taetomatae1234

Latest Posts by taetomatae1234

part time lover; jjk

➳ pairing: investigative journalist!jeongguk x daycare teacher!reader. alternatively, spy!jeongguk x assassin!reader

➳ genre: smut, fluff, angst, fake marriage au, dad au, spy x family au

➵ word count: 30.8k

➳ summary: there is no crime more perfect than marrying jeon jeongguk. your relationship is nothing more than a ruse - while your friends pester you for being perpetually single, jeongguk desperately needs a wife to complete the pristine image of a family, fooling his way through the parent interview at the nation’s most prestigious private school.

only time will tell how deep your lies will run as you find home in one another’s minds. because untangled in the moonlight, he is but a spy, exposing a secret world of corruption, and you, an assassin, ridding the streets of danger one hit at a time. 

➳ warnings: themes of parenthood, raising a child, reader and jk are both orphans, reader has a past where she struggled with financially supporting her family, eldest daughter trauma, reader is insecure, fears of abandonment, mentions of violence and m*rder (but not explicit), mention of weapons (guns, knives, grenades, poison),  jk has a bruise from boxing, descriptions of an explosion, blood is drawn twice (via kitchen knife and shrapnel from aforementioned explosion), (1) mention of weight loss, jk changes his appearance in an attempt to fit in, mention of a minor car crash, social drinking, scars (surgical/knife, bullet wounds), characters are liars for the sake of the plot, side characters are misogynists (satire), food descriptions, pet names (hers: angel, good girl, princess his: love). 

➳ a/n: thank you for being so patient with me as i toiled through this fic. it wasn't an easy one! but i do think it's special because of how healing the journey was for me <3 please enjoy, let me know what you think. don't forget to check out the other fics from the "industry baby" collab hosted by the ever so lovely @jeonjcngkook and @mercurygguk !

➳ smut warnings: virgin reader, sexual tension, body worship, nipple play, marking, oral (f receiving), fingering, hair pulling, unprotected sex, jk has a big dick, praising, stomach bulge, spitting, use of the word slut, marriage kink(?) he loves his wife so much, reader wants to be bred, cumshot

Jeongguk, 26 Investigative journalist at Golden News Network Less than a mile away To whom it may concern, I am a single father looking for a wife (DM me for serious inquiries only). 

“Your profile is dog shit,” Seokjin deadpans. The cringe settles into the downward turn of his lips as he swipes through his best friend’s Tinder account. “You’d be bitchless if you weren’t hot.” 

“Jin, watch your mouth.” Jeongguk shoots a deadly glare toward the older man. “There are children around.” 

From the kitchen, Jeongguk cranes his neck to take a peek into the messy living room where his adopted daughter sits, criss-crossed, in front of the television. Minji is too distracted by her weekly cartoon updates to even notice the crude language. 

“Minny, don’t sit too close to the TV,” he sends his daughter a stern yet gentle reminder. “Your eyeballs are gonna fall out of your head if you do.” 

A frown etches itself onto Minji’s face as she scooches back on her knees. 

Jeongguk returns his attention to the dinner he’s preparing tonight. A pot of homemade tomato sauce simmers on the stovetop. 

In the back of his mind, he wonders if his dating profile is as terribly unappealing as Seokjin says it is. Otherwise he wouldn’t have so many notifications, right? ー Messages from girls, asking if he could be their daddy too. Jeongguk’s bio is short and straight to the point. He’s not that ugly, or so he thinks. Being a journalist is a respectable occupation with steady income. So what could be so bad about it? 

Is it the fact that Jeongguk isn’t even his real name ー nothing but a fake persona to help him with his investigation? Maybe it’s because his adopted daughter doesn’t have a striking resemblance to him, and his pictures look like a shady scam. 

But there’s no way that they can see through Jeongguk’s facade. After all, he’s the best spy in the agency. His specialty is deceit. It’s foolproof. There’s no reason not to believe him. 

“I think they’re really into the whole dad thing,” Jeongguk nods, focusing on the sliced onions in front of him. The smell of garlic and fresh herbs permeate through the air.

“Really?” Seokjin says in feigned disbelief. He leans back against the couch, making himself comfortable. “It’s not because of the video where you’re deepthroating a deep dish pizza? Just for that, I would have gotten on my hands and knees to suck your di-.” 

“Can you seriously watch your language?” Jeongguk cuts him off before pointing a knife in his direction. 

Kim Seokjin may be his closest colleague, but that’s exactly where he draws the line. Seokjin is nothing more than Jeongguk’s informant. His job is to get the latest intel on all of his targets, and that’s it. He’s not here to fool around or make friends.

“We took that video in Chicago. Doesn’t it show that I’m well traveled?” Jeongguk asks with genuine curiosity. He remembers reading an article about how women love that sort of stuff. 

Seokjin pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s gonna be a long, long night,” he mutters to himself. His best friend is beyond the point of fixing, but at least he makes a good househusband. 

Jeongguk wipes his hands against his frilly apron before dipping a wooden spoon into the pot. He inches the tomato sauce closer to his pursed lips as he blows on the piping hot confection. It could use more parsley. 

Just when Jeongguk thought he could distract himself with cooking, he suddenly remembers the pressing problem that occupies all of his brain space: he is in desperate need of a wife. The constant reminder is taped to the front of the fridge 一 a letter from Minji’s prospective elementary school. 

Dear Jeon family,  Congratulations! Your child’s preliminary results indicate that he/she has passed the entrance exam at Hwa Yang Academy. Our institution carries a prestigious reputation, accepting only the nation’s brightest students. Due to your child’s outstanding academic score, we invite you to the second phase of admissions where a family interview will be conducted. Please have both parents and child present at Yeon Hwa Hall on the first of May, promptly at 10am.  It is our good fortune that you chose to apply to Hwa Yang Academy. We look forward to welcoming you and your family to our renowned institution.  Sincerely,  Department of Admissions at Hwa Yang Academy

The fact that Minji received an interview at the top school in the nation is amazing beyond belief. Everything is going according to plan. The only problem is that Jeon Jeongguk is, in fact, bitchless. 

“Remind me again, why do you need to get Minji into that school?” Seokjin furrows his brows. He’s never seen his best friend this stressed. The way that Jeongguk is willing to jump through hoops makes him feel as if he’s never wanted anything so bad in his life. 

Jeongguk clenches the wooden spoon in his hand, threatening to give himself a splinter. “I have to get access to Hwa Yang,” he says, like it’s do or die. “There are families with infinite amounts of political power there, including the prime minister. The big boss suspects that they’re planning a rebellion, and I need to get close to them to expose their secrets. Obviously I can’t even touch the elite without pretending to be one myself. So I need this family to be as perfect as it can be.” 

“You think you can prevent a whole rebellion and save the country if you go to a few parent association meetings? Bake a batch of cookies like a soccer mom?” Seokjin’s questions are sarcastic, but he’s not wrong. He needs to infiltrate the prime minister’s inner circle, befriend him, and uncover his government secrets. But doing so would be impossible without first securing a wife and earning acceptance into the school. 

“If it comes down to making a paper mache volcano, I’ll do it.” The determination in Jeongguk’s eyes is unwavering. 

“You really expect to get through the admission interview with a fake wife? I can’t even get a single date, but you think you can get married by the end of the month?” Seokjin laughs at the expense of his own heartache. 

“Maybe the mommies would like you more if you weren’t so de-looshe-in-ull,” Minji chimes. 

Has she been listening all along?

“Delusional?” Seokjin scoffs, fueled with exasperation. Lately, he’s had thoughts about being a kinder person, yet a part of him still believes that he deserves the last word in every conversation. “Where did you learn about that?” he queries, balling up his hands. 

“Appa,” Minji replies, pointing at the man in question. 

Seokjin winds his fist back as if he’s throwing a punch across the room, but he listens to the screaming voice in the back of his head. The one that tells him he’s much too pretty to get pummeled today ー that his face would look better if Jeongguk’s fist wasn’t imprinted on the surface of it. So instead of starting a fight with a five year old girl, Seokjin folds his knees against his chest, cursing under his breath. Maybe he can be the bigger person. 

“So why can’t the agency send another spy operative to play house with you?” Seokjin asks, resorting to a life of civility under Jeongguk’s roof. He forces a smile through gritted teeth and returns his attention to the dating app in the palm of his hands, half-listening to his best friend. 

“Well, a bunch of police officers arrested our agents. There’s only a few people left on the team. Haven’t you seen the news? The government is cracking down on espionage.” Jeongguk rolls his eyes, clenching his jaw. “They use women as their scapegoat, filling up some stupid quota for incarceration.” How can men be so ignorant and simple minded?  

Ironically, Seokjin flashes his phone in front of Jeongguk’s face. “Swipe left or right, what do you think?” Yep, the minds of men are pretty simple, and Seokjin definitely didn’t hear a single word that came out of Jeongguk’s mouth. 

Y/N Daycare teacher at children’s municipal library 1 mile away Critics review: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ “Loves her emotional support characters, and will only ever love her emotional support characters”  “Can’t cook to save her life, but she can top off your ramen with a fried egg”  “Pros: loving and down to earth, great with kids. Cons: doesn’t know her own strength, hates mushrooms, has a quirky laugh” 

“You know what? I’ll swipe right. You’ll get more matches if you do,” Seokjin suggests with a determined nod. 

Jeongguk stares at his informant in disbelief, jaw slack. There’s no way this stupid app is going to land him a wife by the end of the month. 

“What do you think about this guy?” 

“Hard pass. I mean, look at his photos. His whole personality is about working out.” 

“Okay, then what about this one?” 

“Nah, he looks too stuck-up. I don’t think he can take a joke.” 

“How about her? She’s pretty, right?” 

“She doesn’t even have a bio! What if she’s a catfish?” 

From the way your coworkers appraise these people, they act as if they’re the ones looking for a partner. Because as a matter of fact, it’s your phone in their hand, swiping away on your dating app. 

It doesn’t matter if there are library books that need to be stowed away or paperwork to be filed. They pay no mind to the clock indicating that there’s 30 minutes left in the work day because finding you a significant other seems to be their only priority. 

“Sujin, stop being so picky. At this rate, y/n isn’t going to get a date if you swipe left on everyone,” Yumi whines. 

“Why did you make a profile for me anyways? I don’t need to be in a relationship.” The sound of your widely unpopular opinion makes the two girls look up with big, round eyes. 

“Aren’t you ever lonely?” There’s a hint of pity that lingers in Yumi’s voice. 

You find it quite offensive that she would think that. As much as you’d like to keep your job, you would also like to rip the rug out from beneath Yumi’s feet until she falls flat on her face. But the reality is, you really need this job. So all you do is shake your head and grit your teeth. “No, not really.” 

“Life is soo much more romantic when you have someone to love.” Sujin’s unblinking eyes make you wonder if she’s being held hostage against her will. Is her boyfriend tapping into her phone, listening to all of her conversations? 

“y/n, you’ve never been in a relationship before. Do you ever feel like you’re missing out on something?” There’s a pout that rests on Yumi’s lips. Her tone leaks with faux sympathy. “Hobi just got married, and Nari’s having a baby. We’re all grown up, and I don’t want you to feel left out, especially at my engagement party next weekend. It might bring out some… bitter feelings.” 

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, reminding yourself that you should definitely not push Yumi down the stairs at the end of your shift. “I think I’ll be content on my own.” 

“Here, look through the app for a little while. Maybe you’ll find someone that you like. Just give it a chance, okay?” Sujin hands the phone back to you. “You should really think about it. San tells me he’s been worried about you.”

Your expression falls upon hearing your younger brother’s name. Of all people, San should know that you value nothing more than your independence. 

“He just wants you to be happy ー for someone to take care of you.” 

Some part of you believes that Sujin is projecting her opinions and throwing your brother under the bus. “I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” you assure her. “I can be happy on my own.” 

Nowadays, many people come to believe that a wedding ring is the solution to everyone’s misfortune. Supposedly, it’ll keep you safe from all things cruel in this world. They don’t seem to realize that there are problems that run much deeper than being single. It’s as if something must be inherently wrong with you if you’ve never had a partner, let alone a first kiss. 

You have to admit that sometimes, their words can hurt like knives. It’s damaging to your self-esteem if you really think about it. Because surely, everyone wants to be loved and to be desired ー to be chosen. How nice would it be to lie in bed, held and comforted by something other than the warmth of your own body?

If you were to have a relationship, perhaps you could go to bookstores together and read for hours on end. The two of you could laugh and sing at the top of your lungs, dancing like fools in the dim light of the bathroom with toothbrushes tucked between molars. You could listen to ballads on the radio and finally resonate with the lyrics, plastering a goofy, lovestruck smile on your face. If you were in love, you could share childhood memories, and even the mundane details would be tucked away for safekeeping. You’d know one another's biggest fears and greatest vulnerabilities. Even when you reveal the ugliest parts of yourself, they would choose you over and over again. 

If there was just one person to run their fingers across all of your curves, your dips, your scars, only to tell you that you are still the object of their affection, then perhaps you would give love a chance.

But having thought about love your entire life, and never yet to experience it, you’re certain that you’re better off on your own. Ever since you were a little kid, it’s always been you, yourself, and your grief. You’ve harbored yourself in your own bones for decades, so who knows you better than you know yourself ー truly and completely unfiltered? With your mind and wit so sharp, who will find you lovable when they discover there’s a blade where your heart is? 

If you were to find a partner, there is simply no way that you can continue the life that you have. You could never return to them at the end of the night, bloodied and bruised, with no questions asked. Surely, it’s not an easy pill to swallow when you tell them that you're an assassin. There’s no sugar coating that. 

Much like being a daycare teacher, being an assassin is just another job. You started living this secret identity because it earned enough money to take care of your younger brother after your parents had passed away. It put food on the table and cash toward your bills. Money would roll into your bank account by the thousands. At 18 years old, that type of money was unfathomable. But now that San is old enough to take care of himself, there’s really no need to continue this lifestyle. 

Yet you pursue the chase because there’s a certain thrill that comes from seeking justice and vigilance. These monsters no longer hide beneath your brother’s bed. Instead, they lurk between the shadows ー among the alleyways and abandoned parts of town. They prey on those who are weak and exploit them for all that they are. 

If the law enforcement team is never going to uphold their end of the social contract, you have to be the one to act first and eliminate them. So with every job completed, you can be certain that the world is safer one hit at a time. 

But to continue being an assassin, you have to keep this secret under wraps. You’ll be forced to hide under a life of normalcy, as nothing more than a naive and innocent daycare teacher at the local library ー a background character in the story of others. In all honesty, you prefer to keep your secrets tucked away. Because to be loved is to be known, and you simply cannot let that happen. 

Some people aren’t made for romance, and maybe you’re one of them. Nobody shall ever hold your heart in their hands without pricking their own flesh. 

Despite all that is said and done, some part of you thinks that there’s no harm in checking out the unpromising dating app. Curiosity gets the best of you as you mindlessly swipe through all of the profiles. However, everyone you’ve come across is either too shallow, too arrogant, or too boring. 

A defeated sigh slips past your lips until you come across a certain profile. You look closer at the photos, inspecting each one with great care. There are only so many pictures: one of him and his dog, a second one of him shoving a Chicago deep dish down his throat, and another with a young child. Tattoos litter across his sun-kissed skin, and piercings scatter his handsome face ー beautiful in the most unorthodox ways.

His bio reads: “To whom it may concern, I am a single father looking for a wife (DM me for serious inquiries only).” 

Have you seen this man before? Could it be… him? 

The longer that you stare at his profile, the more concerned you become. At this rate, you’ve created an entire fantasy about a relationship with this stranger, and now you’re planning the dinner menu for your wedding. But there’s no way that you’d actually consider swiping right and messaging him, right? You don’t even want a boyfriend! This man could be joking for all you know. 

When the clock strikes the hour, a chime resounds through the air. You shake your head, finally coming to your senses. You slip your device into your pocket, forgetting about the man who lives in your phone. 

Jeongguk. His name is Jeongguk. 

“Appaaa!” There’s a piercing cry that slices through the air as the little girl begs for her father’s affection. From behind the bookshelves, the curious librarian pokes her head between the gaps to catch a glimpse of the commotion. 

“Don’t let go, please, please, pleeease!” The young child slips her tiny hand into her father’s, shaking it back and forth with a sense of urgency. 

Jeongguk stands frozen in place. The apples of his cheeks darken into a rosy hue. It’s a little embarrassing to be that parent ー the one who can’t control his child’s outbursts in the middle of a public space, let alone a library, an academic sanctuary that promises peace and quiet. 

With a heavy, exhausted sigh, Jeongguk crouches down to meet his daughter’s innocent expression. “Minny, I promise you, I’m not going anywhere. I ask that you give me ten minutes, okay?” His voice is firm and assertive. It’s a little rough around the edges, but it can’t be helped. He speaks in a way that commands attention from the room. This is the only way he knows how to demand respect from his subordinates. 

“I just need to pick up a few things. We can go home afterwards, so be a good girl until then,” Jeongguk bargains. “You can go to the playroom, and the nice librarian will take care of you.” 

Minji squeezes her tiny hands into fists, and she dies on the inside. Tears form in the corner of her eyes. Even the slightest change in her father’s tone makes her believe that she’s done something wrong. Her worst nightmare flashes before her eyes. 

Would her father abandon if she were to misbehave? Or worse, would he dare to return her to the orphanage she was adopted from? What if her biggest fear comes to fruition? After all, it’s not uncommon for parents to realize far too late that kids are too difficult to handle. Then, they’re left hoping and praying for some kind of return policy for their own flesh and blood. 

Minji’s eyes become glossy at the thought of it, unlocking a hidden memory from the past, but she refuses to let herself falter underneath his piercing stare. Yet no matter how hard she tries to keep the tears at bay, her emotions get the best of her, and her resolve crumbles into smithereens. After all, she’s only five years old. 

It appears that the authoritative approach only works in the combat room, but perhaps not with a five year old girl. So Jeongguk lowers his defenses and drops to his knees. He wipes the tears away with the pad of his thumb, and she sniffles even harder when he comforts her. 

There’s something about the little girl’s demeanor that reminds Jeongguk of himself when he was younger. Perhaps it’s the need for her father’s approval ー the desire to please and put others above herself. Maybe it’s her tenacity for standing tall and strong despite the dull ache in her tender heart. 

“You can let it all out,” he reaffirms. A beat of silence passes by while he caresses her cheek, allowing the tears to fall. “You ’kay now?” 

Minji reluctantly agrees with the slow nod of her head, but she avoids her father’s strong gaze, staring down at her shoes, sullen. When the warmth of her father’s hand disappears, another sniffle racks through her body. 

Normally, Minji is never one to throw a tantrum, but what does Jeongguk know? Just when he thought he had a hang of the whole “parenting” thing, he’s thrown into a loop. In spite of Jeongguk’s confident demeanor, he genuinely doesn’t know the first thing about raising a child, let alone a daughter. 

In his past ten years of being an undercover spy, he has diffused nuclear bombs and hacked into government files, but nothing has ever prepared him for being a single parent. Yet as a man and a father, he needs to do better. He needs to be better. The least he can do is try.

Jeongguk raises a hand between their bodies, extending his pinky for her to interlock, pledging his vow. “I’ll be back for you in ten minutes, I swear.” He reassures his daughter before planting a kiss on the crown of her head. He crosses his fingers, silently praying that she won’t cry again. 

A dribble of snot falls from Minji’s nose. Her eyelashes are soaked. A dramatic hiccup heaves through her tiny, five-year old body. 

Jeongguk can feel the venomous judgment of everyone around him. They must think that he’s utterly unfit to be a father, and they would be right. 

They would wonder: What kind of child causes a scene in public, screaming, crying, and begging her father not to abandon her? How can he send her to the playroom where there’s nothing but disgusting germs and snotty kids? Is he seriously going to hand off his responsibilities to a total stranger in an underfunded public institution? 

They can easily write Jeongguk off as a villain ー a big, scary man with piercings and tattoos. They could hurl accusations at him with no regard as to where they land. All it takes is a quick glance and a first impression (a false one at that). Obviously, they would think he’s someone who’s not built for child rearing because of the slits in his eyebrows and the gel in his hair. There must not be a gentle bone that resides in his big, burly body, but for that, they would be wrong.

The worst part about this whole “father” situation is not necessarily the judgment of others. He is familiar with scrutiny, and he knows it all too well. Rather, it’s that Jeongguk was never particularly fond of having children of his own. Some people are not cut out for fatherhood, and that’s simply the truth of the matter. But that doesn’t mean he won't do his best. He can’t let Minji down. He won’t. 

As if Minji could read his thoughts, she raises her arms, begging to be picked up. Her sniffles have long died down. 

Jeongguk takes a deep breath before caving into her wishes and hooking an arm around her knees. Minji’s grimy, little hands cling around his neck, and an inaudible, celebratory noise escapes from her lips. 

Minji nuzzles her head beneath her father’s chin. She chatters about the incomprehensible things that only five year olds would understand. She is an enigma beyond her father’s own understanding, but he is determined to learn the ins and outs of this child no matter what it takes, even if it kills him. 

After Jeongguk had finally dropped Minji off at the library’s playroom, he peruses the non-fiction shelves in search of answers. 

How the hell is he going to raise a child? 

He thumbs through all of the top-rated parenting books available, skimming through the blurbs, trying to absorb enough information to pass judgment on them. Because if he’s going to follow parenting advice from someone else, they better be successful in their trials. Jeongguk doesn’t want to be the one to fuck up his own child’s brain chemistry.

There’s a sudden tap on his shoulder that helps Jeongguk to escape from the existential dread of fatherhood.

“Excuse me, sir.” A soft voice sounds from behind him. Your breath catches onto the nape of his neck.  

“How did this woman sneak up on me without me noticing? Maybe I’m losing my touch.” Jeongguk wonders, shocked by his carelessness. Because from behind, he didn’t hear the fall of a single footstep. The air was still and undisturbed until he felt your presence a moment too late. Normally, he would have surveilled everyone within a mile radius before they could even think about approaching him. But you managed to do it so effortlessly. He’s never met a woman so stealthy. 

“I think this belongs to you.” Your voice interrupts his stream of consciousness. 

The man before you turns around, and surely, he is a sight for sore eyes 一 a little intimidating to say the least. There’s a silver ring that protrudes from his bottom lip, contrasting against the subtle pink. Even more metal resides against the surface of his skin, a piercing on either side of his eyebrow. There’s a scar that sits on his cheekbone, and you can’t help but wonder how it got there. 

You’ve only ever admired this stranger from afar. Most days, he never fails to browse the children’s manhwa section with a talkative child latched onto his leg. Up close, he looks like a tough guy, but the moment he sees his adorable daughter clinging onto your dress, the hard look in his eyes softens. A dimple carves itself into the curve of his cheek. 

“Who do we have here?” His typical inflection changes into something slightly more playful. But he uses it to mask his exhausted state.

“Appa, appa! Miss y/l/n is so pretty, don’t you think?” Minji says enthusiastically. 

A flame ignites beneath the surface of Jeongguk’s skin. He grows flustered under the little girl’s stare.

Your eyes widen. You’ve never been considered “pretty” by conventional standards. It’s not often that you hear those words, if ever, really. 

“Minji, everyone has their own opinions, but you shouldn’t push your beliefs onto someone else,” you begin as a form of damage control.“I’m so sorry, but she ran up to me, saying she lost her father. She seemed so distressed, and I thought she was going to burst into tears if she couldn’t find you.” 

Jeon Jeongguk has never known peace before. Minji is just as sneaky and conniving as her father; she’s a filthy liar just like him. 

“No, no, it’s okay, don’t apologize. Her attachment issues have grown by the day,” Jeongguk replies, shaking his head. He wears a bashful smile, cheeks tinged with pink. “Minny, do you remember what I taught you?” He crouches down to pick his daughter up by the waist, squeezing her sides. 

“Don’t sleep with wet hair otherwise I might get hippo-pot-a-therm-ia?” Minji recalls, butchering the pronunciation. 

Jeongguk bites the inside of his cheek, shaking his head. “No, the other thing.” 

“Minny doesn’t have to eat anything that she doesn’t want to?” 

“I never said that.” A look of disapproval crosses her father’s features. 

“Drawing mustaches on sleepy people is wrong unless it’s Seokjin samchon?” 

He scrunches his nose, nodding his head from side to side as though he’s contemplating. “Well… yes, but no. Try again. The thing about beauty.” 

“Oh! Beauty is something that comes from the inside!” Minji’s eyes light up upon recognition.

“Exactly, it comes from inside.” Jeongguk reminds her. He presses his pointer finger against Minji’s sternum for emphasis. Upon his touch, a sweet giggle falls from her lips. 

“But you do think it’s true, don’t you?” Minji asks once again, persistent. “Miss y/l/n is really pretty.” 

The blush on his cheeks grow a shade darker. “Minny, of course I think she’s pretty. I thought we talked about this.” Although he lowers his voice like it’s a secret, you can still hear every single word. 

Minji giggles to herself, hiding her face behind her hands. 

Jeongguk has always known your face, but never your name. “Miss y/l/n, right?” 

It sounds odd to hear your title from a grown man, but you laugh it off with a chuckle. “Yeah, that’s what the kids at the daycare call me. It’s just y/n though.” 

Jeongguk readjusts his daughter in his arms before reaching for a handshake. “I’m just Jeongguk.” It doesn’t strike how little his name means to him. Of course it’s just an alias for the sake of the mission. He picked it on a whim, but it suits him more than he had thought. Jeon Jeongguk, pillar of the nation. The lie tumbles out of his lips so naturally, and he doesn't have to think twice. 

His eyes lower into crescent moons as the corner of his lips curve into a smile, something akin to fondness. A shallow dimple finds its way onto his cheeks. 

Dammit. He’s cute. 

You reach forward, cupping your hand around his in a reverent greeting. He holds you gently as if there’s a butterfly that had landed on the tip of his fingers. It contrasts against your strong grip. 

Observant as ever, Jeongguk notices that there’s no sign of a ring on your hand. He digs through the arsenal of intel that’s locked up inside his brain. Thanks to Seokjin’s sticky fingers, he managed to spend an entire weekend studying the most recent census information, getting to know the profiles of everyone in the city (just in case). There has to be some information about you stored in his head. 

“y/n… Where did I see that name before?” He thinks to himself, mentally sifting through all the files he’s read. “Ah, I remember now. File #901: y/l/n, y/n. Never married, never divorced. Orphaned at the age of eighteen. She has one younger brother. Both of them have clean records ー never been in trouble with the police, never even received a speeding ticket.”

“Jeongguk…” you murmur his name as if you’re testing the waters. “I know. I’ve seen you around before.” 

Minji might have accidentally let it slip that he’s the man who's been her appa ‘for a very long time.’ She never seemed to mention that she’s adopted. Instead, she continues to describe her father as someone super handsome and very single. 

“Really?” Although he’s noticed you plenty of times before, he’s surprised that you recognize him. Jeongguk doesn’t like drawing attention. He supposes that lately, it’s been difficult when his daughter attracts a lot of eyes. 

“Most of the time, you wander through the aisles, half-dead like a zombie, with a cup of coffee in your hand.” You lean forward, speaking in a hushed tone. “You really aren’t allowed to bring drinks into the library, but my coworkers let it slide because they think you’re handsome.” 

Perhaps you’ve overshared because Jeongguk stares at you blankly, taken aback by the news. 

“Here’s another secret.” You beckon him closer once again, speaking barely above a whisper. “You should be careful about reading parenting books. You’ll end up stressed about what to do if it doesn’t work, and you’ll feel like a failure by the end of it.”

His eyes widen in surprise. He had hoped that the parenting books would put an end to his sleepless nights. “What do you think I should do then? I don’t know how to deal with this monster right here.” He ruffles Minji’s hair in endearment. 

“Hey!” Minji shouts in defense of herself.

“That’s not to say you shouldn’t read any parenting books. It’s just trial and error,” you shrug. “As much as you don’t want to hear it, there’s really no right answer.”

Jeongguk drops his shoulders, slightly disappointed. The defeated look on his face is a feeling you can sympathize with. 

“But if it helps, I think it’s important that children need a little bit of softness every now and then, especially because the world is so cruel.” You flash him a gentle smile, urging him to lighten up on his daughter. He needs to stop pretending that raising a child is anything like the military or the spy academy. 

Upon hearing your conversation, there’s a mischievous sparkle that appears in Minji’s eyes. “Miss y/l/n, do you wanna be my eomma?” 

You stare blankly at her, blinking as though you are processing her question. The words die on your tongue, yet you cock your head to the side, meeting the little girl’s gaze. “Y- your eomma?” you reiterate, startled. 

“Pleaseee? I’m so lonely with no eomma,” Minji pouts, melodramatic as ever. She puts her hand on her forehead as if she’s feigning an illness. 

“Jeongguk, do you happen to be looking for a wife?” 

“Is this your way of asking me out?” He leans forward, inclined to hear your proposal. 

You wonder if this is a bad time to mention his Tinder profile. It could be a little awkward knowing that you’ve also made an account on that wretched app. There’s nothing inherently embarrassing about wanting to find love through modern dating, but why is it so hard to admit it?

You weigh your options in your head, but Jeongguk beats you to it. 

“Because if you did 一 ya’ know 一 ask me out, I would have said-” His words are cut short. 

“You know what? I’m sorry if I was being too forward-” Mentally, you want to smack yourself on the head.

Jeongguk didn’t mention anything about a girlfriend, let alone a wife. He has no idea that you’ve seen his Tinder before. You never even swiped. You never matched. 

After you found his profile, you tucked your phone away and refused to open the app again. The blissful state of not knowing is better than playing the waiting game. Will he swipe, will he not? Will he message you and jumpstart some epic romance? 

You decide to tell him the truth and swallow your pride before coming across as a complete weirdo wrapped up in her delusions. 

“It’s just that… the other day, my friends made a dating profile for me because they’re worried I’ll be single for the rest of my life. I came across your account, and I thought you looked familiar. So I just wanted to know if you’re actually looking for a wife because I swear, I’ll do it.” 

Jeongguk has never been this close to making a breakthrough, and he thinks he’s half in love with you. “Are you being serious?” he wonders as a precaution. “Don’t lie to me because I really need this to be a dream come true right now.” 

His daughter reaches forward to pinch his cheeks. Jeongguk winces at the pain, and he’s certain that this moment is real. 

“Do you want me to get down on one knee?” Your face is devoid of any banter, eyes fixed on Jeongguk as if you’re genuinely offering yourself to him. “Why do you need a wife? Tax money? Green card? Ex who won’t leave you alone?” 

“It’s complicated,” Jeongguk begins. 

“Trust me, I know it's complicated when I see it.” There’s a challenging look in your eyes, urging him to continue. 

“Well, the other day, Minny passed the entrance exam for Hwa Yang Academy. Now, the  board has to conduct an interview with the family, but they said they would want both parents to be there.” 

“You can’t tell them that you’re a single father?” 

“I think it’ll hurt her chances of getting accepted,” he explains. “I want my daughter to attend a good school. Her late mother would have wanted the same thing for her.” 

“Appa said lying is wrong, but he’s so good at it,” Minji thinks to herself. 

“Do you really think that I’m fit for the role?” You’ve never really had a penchant for acting or playing pretend. Lying, on the other hand, that is your strong suit. 

“I don’t mean to be too forward, but I think you’re perfect.” Jeongguk speaks his truth without any hesitation. He looks at you with such sweet and delicate eyes. “You seem to be great with children, and Minny adores you already.” 

You eye him as if you’re considering his offer, but you’ve already made up your mind. “I’ll do it, but only if you do a favor for me too. Are you free next weekend?” 

“Next weekend?” Jeongguk raises an eyebrow. It’s starting to make sense why you agreed to do this in the first place. You need something in exchange, quid pro quo. 

“My friends are throwing an engagement party. They’re worried about me all the time because I’m single, but I thought I would lay it to rest if I told them I finally had a boyfriend, or at least someone I’m talking to.” Your speech gets faster and faster with every word that comes out of your mouth. “I know it sounds crazy, Iー” 

“I’ll do it.”

You stare blankly at him, unsure if you heard correctly, but a smile continues to creep onto the corners of your lips. “You will?” 

Jeongguk reaches forward, gently taking your hand in his. “It would be an honor to be your boyfriend,” he says, even if it’s just pretend. “And an even bigger honor to be your husband.” 

“y/n!” 

You don’t hear your name being called relentlessly until your co-workers are shouting for your attention. Their words fall upon deaf ears. 

As usual, they had been gossiping about their boyfriends and their weekend plans. You checked out of the conversation the moment Yumi opened her mouth and uttered her fiancé’s name, resisting the urge to gag. 

You look up from your lap, slightly too distracted. There’s a small, maroon stain and a rip in the skirt of your dress. It’s not easy keeping your clothes in pristine condition when you’re constantly running toward danger. You’re lost in thought, wondering how much the tailor shop will charge you for sewing it back together. 

“What are you doing this weekend? There’s a new episode of that drama you like, right? Are you going to order delivery again?” Yumi assumes. “You know, you should step outside from time to time. Maybe you’ll find a nice person to date if Tinder doesn’t pan out.” 

“Actually, I have plans after work,” you announce before returning to inspect the damage on your dress. 

“With who? Did you meet someone on the app?” The cadence of Sujin’s voice is airy, shocked in disbelief. 

“I’m meeting up with some guy.” You try not to make it a big deal, but these girls always blow it out of proportion. “I didn’t meet him from the app though.” 

“You’re seeing someone? Who?! You can’t just drop the news and expect us not to ask for the details!” Sujin shouts. 

“He was at the library the other day, and he asked me out. He’s the one with the tattoos ー y’all would recognize him if you saw him,” you explain. “Minji is his daughter.” 

“The guy with the coffee?” Everyone collectively gasps upon connecting the dots. “Him? How did you manage to pull that?!” 

Ouch. That hurts. 

“I would dump my fiancé in a heartbeat if the coffee guy could blow my back out,” Yumi confesses. 

How could she be so shallow? She was just talking about how much she loved her fiancé. Is he really that disposable? Besides, is Jeongguk nothing more than the coffee guy? A pretty face who’s made for a one night stand? You’re starting to think that people don’t actually value their relationships. They just want a partner for the sake of having one.

There’s a sudden chime that resounds through the air, pulling you out of your thoughts. The service bell at the front desk had been struck. It’s odd considering most people exited the library by now, knowing that it closes in ten minutes. 

You all poke your head through the doorway to catch a glimpse of the patron. Their eyes widen in surprise when they see the coffee guy standing at the front desk. He stands tall and proud with a military stance, a head above everyone else. There’s a bouquet of pink camellias resting in his hand in place of his typical americano. 

“Jeongguk? I thought we were meeting at the cafe.” Perhaps you remembered the details of the conversation wrong.  

When you speak his name out loud, all the girls shift their gaze to one another. Could it really be true that you’re seeing a man? 

“I thought it would be nice if I could surprise you, and we’d walk there together.” He flashes a smile that sends an arrow straight through the heart (and through those of your coworkers). For a second, you think that Yumi might just faint. 

He’s handsome as ever, just as you recall. But today, there’s something that’s slightly out of place. There’s a bandage that rests on the bridge of his nose. It’s pink with Sanrio characters plastered all over it ー Hello Kitty and My Melody. There’s something about it that makes him even more endearing. 

You try to stifle a giggle as you shoot him an apology. “Sorry, can you hang around for a few more minutes? I have some things to do before closing.”

“Take your time, angel.” Jeongguk says. Crinkles begin to form at the corner of his eyes as the curve of his lips overtake him. 

You have to admit that the pet name made your heart flutter. He plays into the role of a sweet boyfriend pretty accurately. It’s all part of the act. 

Sujin closes the door to the office. The girls break into squeals. They playfully hit your shoulder in disbelief, elbowing your sides. “I can’t believe it! y/n is going out with a man?!” 

“And he’s hot!” 

You shake your head before returning to your work station, ignoring their cheers. But you can’t help the subtle smile that reaches your lips. Maybe the girls will finally leave you the fuck alone. 

“I’m so sorry for the wait.” You apologize as you approach Jeongguk, looking like a disheveled mess after an 8 hour shift. Your blouse is slightly wrinkled, and you’re certain there’s residue left behind from all the marker stains the kids had carelessly drawn on you. Your arm is full of stickers, and you’ll have to remember to peel them off later. 

In the daycare, Jeongguk is propped on top of a bean bag chair that is much too small for his body. There’s a manhwa that rests in his lap. It’s the one his daughter can’t stop talking about. 

“I got here ten minutes early anyways.” He places the book on the table before clambering to his feet. “Oh yeah, and these are for you.” He passes the bouquet of camellias. 

You raise your hands, not really sure how to accept the gift. You’re not the type of girl to receive flowers, love poems, or pretty things. Nobody has ever pursued you in that way. All you ever receive are cursory glances and awkward smiles, but never anything as beautiful as this. 

He inches the flowers a little closer to you, urging you to take it. 

You pull the bouquet to your nose, taking a whiff of the sweet scent. “These are really pretty. Thank you for that.” You motion for him to wait just a moment longer as you place the flowers into a vase. 

Through the porthole of the office door, you can see the girls squeal and jump around in unison. 

“Are you ready? Should we head out?” Jeongguk’s lips curl into a boyish smile. 

You nod, sharply turning your heels in an attempt to hide the fluster of your face. Before you could take a step forward, you’re pulled to a halt. There’s a tug on your arm that spins you around. Jeongguk’s fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling you close. 

“Wait one sec,” his breath fans across your face. “You have some chalk on your cheek. Can I-?” He raises his hand, tentatively learning forward. 

Heat rushes to the surface of your skin, yet you nod your head, giving into his request. “Is this part of the act?” you wonder out loud, low enough for Jeongguk to hear. 

“Only if you want it to be.” His deep voice sends a shiver down your spine. 

As he leans forward to wipe the dust off your cheek, your throat dries. You freeze, attempting to avoid his gaze. You’re not certain whether you’ll explode upon gazing into his dark brown eyes. 

Instead, you keep your sight locked straight ahead. It’s a terrible idea considering his strong chest is right in front of you. The top two buttons of his white collared shirt are undone, and the space between his pecs are exposed, a necklace dangling in between. There’s a chance that you might die staring at it, so you accept the risk of embarrassing yourself and glance at his visage instead. 

“There’s my pretty girl,” Jeongguk says, dusting off the chalk. 

A wave of butterflies swarm in the pit of your stomach, and your mind goes blank. You have no idea how to respond to such a compliment, and you’re unable to when your throat constricts. Your body warms, hyper aware of his palm on your cheek and the one wrapped around your wrist. Your one free hand that is not occupied by his clasp shoots up, hovering over the bandage plastered on his nose. 

“What happened here?” The words splutter out of your mouth, trying to say something. Anything. Perhaps your anxiety would be less noticeable if you could just act natural ー If you could stop standing there without a single thought in your head. 

“Bumped into a wall,” Jeongguk chuckles. It’s a blatant lie. He could never be this clumsy. In actuality, he had failed to duck during a sparring match with another spy at the agency. Fuck Kim Mingyu and his stupidly beefy arms. “Minny picked the bandage for me.” 

“You mean you didn’t choose to wear the Hello Kitty? I think it suits you.” As soon as you graze the bridge of his nose, his laughter turns into a dramatic groan. Soft murmurs of ‘ow, ow’ fall from his lips. 

“‘m sorry, ‘m sorry!” You apologize. 

His other hand gently grasps your palm, pulling it away from his sprained injury. Maybe your dating profile was right when it mentioned you don’t know your own strength. 

“Don’t worry, let’s just hope that Minny is okay,” Jeongguk remarks. “She insisted on wearing a matching bandaid because ‘if appa’s hurt, then Minny’s hurt.’ Kind of like a voodoo doll.” 

Subconsciously, the thought of Minny wearing a matching bandage despite being perfectly fine forces your lips into a smile. 

“Should we head out now?” Jeongguk leans closer, voice barely above a whisper. “Can I hold your hand? Give your friends a real show to watch?” It’s as if your hand wasn’t already in his. 

You nod your head, suddenly remembering that this is all an act. You’re reminded of the girls crowded around the office door, peeking through the small window to catch a glimpse of the action. 

Jeongguk’s hand glides down from your palm and between your fingers, lacing them together. A breath hitches in your throat, and you have to remind yourself to breathe. You can hear the high pitched screams from behind when the girls are convinced you’ve stepped far away enough. But it isn't as loud as the sound of your heart beating out of your chest. 

The two of you make your way to the cafe, walking side by side, hand-in-hand, occasionally bumping shoulders when you walk a little too close. 

“How was your day? I realized I never asked you what you do for work, and I don’t really know much about you in general,” you chuckle, slightly embarrassed. “I thought we would at least have our first kiss by now if we were married.” There’s a hint of sarcasm in your tone, one that Jeongguk easily recognizes because his informant, Seokjin, is nothing but shits and giggles. 

“We would have done more than kissing, but we can start slow.” The corners of his lips curl into a playful grin. His words make you freeze, but it doesn’t seem to phase him. 

With your hands linked together, Jeongguk is pulled back by your halted movements. He turns to face you, displaying his pretty eye-smile. “I’m a journalist,” he says. “I write investigative articles when they don’t ask me to cover silly politics.” 

Although it’s not completely true, it’s not totally false at the same time. He writes exposé articles based on the intel he uncovers from his spy missions. The articles that he writes are written under an anonymous name, obviously so he can’t be tracked for exposing highly classified information. Nobody should ever know that he’s digging into the lives of corrupt politicians. Jeongguk might never see the light of day if word gets out. 

“My routine is pretty consistent,” he explains. “I did some research for my article, wrote a few thousand words in my drafts before deciding to scrap the entirety of it, and I picked up Minny from kindergarten. I asked my friend to babysit her while I’m away tonight.” 

Jeongguk wants to scrub his tongue after admitting that Seokjin is his “friend.” 

“What about you? How’s your life at the library?” Jeongguk asks. 

You describe the events that spiraled today as the two of you head inside the coffee shop and place your orders. “Well, the girls seemed convinced that we’re on a date,” you chuckle. 

Jeongguk gasps. His hand clenches against his chest as if he’s wounded by your words. “You mean to tell me this isn’t a date? I thought we had something special.” He feigns exasperation. “You are my wife, after all, aren’t you?” 

You don’t care to admit how amusing it is to hear the word wife coming from him. Despite the smile that plays on your lips, you shake your head no.

“This isn’t a real date,” you explain in denial. Nobody has ever asked you out, and you’ll be damned if the first time is just pretend. “But I guess this is good practice, especially when the stakes are higher for the interview.” 

“Hmm… practice.” A crinkle forms between Jeongguk’s brows, lost in thought. 

“I have to admit that I don’t have a lot of experience with dating, and that’s why we have to practice.” You shake your head, flustered. “Actually, I’ve never even been in a relationship.” 

“Why’s that?” He asks the age-old question. 

“I’m not really the type that people fall for.” You tuck your head between your shoulders, offering a shrug. “I’m quiet ー Not really good with people. I’m a bit of a late bloomer. I spent a lot of my youth taking care of my younger brother.” That’s only the jist of it. You don’t bother getting into the nitty gritty details. Being a full-time assassin isn’t necessarily “first-date appropriate” conversation. 

“How many partners have you had?” You bounce back, diverting the attention away from you. 

“Just one, my wife who passed. We had been together since we were in high school.” The lie seeps through his teeth so easily. It’s terrifying. But the less you know, the better. 

The thought of being Jeongguk’s first “girlfriend” since the passing of his wife makes you incredibly nervous. Upon seeing the sullen avoidance in his eyes, you don’t bring it up again. Instead, you try to lighten the mood.

The two of you fall into a routine of volleying questions back and forth. If you’re planning to convince everyone that you’re husband and wife, you’re going to have to know more than just one another’s (supposed) names and (supposed) professions. 

You start with the easy stuff. “Where did you grow up?” 

“Busan. I miss the sound of the ocean, but I don’t mind the city as long as Minny goes to the best school in the country. What about you?” 

“I grew up in a town so small you wouldn’t be able to find it on the map, but it’s not far from the capital.”

“Cryptic, I like it.” A grin forms onto the corners of lips before he takes a sip of his coffee. 

Over the next hour, you learn that Jeongguk, as robust and intimidating as he looks, is warm and gentle. His favorite thing about being a father is having someone to love and protect. To him, Minji is a bundle of joy who makes his day brighter despite the hurdles that come with being a parent. He would do anything in the world to give his child the life he never quite had. 

Likewise, having lost his parents at a young age, he learned to lead a fulfilling life all on his own. Instead of letting it bog him down, he clings onto the simple things for respite, searching for happiness in every corner of the universe. 

He loves the rain and how it fleetingly smells like the warm and muggy summers of his hometown. Although he doesn’t experience the monsoon season quite like he used to, he loves to watch Minji splash around in her yellow rain boots. His favorite time of day is golden hour, especially when the fluffy white clouds are tinted with orange hues, reminding him of his first dog, Gureum. 

Jeongguk has a slight addiction to black coffee, even if it makes his stomach hurt on the odd occasions (and you suggest he tries tea instead). He likes his eggs scrambled, and he prefers waffles over pancakes. He has plenty of awful habits like singing karaoke at four in the morning followed by cooking a pot of instant ramen to satiate his brutal cravings (yes, his food preferences are vital to your understanding of who Jeongguk is as a person, down to his core). 

