instead, his nostrils flare. A scream climbs up his throat.

But he doesn’t yell at you. Not even when you add a whispered, “I’m sorry. But it’s not. I just…”

You don’t finish your sentence and he doesn’t urge you to. He doesn’t want you to. No matter what you say, there’d be nothing but torture ahead. Your Sorrys are a constant, but only half-sincere, and after stomping on a fragile heart, you do not get to apologise anymore.

Jungkook shakes his head again, finally able to look away as if your eyes had his gape trapped before. A tongue darts out to lick his lower lip wet, and you, observing his every subtle touch, place a gentle thumb to the corner of his mouth, ghosting over the plushness before he dodges.

You push yourself up a little, some dirt on your legs. The lower parts that your pulled-in limbs hid so far are on full display again, and Jungkook tries, really, truly tries to not stare. But you’re not having any of it.

You’re not standing to leave. You’re still half-crouching, and soon, too sudden, dragging your left leg over to his right hip, straddling him with nothing between him and you but the thin piece of pathetic clothing.

The gasp he breathes is immediate and unintentional. Even if he tried to push you away now, you’d look through him instantly. His mind wants to fight you, but his body can’t. There are multiple ways he’s always belonged to you, and his body always revealed as much.

And still…

That smile. The pleading eyes. Your damn touch on his neck.

He gulps hard, hands rushing up to your waist. Softly, he tries to shove you off of him, but not really. It’s too much of an easy play for you, having him like this. And when you grip his face, it costs him an amount of energy that he certainly does not possess. Not anymore.

The escape out of your grip is tough, and the word he utters is feeble, “Don’t.”

But you insist. “One more time.” Nothing but whispers, even at such an empty place where nobody listens but the birds, the water and the moon. “I need you one more time.”

He’s lightheaded. Again. His words are mumbled; he thinks that if he was you, he wouldn’t quite believe himself either, “I’m not a puppet. I have… I’ve got real feelings. Unlike you.”

A smidge of pride blooms in him. He didn’t think he’d pull off such a confession, but you seem visibly startled. Somewhat irritated. He could never guess as much if he focused on your eyes only, but the slightly clenched jaw is… telling. New.

“You really think that?” you ask, still patient but… something is off. He doesn’t understand the approaching temper in your voice. You left him. “That I have no real feelings? That’s what you think?”

“I tried to love you,” Jungkook attempts, repeatedly swallowing the dry clump. “To help you see how I loved you and how you loved me. What we could’ve been if you’d let us.”

“Back then… Love wasn’t enough, Jungkook.”

Jungkook smirks. A hollow, sarcastic smirk. His body feels drugged, but he keeps himself upright. Perhaps his emotions have reached a point that exhausts him inside out, and he’s lost the capability to face you anymore. White flag, must be.

He repeats, one eyebrow cocked, “Love wasn’t enough?”

“Mh-mh,” you voice, a slight shake of your head. “Love isn’t stronger than grief, at least. They fulfill different purposes.” He looks up to you; your head is tilted, your lips a gorgeous curve. Prettier when you speak. “We break first and then love harder. We can use that love.”

Use that love…

It took you this long to paraphrase an idea he’d already presented to you over and over again.

A click of his tongue, and he wonders, “You want to use it now that… that we’ve become impossible? What about him?”

“I will find a way.”

“Empty promises.”

“No,” you vow, harsher this time. “Never empty.”

Your grip on his jaw is strong; he’s not used to you grabbing him like this. Your face draws in, and as your upper body leans forward, your lower half moves, too. Grinds on him. Or at least, grazes along just the length that he tried to hide under the shirt.

His fingers dig deeper into your waist. You sigh, and he knows exactly what this means. He can distinguish your breaths, can interpret your sounds. You’re not frustrated anymore, not tired like he is. You are pleased.

Because he’s growing; fuller and harder by the second.

“No,” he tries, “this might end horribly. If you end up… with…” His hands grip your shoulders, but he isn’t really pushing. Not lifting you off of him. “They will kill you and me both.”