He tells you about his trip to Chicago some months ago where he definitely deepthroated a deep dish pizza after being dared by Seokjin. As much as he loved traveling, he was easily home-sick and desperately missing his fix of samgyeopsal. In fact, he tells you he would love to invite you over one day so he can make you a meal. And thank God for that because you are not handy in the kitchen whatsoever. 

You learn that not necessarily all of his tattoos have meaning. The tiger is an emblem of his country while the tiger lily is his birth flower, and it is a silent, desperate plea to be loved. There’s a silly emoji on his middle finger just because he thinks it’s funny. He hates having to cover it up when he goes to work (tattoos may not have been the smartest idea knowing that he has to keep his identity a secret, but the damage is already done), and he’s certain that everybody judges him for the ink on his arms. 

“As long as you like your tattoos, it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks.” You offer him a warm smile as though nothing could ever hurt him. God, how he wishes that was true. 

For some reason, Jeongguk doesn’t know how to react to your words. He’s only ever been told to cover up his skin as if he has something to be ashamed of.  

In exchange for his stories, you trade Jeongguk pieces of your life. How your favorite memory from youth was when you had taken the city bus an hour and a half down to the beach with your brother, San, where you’d build sand castles on the brink of collapse. Sometimes, the smell of salt air and the longing for August still lingers to this day. 

You tell him about your attempt at joining the knitting club so you could make cute sweaters and vests. They were never perfect. But at least they kept your brother warm during the winters. Besides, you had fun playing dress-up with him. Jeongguk finds that perhaps the boldest thing you’ve ever done is bleach your hair strawberry blonde, only for it to turn out orange. 

His laughter blooms through his chest when you tell him about the time you almost set the microwave on fire. Your mom never told you that aluminum foil doesn’t belong in there, and you had to learn that the hard way. That’s probably why you should never set foot in the kitchen again. Nevertheless, you made mistake after mistake just so that San could have food on the table everyday after school. At least you’ve perfected the art of cutting fruit at this point ー no cooking skills required. 

Although the two of you talk for what seems like hours, you can’t help but think there’s so much more to this man, and he’s unwilling to share. It doesn’t necessarily bother you because you, too, have secrets of your own. You can’t expect him to reveal everything about his life, even if he never does. 

It’s well into the evening when Jeongguk walks you home. The path is quiet. It’s illuminated by the dim light of the street lamps. It feels like a scene from a movie you’ve once watched ー the origin of all your teenage fantasies. But this is real. You’re just a girl, standing in front of a boy, and that’s where it all begins. 

“y/n?” The way he says your name brings you to a halt. His voice, although usually confident, is timid and uncertain. “I’ll see you tomorrow, right? We still have a lot to talk about.” He looks at you with stars in his eyes, although none of them belong to you, and they could never be yours. 

Your lips press together in a tight line, nodding your head in affirmation. As you bid your goodbyes, you wonder if it would be inappropriate to give him a hug. After all, you’ve only just met the day prior, and this is nothing but pretend. Yet how will you ever grow accustomed to the touch of your husband?

Your arms remain crossed over your chest. You look down at your shoes, kicking a loose pebble at the front of your door, contemplating. 

But he reaches for your hand, lightly grasping around your fingers. You jolt back as if he set your nerves aflame. Your gaze lifts toward his eyes, but it quickly lowers as Jeongguk descends down to one knee. 

Your heart pounds against your chest, and you pray that he cannot hear it. 

“I’m sorry I don’t have a proper ring…” He begins. “I hope you can accept this for now, and I swear I’ll get a diamond on your hand one day ー As big as you want.” 

Jeongguk carefully pulls a small metal band from his pocket. It can easily be confused for the end piece of a keychain ー perhaps it’s something that his daughter had left behind in his coat, never to be remembered. But for Jeongguk, he knows perfectly well that it’s the pin from a grenade he had tossed the week prior on an escape mission. He slides the ring onto your finger, and although it is slightly too large, you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“I may not have been your first choice of a partner, and for all I know, I could have been dead last, but thank you for sticking by me. I swear I’ll take care of you. I’ll hold your heart with gentle hands, and I won’t ever let it break.” 

After all, this is just pretend. 

But for some reason, his voice sounds so earnest, and you almost believe him. To be frank, you never really cared about lavish weddings and seven carat diamonds. If you were to ever look for a companion, all you could ask for is an honest partner. 

Too bad Jeon Jeongguk is anything but that.

Throughout the next week, you spend more and more time getting to know your new “boyfriend.” Because of this, you have to put your side hustle on pause and constantly decline assignments on your burner phone. You certainly wouldn’t want Jeongguk to overhear your plans to murder while he sits pretty beside you, waiting to hear about your day ー your hopes, your dreams, and anything else that’s on your mind. But it would be a shame if you cut your dates early, only to spend less than a second to put a bullet through your enemies’ heads.

You’d have much more fun with Jeongguk instead. Because he tends to plan the cutest surprise dates, and they’re so incredibly thoughtful. Sometimes, Minji would accompany your dates when Seokjin can’t babysit (he’s too busy trying to find his own baby mama so he can prove Minji wrong). Nevertheless, Minji adores the time that you spend together because it feels like you’re a real family.

The three of you would drive to the movies, play boardgames, and eat ice cream for dinner. Jeongguk had even taken you both to the annual carnival that you desperately wanted to check out. He wasn’t fond of going because those claw machines and arcade games are absolute scams! Yet you caught the smug grin on his face when he finally won a stuffed bunny after downing fifty bucks. He was just so addicted to the thrill of nearly winning: “I could have gotten that!” 

During your dates, you would laugh for hours on end, but by the end of the night, Minji would fall asleep on her father’s shoulder. That’s usually your cue to head home. Sometimes, you think that he might kiss you goodnight, but he never does. His lips only ever brush your knuckles like the gentleman that he is. 

…

True to his word, Jeongguk invites you over for dinner the following Friday.

When you arrive at his apartment, you are instantly the worst houseguest known to mankind. Your umbrella is dripping wet from the pouring rain, effectively ruining Jeongguk’s wooden floors. However, that’s not the problem that Jeongguk has with you. The problem is that you’re unable to stop laughing at Jeongguk’s attire. 

Surely, your parents had taught you to be kind, especially to your hosts. Well, when Jeongguk swings the door open, revealing a frilly apron, something akin to what your grandmother would wear, you couldn’t help it! A picture of My Melody is stamped onto the chest, staring straight into your soul. 

It isn’t lost on you ー the irony of a big, strong man, no doubt subjected to dress up in his daughter’s choice of clothing. 

“Don’t laugh at me,” Jeongguk pouts, tilting his head like a puppy. 

You stifle your giggle behind a tight lipped smile, but you’re so close to bursting at the seams. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

After placing your shoes at the door, Jeongguk leads you into his humble abode. He takes the bottle of chardonnay from your hands, thanking you for the gift, and places it onto the dining table. 

“Dinner should be ready in an hour,” he informs you. 

“I know I’m not very useful in the kitchen, but if you need help-” 

Before you can even think about lifting a finger, Jeongguk is quick to suggest an alternative. “No, don't worry, you’re my guest. Just relax, okay? Minny is in the living room. You should spend time with her.” 

In the adjacent room, Minji is crouched over her study material. Her worksheets spread across the coffee table. Each question covers a different subject: basic biology, political science, religion and ethics, foreign language, etc. You never quite realized how much pressure children face in the education system. 

After all, you were never really concerned with grades. You never thought about applying to the top school in the nation. In fact, your grades had fallen down a slippery slope by the time you were in high school. Rather, all of your time was dedicated to earning money and supporting your family. 

When you sit beside Minji, she beckons you closer before you can even greet her. “I’m dying. Help me,” she pleads with wide eyes. You look down to see her math homework ー fractions, Minji’s sworn enemy. 

“Appa wants me to study, but he won’t give me the answers,” Minji whines. 

You can’t help but chuckle. “Minny, you have to figure out the answers on your own if you want to do well.”

The sound of your advice makes her drop her head on the table with a soft thump. 

“Here, let’s do a few questions together,” you suggest. 

Try as you might, you only manage to complete half of the assignment. Minji huffs, slightly frustrated when she doesn’t understand the concept. 

You pat her back, consoling the small child. “Once you eat dinner, you’ll have more brain energy. Maybe you just need a break.” 

A lightbulb goes off above her head, and she springs to her feet. “Appa! Can I give eomma a tour of the house?” 

You tilt your head, amused by the sound of Minji calling you her mother. 

“That sounds like a great idea!” Jeongguk cranes his neck to peek at his devious daughter. “Just make sure you study again when you’re done.” 

Minji takes her father’s approval as a cue to grab your hand in hers, showing you every corner of the house ー all of her drawings taped to the fridge, her favorite stuffed animals lined up at the end of the bed, and the sparkly clean toilet where she poops every morning. After describing everything in excruciating detail, you could have sworn that Minji would run out of words to say. But she never does. 

“What’s behind that door?” You point to the end of the hall. 

“That’s appa’s bedroom. He told me I should never go in there unless he gives me permission.” 

You suppose it’s healthy to set boundaries between you and your child. It’s not like Jeongguk has distasteful art hanging on his walls, and it’s not likely that he’s hiding a dead body in there. He doesn’t seem to be the type to store skeletons in the closet. You, on the other hand, now that’s a different story. Perhaps Jeongguk just needs a little privacy at the end of every night. 

Minji’s voice breaks you out of your reverie. “Eomma! This is your room! Well, it’s a guest room, but appa says it’s basically yours if you ever want a place to stay.” 

You step into the final room, glancing around the walls at a loss of words. Your eyes are drawn to the shelves. They’re brimming with so many novels. It’s like your own personal library. You could probably spend the entire day just browsing through each book. 

As you slide open one of the drawers, you’re surprised to find an array of period products. There are also makeup wipes, an abundance of face masks, some sunscreen, and essential oils (apparently, women love that sort of stuff according to an article Jeongguk had bookmarked). There’s even a candle that’s labeled ‘ocean breeze.’

“Do you like it?” Minji looks up at you with wide, glimmering eyes as she uncaps the candle, shoving her entire nose against the wax with a hard whiff. 

“I love it, Minny, thank you for the tour. I really appreciate it. You should get back to your studies. I’ll help your dad with dinner, but if you need my help, just call me, okay?” 

Minji sniffles theatrically and drags her feet into the living room. 

You head towards the kitchen to find Jeongguk slicing a daikon radish with military precision. There’s soft music playing in the background, accompanied by the pouring rain outside, occasionally interrupted by the soft huff of frustration when Jeongguk’s bangs cover his eyes. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to his elbows, revealing his strong forearms covered in tattoos. 

Jeongguk finally looks up at you in the doorway. He flashes you a smile ー delighted, and very much enamored. “How was the tour?” 

“Your home is so cozy. But I don’t know if I was supposed to look at the top secret file you forgot to put away.” 

“I- WHAT?” He yelps. The shock on his face is quickly replaced with an acute pain. The knife had sliced through his palm upon one careless motion. 

“Oh, fuck,” he mutters under his breath, ensuring that Minji won’t hear his foul language.

Jeongguk drops the radish onto the cutting board with a thud. He forces pressure onto the wound with the pad of his thumb to stop the bleeding. In actuality, he’s more concerned about the food than he is about his finger. 

“Oh my god, are you okay?” You rush over to his side, reaching for his wrist. “Let’s run it under cold water.” 

The two of you waddle towards the small sink, attached by the hip. 

“I was kidding about the secret files. I’m sorry about the cut.” You’re ridden with guilt, seeing that your mindless joke had cost Jeongguk his hand. 

“No, no, you don’t have to apologize. It was my fault. I was the one holding the knife.” 

You shake your head. “Don’t blame yourself either. It happens. I get cuts all the time.” If there’s ever a blade against your skin, it’s usually by the hands of your enemies. You, on the other hand, are a pro when it comes to handling knives. 

Jeongguk shuts the faucet off, examining the cut. It’s shallow. You could hardly see it.

“I’ll grab a bandaid for you,” you offer, already sprinting down the hallway. 

“They’re in the bathroom! Medicine cabinet!” Jeongguk shouts. 

“I know! Minny gave me a tour of everything,” you shout back. You pluck the ointment and the familiar Hello Kitty bandages off the shelf before shuffling back to the kitchen. “Minny shared way too much information about the inventory of your medicine cabinet. Apparently, you have two morphine capsules left. You should get a refill on those.” 

Jeongguk hums in recognition, and you wonder why he would need a painkiller as strong as morphine. 

Taking Jeongguk’s hand in yours, you assess the cut and gently blow on the appendages with the purse of your lips. You place the pink bandage onto his hand, and out of habit, you give him a quick kiss on the booboo. 

When you pull back, you’re absolutely mortified. You avoid his gaze, trying to hide your own humiliation. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to do that. The kids at the daycare always ask for a kiss when they’re injured.”

“It’s okay, I understand.” A rosy hue dusts over Jeongguk’s cheeks. Why is he so shy when he’s usually the bold and courageous one? He’ll be sure to call Seokjin tonight to ask what this means ー to be so flustered and afflicted by your touch. Is his skin supposed to feel like it’s on fire? 

With the look on his face, you’re not quite sure who’s more embarrassed. So you run towards the sink and nervously wash your hands, practically rubbing the skin raw. 

“I’ll cut the radish for you.” You take his place by the cutting board. 

When he asks if you’re sure, you just hum in response, having already started, and he succumbs to your offer. Typically, Jeongguk would not be willing to accept anyone’s help. But there’s warmth and sincerity in your tone.

“Let me tie this for you.” Jeongguk steps behind you, lightly brushing your hair back to keep it out of your eyes. 

Heat rushes to your face, and you nod in agreement. Instantly, Jeongguk separates your hair into three different strands.

“You know how to braid?” you ask, chopping away at the radish. “You can just tie a simple ponytail if you want.” 

“Minny said she wanted to go to school with a French braid. I didn’t know how to do it, so I looked at a video online. I’m not that good, but let me practice, okay?” He ties off your hair with the elastic that he keeps on his wrist for standby. “Tadaaa!” A proud grin sits on his pretty lips. 

You can tell that the braid is a little too loose for your liking, but you’ll be sure to show him how to properly braid later. Perhaps after dinner. “How does it look?” You wonder. 

“You’re perfect,” Jeongguk says affirmatively, sweet as ever. “Here, let me give you an apron.” 

Before you know it, he loops a string of fabric over your head. It sits loosely on the back of your neck. Jeongguk’s hand rests on your shoulder blade, pushing your hips against the counter as he reaches to tie the string around the small of your back. He fixates on the knot that tethers around his thick fingers as he works on the fabric. His breath is hot against your neck. You can feel the heat radiate off of him. 

When he pulls back, you swallow the lump in your throat, sighing a breath of relief. “Thanks,” you murmur. 

The worst part is that Jeongguk doesn’t even realize the effect that he has on you. You wonder when he’ll put an end to this madness. Because at this rate, you think you might explode if he inches any closer to you. 

As it seems, fate has other plans. 

While he watches you cook, he hovers behind you; not because he’s controlling, but because he wants to make sure you’re safe. He has to admit that you’re skilled with a knife, but your cooking techniques aren’t quite there. 

“When you cut, curl your fingers and tuck your knuckles underneath them.” Jeongguk inches closer and places his chin on the crown of your head. He slots himself against your back as his protective arms cage you against the marble counter. His hands slide down from your wrist, careful not to startle you, before cupping them around your fingers. He gently guides your hand, ensuring that you don’t cut yourself. 

You don’t realize that you’ve been holding your breath until he steps away. Maybe cooking isn’t as bad as you make it out to be.

The heavy downpour of rain patters against the windows. 

“It looks like the weather is getting worse. I didn’t realize it would storm tonight,” Jeongguk peeks between the blinds before lighting a few candles. The lamps had been flickering because of the torrential rain. “The roads aren’t very safe. If you want to stay over, you can take the guest room.” 

You nearly drop the cutlery on the table in the midst of setting up dinner. “Ar- are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother.” 

“Stop with that, you’re never a bother,” he reassures you. “If you want, I’ll drive you home first thing tomorrow morning.” 

You think about the invitation before ultimately deciding to accept. “Thank you, Jeongguk. And by the way, I really appreciate how you set the room up for me.” You shoot him a grateful smile. 

“Anything for my wife.” The warmth of his words makes your heart flutter. 

When the table is finally set, the three of you settle down for dinner. 

You bite the inside of your cheek as you stare at the beautiful arrangement of food you have yet to touch. There’s tender pork belly, fermented shrimp, spicy oyster radish, fresh garlic, and pickled cabbage among a bunch of other side dishes you can’t even put a name to. 

“You said you were hungry, right?” Jeongguk picks up the cabbage leaf and stuffs the ingredients inside. He wraps it into a roll and places it on top of your fluffy white rice. 

Watching the steam rise in front of you, you nearly bawl from how delicious it smells. The tears threaten to spill from the corners of your eyes. 

Nobody has ever made you a home-cooked meal since your parents had passed. 

“Are you- uhm,” Jeongguk lifts his hand, not knowing what to do with his own limbs. A set of chopsticks rests between his thumb and pointer finger, fish cake tucked between the silver metal. It hovers halfway across the table, abruptly stopping before he could reach your bowl. “You can cry, it’s okay-” 

You don’t dare to move a single muscle when the tear falls down your cheeks. 

Minji reaches over to wipe the droplet away. You can’t tell if she wants to comfort you, or rather, she’s just looking to steal a bite of your pork belly. But you’re inclined to believe it’s the former. Her father had already served a piece of meat in her bowl. 

“It’s okay, eomma. You can cry. Just… don’t do it over the dishes. You don’t want your food to be salty,” Minji advises. 

Jeongguk calls his daughter’s name, scolding. He plucks out a few tissues from the box and passes them across the table. 

You wipe your eyes, praying that the tears will stop. “I’m sorry, I’m fine,” you shake your head. “I just don’t really remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal with anyone other than myself. I think my parents were the last people to ever cook for me.” 

“What about your brother?” Jeongguk inquires. 

“I’ve always made food for him growing up, and ever since he went to university, he’s been away from home. I really haven’t seen him in a while.” A sullen smile tugs on your lips. “We usually just talk on the phone.” 

Jeongguk topples more food onto your bowl, filling it to the brim. “Whenever you come over, you can have any kind of food that you want. Just name it, and it’ll be yours. Even if I don’t know how to make it, I’ll learn. Now let’s eat up, okay?” He picks up a piece of pork belly, prepared to bribe you like a child who hasn’t stopped crying. 

You open your mouth, allowing him to feed you, humming in satisfaction. You mutter a thank you before putting on your bravest smile as the rain pours outside. 

It’s late in the night when you hear a soft sniffle that echoes from the other side of the bedroom door, followed by a dull strike against the wooden surface, a call for your attention.

“Eomma?”

It never takes you by surprise when a child who isn’t yours calls you their mother. It happens often enough at the daycare center. Tiny humans let the term of endearment slip from their loose lips ー some variation of “mom,” “mommy,” or “eomma.” 

These children cry for you when they have trouble opening their chocolate milk, or when they get a “booboo” from their arts and crafts activity, nothing but a measly, barely-there papercut. These children have an understanding that they’re safe with you. That you’d take care of them like a mother would, opening their bottles, helping to clean their mess, kissing their pain away, and wiping the tears dry. Sometimes they don’t notice their honest mistake, having called you their mother. Other times, they’re apologetic and embarrassed. But what’s there to be embarrassed about? 

The vocabulary of children is limited to only a few hundred words, but they always resort to the one thing they know. Whether it is, “mom,” “mommy,” “eomma,” or so on and so forth, they trust you in the purest form. They feel protected and comforted by you. 

Although you’ve heard it a dozen times before, you’ve never seen a child mean it so earnestly, not like Minji, and definitely not at two in the morning. 

You open the bedroom door, looking down to see her tear stained cheeks. The instinct to protect kicks in like second nature. “Minny, what’s wrong?” 

Lightning flashes through the sky, followed by a loud crash of thunder. The little girl flinches with a yelp, squeezing her eyes shut, pressing her hands against her ears. 

“It’s so loud, ‘m scared,” Minji pouts. 

You crouch down to wrap your arms around her shoulders, whispering sweet nothings into her ear. She shivers in your hold, trying to calm down as you rub soothing circles onto her back. 

“Don’t worry, Minny. The thunder can’t catch you while you’re in here,” you murmur, adjusting the nightcap on the top of her head. “You’re always safe with me.” 

“Can I sleep with you and appa tonight?” Minji asks. 

“Th- the both of us?” Your eyes widen. Perhaps Minji doesn’t quite understand the terms of your arrangement. You’re not actually her mom, and Jeongguk isn’t really your husband. Certainly, sleeping in the same bed as Jeongguk crosses some imaginary boundary. “I- I don’t know if appa would-” 

“Can we ask him?” Minji pleads, and she looks like she’s about to burst. It doesn’t hurt to try, right?

So you relent, and the two of you tiptoe down the hall to Jeongguk’s bedroom, hand-in-hand. There’s a light that leaks from the bottom of the doorway. Could he possibly be awake this late in the night? 

You motion at the door, encouraging Minji to knock. She has to be a big girl, expressing her needs, asking for help when she needs it. 

“Appa!” Minji whacks the palm of her hand against the wooden surface, and you have to correct her form. You squeeze her hands into a fist, showing her how to properly knock and urge her to try again. 

On the other side, you can hear the shuffle of papers and the sound of wheels scraping against the linoleum floor, followed by the pad of footsteps. The door swings open, revealing a set of sleepy eyes, shrouded behind a pair of glasses. Jeongguk’s hair is disheveled, having run his hands through his overgrown mane a million times (he’s been pondering whether he should cut it, but you’ve shyly expressed how he looks handsome either way, and right now is no exception). 

“Appa, can I sleep with the both of you tonight?” Minji hiccups between sniffles, and a tear treads down her cheek. When a crash of thunder sounds through the air, she lurches forward to wrap her arms around her father’s legs, shaking like a leaf.

Jeongguk pats the top of Minji’s head to comfort her. “What’s wrong? What happened?” 

“The sky,” Minji shakes her head, pressing her face deeper into her father’s thigh. “Too loud. It’s scary. Wanna sleep with you and eomma.” 

Normally, Jeongguk would be stressed, weighing his options, trying to determine the best course of action for his child. But there’s a sigh of relief that slips from his lips when his gaze meets yours. There’s a deep blush that spreads across his cheeks. “Is this okay with you?” His lips move in silence, mouthing the words, only for you to see.

In response, you nod your head and flash him a concerned smile. “You?” You mouth the words right back. 

Jeongguk’s answer is obvious when he wraps his arms around the little girl and lifts her into the air. “Let’s go to sleep, Minny.”

Jeongguk taps his chin, pondering, as he stares at the little girl sandwiched in the center of his bed. “Something doesn’t feel right.” But there’s an unmistakable glimmer in his eyes. As tired as he is, he doesn’t seem to let it show. “You know what we should do?” 

Before you can respond, he’s already darting out of the bedroom. He stumbles into the living area, grabbing all the mismatched furniture that he can find. There’s a coat rack in one hand and a stool in another. He runs to grab a fishing pole from the closet, one that he had stolen from Seokjin and never returned. 

“What’re you doing?” Your brows furrow, confused. But the smile on your face tells him that you’re thoroughly entertained. 

“We’re building a fort! Come help me!” He takes hold of your hand and leads you into the living room. “Here, take as many pillows as you can.” Instantly, he holds out a stack of cushions. And who are you to say no? 

With your inventory in hand, you run back to Jeongguk’s bedroom and plop them down onto the bed. “Minny, put the pillows wherever you want! Make it comfy for yourself.” 

The three of you get to work, constructing a pillow fort, and suddenly, you’re five years old all over again. 

Jeongguk returns with spare bed sheets and throw-blankets, tenting them over the makeshift poles. When you’re finally satisfied with your fort, the two of you climb onto the mattress on either side of Minji, huffing and puffing from all the energy exerted. 

“That was fun,” you say, exasperated. A beat of silence passes by as you catch your breath. “Thank you again for letting me sleep over, by the way.” 

There’s fondness in Jeongguk’s eyes as he turns to look at you. “I hope you know that you can stay as long as you want, and you’re always welcomed whenever.” His sentiment makes your heart beat a little faster. “I told you I’d take care of you.” 

“You should know…” As you stare at the roof of the makeshift fort, you try to make sense of how you ended up here. It doesn’t feel real. It doesn’t feel like you deserve it. “Taking care of me is more trouble than it’s worth.” 

Jeongguk’s voice is stern and relentless. “It’s not trouble. Not if it’s you. Do you really think I scare so easily?” 

You think you might cry, but you’ve already used up more than enough tears from your daily allowance. So you turn to thank him, only to be met with Jeongguk’s half-lidded eyes. He only hums in response ー there’s no need to thank him. 

His face is illuminated by the faint glow of the desk lamp on the other side of the room, the one he abandoned in favor of lulling his precious daughter to sleep. Minji holds her father’s hand while you stroke her hair. Within a few short minutes, she’s sound-asleep. The room is quiet, save for her soft snores. 

“Poor Minny, I hope that this doesn’t ruin her sleep schedule,” you whisper into the night. 

“She might need a nap tomorrow, but that’s okay. It happens sometimes.” Jeongguk lets out a yawn as he tugs the blankets up his shoulders. 

You remind him with gentle caution, “What about you? You shouldn’t sleep so late.” 

“I know, I know.” He presses his palms against his eyes, utterly exhausted. “I just wanted to squeeze one more chapter in.” 

You peek out from the gap in the fort, scanning the mess that lies on top of Jeongguk’s desk. Books are stacked across two different piles, separated by genre ー One of them being social psychology books required for his research; “How to Win Friends and Influence People” sits on the very top. 

Another stack is dedicated to the parenting books he often checks out from the library. There are Hello Kitty post-it notes that fill up nearly every page, bookmarked for future reference. 

Your eyes return to Jeongguk’s figure, convinced that you can steal a glance, evaluating his exhausted state. But he already has his eyes trained on you, albeit very groggy. A dopey grin stretches across his lips. If he wasn’t already tired before, he definitely is now. 

“You don’t have to do all this alone, Jeongguk. You need to rest.” You flash him a matching smile, hoping that the sentiment reaches him. “I don’t think that you scare easily, but I don’t think you’re immune to it either. And that’s perfectly okay. We’re all just people trying to get by.” 

Jeongguk sinks deeper into the pillows, succumbing to his sleepy desires. “Thank you,” he murmurs, slurring his words. Another yawn slips from his lips. “I’m just used to it 一 being on my own.” 

“Well, you’re not on your own anymore. You can count on me. We’re a team, remember?” 

Jeongguk hums, reduced to non-verbal responses that don’t require much energy. Exhaustion tugs at his eyelids until they’re shut. He makes a mental note to talk about this with you another day. 

You wave a hand in front of his face, convinced that he’s far gone from the state of consciousness. “If it makes you feel better, I can head back to my room now,” you whisper. You think it might be futile to warn him, considering he’s not awake. But as you peel the blanket back, one foot off the bed, there’s a warmth that envelops your wrist, and you halt in your tracks. 

“Stay,” Jeongguk, as tired as he is, manages to mutter with conviction. 

His grip doesn’t falter, and so, you relent. You crawl back beneath the sheets and let the night fade into dawn. 

The sound of rain splashes against the window. The petrichor smells like childhood. It feels like home, and Jeongguk has never slept so soundlessly in his entire life. 

Somehow, Jeongguk wakes up long before you, and you want to curse him for looking so handsome at the crack of dawn. His hair, although disheveled, looks perfectly imperfect. His shirt, as loose as it is, hugs his body in all the right places, sweatpants hanging low on his hips. His round specs perch on the bridge of his nose. 

“What do you think about going on a family outing?” Jeongguk suggests over breakfast. 

Minji’s eyes widen as excitement fills her tiny frame.

“That sounds like a fun idea,” you chime. “We should spend more time together so we can be perfect for the interview.” Because loving this man and his daughter is nothing more than a performance, right? 

 “Maybe we can stop at the convenience store and have a picnic in the park. What do you think?” In Jeongguk’s mind, he maps the layout of the market, pinpointing the food that the three of you would enjoy: kimbap, dried squid, potato chips, banana milk, and even fish shaped ice cream. 

“The weather cleared up today. It’s beautiful outside.” You say, chowing down on a bite of strawberries. 

Jeongguk raises a brow, questioning. “You want to go today? I thought you would want to go home after spending the night.” 

“I don’t have much else planned on a Sunday. It gets kind of lonely at my house,” you shrug. “Are you sick of me already?” 

But Jeongguk shakes his head. He’d be foolish to ever push you away. 

…

In sync, both you and Minji enthusiastically bounce on your feet through the streets of Seoul. You could easily pass as a family from that simple action alone. It’s evident when elders cross paths with you, a fond smile sitting on their faces: “You have a beautiful family!” There’s no denying that. The three of you are picture perfect as you link hands on either side of Minji because she is, in fact, the center of your universe. 

When you arrive at the convenience store, Jeongguk picks out a variety of nutritious food while Minji tries to slip cookies into the basket. She’s convinced that her father is not looking because he’s too busy sneaking glances at you from the other end of the snack aisle. He doesn’t think anyone would notice, but Minji surely does. 

For some reason, he feels so content standing in a supermarket with his wife who picks the freshest fruit, and his daughter who tries to distract him from seeing the junk food in her hands. In fact, he could probably spend the entire day comparing vegetable prices, and he would still have the time of his life with you. He used to hate running errands, unless it was doing laundry. But now, he doesn’t seem to mind it. Perhaps it’s because he has two companions at his side, and it feels a little less lonely. 

“Jeongguk?” You call his name from down the aisle. “Do you want me to grab coffee for you?” You reach for the top shelf on your tippy toes, struggling to grip your hands around the bottle. 

Within an instant, Jeongguk is already at your side. He wraps an arm around your waist to prevent you from falling forward. A heat envelops your hand as he wraps his fingers around your palm. “I think I’ll skip on coffee for now. How about tea?” 

Upon hearing his deep voice against the shell of your ear, you grow flustered. The heat of his body makes you freeze, and all you can do is nod your head, stunned. He reaches one shelf over to pluck a large bottle of tea, one that you can all share. 

Although he’s dropped your hand, he keeps a strong arm around your waist. His shoulders are broad enough to simply devour you. Even his chest is so firm pressed against your back.

“By the way, angel, don’t you think we’ve moved on from the formalities?” There’s a pout that rests on his lips. “I’d like it if you could call me something other than Jeongguk. I think it’s more convincing that way.” 

“But that’s your name. What do you want me to call you? Babe? Baby?” 

He shakes his head as he rests his chin in the crook of your neck. His hair brushes against your cheek, and your breath hitches in your throat.

You stutter the words out of your mouth, trying to act unaffected. “H- how about darling? Honey? Sweetie? … Handsome?” 

He doesn’t react to either of them, but handsome definitely makes him giggle. 

You ponder for a moment more. “Then what about love?” 

His arm squeezes your waist a little tighter as he presses an innocent kiss to your cheek. “That’s perfect, angel.” 

He unravels himself from you as you stare blankly at the beverage aisle in complete awe. You brush your fingertips against your cheek where his warmth lingers. 

This is still practice… right? 

As you stroll through the park, you come across a live performance at the base of the fountain. There’s a man playing guitar, and he’s serenading the crowd as he busks for money. The three of you stand to admire just for a moment. 

A few feet away, Minji is spinning and dancing to the soft melody. Meanwhile, Jeongguk moves his head to the beat of the song, singing the words, albeit faintly. 

“You have a pretty voice.” You nudge your shoulders against his to catch his attention. 

“Oh, it’s nothing.” He’s bashful. 

“You should sing for me one day.” You raise your brows, trying to tempt him. 

He contemplates your request, but he teases you with a soft “maybe.” He bumps his shoulder against yours like a high schooler with a crush. 

You return the sentiment in a playful back and forth. His sweet action makes you squeal, but not for the reason that you think. Because the affectionate brush of skin against yours quickly transforms into Jeongguk hauling you into his arms. His thick biceps wrap beneath your thighs, and he lifts you into the air. You can’t stop yourself from giggling when he spins you around. There’s a combination of thrill and euphoria in your chest. 

Jeongguk’s mind briefly wanders back to the conversation he had with Minji right before he tucked her into bed last night. “Appa, do you have a crush on eomma?” 

He had scoffed at the question, brushing it off as if that was far from the truth. But Minji had thought otherwise. “When you have a crush on someone, you think about them all the time. You want them to be happy, and you would do anything to make them smile. Whenever you look at eomma, I can see your ears go red. I think you were shy when she kissed your booboo, and you probably want to kiss her back, right?” For some reason, Minji’s advice seemed to be more introspective than what he could ever pull out of Seokjin. 

Jeongguk shakes his head, returning back to reality as he tucks the memory away. When he places you on the ground, you pant with adrenaline. “I thought I was going to fall.” 

His gaze meets yours, and he playfully brushes his knuckles beneath your chin. The peak of sunset illuminates your eyes, and you look golden. An epiphany flashes through his mind, and Jeongguk mutters a curse that echoes through his thoughts. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He wants to kiss you. 

But as usual, Jeongguk’s mind wins over his heart. He bites his tongue back and offers the next best thing: “Do you think I’d ever let you fall?” He grabs your hands as if nothing had happened ー as if he isn’t falling in love ー and you sway to the beat of the music, skipping to the lawn where you can enjoy your picnic. 

…

The park is bustling with so many individuals going about their day, minding their own business. The city comes alive with all of the action that surrounds you. 

“Eomma, what’s that over there?” Minji points at an art display at the other end of the fountain. There’s a throng of people, crowding around the small space. The three of you pack up your meal, making sure to toss all of your garbage, before heading over to catch sight of the action. 

There are rows of copy paper attached to a fishing line. It strings across a makeshift perimeter, rooted with no rhyme or reason. Apparently, all the buzz is about an interactive exhibit. Anonymous letters from passersby are posted for you to view, and you may even contribute by submitting your own story. You could write about anything you want. 

“That sounds like a fun idea,” Jeongguk suggests. So he grabs paper and markers for the three of you as you get to work. 

Jeongguk tries to steal a glance at your story, but you throw your body over the paper. 

“Hey, no peeking!” you shout. “These stories are supposed to belong to strangers, okay? Let’s keep it anonymous.” 

On the other hand, Minji is enthusiastic to show her father the family portrait she’s drawn. 

As the minutes pass, you finish jotting your thoughts. It’s not perfect by any means, but the sentiment is still there. When all is said and done, you’ve agreed that you wouldn’t read one another’s stories. One day, you both will disclose the contents of your letter, and you will finally know the truth, but today is not that day. 

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Dear reader, If I’m being honest, I’ve always felt undesirable. Nobody has ever confessed their feelings for me. I’ve never been in a relationship, nor have I had my first kiss. I’ve never been stopped in the middle of the street, only to be told that I have a beautiful smile. I’ve always been average at best.  My friends are concerned that I’m lonely. They’re convinced that I need someone to take care of me, but I constantly tell them that I can do it on my own. I’ve done it my entire life.  I’ve held my own hand, swallowed the heartache, and reminded myself “I can do this!” before doing the scary things I never wanted to do. I patted myself on the back when I finished school, earned my first job, and paid all my overdue bills. I raised my younger brother at the age of eighteen as if I was a single mother. I woke up to an empty bed every single day and fed myself scraps of food, even when I didn’t want to. Sometimes, it was burnt, charred, and a little too salty. But that’s what love tastes like, right? Through the smooth sailing and the rough patches, there was no boyfriend, no girlfriend, no partner or lover. Just me. But the more that I think about it, I am so, so tired.  Perhaps I grew up too fast and burned too bright. Because now, I don’t know what to do. There’s a guy that I like, or at least I think I do. Nobody ever taught me how to sort out my feelings. I’ve always been told to give and give and give. I’ve had to sacrifice my life, my time, and all of my energy. I was never allowed to feel anger, sadness, or human connection. I never had anything for myself, and I feel empty.  But lately, being with him brings me to life.  Although I don’t know what it’s like to be in love, this is the closest thing I’ve ever felt to it. When I’m with him, my inner child wants to come out and play. That little girl has always lived in my imagination. I don’t know her very well, but she’s running around, laughing and dancing as if she knows no pain. With him, she is always reminded that she is beautiful and spectacular. That she is stronger than anyone he knows. She is safe. She is protected. Above all, she feels seen. She gets ice cream for dinner, and it’s sweet. It doesn’t quite taste like the love she once knew, but somehow, she thinks it’s even more delicious.  Surely, yes, I can take care of myself. But maybe we can learn to take care of each other. 

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Hi. I don’t know who cares to read this, but if you do, welcome.  Where do I even begin? I know this sounds pathetic, but… I don’t think anyone has ever truly understood me for who I am. Perhaps that’s my fault. I constantly reinvent myself to be the person that they want me to be. Society has so many expectations as to how I should look, how I should act, and how I should feel.  Let me paint you a picture. I’m big ー horribly buff. I have tattoos and long hair. All the neighborhood grandmas tell me I should cut it because I’d be more handsome. They even tell their grandchildren not to look up to me because I’m far from being an aspiration. Even if I’m the most charming person in the room… if I change my appearance ー if I lose weight, cover my tattoos, and buzz off my hair, they’d find another reason to hate me. It’ll never be enough. They’ll always perceive me as the bad guy and villainize me for everything I do. They say it’s better to be feared than to be loved if I cannot be both. But… I think I want to be loved. I want to be loved so bad that I would do anything to make people look at me. Yet they all shove their unwanted opinions down my throat, and I have nothing left to swallow but my own pride. I have no choice but to be exactly what they want.  Most people assume that I’m indestructible. Fortified. That I don’t have a single worry in this world. They think that I can shoulder all of these burdens, and nothing could possibly hurt me. Supposedly, I don’t ever cry ー I never break or bend or shatter because showing emotion is a sign that I’ve already lost.  But it’s not true.  I’m softer than I look. I worry that I’m not good enough. I feel like I suck at my job, and I constantly make mistakes. I don’t know how to be a good father, but I try.  I don’t really know what I want to say. I just wish that people didn’t feel entitled to my body. My body is my own except when it isn’t. It happens more often than not. Maybe then, I could finally be myself, whoever that may be.  It sounds like my life is awful, but I promise it isn’t that bad. Recently, I’ve found a small glimmer of hope. There’s one person who accepts me for who I am. She doesn’t expect me to be anyone but myself. She looks at me like I’m human ー as if I’m someone who’s worth it. Like I’m more than just an idea. She showed me that there’s kindness in this world ー that there’s bravery in being soft. She sees me, and scary enough, I think she can even see right through me. I’ve told her so many vulnerable things about myself, and she could probably stab me in the back with all that she knows. I think it would be worth it though.  There’s still so much I have to tell her. She may not know the whole truth, but one day, she will. I hope she doesn’t leave me when she finds out. Until then, I will take care of her. I will keep her safe and protect her with every inch of my life. I promise.

By the end of the week, you and Jeongguk have amped yourselves up for Yumi’s engagement party. But there’s one problem. 

Jeongguk is late. 

He’s never late. When he needs to pick up his daughter from school, he always shows up thirty minutes before dismissal. On date nights, he knocks on your door while you’re in the midst of putting on makeup, and he gladly watches you doll yourself up for the entire hour. For Jeongguk to be late, something must be terribly wrong. 

The two of you had agreed to meet up at Yumi’s party seeing that Jeongguk was running behind from work. But where could he possibly be when you need him the most? 

Outside of Yumi’s apartment complex, you pace anxiously, twiddling with the engagement present in your hands ー a cast iron skillet that you and Jeongguk had both bought at the department store. From the sidewalk, you can hear the sound of music streaming from the open windows. Endless chatter filters between each beat. You glance at your watch for what feels like the hundredth time. 

“Jeongguk, where are you?” You groan, ready to accept defeat. 

A nervous sigh falls from your lips. Your shoulders slump. If you have to wait any longer, you might just head into the party all on your own and lose face in front of your friends. 

Suddenly, you hear the echo of your name from down the street. Jeongguk is sprinting towards you. He’s a blur of motion. Before you realize it, the air is knocked out of your lungs. Jeongguk had overestimated his speed, missed his landing, and he is colliding into you with open arms. 

“Angel, I’m so sorry I’m late.” He tucks his head against your shoulder, panting. His cheeks are hot, and his hair is disheveled. He murmurs apologies against your skin. The scratch of his voice etches a frown onto your face. 

Between the two of you, Jeongguk is the more composed one. You’ve always known him to be calm, collected, a little silly, but lovely nevertheless. You’ve never seen him quite like this. He’s shaking. 

You squeeze his shoulders in an attempt to peel his body away from yours. But his arms wrap around your waist even tighter, unwilling to part ways. This scene is rather familiar, something akin to a little child seeking comfort. You pat his back, hushing him, as to tell him that everything will be okay. 

So you start counting to ten, reminding him to breathe in and out. You place your hand on his chest, strong and reliable, right over the beat of his heart. His eyes close, concentrating all of his energy on the blooming feeling inside of his ribcage. So you paint a pretty picture for him as you dwell in a little puddle of grief together. 

“My mom used to tell me that if you transport yourself to a happy place, then all your worries will melt away.” 

Jeongguk doesn’t respond, but he hums against your collarbone. He wants nothing more but to hear you talk. He loves the sound of your voice. What is your happy place? 

“These days, I picture myself with you in your house. We’re baking a cake with Minny, and it’s going terribly wrong.” You let out a chuckle, and it’s the sweetest thing Jeongguk has ever heard. “Well, actually, the taste is perfect. You’re the head chef after all, and you’re so talented. You know better than me.” 

You interrupt your own story with something that will definitely make him laugh. “Did you know that I’ve been borrowing cookbooks from the library? I know it sounds ridiculous. I want to get better so you don’t have to cook all the time. It’d be such a shame if I accidentally poisoned you and the cops would swarm in, charging me with second degree murder.” You can feel his smile against your neck. “I found a recipe for buckwheat noodles, and maybe we should try it out next weekend.” 

He nods against your neck, sniffling. He doesn’t want to break it to you, but all you need is a boiling pot of water to cook the noodles. 

“Well anyways, in my happy place, the kitchen is a disaster because there’s icing everywhere. Sprinkles are in your hair. I think I have flour in my bra and butter on my cheek. But we’re having fun, singing along to the radio with all of the wrong lyrics. I’d ask you to dance, and when you’re too scared of looking stupid, Minny would pull out a dance move that’s even sillier than what you could ever imagine. Because even if we can’t do it perfectly, whether it is cooking or dancing or singing, we’re still trying.”

There’s a wet tear that falls onto your collarbone. You trace a circle against Jeongguk’s chest, reminding him to concentrate all of his feelings right there. His shoulders relax and his breath evens out. 

“When we’re in our happy place, we never go hungry. So if you ever feel sad or anxious, then just meet me right here. I’ll bring the cake ー sorry, just the ingredients, actually, but I’ll get better at cooking. I swear! Minny will bring her cute attitude. And you can just bring yourself.” 

There’s a soft breeze that surrounds you. The moonlight conspires with the flight of the fireflies, illuminating the dim sidewalk. The party is long forgotten as you hold onto Jeongguk for just another moment. Reluctantly, he steps back with his head down. His eyes train on the pavement.

“How do you feel, love? Look at me.” You cup his cheeks, and he leans into your touch, nuzzling into your embrace. 

After taking a deep sigh, he lifts his head to reveal a bruised cheek and a gash above his eye, right on the brow bone. The blood runs dry. 

Shock runs through your body. “What happened? Did someone hurt you?” You gently  move his head from side to side, examining every inch of his skin to check for more injuries. But your eyes are frantic. Your hands run through his hair, feeling for bumps and bruises. The search comes up empty, but your throat constricts at the thought of someone hurting your husband. 

You grab the cast iron skillet, wielding it like a weapon with the force of a grip so tight that it threatens to bend beneath your fingers. Your other hand clenches his palm, stomping in the direction he came from so he could lead you towards the perpetrator. 

Whoever did this to Jeongguk is going to pay, and you’re willing to kill whoever it is. Because for him, you would wage a full on war, running straight into your demise if it meant fighting for him. You would barrel through fire, load your rifles, and draw your daggers no matter what it takes. If they ask you to rip your heart out and put it in his hands, you would have considered the deal done long ago. 

Jeongguk is quick to extinguish the fiery passion that fuels your anger, reminding you to not make any rash decisions. The flash of his doe eyes is enough to soothe your worries, and all you want to do is hold him. 

The truth is, Jeongguk had already taken care of the situation. As the story goes, he had accepted a side mission to stop the smuggling of antiques from a museum ー gifts from a billionaire tycoon who had long passed. His heirs had sent the treasures to be appraised in the city before it was quickly intercepted by a smuggling ring. 

Jeongguk managed to save original art from dynasties past (no doubt stolen), rare coins, china sets, and clusters of intricate jewelry. He stopped the ploy before the thieves had even left the warehouse. However, being the best of the best does not mean he is able to escape unscathed every time. 

Jeongguk did not account for the hidden explosives on the agenda. A shrapnel had grazed his skin, forming a deep gash above his brow bone. Had he not been more careful, he would have been in much worse shape. 

Although Jeongguk had completed his mission, barely injured, he can’t help but feel guilty for showing up late. If his wound was much more serious, or perhaps he was left for dead, he would not have made it to Yumi’s engagement party. The last thing Jeongguk wants is to keep you waiting. 

While he zipped through the streets of Seoul, he didn’t even have a chance to think of a lie. All he could think about was running to you. So he says the first thing that comes to mind. “The airbags in my car set off.” 

“You were in a crash? Was Minny with you? What are you doing here? You should go to a hospital!” The words splutter out of your mouth.

His hand cups yours as they rest on his cheeks. “Minny’s with Seokjin today, so don’t worry. The collision was really minor, I swear. I already went to the emergency room, and they said I’ll be good as new.” His voice is eerily calm. 

He laces his fingers with yours and presses his lips against your knuckles before promptly taking the iron skillet from your hands. “I don’t want you to worry, let’s just go to the party, okay?” 

You’re too concerned to even dwell on that tender moment of intimacy. “You worry me too much, you know?” 

“I know, angel. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you, I swear.” 

You squeeze his hand a little tighter as you shake your head. “I don’t need anything. I’m just glad that you’re here.” 

But little do you know, there’s a diamond ring worth millions burning a hole in Jeongguk’s pocket. Some dead billionaire isn’t going to miss it. 

Everyone at the event is captivated by Jeongguk. Of course they would. It’s easy when Jeongguk is so charming in such a deceitful way. He can easily spin different versions of himself after each new greeting, creating a hundred nuances to his personality in an instant. He could tell everyone that he’s the prince of Joseon, and they would easily fall for his lies because of the charisma that he oozes. 

Your friends see him as the best boyfriend in the world, someone who’s the total package and simply put, he’s way out of your league. He’s romantic in every aspect of the word, he’s open about his feelings, and he’s the purest definition of a “girl dad.” What more could you possibly ask for? Whatever it is, Jeongguk is exactly that. 

Even when Jeongguk has no need to impress the men at the party, he has dozens of conversation topics up his sleeve. It’s impressive when he knows basically everything about everything. You name it: video games, boxing, and the federal reserve. This arsenal of information is stored in his mind simply because he’ll never know when he needs to strike up a conversation about camping, barbecuing, or fishing (despite never having an interest to sit and stare at the water with Seokjin for hours on end). Men are so simple minded. They’re absolute fools. 

Thankfully, your brother, San, is just another man who falls for the thinly veiled ruse. He seems to approve of your relationship with Jeongguk. Mostly because he can talk about their passion for different cuts of meat. But also because he sees the way that your “boyfriend” takes care of you in the most subtle ways ー by virtue, it’s the act of noticing. 

Jeongguk walks you through the crowds of people with a guiding hand on your lower back. He fixes your hair when it falls loose in front of your face. He refills your cup with your favorite drink without ever having to ask. He can’t stop talking about how grateful he is to have a chance with you ー how you’re so beautiful and smart and the only thing he ever wants. There’s obviously love and intention in Jeongguk’s eyes whenever he looks at you. Anyone could see that. To be loved is to be known, and Jeongguk knows you like the back of his hand. 

You can feel the pressure of having to prove your relationship when all of the girls gather around, asking invasive questions. How did you convince y/n to go out with you? We almost lost hope for the poor girl. Have you all hung out as a family yet? What does Minji think of your relationship? 

For some reason, it feels like you’re back in high school, listening to locker room gossip. It feels as if they’re judging you. They’re laughing at you. But time and time again, Jeongguk defends you and your honor. Not because you need his help, but because you love the safety and security of his words.

“I don’t appreciate you being passive aggressive. Because to me, y/n is the most precious person in the world. If you have something you want to say, then just say it to my face.” He bites back without ever breaking eye contact. He rolls up the sleeves of his shirt. It’s equal parts intimidating and the most attractive thing you have ever seen. 

All the girls seem to agree when they swallow a trace of spit and nod their heads in obedience. “Sorry, we just wanted to say that you’re both so lucky to find one another.” They drop the subject, but only for a little while. 

Throughout the party, Jeongguk holds you close because he knows how nervous you were to come, and rightfully so. You told him how scared you were to introduce him to all of your friends (he doesn’t see why they deserve that title when they’re nothing but mean girls). Nevertheless, you’re frightened because your relationship with Jeongguk is sacred. Untainted. Unconventional, yes. But it’s protected because only you know about the depths of your bond. After tonight, everything will change. Having your “friends” witness your love so openly feels as if you have to give up another piece of yourself. After making this public knowledge, nothing could ever fully be yours.

But this moment right here is yours to keep, yours to hold, and yours to cherish. Jeon Jeongguk is in your arms, and all you can do is make it known that you are in love. 

“Whatever they say, ignore them, okay? Just look at me.” His arm wraps around your waist, and you relax in his hold. The stars in his eyes keep you captivated, and everything else is long forgotten. He whispers sweet nothings in your ear, scared that if he were to go up one decibel, it would burst the little bubble that you’ve created for yourselves. Perhaps you would disappear if he says your name any louder, and he would wake up to realize that his dream girl is nothing but a figment of his imagination. 

But there’s nothing about this relationship that’s fake. Your brother can see it all. Although you haven’t hung out with him in ages, he’s very intrigued with the man hanging off of your arm. “Jeongguk, when did you realize that y/n was the one?” 

“Stop, we just started dating.” You smack the back of San’s head. But Jeongguk isn’t one to shy away from the question. 

“Well, it’s a funny story. The first time I saw her, I thought I had to talk to her. A few months ago, I dropped my daughter off at the daycare. When I walked past the door, I tripped on my own two feet. I saw y/n reading a story at the front of the class. She was so elegant, graceful, and just so, so gorgeous. My first thought was that she is the most incredible person I’ve ever seen.” Jeongguk tells the story without ever taking his eyes off of you. It’s as if you’re the only person in the whole world. There’s a beaming smile stretched across his face. His dimples are carved into his cheeks. 

“Minji, my daughter, she has a tendency to cry when I’m not there. So when she bursted into tears, y/n asked if she wanted to sit with her and help her read. She put my daughter on her lap, and instantly, Minny stopped crying.

“For weeks, I tried to work up the courage to approach her. I visited as much as I could. I borrowed more materials than I could even finish, and eventually, I had a pile of overdue books sitting in my apartment. When y/n wasn’t busy with the daycare, she worked at the front desk. I thought she might say something about my outstanding charges, but she never did. At that point, I wanted to talk to her so bad, but I was so foolish. I started bringing cups of coffee into the library, thinking that she would yell at me for breaking the rules.” 

“Did it work? Why didn’t you just say something?” San wonders. 

“I wasn’t sure what to say. I didn’t think she was interested. She barely looked at me. Never tried to initiate small talk,” Jeongguk shrugs. 

Avoiding eye contact is exactly how you show interest in someone. Is there any other way to do it? You had been so nervous to even glance in his general direction! Men don’t ever give you affection, especially not men as gorgeous as Jeongguk. It just felt so wrong to even think about crushing on him. 

“But one day, y/n approached me first by some miracle, and I was so shocked. I- I just thought she was an angel. My daughter was at her side. We talked. One thing led to another. The next thing I knew, I was stressing about what outfit to wear and buying flowers so I could pick her up for a coffee date. I don’t even know how to explain it. Everything just fell into place.” 

You were convinced that Jeongguk had never noticed you before you approached him that fateful day in the non-fiction aisle. But it rings true that Minji had cried some months ago during reading time. You recall all of the details, albeit vaguely. Had Jeongguk been watching all this time? Did he really borrow an excessive amount of books and purposely buy illicit coffee just to get your attention? 

There’s a soft smile that plays on your lips, and Jeongguk is certain that you’re a real life angel. “I hope you know that I waived your overdue fees every single time,” you confess. 

…

At some point in the night, you and Jeongguk ended up separating in the most nightmarish of ways. Your coworkers had looped their arms around yours and pulled you away for some girl talk. 

Meanwhile Jeongguk is at the other end of the hall, playing billiards with all of the other men. He socializes with them as if it’s effortless. He tells them jokes and makes them chuckle, but of course, his laugh is the one that stands out to you the most. He’s enchanting, and you are all but a moth drawn to a flame. He lights up every room he walks into, shining brighter than anything you’ve ever seen.

As you watch Jeongguk have his own fun, you check out of the conversation, barely listening to what Yumi has to say. You couldn’t quite relate to the stories that they’ve shared about their partners ー being engaged, moving in together, trying for children, having sex. 

“y/n, how big is your boyfriend?” 

You ponder the question. “Uhm, I don’t know his weight exactly…” 

“No, no, sweetie, I mean how big is his dick?” 

Your eyes widen in surprise as you shake your head. “We haven’t actually done anything yet. Our relationship is new, y’know. Also, I don’t think that’s any of your business-” 

“You mean you haven’t even seen him naked? Surely you’ve touched him when you’ve made out, right?” Their eyes widen when you shake your head no, trying to sputter a retort. 

“Even if you’re taking it slow, you must know what he likes in bed, right? Spitting? Choking? Spanking? A little bit of roleplay? Does he like to be called daddy?”

You, yourself, nearly choke on your own drink. 

“Most couples get intimate because- I hate to break it to you-” Yumi leans closer to you until her voice is all but a whisper. “All men have needs. If they aren’t met, then he might break up with you and look for satisfaction elsewhere.” 

You don’t know why you would believe Yumi’s words despite Jeongguk’s constant reassurance of how much you mean to him. She’s so fucking infuriating, but could she be right? Does Jeongguk see other women when you’re not around? Does he ever tell you that you’re pretty just for the performance of being a married couple? Has everything he said in the past few weeks been an act? Surely, you don’t know everything about this man, but would he ever lie to you? You bite the inside of your cheek as you anxiously pick on the skin around your nails, thinking about her advice. 

Seemingly, Jeongguk doesn’t know what the conversation is about. But he doesn’t need to be familiar with the details to know that you’re growing anxious. He can see it from the way you fiddle with your hands. From the way you furrow your brows and chew on your lips. From down the hall, he can pick up on your breathing. He can practically hear the hurricane of thoughts swirling around your head.

Before you can drown in your thoughts, Jeongguk makes his way over to you, nursing a glass of champagne in his hand. “Hi, angel.” He whispers against your jaw. His cheeks are flushed pink as his head rests against the crook of your neck, slotting together like two pieces of a puzzle. “Do you want to get out of here? You can stay over at my place tonight if you want,” he offers.  

“What’s wrong? Does it hurt?” You shift your gaze to the gash on his brow. Even when you don’t feel your best, you’re still concerned for those around you. That’s just the person you are. You’re so used to giving yourself away. 

“Kind of,” he says. But it hurts more knowing that you’re not okay. 

You ruffle your hands through his hair, trying to soothe his ache. “Do you want your painkillers?”

“Just want you.” His deep voice rumbles against your collarbone as he presses a shy kiss to your shoulder. “Come on, let’s go home.” He gently grabs your hand in his and leads you out the front door. You don’t even have a chance to say goodbye to all the guests. Quite frankly, you don’t even care. 

The moment you return to Jeongguk’s apartment, you dart to the medicine cabinet, filling a glass of water and instructing him to swallow the morphine pill. To soothe the pain, you apply some ointment onto his injury and gently blow on his gash, hoping that it doesn’t leave a scar to mar his beautiful face. But you avoid eye contact with him as much as you can. All while Jeongguk stares at your pretty lips and your glittery eyes. You look so cute when you’re concerned. A pout rests on your face, and he wants nothing more than to kiss it better. 

But then you bid him goodnight, rushing into the guest room, pacing back and forth behind closed doors. 

Jeongguk sits in the living room, stunned, wondering if he’s done something wrong. Whether his breath smells, or maybe he’s come on too strong. Is it obvious how much he cares for you? Yet a part of him wants you to know, even if you don’t reciprocate. To love you so freely is enough for him. 

For you, the problem is not Jeongguk. It’s the fact that you can’t stop thinking about the conversation from earlier in the night. Yumi’s voice echoes through your thoughts. All men have needs. If they aren’t met, then he might break up with you and look for satisfaction elsewhere.

A part of you needs Jeongguk to tell you that this isn’t true. Your heart and mind may not be able to rest otherwise. So for the sake of your fake relationship, you put on a brave face and patter down the hall to his room. 

…

The soft knock on Jeongguk’s door draws his attention away from the vanity. As soon as he tells you to come in, you hesitantly enter his bedroom. 

His back is turned as he faces the mirror, heedlessly applying his skincare. “What’s up? Do you need anything?” He spins around to meet you with curiosity written on his face. 

You catch a glimpse of his exposed chest, and your cheeks heats up in recognition. The top three buttons of his shirt are undone, seeing that he’s getting ready for bed. He removes his rings and the silver watch from his wrist. 

“Sorry, I- I didn’t know you were indecent.” You turn your head away, avoiding his strong build ー the biceps that bulge beneath his shirt and the muscles that flex with every movement. Your hand shoots up to hide your face in embarrassment. 

He finds it adorable how flustered you get upon seeing a little bit of skin. Still, he makes no effort to button up his shirt. Because that’s all that it is ー just skin. 

You swallow the lump in your throat, and your eyes flicker to the floor as if the rug is the most interesting thing in the world. “Can we talk about something?” 

“Talk?” He approaches the bed, patting the spot beside him. “Come here, what do you want to talk about?” 

You perch yourself onto the mattress bouncing up and down from the weight of the springs. Jeongguk sidles closer to you. His knees knock against yours. He smells like jasmine and musk, and it’s divine. 

“At the party, the girls were talking about relationships,” you begin.  

He hums with a nod, attentive as ever. Jeongguk looks at you as if you’re the only person in the world, but you don’t seem to notice, too preoccupied with anything else but the intensity of his eyes. 

“What did they say?” He wonders, readjusting your necklace so the pendant sits pretty on your neck. 

“Y’know.” You tug on your fingers, finding something to fiddle with. “The usual stuff.”

He reaches for your hands, instantly halting your movements. Soothing your nerves, he rubs his thumb over your knuckles. He knows that you must have mustered a lot of courage to come over and bring this up. “Angel, you have to use your words if you want to tell me what’s on your mind.” 

You grow bashful under his touch, but that’s exactly the problem. “They talked about stuff like this.” You squeeze his palms for emphasis. “Holding hands. Touching. Skinship.” You mumble the last part, too shy to say it out loud: “Kissing.” Turning your cheek towards him, you murmur an apology. “Sorry. You make me nervous.” 

Jeongguk doesn’t fail to notice the way your tongue licks the plump of your lips or the way your throat constricts after swallowing a trace of spit. “Nervous? C’mere- look at me.” 

His deep voice sends a shiver down your spine. It’s authoritative, and you can’t help but follow his orders. 

“I’m not familiar with being this close to someone,” you motion at the lack of space between his body and yours. “I wouldn’t want you to be upset with me if I’m not very affectionate.” 

“Angel, I’d never be upset with you. We can do whatever you want at your own pace.”

“Are you sure you’d never leave me if-”

Jeongguk stops your train of thought before allowing your mind to wander to a dark place. His voice hardens upon hearing such a suggestion. “I never want to even think about that possibility because I’m not letting you go. I’m yours no matter what. You’ll actually have to fight me if you want to push me away. Even then, I’d crawl right back to you.” He truly means every single word that he utters. 

There’s a hint of a smile on your lips. “Sorry. Intimacy is really scary for me,” you confess, hesitating. Jeongguk gives you another moment to collect your thoughts. He’d give you as long as you need, even if it’s a lifetime and all the stars in the night sky have burnt out. 

“But another reason I want to talk to you is because I’m concerned this won’t come across as a real marriage if we’re physically distant, y’know? The girls said that it’s normal for couples to be… intimate.”

Jeongguk doesn’t say anything, at least not immediately. He doesn’t react. His eyes are distracted by your mouth ー the way your gloss clings onto your lips and the way it moves so languidly with every word you articulate. 

“Jeongguk- Love?”

The sound of his name never really meant much to him. After all, it’s just an alias. Yet nothing sets him aflame more than the claim that you have on him ー the way that your lips purse when you call him your love.

“I know this sounds silly-” you begin. 

He shakes his head, brows furrowed, effectively wiping away all of your insecurities. “Never.” 

A naive grin spreads across your face. How could you be so foolish to believe that Jeongguk would make you feel anything less than important? Time and time again, he makes you feel heard. He makes you feel seen.

“Go on,” he urges. “Tell me.” 

“Well, I read an article about how looking into your partner’s eyes for a long period of time increases intimacy. It also builds trust and helps to recognize emotion.” It’s ironic how you explain all of this while avoiding his eyes. Instead, you keep them trained on the scar sitting pretty and kissable on his cheek. 

A dimpled smile spreads across Jeongguk’s face. “Okay, we can try,” he agrees. He reaches to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, and you think you might pass away. “But angel, you have to face me if we’re going to do this. I want you to be comfortable.” 

“Right, yeah,” you mumble. “Of course.” Shuffling from the edge of the bed, you turn to face your husband. You tuck your feet beneath your butt and sit on your knees.

“Relax, okay? There’s no need to be nervous around me.” His voice is reassuring. It’s heartwarming. 

You nod your head as you will yourself to meet his gaze. “I can do this. I can do this,” you think to yourself. 

Jeongguk’s pupils glimmer in the lowlight, warm and comforting, and you wonder how anyone could be so handsome. You try to focus on the task at hand, but it’s difficult when he, himself, is so distracting. There’s a beauty mark on his cheek. His jaw. His nose. Beneath his lip. You could trace them all day and night, if only he’d let you. 

Jeongguk’s deep voice cuts through the night. “Is there anything else that you want to try?” 

“M- maybe we could hold hands?” 

“We’ve held hands before.” He laces his fingers between yours so effortlessly, his hand engulfing. 

Your breath hitches in your throat. 

“Does it still make you nervous?” He wonders. 

“A little bit,” you glance at how small your hand looks in his. “But I can get used to it.” 

“Can I suggest something?” 

You nod, agreeing. “Anything.” 

He tilts his head to the side, raising a brow, unconvinced. “Anything? Are you sure?” 

You nod with more confidence. “I’ll tell you if I don’t like it.” 

“Then can I hold you?”

You hesitate for a second, unsure of what that entails. A beat goes by when Jeongguk is prepared to tell you that you’re free to say no. But you wipe that thought away, giving him your full consent.

Not a second passes by before he wraps his tattooed arms around your waist, tugging you onto his lap. Your thighs rest on either side of his hips, straddling him.

A squeak ー a fucking squeak. God, how much cuter can you get? ー slips past your lips. They’re swollen from how you nervously tug on the flesh, tethering it between your teeth. 

“Does this feel better?” There’s a sense of longing that drips from Jeongguk’s honeyed voice. 

“It’s… nice.” Your brain is on the verge of malfunctioning and shutting down upon feeling the heat of his skin against yours. “Better.” Your voice is breathy. It’s self preservation. You exhale deeply in an attempt to calm the flutter of your heart. 

To keep yourself occupied, you trace your fingers across your bare thighs, unsure of what to do with them. Jeongguk had let go of your hands in favor of holding your hips. So you play with the hem of your dress that’s currently riding up your legs. Suddenly, you’re very aware of how little you’re wearing. How your skin is burning beneath his fingertips. 

Jeongguk’s body is radiating, and you can feel the heat between your legs grow, the dampness in your underwear spreading. 

“You can touch me if you want,” he offers. 

You’re not as confident as Jeongguk, but oh, how you wish you were. 

“Do you want to?” He senses your hesitation, yet you nod your head, affirming.

“I do,” you bite the inside of your cheek. “I want to touch you- feel you.” 

Jeongguk wraps his fingers around your wrists, bringing your hands to rest on his broad shoulders. They’re muscular beneath your touch. You curse yourself for letting your mind wander and for letting your panties soak with arousal ー neither of which you can control. 

Somehow, you resist the urge to look down at his physique. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to the elbows, revealing his strong forearms, adorned by the dark tattoos that coil up his muscles. Your gaze darts across his features, struggling to focus on the starlight in his eyes. You switch between the edge of his jaw, the dip of his neck, and the plump of his lips. 

“My eyes are up here, angel.” The corner of his mouth draws into a smile ー so bright and devastatingly beautiful. He hooks a gentle hand beneath your chin, guiding you to meet his stare. “Tell me what you’re thinking about. What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” 

Your voice is soft, just barely above a whisper. It’s nearly inaudible. “Thinking about what it would be like to kiss you.” 

The innocence of your words makes Jeongguk blush. He’s never been the type to be so easily affected. After all, he’s the bold one in the relationship ー confident, decisive, dominant. But you make him weak in the knees.

“You don’t have to ask permission to kiss me.” Jeongguk inches closer, considerate hands squeezing around your waist. “You’re my wife.” 

Why does the thought of belonging to Jeongguk make your heart stutter? You’re certain that this is nothing but pretend, yet the only thing that makes you believe this could be real is the soothing circles that Jeongguk draws onto your skin. He’s present. He’s willing. His lips are right there, right in front of you. You could take the leap of faith and close the distance, leaning forward to kiss him. 

So you do. 

When your lips meet, it’s as if the rest of the world has gone silent. Time has stopped, and nothing else matters but the two of you at this moment. 

His lips are pillowy soft against yours. He tastes like champagne and mint. He’s gentle, only applying as much pressure as you do. You melt into his touch, feeling featherlight in his hold. His hands grip your waist so delicately, with love and intention, as if you are the most precious thing in his eyes. 

You pull apart to catch your breath, allowing the air to fill your lungs, regretfully so. If you were to drown, you would want to drown in Jeon Jeongguk. Your eyes flutter open, but you can’t seem to look at anything but his cherry lips. 

“Love…” The term of endearment leaves your lips in a pant, and he grows harder beneath you. “This is going to sound so embarrassing…” Your voice trails off as the heat engulfs your entire body. Your head lowers, feeling self-conscious of your actions. 

Jeongguk nuzzles his nose against your neck as he presses tender kisses on your collarbone. “What is it? You can tell me anything.” 

Your fingernails dig into his strong shoulders, squeezing his taut muscles as you muster the courage to tell him the truth. “That was my first kiss.” 

He peers up at you from beneath his long eyelashes. “That’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” Jeongguk shakes his head, squeezing your waist with reassurance. 

Your eyes are half lidded as you murmur a quiet confession, “I want to kiss you again.” Normally, you wouldn’t dare to be so bold, but you feel drunk on his taste.

“You can do whatever you want to me.” Jeongguk draws you closer, dragging your core onto the apex of his thighs, thick and sturdy. “I like anything that you like. Kissing you. Holding you. Just looking at you,” he shrugs. “And if it wasn’t obvious enough… I like you.” 

Jeon Jeongguk makes you absolutely breathless. “Ar- are we still pretending?” 

“Never.” Leaning forward, he brushes his mouth against yours. “I have never once pretended with you.” 

You kiss him back with more fervor, desperate and wanting. You’re more confident now, fully knowing that Jeongguk wants this as much as you do. 

“When you said I could do whatever…” You pull back, thinking about Jeongguk’s previous statement.

He nods his head with the most innocent beam on his face. “I mean it.”

God, you feel like such a pervert. You’ve shared your first kiss with him, something so sweet and innocent. Why couldn’t that be enough for you? You’re sitting on his lap, feeling the broad planes of his chest, and you can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to do more. To feel more. 

You’re ridden with guilt, drowning in your own arousal, but Jeongguk is so kind. He’s understanding. He’s staring at you as if you’re his whole world. He would never dare to objectify you because he’s a gentleman. But… What if you want him to? 

“The girls at the party were also talking about…” Your words begin to trail. 

“About what?” You subconsciously trace circles onto his shoulders, distracting yourself from the conversation, not knowing that Jeongguk’s eyes flutter close because he adores the drag of your nails and the subtle warmth of your fingertips. 

“About… doing it.” Your words come out in a hushed whisper. It feels too inappropriate to say it out loud. Yet you don’t dare to mention how your panties are absolutely ruined. 

“Angel, what did we talk about?” His lips press against your shoulder, at any inch of skin that he can reach. “You have to be more specific.”

Jeongguk has never once made you feel ashamed or embarrassed. He has never laughed at you or told you that you’re being silly. So why is it so difficult to tell him that you want him ー Need him? 

You take the leap of faith because this is your partner ー in life, in death, and in crime. This is Jeongguk. Your one and only lover who never fails to remind you that you are the strongest woman in the world. He who delivers nutritious lunch boxes to you and tucks cute notes into the lid because he knows that they make you smile. Jeon Jeongguk who massages the knots out of your shoulders after a secret night of combat. He who gets pouty when you call him anything other than ‘love.’

There’s no need to hide anything from this man. He’s your home, just as you are his.

“They talked about sex… You know… making love. ” The crude word sounds so wrong leaving your lips. So out of place. It’s dirty, and it’s naughty. “They said all couples do it, but we’ve never…” 

“Do you want to do it because you want to, or is it because your friends told you to?” Jeongguk searches your eyes for clarification. “Because if you feel pressured when you’re not ready-”

“No! I do!” You cling onto his shirt with more urgency. “I want to do it ー with you. I trust you.” You lean closer, brushing your lips against his ear. “You’re my husband.” 

Jeongguk groans at the sound of your words. At the way your fingernails scratch down his chest. At the way you sit so pretty and perfect on top of his lap, pressing your weight into his erection. 

He gulps as if this is the first time he’s ever been nervous in his life. “Why don’t you take off my shirt?” 

“C- can I?” you stutter. 

“Like I said, you can do whatever you want to me. You’re my wife, and I’m yours.” He presses his lips against your brow. “Yours to hold. To kiss. To love.” He kisses your nose. Your chin. Your jaw. He tucks your hair behind your ears and whispers. “I’m yours to make love to.” 

With trembling fingers, you reach for the button that barely holds Jeongguk’s shirt together. 

His hand engulfs yours. “Don’t forget to breathe, in and out, okay?” Jeongguk, patient as ever, waits for your respiration to steady. “You’re safe with me. If you want to stop, just say the word.” 

With each button undone, his shirt falls apart, revealing Jeongguk’s toned abs. As glorious as he is, your eyes are drawn to the scar on the side of his stomach, barely covered by the fabric that hangs off his back. The scar is jagged, and the skin is raised, the tissue is puckered at the edges. 

“Wha- what happened here?” Your fingertips reach down to trace over the scar, but before you make contact, you pull away. 

“You can touch it-” Jeongguk reaffirms. “Wherever you want. I’m yours.” 

Jeongguk’s breath hitches in his throat when your cold hands lightly graze the rough texture, feeling the ghost of his past. But he knows how you’ll respect his boundaries no matter what, and he relaxes, fully knowing that you’ll take care of him. 

“I had surgery when I was younger.” Jeongguk lies. “They took out my appendix.” 

Your brows furrow. There’s no reason not to believe him, but why is the scar so jagged and uneven? Certain parts are wider than others as if the surgeon had twisted a large blade into his abdomen, and not simply sliced to gain access to his organs. 

As usual, Jeongguk can read the concern written on your face. “It’s okay, it didn’t hurt much.” The curve of his lips settle into a warm and reassuring smile. “I promise.” 

Jeongguk doesn’t express any discomfort about his scar, yet you can’t help but wonder what kind of horrors he had to live through. 

To ease your mind, Jeongguk pulls you into his body and presses his hands beneath your thighs. 

A yelp escapes from your lips as he lifts you up. You’re chest to chest with him, legs wrapping around his waist. He presses your back down to the mattress, settling your head onto one of the pillows at the bedpost. 

He hovers above you, a hair's breadth away. 

“Hi,” he whispers against your lips. “You look so stunning.”

You grow shy with all the attention that Jeongguk feeds you. “Hi,” you whisper back. Your legs wrap tighter around his waist. 

“Can I take this off?” Jeongguk glides a finger beneath the strap of your dress.

There’s a rush in your head, feeling dizzy upon nodding your head with so much vigor. 

His lips pair with yours in a quick kiss before calling you a good girl. He shifts his weight off of you so that he can tug you into an upright position and peel the dress off. 

Jeongguk’s eyes widen at your bare chest, having omitted a bra so as to not ruin the outfit. His throat goes dry, and he’s having trouble forming words in his head. You’ve never seen him so speechless. 

Subconsciously, you raise your arms to cover your chest. 

“No, no, no, don’t do that.” Jeongguk wraps his fingers around your wrists, pressing a smooch to your delicate skin. “You’re so pretty like this. Don’t ever hide from me, okay?” 

His words make you shiver. Having someone dote on you as much as Jeongguk is something you’re not used to. But that’s exactly why you’re here, right? So you nod your head and let him pin your hands to the mattress before leading a trail of kisses down your body.

Curious fingers speak freely against your skin, exploring every inch of you. He takes note of every gasp, giggle, and moan that escapes your lips. He presses his swollen lips to your sensitive spots until you keen louder for him, desperately begging for more. His lips wrap around your nipple, sucking on the bud until you whimper. He’s a drooling mess over your tits as he leaves a trail of saliva, marking your skin and claiming you as his. 

Jeongguk furthers his descent down your tummy, placing sweet kisses against the waistband of your panties. He reaches down to feel the leather strap around your upper thigh. It’s the holster that you use to sheathe your knife, and thank God you disarmed before stepping into Jeongguk’s bedroom. 

“I use it to hold my pepper spray,” you murmur a half-ass excuse. “Some of my clothes have shallow pockets.” 

Jeongguk smiles against your skin as he ghosts his lips against your soft thighs. He doesn’t think much of it, but he does think it’s really hot. So he doesn’t bother to unstrap as he continues to worship your body. 

What catches his attention is not the way you’ve soaked through your underwear, as arousing as it is. But rather, he’s intrigued by the faint mark on the outside of your thigh. It’s not a regular, old scar. To Jeongguk, it’s oddly familiar because it’s what appears to be an old bullet wound. 

Jeongguk stutters in disbelief, eyes wide. “What’s this? W- were you sho-” He tries to mentally collect himself as he settles on a choice of words. “Were you hurt? Who hurt you?”

You look down, noticing the circular scar on your outer thigh before shaking it off. “It’s nothing. It was from an injection.” 

“Are you sure? It looks li- It looked serious.” His voice trembles with concern, hands fisting at his sides. 

You pull him up by the collar of his undone shirt, hanging off his broad shoulders. Your lips meet his in a delicate, comforting kiss. Jeongguk visibly relaxes in your hold.  

“I’m fine, really. I just want you.” You claw his shoulders in an attempt to peel the rest of the fabric off. 

Jeongguk sighs, trying to forget about what he had seen. But he’s certain that his mind will wander back to the scar at another point in time. He strips the shirt off his back, carelessly tossing the fabric onto the floor. 

Jeon Jeongguk is mesmerizing. You’ve never seen the entirety of his sleeve, but there it is, in all its glory. There’s a faint beauty mark on his chest, one that you did not account for when tracing all of the scars and marks on his upper body. 

“Tell me you want me,” his breath is hot and heavy against yours. 

Subconsciously, you clench at the sound of his words. “Guk- I want you more than anything.” Your hands float down to the buckle of his jeans as you unclasp the button. “You’re wearing too much. Take it off.” The plea that falls from your lips is breathy and desperate. 

“Fuck-” Jeongguk curses, trying to restrain himself.

Jeongguk has slept with plenty of women before, but never like this. He’s always had one night stands with an ulterior motive, whether it is for leverage or intel or for the sole purpose of converting an innocent woman into a whistleblower. He’s fucked with media journalists, cabinet members, and even the wives of politicians. He isn’t proud of it, but women, just like everyone else, are more likely to say things they don’t mean when their desires are fulfilled. They’re willing to trust him and spill their secrets when they’re lost in the throes of pleasure ー when he hands over his lust and his attention. It’s transactional. 

Jeongguk has always thought that love is cheap. But not with you. 

With you, Jeongguk has the innate need to take his time. He wants to show you what it means to make love. 

He hooks his hand beneath your panties, pulling them down your legs. There’s a string of arousal that breaks when he tugs the fabric off. It’s absolutely soaked in your arousal. Jeongguk’s lips press against every inch of your skin, leaving no spot untouched. 

You shudder when his hot breath meets your inner thighs, threatening to close them. He wraps his thick arms around your legs, digging his fingers into your hips, pinning you to the mattress. 

He keeps his eyes trained on your face as you tremble beneath his touch. He kitten licks your clit, careful as to not overwhelm you. But you quickly melt into the pillows, gripping his hair between your fingers.

Jeongguk wants to commit this to memory. The way that you look so angelic in this light. 

Quiet whimpers escape from your parted lips. “You don’t have to hold back,” he reminds you. “Be as loud as you want. Nobody’s home. We have all the time in the world, and I want you to feel good.” 

He wraps his lips around your clit, sucking softly on the bundle of nerves until you’re writhing against his mouth. Soon enough, you grind your hips, practically riding his face like a needy slut, desperate and wanting. 

The moans slip out of your mouth freely, and Jeongguk grows harder at how pretty you are, lost in pleasure. He begins to rut his hips against the mattress, seeking some kind of relief for his aching cock. 

His tongue slips between your walls, licking up the arousal that seeps down your thighs. His chin is coated in your wetness, and he’s utterly obsessed with your taste. 

Your nails dig into his hair, pulling on the roots. He elicits a moan against your core, and you’re muttering apologies, “sorry, ‘m sorry.” Yet you continue to grind your cunt against his tongue, proving that you’re not sorry at all.  

Your grip loosens, but Jeongguk whines at the loss of tension. “Feels good, angel, don’t stop.” 

He quickly grabs your hands and places them on the top of his head, encouraging you to tug as hard as you want. He’s obsessed with your taste, but he’s also addicted to the pain that you inflict on him. 

He dips his tongue between your walls, reaching as far as he can go. He smiles against your core as if he’s the one enjoying himself ー and truly, he is. He can’t get enough of you. Jeongguk loves to bury his face into your sweet pussy, making out with your cunt. His chin is doused in your essence, and he wants more. He needs to see you dripping in cum so he can taste you straight from the source. 

“Guk, it feels weird,” you choke on your words, pressing your hands against your tummy. The tears cascade down your cheeks as your high builds in the pit of your stomach.

“Shh, shh, angel,” he hushes before dropping a thick glob of spit onto your entrance. He can’t believe that you’ve never come in your life. Have you never played with your cute little cunt before? 

Jeongguk laps your clit while he works a finger into you, gliding between your tight walls. He pushes another one in, watching you stretch around his digits. In the back of his mind, he wonders how you’ll be able to take his cock when you can hardly take his fingers. He curls them inside of you, slowly adding a third. 

You will yourself to pick your head up, allowing your gaze to meet his. The sight before you is filthy beyond belief. You can’t believe that Jeongguk is making out with your naughty pussy, and you love it. His fingers are gliding inside of you, reaching places you’ve never reached before. He’s humping the mattress, trying to satiate his throbbing cock that’s leaking through his boxers. 

“Guk- love, I-”

“Just let go. Come for me,” his husky voice vibrates against your cunt. 

At the sound of his command, you unravel on his tongue, shuddering beneath his strong hold. Your cunt pulses as waves of pleasure rip through you. Soft moans flow through your parted lips, and it’s suddenly Jeongguk’s new favorite melody. 

He watches you fall apart with hearts in his eyes. His hands wrap around your thighs, holding you in place as he fucks you through your climax. You’ve never felt a sensation this strong before. It doesn’t even compare when you’re high on adrenaline. 

Yet Jeongguk laps your pussy as if he’s a puppy, so eager to please you as he collects all of your cum on his tongue. He wants you as much as you’ll allow. Before the overstimulation sets in, you have to weakly tap his shoulder, pushing him away as your thighs close around his head. 

He presses a smooch to your clit before finally pulling back. “How did that feel?” 

“Never felt anything like that before,” you gasp, trying to catch your breath. “C- can you show me how to touch you too?” The innocent look in your eyes drives him absolutely mad. “Wanna make you feel good.” You palm him through his boxers, and he groans at your touch. 

Fuck. “Tonight’s about you, angel.” Jeongguk curses at himself because you look so pretty batting your eyelashes at him. You’re practically begging to suck him off, and he can’t bring himself to say yes. Your hands dip beneath his underwear, gliding your hands up and down his throbbing cock. 

Jeongguk thinks that he might be in heaven. “Aren’t you too tired? I’ve already made you come once.” 

But you shake your head, “I want more, please? I can take it. Will you please give it to me?”

“I- I don’t have a condom,” he confesses. 

“Don’t care, I need you.” Your hands roam across the planes of his chest before settling on the back of his neck. You pull him closer until your lips brush against his. “Need you so bad…” You subconsciously roll your hips, grinding your bare cunt against his thigh, pleading ー begging for him to sink his cock inside of you to relieve the ache. “It hurts,” you murmur. 

What else is Jeongguk supposed to do when his baby is aching, begging and pleading for his help? So he pulls his cock out of his boxers, tossing the offensive material out of the way. Your mouth waters as your eyes meet his length. 

“It’s not gonna fit,” you shake your head. Surely, he could split you open with his sheer girth. “You’re too big.”

Jeongguk wraps his hand around his length, jerking himself off before pressing the length of his thick cock onto your stomach, measuring how deep he could possibly go. The pretty tip rests against your belly button. Jeon Jeongguk could actually break you, and you would let him. 

“Are you sure you want to do this? We can stop-” 

You shake your head with desperate vigor, and your imploring hands reach for his broad shoulders. “Just- just go slow, okay?”

Jeongguk pairs his lips with yours in a sweet kiss, “I’ll take care of you. I promise.” He releases a thick glob of spit onto your cunt before rubbing the tip of his cock against your core, spreading the sloppy mess across your mound. He drags his tip against your lips before slowly pushing into your soaked cunt. 

You gasp upon feeling the intrusion, squeezing your eyes shut. 

Jeongguk nibbles the column of your neck, whispering quiet praises against your skin to distract you from the discomfort. He looks down to see barely half of his length tucked inside of you, yet your walls are stretched to accommodate him. At the pit of your stomach, there’s a bulge where the tip of his cock prods against your cunt. It protrudes against your tummy, leaving an indentation. He can quite literally watch his dick plow into you.

“Angel, look at how well you take me,” he groans. 

You will yourself to open your eyes, seeing how he stuffs you to the brim. The visual is so filthy. 

“God, I’ve been dreaming of this.” Jeongguk drops another glob of spit where his length meets your cunt, allowing the glide to be more effortless. The way that your pretty pussy struggles to make room for him is the hottest thing he’s ever seen. His eyes roll back as he squeezes your waist, trying to regain an ounce of composure. 

“You’ve been thinking about this? About us?” You clench upon hearing his deepest desires. 

He curses under his breath, not knowing how much longer he’d last if you’re already this tight wrapped around his cock. “You have no idea-” When he rests his head against your shoulder, panting, another inch sinks inside of you. “Sorry, ‘m sorry. You just feel so fucking good.” 

His rough hands wander across your body, mapping every inch of your skin, committing it to memory. Jeongguk taps his fingers against your lips as he requests you to ‘open up.’ As obedient as you are, you part your lips, allowing him to slip his digits inside.

“Suck on my fingers,” he coos as he pushes himself further into your sweet pussy. “That’s my good girl.” He pulls his calloused fingers out of your mouth, and they find home onto your clit as he rubs figure eights onto your bundle of nerves. It serves as a distraction from the slight sting of resistance where his cock stretches your walls. 

But for Jeongguk, this feels like heaven. He resists the urge to sheathe himself into your virgin cunt, down to the hilt. “Can’t believe that I get to see you like this.” 

Jeongguk seriously can’t believe how fortunate he is that he’s your first. Nobody has ever touched you the way that Jeongguk does. Nobody will ever fuck you or make you come the way that he will. And certainly, nobody will ever get to see you act like a desperate little slut. You belong to Jeongguk just as he belongs to you. And this is the privilege he gets when you’re his wife. 

You watch his face twist in concentration as he works himself into you. His biceps bulge, and his skin dimples beneath the pressure of your fingers when you squeeze his arm. They feel so rock solid beneath your touch. So strong and so, so reliable like the Jeongguk you know and love. You whimper simply because he’s hot, and you could never resist him. 

“S- something wrong?” He stills his hips inside of you, and his cock pulses. 

“N- no,” you whine, shaking your head. “Just wanna hold your hand.” You scratch down his biceps as you paw at his chest. Even when he’s buried inside of you, it’s still not enough. You need him, and you need all of him. 

He grabs both of your hands, softly squeezing them as he pins them on either side of your head. Jeongguk cages you against the mattress as he presses his body weight against yours, plunging his cock deeper and deeper between your walls, inch by inch. 

Your chest heaves when his hips press against yours, completely buried inside of you, and a silent cry slips past your lips. Tears begin to form in the corner of your eyes. 

“Just breathe for me, angel, okay? Relax, ease up for me. I know it’s uncomfortable now, but you’ll feel so good, I swear.”

You nod your head, and you can’t help but cry. You just feel so full. Two twin tears trail down your cheeks, and Jeongguk is quick to kiss them away.

He soothes his thumb over the back of your hand as he praises you. “You’re doing so well for me. Such a good girl. You can take it, right? You can take it all for me.” 

You nod your head, letting the tears fall down like summer rain. “I can take it, I swear-” You sound so choked up, and it’s probably due to the fact that Jeongguk is so fucking deep, you can practically feel him in your throat. 

“Move, please, I need you so bad.” The broken sob rips out of your throat as you cry in desperation.

He pulls out with a shallow thrust, wanting to be as close to you as possible. Looking down, he can see where his cock fucks into you, where there’s a bulge that shadows every single one of his thrusts. He takes your hand down to rub over the protrusion. 

“Can you feel me? Right here?” He quickly slides out of you before pressing his hips flush against yours in one swift motion. 

A deep groan rumbles through his chest, sending a deep vibration through your body. His breath is hot against your lips, and you can actually feel him in your tummy. You can feel him everywhere. 

“How’s it, angel?” 

“Feels full-” you manage to choke the words out of your mouth. 

“Too much?” Jeongguk asks. His breath is shaky as he plows his hips against yours. His cock twitches inside of you, and he really doesn’t want to pull out. But if you had asked, he wouldn’t hesitate to do so. 

Thank God for your insatiability because you shake your head as you bring your intertwined hand to your lips, pressing a kiss to his skin. “Feels good- keep going, please,” you beg. 

“See? I knew you could take it like a good girl.” 

Soon enough, the discomfort subsides, and all you can feel is pleasure in the pit of your stomach. Jeongguk fucks into you until he bottoms out, prodding at the spot that has you seeing stars. Your eyes begin to cross, obsessed with the way he fills you up, turning you into a stuttering mess. 

“Oh my god, feels s’ good, Guk- Don’t stop,” you cry, wrapping your legs tightly around his waist to keep him close. 

Your mouth falls open and drool begins to slip from the corner of your lips. Jeongguk wedges his tongue into your mouth, swirling your spit and saliva together into one hungry mess. 

He shifts his attention to your sensitive neck as he sucks on the column of your throat. A mark begins to bloom above your collarbone. If anyone were to doubt your marriage and the fact that you belonged to Jeongguk, there would be no reason to do so now. 

The only thing you can focus on is the way that Jeongguk pokes your cervix, and you want nothing more but for him to flood your womb. Your heavy lidded eyes fall shut, your head lolls, and your cheek rests against the pillow. 

But Jeongguk refuses to let you look away. His hand hooks around your jaw, and his fingers dig into your cheek. “Look at me,” he demands. “Want to see you when you come.” He lifts your face off the pillow and presses his lips against yours. 

Jeongguk gives deep and pointed thrusts into your cunt. He grips your hands so tightly, but you welcome the embrace. His hips snap against yours, rutting into your battered hole as you desperately chase your high. 

“‘m sorry, princess, am I too rough?” He mouths against your lips. “Just f- feels so good around me. So tight n’ warm. You’re s’ perfect.” 

You shake your head in desperation. “N- no, I love it-” You love him. “I’m close,” you cry, overwhelmed with emotions. 

“Come for me, angel,” he groans into your ear, pressing kisses against your nose, your cheek, your lips. He squeezes your hands, never letting you go. 

He pounds into you once, twice, three-four times, bullying his cock into you, and you come undone with the rough snap of his hips. You tremble in his arms, feeling this orgasm tenfold compared to the last. Cum begins to seep out of your cunt, drenching Jeongguk’s cock until there’s a ring of cream at the base of his length. 

You tight little cunt clenches around him as if you never want him to leave. He finds it hard to breathe when you look so beautiful, so pretty, and just so cute caged beneath him. As much as he wants to come inside of you and stuff you full, Jeongguk is quick to pull out when he feels his climax approach. He glides his cock against your cunt, rutting against your lips. He paints your stomach with ribbons of white cum, groaning at the lewdness of it all. 

Thoughts of Jeongguk breeding your cunt flashes through your mind ー having him flood you with cum round after round until you can have a happy little family of four. 

Obscene images of you doing this again and again in different positions send your mind racing. You want him to bury himself to the hilt with your knees pinned against your chest. If only he could flood your womb as he holds you by the back of your thighs in a mating press. Maybe you can come when you’re on all fours, on your hands and knees. Or you could take him down your throat as deep as you can go, choking and gagging on his length with saliva dribbling out of your lips. Although you’re certain that you could barely take half of him considering his size and your inexperience. But Jeongguk can teach you, and you can practice night after night until he absolutely ruins you. 