Your smile widens, as if you’ve thought it all out; as if you’ve come here with a plan that presumably profits nobody but you. And Jungkook already knows he doesn’t want, doesn’t need to hear it before you say it, “They can’t. Even if… they’ll just think it’s his.”

No. No, no, no.

Have you hiked up all the way to this place to use him as a rebound? All the promises you’re forming right now, are they in vain, to offer some fleeting relief? I will find a way.

You won’t.

“That’s not enough for me,” Jungkook mouths, his words stuck at the back of his tongue, muttered, “it means… you’re not truly trying to call him off. You’ll go back and find an excuse. Not to leave him, but me.”

“I only gave an answer to your statement, Jungkook,” you defend, sugarcoating your words, honey in your voice, “truth is: I’m ready to die for this one moment alone. Aren’t you?”

“No… no—”

“Please. Even if you don’t have it in you to fight anymore…” You lean in further, your nipples touching his chest. You keep grinding. “Just this once. Give me one more night.”

His shirt slides off his lap just a little but not enough; not in the way Jungkook inwardly hopes, just so he can blame the lust multiplying on anything but himself. Despite everything — the anger, the disappointment, the approaching, everlasting pain — he wishes he could feel you better.

Just like you are perceiving the constant twitches below. No hiding it.

And then, you take it a step further, sending a shiver down his spine, cold under his burning skin, “You can do whatever you want with me.”

His chest and stomach stir. His body feels heavy, your touch razorsharp. “What?”

“Whatever you want,” you reiterate, “I want you to. I need you to.”

Your breath shakes as you shift back again, all along the line of his stiffening cock, the shirt moving off more. You can already see the V-line when you glance down, and if you weren’t sitting on your throne the way you are, his entire shaft would jump out beneath the clothing.

It doesn’t. Instead, it stays trapped under you, blue and aching and never reversed to its previous state; even less when you repeat yet again—

“Anything… anything you want.”

The control diminishes; and despite all his attempts, Jungkook snaps.

wow, it's been aaaages since i posted a teaser. :') i was originally just going to release the fic directly, but i miss posting around here... and i wanted/needed some motivation as well. sorry the teaser got so long but there was no way to shorten it and i'm also too exhausted today to tweak stuff fksjakfjkd

In this tumult, he didn’t think of the intimate sight he’s unintentionally offering to you: exposed skin from head to toe. Such an outcome was rooted in other intentions before. Deliberate. 

Only hurts more to think about now.

But he doesn’t care. No, he cannot care. And he genuinely wouldn’t if you weren’t in the exact same state.

His eyes stay glued to the tree trunk, never panning to you. His body, no longer buoyed by the water, suddenly feels unbearably heavy; and by the time his clothes are close enough to grasp, he’s already fallen to his knees. He turns, his back meeting the rough tree.

He’s not concerned with what crawls up his skin or about the splinters the wood might punish him with. He needs to breathe.

The towel underneath offers at least some comfort, and he remembers to drag his shirt over the parts that aren’t yours to look at anymore.

There’s no time or mind for anything more. Your existence at this very clearing makes him want to throw up. He needs to focus on heaving his chest. On pulling in the crisp oxygen that the forest so generously provides.

But you don’t disappear. The illusion stays, still surrounded by a fairy tale mist that dips you in something utterly surreal.

Your form surfaces the way he did, as naked as he is. You’re a blurry figure; his vision trembles like his limbs. The elegance and beauty with which you walk isn’t new to him, but they are taunting him in a manner he has never perceived before.

And once you stand tall above him, looking down soon enough and your chest as calm as his isn’t, he knows he’s doomed.

There’s only so long that he can deny you.

You kneel. Pulling your legs in, you wrap your arms around them tightly; concealing the parts of you he always craved. Even now, a carnal desire grows within, but it is so promptly and swiftly overshadowed by the pain you cause him.

The lack of readiness to stay. The urge to bid him goodbye one more time. The entirely missing fabric covering your skin, adding to your mock.

He sees your willingness to love him one last time and cut him into pieces so clearly. You do not understand what you do to him, how this final meeting severs his heart.

Or maybe you do but cannot find it in you to care.

All that you’re doing might mean something. All of this exists to scramble his mind and hurt him further.