“So much cum,” you murmur, admiring the liquid that rests on your tummy. You swipe your fingers across your stomach before sticking them in your mouth. Jeongguk’s cock twitches at the sight of you so desperate for a taste. 

He presses a kiss to your forehead, “How was it?” 

“Can we do it again?” Your eyes glimmer with wishful thinking. It’s safe to say that you had the best night of your life. 

Jeongguk sputters a laugh, shaking his head. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

He carries you to the bathroom, making sure you use the toilet to prevent UTIs. Meanwhile, he runs a bath for you where he lathers lavender shampoo in your hair and rubs the knots from your sore shoulders, down to your hips and legs. Between soft giggles and splashes of water, you share sweet kisses and loving stares. Before your fingers can prune, Jeongguk lifts you out of the tub and dries you off with a warm towel. 

The two of you tangle beneath the sheets. But before you fall asleep to the sound of one another’s heartbeat, you ask Jeongguk the question that’s been on your mind. 

“I was just wondering… Do you like to be called daddy?” 

His lips meet your forehead before tucking you closer to his chest. “Go to sleep, angel. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” 

Jeongguk, in fact, does like to be called daddy among a plethora of other vulgar words. This vital piece of information is not necessary for the Hwa Yang interview, but you tuck that specific fact into the recesses of your brain for future reference. 

Because the truth is, you don’t have enough time to memorize Jeongguk’s life story. You can save that for another day. The Hwa Yang interview is in less than a week, and you have to save all of your brain space for relevant ー appropriate information. Such as the values of your family and the importance of education in your lives. 

Thankfully, as Jeongguk’s informant, Seokjin managed to snag sample questions that the interviewers are likely to ask: What type of person do you want your child to grow up to be? What is your child’s school experience like thus far? What are some habits you practice to help your child acclimate to the academic rigor of this school? 

So Jeongguk, Minji, and you work tirelessly to come up with the perfect answers that give the impression that you are a family exuding elegance. In the eyes of the admissions director, it basically means that you have to rival the royal family. 

Minji should have interests beyond her plushies and her manhwas, something along the lines of tennis, horseback riding, or crossword puzzles. She has to continue with her studies ー global history, foreign affairs, music theory, and yes, even her sworn enemy, mathematics. At the mere age of five, she should obtain fluency in a second language (which is apparently really impressive if you’re the royal heir to the British empire). 

All of this preparation proves to be handy because at the academy, the board of interviewers ask about Minji’s interests and her hobbies. They want to know what type of learner she is and how she can contribute to the fast paced learning environment. 

Although Minji is exceptional as she is, you can’t help but wonder why a child has to be a prodigy to be deemed as someone worthy of a good education. What’s wrong with simply existing? What’s wrong with being average? Because if the price of being average is being a decent human being, you would rather take your chances at a different school. 

The sound of the headmaster’s voice breaks you out of your reverie. “I want to ask Minji what a typical day in the household looks like.”

She straightens her posture upon hearing her name. “I start the day when eomma wakes me up and helps me get ready for kindergarten. She double checks to make sure my homework and my school supplies are in my bag. She also packs extra clothes for me just in case. Appa makes breakfast in the kitchen, and when we finish eating, they walk me to school-” 

The headmaster crinkles his brows. A look of confusion crosses his features. “Does your father always cook for the family?” 

“Yes, appa usually cooks because eomma works really hard. Sometimes, she comes home with aches and pains because of all the energy she uses.” Minji shifts her gaze to her father, trying to gauge whether her answer is acceptable. Meanwhile, your eyes are filled with concern, worried she’ll somehow expose your criminal history. “But eomma always helps when she can. She goes to the market, and she does the laundry. She also makes tea for appa and hot chocolate for me. She helps me with my homework even if I don’t like fractions.” Minji says the last part in a hushed whisper. 

“Really? Is your mother someone you aspire to be? Despite your father being the one to prepare your meals? It’s rather untraditional.” 

“I don’t believe that question is pertinent to the interview. It’s quite leading,” Jeongguk states. His voice doesn’t falter, but there’s animosity in every breath that he takes. “I can assure you that my wife is a wonderful mother and role model to our daughter. Now may we please refocus our attention on Minji and her academics?” Jeongguk’s eyebrows furrow, and he is seething. He balls his hands into fists, resisting the urge to throw a right hook at the man across the table. 

Instinctually, your fingers inch across the settee, reaching for Jeongguk’s hand in order to soothe his nerves. His shoulders relax upon feeling the heat of your skin as if to quietly remind him that everything is okay. 

“Of course, I apologize.” The headmaster says diplomatically before jotting down a few words into his notebook. He raises his nose in the air as if he’s on some high horse.

The interview persists until the end of the hour, and Jeongguk remains at the edge of his seat. He holds his hand in yours to keep his composure intact. Thankfully, the dean of admissions and the executive advisor have more tasteful questions to ask. 

However, it doesn’t last long. The headmaster intercepts once again. “Mrs. Jeon, I noticed that your documents indicate you are Minji’s stepmother, correct? Do you ever feel some kind of disconnect considering that you are not her biological mother?” 

You’re taken aback by this impromptu question. You didn’t prepare an answer for this, although your natural response would be to wrap your hands around this man’s bare neck, wringing it dry. Yet you remain composed for the sake of Jeongguk and Minji. You can feel Jeongguk hold your hand tighter in his. But you pat his wrist, serving as both a warning and a comforting acknowledgement. 

“I love Minji as a daughter, just as any other mother. To me, it doesn’t matter if she’s not my blood relative. We’ve grown really close ever since we’ve met. I admit that I have never been a mom myself, and I’m faced with a new learning curve every single day. But isn’t that what motherhood is? It’s nothing I’m not used to. Growing up, I raised my younger brother. At work, I take care of children from all different backgrounds. Surely, I make mistakes, but I think every parent leaves a mark on their child no matter what they do. Sometimes it’s a stain. Other times it’s a break, a bend, or a crack. Other parents can splinter their kids, but I hope that I never get to that point. I’m not perfect, but I’m constantly trying to be better. I love Minji more than anything.” 

“So you never feel any sense of inadequacy or resentment?” The headmaster has the audacity to question your parenting skills. 

Jeongguk cannot stand to hear the headmaster criticize you anymore. In a blink of an eye, he slams his fist against the coffee table. The wood splits in half beneath the brute force of his hand, and you’re quite impressed by the display of action. 

“This is wildly inappropriate for an interview. This entire time, you’ve done nothing but berate my wife because we do not have a conventional family. We’re not wealthy people. We work hard for what we do. We take care of one another in a way that only we know and understand. If you can’t accept that, then maybe this is not the school that we want our child to be enrolled in.” Jeongguk’s chest heaves as he says his peace. 

He doesn’t even take another moment to listen to the headmaster. There’s nothing he could say that could warrant forgiveness. So Jeongguk picks up his daughter, and he grabs your hand before storming out of the interview room. 

Jeongguk is going to have a difficult time explaining to his boss why he’s failed his mission.

“I’m sorry I messed up Minji’s chance of going to Hwa Yang.” You tug at the sleeves of your dress as you stare at the floor. Back at Jeongguk’s apartment, you sink into the couch, allowing the weight of the situation to finally settle. 

Jeongguk rests his hand on your shoulders, turning you so that you can meet his gaze. “You didn’t mess up anything.” His eyes are filled with warmth, but you feel as if you don’t deserve it. 

“We worked so hard for this, and it was all for nothing.” 

There’s still residual rage that flows through his veins. “Nothing? Don’t say that. Don’t you know that I lo-” 

Your heart lurches out of your chest as you stare at him in awe. He loves you? 

Jeongguk’s hands shift to hold your cheeks, running his calloused thumb against the edge of your jaw. He sighs, trying to collect his thoughts. “We have each other, and that’s all that matters at the end of the day, okay? We couldn’t anticipate that they’d be so cruel. I would defend you over anything in this world. So don’t you dare say that this was all for nothing.”

He pulls you into a tight hug, tucking your head beneath his chin. You can hear the sound of his heart beat, beating only for you. It’s distracting enough for you to miss his whispered declaration: “I’m seriously gonna marry you someday.” 

Minji climbs onto the couch, wedging herself between her parents. “If I don’t get accepted, I don’t have to go to school, right?” 

The two of you peel away from the embrace, glaring at Minji, shaking your heads. “No, you have to go,” you simultaneously declare with stern conviction. 

Minji huffs a sigh, looking downcast. But when her stomach grumbles, you effectively put an end to your pity party. You and Jeongguk drop everything, scurrying into the kitchen to prepare dinner for your precious daughter. She worked hard, and she did her very best. You all did. 

…

Tucked away into the busy streets of Seoul, there’s a tiny little apartment on the second story filled with music and laughter. 

While the water boils for the buckwheat noodles, Jeongguk watches over his precious family, reading the instructions for the sauce. All you need is a mixture of perilla oil, cham sauce, buldak sauce, buldak mayo, egg yolk, and a generous amount of furikake. But when you and Minji measure out everything to perfection, you cheer for one another as if you’ve made a meal worthy of praise from the world renown Gordon Ramsey. 

When the noodles are ready, you all gather around the table and laugh to your heart's content. You fill your stomachs with starch, a heavy amount of spice, and plenty of love. You dote on one another, too distracted with the loving family you’ve created to notice anything outside of your little bubble. 

This moment is yours, and yours alone. This is your happy place, and nobody can take it away from you. Not even the sound of the answering machine, echoing from the quaint living room.

“Due to your family’s impressive display of integrity at the institution’s interview, I would like to extend an offer to enroll Jeon Minji into the prestigious Hwa Yang Academy. Congratulations, and we hope to hear from you soon.” 

Elemental (M) Pt. 2

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Genre: Second Chance Romance / Modern Fantasy

Pairing: Jungkook / Reader (she/her)

Synopsis: Fear has never been a foreign concept to you. Your entire life has been shaped by the knowledge that you’re different, and fear of the stigma which might follow discovery. Although fire, earth, air and water Elementals have been public for decades, the fear-mongering around your kind hasn’t changed; something you have intimate knowledge of, having experienced it firsthand. Since then, you’ve done your best to hide your water powers. This is for your own safety, as your mom likes to say.

Safety flies out the window though, when you fall in love. Jeon Jungkook isn’t just any love, either, he’s the love. The person who makes you feel as though your darkest corners deserve to be seen. Unable to control your magic around him, you find yourself faced with a horrible fact: you need to break up.

A plan which proves difficult when Jungkook simply refuses to go. And maybe, just maybe, you find the constraints placed on yourself don’t make sense anymore.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: death of a parent (past), some emotional abuse

NSFW Warnings: oral (woman and man), multiple orgasms (woman), fingering, hand job, face-riding, sex outdoors (in a secluded, private area), very slight ass-play, breast play

Word Count: 15,200 (32,487 total)

Author's Note: Unfortunately, the new Tumblr text editor doesn't allow for more than 1,000 paragraphs per post. THIS IS PART 2. Please read Part 1 of Elemental here. Please, please, please reblog both if possible! In my experience, engagement tends to be worse when split into two parts.

WARNING: this is the second part of this fic. Please read part 1 here.

It’s around midnight when the front door opens. Startled, you pull from your reverie and lower your paintbrush.

The canvas is darker than before. Colors and feelings entwine, creating a contrast against the light background. Exhaling, you sit back on the stool to examine. Pride fills your lungs despite the half-finished state. It’s good, but not great and that’s okay.

Only a few days prior, you would have been too scared to start. Afraid of the worst, you couldn’t release the barest hint of magic. You feared that, once begun, it would be hard to pull back. Now, you consider the opposite. Maybe by containing yourself, you exacerbated the problem.

A throat clears from the hallway, a mirror to a prior memory.

Whirling around, you nearly knock over the canvas. Seokjin’s eyes widen, though you steady the painting fast. Glancing over your shoulder, you notice Seokjin seems tired. Heavy shadows line the skin beneath his eyes.

“Painting again?” he muses.

Slowly, you nod. “Starting to.”

Pushing himself off the door, Seokjin comes closer. “I like it,” he declares. “You’ve always been great, but this… this feels more honest.”

Following his gaze, you attempt to see the work from his perspective. You suppose that he’s right, but don’t have time to dissect why that would be.

“What’s up?” you ask, turning back again. “You were out late.”

Seokjin pauses, considering. “Yeah. Decided to answer a call myself. Laundromat over on 8th – you know it?”

Immediately, you stiffen. That was your laundromat from earlier; the one you flooded and now, you’re entirely too conscious of having left your hamper at the front door.

Seokjin lifts an eyebrow.

Last year, his parents retired, bequeathing to him a magical consulting business. He employs mainly Elementals, contracting them to clean up situations. Sometimes said situations are caused by Elementals and other times, they’re natural. For example, a fire Elemental could be called to heat a building without power in a snowstorm.

Or possibly, one might request an air Elemental to dry out a flood.

“I know that place,” you say at last. “What happened?”

“Couple of pipes burst. Flooded the lower level. Most of the water had drained by the time I got there, but they needed help drying equipment.”

You deflate a little. “Oh. Glad you could help.”

“Mhm.” Seokjin tilts his head. “Your ex-boyfriend was there.”

“Oh?” you manage to squeak.

“Yup.” He pops the p. “Until I saw him, I assumed it was an accident. But then your ex-boyfriend was there, and I came here and saw your laundry by our door. Is there something you wanted to tell me, Y/N?”

“Ugh,” you groan, covering your face with both hands. “Fine, yes – it was me. I had to use a different laundromat, but then Jungkook showed up and we fought and I just – lost control. I was going to fix this,” you insist, lowering your hands. “As soon as I could figure out how, but then there were sirens and I –”

“Whoa, Y/N – whoa.” Crossing the room, Seokjin grabs a chair to sit backwards. “I’m not blaming you, to be clear. Everyone loses control of their powers occasionally. Hell, if I had a nickel for every person I wind-shoved into a door.”

You blink. “That’s uh, oddly specific.”

“And true.” His smile is rueful. “Listen. I want to know if you did it because I want to make sure you’re alright. No other reason.”

Some of your tension drains. “Oh. That’s… nice of you.”

He looks at you strangely. “That’s what friends do, Y/N. They help each other. What, did you think I’d turn you in or something?”

Your lack of response must be obvious since Seokjin goes unnaturally quiet. Having it said out loud sounds silly but yes, that’s exactly what your mom raised you to think. Wreaking havoc of any kind – but especially magical – would always have consequences.

“Look.” Seokjin’s tone softens. “I know it’s scary. Our powers are strong and if we don’t control them, they tend to control us. But pretending magic doesn’t exist doesn’t make it disappear. It just means when things do happen, it’s unpredictable.”

“I don’t want this,” you sigh, the words spilling out. “I don’t want to always be scared, always terrified of losing control. I don’t want to hurt other people or push them away. Everything would be better if I were just normal.”

“Would it?” Seokjin muses. “In everything you just said, you never said you didn’t want magic.”

This leaves you silent since Seokjin is right.

In all your concern about hurting other people and wishing you weren’t afraid you’ve never once resented your magic itself. Sure, you want to be normal but normal for you means living without fear. Not living without magic.

“I… guess you’re right,” you murmur. “I hadn’t thought about that before.”

Seokjin nods. “I can’t even begin to imagine what it was like for you, growing up. It’s hard for non-Elementals to understand our powers. Especially when you’re a kid.”

“It was,” you admit, glancing down.

Even now, admitting this feels like a betrayal because your mom tried her best. But maybe sometimes, trying your best isn’t the same as being what you need. While the intentions were good, the damage continues to live with you to this day.

“Suppressing a piece of yourself is never the answer,” Seokjin adds.

Your jaw tightens. “That’s easy for you to say,” you say, looking up. “You have two wonderful parents who support you. Your magic comes to you second nature. You rarely seem bothered by anything, let alone by your power.”

Lowly, Seokjin laughs. Dark hair falls into his face, leaning forward. “In control?” he scoffs. “Y/N. Just because I’m easy-going doesn’t mean everything is all good in here,” he says, tapping the side of his head. “I’m bothered by a lot of things, and magic is never easy.”

“Oh, yeah?” you shoot back. “When’s the last time you lost control, then?”

“Last month,” he says, automatic. “I drove to my parents’ place, got stuck in traffic and someone rear-ended me. I was so mad I summoned wind and slammed them into the next lane of traffic. Luckily, they weren’t hurt. Badly.”

You stare at him, open-mouthed.

“There was also this time last year,” Seokjin adds, undeterred. “I had a shit day, went to a bar after work. I was drinking alone, and one guy was harassing every woman in the place. He wouldn’t leave this one person alone, and I snapped. Blew a door open into his face. Guy needed five stitches.”

“I… I didn’t know all that.”

“I don’t usually tell people.” Seokjin sits back, slightly amused. “Personal flaws are terrible conversation starters. Those weren’t even the most embarrassing,” he warns. “The first time I had sex, I came so hard I made a mini tornado in the house. It woke up her entire family, who kicked me out with no pants.”

You try – and fail – to keep your lips from twitching. “Seokjin, that’s… awful.”

He laughs. “I got better at controlling it, alright? Just like you will. The threat is always there though,” he warns, his smile diminishing. “It’s like how, when you’re mad, sometimes you feel this undeniable need to punch someone. Occasionally, the urge wins, and you do punch someone. Magic is just another instinct, like that.”

“An instinct,” you murmur, turning this over in your mind.

Your magic has always reacted to your strongest emotions. Times when you felt angry or sad or – your cheeks heat – ecstatic with joy. Like with Jungkook.

“I don’t know what to do,” you admit softly. “I broke up with Jungkook, but that was a mistake. I love him. I want to be with him. But…”

“But you’re scared that you’ll hurt him.”

“Yeah.” You hesitate. “And I’m scared I’ll be hurt by him, if that makes sense.”

Seokjin nods. “It does. In college…” He pauses, as though debating whether to say the next part. “When I was in college, I had a girlfriend who didn’t know what I was. It was after the whole virginity-loss incident, and I was stubbornly pretending not to have magic.”

Your eyes widen. You didn’t know Seokjin went through a similar phase to you but then again, you suppose you don’t know much about him as an Elemental. Purposefully, you never wanted to open that door in case it led back to you.

“Pretending only works for so long, though.” His lips twist. “When I finally told her, she was scared. But… she promised me she loved me, and that we’d get through it.”

“What happened?”

“She started pulling away. Said she was busy studying and one night, I caught her making out with a friend. In some ways, it was a relief. But… I get what you mean.” Seokjin exhales. “Some people don’t want to understand, and you can’t make them.”

“I don’t think Jungkook is like that.”

“I don’t either.” Seokjin pauses. “He waited a long time at the laundromat, you know. He was there when I arrived, and he seemed… I don’t know. I asked all the standard questions, and when I asked if there was an Elemental, Jungkook was adamant there wasn’t. To the point where it seemed weird. Are you sure he doesn’t know what you are, Y/N?”

“I… don’t think so,” you say, your eyes wide. “Not unless he found out somehow. And if so, I don’t know why he wouldn’t tell me.”

Seokjin clucks his tongue. “I guess he could say the same about you.” Smiling slightly, he pushes himself to stand. “Anyways, I wanted to let you know what happened and say I’m here if you need anything.”

Nodding, you prepare to brush this off as usual when something gives you pause.

Before, denial would have been your go-to. Avoiding responsibility and telling yourself that next time, you’d do better. Next time, you’d be stronger, but ultimately, nothing would change. Maybe it’s time to admit that it doesn't work. To acknowledge that if you really want change, you must take the first step.

The problem with ignoring emotions is they don’t disappear. All they do is hide, biding their time until you’re at your weakest to pounce. You’re so tired of living with fear.

Tired of pushing others away and calling it selfless. Most of all, you’re tired of living without Jungkook.

“I’d like that,” you admit. “If you have any resources to recommend…?”

Seokjin stares at you, stunned. “God, yes,” he says, shaking his head. “Wow – I never thought this day would come. Okay, so, first things first, we need to get you in class. Other Elementals learn to control their magic. They’ll help with coping mechanisms, teach you to release your energy and channel emotions. Oh!” He straightens. “And you should really find a therapist who specializes in magic. I can give the name of mine, but that might be a conflict.”

“Whoa – whoa,” you laugh, holding up both hands. “All of this sounds good, but maybe one step at a time?”

“Noted.” Seokjin turns to leave. “Let’s talk more tomorrow. Whatever you need, Y/N – that’s what friends are for.”

Warmth fills your chest, and you manage a nod. That hasn’t necessarily been your experience but slowly, you’re beginning to trust what he says. What Jungkook said in the past, asking you to trust him.

Cleaning your brushes, you cover the half-finished art and follow Seokjin into the hall. Before long, you’re in your own bed, staring up at your ceiling. It’s difficult to sleep, multiple realizations from the day coursing through your mind.

Tonight, Seokjin provided more love than you ever had growing up. Well – he provided greater understanding. Although your mom loves you, her love turned to fear instead of the help you craved. Important, because you now understand how deeply your magic is ingrained.

It’s something you spent a long time ignoring. And though you know your mom loves you, she doesn’t love your magic – which means she doesn’t love all of you. This realization hurts more than you’d care to admit.

Turning into your pillow, you bury your face as the tears come. Sadness radiates from the same place inside you where there once was a dam. Uncertain, you reach out and brush this with your consciousness. After a moment of hesitation, you absorb it. The pain becomes part of you; not in a bad way, but in a way that’s new and unnerving.

Lifting your head, you tentatively reach out and gather the tears. They form a sphere in mid-air, crystalline and pure. Wide-eyed, you remember your father doing the same. Whenever you would cry, he’d save your tears in case you wanted them later. Facing and learning to use your emotion is important, he often said.

This memory urges the tears to fall harder, turning back to your pillow. When you finally drift into sleep, it feels as though a weight has been lifted from your chest. For once, you don’t feel divided against yourself. For once, you fall asleep without fear of what tomorrow might bring.

Saturday morning, you wake up earlier than normal. Groping for your phone on the bedside table, you blearily open a chat to Jungkook’s name. His last text was on Sunday and, after rereading this several times, you wearily lower your phone. Tossing aside your covers, you pad into your bathroom and brush your teeth.

Some things can’t be fixed overnight. You need to think before reapproaching Jungkook, to consider what to say so he’ll understand. Or maybe he won’t. The thought of this very real possibility makes your heart twist, though you ignore it the best you can to get dressed.

After breakfast, you bring your dishes to the sink and stare at the faucet. Before, you would have avoided anything to do with magic, but now…

With a deep breath, you reach inward and extend a tendril of magic. The water responds, slowly at first and then, all at once. The dishes begin washing themselves, lifting a sponge to get themselves soapy.

Seokjin wanders out of his room, bleary-eyed. Walking right past you, he plods to the coffee pot and grabs a new filter.

“If you break more of my dishes, you should just get me a new set,” he mumbles.

Grin widening, you finish the dishes and put them away by hand. It’s intoxicating to use magic and have nothing bad happen. You almost forgot what that felt like. A small step, but to you, it was once insurmountable. Knowing this grants the courage to make other decisions.

Dressing quickly for the day, you walk out of your bedroom. “Did I tell you I went into an art store on Thursday?” you ask Seokjin, seated at the kitchen table.

He yawns. “That’s nice.”

“They wanted me to teach an art class.”

Abruptly, he sets down his mug. “Wait, seriously?” Seokjin’s eyes widen. “You should do that!”

“I plan to. Well.” You hesitate. “I wasn’t going to, but now I am. I think I’ll head there this morning.”

Seokjin nods, although something uncertain drifts across his face. Toying with the edge of his mug, he seems to be thinking. Waiting for whatever comes next, you rummage through your purse for your phone.

At last, he exhales. “That’s good. But…”

“But?”

“I just… don’t want you to be discouraged if this takes a while, Y/N. Changing your entire outlook on magic won’t be easy.”

Your fingers pause, and slowly, you close your bag. “What do you mean?”

“I mean progress isn’t always linear.” Seokjin’s frown deepens. “You’re going to backslide. That’s kind of inevitable. Even the most talented Elemental has times when they slip. If – or should I say when – that happens, I don’t want you giving up.”

Seokjin’s utter sincerity lessens the sting of his words. You can see the truth in this logic, even if it scares you. Part of you continues to wish for a magic solution.

 “Thanks,” you respond. “I appreciate that, Seokjin.”

“Anytime.” He lifts his mug. “Now, go get that job so you can pay rent.”

“I knew you weren’t that generous,” you call as you leave the apartment.

Seokjin’s laughter is cut off by the elevator doors. Your walk to the train station is short, as is the train ride. Creative Courage is in the opposite direction of Jungkook’s apartment, but close enough that you can still smell the harbor as you walk.

Ascending the steps of the subway, it’s hard not to recall the first time you met Jungkook.

Three months ago, it was a muddled spring day. The type of day when the weather can’t make up its mind and a tank top or sweater might be equally needed. For once, the rain wasn’t your fault and you stood on the train platform, drenched at having been caught without an umbrella.

Jungkook stood on the opposite platform, parallel lines of train tracks between you. You were mostly alone – a situation which would typically put you on edge, but that day, it meant you noticed Jungkook sooner.

He stood near the edge, closer than you ever would. Giant, over-ear headphones rested over his head, which bobbed absent-mindedly to the beat. You had noticed him before that, nearly as soon as he cleared the turnstile.

Jungkook wore his hair longer then, pulled into a bun at the base of his head. His hands were chapped; he blew on them intermittently before stuffing them in his pockets. Cheeks red with cold, he glanced up and his gaze snagged upon yours.

Later, he said it felt as though the world stopped. You could corroborate. There was something about his gaze, intense and sincere, that robbed you of rational thought. A train roared between you, shaking the platforms and your stomach dropped.

By the time the train left, you assumed Jungkook would board, and the moment would end. Relegated to nothing more than a shared look between strangers. A what-if, not a has-been.

But then the train pulled away, and Jungkook remained. Lips parted, you stared while he jerked a single thumb over one shoulder. Eyes bright, Jungkook cupped both hands over his mouth.

“Want to get coffee?” he yelled across the tracks.

Uncertain who he was talking to, you glanced around and found the place empty. When you turned around, both eyebrows were raised. Already, you weren’t a spontaneous person and by now, you usually would have said no, but –

“Yes!” you called out. “Meet at the entrance?”

Jungkook nodded, his grin widening – if possible – as he spun around. You watched him sprint for the exit, taking the escalator two steps at a time. Ducking your head, you followed a similar route on your side of the tracks.

Riding the escalator, insecurities reared their ugly heads. What if you were mistaken about his intentions, what if you dropped something, or what if he wasn’t attractive as you remembered – but then, all this faded as he came into view.

The hour was dusk, with one or two street lamps penetrating the darkness. Jungkook emerged from his escalator, lit from behind, and some of your worries quieted. When he waved, slightly awkward, you couldn’t help but smile. Despite the multiple piercings, he somehow looked soft. He was also ridiculously, insanely beautiful and your hands itched to paint him.

Exiting the subway this morning, you attempt to refocus. It’ll do you no good to reminisce about Jungkook before Creative Courage. First, you get a job. Then, you learn to control your magic. Then you can beg for Jungkook’s forgiveness.

Maybe with some wiggle room in that order. Heading towards the art shop, you fish your phone from your pocket and scroll to his name. Stopping abruptly, you stare at Jungkook’s thread, bold with an unread text.

Your fingers hover a moment before pressing open.

Jungkook: I think you left one of your shirts at the laundromat. It was on the floor, I found it after you left [11:09 AM]

Clutching your phone tightly, you reread the message. Jungkook has a piece of your clothes. He has a piece of your clothes and is reaching out. Trying not to read too much into this, you text back.

Y/N: Oh, no! Thanks for grabbing. Can I stop by sometime to pick it up? [11:15 AM]

Y/N: I heard you ran into Seokjin at the laundromat [11:09 AM]

Wincing a little, you lower your phone. Your last text may be ill-advised, but you don’t want Jungkook to think that you’re hiding things.

Jungkook’s ellipses appear, then disappear several times before his next message.

Jungkook: yeah, he came in to fix things. Seemed to think an Elemental was involved [11:18 AM]

Frozen, you stare. Seokjin did say he asked Jungkook about there being an Elemental, but Jungkook had been adamant in his response to Seokjin. Did Jungkook… lie?

Skin prickling, you type your response. Not giving yourself time to second-guess, you press send and immediately head down the sidewalk.

Y/N: If an Elemental was involved, I guess Seokjin would be the person to call [11:22 AM]

Y/N: I’m on my way to a potential new job (do you know the art store, Creative Courage?) but I’m free later – I could stop by for the shirt? [11:22 AM]

Heading away from the harbor, you try to clear your head. Creative Courage is only a few blocks from the subway and once again, the bell tinkles when you step inside. This time, you aren’t surprised when Taryn pops out from behind the front counter.

“Oh!” Her eyes widen. “It’s you! Y/N, right?”

“That’s right.” You smile, side-stepping the door so as to not block the entrance. “Hi. I um, just wanted to stop by and see… well, I wanted to know if your offer still stands? To teach, that is.”

Beaming, Taryn claps both hands before her. “Oh my gosh, yes. I told Micah you’d be back! They were all like, ‘don’t get your hopes up,’ but I was like, ‘they’re already sky-high.’ And here you are!”

Your smile grows while she speaks, certain you made the right decision. Taryn looks nervous, which somehow serves to put you at ease.

“Anyways, come on in!” She steps aside, sweeping an arm over the room. “There aren’t any classes until the afternoon, so we can check out the space together. Maybe set up time for a demo. Oh, don’t worry,” she adds, noticing your look. “I know you’re amazing. This would be more about your teaching style. Understand the process, that type of thing.”

You nod. “I get it. That makes total sense.”

“Cool.” Taryn beams. “I’m just so excited.”

Showing you around, the two of you fall into easy conversation. Although you don’t have teaching experience, Taryn doesn’t seem worried. Everyone has a different learning style, she says. Students need free thinking instructors as much as structured.

At some point, Micah stops by to drop a kiss to her cheek. “Hey,” they say, noticing you for the first time. “I’m Micah. It’s nice to meet you – Y/N, right?”

Reaching out, you shake their hand. “Yes, that’s me.”

When you pull back, you blink at the streaks of dark grime on your skin.

“Micah!” Taryn gasps, noticing at the same time. “How many times have I said to use the special soap when you’re working with fire?”

Micah grimaces and turns. “I’m so sorry,” they say, wiping both hands on their apron. “Sometimes I get carried away in the workshop.”

“It’s totally fine.” You hesitate a moment before barreling on. “But I’m sorry – did I hear right? You were working with fire?”

Nodding, Micah drops their hands. They’re taller than both you and Taryn, with lithe muscles, short hair and a Power Puff t-shirt. They aren’t exactly what you pictured for a fire Elemental.

“Yeah,” they confirm. “I’m a fire Elemental. I use it a lot in my art – charcoal, and whatnot. Recently I’ve been getting into metal sculpture work.”

“Oh,” you say on an exhale. “That’s amazing. I’m a water Elemental, which explains all the watercolors.”

Micah’s eyes light up but before they can respond, Taryn lays a hand on their arm.

“Wash your hands first,” she insists and Micah laughs. Shaking their head, they leave, and Taryn turns to face you. “I didn’t know you were also an Elemental, Y/N! That’s so great. Maybe you and Micah can brainstorm a class someday. You know, an outlet for Elemental artists. How to use your magic creatively, or something.”

You stare, recognizing the genius in this and wondering why such a thing never occurred to you before. Magic has been second nature in art for so long – you never imagined it might be the same for others. Teaching Elementals to create with something they might fear fills you with a sense of hope.

You stay for a long time, chatting with both until Micah leaves to lead the afternoon class. Taryn eventually says goodbye as well, promising to be in touch to arrange your schedule. By the time you step outside, it’s close to dinner and you’re feeling better than you have in months. Good enough that, when your phone rings, you almost answer on reflex. Pulling from your pocket, you glance at the name and freeze.

Mom.

Feet rooted to the ground, you stare at her name and your happiness dims. Seokjin’s words come back, warning about a backslide. Less than twenty-four hours have passed since embracing your magic. You hoped for longer before confronting your mom.

Standing on the sidewalk, you deliberate long enough for the call to end. Slowly, you resume walking down the road. Without fully realizing why, you find yourself heading towards the harbor.

When your phone rings a second time, it somehow sounds urgent.

Mom.

Exhaling, you stop and press answer. “Hi, mom.”

“Y/N,” she breathes, her relief audible, and you’re suddenly saddled by guilt in addition to fear. “Thank goodness. I was about to call your roommate if you didn’t answer. Can’t be too careful these days, can you?”

You briefly close your eyes. “His name is Seokjin, mom. We talked about this.”

“Right, yes – of course. Seokjin. So, Y/N…” Her pause is weighted. “How are things?”

Resuming your course, the harbor comes into view. “They’ve been better, to be honest. I didn’t tell you everything earlier this week, mom. More happened than just losing my job.”

“Oh? What else happened? Are you okay, Y/N?”

“I – well, no,” you admit, correcting yourself. “I’m not okay. Jungkook and I broke up.”

Her silence is deafening, long enough that the sun slips behind a cloud, the water before you turning a blue-grey color.

“Oh, honey.” At last, she exhales. “I’m so sorry.”

Another pause follows, and your teeth grit while you wait for the ‘but.’ With your mom, there’s always a ‘but.’

“But… maybe it’s for the best?” she tentatively offers. “You remember your last break-up, don’t you? With that Elliot fellow. It was horrible and your magic, well – that’s not happening again, is it?”

Her voice is full of alarm, tightening your grip on your phone. The tingling in your chest spreads outward, waves in the harbor rising in tandem. One of them sloshes, haphazardly, over the pier.

“What are you asking me, mom?” you ask.

“Well, you remember how you… well, how your magic… after you broke up with Elliot, things didn’t go well. Did they, Y/N?”

“No, they didn’t, because I wasn’t well, mom.”

“Yes, of course, sweetheart. It’s the same thing.”

“It’s not, though,” you say, each word pouring from a place long ignored. Squeezing your eyes shut, you finally release. “Do you know how much it hurt growing up when something bad happened and rather than be sad for me, you only cared about magic? If I’d lost control. If someone else was hurt. I was hurt, mom, and you never seemed to notice.”

She sucks in a sharp breath. “Of course, I noticed. Of course, I care that you’re hurt, Y/N. I just didn’t want things to get worse. That’s all.”

“Worse,” you say with a bitter laugh. “Mom. I broke up with my boyfriend and your response was that it was probably for the best. Do you want me to be alone?” you add, voicing aloud your worst fear. “It would be safer if I were, right?”

“Don’t twist my words, Y/N. Obviously, I want you to find someone and be happy. You have to admit though, you don’t have the best track record when it comes to romance!”

“So, that’s a yes.”

“What do you want me to say, Y/N?” she asks, sounding annoyed. “If you asked me whether I’d like you safe and alone or with someone and hurt – obviously, I’d rather you were safe. If that makes me a bad mom, then so be it!”

Turning away, you shake your head. “I don’t think that makes you a bad mom. I’m just trying to understand what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking my daughter called to attack me out of nowhere! Everything I did when you were a child was to keep you safe. Those floods,” she adds, putting two and two together. “The ones in the city this week – they were you, weren’t they?”

“Yes, mom,” you snap, eyes flying open. “The floods were me. I broke up with Jungkook because I couldn’t control my magic and ironically enough, it only made me spiral further. I was so scared of hurting him, I ended things and hurt us both. You didn’t even ask why we ended, mom.”

“Where are you now, Y/N?” she demands.

Glancing around, wind whips your hair and storm clouds gather. You realize it was probably a bad idea to have this conversation so close to a large body of water.

“Near the harbor. I was leaving a job interview when you called. Oh,” you add, an aside. “I got a new job as an art teacher.”

“The harbor?” Your mom bypasses everything else. “That’s dangerous, Y/N – are there people around? You shouldn’t be talking about your magic in front of them. They could assume the wrong thing.”

“What, mom? That I’m an Elemental? Because I am one.”

“Y/N!”

“It’s the truth!” you blurt, a wave crashing over the pier. “I am an Elemental and I do have magic. You can’t keep pretending otherwise!”

“I know that, Y/N, but your magic doesn’t have to define you!”

“It kind of does.” Voice breaking, you take in the roiling sea. “It does define me. I’m an Elemental. I have magic, and I can’t change that fact. Pretending to be someone I’m not hasn’t worked.”

“I don’t want you to be someone you’re not, Y/N. I just want you to be safe.”

“You can’t protect me from everything.”

“No, I can’t.” Your mom’s next words are rushed. “Do you know how much that kills me? I couldn’t save your dad, and now, I can’t save you. No matter what I do, the world doesn’t care about who you are, only what you can do. I hid so much from you back then,” she adds. “Maybe that was wrong of me. Maybe you should have known about the casual threats from our neighbors. Teachers who wondered if you’d be better off home-schooled. People I thought were our friends ignoring you in public. You don’t remember what it was like, Y/N.”

The first raindrops on your face. “I’m sorry you went through that, mom. Really, I am.”

“I don’t want you to think I don’t love you, honey.”

“That’s not what I think.”

Even as you say this though, a knife twists in your chest. It’s a moment you could move past and reconcile. You could hang up, knowing you had a difficult conversation with your mom, and it ended happily.

Or you could tell her the rest. Or you could lay it all on the line and for once, not care that it might cause complicated feelings.

Overheard, the clouds darken. In the harbor, boats creak against lines holding them to the pier. You should try and control your magic but stubbornly, you don’t want to. You’ve spent so long repressing and pretending; once the dam breaks, it can’t be repaired as easily.

“I don’t think that,” you slowly admit. “But mom… I also don’t think you know who I am. My magic is a part of me. Being an Elemental is part of me. For so long, I’ve been afraid of part of myself and a lot of that came from you. Other people made it worse, but it started with you.”

Shocked silence follows. While you wait for a response, you cringe from the phone. Nausea swirls in your stomach, threatening to swallow you like ocean waves.

“I… that’s not fair,” your mom whispers at last. “That’s not fair at all, Y/N.”

Jaw tight, you look at the shore. “I didn’t say it was fair, I said that’s how I feel. What would dad say if he was here? He loved his magic. He always said to use magic for good, but I don’t know how to use it at all without hurting people! I don’t even know myself. That’s not what he would have wanted.”

“Who can know what he’d want?” your mom demands. “Your father is dead, Y/N. He’s gone, he can’t come back, and I raised you the best I could without him. Your entire life, I’ve tried to keep you safe, and I can’t believe you blame me for that.”

Reeling backwards, you stare at the waves. “Kept me safe at what cost, though? I have no idea how to use my magic, mom. I live in constant fear of hurting someone. Each day, I walk a razor’s edge and fall into bed, exhausted. How is that keeping me safe?”

Waves smash against the pier, higher than you’d like. Taking a step backwards, you avoid the water and turn inward. Everything inside you is churning – your anger, your guilt, the sudden injustice of all your mom’s words. Although you try and calm yourself, it only serves to add fuel to the fire.

“Don’t do that, Y/N,” your mom says.

“Do what?” you snap. “Tell the truth?”

“Don’t pretend I’m the villain,” she counters. “Are you even in control right now?”

Your anger surges, along with the waves. “Of course, not!” you blurt. “No, mom, I’m not in control. Seokjin recommended classes, but I haven’t had the chance to take them. I –”

“You should not be going to class for magic. It’s too dangerous!”

Mid-sentence, you realize something you should have known from the start. Your mom isn’t ready to have this conversation. No matter how cathartic it would be for you, she’s not going to be ready to hear this right now.

“I have to go, mom,” you say, choking a little. “Call me when you’re ready to talk.”

“Y/N. Don’t you dare hang up on me!”

“Bye, mom,” you whisper, and press end.

The phone rests in your hand, your entire body taut as you resist the sudden urge to throw it in the ocean. In this half-movement, you spot the horizon and shudder to a halt. Thunder booms up above, the waves roiling erratically with each lifted heartbeat.

Seokjin warned you this couldn’t be solved in an instant. You’re so used to suppressing your magic, you have no idea how to turn it off once it starts. Your laundromat realization feels ages away, your magic a force bigger and more powerful than you are.

Water swiftly withdraws from the pier, and you sigh in relief, only to realize it’s gathering. Going utterly still, you stare in horror at the building wave. Your panic rises, fueling your power further as you raise trembling hands.

Struggling, you cast your thoughts outward in a wide net. Your father never mentioned this, though. He never explained how to divert a large wave, probably thinking there was plenty of time. You were only five when he died. Hopeless, you watch as the wave crests and wonder if this is how you end. Morbid, you wonder if you can die from drowning.

When the wave hits, wood crunches from the pier underneath you. Yelping, you’re drenched head-to-toe in water as it retreats to form a bigger wave.

Shaking, you lift both hands again. You try to remember what Seokjin told you – clear your mind, focus, envision the outcome you want –

Other words overlap with his; yours, your mom’s, the news.

This won’t work. You can’t do this. Someone will see. Magic is dangerous.

Swiftly, the wave approaches and your dread only grows. Fear overtakes, and–

“Y/N, MOVE!”

Footsteps pound the pier as you spin around. The next seconds seem to occur in slow-motion. Jungkook sprints past you, gaze determined and jaw set. Eyes wide, you stare as he skids to a stop, clenching his fists.

Jungkook faces the ocean, wind whipping his hair. Your wave looms, several feet high – until a jagged line of rock bursts from the sea. The two of them connect, water and earth meeting with an ear-splitting boom. Water sprays over the top of the rocks, but nothing more happens.

A beat passes, or two while you stare at the harbor in shock. Earth… just burst from the ocean, saving the city from your rogue wave.

Memories rise to the surface, one by one. The fact that Jungkook lives near a train stop that often shakes his building. When the barista in your coffee shop dropped the tea kettle, Jungkook looked nearly as stricken as you did – as though it was his fault. When Jungkook freed you from the laundromat, opening a door that shouldn’t have opened.

Each of the pieces falls into place, forming a truth that knocks the wind from your lungs.

“You…” Eyes wide, you stare. “You’re a…”

Emotion churns in Jungkook’s gaze, turning to face you. “Yeah,” he admits. “I’m an earth Elemental. I’ve… been trying to figure out how to tell you.”

Head spinning, you shake your head and the world tilts beneath you. At first, it’s a metaphor, swiftly made real by the events of today. Briefly, your vision blurs as your knees start to buckle.

“Whoa,” Jungkook blurts, rushing forward. His arms wrap around you, keeping you upright. “Are you alright, Y/N?”

“I…” Dazed, you glance at the ocean. “That was you, just now? With the rock?”

“Yeah.” Jungkook winces. “Sorry about the dramatics. I was trying to act fast, and it’s all I could think of. Didn’t want to cause an earthquake and create a second wave.”

He sounds slightly nervous, and you continue to stare. Genuinely, you don’t mean to be rude but you’re having trouble stringing two words together. Jungkook is an Elemental. Jungkook is an earth Elemental.

Jungkook’s smile fades, spurring you to speech.

“That’s not what I was thinking,” you blurt.

His brow furrows. “Oh. What are you thinking, then?”

“I…” You shake your head. “I was thinking that was really… hot. And you know, a general sense of relief that my out-of-control magic didn’t wreck the entire city. Oh, right,” you add, somewhat glum. “Seems like you already know, but I’m a water Elemental.”

“I know,” Jungkook murmurs.

He hasn’t released you yet, continuing to hold you. The waves in the harbor have returned to normal, although a slight mist continues to fall from the sky.

“Well, I wasn’t sure,” Jungkook corrects. “I started suspecting at the laundromat. Then I got your text and was in the area, so I decided to stop by. Glad I did,” he adds, his lips twitching. “I followed the storm to the harbor.”

“I confronted my mom,” you mutter. “She doesn’t have magic.”

Jungkook’s expression sobers. Although you haven’t told him everything, he knows the two of you have a tense relationship. Jungkook also knows your dad died when you were young. Possibly, he’s put two and two together by now.

“I see.” Jungkook pauses. “How are you feeling?”

Four small words and again, something inside you crumbles. You weren’t aware you had more to give. Collapsing into him, you rest your head on his chest. Holding onto you tightly, Jungkook soothes his hand up and down your back.

“That’s not an answer,” he murmurs, but the words are gentle. “Talk to me, Y/N. Do you want to go somewhere?”

Probably a good idea but right now the only place you want to be is with him. Shaking your head, you tighten your grip on his t-shirt.

“I probably should,” you admit. “Jungkook… you and I…”

His body stiffens. “Yes?”

Slowly, you lift your head. His gaze is dark, wary and it pierces deep in your chest.

“I feel awful,” you say. “It’s… been a long time since I told someone what I was. I was scared of hurting others. Scared of hurting you. That’s why I ended this. It had nothing to do with you, Jungkook,” you insist, the words pouring out. “I swear. I was so scared of hurting you with my magic – and I hurt you anyway. I am so sorry.”

Jungkook’s expression is inscrutable. “It had a little to do with me,” he says slowly.

“No.” You pause. “Well, maybe. I wouldn’t have been this scared with someone else. The way I feel about you, Jungkook? I’ve never felt like this before. It’s all new to me, and I couldn’t control my magic around you.”

His gaze remains steady. “How do I make you feel?”

“You make me feel… everything,” you whisper. “Hopeful and happy and scared and alive and I – I can’t control myself around you. When we touch, I…”

You bite your lip, embarrassed and one of his brows sketches upward.

“When we touch, you what?” Jungkook pushes.

You can’t seem to meet his gaze. “I… forget myself. I burst the pipes in the laundromat,” you admit. “I caused a storm the night we fought. When I ended things between us, it rained for three days. I can feel the water in every pipe in your apartment, every faucet and I was so scared of hurting you.”

Drawing you closer, Jungkook gathers you tightly. “Hey,” he murmurs. “It’s okay – you didn’t hurt me. I’m here. Tougher than you give me credit for,” he adds with a chuckle.

Leaning into him, you allow your eyes to shut. His heartbeat mirrors yours, a fact you find soothing. Reality sinks in a second later, realizing the truth of this week.

Jungkook doesn’t just understand what youare – he is one, himself.

Eyes flying open, you pull back. “Why didn’t you tell me you were an Elemental?” you demand.

Jungkook’s eyes widen. “Why didn’t you tell me? I tried to explain a few times,” he adds, his brow furrowing. “I brought up Elementals, but you would always change the subject. I was scared to tell you. I thought… maybe you’d leave. I didn’t want you to.”

A small fissure mends in your heart. “My entire life, I was told magic was something to fear. Something to hide. I was taught to hide and only recently, have I started thinking otherwise. I… want you to know me, Jungkook.”

“I want to know you, too.”

“I want to learn how to use my magic,” you add, determined. “Seokjin is going to help.”

The divot between his brows deepens. “I want to help.”

It’s such a Jungkook response, you can’t help but grin. “You can,” you agree, squeezing his waist. “I’ll need all the help I can get.”

His expression softens. While you watch though, his thoughts seem to deepen, gaze flicking over the panes of your face.

“What does this mean?” Jungkook asks at last.

His grip on you doesn’t loosen, and you hear his unspoken question. Heart sinking, you realize you may have overstepped. Jungkook is touching you. He came here to help. Both of you know what the other is and you’ve apologized – but you haven’t asked for him back, and he hasn’t accepted.

Before, you might have allowed these negative thoughts to drown out the rest. To wonder if maybe Jungkook is only helping from guilt. Now, you shove those thoughts aside and force yourself to be strong. To ask for what you want, even if the answer is no.

“I was wrong, Jungkook,” you say quietly. “I ended this because I didn’t want you to get hurt, but you did anyway. I hurt myself in the process. I… I thought you couldn’t possibly love this part of me, so I ran away. That wasn’t fair,” you add, gaining momentum. “You deserve to know who I am and decide what you want for yourself. Jungkook, I love you. I want you. I am so sorry I hurt you, and I just want to know if you could ever –”

“Yes.”

You falter, blinking upward. “There was more to the speech.”

His lips twitch. “It was a very good speech. You can give the rest later. Right now, I want you to know my answer is yes. Yes, I love you. Yes, I want you. Yes, I forgive you.”

“But Jungkook” – it’s difficult to concentrate with his arms wrapped around you, nose lightly brushing the shell of your ear – “I broke up with you. Don’t you want me to –”

With a weary sigh, he pulls back. “What do you want me to say?” he asks, amused.

“I don’t know.” You frantically search. “Shouldn’t I promise not to run away again? To be more honest with you, more communicative?”

Jungkook waits, as though expecting more and when nothing comes of it, he shrugs. “I thought all that was a given. Don’t uh, run away, okay? Are we good?”

“Jungkook,” you laugh, though this becomes a groan when his lips brush your neck. Gripping the back of his hair, you pull his head upward.

Jungkook’s eyes gleam, his skin flushed. “You should work on your punishment, if that’s what you were trying to do,” he murmurs.

Ignoring the shiver these words bring, you shake your head. “Jungkook… um, the last time we were close, I…”

He tilts his head. “Yes?”

His voice is nothing but patience, and you draw a breath. “I’m scared,” you admit. “I know I’ve said it a lot, but I can’t seem to control my magic around you. Especially when we touch. That’s when things get…” Aimless, you shrug. “You know.”

Lips pressed tightly together, Jungkook lifts a brow. “What about this?” he teases, cupping your waist with one palm. “Is that alright?”

Your eyes roll. “Yes, Jungkook.”

“And this?”

Thumb slipping beneath your shirt, he traces the damp skin above your panties. Your entire lower body clenches, your limbs going molten.

“That’s… harder,” you admit.

He grins. “I know.”

“Oh, shut up,” you groan, half-heartedly attempting to pull away.

Jungkook laughs, catching you easily and laying your head on his shoulder. You stay there for a while, his hand cupping the back of your neck as his thumb strokes up and down. Eventually, the clouds part enough for the sun to peek through.

Throat clearing, Jungkook pulls back to see you. “To be clear – that doesn’t matter to me. We can go slow. We don’t have to have sex if you don’t want to. I’ll help in any way that I can, Y/N. I just want you.”

“I do want to try, though,” you insist. “I do. It’s just…” You hesitate. “Your apartment is so breakable.”

Jungkook stares at you for a moment. “I shouldn’t find that as hot as I do.”

“Jungkook!”

He laughs, taking your hand in his. “Sorry, sorry.” Turning on his heel, he heads from the pier. “I do have any idea, though. One that could help.”

Hand in his, you follow him inland. Jungkook leads you down a steep path towards the boathouse, ducking the gate towards the parking lot. It’s late enough that his car is alone, headlights blinking as he unlocks the doors.

You trail behind, happy to do so because honestly, the sight of Jungkook in a soaked t-shirt is akin to a Regency hero. You savor the sight, grinning like crazy. Always, you used to question the good things that happened because it seemed they could fade any second. Now, you find yourself determined to live and enjoy.

The ease with which Jungkook forgives makes his trust precious. Someone like Jungkook deserves someone honest, the type of person you aspire to be. Climbing into the passenger seat, you continue to admire Jungkook as he walks to the opposite side.

He slides into the driver’s seat, adjusting the seat and buckling his belt. Fixing the rearview mirror, he glances at you.

“What?” he asks, doing a double take.

“Nothing.” Smiling to yourself, you shake your head. “Where are we going?”

Mischief enters his gaze. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course, I do.”

“Cool. We’re going somewhere to solve our problem.”

Shaking your head, you settle back as he pulls from the parking lot. Glancing around the car, a sudden thought occurs to you, and your smile widens.

Noticing this, Jungkook hums. “What are you smiling about, now?”

“I thought you said you were in the area?”

“Yep.”

“Hm.” Smiling broadly, you twist to face him. “Seems odd you would bring your car if you were just ‘in the area,’” you say, using air quotes around the last words.

Jungkook flushes beet-read. Your ex-slash-current boyfriend is many things, but a good liar isn’t one of them.

“I – fine,” he admits on a groan. “I was hoping to see you and didn’t want you to leave before I got to the art shop. My car was fastest.”

Your grin widens. “Cute.”

“We’ll see who’s calling who cute later,” Jungkook mutters.

His words send a thrill down your spine. “Speaking of later…”

Reaching a stoplight, his head turns. “Yes?”

You wait a long beat. “Where are we going?”

Surprised, Jungkook laughs and faces forward when the light turns. “Does the art of the surprise mean nothing to you?” he teases.

“No! Surprises are mean. They’re for the surpriser more than the surprised.”

“Exactly.” Nodding, he merges onto the main highway. “Consider this your punishment for breaking up with me.”

“Hey! You said we were even.”

Jungkook smirks. “That’s not what I said. I said I forgive you. I never said we were even.”

“Oh? And just what might ‘getting even’ entail?”

His grip on the wheel tightens, voice pitching lower. “I have a few ideas.”

Lips parted, an entire city block passes before you assemble your thoughts in a coherent manner. “Well,” you exhale. “I hope these ideas involve us leaving the city. Preferably getting away from the ocean, as well.”

“Oh, they do. My family owns a cabin an hour north. We stayed there a lot when I was younger, especially once my magic started. There aren’t many people around – which is good, in case I slip and cause a seismic event.”

You stare at him over the console. “A… seismic event?”

Jungkook drops a wink. “What? You thought only water Elementals have cool powers?”

“Well, no, but–”

“I’ll show you,” he laughs. After a few seconds, Jungkook clears his throat. “So… what does your magic look like?”

“Sorry?”

“You know.” He glances your way and, upon seeing your confusion, backtracks. “Sorry. I forgot that not everyone… well. What I meant was, when you use your magic, what does it feel like? How does it… manifest?”

“Hm.” You consider. “It’s like… a small kernel of heat in my chest. Whenever I feel strongly, the kernel brightens – with joy, anger, sadness. The brighter it gets, the more aware I am of the water around me. You know, in the pipes, in the ground. Even you,” you add, a bit stilted. “In your blood.”

“Whoa.” Jungkook’s eyes widen. “That’s cool.”

“Cool?”

“Hot,” he amends, and now, you’re the one burning. “That’s…” He stops, then chuckles. “Damn, Y/N.”

Pushing aside that tantalizing thought, you sit back. You’ve never had the urge to show someone your magic but now, find yourself wanting to try. And learn more. Ultimately, this urge wins out.

“What does it feel like for you?” you ask, curious.

Jungkook frowns. “Magic is… a hum in the back of my mind, I guess. A hum, or a vibration. My emotions also affect it,” he adds, glancing your way. “Eventually, the hum spreads and I get what you mean about heightened awareness. For me, it feels like gravity shifts. I become more grounded. When I want the earth to do something, it just… listens.”

“Oh,” you say.

He glances at you, unsure. “What?”

“Nothing. That’s… unbelievably hot.”

A pleased smile spreads over his face. Sitting back, Jungkook’s hands tighten on the wheel and suddenly, the cabin seems a long way away.

“How long is the drive?” you pose.

“About forty-five minutes.”

“Huh.” You fidget a little.

“Why?”

Feeling his gaze on the side of your face, you shrug. “I have ideas for tonight, too.”

There’s a moment of silence before the car accelerates. Surprised, you laugh and grip the door handle. “Jungkook!” you scold, glancing sideways.

He blinks, the picture of innocence. “What? It seemed like you wanted me to go faster.”

“Sure, but preferably all in one piece.”

“You will. Trust me.”

And that’s the thing – you do. Trust him, that is.

Smiling slightly, you relax in your seat and lower the window. Skyscrapers have long since passed, turning to buildings, which became towns and fields. Eventually, the motion of the car lulls you to sleep. It’s been a long week of restless nights.

You wake when the car hits a bump, and you jerk suddenly upright. The sun casts long shadows over the dirt road you drive on.

“Sorry.” Jungkook winces. “This part can be rough. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Yawning, you stretch both arms overhead. “No, you’re fine. Are we close?”

Nodding, he keeps one hand on the wheel. Jungkook’s elbow is propped on his open window, a breeze ruffling hair from his face. Music plays, softly in the background.

“Five minutes.”

You nod and look around. Anticipation sketches over your skin, and you suppress a shiver. Knee bouncing along to the song on the radio, you reach a heightened state of awareness about tonight. Jungkook has never felt quite so tangible, or maybe you’ve never been so perceptive.

Turning down the next road, the car’s headlights bounce over trees and a mailbox before landing on a small, white house. Jungkook parks in the driveway as the sun slips towards the horizon.

Not opening the door, Jungkook drums his fingers against the wheel. You’re about to ask what’s wrong when he turns to face you.

“Now that we’re here, it feels kind of presumptuous,” he admits in a rush.

Having imagined the worst, you can’t stop your smile. Unbuckling your seatbelt, you push open the door. “Let’s go,” you declare, feet hitting the ground. “I’ve been waiting for months, Jungkook!”

His chuckle follows, the car turning off as you shut the door. Footsteps follow you up the front path, Jungkook catching you around the waist near the rhododendrons.

“And whose fault is that?” he growls, nipping the curve of your ear.

“Excuse me,” you say, breathless, “that I didn’t want to drown your bedroom.”

“Baby.” His ensuing laughter is soft. “The only way I want you in my bedroom is soaking wet.”

With that, he reaches beyond you and unlocks the front door. Ignoring your speechlessness, Jungkook steps around you and enters the house.

“You coming?” he calls, flipping on lights.

You stare after for a moment before you come to your senses. Muttering darkly, you slip off your shoes and shut the front door behind you. The hallway ends in a kitchen, cheerfully lit while Jungkook rummages through a cabinet.

“Tell me,” he says, standing to shut the door. “Are you hungry?”

“Uh…” Your face heats. “Well, I kind of thought…”

“Can’t have sex on an empty stomach.” Dropping a wink, Jungkook turns around to open another cupboard.

With a half-hearted eye roll, you sit on a stool and glance around. The kitchen cabinets are dark green with bronze handles. You would ask Jungkook if he helped, but his interior design skills leave something to be desired. Just because a person is creative one way doesn’t mean it automatically translates.

Vividly, you recall entering his apartment and being thoroughly confused by the multiple mattresses. Patiently, Jungkook explained they were for his dog, Bam – as though that made any difference.

Remembering this, you sit upright. “Hang on – where’s Bam?”

“Left him with Jimin,” Jungkook says, setting down a cutting board. “I sent him a voice note while you were sleeping.”

“Oh,” you say, sinking back on the stool. “That’s good.”

Nodding, Jungkook resumes preparing the meal. Propping your chin on one hand, you take in the small but well-loved home around you. Traces of Jungkook are everywhere in a road map of his life. Photos of Jungkook as a child are tacked to the refrigerator, his eyes a similar size but in a much smaller head. There’s one of him with his dad on the playground, another at graduation with his mom.

Your gaze lingers on one that looks like the yard of this house. A giant boulder fills the frame, while Jungkook sits, cross-legged, at the top. He can’t be older than ten, scowling furiously while his mom yells something upward. In the foreground, his dad takes the picture in selfie mode, giving a giant thumbs-up with a maniacal grin.

“That’s the first time I used my powers,” Jungkook says, catching you looking.

Half-guilty, you start but he doesn’t seem to mind.

Instead, he smiles. “I was something of a late bloomer. My parents were concerned, although they wouldn’t say it. One day, I was out playing, and my mom called me in for dinner.  I didn’t want to leave. Next thing I knew, I’d made a small cliff in the yard. My mom was furious,” he recalls with a laugh. “My dad was ecstatic. Keep going on and on about how I’d been ‘saving up.’ Anyways, they enrolled me in camp the next summer.”

“Camp?”

“To help with my magic,” says Jungkook, nodding at another photo. This one has Jungkook with his arms around three kids near his age. “Both my parents are Elementals – my mom, fire and my dad, earth. One of their friends runs a summer camp for Elementals. I went as soon as I could.”

“Oh,” you breathe, not having realized such things existed. Maybe you would’ve gone if your dad had lived longer. Or maybe you wouldn’t have – he was an only child without much family, which explained why you felt isolated after his death.

Sensing the change in emotion, Jungkook abandons his cooking. “My dad was adopted,” he admits, coming around the counter. “He didn’t even know he was an Elemental until he turned twelve. When his adoptive parents realized, they told him to hide it and my dad did for a long time. It wasn’t until meeting my mom that he started relearning.”

You aren’t sure how to respond, your throat suddenly tight.

Luckily, Jungkook doesn’t expect an answer. “Not that your situations are the same,” he hastens. “I don’t want to make comparisons, but I wanted to say it because… well, I wanted to let you know you’re not alone. You can learn now. I’ll help however I can.”

Warmth expands in your chest, replacing the sadness. “I don’t know what I did to deserve that,” you whisper.

Jungkook’s frown deepens. “I don’t think it’s about deserving help – although of course, you do. Things don’t just happen because someone deserves them. You didn’t deserve for your dad to die when he did. We both don’t deserve to live in a world that forces us to hide. None of that’s deserved, so why should you question when good things are good?”

“That’s exactly it, though,” you admit. “So many bad things have happened that were connected to my magic. Like earlier today – I finally confronted my mom, and I nearly drowned the city.”

He shakes his head, stubborn. “That’ll take time. Time and practice, but you will get there. I don’t have any doubts about that, Y/N. You don’t have to be scared of magic – it’s not going anywhere, and neither am I.”

You stare at each other and, oddly, you feel some of his strength. It would be impossible for so many people to have faith in you for no reason. If anything, it’s more foolish to continually assume you’ll fail.

After another long moment, Jungkook tears his gaze away. “Food,” he declares with a firm shake of his head. “Food first, then… other stuff.”

Laughing softly, you lean back. Jungkook chats while he cooks, explaining how his dad thoroughly proofed the house against several types of Elemental. His mom is a fire Elemental and his dad is earth, but they have several members of the extended family who are water.

“Essentially” – Jungkook chops vegetables – “this place could survive a 7-magnitude earthquake, followed by a fire and a flash flood. There are sprinklers in every room with drains in all corners. Furniture is water resistant and non-synthetic. Basically, go wild. No one will care.”

Your brows arch. “You might care if I burst another pipe in the ceiling. In my experience, that tends to ruin the mood.”

Lowly, he laughs and turns on the burner. “Fair enough,” Jungkook says. “If you don’t feel comfortable inside, we can start outside. I don’t mind a little rain if you don’t.”

Unthinkingly, your gaze lowers to where his t-shirt continues to stick to his skin. Obscene how good Jungkook looks in damp clothing.

As though sensing your thoughts, he smirks and flips the food in the pan.

“Okay,” you blurt. “Let’s try that.”

Eventually, you need to take a first step and now seems as good a time as any. Somewhere, somehow, you need to begin. Deep down, you know your fear is holding you back. You’re petrified of losing control, and every time you use your magic, the fear wins, creating new fear in an endless cycle.

By the time Jungkook slides a bowl of noodles towards you, your stomach is growling. Jungkook was right about needing to eat. The last traces of the day disappear while you slurp your noodles, catching each other up on your lost week. As it turns out, Jungkook was equally moody, causing minor trembles whenever he left his apartment.

You describe to him your week, voice trembling when you reach the phone call with your mom. Reaching across the counter, Jungkook grasps your hand tightly.

“It’s okay,” he says. “We don’t have to talk about that right now, if you don’t want.”

Thankful, you nod, and he retreats with your bowls. Bringing these to the sink, he loads the dishwasher and shuts the door with his hip.

“I do want to talk eventually,” you say, hesitant. “Just… not now. It’s too raw.”

“I get it.” He walks around the counter, stopping before you. “It’s hard to think about our parents as real people who also fuck up. Sometimes they do so in ways we can’t forgive.”

Nodding, you down at your hands. “Yeah.” Your brows furrow. “Your parents get it, though. They love you.”

“Sure.” Jungkook speaks carefully. “But that doesn’t mean we don’t hurt each other. Relationships are complicated. It’d be conceited for me to tell you what to do with your mom. Whatever you decide though, I’m here.”

His words spark a fire deep inside you, the opposite of fear and you reach up to pull his mouth down to yours. Surprised, Jungkook’s lips brush once, twice before the kiss becomes hungrier. When his head finally lifts, his gaze remains fixed on your mouth.

“Right,” he rasps.

“Outside?”

Jungkook nods so quickly, you nearly laugh. “Uh-huh, yeah – outside. Hang on,” he says, turning around to head for a closet.

About a minute later, Jungkook emerges with several blankets and a backpack he refuses to open. Handing over a blanket, he leads you by the hand towards the back door.

“Let’s go,” he commands.

Hiding a smile, you follow him into the night. A tiny garden is growing beyond the house, and you marvel at its permanency. You and your mom moved so often that you eventually stopped bothering to put down roots. Jungkook has been the first thing in a long time you’ve wanted to keep.

Lifting the latch on the gate, Jungkook leads you down a small path through the woods. By now, your eyes are accustomed to the semi-darkness. If one can even call it darkness, with the nearly full moon overhead. Your breath catches when the path ends in a meadow bordered on all sides by pine trees.

Retrieving your blanket, Jungkook spreads them both on the ground. Taking a seat, he motions for you to join and waits until you do. Leaning into his side, you stare at the sky.

“See that?” Jungkook points at the woods. “Dad pulled up that boulder to block deer from getting into the garden. Didn’t work. They just go around.”

Your lips twitch in a smile. “Bet your mom was mad.”

“Oh, no. She finds the ongoing battle hilarious. Secretly roots for the deer, I think.”

Even as you laugh, you feel a sharp pang of envy. Your mom has always been adamant your power isn’t something to be shared, something to be laughed at. It must have been wonderful to grow up in a household that used magic without fear.

The moment you think this, you realize you might have that now. Seokjin has always been supportive of your magic. Micah and Taryn suggested you teach a class for Elementals. Jungkook knows what you are, and he hasn’t run yet.

When you face him, Jungkook is already looking. His eyes roam your face, as though committing you to memory.

“Where did you go just now?” he murmurs, his hand inching closer on the blanket. “What were you thinking?”

Slyly, you tilt your head. “Oh, nothing. Just wondering how many ‘shakes the bed’ jokes you’ll let me get away with.”

Jungkook’s lips twitch. “Only one.”

“What about a good ‘you rock my world’ pun?”

“Ugh, zero,” he groans.

“What about –”

Growling, Jungkook falls backwards onto the blankets. “That’s it,” he demands, taking you with him. “That’s the last straw!”

“Stop it!” you gasp, giggling helplessly as he tickles your sides.

Smile broadening, Jungkook flops onto the blanket and goes still. Half-sprawled over his chest, you loop one arm over his waist and stare at the sky.

“You get two jokes,” Jungkook says. “And if they’re not good jokes, I’m allowed to dole out punishment as I see fit.”

“Is that a threat?”

“A promise,” he says, his smile wicked.

At the look in his eyes, the air between you thickens. Jungkook’s finger hooks under the hem of your blouse, tracing the skin just above your skirt.

Heat flows through your limbs. “Tell me,” you whisper, staring down. “How many other girls have you brought here?”

His low chuckle shakes you. “None.”

“None?” you blurt out. “Teenage Jungkook didn’t pull that rock trick with any youthful paramours?”

“No.” Gently, he lowers you onto your side. “Believe it or not, I was a nerdy teenager. Super into rocks. Loved superheroes. The only ground-shaking happening back then” – sadly, he shakes his head – “was when I lost at Overwatch.”

Your lips twitch in response. “Seriously, though.” Lightly, you drag a finger across his collarbone. “What, um, happens when you…”

Your gaze flicks upward, and you find him intent, focused on you.

“When I do what?” Jungkook murmurs.

“When you… come.”

His gaze has turned molten. “Usually, I can control myself.” Jungkook pauses, then grips you by the waist to pull you on top. A startled noise leaves you, and you steady yourself on his chest. “With you, though… let’s just say, I’m glad we started outside.”

Your mouth goes dry as your body settles to his. Minutely, you shift your hips over his and feel Jungkook’s hands tighten.

“Jungkook,” you whisper.

Reaching upward, he gently cups your jaw and brings your face down to his. The brush of his lips is soft at first, a call and response. When you exhale, his grip on you tightens, his tongue slipping past. Pulling you closer, Jungkook’s hand slides to the back of your neck.

His other hand fists in your blouse, abruptly sitting up to take you with him.

“Oh,” you gasp, arms sliding around him.

“Hey,” Jungkook murmurs, your noses barely touching.

His body is warm and solid beneath you, thighs spilled over his lap to land on either side. Curling one hand into your shirt, Jungkook’s chest rises and falls with yours.

“Can I take this off?” he asks, and you nod.

Slipping a hand higher, Jungkook lifts your shirt until it comes away. Tossed on the blanket, his hand skims your side before resuming the kiss. His mouth is hungry, savoring the feel of your bare skin with his palm. His touch moves higher, drifting beneath your breast as you shiver.

Rocking forward, you realize how hard he is. Cupping your breast with one hand, Jungkook teases your nipple, and you let out a moan. Swallowing the sound, he crushes your mouth to his. Your hands move to Jungkook’s hair, hips moving more urgently.

“Stop that,” he growls, pulling back. “You’ll ruin me before I have a chance to begin.”

“Seems fair, then,” you say with a smile.

Jungkook smirks, leaning back to observe your tits spilling over the bra. Running his finger along the line, he slips a finger past and tugs your bra down. Sharply, you inhale at the night air on your breast. Jungkook’s mouth is there a second later, nipping, then licking the sensitive bud.

Shifting on top, you arch to get him closer. Jungkook tugs down the other cup, pinching your breast with his fingers. Whimpering, you grasp his hair tightly and roll your hips.

Jungkook grunts in approval, his legs coming up to trap you against him. Switching to your other breast, he teases until you’re frantic, grinding against his fully clothed lap.

Now, you expect him to undress but Jungkook keeps his attention on you. Sliding his hand up your thigh, he slips under your skirt to cup your ass with one hand. Controlling your movement, he kneads your ass with his palm as you rock against him.

“Fuck – Jungkook,” you groan, your head tipped back.

Heated, he trails kisses down the line of your throat. “You’re thinking too much. Want to see you lose control. Let me take care of it.”

Too stunned to be coherent, you tug on his t-shirt. “This. Off,” you demand.

Pulling back, Jungkook grasps the material with one hand to remove. When his chest is revealed, you make a noise in response. Greedy, you drag your palms down his firm chest. His tattoos entwine, a tapestry of ink across his tanned muscle.

Bending, you press a kiss to a lily and feel Jungkook shudder. Continuing your path, you flick your tongue against his brown nipple and are rewarded with a groan.

“Enough,” Jungkook demands, slapping you on the ass. “Up.”

Surprised, you jerk upright. Heat suffuses your skin, radiating from the same spot his palm covers. Seeming to understand, Jungkook massages the same spot over the fabric of your panties.

“What?” you exhale, thoroughly distracted.

Jungkook smirks, both brows lifted. “Stand up. It’s important, I swear.”

Gathering your senses, you manage to stand. Jungkook remains seated before you while he blatantly ogles. Running his tongue over his lower lip, the bulge in his jeans looks painful, although he doesn’t seem to notice.

“That skirt has to go.” His gaze lifts. “Please.”

Without breaking eye contact, you shimmy the skirt down your legs. Stepping aside, you push this away and step back. Lifting himself to his knees, Jungkook grips the skin of your ankles. His hands slide upward with agonizing slowness, hovering when he reaches the top of your thighs.

“Jungkook,” you murmur. “What are you doing?”

He looks up, his gaze dark. Only then does he drag both thumbs back, over your aching center. Although your panties remain, your knees nearly buckle.

“Ah.” Jungkook pauses, then repeats the motion. “Right there?”

“Fu-ck,” you groan.

He does this again, casually touching over your cotton panties. Breasts aching to be touched, you lift your palms to cup their weight with both hands. Jungkook watches, his gaze intent while he watches you tug at your nipples.

Abruptly, Jungkook pulls your panties aside to lean in and lick. Now, your knees do buckle, feeling his tongue slip through your folds. Chuckling darkly, Jungkook sits back and places your panties where they were.

Laying down on the blanket, he motions to his chest. “Kneel,” he says. “You can keep touching your tits if you want, but I need to make you come.”

The kernel of heat in your chest is now a storm, clouds gathering overhead as you kneel on the blanket. The moment your knees hit the ground, his hands find your waist, moving you into position. Turning his head, Jungkook brushes a soft kiss to your thigh.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, tracing his index finger down your soaked center. “Already so wet, and I’ve barely touched you. I thought about this a lot,” he admits, gaze lifting to yours. “Thought about how tight and wet you’d feel around a few of my fingers. Bouncing up and down on my hand to make yourself come.”

“Oh,” you breathe, entranced.

Lips tilted, Jungkook pulls aside your damp panties. His thumb swipes over your clit – once, twice, until he feels you tremble. Grasping your ass, he pulls you lower and makes direct eye contact when he licks.

“Oh, god,” you choke out.

Other men have eaten you out, but it’s usually a pleasant, if unremarkable event. Being with Jungkook is different. No one has ever done this as though you’re the main course, as though they get off on your pleasure as much as their own.

Hand tight on your waist, Jungkook spreads your ass while sucking on your clit. Moaning, you bend to place both hands on the ground. Jungkook grunts his approval, sucking again before pulling back for light licks. You can feel your arousal sliding down your thighs, but he doesn’t seem to notice or mind.

“Yeah.” Jungkook pauses, tracing your entrance with his finger. “That’s so hot, Y/N. You’re so fucking hot.”

Face burning, you can feel the water gathering in clouds overhead. The earnestness in his voice ignites your pleasure to a full-on inferno.

“More,” you demand, wriggling your hips. “Please, Jungkook.”

Eyes gleaming, he reaches up to spread your thighs further. Resuming eating you out, he moves you against him with loud approval. Your panties continue getting in the way until, with a frustrated noise, you hear fabric shred.

Eyes wide, you glance down as Jungkook throws them aside. “I’ll get you new ones,” he says, his voice hoarse, before diving back in.

“Oh – god!” you gasp, gripping his hair when he sucks even harder.

The clouds overhead darken, and rain starts to fall. Jungkook pauses to glance upward, then grins. “That’s it, baby,” he coaxes. “Want you to soak me. Give me everything, okay? Don’t hold back.”

Pulling you down again, his tongue swirls around your clit. Jungkook’s hands remain on your ass, cupping you reverently while you grip his hair. Unapologetic, you start riding his face while he works you open.

Tracing your entrance with his finger, Jungkook gets himself wet before he slips inside. Your entire body clenches, shaking with the impending force of your orgasm. Everything pulses – the rain, your blood, his heart and his tongue.

When he adds a second finger, you cry out, head tipped back. Clenching hard on his hand, shudder after shudder rolls through you as the sky breaks. Sheets of rain drench your skin while Jungkook continues to lick, bringing you down from your orgasm.

Catching your breath, the rain slows to a drizzle. Dazed, you slump forward as Jungkook slides his two fingers out. Grasping you around the waist, he settles you beside him and smiles. Jungkook’s torso is damp with rain and arousal, and you think no one has ever looked so beautiful.

“Jungkook,” you moan. “Why’d you stop?”

Huffing a laugh, he pulls you close to his side. “Did you want to keep going?” he teases.

“Obviously.”

“Hm.” Hand slipping down your spine, he firmly cups your ass. “Maybe you’re tired. Are you sure once wasn’t enough?”

Lifting a brow, drape your thigh over his so he can feel how wet you are. Jungkook’s eyes narrow, fingers digging harder into the curve of your waist. From where you are, you can see the painful bulge in his pants.

“I’m not tired,” you promise. “Are you?”

Rather than answer, Jungkook pulls you down for a kiss. One of his hands finds your knee, sliding higher to skim your drenched pussy from behind. You swallow a moan when his jeans rub your clit. Fingers tracing your entrance, Jungkook spreads your pussy with delicious slowness.

Breathless, you move against him in a helpless bid for friction. Jungkook keeps you still, controlling the motion despite your desperation.

“I want your pants off,” you demand against his lips.

Jungkook chuckles and lays back on the blanket. “Alright.”

Grasping his belt, he unbuckles and pulls the strap through his jeans. Unbuttoning these, he shoves denim past his thighs to cast it aside. When he’s in just boxer-briefs, Jungkook pulls you closer to lay on his chest.

“God,” he breathes, marveling at your skin. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

Rain that you’ve called slicks both you and him. Lowering your head, you breathe Jungkook in and rock your hips forward. Jungkook’s fingers trace your center, easing your thighs wider to slip a finger inside.

“Oh,” you moan, slightly breathless.

Beneath you, his cock feels rock-hard. Pushing against him, you feel Jungkook’s finger moving and know that this must be torture. Continuing to tease, you rub your nipples over his chest.

“Jungkook,” you whimper. “I want you.”

Lips twitching, he adds a second finger. “You can barely take two of my fingers. Think you’re ready for my cock?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not,” he drawls, slapping your ass again. “But yeah, take my cock out. Want to feel you.”

Reaching lower, you push his boxers down the best you can. Jungkook’s cock is freed, bobbing between you. You forgot how big he is. Although you’ve seen him twice, both times ended poorly, and you tried not to think about his prettiness afterwards.

And how thick his length is. Swallowing, you eye his girth and wonder if Jungkook is right – you’re not ready. Maybe you never will be.

Gently, Jungkook cups your face to return your gaze to his. “Eyes on me,” he murmurs, thumb beneath your chin. “I’ll get you there. Don’t worry.”

Some of your tension disappears. Nodding, you relax when he lowers his hand to rub your clit in circles. Exhaling, your legs spread further when Jungkook adds a third finger. The stretch feels good, being spread from behind and you lower your head to stare down your body.

Jungkook’s abs end in a v, his cock so hard it hovers above his skin, a thick bead of cum gathered at the tip. Your mouth waters at the sight.

“Jungkook,” you breathe. “Want to suck your cock.”

He pauses what he’s doing to look up, heavy-lidded.

“What, baby?” he murmurs.

“I want your cock in my mouth,” you insist, sitting up. “Please.”

His eyes gleam and Jungkook slowly sits up, easing you on top. Pulling his fingers free, he grasps your waist.

“Since you asked nicely.” His smile is crooked. “Go on.”

Inhaling sharply, you scoot backwards. Kneeling over him, you swiftly bend to grasp the base of his length. His cock stands, erect and vascular between muscled thighs.

Your hand barely fits around him, and you clench at the realization he’ll soon be inside. Spreading your thighs, you lower yourself to take him in your mouth. Jungkook groans when you suck, shifting his weight underneath.

His chest rises and falls, watching from lowered lashes as you take him in deeper. Choking a little, you use your spit to make his shaft wet. When his fingertips curl into the blanket, you feel a low tremble in the earth. Emboldened, you relax your mouth and deep throat him.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Jungkook groans. “Yes.”

Using your right hand to jerk him off, you suck the tip. Bending further, you drag your tongue lower, teasing and tormenting until Jungkook is sweating.

“Fu-ck,” he mutters, one hand on your neck. “Yeah, Y/N. Yes. Like that. Good girl.”

His hips rise when you deep-throat him, another tremor shaking the world underneath. Suddenly, he grasps your waist and pulls you upward.

“Want to come inside you,” Jungkook demands. “Not like this.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” Reaching below, he swipes two fingers through your pussy and brings these to his mouth. Not breaking eye contact, he slowly sucks. “Fuck,” Jungkook breathes, releasing them with a pop. “You’re so wet. You liked sucking my cock, huh?”

Nodding, your arms find his neck when he does it again. Jungkook fingers you slowly before, pulling out, reaches for the backpack. Unzipping the side, he retrieves a condom and lube. Breaking open a packet, he rolls the condom over himself and slicks it up.

“This good?” he murmurs, pulling you onto his lap.

Breathless, you nod, both hands on his shoulders. Slowly, your hips lower until he brushes your entrance. Stifling a gasp, you watch his eyes narrow.

“Don’t be quiet.” Using his hands, Jungkook guides you lower. “I want to hear you, Y/N.”

His cock enters barely an inch, only to stop, your head spinning. Jungkook’s grip tightens, a muscle fluttering in his jaw with visible restraint.

“Oh,” you breathe and look down. “You’re so big.”

“You can take it.” Jungkook speaks as though it’s a given.

Pleasure surges and you lower yourself another inch. It already feels like too much, too full of an already great thing. Cupping the back of your neck, Jungkook holds you against him and moves you slightly lower.

You wait for your body to catch up, muscles relaxing to sink down a bit more. This happens again and again, your body accommodating his thick girth. The lube is essential, easing you open while he takes his time. Jungkook helps you through it, teasing you with his fingers, kissing you deeply until your hips settle with his.

“Oh,” you whisper against his lips.

The position is more intimate than you thought it’d be. Seated like this, you sit face to face and feel his length inside. It’s hard to tell where you end, and he begins. Jungkook shifts, moving deeper and your entire world expands.

“Oh,” you repeat, lifting your hips. Slowly, you drop back down.

Jungkook’s groan is guttural, coming from a place deep inside. Gripping your ass, he helps you ride him – slowly, he moves you up and down on his cock. Each time you feel fuller, his length hitting a place that makes you incandescent. Rain drizzles, then stops, then starts to fall harder.

Neither of you notice, the pace increasing until you find yourself slamming down, fingernails digging into the curve of his shoulders. Grunting, his hand remains on your ass while you move on his cock.

“Fuck, yes,” Jungkook groans, watching your chest. “You’re unbelievable, Y/N.”

“You feel so fucking good,” you whimper, reaching backwards. Gripping his knees, you use these for leverage to fuck up and down.

Jungkook stares at you, dazed, and then surges forward. Bending, he sucks your nipple as you ride him, a loud moan escaping. Chest arched, you beg for more and Jungkook obeys, moving to your other breast. His other hand stays on your ass, guiding the motion of your hips with his.

You think you could do this forever and maybe you could if this weren’t your first time together. Three months of wanting and not having him have turned you desperate. You want more. Deeper. Harder. You want to feel Jungkook undone, and you want that now.

“Jungkook,” you breathe. “I need… more.”

“More?” Lifting his head, Jungkook searches. “How? Tell me what you want.”

Continuing to move your hips, you watch his face slacken. “I you to fuck me, Jungkook,” you pant, the words spilling out. “Want you to make me come without… without worrying.”

His brow lifts. “Is that all? Want me to fuck you from behind like the dirty girl you are?”

“Yes, please,” you gasp.

Lifting yourself from his cock, you ignore the sudden emptiness and turn around. Placing both hands on the blanket, you arch your back and look backwards.

Jungkook stares at you, still and you know what he must see. Legs spread, back arched and pussy on full display. You can feel how wet you are, arousal dripping from your cunt, already stretched by his cock.

“Fuck,” Jungkook mutters, scrambling upright. Getting on his knees, he positions himself behind you. Swiping through your pussy several times, he grabs the lube and dribbles more down your folds.

Dropping this, Jungkook bends and rubs your swollen clit. Positioning his cock at your entrance, Jungkook pushes inside with a single thrust. You go from absolutely nothing to being so full, you cry out his name.

Grasping the blanket, your back arches. Jungkook stays like that for a moment, letting you feel him. One hand grips your ass, sliding up your spine to push you lower. Breathless, you obey and rest both elbows on fabric.

“Just like that.” Jungkook slips two fingers to either side of his cock. Gathering lube, he slips this up and over your asshole. You whimper, turned on by the notion.

Slowly, he pulls his length out and pushes back in. Another noise escapes, fingers scrambling in blankets to push back against him.

“Please, Jungkook,” you groan. “Harder.”

“Harder?” Excruciatingly slowly, Jungkook does it again. “You need to earn it, baby. Let me know that you want this.”

Withdrawing, he pushes in leisurely from behind. He does it again and again until your toes start to curl, ass pushing backwards to take him deeper. Storm clouds roil while your frustration mounts, the need for him inside you a tangible feeling.

Eventually, you snap and turn your head around. “I swear,” you demand, gaze fixed on his. “If you don’t fuck me right now, I’ll find someone who will.”

Jungkook’s eyes dance. “You can try,” he promises, and pulls out again.

This time, Jungkook doesn’t hold back. Rain breaks, soaking the meadow when he starts pounding inside you. Jungkook’s hips slam to yours, over and over while his cock fills you.

Gasping his name, you see stars as you come together. Again and again, until you cry with pleasure and something else – something untethered and new. Reaching between your legs, you push yourself further as the pleasure builds. Feeling you flutter around him, Jungkook growls and chases his own release.

“You first,” he pants, his grip tight. “I can feel how close you are. Such a good girl, soaking my cock like I asked.”

His voice in your ear, his cock deep inside you, pushes you over the edge and shatters you to pieces. You hear the trust in his words, behind every touch while giving you parts of himself. Jungkook thrusts into you harder, shuddering into the condom as the ground shakes beneath you. Miraculously, you aren’t thinking about anything but him – not the storm, not the earth and not even your magic.

Gradually, his hips slow and Jungkook slowly pulls out. Removing the condom, he cleans you both off and pulls you down to the blanket. Stretching your limbs, the rain slows to a drizzle as your eyes open.

Nothing exists in Jungkook’s gaze but happiness, echoing yours. Pressing closer to him, your limbs entwine as you push back his hair. Suddenly sleepy, you stretch alongside him – only to notice the giant crack in the earth.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, eyes wide. “The ground!”

Craning his neck, Jungkook notices the spot. “Oops,” he says sheepishly, turning back. “Guess I got carried away.”

Shocked by his nonchalance, your gaze flicks to his. “Aren’t you… embarrassed?”

Burrowing into your neck, he pulls you closer. “Should I be? I’ll fix it – tomorrow,” Jungkook adds. “That took a lot out of me,” he chuckles, and you feel your cheeks heat.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “That was…”

“For me, too.”

Looking up, your brow furrows. “Do you think that’ll happen every time?”

“What, the giant rainstorm and the earthquake?” Seeing your face, his own softens. “I don’t know. It’s never been like that for me before.”

Something about the way Jungkook says this, almost shy, quiets a voice in your mind. The voice that insists on questioning every good thing. Pressing a light kiss to your forehead, Jungkook lies down alongside you. The two of you stay like that for a while, the clouds parting above to show a velvety sky.

Eventually, your silence turns to conversation. Everything you’ve hidden from each other trickles outward, in slow doses. Jungkook murmurs about his family, his childhood and the times he lost control. You tell him about art, about Taryn and Micah, about the easel being the one place you feel capable of using your magic.

Before long, Jungkook is hard and this time, you pull him on top. You come again – and again, your rain responding in droves. The last time, it's only a drizzle, and Jungkook barely shudders the earth. It helps, knowing what to expect and focusing solely on him.

At some point, you must doze off because you wake in Jungkook’s arms walking through the garden. He brings you upstairs, lending you toothpaste and a t-shirt from one of the bedrooms. Slipping under the covers, you smile at Jungkook when he joins you.

Before, sleeping over was impossible but now, things are different. Jungkook knows who you are. He knows everything about you and loves you anyways. Heart soaring, you trace the panes of his face in the dark. So different from the night you broke up.

Sleepy, he smiles. “Just try and break up with me,” Jungkook mumbles, turning his face from the pillow. “See what happens.”

You giggle, pressing a kiss to his chest. “That sounds like a challenge. Are you angling for make-up sex?”

“That part was fun,” he admits. “Everything else sucked.”

“It did.” Your smile fades. “Would it freak you out if I said… I don’t plan on us breaking up for a very long time? Possibly ever?”

Jungkook’s eyes open. Gently, he leans forward and captures your lips with his. This kiss is unrushed, unhurried and you hear the unsaid words. You have all the time in the world together.

“Never sounds good to me,” he murmurs, pulling back. Like that, fully grounded, you drift off into sleep.

© kpopfanfictrash, 2023. Do not copy or repost without permission.

Author’s Note: THANK YOU for reading! Have a wonderful day/night, wherever you are :) and stream the new single LOL

Elemental (M) Pt. 1

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Genre: Second Chance Romance / Modern Fantasy

Pairing: Jungkook / Reader (she/her)

Synopsis: Fear has never been a foreign concept to you. Your entire life has been shaped by the knowledge that you’re different, and fear of the stigma which might follow discovery. Although fire, earth, air and water Elementals have been public for decades, the fear-mongering around your kind hasn’t changed; something you have intimate knowledge of, having experienced it firsthand. Since then, you’ve done your best to hide your water powers. This is for your own safety, as your mom likes to say.

Safety flies out the window though, when you fall in love. Jeon Jungkook isn’t just any love, either, he’s the love. The person who makes you feel as though your darkest corners deserve to be seen. Unable to control your magic around him, you find yourself faced with a horrible fact: you need to break up.

A plan which proves difficult when Jungkook simply refuses to go. And maybe, just maybe, you find the constraints placed on yourself don’t make sense anymore.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: death of a parent (past), some emotional abuse

NSFW Warnings: oral (woman and man), multiple orgasms (woman), fingering, hand job, face-riding, sex outdoors (in a secluded, private area), very slight ass-play, breast play

Word Count: 17,287 (32,487 total)

Author's Note: Unfortunately, the new Tumblr text editor doesn't allow for more than 1,000 paragraphs per post. Part I is here, and Part II will be uploaded shortly. Please, please, please reblog both if possible! In my experience, engagement tends to be worse when split into two parts. (also, if you haven't already realized based on the premise, Y/N does break up with Jungkook in the first part of this fic lol so, if that's something you don't want to read; fair warning!)

Magic, to you, has never been a boon.

Despite its romanticization in movies and stories, the reality of magic is messy and unpredictable. As dangerous as it can be fickle, your mom likes to say. Usually followed by a glance in your direction, swift enough for you not to notice, although you always do.

Either that, or an unconscious tilt her chin towards the photograph on the mantle. You aren’t sure she even realizes she does it, acting on instinct alone. The photo is of your dad, holding you on his shoulders with an ear-to-ear grin. He was the other Elemental in your family.

Even with only one magical parent, the Elemental gene tends to be passed on to children. Your dad’s magic was water, skilled in manipulating and calling forth the element. He was lauded for it, which was in itself unusual. More often, Elementals are run out of town by other humans. Although time has gone by since societal integration, there are still many who view your kind with suspicion.

You can’t say that you blame them – not really. Because again, the reality of magic is it can be dangerous. Based on experience, bad things tend to happen when you lose control.

Head tilted, you squint through the fog at your boyfriend’s apartment. For centuries, fog has been heralded as an ill omen and maybe there’s some degree of truth to it. Maybe the first speaker lived near a temperamental water Elemental, unable to keep their emotions from manipulating the weather.

Thoughts souring at how close to reality this feels, you shake your head once and some of the fog clears.