Your intentions have never been simple to decode, so he asks, “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

You’re right. Doing what, anyway? Why is he so dizzy, so… so out of it? And why does the world, turning too fast up until now, suddenly stop spinning when you put a hand to his chin, lifting his head to… to what?

It’s like you’re examining him.

Then, you whisper, “I… can’t stand him.”

Is that why you’re here? Because he could’ve figured this out himself, effortlessly too. Your face is too close now, nipples barely a hand-width from his chest when he breathes, “I… I know. I always knew.”

“I hate him,” you emphasise, “I hate how he talks to me. How he looks at me. And…” Your eyes wander down, along Jungkook’s body, pupils moving over the shirt and then back to your hand on his chin, “And I despise how he touches me. How he claims me.”

Jungkook will throw up. His chest is on fire.

He can feel the agony growing with every second and every syllable. It’s not that he hasn’t thought about it either. But hearing you say it, confirm it, shatters him.

How he claims me.

“What is he…” Jungkook starts but then stops again. Even if there was something happening behind closed doors that he’d like to resolve, you won’t let him.

That’s always been the entire point. You do not want to fight for this.

“Nothing forceful. But also nothing I didn’t expect,” you say, “I hate how he reminds me what I had.”

Jungkook shakes his head and your finger off in the process. You curl it in, your hand a fist now. He says, “I told you so many times. It’s too late.”

“It’s… it’s not.”

You always say whatever you want so blatantly. No regard for this human heart of his. What are you made of?

Jungkook’s limbs resemble the liquid water when you’re near; he can’t move or avert his gaze, can’t send you off with actual, true conviction in his words. It’s always been like this: him melting into the ground or the sheets or the fabric of his bed; and you stand tall, a brightly lit candle incinerating him.

Yet, he can’t help but let the fury spread in his chest. It’s scorching hot, and your weak, tentative smile fuels it further. Your words and your expressions — none of it help him calm the riot. Instead, his nostrils flare. A scream climbs up his throat.

But he doesn’t yell at you. Not even when you add a whispered, “I’m sorry. But it’s not. I just…”

You don’t finish your sentence and he doesn’t urge you to. He doesn’t want you to. No matter what you say, there’d be nothing but torture ahead. Your Sorrys are a constant, but only half-sincere, and after stomping on a fragile heart, you do not get to apologise anymore.

Jungkook shakes his head again, finally able to look away as if your eyes had his gape trapped before. A tongue darts out to lick his lower lip wet, and you, observing his every subtle touch, place a gentle thumb to the corner of his mouth, ghosting over the plushness before he dodges.

You push yourself up a little, some dirt on your legs. The lower parts that your pulled-in limbs hid so far are on full display again, and Jungkook tries, really, truly tries to not stare. But you’re not having any of it.

You’re not standing to leave. You’re still half-crouching, and soon, too sudden, dragging your left leg over to his right hip, straddling him with nothing between him and you but the thin piece of pathetic clothing.

The gasp he breathes is immediate and unintentional. Even if he tried to push you away now, you’d look through him instantly. His mind wants to fight you, but his body can’t. There are multiple ways he’s always belonged to you, and his body always revealed as much.

And still…

That smile. The pleading eyes. Your damn touch on his neck.

He gulps hard, hands rushing up to your waist. Softly, he tries to shove you off of him, but not really. It’s too much of an easy play for you, having him like this. And when you grip his face, it costs him an amount of energy that he certainly does not possess. Not anymore.

The escape out of your grip is tough, and the word he utters is feeble, “Don’t.”

But you insist. “One more time.” Nothing but whispers, even at such an empty place where nobody listens but the birds, the water and the moon. “I need you one more time.”

He’s lightheaded. Again. His words are mumbled; he thinks that if he was you, he wouldn’t quite believe himself either, “I’m not a puppet. I have… I’ve got real feelings. Unlike you.”

A smidge of pride blooms in him. He didn’t think he’d pull off such a confession, but you seem visibly startled. Somewhat irritated. He could never guess as much if he focused on your eyes only, but the slightly clenched jaw is… telling. New.