A pep talk, you think. That’s what you need to convince yourself to enter. Unseasonably chilly this late in the summer, your fingers curl into the ends of your sweater. Going inside would be preferrable to standing out in the cold, and yet you can’t manage a single step.

Better to stand in the cold than enter and shatter.

Again, you remind yourself you’re doing the right thing and again, this doesn’t help. If anything, it makes you clutch your sweater tighter. For once, you wish doing the right thing meant what’s right for you. Exhaling deeply, your eyes shut as a train passes and shakes the ground.

You began dating Jungkook three months ago and within a week, you knew it was different. You have a tendency to hide pieces of yourself, knowing most people won’t like what they find. Jungkook never allowed that to happen. The first time you ghosted, he showed up at your favorite coffee shop the next morning and asked what had gone wrong. Taken aback, you responded honestly and to your surprise, Jungkook listened.

He stayed. Stayed when others had run, cementing himself on a short list of people you can trust. Three months into dating, things have moved at once fast and slow. Fast because typically, you exit relationships long before feelings like these ones develop. Slow, because you haven’t given Jungkook every part of yourself.

Physical intimacy comes to mind. On several occasions, this has proved… difficult.

Eyes opening, you stare at the door. Memories of last night rise to the surface. For a long time, you’ve known this relationship has an end date. Knowing this doesn’t prepare you for the difficult conversation ahead.

The last time you saw Jungkook was after midnight. Fat raindrops chased your footsteps while you ran from his place, descending the subway at a record pace. The look on his face remains stuck in your mind and even now, you find the thought hard to revisit.

Imagining hurting Jungkook again is unfathomable. Stifling a gasp, you spin on your heel and march away. Halfway to the gate, you get a grip on yourself. Coming to a stop, you remind yourself this isn’t about you. Jungkook will hate you – there’s nothing to do about that now. Now, this is about Jungkook and ensuring he’s safe.

Slowly, you turn around and make your way forward. In the name of procrastination, you stop at a trash can to clean out your purse. Old receipts, gum wrappers and a crumpled-up napkin shake into the bin. You pause at the napkin, staring at the embossed name of the restaurant you work at. Or – more accurately – worked at.

Slamming the trash lid, you turn. You began work at Pierre’s Bistro two months ago as a temporary measure. Ideally, you paint but lately, inspiration has run dry. Waiting tables pays the bills, leaving time at the end of the day to stare at a blank canvas.

Pierre’s is an upscale French restaurant a few blocks down with semi-decent food and waiting tables would be fine if the owner – Pierre – weren’t a massive asshole. Now that you don’t work there, you can be honest about that. Pierre was the most sexist, elitist, capitalistic piece of shit you’ve ever had the displeasure of working for. While on his payroll, you tried to make the best of it but now, you have nothing to lose. Pierre was a dick.

A point he proved yet again last night, much to your mortification. You prefer working the lunch shift to dinner, and weekdays to weekends. Saturday nights are worst of all, and last night Pierre didn’t arrive until well after six. You were forced to cover the entire front section, picking up for a co-worker who called in sick.

Rushing from the bar, you nearly crashed into your boss removing his coat. Grabbing you by the elbow, Pierre steadied you, his hand lingering.

“Whoa, where’s the fire?” he joked.

You forced a smile. Experience has taught you the best thing to do in those types of situations is to smile and laugh.

“No fire. Lots of customers! Excuse me,” you said and tried to move past.

Pierre didn’t release you. If anything, his grip on you tightened until you turned your head.

“Yes?” you said, impatient.

Pierre didn’t respond, looking you slowly up and down. Eventually, he released you to take a step backwards. “Nothing,” he said carefully. “Be careful out there tonight.”

Trying not to gag on his words, you moved on. Unfortunately, it was hard to escape Pierre’s notice once caught. From that point on, each of your flaws were held under a microscope. First, it was that you didn’t fold the napkins correctly. Next, you took a wandering path from kitchen to table. Each time you entered the dining room, scornful words were covered by simpering smiles.

By the time your shift end approached, you could barely keep going. A large group had entered and, seeing the host occupied, you took it upon yourself to seat them at your last table. Fixing your apron, you hurried through the restaurant and into the kitchen.

Grabbing another table’s dishes, you thanked the cook and pushed open the door. Immediately, arms shoved you back in. Startled, you barely had time to recognize the host, Vanessa, before the doors swung shut.

“Vanessa?” you said, adjusting your grip. “What’s going on?”

Harried, she glanced over one shoulder. “Sorry,” she sighed, curly hair slipping from her messy bun. “I wanted to warn you before you went back out. Pierre is pissed.”

Your stomach sank. “Pissed… at me?”

She nodded, another dark curl escaping. “Something about saving the table up front for his friends? Bullshit, yes,” she said at your expression. “But you know how he is.”

“Yeah, I know,” you muttered. Deciding there was nothing to be done but keep moving, you hefted your plates higher. “Okay, thanks for the warning. I need to get these to table ten.”

“No problem,” she said and stepped out of your way.

You walked inside with slightly less spring in your step. Pierre lounged near the bar, surrounded by a group of people you could only assume to be friends. Although you felt his gaze on your face, you avoided him the best you could while you made your rounds. Taking the long way to the kitchen, you passed in front of the window.

Which was the moment you noticed Jungkook waiting for you on the curb. He stood beneath a streetlight, light pooling around the ends of his dark hair. When he saw you approach, his face lit up and he smiled.

Cursing beneath your breath, you smiled back. You were supposed to be done a half-hour ago, but there hadn’t been a good time yet to stop. Waving back, you mouthed, just a minute, and frantically pushed through the crowd to the back.

Merely seeing his face lifted a weight from your chest. It was easy to be around Jungkook because he liked every part of you. You never felt the urge to pretend, to curve yourself into something someone else would find pleasurable.

Well, he liked every part except one – and you were working on telling him that.

Hurrying into the staff room, you forgot your plan to avoid Pierre. You nearly jumped a mile when a hand grabbed your elbow, spinning you to face your fuming manager.

Pierre stared down his nose. “Follow me,” he snapped, releasing your arm to spin around.

He passed tables full of patrons, leading you to the bar before turning. “Y/N,” Pierre said, his voice dropping. “Are things okay tonight?”

“Yes,” you responded, deciding one-word answers were safest.

“Then why, exactly, are you fucking this up?”

Your jaw tensed. “I wasn’t aware I was doing so,” you said carefully.

“The napkins?” Pierre made a tsk-ing sound. “How many times should I say that presentation is important? Not to mention your laziness. One of your tables had to flag me down to ask for a refill. And now, you gave away the front table.” His expression darkened. “What makes you think you, a fucking waitress, can step in for a host? You sat someone at the table I personally reserved for my friends!”

You shouldn’t have responded. You should have stayed quiet and yet –

“There was no name in the book,” you muttered.

“What’s that?” Pierre waited and, when you stayed silent, shook his head. “I hadn’t had time to write their name down, but I told Vanessa, who assured me it’d happen. Of course, she wasn’t taking into consideration Y/N, the wonder waitress! Taking everyone’s jobs and making them harder.”

At your sides, your hands balled into fists. It took a greater amount of concentration than normal to keep your emotions from spilling over.

Of course, there were explanations for Pierre’s accusations. The napkins were correct before he jostled the table. You had been circulating your tables and if you were unavailable, it was because of his poor staffing. Oh, and – he didn’t make a reservation for his friends.

Slowly, you exhaled and stuffed down the responses. Deep down, with other emotions and magic. Beyond Pierre, a glass trembled but once you relaxed, the water went still.

“I apologize,” you said, not meeting his gaze. “I’ll do better next time.”

Pierre sniffed. “See that you do,” he said, brushing past. Grabbing a beer from the bar, you heard his friends burst into raucous laughter. Apparently, your humiliation was entertaining.

Heaving a small sigh, you turned – and froze where you stood.

Outside, Jungkook stared into the restaurant with murderous eyes. Too late, you realized Pierre had pulled you in front of the window. Away from anyone dining, but in full view of anyone on the sidewalk. Like your boyfriend, who witnessed the entire spectacle.

For a moment, your emotions overwhelmed, and you felt magic crack the walls you kept hidden. Embarrassment crept past your boundaries. Humiliation. Fury. Stuffing everything back, you quickly turned to rush through the tables.

Jungkook’s gaze snapped towards you, his brow furrowing. Reaching the staff room, you paced up and down. Jungkook saw you. He saw Pierre’s outburst, which meant you’d have to explain. You’d have to explain to Jungkook – the only person whose opinion you cared about – why you allowed other people to walk all over you.

He’d start to ask questions. Questions like, when was the last time you really got mad? You’d have no good response. Not because you don’t get mad, because you do. But because you don’t ever allow yourself to act on the feeling.

Faced with the prospect of brushing him off, you buried your face in both hands. Your usual excuses wore thin in your ears.

Pierre isn’t so bad. It was a one-time thing. You promise you’ll talk to Pierre tomorrow.

None of it would be true, and you didn’t want to lie to Jungkook. People never understood why you wouldn’t stand up for yourself, but the answer was complicated.

Your last date said you lacked emotions, but you don’t think that’s it. Of course, you have feelings, but those feelings are buried beneath so many layers, they can be hard to see. It’s not that you don’t feel, it’s that you cannot.

When you feel, your magic reacts, and people get hurt.

That was the last part of yourself you kept hidden. Jungkook is normal and he doesn’t know you’re an Elemental.

You know that by now, you should have said something. Obviously, but the timing was never right. Twenty-five years old, and you still aren’t sure how to broach the conversation. Few people know what you are, so you haven’t had much experience with the explanation. Your magic isn’t something you use if you can help it.

Yet another lesson you learned from your mom.

Your dad, an Elemental, died when you were five. Before, you lived near the ocean on a flat strip of sand. Your memories from before then are faint, but whenever you try, you can hear his booming laugh. Can feel the salt sting your cheeks, your mom tossing you in the air while you spun around.

Everything afterwards faded. At five years old, a hurricane swept past the barrier islands and that, you remember. You recall your mom at the door, pleading with your dad not to go as he donned his jacket. You remember him holding her hand, kissing the top of your head, and saying he’d return soon. Not many Elementals lived in your area, and even fewer had water magic.

You recall the hours passing, stretching longer and longer until dawn approached. Flashing lights followed, a woman climbing from her car to speak to your mom. You recall the sound of your mom sobbing, the policewoman’s voice floating into the house.

The storm surge was stronger than expected, but your dad managed to divert the worst. He saved the town only to be hit by a bolt of lightning. Instant death, the policewoman said, her tone implying this might be a comfort. Chest tight, your fingertips dug into the railing. Comfort meant nothing when your dad was gone. The irony struck you even back then – your dad saved others, and no one came to save him.

For weeks following, your mom was a ghost. At first, neighbors stopped by to drop off casseroles and condolences. Soon though, their sympathy stopped, and the whispers began. You were young enough not to notice, too consumed by the enormity of your own loss.

Eventually though, you noticed something was off. Suspicious eyes followed you down the sidewalk. Mothers clutched at their children, hurrying them to the side of an empty street. One day, you traipsed downstairs and overheard your mom on the phone.

She sat at the kitchen table, facing away from the staircase. You paused on the landing, listening to your aunt’s voice blast on speakerphone.

“Nonsense,” she was saying. “Your husband was a hero, and anyone saying otherwise is cracked. He saved your town!”

“I know.” Your mom blew her nose. “But now, people are wondering if he caused the storm. They’re saying maybe he… made the hurricane. It’s this new mayor,” she said, frustrated. “He hates Elementals and keeps insisting our family orchestrated this to collect money. He says –”

“Oh, no.” Your aunt sounded furious. “Don’t you repeat a single word that hateful man says.”

“He has a point, though,” your mom said, her voice low. “Did you hear about Uniontown? A fire Elemental accidentally set their barn on fire. Nearly burned the whole town. Magic is dangerous. I tried to warn him, but he wouldn’t listen, and now –”

“When was the last time your husband lost control, though? Are you saying you think he caused a hurricane?”

“God, no!” You watched your mom straighten. “But there are people saying… awful things.”

“Some people aren’t worth listening to.”

“I know.” Wearily, she exhaled. “They’re talking about Y/N, too, though. Apparently, she caused a tidal wave at the pool last weekend.”

Hearing your name said out loud, you shrank back in the shadows. You weren’t aware your mom knew about that, or that she cared. Bobby Clemmons teased Judith Bryce about her hair until finally, you snapped. Bobby was swept to the other end of the pool, much to Judith’s relief. She thanked you repeatedly.

Bobby was fine, except for some water up his nose. From the way he carried on though, you’d have thought he broke his arm.

Your mother lowered her voice, as though magic was something to be mentioned only in whispers. For the first time, a sense of shame crept over you. Your dad had always been open about magic, though stern. Stern in his belief magic should help people, not hurt. Never once did your dad insinuate magic itself was the problem.

Magic is dangerous.

Your mom’s words on the phone sank in as, your head pounding as you turned around to run up the steps. Even at six, you felt panic. If magic was dangerous and you were magical – that meant you were dangerous, too.

Slipping beneath your comforter, you stared at your shaking hands. Rain hit your windows, snowballing your worry to full-on fear. By the time your mom rushed upstairs, you were rocking under the covers as a storm raged.

She helped to calm you down, got your magic under control and a month after, you moved far away from the sea. A version of yourself vanished as you passed the pier. Despite this, you felt instant relief at the thought of control.

You remember your mom smiling when you joined the highway. “This will be good,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “A fresh start, away from it all. You can be whoever you want to be, Y/N.”

Except for the person you actually were.

Her meaning was clear, even if she didn’t say it out loud. At the time, you found the thought soothing. If you didn’t want to use magic, you didn’t have to. You never had to become your dad, who all your friends said had caused the bad storm. Even the news had turned against you.

Earth Elemental suspected behind San Raoul earthquake!

Jailed air Elemental claims innocence against onslaught of tornadoes!

Fire Elementals flee after string of arson!

Always the exclamation point. Always the lurid fascination that blame could be pinned on a single person. New rules were implemented in the house. No magic, except in your mom’s presence. This soon became no magic at all, but you didn’t mind. Whenever you did use magic, it felt wild, chaotic – the opposite of how you wanted to feel.

Your early years were marked by the struggle to conceal your powers. Years passed without incident and then, something would happen, and you’d have to move. Your mom never begrudged you, simply packed the house to travel to the next city. Each time, you promised you’d do better but by the time you realized school wasn’t for you, you had moved no less than six times.

Art was a risk, though one you found necessary.

Creation meant tapping into emotion, but you found methods of coping. Painting was the only place you loosened the reins on your magic, and so it became an outlet of sorts. A release, preventing your emotions from spilling into unwanted places.

There were other strategies, as well. Deep breathing. Counting backwards from one hundred. Focusing on one point, then on another until the magic calmed in your veins. Until you forgot the dangerous and destructive water around you.

Some people proved more reactionary to you than others. With some people, your magic responded so strongly, you were forced to cut them out completely. The first person this happened with was your best friend, Katrina. You were fourteen when she confided in you her family was fire Elementals. In response, your magic surged.

For a glorious summer, you practiced magic in secret. Each morning, you and Katrina bounded through the woods towards the far creek. You summoned great waves of water for Katrina to singe into mist. Everything was fine until late one evening, your mom caught you. She witnessed the combined magic and lost her temper.

Dragging you from the woods, your mom slammed the front door in Katrina’s face. She sat you down at the kitchen table, delivering a scolding you’ve never forgotten.

Do you know how reckless you were? What if a tree had caught fire? What if you altered the town’s water supply? What if someone saw and the next time a disaster happened, they blamed it on you – or Katrina?

Stricken by these very real possibilities, you promised not to do it again. Although you begged not to move, your mom packed the next day – your fastest exit ever.

The second time you cut someone out was after high school. Elliot was an artist, a quiet guy who dabbled with oils. He saw you painting one day in the park and silently set up his easel beside yours. This happened for weeks until he asked you out. Your ensuing romance was brief and sweet, and your feelings grew within a short period of time.

When Elliot told you he loved you, you dissolved into panic. You could feel how your magic responded, reaching for water that surged through his tiny apartment. Tossing on clothes, you stammered apologies and fled into the night.

For weeks following, it rained. Enough for the reporters to forecast local flooding. The fact terrified you – imagining people trapped on top of cars, small businesses flooded, the Red Cross called in to ferry locals to safety. It took your mom flying out to put you at ease, clearing the skies and regaining control.

Since then, you haven’t let anyone else past your inner walls. Until Jungkook.

Swallowing hard, you stare at his apartment and wonder if you’ll survive. Breaking up with Elliot is one of your worst memories and you only felt a fraction of what you do for Jungkook. Maybe you’ll conjure a hurricane, bringing the events of your life full circle.

Shutting your eyes, you rub at them dully. There’s no point in wondering what-if. You need to end it now, before things get worse. All day, you’ve gone over the facts and arrived at the same conclusion.

As expected, Jungkook was livid about Pierre last night. He wanted to confront your boss himself, although quickly backed off when he realized this was your battle. This though, turned to confusion when you said your intent to do nothing.

Although you tried the usual excuses, none of them stuck. Even if it was just once, Jungkook argued, it shouldn’t go unnoticed. You snapped slightly at this, insisting you’d deal with things in your own time.

Getting angry near Jungkook was peculiar. Suddenly, you became aware of the water around you. Thick, leaden pipes lacing Jungkook’s walls. Moisture that hung in the air, in the clouds – within his very veins. The thought terrified you, wondering what you might do accidentally.

Your panic must have been visible, because Jungkook instantly softened. Crossing the room, he pulled you into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into your hair. “It’s just… I hate seeing you hurt. Of course, you know what’s best. I’m sorry I doubted you.”

His grip grounded you, enough that your magic dissipated, and that you realized a truth you’d hidden for some time.

You were in love with Jungkook.

No one in your life had ever been like him. Someone who was always in your corner, who protected you when they could and lifted up parts they couldn’t. Someone who liked everything about you – even the parts you weren’t brave enough to admit.

Studying his face, you tried to ignore the sudden ache in your chest. Even last night, you knew the inevitable. Memorizing his face, you tried hard to hold on. Jungkook’s slightly rounded nose, his full bottom lip accentuated by two piercings. Dark hair fell over his forehead; strong features contrasted by a soft gaze.

Jungkook watched you as well, and you wondered if he felt the same. Wondered why he’d commit you to memory, since you were the lucky one. He was the miracle, and you were biding your time.

Bending, he lightly brushed your mouth against his. Instantly, you melted. It wasn’t your first kiss and prayed it wouldn’t be the last, but something about last night felt different. Walking the two of you backwards, Jungkook pressed you against the wall and kissed you harder. His touch became desperate, one hand sliding beneath the lines of your blouse.

Your breath hitched at the brush of his fingers, delicious and warm against skin. His touch unknotted a hidden, tangled piece of your soul.

Ever since you met Jungkook, you’d held yourself separate. When you asked him to go slow in the beginning, he agreed. Touching was fine. Kissing was fine. Anything more, and you lost control.

About a month into dating, you met Jungkook at a bar and got tipsy. Three drinks in, you were frantically making out in an alley outside. Jungkook panted, “my place?” against your mouth, and you nodded. The journey back to his place was fast and slow, pausing in every dark place to drag his mouth to yours.

The second his door shut, you found yourself stumbling – into his bedroom, his bed, the confines of his heart. Shoes were discarded with every step, and Jungkook couldn’t seem to keep his hands to himself. You returned his fervor in spades, nipping his lower lip to watch him smile.

When he fell back on the bed, you saw his pulse quicken. Staring up at you, Jungkook watched your clothing disappear with a gaze so dark, it bordered on onyx. Climbing onto him, you resumed kissing with a newfound reverence. Eyes falling shut, you did your best to stay present.

Each brush of his lips was combustive, each touch of his hands filling you with sharp, pulsing light. And then –

The sink and shower in his bathroom burst on.

Startled, you pulled away and realized it had been you. Your magic had caused it, flooding his bathroom with water. Swearing under his breath, Jungkook scrambled out of bed to hastily turn off both faucets.

You sat there on his bed, heart pounding with fear. By the time he returned, you were already dressed and mortified. Jungkook was all apologies, certain he’d moved too fast, but you assured him he hadn’t. Anything that happened, you were an equal participant – too much maybe, although you didn’t say so out loud.

Lying in bed that night, you stared up at your ceiling. For a moment, it felt as though you were six and under the covers at your old house. Magic was dangerous. You would eventually hurt someone. Dread pooled in your stomach, recognizing the truth. If you couldn’t control your magic around Jungkook, you’d have to end things.

Heartache chased the thought, filling you with so much panic, you nearly drowned. Pushing this aside, you simply resolved to do better. To be better and keep both Jungkook and magic. This was simply another challenge; you owned your magic, not the other way around.

Thus, began the two best and worst months of your life. The best, since you’ve been dating Jungkook and the worst, because at every moment, you’re terrified of hurting him. Walking a line as thin as a razor, you’ve fallen in love while trying your best not to feel.

Until last night, you thought you’d been successful. Life was mostly under control, but then the Pierre debacle took place. Then Jungkook kissed you with such intensity, you forgot who you were and why you’d been holding back. Two long months of restraint and suddenly, you came undone at the seams.

Before long, you were again in his bedroom. Jungkook stripped off his clothes, bare skin pressing to yours with a searing intensity. Pulling you over him, a low hiss escaped while he kissed your throat. Even through his boxers, you could feel how hard Jungkook was. How badly he wanted this; a need you returned.

The thought of him inside you made you frantic. Pushing Jungkook onto his back, you straddled his waist and rocked forward.

Jungkook lay underneath you, his hair a dark halo. Suddenly, you could feel water everywhere. Magic, everywhere – it was in you, around you, in Jungkook’s walls and molecules. Everything felt so utterly fragile, and your magic responded.

Ferocious, it strained at your self-crafted bonds. Realizing how precarious your grasp on control was, your emotions slipped into panic.

You had to leave. Now.

Sensing the change in your body, Jungkook paused.

“I – I’m sorry,” you blurted, scrambling off him. Bending for your pants, you pushed one leg through and hastily zipped. “I need to go.”

Jungkook stared, frozen in place. “I…” Shaking his head, he pushed a hand through his hair. “What’s going on? Did I do something wrong?”

Stomach dropping, you roughly shook your head. Part of you ached to correct him but your magic was barely leashed, and you weren’t certain how much longer it’d hold.

Your magic wasn’t something you wanted Jungkook to see.

Frantically throwing on your shirt, you rushed towards his front door. His dog, Bam, whined from the couch and lifted his head as you passed. Yanking open his door, you escaped to the hall and downstairs. You heard Jungkook call after, but he didn’t follow, for which you were grateful.

Remembering his face broke your heart as you entered the subway. You kept your magic at bay until reaching your building, at which point rain swept the city in waves. Soaked through, you got in the elevator and saw Jungkook had texted. Shaking, you responded you’d talk to him tomorrow and turned off your phone.

Rain poured all night and you barely slept. By the time you woke, your mood had gotten worse. Work was torture. Even the lunch shift couldn’t save you, the looming specter of Jungkook impossible to forget. When Pierre showed up around one, you knew you were doomed. His glower could be felt all the way across the restaurant and no matter what you did, you somehow stayed in his way.

With little to no sleep and haunted by last night, the grip on your magic was tentative at best. Your entire shift, it hovered at the edge of your fingers. When Pierre commented you looked tired, the rain outside worsened. When a table of middle-aged men called you ‘girlie,’ their water glasses shook.

It was miraculous nothing happened until the end of your shift. That was the moment Pierre’s friends arrived, seating themselves at the table you gave away last night. One of them laughed as you poured them water, and you managed to push down your snide remark.

Glasses full, you turned around to go and the same one grabbed your waist.

You went still.

For so long, you’ve hidden your magic to protect others. You’ve kept them from hurting and there you were, broken, and no one cared about you. Just like no one cared about your dad, in the end. Teeth gritted, you whirled – and the entire water pitcher dumped itself at him.

At him, not on him.

You didn’t trip. Didn’t throw the water, although either would have been preferrable. Instead, the water leapt from the pitcher to slap the man in the face.

Horrified, you stared as reality sunk in. You had just assaulted a guest – a friend of Pierre’s, at that.

Shocked, the man wiped water down his visage. The entire restaurant fell silent, every eye in the room locked on you. Panic-stricken, you stammered an apology, flung a napkin on the table and fled into the kitchen.

The moment you crashed through the doors, you were hailed a hero. Izumi, your line cook, wistfully recalled the one time she punched a guy who grabbed her ass. Georgina added that once, she spit in the drink of a man who called her a bitch.

Both tactfully avoided the fact that you were an Elemental, which you appreciated. You were starting to feel marginally better – maybe you wouldn’tbe fired, after all – when the door to the kitchen swung open and Pierre stormed through. Seeing his face, your heart sank.

“You!” Spittle flew from his lips as he pointed. “Y/N – pack your things! You’re done here. Fired. You think you can insult my friend, pull some magic bullshit on him, and continue to work here? Fuck that. Get out – now!”

A pin could have been heard in the silence. Coming to your senses, you did exactly as asked and got your things. Pierre hadn’t mentioned pressing charges, and you didn’t want to stick around long enough to find out.

Outside, you stood on the sidewalk and stared at the bus stop. Storm clouds brewed above, a visualization of your inner turmoil. Eventually, you turned and trudged down the subway.

Things had reached a point you couldn’t ignore anymore. You were beyond out of control. Emotions surged and strained against your internal walls, threatening everyone you held dear. The city didn’t deserve to be punished, even if no one within it knew of your sacrifice. Pierre’s friends were awful, but you could’ve just as easily lost your temper with someone you loved.

Someone like Jungkook, whom you couldn’t seem to be around without incident.

That was the reason most people feared Elementals. It was selfish of you to put your desires ahead of another person’s safety. The only way to protect someone you loved was to stay away.

Starting with Jungkook. You just wished he didn’t have to get hurt in order for that to happen.

Standing outside his building, you take a deep breath and press the buzzer. You wait for several long moments, wondering if he’s home and then –

“Hello?” Jungkook’s voice crackles over the speaker.

Leaning in, you press 316. “Hey. It’s me. Y/N.”

A weighted pause, and then –

“Come in.”

The door unlocks, and you push it inside. Climbing the steps to his place, your heart starts to pound. The last time you saw Jungkook, you were running away. The last text he sent was, ‘ok,’ in response to your message. If you were Jungkook, you wouldn’t be thrilled to see you.

Coming to a stop outside 316, you lift your hand and knock. A howl responds, followed by the patter of gigantic dog footsteps. Unable to stop your smile, you shake your head at the chaos.

“It’s just me, Bam!” you say, and he stops.

Bam’s howl is replaced with a whine and the sharp thwack-thwack of his tail on the door.

“Bam, out of the way,” Jungkook calls, his voice coming closer. A few seconds later, the door flies open to reveal your boyfriend.

You only catch a glimpse before Bam barrels out, nearly knocking you over. Legs and tail akimbo, he slobbers all over until you bend to pet him. Once satisfied, Bam turns around and trots back inside.

Silence falls between you, and you look up to see Jungkook. He’s dressed casually, sweatpants and a t-shirt bought at a concert you attended. He hasn’t moved aside, blocking you from entering.

Uncertain, you straighten. “Can I come in?”

Slowly, he nods and moves. You walk past him, trying not to focus on the heat of his shoulder. This might be the last time you see Jungkook, so you try to focus on that. Not the prospect of what you’re about to do.

Hearing the door shut, you take a deep breath and turn to face him. “I can’t stay too long,” you admit, digging your nails into the palms of your hands.

Jungkook regards you warily. His expression makes your chest ache, unused to him with such a stern expression. After last night, you suppose it’s earned. You should probably get used to it.

“Y/N.” His jaw works. “What’s going on?”

Deciding honesty is the best policy – up to a point – you force out your next words. “I think we should break up,” you say in a rush.

With a low whine, Bam slinks in the direction of the bedroom. Jungkook glances at him, distracted, before facing forward.

“What do you mean?” His head tilts. “Like, you want to take a break?”

Steeling yourself, you shake your head. “No. As in, I want to break up. Permanently.”

A train passes by the building, rumbling the floorboards underneath. Most people would avoid living in this building for that reason, but Jungkook was overjoyed by the prospect of discounted rent.

He doesn’t seem overjoyed now, though. Instead, he looks stricken.

“Walk me through this,” Jungkook says, walking closer. The set of his mouth has turned stubborn. “I don’t follow. Why are we breaking up again?”

The knot in your chest tightens. You should have known Jungkook wouldn’t make this easy on you. “We’re not good together,” you say, only to correct yourself. “I mean, I’m not good for you. I’m not in a place where I can be in a relationship.”

He comes to a stop. “I can wait, Y/N. I don’t mind.”

Reaching for you, Jungkook’s brows crease when you take a step backwards. His hand falls between you, and he stares at the empty space. The crack in your heart widens, made worse by his silence.

“I mind, though,” you force yourself to say. “I can’t ask you to wait for me, Jungkook. That’s not fair to either of us. It’s too much pressure.”

The words make your heart splinter, reaching a point you aren’t sure can be reassembled. Maybe the pieces will simply lodge in your muscle, bruising your insides each time you draw breath.

“I won’t pressure you,” Jungkook says, automatic. His frown deepens. “Tell me what this is really about, Y/N. Is this about sex? It’s fine if we don’t have it.” Stepping closer, he takes your hand and you let him. “I just want you to be honest with me.”

Somewhat manic, you shake your head – and then nod.

Sex is a part of the problem, but it’s not the root cause. Sex with Jungkook is unthinkable. You can barely remain in control when you kiss, let alone allow more. With your past partners, this wasn’t an issue, but your past partners weren’t Jungkook.

Never have you met someone able to scramble your thoughts with a kiss. Whose gaze melted inhibitions and tore down every wall. You have little doubt that with Jungkook, you’d lose full control, and the thought is terrifying. Already, your makeshift barriers are weakened.

Rain splatters against the window, and your stomach lurches.

“Seriously, Y/N,” Jungkook says, returning your attention to him. “What’s this about? I can tell something’s on your mind.”

He takes your other hand, and you realize how close he stands. “Is it work?” Jungkook asks, a crease between brows. “Is there… some reason you can’t quit? You can tell me, Y/N.”

An odd zing of disappointment goes through you. For a moment, you thought Jungkook had guessed your secret, and this could all be avoided. If Jungkook knew what you were and that you lied to him – well, he’d end things for you. Hesitant, you consider revealing that truth but can’t seem to form words. It would devastate you, seeing fear replace love in his eyes.

“Work isn’t the problem,” you say at last. “It’s us, Jungkook. Or – it’s me. I don’t want to be together anymore.”

Disbelief flashes across his expression, and you idly wonder what will happen if Jungkook refuses. Even as you think this though, his expression shifts. Jungkook takes a careful step backwards, dropping your hands entirely.

He’s never been good at hiding emotion. Jungkook is your opposite in that way, revealing every shift of thought and desire. You watch confusion become anger, then bitterness a moment before he turns away. The set of his shoulders is still, staring out the window as yet another train passes.

Restless, he turns to drag a hand through his hair. “I don’t believe you,” he declares. “This is so out of nowhere, Y/N. What aren’t you telling me?”

“I’m telling you everything,” you say, panic rising. “And this isn’t out of nowhere! I’ve been telling you for months I need to take things slow and this – well, this is the opposite of slow, Jungkook!”

Jungkook stares back at you, heated. “Yeah, I guess so.”

The two of you stand there for a moment, the tension thick in between you. Eventually, you look away first and pull your bag tighter.

“Right,” you exhale. “Well, I should go –”

Striding forward, Jungkook reaches you to cup your face with both palms. Gently, he lifts your face towards him, and all thoughts cease completely. Gaze searching, his breath fans across your parted lips.

Jungkook’s gaze intensifies. “I don’t believe you,” he murmurs.

Adrenaline zips under your skin, stirring your magic into a deadly storm. Entire body tense, you suppress the urge to fight or flee. So often, you’re the one running but right now, you feel more compelled to fight.

A knife in you twists, knowing you’re a coward. If you were stronger, you could keep Jungkook. No matter how understanding he is, the fact remains that if he stays with you, Jungkook remains in danger. Each passing day only worsens the pain.

His face blurs. With a start of surprise, you realize there are tears on your cheeks. The furrow between Jungkook’s brows deepens, noticing as well.

“You’re not listening,” you blurt. “I can’t see you any longer, Jungkook. It’s in your best interest, I promise – I can’t do this. It’s too much.”

Reaching up, you remove his hands from your face and head for the door.

Jungkook follows close behind. “Which is it, then?” he demands. “You want me to go slowly, or you feel too much?”

Pressure weighs every inch of your skin, demanding you answer. Anything that comes out now will only make things harder. Reaching the door, you feel Jungkook’s hand on your shoulder. Caving, you don’t fight when Jungkook turns you to face him.

He’s too close to you. Too much and too close, his one hand sliding to cup the back of your neck. Slowly, his thumb strokes the elongated line of your throat. You swallow, hard, and his gaze follows the motion.

Jungkook’s gaze flicks to yours. “You keep saying you’re no good for me,” he says, his voice low. “But what if I don’t care? Don’t I get a say in this decision?”

The force of holding in your magic worsens, becoming near impossible. Hastily built walls threaten to collapse, and reality blurs between one moment and the next.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt, your hand searching behind you. “I have to go.”

Finding the doorknob, you twist and stumble backwards. Jungkook watches you go, the look on his face physically painful as you turn around. Each second that follows is pure concentration, trying not to break before getting outside.

The ocean is only a few blocks from Jungkook’s apartment.

Reaching the harbor, rain pelts your face in a way that feels punishing. Magic makes your limbs tremble, escaping your body in wisps of fog and rain. The moment you arrive at the harbor, you shatter, collapsing forward to grip your knees with both hands.

Eyes pressed tightly shut, you hear the storm howl. Waves churn the harbor, sloshing over the sidewalk in an attempt to get closer. No tidal waves, you plead in an attempt at reason. No whirlpools, no water spouts.

Your magic listens in this regard, at least. By the time your eyes open, a curtain of rain mingles with tears on your cheeks. Staring out at the ocean, each inch of your body is numb.

Jungkook will never forgive you for this.

The thought banishes all the rest. You can’t say that you blame him. Slowly, you exhale as you lift your gaze. The chasm in your chest widens, becoming something unbreachable. This is all your fault. You wish there was some satisfaction in knowing this, but there isn’t.

Eventually, the rain dulls, and you push yourself upright. Your sneakers squish with every step, the silence all-encompassing as you ride on the subway. Entering the building, you remove your shoes and collapse on your bed, fully clothed. Thankfully, your roommate isn’t home, so you aren’t forced to explain the events of tonight. Seokjin would have wanted to discuss, and you aren’t sure you can without breaking down.

Burrowing your face into the pillows, you manage to cry yourself asleep. Rain doesn’t let up the entire night.

“Tell me again.” Taking a seat at the table, Seokjin spoons yogurt and berries into his mouth. “Why did you have to end things with your boyfriend?”

Cracking open one eye, you glare from where you sit, slumped forward. “You know why, Seokjin,” you grumble. “Not all of us can be air Elementals in perfect control of their magic.”

“You could be, though,” he says, pointing with his spoon. “If you put in like, five seconds of training and embraced your water powers instead of running away whenever things got bad.”

“I am not running.”

“No.” Seokjin lifts a brow. “You’re cowering, which is far less attractive.”

“I’m not cowering, either.” Scowling, you bury your head deeper into your arms. “I’m wallowing. Big difference.”

Scoffing, his spoon scrapes the bottom of the bowl. Pushing his chair back to stand, Seokjin heads for the sink and turns on the tap. The water itches a spot deep in your chest, almost taunting.

“I can’t be too hard on you, though,” Seokjin says as he cleans. “You did get fired and dumped in one day – that’s pretty rough.”

“Does it count as being dumped if I did the dumping?”

“I’ll allow it.” He opens the dishwasher. “But only because really, you didn’t want to break up with Jungkook. You’ve just convinced yourself the world is better off without you – something I highly disagree with, by the way, but can’t fault you for feeling. It’s too sad.”

“Thanks,” you mumble, and close your eyes.

Two days have gone by since your decision to end your relationship with Jungkook. It hasn’t been great, to put things mildly. On Monday, you barely left your room and rain poured from the sky. When you did enter the kitchen, the weather person on Channel 9 predicted local flooding.

Seokjin arrived from his business trip that night, took one look at your face and helped stop the storm. You sagged with relief, falling into a fitful round of sleep that only lasted three hours.

Seokjin is one of the few Elementals you know who embraces their power. Both his parents are air Elementals, and he was raised to take over their magical consulting business. Said business does well, leading Seokjin to own a gorgeous, three-bedroom apartment in the middle of the city. He got bored last winter, decided to post for a roommate and here you are. One of the few people in the city willing to room with an Elemental.

You don’t care what Seokjin does with his magic, although his laissez-faire attitude can occasionally be unnerving. You’ve lived your entire life with the assumption your existence is dangerous. All you need is a quick Google search to reinforce this fact. But then there’s Seokjin, living his life, seemingly none the worse for the wear.

He discovered your powers about a month into rooming together. Coming back from a trip, Seokjin opened the door to stare, slack-jawed, as plates washed themselves in the sink. Glancing up from your book at the table, you immediately sent two dishes crashing onto the floor.

Seokjin stared at this for a moment, then looked up. “You owe me new plates,” he declared and walked into his bedroom. After a moment, he popped his head out. “Hey – you think if we combined my wind and your water, we could create a waterspout but on land?”

“That’s… a tornado, Seokjin.”

“Right.” He slapped the doorframe once and disappeared. “Well, something to think about!”

Months later, Seokjin still doesn’t understand your avoidance of magic, but respects the decision enough to leave it alone. At least, until something like this happens and he’s again at a loss.

“Listen.”

Turning around, he shuts the dishwasher with his hip.

“Oh, no.” You grimace. “What now?”

Seokjin raises both hands. “Nothing, nothing. Far be it from me to comment on your mistakes. I’m sorry – did I say mistakes? I meant, ‘learned life experience.’ Through mistakes.”

“Was there a question in all that?”

“No question.” Loosely, he gestures. “Just wanted to say you can stay here, rent-free, until you figure this out. You know I’m only taking your money because you insist. I don’t need it. This place is already paid for.”

“Only because you frightened the seller so badly, they cut the price in half.”

“Listen.” Seokjin’s smile turns slightly sinister. “If they were willing to let their ingrained fear of Elementals influence their selling point, that’s on them. Not me.”

“Fair enough,” you sigh and sit back. “But seriously – thank you. This will give me some time to come up with a plan.”

Seokjin nods, tracing the rim of his coffee. Absently, he glances down the hall at the empty third bedroom. “You know…”

“No,” you say, automatic.

His right brow lifts. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“You were going to suggest I use this time off to work on my art.”

“Okay.” Seokjin shrugs. “Maybe you did know. But seriously, Y/N – why not?”

Weary, you exhale. “Because every time I try to paint, I get this… block. I can’t explain it. Watercolors used to be the one place I felt comfortable using my magic. Now… I don’t know. I can’t seem to use my magic anywhere. Even my art.”

Seokjin tilts his head, thoughtful. “How long has this been going on?”

“Don’t know – a few months?”

“Not long after you started dating Jungkook.”

Staring at Seokjin, you realize he’s right. That’s exactly around when you began dating Jungkook. The block happened not long after. Thinking about the early days of dating are painful though, and so you choose not to.

“I don’t want to talk about him,” you declare with a shake of your head. “Right now, what I need is a job. And to earn money. Preferably in that order.”

Seokjin’s lips twitch. “Let me know if the order changes. I know a guy.”

Before you can consider his offer too seriously, your phone rings on the table. Glancing down, your heart constricts at your mom’s name. It isn’t that you don’t want to talk. It’s that if you do, Jungkook’s name will come up, and you’ll be forced to explain why you two aren’t together. Right now, you’re managing to cope by avoiding the topic. You aren’t sure what will happen if you’re forced to confront it.

Not to mention the very real possibility your mom will be happy. She liked Jungkook, but she always worries whenever someone new enters your life.

Also glancing at your phone, Seokjin scowls. “Don’t answer it,” he says, walking past. “Whenever you talk to your mom, things get even worse.”

Seokjin’s not wrong. Your mom means well – really, she does – but talking to her tends to leave you exhausted. Still, you know from experience it’s better to answer now.

“I know,” you sigh and stand up. “But if I don’t pick up now, she’ll just keep calling. Hey,” you say, pressing answer. “One second, mom.”

Ignoring Seokjin’s sad shake of his head, you scoop up your coffee and head for your bedroom.

Closing the door to your room, you lean backwards. “Hi, mom,” you say, lifting your phone to your ear. “Sorry about that. I was eating breakfast. How are you?”

“Oh, you know,” your mom says, and you can practically hear her smile. “Same old, same old. The better question is, how are you? I saw on the weather there’s some flooding by you. Hope you’re alright!”

Grimacing, you move the phone to speaker. You should have known your mom would check in. Reading between the lines of her question, you can hear what she’s really asking. Your mom wants to know if you caused the flooding – an answer which is undeniably yes, but she doesn’t have to know that.

Setting down your half-empty mug, you flop face-first on your bed. Less information tends to be more with your mom. You’re debating what to say when she solves the problem for you.

“I know you haven’t had a slip in years,” she continues. “But if there’s another water Elemental in town, you should try to steer clear of them! Being around them could set you off – that’s what happened to Becky’s nephew, she said.”

Fighting an eye roll, you roll on your back. Becky Mayweather is your mom’s best friend in the entire world and one of your least favorite people. She’s the type to bake cookies, offer a shoulder to cry on – and then promptly turn and gossip to the neighbors about it. She fancies herself an Elemental expert because a few of her friends married them. Funnily enough, neither you nor your mom have met these friends in person.

“Oh?” you ask. “I never noticed.”

“It’s true! You know that I worry, Y/N. All alone in the city with another Elemental for a roommate…”

Annoyance spikes in your stomach. “His name is Seokjin, and I’m an Elemental too, mom. His mom could say the same thing about me.”

Seokjin’s mom could be saying that, but she wouldn’t because Seokjin’s mom and dad are both magic enthusiasts. The few times you met them, they were nothing but kind.

“Oh, Y/N.” Your mom sighs. “It’s not the same.”

“Why not?”

“Watch your tone,” she says. “I’m only telling the truth. You work hard on controlling your magic. Your roommate, on the other hand, uses his magic willy-nilly. In broad daylight! You two couldn’t be more different.”

Your mom isn’t wrong about that, although not for the reason she thinks. Seokjin does use his magic freely, but you’re the one at risk of hurting others – not him.

“Seokjin is a good guy,” you say tightly. “He’s letting me stay here, rent-free, while I search for another job.”

“Another job?” Her voice pitches. “What happened to the job at that restaurant?”

Cursing yourself for your own stupidity, you close your eyes. “Um… I was let go. Difference of opinions with management.”

“Oh. Well. That’s too bad, Y/N, I’m sorry. It’s probably for the best – you don’t want to be working for someone you don’t respect, right?”

Some of your anger lessens at her genuine sympathy. It’d be easy to paint your mom as the villain but truthfully, she comes from a good place. You know that she loves you; she just doesn’t want to lose you the same way she lost your dad.

Exhaling deeply, you reach to grab a pillow. “I’ve been trying to paint,” you say. “It hasn’t been going well.”

“No?”

You frown at the obvious joy in her voice.

“Yeah,” you admit.

“Well…” Your mom draws the word out. “We always knew art was a risky hobby, Y/N. Painting. With watercolors. Something could easily go wrong and put you in danger.”

“I know, mom.”

“Actually,” she adds, her excitement growing. “Maybe this is a sign. Y/N – what if this means your powers are weakening?”

Your entire body goes still. “What?”

“Yes!” she says, oblivious to the panic in your voice. “You always loved watercolors because they made sense to you, right? Because of your… well, magic. What if a block means your powers are growing weaker? I wonder if other Elementals ever lose touch with their magic. I’ll have to ask Becky.”

Irrational anger surges within, and you hear the faucet in your bathroom turn on. Hastily, you work to turn it back off.

“You don’t need to do that,” you blurt. “I’ll research it myself. Actually, I should get going – I wanted to apply for some jobs this morning.”

“Oh, yes – good call, honey. You go and apply. Let me know if you need help. Becky has connections with the local university. I’m sure someone could help you update your resume – or even apply, if that sounds interesting to you.”

“Thanks,” you say, although it absolutely does not. “That’s a nice offer.”

“Have a good day, honey – I love you!”

“Love you, too,” you say before hanging up.

Dropping the phone onto your bed, you hug your pillow tightly. It takes several long minutes to relax, wading your way through an anxious sea of thought. Although your mom means well, conversations with her tend to leave you feeling drained. Since you were young, it’s felt like your mom has an idea of the perfect child, and they aren’t you.

Eventually, you stand to bring your mug to the kitchen. Seokjin is busy making another pot of coffee, the delicious scent wafting overhead.

Passing him by, you eye this warily. “Isn’t that your third pot this morning?”

“And?” Seokjin reaches for his mug. “You’ve had three cups yourself.”

“Touché,” you sigh, collapsing on the couch.

Minutes later, Seokjin enters the living room and hands you a mug.

Staring into the drink, you say, “Thanks.”