“You really think that?” you ask, still patient but… something is off. He doesn’t understand the approaching temper in your voice. You left him. “That I have no real feelings? That’s what you think?”

“I tried to love you,” Jungkook attempts, repeatedly swallowing the dry clump. “To help you see how I loved you and how you loved me. What we could’ve been if you’d let us.”

“Back then… Love wasn’t enough, Jungkook.”

Jungkook smirks. A hollow, sarcastic smirk. His body feels drugged, but he keeps himself upright. Perhaps his emotions have reached a point that exhausts him inside out, and he’s lost the capability to face you anymore. White flag, must be.

He repeats, one eyebrow cocked, “Love wasn’t enough?”

“Mh-mh,” you voice, a slight shake of your head. “Love isn’t stronger than grief, at least. They fulfill different purposes.” He looks up to you; your head is tilted, your lips a gorgeous curve. Prettier when you speak. “We break first and then love harder. We can use that love.”

Use that love…

It took you this long to paraphrase an idea he’d already presented to you over and over again.

A click of his tongue, and he wonders, “You want to use it now that… that we’ve become impossible? What about him?”

“I will find a way.”

“Empty promises.”

“No,” you vow, harsher this time. “Never empty.”

Your grip on his jaw is strong; he’s not used to you grabbing him like this. Your face draws in, and as your upper body leans forward, your lower half moves, too. Grinds on him. Or at least, grazes along just the length that he tried to hide under the shirt.

His fingers dig deeper into your waist. You sigh, and he knows exactly what this means. He can distinguish your breaths, can interpret your sounds. You’re not frustrated anymore, not tired like he is. You are pleased.

Because he’s growing; fuller and harder by the second.

“No,” he tries, “this might end horribly. If you end up… with…” His hands grip your shoulders, but he isn’t really pushing. Not lifting you off of him. “They will kill you and me both.”

Your smile widens, as if you’ve thought it all out; as if you’ve come here with a plan that presumably profits nobody but you. And Jungkook already knows he doesn’t want, doesn’t need to hear it before you say it, “They can’t. Even if… they’ll just think it’s his.”

No. No, no, no.

Have you hiked up all the way to this place to use him as a rebound? All the promises you’re forming right now, are they in vain, to offer some fleeting relief? I will find a way.

You won’t.

“That’s not enough for me,” Jungkook mouths, his words stuck at the back of his tongue, muttered, “it means… you’re not truly trying to call him off. You’ll go back and find an excuse. Not to leave him, but me.”

“I only gave an answer to your statement, Jungkook,” you defend, sugarcoating your words, honey in your voice, “truth is: I’m ready to die for this one moment alone. Aren’t you?”

“No… no—”

“Please. Even if you don’t have it in you to fight anymore…” You lean in further, your nipples touching his chest. You keep grinding. “Just this once. Give me one more night.”

His shirt slides off his lap just a little but not enough; not in the way Jungkook inwardly hopes, just so he can blame the lust multiplying on anything but himself. Despite everything — the anger, the disappointment, the approaching, everlasting pain — he wishes he could feel you better.

Just like you are perceiving the constant twitches below. No hiding it.

And then, you take it a step further, sending a shiver down his spine, cold under his burning skin, “You can do whatever you want with me.”

His chest and stomach stir. His body feels heavy, your touch razorsharp. “What?”

“Whatever you want,” you reiterate, “I want you to. I need you to.”

Your breath shakes as you shift back again, all along the line of his stiffening cock, the shirt moving off more. You can already see the V-line when you glance down, and if you weren’t sitting on your throne the way you are, his entire shaft would jump out beneath the clothing.

It doesn’t. Instead, it stays trapped under you, blue and aching and never reversed to its previous state; even less when you repeat yet again—

“Anything… anything you want.”

The control diminishes; and despite all his attempts, Jungkook snaps.

wow, it's been aaaages since i posted a teaser. :') i was originally just going to release the fic directly, but i miss posting around here... and i wanted/needed some motivation as well. sorry the teaser got so long but there was no way to shorten it and i'm also too exhausted today to tweak stuff fksjakfjkd