Settling onto the sofa, Seokjin examines you over the rim of his coffee. You ignore him, taking a long sip of your drink. A summer breeze wafts through the window, and with a flick of his wrist, Seokjin sends it back out.

A stab of envy goes through you, although you know it’s irrational. Seokjin always makes magic look easy, but you’ve never found it to be so. Maybe when you were younger, before the crippling fear and anxiety had a chance to set in. The only time magic ever felt normal was when you painted and now, you can’t even do that.

Thinking about painting makes you think about Jungkook though, causing the dull thud in your chest to become a sledgehammer. You miss him. Miss the easy way Jungkook made you laugh. How he insisted on constantly touching some part of your body.

Cupping your mug of coffee, you take another sip and sink into the sadness.

“Far be it from me to dole out advice.” Seokjin interrupts your tiny pity party. “But I think you’re going about this the wrong way.”

Too exhausted to argue, you merely exhale. “What’s the right way, then?”

His head tilts. “I don’t know. But I find it weird your block appeared around the same time you started dating Jungkook. You’ve…” Seokjin hesitates, and you recognize his how-do-I-put-this-delicately face. “You’ve given up a lot over the years, Y/N. Maybe this time, you gave up more of yourself than you realized.”

Silently, you wonder whether he’s right. For too long, you’ve gone through the motions of life without really living. Too scared of letting people in, scaring them off, of being yourself. Perhaps giving up Jungkook will be the final straw. The thought doesn’t comfort you, and you have no response.

After a moment, Seokjin turns on the TV. The morning slips by, though you can’t help but think about his earlier comments – could you control your magic if you tried harder? The moment you think this, you instantly banish the thought. You’ve been attempting for months, and nothing has worked.

With this cheery thought, you allow yourself to sink further into melancholy. Only this time, the water rushing overheard isn’t your friend. You aren’t sure it ever was.

Wednesday morning, you leave the apartment in a haze. You thought that by today, things would be better but if anything, the situation seems to be worse.

Missing Jungkook is painful.

It hurts more than you thought, which might sound stupid, but that doesn’t make it any less true. When you and Elliot broke up, it was sad, but you knew it was for the best and that lessened some of the pain. Now though, each beat of your heart prevents the wound from closing. A tentative scab in one second, only to be torn open the next.

Jungkook always sent you good morning texts. Not because he was up before you, but because he went to bed so late, it was only an hour or two before you awoke. His words were the first thing you read in the morning, smiling sleepily at his rambling. Sometimes, Jungkook would include a late-night snack recipe. Always, he’d end with something he liked about you.

His silence is deafening. Something not even your favorite coffee shop can fix, although you try. Standing in line, you aimlessly flip through songs on your phone. Today, you promised Seokjin you’d attend at least two interviews. The first one is in an hour at a sushi restaurant. Before then, you plan to load up on caffeine and organize your thoughts.

When the line moves forward, you flip to your messages. No new texts. Unsurprising, but it rends the scab in your heart anew.

Facing forward, you remove an earbud to order. “Hi,” you say, mustering a smile. “I’ll have an iced americano with rose syrup.”

“Got it.” The barista barely looks up. “That all?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Want a receipt?”

“Nope.”

“Cool.” She nods. “That’ll be ready soon at the end of the counter.”

Nodding your thanks, you replace the ear pod. Cranking your music louder, you wait for your coffee and lean against the counter. The coffee shop is tiny, empty for a weekday after the morning rush. Aimless, you glance over the clustered tables.

Your thoughts are on Jungkook before they can be stopped. You wonder what he's doing, what he’s wearing, whether he’s blocked your number yet from his phone.

A talented graphic designer, Jungkook works mostly on commission and on his own time. He does well for himself – enough to afford rent on his own place. Your mutual creative streak was something you had in common. Not your sleeping hours, that’s for sure.

Jungkook usually slept until nine or ten, then went to the gym before he made breakfast. You used to tease him about that, saying he couldn’t call it breakfast if –

Your heart falters. Jungkook must be on your mind since you seem to have hallucinated him here, at the coffee shop. You blink once, and then twice, but the mirage doesn’t fade, and you’re forced to conclude Jungkook is actually here.

Unfolding himself from a chair, he heads in your direction. Panicked, you glance at the counter, then back up. Your coffee hasn’t finished, which means that you’re trapped. Straightening, you do your best to seem natural and are certain you fail. Jungkook doesn’t just look natural, he is so as he approaches. At least, until you notice his hands in his pockets.

Jungkook does this when he’s nervous. Likely, he’s playing with the inside pocket lining. It hurts, knowing him so well, and not being his. When Jungkook comes to a stop, you stand mere inches apart.

“Jungkook,” you say, his name punched from your diaphragm.

He nods. “Hey.”

Uncertain, you glance down at the counter to check for your drink. Still nothing and, looking back, you tilt your head. “What are you doing here?”

Jungkook’s hands go deeper, if possible. “Getting coffee. Is that allowed?”

Your lips press together. “Sure. Theoretically, you can get coffee. What I’m asking though, is why you chose this coffee shop, five blocks away from your place. Usually, you’re not awake before noon.”

His expression is inscrutable. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Ah.”

The silence between you lengthens, and not in a good way. You know why you’re quiet but can’t tell what Jungkook is thinking. You suppose that it’s possible he woke up early, forgot this was your favorite shop and went on a long walk for coffee – it’s possible, but unlikely.

At last, Jungkook exhales. “Alright, fine. I wanted to see you.”

“Y/N?”

Both of you turn at the sound of your name. Glancing between the two of you, the barista seems to pick up a weird vibe, dropping the cup to hurry away. Grateful for the interruption, you reach for your coffee and attempt to reset.

It’s not fair of Jungkook, corning you like this. You were already forced to end this once – unfair, making you do so again. Breaking up with him once was barely possible; twice is unthinkable.

“Don’t you have anything else to say?”

His voice interrupts your train of thought and, gripping your drink tightly, you turn.

“Like what?” you ask.

“Like, I don’t know.” His brow furrows, frustration obvious. “Anything, Y/N.”

Behind the counter, the barista fills a tea kettle to set this on the stove. You watch it instead of Jungkook, unsure how you’re going to do this again. The pressure of the water boiling is near tangible, mimicking the internal state of your mind.

Biting your tongue, you decide a safe exit is best. Jungkook will get the hint without you being forced to break his heart. Counting backwards from ten, you exhale and attempt to walk past.

“I’m sorry you came all this way,” you say in a murmur.

You’re nearly past Jungkook when you hear a soft swear. Only one more step happens before his hand grips your elbow.

“Y/N, please,” Jungkook breathes, turning you towards him.

Your gaze lifts and you start at his obvious pain. Staring back, Jungkook searches your face for something unspoken. Whatever he seeks, he must find it, since determination enters his.

You tear your gaze away. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Jungkook.”

“I want to know if you were serious about breaking up.”

He’s still holding your elbow.

You must notice this at the same time, but neither of you move. Your gaze returns to his, drawn like a magnet and you realize your mistake when you can’t look away. Romeo’s line about Julie being the sun comes to mind, making sudden sense. You orbit around Jungkook, whether you like it or not.

In the background, a tea kettle whistles. “I meant what I said, Jungkook,” you say, forcing yourself to speak first. “I’m not good for you.”

A muscle in his jaw feathers. “But why,” he demands, frustration seeping through. You can hear in his voice the long nights of desperation, of little sleep in your absence. “I don’t understand what went wrong, Y/N. What did I do?”

A chasm in your chest opens, hating how easily he jumps to self-doubt. Before you can think better of it, you move closer.

“Nothing,” you say, one hand on his arm. “You did nothing wrong, Jungkook. I’m just not in a place where I can be in a relationship.”

“But why not?” His gaze sharpens. “Everything was fine between us until Sunday.”

“Everything was not fine.”

Jungkook pauses, then barrels on. “When you say you can’t be in a relationship… what you’re really saying is you can’t be in a relationship with me.”

“With anyone,” you correct, although you aren’t sure that’s the truth.

Your magic has never been this temperamental. Possibly because this is the first time you’ve fallen in love. Dating someone not Jungkook would be safer, but the thought is abhorrent.

If you can’t have Jungkook, you don’t want anyone. That will be your punishment. Jungkook will move on, fall in love, and be happy with another person. Not you. No one else will compare, and if you can’t now, you doubt you’ll move past this crippling fear.

“You keep telling me that,” Jungkook says, growing heated. “But I’m the one you’re breaking up with, so it’s a little bit about me. You need to give me something, Y/N. Is this about your past? I know you don’t like to talk about your childhood, but I want to know.”

A loud buzzing fills your ears, gaze darting around. You haven’t told Jungkook much about your family, not wanting to invite questions about being an Elemental. The thought of him guessing sparks panic again, and the tea kettle on the stove whistles louder.

“People in my past hurt me,” you say in a rush. Magic itches beneath your skin, begging for escape. “That’s part of it, but not all.”

“What’s all, then?”

Frustration seeps past the wall, and several things happen. Your magic lashes out, a loud noise makes you jump, and the tea kettle shatters while hitting the floor. Water sloshes across the tile, steam hissing as the barista jumps back with a yelp.

Startled, you whirl around. One barista turns off the stove, another grabs a towel while a third finds a broom. Luckily, none of them seem injured – the tea kettle missed their skin. Taking a half-step towards them, you force yourself to stop. Although you want to help, that might make you seem guilty.

Already, the guilt within you is rising. You felt your magic overpowering you and chose to stay. If a barista had been hurt, it would’ve been your fault.

Turning back, you find Jungkook staring at the mess. He looks similarly shocked, twisting the knife in your gut. If he knew you caused this, he’d look at you that differently.

“You see?” you blurt, and he glances in your direction. “Everyone around me gets hurt. I can’t hurt you, too, Jungkook.”

Shoving open the door, you’re halfway outside when his words reach your ears.

“That’s the thing, Y/N,” he says softly. “You already have.”

The door shuts behind you, and you almost make it home before starting to cry. The skies open again above the city.

“This can’t be a coincidence,” you mutter, staring through the window.

The slightly dilapidated Ramen-rama tables stare back at you until the owner walks past. Catching you standing there, he motions you on.

Somewhat chagrined, you trudge down the sidewalk. Reaching a playground two blocks away, you collapse on a bench and attempt to be rational. Four different interviews. Spread across two different days. Each one ending the exact same.

One crappy interview, even two, and you’d understand. But four crappy interviews in the same way? Something weird is happening. Each interview, you arrived, greeted the owner, answered a few questions, and were thus informed the position was filled.

It wasn’t that you hadn’t gotten a job. It was that your interviewers seemed nervous, staring hard at your resume and never your face. They seemed relieved when you left, as though you were liable to break something for fun.

“Hey. Did you interview this morning at Ramen-rama?”

Startled, you turn and find a stranger beside you.

You don’t recognize him; certainly you’d remember if you met before. Dressed in a Ramen-rama t-shirt, his dark hair is gathered in a bun on his head. His hair makes your chest ache, since Jungkook used to wear his like that.

“Um, yeah,” you say, yanking yourself from your daydreams.

He smiles and nods. “I thought that was you. Listen – I overheard the manager talking this morning on the phone while I was unloading the truck. I think he was talking about you, so I thought I should tell you what I overheard.”

Concerned, you straighten. “Uh, okay. What was he saying?”

“He was talking to your old boss – Pierre? Apparently, he’s calling around and warning people not to hire you. Said that you stole from him, or something. Not sure if it’s the same story for everyone, or if he’s making up shit up in the moment.”

Your jaw nearly drops. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah.” The guy’s smile turns wry. “I’m assuming none of it’s true. You don’t look like the thieving type, but the boss is running a business, I guess. Can’t be too careful.”

“Right.” You pause, then shake your head. “I didn’t steal, just so you know. A guest was an ass to me, so I dumped water on him – on accident,” you add.

Laughing loudly, the guy clutches his bicycle. “Wow, I’d love to hear that story. Especially the part about it being an accident,” he adds with a wink, sticking out his hand. “I’m Wooyoung.”

“Y/N,” you say as you shake. “So. Pierre is calling people?”

Brow furrowed, Wooyoung pulls back. “Yeah. Sorry I had to tell you like this. Wasn’t sure whether you’d want to know, but figured I should.”

You push yourself to stand. “I do appreciate it. Thanks for telling me.”

“No problem.” Sheepish, he glances down the road. “I should actually get back if I don’t want to lose my job. Delivery,” he explains, nodding towards his bike. “Need the extra income.”

“Makes sense,” you say, forcing a smile. “Good luck.”

Wooyoung nods, then pauses in a way that feels familiar. He’s checking you out, you realize after a moment. Although flattering, it’s instantly followed by a rush of guilt. Wooyoung is cute and in another life, you’d say yes, but in every life, it’s hard not to want Jungkook.

Waving goodbye, Wooyoung climbs onto his bike and takes off. You head in the opposite direction, needing to put distance between you and Ramen-rama. If Pierre is shit-talking you across town, you’ll be hard-pressed to find another job at a restaurant. Owners are notoriously clicky and for how many restaurants there are, there are surprisingly few out of the loop.

Maybe you can ask the coffee shop if they’re hiring. Although you should probably avoid work with water for a bit. This drops your mood, your thoughts turning desperate. You’re so deep in an anxiety spiral, you nearly run into an open door on the sidewalk.

Jerking upright, you stare at faded, golden letters. Creative Courage is spelled in looping cursive over a frosted window. Art supplies fill a display case, while the other is clustered with art of all kinds. You spot sculpture, pottery, painting, and sketches before losing count.

Before you can chicken out, you push open the door.

Stepping in, tiny bells chime to announce your arrival. Soft, ambient light fills the space – a shop that’s two-fold, you realize now that you’re inside. The front sells art supplies while in the back stands a classroom. There’s a class in session now, several artists seated on stools before easels.

“Can I help you?” someone asks, stepping into your path.

Blinking, you focus. “Um, no – thank you! I was just looking.”

“Of course!” The woman beams, reaching up to arrange a clip in magenta hair. “That’s what we’re here for. If you do change your mind, let me know – we’ve got art supplies out front, and classes are held daily in back.”

“Classes?”

“Mhm.” Crossing her arms, the woman nods. “Mostly still life and figure drawing, but we’re hoping to add some more soon. Are you an artist?” she asks, sounding hopeful.

Immediately, you stiffen. “No. At least, not right now.”

Her lips twitch. “Not sure it works like that, unfortunately. Who you are can’t come on and off like a jacket. I like that, though,” she admits with a laugh. “Might borrow it the next time the muses aren’t singing.”

You can’t help but grin. “Exactly.”

Her head tilts, surveying you with unnerving intensity. “My name is Taryn. I co-own this place with my partner, Micah. They’re the one teaching right now.”

“Oh,” you say, somewhat wistful. “That’s nice.”

“Thanks.” Her smile widens. “So, what was your preferred medium? You know, ‘back when’ you were an artist.”

You can’t help but laugh when Taryn lifts her hands to use air quotes. Some people have a way of making you feel included in their jokes, and Taryn is one of them. She teases you in a conspiratorial way, letting you know she understands. People often call art a labor of love, which can be true but more often, it’s a complicated tangle of love, pain and frustration.

“Watercolors,” you admit. “And my name is Y/N.”

Her eyes brighten. “We’ve been meaning to add a watercolor class for ages. Some of our regulars have asked, but Micah and I are both hopeless. Potter,” she explains, gesturing at herself. “And Micah prefers charcoal. Sometimes sculpture.”

“Wow,” you say. “Those are very different.”

“You don’t say.” Taryn laughs. “Micah likes to keep things fresh. What about you? Have you ever taught be– hang on,” she blurts, her eyes going wide. “Did you say that your name is Y/N? As in Y/N Y/L/N?”

Your cheeks heat. “Yeah, that’s me.”

Whirling, Taryn hustles through the front room to duck behind a counter. Digging through several drawers, she pulls out a print to hurry back.

“Is this you?” she demands, thrusting this in your face.

Even cross-eyed and close, you recognize your most popular work. A watercolor series on the majesty and destruction of sea storms. Looking at this makes you feel raw, and so you look up.

“Yep,” you admit. “That’s me.”

Pulling back, Taryn looks at the print reverently. “You’re amazing. Micah was trying to do something similar but couldn’t capture the right feeling.”

Shuffling awkwardly, you shrug. You’ve never felt as though your work deserved acclaim, although it’s nice to know the series resonated with others. One of your favorite aspects of art is how it can be intensely personal but once shared, takes on a universal quality. You find it constantly surprising; how many people seem to share the same burdens.

“Seriously.” Taryn shakes her head wryly. “If you ever wanted to teach a class, let me know. We’d be lucky to have you here.”

“Thank you,” you say, stuffing both hands in your pockets.

You hadn’t realized your desperation was obvious. Or possibly Taryn is just incredibly good at reading others. Truthfully, it’s been a while since you stepped foot in the art world. Even before dating Jungkook, you felt your passion lagging. It’s been a long time since you wanted to connect with your inner voice, although merely the act of being here calls the tide in your blood.

Dangerous.

Recognizing this, you reinforce an inner wall. “I’m sorry,” you repeat. “I’m not really looking for something right now.”

Taryn nods. “Sure. If things change though, just let me know – before next week,” she adds. “We try to publish our class schedule on the first of each month.”

“Will do. Thanks, again.”

“Anytime!” Beaming, Taryn spins to restock the next shelf.

Realizing your conversation is finished, you continue down the next aisle. The shop’s materials are superb, and your fingers are itching to reach out and touch. Reaching the front, you notice a quote painted over the register: Creativity takes courage – Henry Matisse.

You stare at this for a while, unsure why it hurts. Courage isn’t something you’ve thought about in a long time. When you were younger, you pushed people away because it was safe, but now you find yourself wondering who was that for – others? Or yourself?

Maybe the reason you keep yourself separate is because you are afraid people might leave you. Like Katrina. Or Elliot. Or even your dad.

Suppressing magic was hard at the start. Everything about it felt counter-intuitive but you reasoned doing the right thing often took effort. This is what you told yourself, anyways. It made said effort more bearable.

When you first began painting, the relief you felt was immense. After so long spent ignoring your emotions, you found a space to be free. Your series about the sea was oddly therapeutic, working through complicated emotions; your love for the ocean, coupled with fear of its wild beauty. Similar clashes within yourself about magic. And always, always, the desire for more.

For a few hours though, those feelings could be a part of you. Magic could be a part of you, so long as you remained in control – and with brush in hand, you were.

Only now does it occur to you that maybe, this wasn’t healthy. Maybe you shouldn’t feel the need to compartmentalize, as though certain pieces of yourself can only exist in certain spaces.

Tearing your gaze from the words, you exit the shop and gently shut the door. Pulling your jacket tighter, you head down the sidewalk and let your thoughts drift. Jungkook only saw you paint once, but the memory is hard to forget.

You had just started dating, barely past the stage of calling him ‘boyfriend.’ The constant influx of emotion was difficult to manage, and after a few weeks, you were exhausted. Most of your time spent without Jungkook was seated before your canvas. After one particularly frustrating session, you set down your paint to stubbornly stare at the canvas.

A throat cleared from behind.

Startled, you spun and found Jungkook standing there. His gaze moved quickly to yours, but you realized he’d been staring at your half-finished work. Normally, you felt panic at the thought of someone seeing a work in progress. That night though, the look on Jungkook’s face eased your concerns. Awe; pure and clear.

Yanking down giant, over-ear headphones, you hastily stood.

Jungkook lurched forward. “No!” he blurted, only to halt. “I mean – you don’t have to cover the painting. I liked it.”

He seemed flustered, which made you slightly flustered, but you took a slow step sideways. Eager, Jungkook’s gaze traversed the canvas.

Eventually, he looked back. “Sorry about that,” Jungkook said and walked closer. Warm hands found your waist. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“How did you get in?” you laughed, burying your face in his chest.

“Seokjin.” He paused. “Did he not say I was here? I texted you a half hour ago, but you didn’t respond. I figured I’d stop by, and Seokjin said to come up.”

Softening, you made a mental note to chastise Seokjin later. Tightening your arms, you lifted your head and smiled.

“So.” Jungkook glanced over your shoulder. “This is you.”

This sent a thrill down your spine. He spoke as though he’d known you before, but only on a surface level and now, he understood. Jungkook knew your art was part of you, as much as your heart or your soul. You had often felt the same, but never said so out loud.

Magic swelled, and you pushed it back down, but it was difficult. When Jungkook bent his head, you forgot to be scared and let yourself feel. The brush of his lips. The tightening of his hands. The current within you, swelling against your highest walls.

Loudly, someone knocked on the door. Breathless, you jerked backwards and found Seokjin in the door.

“Hey.” He jerked a thumb over one shoulder. “Wanted to let you know our dishwasher broke. Flooded the kitchen.” Pointed, Seokjin looked at you. “Everything is all good, but I’m calling a plumber tomorrow. Carry on.”

In a flurry of embarrassment, you abruptly ended the evening and sent Jungkook home.

Remembering how the night ended, you stifle a groan and walk faster. Once more, you couldn’t control your magic and put Jungkook in danger. Hardly the creative courage Henry Matisse imagined.

You always assumed suppressing your magic was the best choice. But the best choice for who? Certainly not for you, who lives isolated, inert and in fear of yourself. Your dad used to call your magic a gift, but it’s been a long time since you felt that way.

This memory brings with it a sharp stab of pain. Since your dad passed, fear has replaced any joy your magic brought. Fear of falling victim to the same fate he did. Of others’ rejection. Of failing to live up to your father’s example.

You have little doubt that if your dad could see you now, he’d be confused by your actions.

You push others away in the name of saving them. Again, you think of Jungkook and for once you allow it. The entire way home, you wish that he’d call.

He doesn’t though and eventually, you stop hoping.

By Friday, the threads keeping your feelings at bay are nearly worn through. Intrusive thoughts push against fragile bonds, threatening the haven you’ve carefully crafted.

With more force than needed, you toss clothing into the washer. Your usual laundromat was closed, forcing you to walk five blocks to the next one. Sweaty from suddenly sweltering temperatures, your arms sore from the hamper, the situation does nothing to improve an already crappy mood.

Wiping your forehead with one arm, you slam the door and press start. The machine whirs to life, laundry tumbling in a way reminiscent of your inner turmoil. Up, you did the right thing by ending it with Jungkook. He’ll swiftly move on and find someone else. Down – but you don’t want him to find someone else. You want him to find you.

Teeth gritted, you turn and grab your hamper from the floor. Placing this on the washer, you wearily tug your cell phone from your pocket. By the time you walked home, you’d have to come back, leaving you with forty minutes to kill. You could read more of the book you just started. Or submit your resume to a couple of restaurants.

After yesterday’s disaster at Ramen-rama though, the interview process has stalled. Instead, you’ve found yourself thinking more about Creative Courage. For a brief moment, you even walked into the third bedroom to paint.

You immediately walked back out again, but merely the act was more than you’ve done in months. The thought of creation brought mostly panic, since it’d involve you being honest. Something you haven’t been with yourself in a while.

Because if you were honest, you know what you’d find. You would regret breaking up with Jungkook. Maybe even find that, deep down, you want to be selfish. You want to keep dating him, even if Jungkook gets hurt in the end.

After all, you saw what loving an Elemental did to your mom.

Putting down your phone, you scan the laundromat and find your gaze catching on the person in the next aisle.

No. No, no, no – absolutely not.

The universe – or whoever’s writing your story – must be cruel and unusual, since standing beside you is Jungkook. You’d recognize his head anywhere. Straightening from his hamper, Jungkook turns to face you and goes still.

Eyes wide, he seems stunned until someone slams shut their dryer. Both of you jump, breaking eye contact and time seems to reset. Pressing start on his machine, Jungkook grabs his gym bag and hoists it over one shoulder. He strides towards the exit, halfway there when you spring into action.

Dashing towards him, you cut him off at the dryers. Footsteps slowing, Jungkook meets your gaze with visible confusion.

“Sorry,” he says, tugging his gym bag behind him. The thick, grey strap of it cuts across his hoodie. “I was just leaving. I can come back later if you want to finish your load.”

Again, he tries to move past you, but something inside of you snaps. You aren’t sure what possesses you, but somehow, find your hand gripping his sleeve.

Startled, Jungkook stares.

Equally swift, you withdraw. “I, uh…”

Head spinning, all your words seem to fly out the window. Nothing about this was planned. You have no idea what to tell Jungkook besides I’m sorry, and even this would be woefully inadequate without explanation. Which you can’t give.

“You don’t have to leave on my account,” you say at last.

A singular brow lifts. “No? You didn’t seem to think that way on Wednesday.”

You suppress a wince, although you try your best to hide it. “I know,” you admit. “It’s just… this is your usual laundromat. I don’t want you to leave because of me. I wouldn’t even be here, expect the one near me is broken and –”

“Got it,” he interrupts, the words tight. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have to be.”

Swallowing hard, you stare down at your shoes. You know you deserve this, but it’s just so hard to see Jungkook hurting. He deserves to be happy, not wasting his energy on hating you.

“Okay,” you whisper.

Your eyes start to burn, and you squeeze them shut to prevent a reaction. You absolutely cannot cry in front of Jungkook. Not when you’re the one who started this; the very last thing you want him to feel for you is pity.

“Hey.” Something in his tone shifts, and you hear Jungkook step closer. When you open your eyes, he watches you intently. “What’s wrong?”

A tiny fissure within your chest splinters.

Anyone else could have asked those words, and you would have been able to answer. For Jungkook to do so is unthinkable. You’re the one who ruined this. The one who hurt him, who ended this and still, Jungkook is concerned about your well-being.

“I was fired on Sunday,” you say in a rush. “Before I came to see you.”

He blinks only once before his face hardens. “Before you broke up with me, you mean.”

“Yeah,” you whisper.

Running his tongue over the back of his teeth, Jungkook glances away. His expression is taut, and you feel a sharp pang of envy. It’s so easy to read Jungkook. You’ve spent so long hiding your emotions, it strikes you as luxurious how easily he feels.

A muscle in his jaw tics. “Y/N,” Jungkook says, turning back. “What are you doing?”

“What… do you mean?”

Fear spikes your heart, wondering if Jungkook has finally pieced the facts together. Maybe he saw more than you realized at the coffee shop. Maybe he finally knows what you are.

“Why are you… torturing me?” he clarifies, a slight rasp to his voice. “I don’t know what you want me to say. You were fired? That sucks, but it doesn’t make this okay. It doesn’t make us okay,” he adds, gesturing to the air between you.

“I – I know,” you stammer, nearly blurting out something you’ll regret.

Like that you’re an Elemental teetering close to the edge. One who can feel every pipe, every spin cycle within the walls of this laundromat. All of them churning, pulsing, begging for your magic to release the water inside.

“You know?” Jungkook stares at you, incredulous. “Again, Y/N – what do you want from me?”

Since you started talking, you’ve moved several steps closer. Another breath, another reach and you’d be in his arms. Glancing down, you notice how quickly Jungkook’s chest rises and falls.

He’s afraid, you realize. Jungkook’s fear isn’t the same one as yours, though. He isn’t afraid that you’ll see him, but rather that you’ll destroy him.

Realizing this, a barrier within you crumbles. “It doesn’t matter what I want,” you say, somewhat desperate.

“You keep saying that.” Determined, he steps closer and somehow, your hand entwines with his to press against his chest. “You keep saying you don’t want this, but you won’t tell me why. Won’t tell me anything, Y/N – you were fired, and this is the first time I’m hearing it.”

“I couldn’t tell you!” you blurt. “I can’t explain it, Jungkook, but I couldn’t tell you when it happened.”

His gaze sharpens. “Then, yeah, maybe you’re right. Maybe we are better off broken up.”

Releasing you, Jungkook brushes past you and heads for the exit. You stare blankly at the wall before you, your whole world caving in as your head starts to spin. Magic seeps beyond your fractured walls, flooding your veins in desperate search for an exit.

“That’s not true,” you protest, spinning around. “I’ve told you more than anyone else in my life, Jungkook. I’ve let you in in ways no one else has.”

Jungkook stiffens at the door, his entire body taut. For a single, long moment, it seems as though he might reconsider but the longer you stand there, the more you watch the fight drain from the lines of his shoulders.

“I don’t doubt that’s true,” he says, hand hovering above the doorknob. “But that’s not the same as letting me in.”

He starts to go.

Everything around you becomes white noise.

When you were ten, you passed a famous dam on one of your cross-country moves. Your mom took you to see it, swinging your hand while entering the viewing platform.

The moment you saw it, you went wholly still. Trillions of gallons of water, trapped behind concrete, constantly pushing but unable to break. It felt like your magic. Raw, untamed power contained by a solid wall. You stared for longer than any other visitor, until your mom pulled your arm and said you should leave.

The entire way to the car, your mom was silent and once you were buckled in, she twisted around to see you. “Listen to me, Y/N,” she said, her voice serious. “That dam will only work if the wall holds. If the wall breaks, do you know what happens?”

Silent, you shook your head.

“The water will flood the whole valley. Everyone in its path, all the forest – they’d be gone. The wall can’t break, or bad things happen. Do you understand me?”

Solemn, you nodded because even then, you understood. Although your magical dam was intangible, it held equal importance. You had to hold in the magic, otherwise bad things would happen. So long as the wall was in place, you were safe.

Now though, you squeeze your eyes tightly as the wall starts to crumble.

Emotions break with the force of a tidal wave, racing ahead and drowning all in its path. Memories you thought were long buried continue to rise, crushing you further. Your walls are destroyed in a matter of seconds.

You remember your dad, kissing you on the head before leaving the house. Katrina’s stricken expression when the door shut in her face. Jungkook, asking you what he’d done wrong again.

Each memory drags you under, and you shudder against the onslaught. It takes everything you have to remain standing while your restraint dissolves.

Hands grip your arms.

Surprised, your eyes fly open to find Jungkook before you. His neck muscles strain, yelling to be heard over thundering water. You try your best to focus, to rein your magic back in – only to realize with horror, it might be too late.

The laundromat around you is in chaos. Several ceiling pipes have burst, water crashing down in torrents of water. Already, waves lap at your ankles. Noise filters back in, flickering before solidifying to something substantial.

People are screaming, abandoning their hampers in an attempt to get out. The door has stuck though, unable to open under the onslaught of water. Jungkook yells again, and this time you hear him.

“Are you okay?” he bellows, close to your face.

You stare upward, stupefied. Another pipe bursts, and you think that was you, but it’s hard to be sure. Hard to understand which parts are in control and which parts are not. What particular emotion is holding the reins at any moment.

Determination replaces fear in his face, and Jungkook bends before you have time to blink. In an instant, you’re tossed over his shoulder. A yelp escapes, upside-down but he’s already wading through the aisle of washers.

Jungkook shouts at people to move, but no one is listening. After a moment, you feel him exhale and surge forward. Although you can’t see, the people seem to be moving, so Jungkook must appear confident.

Grasping the door, he pulls on it, hard. Nothing happens. Exhaling, Jungkook grips your waist tighter and mutters, “Hold on.”

You don’t have time to ask why, since he yanks harder and the entire frame shudders. Jungkook does this again and another pipe bursts, drawing your gaze. By the time you look back, the door has budged an inch and water is pouring out. With a final wrench, Jungkook yanks open the door.

People shove past him, rushing into the street with the tide of water. Spinning around, Jungkook shields you with his frame from the wet crush of bodies. His grip never wavers, feet anchored to the ground as though they’ve rocks themselves.

With each breath, your pulse slows until finally, you locate the faint threads of magic. Before, you felt too much at once. The crush was overwhelming but now, you manage to breach the surface. For the first time, you see your panic influencing the tide.

Realizing this, you reach inward and try to – turn. With great effort, you identify the source of your power and disconnect. Water in the ceiling slows to a trickle, and then, nothing.

Exhaling against your neck, Jungkook’s hand moves lower.

You can’t help but shiver. “Jungkook?” you murmur into his shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“Could you… you know, set me down?”

“Oh.”

Somewhat sheepish, Jungkook lowers you to face him. He doesn’t step away, and neither do you. If this is the last time you see him, you want to be selfish and make it as long as possible.

He stares back at you, waterdrops caught between his lashes. In the background, water continues to drip from a pipe. The soft plink-plink echoes the thud of your heart.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

Jungkook’s hands remain on your waist, his touch scrambling all semblance of sanity. You aren’t sure how to answer without being honest.

Truthfully, you’re not okay.

An okay person wouldn’t break up with their boyfriend and then, six days later throw themselves in their path. An okay person wouldn’t be hiding their magic, they wouldn’t be lying to the person they love and most of all, wouldn’t continue to place that same person in danger.

Silent, you survey the aftermath of your outburst. Deep down, your magic itches in response to your panic. Seeping outward, it seeks to mold to the fear, but you manage to stop it. Something about the wall being gone makes your power less alien. No longer an unknown variable, but a constant.

“No,” you exhale. Steeling yourself, you take a step backwards. “No, Jungkook, I’m not okay. I… this is exactly why you should stay away from me. Bad things happen, and I can’t control them. I’m so sorry.”

Again, you brace yourself for his anger, but it never comes. Jungkook is unusually quiet, head cocked to one side. He sees right through you, a sensation unnerving enough that you drop your gaze.

“I should go,” you repeat, stepping around him. Reaching your washer, you hastily unload your soggy clothing. “I have to go.”

Jungkook says nothing, although you feel his gaze on the back of your head. Hefting your hamper, you slam the door shut, and turn. The water level at your ankles has dropped, no more than a centimeter remaining in the room.

Sirens wail in the distance, likely on their way to investigate. Your stomach lurches, recognizing the cost of your magic. As soon as possible, you should reach out to Seokjin. His company might be able to cover the damage if the laundromat can’t.

Nearing the exit, you look anywhere but at Jungkook’s face. “I’m sorry,” you repeat, unsure what else to say. “Really, I am.”

Again, he lets you move past. Water rushes out when you open the door, seeking the street, then the gutter. Hurrying past, you can’t shake the feeling something has changed.

Not only with you and Jungkook, but with you and your magic. Silent, you prod the place deep within from which your magic stems. You’re used to a wall, feeling closed off but now, it seems your mom was right.

Once shattered, the dam can’t be rebuilt.

A weightlessness accompanies this that you didn’t anticipate. Despite the terror of your outburst, there was a moment near the end when you stopped it. When you felt what was wrong and controlled your outburst of magic. You haven’t done that before.

The thought is followed by regret, remembering Jungkook. When you broke up, it was supposed to save him. Instead, you’ve only put him – and yourself – in greater danger. Maybe because you’ve continued to see him. Everything would be fine if you moved or kept your distance.

But then, another part of you wonders if you were wrong from the start. Maybe instead of providing distance, you should have come closer. Should have allowed Jungkook to decide whether he wanted to stay. After all, today, he experienced the worst of your powers, and he didn’t run. If anything, he moved closer.

Suddenly exhausted, you hail a cab. The driver grumbles at your wet clothes but allows you inside, and you tip him extra upon reaching your place. What you should do is find another laundromat and finish your load, but there’s an itch in your fingers you haven’t felt in some time.

Dropping your hamper at the door, you shutter yourself within the third bedroom. Not allowing yourself to second-guess, you sit down at your easel and pick up a brush.

For the first time in a long time, you allow the magic to flow. You paint.

 © kpopfanfictrash, 2023. Do not copy or repost without permission.

Author’s Note: thank you for reading so far! To be continued in Part II, here.

[One-shot]

Nine to five, Five to Nine — Jeon Jungkook

⇢ pairing: side chick dancer female reader x boxer jungkook  ⇢ word count: 3.4k ⇢ warnings: infidelity, emotional and physical cheating, reader has been obsessed with jungkook for years, manipulation, lying, smoking, mentions of alcohol use, nipple play, bites, praise, oral s*x (female receiving), clit biting ⇢ thvlouvre's note: please, this is just fiction, don't get in between people's relationships; let's just enjoy boxer jk and sorry for the inspirational storm this week, I went crazy writing; also sorry but my toxic side came out for a walk with this. ALSO, this is the second time I post this, I wasn't sure if the smut was good that's why it ended up so abruptly, please enjoy 😊 ⇢ song: pretty obvious but fantasize by ari, yeah bye. 

 jk 🖤: are u up? 😈

The message Jungkook sent was simple and even a little too direct, but between the two, you didn't need that corny shit of heart emojis and good night messages. He could be straight forward with you and you wouldn't mind, you were up for whatever he wanted to do. 

you:  kind of, i was getting ready to go to sleep 🤡

You were lying, trying to make it look like you weren't  waiting for his messages, for his call, for him to show up randomly at your apartment at 3 am, crawling desperately for your touches and your warmth, because every single time he had said it was the last time he would always, always came back to you.  

jk 🖤: on my way, baby, leave the door open 

you: you know I have a roomie, don't you? 🙄 

jk 🖤: she's not in your apartment, I sent her away with heather 😉

Heather, such a sweet name that caused you so much bitterness. Heather was Jungkook's girlfriend, they've been together ever since their college years, they were the unbreakable couple, the ones everyone would bet they'll end up marrying and having three kids. 

She was the most popular and kind girl in your year, it was something you could sense a mile away. The good girl falling in love with the jobless boxer and making him literally obsessed, the cliché romance of the dark boy with issues and the family's princess.

You saw him while in the front row at the time, when he still was an underground boxer and art student looking for an opportunity to drop school and become a professional. He was everything you’d ever wanted: handsome, tall, strong and goal-oriented , and from the same background as you.

You became a certified fan, never missing one of his matches. Following him on his social media, keeping updated with his achievements, and knowing whenever he would show up at parties. You always hated that whenever he showed up, he brought her. Reminding you he wasn't yours. Reminding you that you would never be her. 

But that didn't mean you could never be his.

you: 

why would you send my friend and your girlfriend away on a saturday? 

jk 🖤: i have better plans, i'll be there in 15 🔥 

you:  you know, some of us had to work today. I want to rest 

jk 🖤:  not today baby, i need to spend some time with u

You bite your lip repressing a smile. It was a well-known truth that Jungkook had issues with Heather since the beginning of their relationship because her parents never, ever approved of Jungkook. It also angered you terribly how Heather would always be trying to persuade Jungkook to leave boxing as a hobby and become a full time artist, so her parents would recognize him as a real son-in-law.

It was clear to you that Jungkook was born to be in the ring, the way he would mercilessly end his opponents and become a beast when the bell rang was fascinating to you. Of course, Jungkook never looked at you, not in college, nor when you all graduated and he formalized his relationship with her. You were just a loyal groupie, if you can even call yourself that, always supporting him from a distance in the darkness of the stadium stands. 

You hated watching Heather be the one who got to hug and kiss him every time he won a match, as if she wasn't the one trying to make him quit his dream. It burned you inside, and made you silently hate her when the reality was that she was a good person.

You, who already knew that Jungkook would be coming to see you after his match, were ready to receive him with a cute lingerie set and a football t-shirt that was too big for you. You shaved, perfumed and moisturized yourself but didn't bother to put any makeup on or do your hair because you were supposed to be ready for sleep and not getting ready to meet a horny boxer. 

You heard a knock of your bedroom door and you knew it was him.

He opened the door and found you 'watching anime' on your laptop, casually looking perfectly clean and soft for his rough and big hands to mess you all up. 

"Hello beautiful..." he whispered when he got closer to the chair where you were sitting and sank his nose in the curve of your neck, inhaling the scent of your citrusy shampoo and shower gel. He smelled like cigarettes and leather, like a ring where only champions and legends got to step in. 

You two officially met when you picked the perfect opportunity to be Jungkook's little sister's roommate and share the apartment; you knew you had already won the battle when he came in to visit his little sister, Hana and she introduced the two of you a month later after you started living with her. 

His eyes almost went out of his orbits when they landed on you and he shook your hand a little too excitedly, caressing your wrist discreetly. Even Hana herself started to notice how Jungkook would  visit her a little more frequently, always saying he wanted to have some brother and sister quality time. 

"I think he likes you" Hana told you one night when he left after a full afternoon together where he invited you to play UNO with them and eat junk food "He has never been so fun to have around, not in the past few years at least, it's been a while since I’ve seen him like this"

"What do you mean?" you played dumb "I thought he had a girlfriend" 

"He does, but I wish he could let her go" Hana opened up to you, and you almost felt bad for playing innocent with the Jeons, but your instincts told you that you would be so much better for Jungkook and his career that the other one, the unmentionable "And, don't get me wrong, she's lovely, but she's constantly pressuring my brother to quit boxing, she's always telling him he should be an artist" 

"That's horrible, your brother is good as far as I know" he was good, you knew it, you were just faking your obliviousness.

"He is, and even tho he loves painting, boxing is what he was made for. But ever since he and Heather became official three years ago, he hasn't been the same, it’s like he's ashamed of his job" 

That was the green light you were looking for. Your sign to be the escape he needed, and give him the life and relationship he deserved. You also knew from college rumors that Heather was what they would call a 'prude', and from the intensity of

Jungkook's eyes every time he looked at you, you could sense the flood of nasty thoughts inside his brain,  could feel his eyes scanning your ass and legs. 

Every time he showed up to visit Hana, you would try to subtly appeal to him. If he visited the two of you in the morning, you would change your Grinch printed pajama set into an oversized t-shirt, long enough as to not scandalize Hana, but tight enough to make  a bulge in his pants appear.

If he showed up in the afternoon, he would always find you in sports clothes, tight leggings stretching over your thighs and perfectly outlining the shape of your butt, your sport bra’s cups making your tits bounce whenever you couldn't grab the cereal box from the cupboard and he had to get it for you.  

It always made you silently laugh when you would catch him staring and he would always look away as if he was being scolded by an invisible force. 

You remembered the first time you two kissed. Jungkook appeared with grocery shopping bags one afternoon when he knew Hana would be out to her yoga class.

"I thought Hana would be here, sorry, I bought some things for her" he said carrying the plastic bags to the kitchen counter, his voice was soft and hesitating, as if he knew he was doing something wrong but couldn't contain himself "I mean– for you two, feel free to grab anything you need, it's not just for Hana only" 

"Thank you, Jungkook, that's very kind of you" You unpacked everything and you could feel his shyness and desperation, he wanted you and didn't want to admit it. 

"I hope you like noodles, and if you don't like them, you can tell me what you like and I'll bring it next time, just let me know" he was anxious and excited, the perspective of being alone with you filled him with guilt and lust, he just needed one taste of you, one taste of the forbidden fruit and he would come back crawling for more. 

"I like noodles" was what you simply answered him with, batting your eyes innocently. 

"Me too," you knew this conversation was childish and silly, but for you it was the most important one, the man of your dreams was finally speaking directly to you, all alone. 

"You want me to cook some?" You offered and you saw the relief and triumph shine in his eyes as he took a seat and watched you cook for the two of you. You spent the afternoon together, eating and talking. Small glasses of soju were served and late in

the evening you received a message from Hana saying she was having a night out with her boyfriend. 

hana 💅🏻: don't tell jk, it's a secret 🤭 

She wrote to you, and of course, Jungkook found out the moment the message arrived, he could be the greatest boxer you had ever seen, but he was still a noisy older brother.

"That dwarf should be glad I found out through you, otherwise I would go right were she is and beat the asshole" he laughed, blocking your phone and coming closer to you. 

"Why should she be glad? It was supposed to be a secret, I failed her!" You faked shame and Jungkook smiled at you, knowing he was about to screw up a three-year-old relationship, but he couldn't care less. 

"Because I can be alone with you longer" his voice dropped two tones lower and you could swear his dark eyes expanded, ready to devour you.

You felt his chest leaning closer to you, and you didn't do anything to stop him. He started slow and gentle, still doubting the whole situation and just when you could

feel the guilt winning the battle inside his mind you moaned softly against his lips, making him lose control.  

"God, I can't stop" he whispered voice aggravated by the fever of the moment. You let him have a bit of your mouth,  tongue sneaking in his mouth and his hands on your ass, caressing and grabbing as if your body was his. It took every ounce of self control  in you to push him away and act outraged. 

"I'm sorry" you were the first one to speak, acting like the innocent little girl he tought you were "I'm sorry, God, I'm-" and you walked down the hallway to your room closing the door in his face while he followed you repeating the words it was my fault and don't run. 

He texted you like crazy for weeks, apologizing, saying he was so sorry for crossing your boundaries but you never texted him back, leaving him to slowly go insane with the need to speak with you again and kiss you one last time. 

A couple of weeks went by, and you avoided Jungkook at all costs, knowing his body was already infected with fantasies of the two of you sharing together what his girlfriend couldn’t give to him, and guilt suddenly was no longer a burden for him,deciding to take it off his shoulders the moment you started acting as if you were the one that started the kiss. 

You met again at Hana's birthday party and you pretended to be nervous,  to feel guilt when he appeared with her. He could tell he was hurting you by showing up with her, so the moment his girlfriend disappeared with their friends he ran to you and took you to a private place. 

"I can't believe I did that!" you passed your hand over your face so you could appear more distressed to him.

"It wasn't just you, I wanted it as well, I've been wanting it for a while" he grabbed your shoulders trying to shake your stress away. 

"You have Heather, she loves you and you love her, I am just third wheeling here" you spit and it burned you inside out to say her name out loud, your silent enemy, your love rival. 

"I don't-" and he stopped himself, not sure if he should say those words.

"What?" you tried to not sound desperate. 

"I don't know if I still love her, I mean, I do... I did" he seemed frazzled as well, but the difference was that he was truly going through it, you weren't. 

You kept up your plan of ignoring him, until one night when he knew Hana wasn't going to be home, he appeared at your apartment at midnight. He clearly had been drinking and smoking, his forehead was covered in sweat and his eyes were bloodshot.

"Jungkook- we can't" you tried to speak but he slammed the door close aggressively and grabbed you by your cheeks.

"Yes, the fuck we can," and he pressed his lips against yours like a blow, pushing you with his gigantic body making you walk backward towards your room without breaking the kiss. 

You knew you weren't just a simple affair that night. 

You knew you were the one. His one. 

That was three months ago. Now Jungkook was grinding his body against yours at your desk chair and sinking his face in your hair trying to catch your attention like a lost puppy. 

He was clingy, you couldn't believe how clingy he was. You noticed it when Jungkook started to appear in your dance company and your restaurant shifts. When he appeared at your company, he would just stand behind the glass, watching you teach children ballet positions and even when you tried to ignore him you could feel him staring and smiling at you. What you didn't know was that he was imagining a future with you, him teaching a beautiful baby girl how to box and you teaching her ballet.

And when he showed up at the restaurant he would sit in a corner, watching you serving orders and making sure no one would flirt with you. He was spending so much time with you, you were starting to get worried people would say something about your affair to Heather before Jungkook himself could do it and break the relationship.

It was worrying you yes, but not enough to feel bad, you could take his clinginess.

"I'm mad at you" you pouted "I'm starting to think you only want me when you're horny, I haven't see you all week" 

"I'm so sorry baby, I was practicing for tonight's match and Heather has been hot on my heels with a charity event her father wants me to assist, I hate that old man" he complained, shacking off the dust of his joint in a empty cup of coffee you had on the table.

"But, I thought her father didn't like you" 

"He likes me only when he needs me for a sports charity event or something, outside of that he wants me away from his daughter, I hate his fake ass" 

"You should talk about it with Heather" you advised him, hurting yourself by saying her name out loud and suggesting him to go and speak with her. 

"I've tried, but she's been off lately, I think she's starting to suspect something, she told me today that it’s been weeks since we had sex but she was the one giving me shit for entering in the state league, how can you make love to someone that isn't happy for you when you reach a dream" you turned around, ready to face him and console him. 

Your legs surrounded his waist and he finally sat in your place, his back resting on the back of the chair as you straddled his lap. He inhaled from his cigar once and pouted his lips in your direction, you immediately understanding his silent order.

You sucked the smoke out of his lips, savoring the bitter taste of nicotine, weed, and ashes from his lustful mouth. He leaned over you when you threw your head back to let the smoke out of your mouth and started to kiss your neck devotedly. If Jungkook could, he would make an altar of your body, but your neck had to be his favorite place to be.

"If you were mine, I would make love to you every time you’d ask me to" you provided  with the sweetest and horniest voice you could manage , looking him right in the eyes, licking your lips "I would give this pussy to you nine to five"

"I am yours, give it to me now" and he lifted you by your knees and dropped you on the bed.  He took off his jacket and boots, and he rewarded himself with the extended view of your legs soft and thick thighs showing underneath the football t-shirt. He took off his oversized black shirt and joined you in bed, ripping the blouse away and closing his eyes as if in pain when he saw your white lingerie set. 

"I can't believe I spent a whole week away, fuck" he said, tracing the border of your bra cups with his lips "I'm such an asshole baby, I don't even know what I'm doing with her, she doesn't mean anything to me anymore"

"Stop mentioning her when I'm with you" you complained in between soft gasps. 

"Sorry, forgive me baby, you're the only one that matters here" he unhooked your bra,  freeing your breast ready to have a feast, sucking and licking the globes of your tits but avoiding your nipples, they were his dessert after letting you reach  the limit. 

"Jungkook stop teasing, please" you pleaded, knowing how much he loved to drive you crazy.  

"Nope, I'm gonna make it up to you" he lifted his weight off you and placed himself in between your legs. "Hands on your nape, baby, and don't move them unless I tell you"

After you placed your hands  together under your neck, he tapped your chin with his fingers gently, smiling down at you. 

"Good girl" he approved and you smiled at him proudly. For a long while, he drank you in stare possessive, still not believing he had you all for himself when he couldn't even  show to the world how this precious creature was his. He dropped his hands to trace your lines, your waist, your ribs, kneading the flesh of your body devotedly until he arrived to your neglected breasts. 

You moaned when he grabbed them from above, his big rough hands feeling hot against your skin, massaging your boobs slowly making you arch for him. 

"What are you doing?" you asked genuinely because this side of him was new. He would always do everything fast, aggressively, and hot. He was taking his time with you this time.

"Torturing you and pleasing you," he snorted, finding your body reactions so pleasing. From your position, you could see your breasts beginning to swell, hot and red skin proof of your painfully delicious arousal. Your nipples were hard and distended, and the more he massaged you, the more you started to twist underneath him. 

You realized there was a hot and wet spot underneath your crotch, staining your sheets and your panties. You could come like this, and you opened your eyes when his filthy mouth placed sweet and soft kisses still avoiding your nipples. 

"Jungkook! Please, suck them!" you begged, the grip of your hands getting harder to hold on. 

"My beautiful, ____, how much I have dreamed about you like this, desperate by me" 

"Please, please Jungkook, your tongue, your lips, your teeth" you vaguely started to beg him to use his mouth but you couldn't bring yourself to conjure coherent sentences.

Just when you thought you couldn't get wetter, just as your hips started to grind against the air desperately searching for some friction , his hand, scratched from wearing boxing gloves all the time, caressed your nipple making you scream his name. 

"It’s fucked up, but I would choose you over and over no matter what" he stated before giving you what you had been asking for, licking your inflated buttons making you convulse with intense pleasure, and even thi he loved  how hard you were grabbing  his hair, almost tearing it out of the scalp, he found the strength to say "Hands on your nape" 

He kissed his way down to your center, and let his mouth torture you the same way he did with your breasts, sniffing and licking the juices of your climax. When you  opened your eyes, vision hazy with pleasure, you saw him smile against your cunt.  

He looked primal, almost caveman-like. The way he was eating you out was making angels cry somewhere in heaven, because you could have bet the first beasts on earth ate their raw food with the same intensity and wilderness Jungkook was eating you, but did those creatures grind their hips against the mattress trying to find relief? 

You didn't think so, it was a spectacle. Seeing Jungkook so out of control and concentrated on your cunt as if giving you pleasure was his only task and the only thing he was good for, was enough to make you come. 

And in that moment, you knew everything you did to get to him was worth it because the fantasies were no longer empty dreams in which  you and him were together, they were real. And it was you that made it happen.  

He spent the rest of the night adoring your body and you knew that his relationship was over , because his phone kept ringing with the song he put for her and he ignored it every time; you both received text messages from his sister, asking him to join them at the party, but that night  he preferred to sleep in  with you, not caring if Hana or anyone else found the two of you together. 

"Is time for the rest of the world to know" he said kissing your cheeks when the two of you were done, ready to sleep "I don't care of the consequences, I love you and just you" 

You fell in love first, but he definitely fell harder. 

⇢ thvlouvre's p.s. and my man, thank you to my man 🤪 just kidding, this was an anon request but instead of making a small drabble I wanted to make a fic out of this, leave your feedback and comments kindly! I'll be watching you all! hope you all enjoyed it and happy Joon day! virgo season let's go! 🖤 thank you to the beautiful @moonchild-your-eyes for helping me proofread this, go and show some love 💖

sweet cream, cold brew | lmh ( m )

something about mark lee keeps you up at night, and you’re pretty sure that it isn’t the lingering smell of espresso on his shirt.

alternatively: mark is shy until he isn’t.

pairing: nerd!barista!mark x reader verse: college au rating: r ( minors, do not interact! ) warnings&tags: unprotected sex, oral (f!receiving), fingering, slightly possessive/jealous dialogue, mark has a thing for tummy bulges because why not, implicitly that also means he has a big dick, a slight???? exhibitionism kink (not actually something that happens, only talked about), johnny exists in this simply to trigger something vaguely feral in mark, reader is a little bit assertive and schemes to get mark's attention, jaehyun is a nosy lil eavesdropper, i think that should be it?? word count: 26.4k

a/n: hello so this was a mess and honestly not a fic i would say showcases my best plot-wise but… what can I say apart from booty wurk mark has me in a chokehold and I needed to release some thoughts and feelings !!! please do not expect too much from the development of the story; i fear it’s quite long and choppy because my ideas were all over the place and i was wringing my hands and brain constantly and i was eager to get to the spicy parts !! this is also not beta’d/proofread, it’s currently almost 1am, and i’ve been writing this on and off for a full week with very few breaks so it honestly felt like a fever dream for me LMAO please forgive any oversights and mistakes; i’ll try to go back on them another day and fix them little by little! finally and …most importantly belated happy birthday, my beloved morkly!

p.s. this will probably be flagged as ‘mature’ by tumblr, which means there’s a high likelihood it won’t appear in tags or searches. please consider reblogging to boost the fic, if you feel so inclined!

You’ve heard tell of how caffeine has inherently addictive properties. 

The more of it you have in your lifetime, the more likely you are to experience symptoms of withdrawal whenever you try to have orange juice for breakfast in its stead. It sounds bad, actually, considering most addictive substances are, but you suppose that its benefits somehow outweigh its milder drawbacks. You’re not much of a coffee connoisseur the way some people — see: your best friends, Yeji and Jisu — are, trying one cafe after the other in pursuit of being able to nominate the winning beans of 2023 (an annual heated debate they participate in for no better reason than their own slow and useless entertainment during their six-hour long breaks), but you do know you’ve only ever experienced good things from having a cup every so often: better energy, a more focused approach to mental activities, and the ability to drive through fifty percent of a road trip without needing pop punk music blasting out of your speakers to keep yourself alert. 

The three of you are generally particular about the coffee you drink, only in different ways. While your friends have a tendency to demand only the best from any establishment — lest the staff hear fiery commentary about the flatness of the brew or the evident coarseness of the grind — you, on the other hand, are a singular individual of rather simple tastes. All you need to survive long days is a glass of vanilla sweet cream cold brew. No modifications to the sugar level or fancy new milk types are necessary; you’ll drink it as it’s served in a grande cup (or a venti, when things prove particularly grueling). 

Of course, you’re strict about other things in the experience of consumption —  like where it’s served and, more importantly, who serves it to you. 

While Yeji and Jisu have rated the Liberal Arts building’s on-campus Starbucks branch as a five with the strict label of POEO — ‘passable on emergencies only’ — branding the menu as “nothing revolutionary” and criticizing most baristas for subpar brewery, you happen to be extremely drawn to the place. Initially, you may have argued that this has to do with the fact that it’s walking distance from most of your classes, confined to the same general compound on campus, so you can always grab a quick recharger whenever needed, no matter how short the timeframe to do so is. Sometime later on, you may have found yourself asserting that the layout of the cafe, albeit small, is very convenient, considering that every table is situated next to an electrical outlet, so you’re never out of battery (important to other students for their laptops and powerpoint presentations, important to you because you have an unhealthy obsession with passing time on TikTok, scrolling past video after video of ASMR girls clicking their twenty-inch long acrylics with their crazy candyland designs), and this makes you feel at ease. 

A month ago, you finally came clean to yourself and, soon after, to your friends, and they came to understand, albeit begrudgingly and with no small amount of amusement, what made this Starbucks unbeatable in your eyes; it had one thing no other coffee shop could lay claim to.

What you know of Mark Lee is accrued from two major sources: long, surreptitious glances in the Modern World History class you share, and irritatingly brief interactions when you place your order from the other side of the counter behind which he stands, long fingers always poised to punch in your order at the speed of light. Sometimes, those encounters get cut even shorter when irate upperclassmen start prattling their orders out before you can even say anything past your own, except even this has its own consolation prize — an apologetic smile at you that seems only for you, although you’re not sure how much of this assumption is true. You’ll just believe it as you feel it. 

And what you’ve learned about Mark Lee has funneled down into two key points for you: first, he is single, a fact you were clued into when a group of his friends came to the coffee shop and sat around the table next to you. You hadn’t been eavesdropping; they’d just been pretty loud, but you’d also perked your ears the moment the one everyone seemed to call “Hyuck” — you aren’t sure if it’s his full name or a nickname, and you don’t particularly care — had leaned in for a conspiratorial whisper about having a vague master plan to set Mark up with an old high school friend’s younger sister that he was just waiting to spring on said Mark, busy slaving away on their six impossible orders near the espresso machine. 

You don’t really know what became of that plan, nor if anyone had telepathically been on your side to outright call it crazy (someone should have had a better reason than you, anyway) since the next moment, Hyuck’s voice becomes significantly louder when it orders the one named Jisung to collect the completed coffee and snacks waiting for them on the counter. However, you feel safe in the assumption that even if it had happened, no repercussions had followed, seeing as Mark still presently comes and goes from his shifts alone and in no clear hurry to meet any cute girls that are sisters of high school friends of his friends. Or, maybe you’re just ignoring what could be truth, but that’s whatever. 

Second, you’ve learned that Mark Lee should not actually be your type — at least, in theory. 

Saying you’re out of his league would be a bit juvenile, but if you had only so many words to describe the situation, you’d say so under duress. It isn’t so much that he’s beneath you in any way, but your interests and general social circles run different routes. Yours tend to be more classically patterned after constantly changing trends, and the people you interact with all seem to have similar goals; you like to call it ‘vibe networking,’ which, from experience, involves connecting with both groups and individuals that are equally aware that they will benefit in some way from any resulting acquaintanceship — whether it be by climbing the social ladder a couple of rungs or being able to call in a quick, off-the-charts favor for something very important and/or very exclusive down the road. You and your friends spend a significant amount of time in a year watching your style and image, something quite a lot of kids in the first couple of years of college tend to do, which means that while you don’t particularly like to spend your time following your grade trajectory, you do have quite a lot of pseudo-friends that all seem to offer something entertaining or helpful to you. 

Mark, on the contrast, prefers to keep his circle very close to his heart, it seems — that which acts as a receptacle for all his interests. You can tell that he likes to be up to date less with trending movies and more with comic books, a separate beast of a world that’s rather unknown to you. More than once, you’ve overheard him chat with his friends about Spider-man Issue Number Whatever-It-Is or engage in somewhat lively (sometimes rowdy, thanks to the Hyuck fellow) discussions about some webtoon you’ve come to understand is called Solo Leveling, which seems to have to do with monsters and hunters — two things you know next to nothing about. You’ve also never seen Mark holding anything remotely close to a magazine; his hands are always filled with either a freshly opened comic or a beat-up textbook. Maybe once or twice, you’ve seen him on his phone, but when you peeked over (surreptitiously, of course) on those occasions, you were met only with brightly colored panels and a singular word: BAM. 

In conclusion — you and Mark Lee live very different lives, likely never truly meant to intersect. 

And yet, you want him — not even in a way that speaks only to your curiosity, but in a manner that feels slightly delusional. More than once, you’ve found yourself having to shut your jaw close after realizing you’ve been watching him steam milk with your mouth slightly agape. Maybe it’s his side profile, which gives you a great view of the way his jaw tenses every time he puts whipped cream on someone’s frappuccino. Maybe it’s his eyes, which always seem to twinkle like he’s harboring some special secret every time someone in line asks for his recommendation on how to spice their order up. Maybe it’s his hands, steady and agile, with just the right showing of veins through the skin to tell you they’ve probably got significant strength to them too. Or maybe it’s just his mind — that thing he always manages to show off in class, working faster than lightning even when the rest of you are in your natural eight-in-the-morning stupor.

Whatever the reason for your interest, Mark Lee makes sure the Liberal Arts building’s Starbucks has you as a regular customer. 

You’re fully aware that this is the twenty-first century, which is why you could, as Yeji and Jisu have so kindly made known, simply ask him out. Under normal circumstances, you would have.

Unfortunately, in this particular area of your life, separate from all others, you’re something of a traditionalist. 

Actually, you just want to know what Mark asking you out would look like. Curiosity has fully gotten the better of you — how can it not, with how he breaks eye contact with you the moment it happens by accident in class, or with how pleasantly and shyly he smiles when you say ‘hey’ to him once you’re about to order? You’d like to see, first-hand, as a recipient of the experience itself, what he would look like taking control of a particular situation like that — something someone like him, so mild-mannered and laid-back, never really seemed to do upfront. 

You’d like to think you’ve given him clear signs. There’s a reason you always come in during his shift times, and it’s the same reason for why you have the same damn drink from the menu over and over again despite not even caring too much about coffee in the first place (something he admittedly doesn’t know and probably wouldn’t puzzle out, given how often you’re in that Starbucks, anyway). It’s that you want him to remember you.

Selfishly, it’s that you want him to think just a little bit more about you every single day. 

But if he does, Mark has never made it very clearly known; apart from taking your order in his genial customer service demeanor or letting a look of brief recognition pass his face over when you cross paths in the hallways, he’s never really shown heightened inquisitiveness about you. For all your differences, only you seem to actually care.

Frankly, that frustrates you, because if you have to think about him unhealthily, it would only be right for him to do that for your sake too. Still, you’ll shrug that hit on your pride off for as long as you can get his attention one way or another.

All you really need is for your plan to pan out as well as you think — and hope — it will. 

The thing is, you’re not even that bad at math. You’ve never really excelled at it, of course, but you wouldn’t go so far as to say you’re in dire need of help from anyone — the kind of help that feels like babysitting, at least.

However, Mark Lee doesn’t know that, and you’re not compelled to make that fact known to him when you notice that he’s leaning on the counter with his elbows, shoulders rolled forward and head bent down. He’s twirling his ballpoint in hand, wrist hovering over a worksheet, and you’re briefly distracted by the rapidly moving shadow underneath it.

His head snaps up when you gently knock on the counter, and the rest of his body follows suit, straightening as he shoves the paper away, one edge crumpling in on itself as it meets resistance in the form of the pastry display glass.

“Hey — hi, _________.” He knows your name, says it easily, and while you’d like to believe it’s because of his unprecedented interest in you, you know that it’s just because you’re always here and always having him write your name on the side of your cup. “Can I get you the usual?”

There’s no particular reason you order what you do; maybe it’s just rooted in the fact that when you first asked Mark for a recommendation, he said that the Vanilla Sweet Cream Cold Brew was pretty good, and you were inclined to believe him (while pointedly ignoring the fact that it was, at the time, a new item all of the baristas were required to push to indecisive, slightly moony-eyed customers such as yourself). Whatever the case, you found the drink generally palatable, and you were also able to score the first of many smiles that fed into your two-semester-long infatuation with him, so it was basically a win-win scenario for all. He even got to do his job by getting some rube (see: you) into trying a new product.

“Hey, Mark.” You’ve long since given up pretending that you don’t know his name and have to check the tag on his cute green apron (why is it cute? You don’t know. It’s the same, standard, Starbucks green, but Mark makes it look homely and natural, somehow). You’ve been here way too many times over the last academic year for a nonchalant, were you talking to me? approach to work, anyway. “That, plus a lemon loaf, if you don’t mind. What’ve you got there?”

His eyes follow the trail of yours over to his wrinkled worksheet. “Oh — no, sorry. It’s nothing.”

“Is it secret?” Your bottom lip juts out, and you see his Adam’s apple bob dangerously, a small telltale sign of minute nervousness before he lets out a short laugh. “Didn’t know we kept stuff from each other.”

You don’t know what makes you say that so naturally. The both of you don’t do much beyond exchanging pleasantries.

“We — uh, well, it’s just a worksheet. For Park Hyosung’s class. College algebra?”

“I’m in Kim Junghwa’s. Can I have a look? I want to know if you’re suffering just as much as I am.”

He pauses, considering your request for a moment, likely wondering if there’s any harm in it before he smooths the paper out and turns it towards you. His handwriting’s a little messy, but his solutions are extremely neat. You see, like, one erasure, max. You also don’t see anything that interests you — except the name written at the top. Still, you can see at a general glance that more than half of his answers are correct; the logic of his organization is way too elegant and his writing’s too sure to be anything else. You whistle low, and his eyebrows shoot up.

“Something wrong?”

“Pretty much the opposite. How is it that you’re doing this without breaking a sweat?”

“Oh, well — it’s not…” He doesn’t even know how to brag. Yet another item in the perpetually growing list of things you find cute about Mark Lee. “I mean, anyone… can?”

“I must not be anyone then.” You meet his quizzical look with a wry smile. “Either you guys are leaps and bounds ahead, or I’m really not going to make it through this semester.”

Another silence passes, just for a fraction of a second — short enough to be passable to others, but long enough for you to wonder if your humor code isn’t up to par with the rest of the world’s — before Mark’s chuckling lowly. His large palm comes down, covering a majority of his answers in the process.

“You’re kidding. I’m sure you’re doing just fine.”

“Mark, look at this face.” You gesture to your evidently dumbfounded, blank expression. “Does this look like the face of someone that’s doing just fine?”

You’re pleased to hear another laugh from him; you don’t know if he really finds you funny or if he’s just the type to be easily amused. You don’t want to know, anyway; assuming is better than actually finding out.

“That bad, huh?” He slides the worksheet away again, like he’s afraid his correct answers are going to offend you into leaving the cafe. Instead, his hands start working on your order, grabbing a cup and scrawling the shorthand of the drink on one of the little boxes. “Ever think about getting a tutor, maybe? If you really feel like you’re drowning, that is.”

“A tutor? I guess that depends. Are you free on weeknights?”

The marker makes a soft screeching sound as he drags it down with too much force, ruining the penmanship of your name. Mark takes a moment to stare at the mistake on the plastic before he looks at you, pointing the rim of the cup towards himself. “Sorry — am I free—?”

“You said I should get a tutor, right?”

“I thought — no, sorry, I was thinking more like one of those department-assigned tutors you can ask the faculty for, or something.”

“Oh. Are you not one of them?” You sigh, albeit a little over dramatically. Thankfully, he doesn’t really cotton onto your acting, too caught up in befuddlement at the turn of the conversation. “That’s a bummer. I was kinda hoping that if I was going to ask for help, I’d get an actual genius. You know — someone like you?”

You can tell by Mark’s expression that he’s torn between denying your compliment again and responding to your actual question; he looks both relieved and miffed when the student behind you clears her throat.

“Sorry, but— you know that there’s a line, right?”

You both apologize, Mark’s much more sincere than your own, and you step aside. His gaze follows you for a moment before it snaps back to the next customer, his voice abandoning that bemused uncertainty it had taken up with you. You don’t really mind; as far as you’re concerned, any dent in his barista persona when he talks to you is a step in the right direction.

You hang around the pick-up area, receipt in hand, watching Mark clear the line before moving to the actual stations near the kitchen area. There’s a concentration on his face that you find all the more attractive; he has a habit of chewing on his bottom lip when he’s trying to focus on getting the drizzle just right inside the cup’s cylinder.

He tends to try his best at everything, you figure. Not an unattractive quality — not by a long shot.

Mark finishes your drink first; the milk’s still only seeping, cloudy, into the coffee when he brings it over. He doesn’t even have to call your queue number, opting to meet your eye — albeit slightly nervously — instead. You reach out to hold the cup, a calculated move that allows you to brush hands against his without him being able to pull back on instinct. He doesn’t, nor does he really seem to want to, but his jaw tightens as a flush creeps along the curve of his ears.

“You really won’t help me?”

Your question’s abrupt, almost a little demanding, even if your voice is sweet. You’re not above asking this much, anyway, even if you technically want him to make the first move. The redness sinks down to his earlobes.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t really say anything,” you tease. The cup’s on the counter now, so he can easily relinquish it to you at this point, but he still hesitates, only one hand slipping out from under the heat of your palm. He uses it to rub the back of his neck, chuckling softly, and you take this as a green light. “What time does your shift end?”

“Five-thirty. You sure you wouldn’t want someone better?”

You pull your cup slowly to yourself, and his hand, still lightly trapped by your own, follows for a few inches before he’s withdrawing, the counter between the two of you forcing the distance. A smile follows the shaking of your head, and you take a small sip of the drink before you respond simply.

“There’s no one better than you.”

Mark is a prompt kind of person; you learn this when, at five-thirty, he comes over to your table, tugging his apron off over his head. Of course, you might attribute that to his overall personality, but the fact that you spend the remaining two hours of his shift casting him glances from the left side of the coffee shop might have also been a contributing factor. The looks you give him aren’t even furtive; they’re deliberately long, so you never miss whenever he looks over to you from time to time.

He doesn’t hold eye contact for very long (he does it well enough when he’s talking to customers, but it’s not like you’re ordering another cold brew from across the room at that point), but you can read snippets of his thoughts through the fleeting gaze exchanges. He’s curious as to why you’re asking for help, now, of all times, when the semester’s more than halfway over. He’s surprised that you asked him, of all people, because he just can’t conceive of a world that isn’t within a television show where this kind of abrupt, overt request makes sense. He’s flattered that you even asked him out of the blue. He’s equal parts anxious and eager to know what’s meant to happen after his shift, once he starts fulfilling your request.

Most of all, he’s unsure if he’s reading you right — if what it feels like you’re doing is something he’s attaching too deep a meaning to. If he’s right in reading your signs.

You don’t really mind it; you like knowing that Mark somehow wears his heart on his sleeve, even if he tries to remain neutral for the sake of appearances. You also bask quietly in the fact that he’s looking at you twice as much as he ever has in the time you’ve loosely known each other. Still, his bubbling confusion and inquisitiveness seem to be interfering with the rest of his work, especially when you notice that he’s been wiping down the surface of a table two down from where you are for more than seven minutes.

In the hopes of easing whatever tension might be in his heart, you offer him a small smile, but that’s only met with his eyes immediately glazing over and inching a couple of centimeters above your forehead, where the story of Starbucks’ origins is drawn out in a faux-manga style. He pretends to find it interesting, as if he hasn’t seen it a million times from coming into this establishment day after day — you know it well enough, and you don’t even have to, considering you don’t work here — and you can’t do anything but hold back your laughter.

A small part of you says you should just give him the affirmative answer to his biggest question, but every other cell in your body says that it’s no fun if he doesn’t ascertain it for himself.

He has his school bag and textbook in tow when he approaches, taking the seat across from you. There’s a steely resolution on his face, like he’s been emotionally preparing himself for such a daunting task, but it eases up the moment you laugh lightly.

“You don’t have to act like I’m going to eat you.”

“I’m still not sure why you’re suddenly asking me to help you,” he admits. He’s also very honest, you note. Again, not an unattractive trait. “I’m not complaining. I just didn’t think you even had an opinion of me.”

“Why’s that?” You’re genuinely surprised. Mark drums his fingers on the front of his textbook, thoughtful — less for the sake of thinking what to say and more for the sake of considering how to say it. It’s clear he wants to avoid calling attention to the fact that before now, you two have had no reason to run the same track, let alone sit together and talk at a coffee shop, as if you’ve always been the best of friends.

“Genuinely just thought I was the guy who gave you your afternoon coffee every day,” he finally settles. Your eyes widen, and another laugh escapes you — a little louder this time, enough to call the attention of a couple of jumpy freshmen nearby.

“Well — let me put it this way.” You lean over slightly, cupping your chin in your palm. “Was I just the girl you made coffee for every day until now?”

There are clear cogs turning in his head; his eyes unfocus slightly as he thinks of the possibilities. His silence suddenly makes you somewhat nervous; your tone had been confident, and you’d only said that to prove a point, to push him in the right direction, but you realize that you hadn’t previously factored in the possibility that he might simply say yes — or, worse, say no just to avoid hurting your feelings.

You watch his lower lip curl in; he uses his tongue to smooth out the skin that’s slightly dried from work fatigue. You would much rather it peeked out, so you could imagine it against your own. His response is mumbled in a lower register, but you catch some key syllables — didn’t… not … stranger — pretty … you?

“Sorry?” You ask patiently, but the fact that he turns red and laughs again — something you realize is not only a trademark of his personality but also downright delicious of him to be doing — is all the answer you need to let the apprehension seep from your shoulders. “I didn’t catch that.”

Mark clears his throat. “No, I… didn’t think of you that way. I mean… you’re my classmate.”

“Sure,” your tone’s breezy, but the somewhat sloppy confirmation of interest in you makes your heart soar. He just needs more of a push. “And we’re basically friends, right?”

“Yeah.” His voice is unsure at first, like he can’t seem to wrap his head around the concept. You can tell that Mark’s notion of friendship is likely based on shared interests, of which you admittedly have none. Technically, if you were his friend, you’d spend less time just telling him the exact same order every single day and more time sitting around a table trying to learn how to play Magic: The Gathering with him. Still, he takes one long look at your grin and suddenly gains confidence in his next words, as if it somehow convinces him that the briefness of your old conversations had been a mutually agreed-upon thing and not the product of social distance between the two of you. “Yeah. We’re friends.”

“Right. Friends help friends, don’t they? I’d definitely feel more comfortable having a friend teach me than some stuffy upperclassman I don’t know.”

You see Mark’s lips move slightly, in such small movements you could have imagined it as breathing if you didn’t care too much (which you do). He mouths, to himself — friends help friends. For some reason, that boosts his conviction even further, and he nods.

“Makes sense. Well — for as long as you don’t mind me, then.”

“Mind? I asked you, so I should be saying that.”

“I’d never mind — I mean, of course I don’t mind.” He’s quick to correct himself, and you have to stop your own hand from reaching out to try to satisfy your curiosity, the desire to know just how hot his cheeks get when he blushes. “More than happy to help, actually.”

“And I’m more than happy to be here.” You beam at him, and he mirrors your smile. You don’t know what it is about the look on his face — the brightness in his eyes, or the slight lift of his eyebrows, maybe — but it gives you the impression that he might be feeling at least a fraction of what you are: the feeling of your heart lifting off a few inches from your rib cage. “Since we’re on the same page, I hope — should we get to it?”

From the moment that Mark opens his textbook to a chapter on inverted parabolas, he assumes a personality you feel you haven’t seen from him before. You realize that you really do know him in only two limited capacities — his classroom persona that seems to really only view himself and the material, focused on the board and the professor’s words (even up until the useless anecdotes) to absorb as much information as possible, and his more genial customer service form, always happy to assist in the trained, easygoing way you’ve come to meet so often.

Right now, he’s a blend of both, yet somehow neither all at once. He’s quick to catch the parabolas you draw, either wrongly or downright poorly. Despite initial hesitation, he always manages to say something; there’s already a pattern to how he does it, from his slightly awkward, “Ah, sorry, actually —” to the way his finger traces over what you’ve written, outlining the right curve. You find his interruptions so endearing that you start drawing them wrong purposefully — not enough for him to realize your schemes in their entirety, but enough to cast you a few amused glances, like he can’t imagine why you’d map out such an absurd graph. You get the feeling he wants to actually laugh at how ridiculous you’re acting, but he can’t tell if you’re seriously struggling or not, so he settles for a smile he thinks he does well in keeping to himself, but that you catch anyway. He’s patient, even when you have to rip out pages from the back of his notebook because of your ‘mistakes,’ like he’s still catering to your request for an extra pump of syrup for your coffee on sleepy days.

But there’s also that side to him that comes out when he suddenly remembers the distance between you that, before today, had felt unlikely to be closed. It peaks at odd moments, like when you’re borrowing his pen because yours is currently holding your slowly unraveling bun up, and your fingers brush against his. It surfaces abruptly when you lean in to watch what he’s drawing until he realizes how close you are, arm lightly grazing his, and his pen freezes, ink blotting on the paper for a second. It’s in those times that you can almost hear his brain churning out questions — like he’s wondering if you’re just oblivious or if you’re doing something on purpose that he can’t quite believe. Like he wants to ask you what’s on your mind, but he just doesn’t know how.

If he asked, you would reply without missing a beat. The answer, after all, is simple (him). But Mark never raises the question, only does something without fully acknowledging what he’s doing — the adjustment of his glasses on the bridge of his nose, the ruffling of his hair as though to shake off his thoughts, the clearing of his throat to normalize his tone before he explains something you’ve just asked about. There’s always that light tinge of pink to his face that makes him look even more endearing, and it fades and returns every so often for the better part of two hours.

By the time he rubs oncoming fatigue out of his eyes, the sun has already set; there are far fewer people around you at this time, and for as much as you like spending time with him and breathing in the scent of his shirt — always a tinge of Downy, barely cutting through the much more overpowering scent of espresso and sugar — your back has begun hurting from your front-heavy posture and determination to have your face as close as rationally possible to Mark’s. Still, you don’t miss out on the fact that the act of him cracking his neck to relieve tension makes your lips curl inward, trying to stifle an inappropriate noise in reaction to the view.

“I feel like I talked your ear off,” he pipes up, sounding a bit sheepish. “Sometimes it’s hard to know when to stop once you’ve gotten started. I’m just hoping I didn’t bore you to death.”

“Meanwhile, I’m here hoping you aren’t sick of my questions already.” You smile, closing your notebook and hanging the clip of your pen on the spiral. Your arms stretch up first, followed by your back, a light twist to relax your posture into normalcy again. Mark’s breathing falls quiet, like he’d been preparing to say something in response but had let it die in the back of his throat instead. You let your eyes drop, expecting to see him looking at you, as he mostly has been — on and off — since his shift ended, but his eyes are far lower than yours, the telltale redness now growing in evident splotches across his cheeks.

The hem of your shirt has ridden up; while there’s nothing outrageous about it, there’s a short expanse of skin that it reveals, for a brief moment. His eyes are slightly glossy, brow furrowed like he’s trying to find a solution to something he can’t fully understand. You’re not even sure about what he could really be looking at, or if there’s something he’s just thinking of that caught his attention while his eyes focused on a rather unfortunate spot. To test your theory, you suck in your stomach slightly alongside an inhale.

It should be objectively funny to watch Mark blink unevenly, left eye going first before his right tries to catch up, but you manage to stifle your laughter — poorly, though, because you end up coughing a little and breaking him out of his strange trance. You avert your eyes quickly enough for him to look vaguely relieved that you hadn’t caught him looking. So he thinks, at least.

“Anyway.” You feel bad that you have to tear his mind away from whatever faraway land it must be trying to burrow a hole in; the dazed expression on his face dims into hastily hidden embarrassment. You don’t want him to feel awkward, so you just busy yourself with packing up, making an unnecessary show of stuffing your notebook back into your bag as if it isn’t half-empty at this point. “I really appreciate you taking the time to help me.”

“Any time.” His first attempt is a little raspy, maybe from overuse of his voice today, so he clears his throat and tries again. A slow smile builds on your lips. “Any time, really. I’m glad that this is actually helping you; you pick things up surprisingly fast.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah. Give it a couple of weeks, and you’ll probably be ready to tackle it on your own again, I’m sure.”

He smiles reassuringly, but all you can think about is how that’s not good. You should pretend to be a little dumber next time, or this will end much too prematurely.

The next five minutes pass in silence; you don’t expect to be knee-deep in conversation anyway since, as much as you try to convince him, you aren’t actually anywhere close to being those kinds of friends yet. There’s an unspoken rule to the give and take of things, where he pauses for you to get an item off the table and push it into your bag before he does the same with his own belongings. Neither of you really intersect paths, save for the moment you both grab your phones and stand at the same time.

His jaw falls open like he’s preparing to say something, then shuts as if he’s better decided against it. You decide to take the initiative to say what you’re assuming he wants to. “Same time, same table?”

“Oh — uh, yeah, for sure.”

You want to ask him to walk out with you. You want to lace your fingers with his, tug him out, and kiss him under the green and white glow of the sign outside. You want to know if kissing his collarbone means you’ll taste a hint of coffee. You think about doing it all somehow, especially since he’s fighting back a slight smile at the promise of tomorrow.

But it just isn’t the right time.

Instead, you place a hand on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. The slow movement of his throat — yet another hard swallow — isn’t lost on you, and his eyes land on where the two of you connect. With a grateful smile, you bid him a soft goodbye, taking your leave first.

You don’t look back — at least, not until you’re fully in the cover of the darkness outside. On the gravel path, just out of reach of the lamplight, you chance one last glance back into the store. Mark is still rooted to the same spot, his backpack slung over one shoulder, staring at the table like he’s dissociating from what just happened — like he can’t believe the last couple of hours.

Your smile grows when you see his own, and his hand comes around to the back of his neck, rubbing it lightly like it gives him small comfort to let him know that it was real.

Baby steps, you remind yourself. You’ve already got one foot in the door, after all.

As the days trickle by, you fall into a more comfortable standing with Mark; there’s a routine to your meetings that seems to eliminate the initial and abrupt awkwardness of that first day. You come into that Starbucks at four, greet Mark, who doesn’t ever have to ask for your order, and spend the next hour and a half slowly sipping on it until the ice has thinned and watered down your drink substantially. In that time, you allow yourself to do whatever you want (as if you’ve ever done otherwise anyway), and what you usually want the most is a good view of him. You therefore use most of the minutes you have on hand to regard him from different angles — from the side when he’s frothing milk, upfront when he turns to leave cups on the pick-up counter, from the back when he’s clearing tables — interspersed with moments of checking your TikTok feed, clearing group chat messages, and sometimes re-curling your bangs with a portable iron from the school’s co-op center, a relatively new purchase you tote around these days. You do essentially anything in between to avoid acting too suspicious while he works.

Sometimes, you catch Mark’s eye too; the more your meetings increase in number over the course of a few weeks, the more deliberately he looks over at you, and the longer it lasts. You feel like you’ve made significant progress when your gazes lock and he smiles slightly, albeit a bit unsurely, instead of turning away like he used to. The other day, he’d even passed by while apologizing for how long you always waited for him — not that you ever minded, something you made a point to clarify with him before he walked away, carrying a couple of chairs from the back room with him to replace rickety ones.

That he’s able to transport them easily, as if he’s lugging a bag of apples from the grocery, does not escape your watchful eye.

What you like the most is that you start to learn more about him in a way that isn’t fueled only by your expectations and, therefore, limited by your imagination. You find out that he’s from a close-knit family with a rather cushy background, and this barista job is just for interest funding and experience, in that exact order. Most of his earnings are funneled into the things he collects, which apparently isn’t limited to comic books and special edition blu-rays with director’s cut but also a rather stupendous amount of PopMart blind box figurines. Apparently, he particularly likes the Skullpanda series even if he hasn’t completed it yet; your last session together had adjourned thirty minutes earlier than usual so that he could catch a pre-rush hour inner circle train to Honda, where the flagship store was set to open on that day. He’d promised to show you his pulls (as long as they weren’t embarrassing dupes). You learn that he likes to listen to loud music when he studies to stimulate his mind, and he has a playlist that’s just a jumble of songs from Punk Goes Pop volumes that makes him feel empowered for some absurd reason, like he’s going against the grain. You don’t really get it, but you do like that spiced-up rendition of Ariana Grande’s Problem that he let you listen to once.

Of course, there are things that you find out not through conversation but through continued, closer observation. You notice that he likes to put on chapstick even if his lips aren’t particularly dry, but he does worry on them often, most especially when he’s thinking hard about something. He has a habit of saying honestly… at the start of every other sentence, as if he’s concerned you won’t take his word on anything, even though he’s just talking about how unnaturally hot it was at noon despite it still being spring. He has long eyelashes that you’re equal parts attracted to and jealous of, and he bites the inside of his cheek whenever he wants to pep himself up after grueling shifts. He plays beats you’re not even sure he knows he’s creating against his knee with his fingers, so enthusiastic and consistent in this habit that you want to offer your thigh instead. His shoulders always go first before he laughs, and he does this thing where he raises his hand to cover his mouth at the start of it, which is a shame, because you’d do anything to keep seeing him smile like that — or, better yet, to be the reason for it.

Then there are those things you notice he tries to hide. He always turns his face halfway to the side when he blushes, something he seems to do without fail every time you smile at him. He has to temper the intensity of his grin when you take the time to compliment him on how cool his shirt is, or how nice his hair looks today, or how smart he is, like he doesn’t want you to know how good it makes him feel even if you want him to feel good about it, around you, because of you. Sometimes he denies it for the sake of responding, and his voice always lilts on the first syllable in his refusal to accept what you say, even though he knows you won’t take it for an answer.

And after a couple more careful experiments, you notice that Mark, out of the many things he’s interested in, seems to have a particular thing for your stomach.

You don’t know if it has anything to do with him not really seeing much of it in real life in his own time or if he just has his own kind of fixation on it, but you start to cotton on by the fourth time you meet. An hour of being hunched over a table that’s not at the greatest height in relation to your neck and torso has you stiff, and you’d leaned back in your chair, arms pulling to the air, hoping your spine might feel like realigning if you exerted enough tension pressure that way. Your shirt hadn’t ridden up this time, considering it had been tucked into your jeans, and it was because of this that you’d caught a flicker of something new in his face that you hadn’t seen before.

You could have sworn it looked like disappointment.

Of course, he hides it quickly, as he does with most of his emotional candor, but it’s enough to make you suspicious — enough to make you wonder if Mark is also just keeping something to himself. Or maybe you’re just projecting your own presently secretive nature onto him. Regardless, you think it’s odd that whenever you stand up or stretch, his eyes almost immediately fall to your midriff, like he wants to challenge your clothing into a staring contest before he thinks better of it.

You don’t mind, anyway. He can look as much as he likes. Maybe when the weather’s warmer, you’ll even cater to that interest and wear a crop top. Hopefully, that’ll be the push he needs to act on human instinct and ask you out or, like… bend you over. Maybe.

You’re often plagued with these kinds of thoughts in between the ones you try to keep as family-friendly as possible — now, more so than ever.

Sometimes, it’s easier, especially when you’re caught up in talks with him; despite the fact that he doesn’t seem like much of a conversationalist when it comes to generic matters, when either he or you are enthusiastic about a particular topic, he has a tendency to get carried away. There’s nothing impure about how his eyes light up when you remember to ask him about the movie he saw with his friends over the weekend or the way he hums old Nickelodeon cartoon theme songs under his breath whenever he’s looking for a page in the textbook. It’s more of a situation where you’ll observe something and immediately run with it despite it being an objectively normal action.

Like right now, as you’re watching him turn his pen between his fingers. Now, while he’s shaking his knee in mild impatience, as if he’s trying to will the answer to the worksheets you’ve both been trying to get through for the better part of the day faster. You’d made copies of the problems your professors had assigned and exchanged them under the premise of being able to practice more intensely.

However, whereas Mark is actually focused on solving, you’re just watching him out of the corner of your eye, wondering if he’s ever been told that his fingers are fuck-worthy on a singular, unique level or if it’d feel good for you to ride the thigh he’s currently moving, jeans and all. You consider the feeling of his warm palms on your bare waist as you do it, and you end up wondering if that’s what crosses his mind whenever he sneaks glances at you, too.

You’d know the answer to all those things if he’d fucking ask you out. Maybe you could do it after all. Maybe you should, instead of relying on slowly increasing the probability over such a long period of time. Maybe if you asked nicely, Mark might pull the shades down on the storefront windows and rail you against the glass.

You’re so lost in thought that it genuinely startles you when he plops his textbook over the worksheet, rattling your eraser dangerously close to the edge of the table. You’re still clutching your heart while he rubs his eyes a little too violently.

“Can’t,” he groans, and his neck gives into the weight of his head, allowing it to loll backward. “I feel like the numbers are just melting into each other. I swear, I thought I could read words out of them.”

“Maybe we were a little too ambitious with the double worksheet agenda,” you admit, even though you’ve barely gotten past half of yours and certainly haven’t touched a single item on his. “Should we call it a day for now?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, although he still takes the time to encircle his final answers before clapping his palms to his cheeks (an act that has your mind dangerously close to wandering off inappropriately again) to wake himself up. “Woah. I didn’t even notice how dark it is already. I’d say time flies when you’re having fun, but I’m not too sure about the ‘fun’ part of it…”

You trace his gaze towards the glass; the moon’s already out, surrounded by a smattering of low-light stars. You hadn’t realized how late it had gotten, probably because your mind had been on R-18 mode for most of the afternoon. Also, the days are getting generally shorter, but that fact doesn’t make you feel as embarrassed, at least.

“You got a ride?”

The question once again shocks you out of your small trance, and you turn back to him with wide eyes. “Well — no. Wait, I didn’t know you had a car. Why’d you take the subway, then?”

“Oh — no, sorry, I… don’t.” He looks suddenly sheepish, eyes dropping to the shiny surface of the table for a moment before they snap back up, as if he’s actually actively reminding himself to look at you. “I was wondering if you wanted me to — actually, more than that, are you going home already? Not that you need to stay; it’s not that important, but…”

You try to gloss over the fact that he had just been about to initiate another huge step in the right direction (i.e. offering to walk you home) by beaming at him, maybe a little too widely, if only to mask your disappointment at the sudden shift in conversation. “I have nothing waiting at home for me but a sandwich dinner and Singles Inferno, so hit me with whatever it is.”

“Oh, cool.” His lips turn up, and the corners shake, this show of happiness once again tamped down by his own inexplicable desire to maintain a safe distance. How are you supposed to tell him you’re desperate to bridge that gap without using those exact words? “I came from the flagship store yesterday — the one in Hongdae that I told you about?” He allows the smile to widen slightly when you nod in genuine understanding. “Got the last six boxes of the collection I’ve been trying to finish.”

You whistle appreciatively. “Can I ask you for a loan on my next phone bill? You know, once I’ve upgraded to something pricier.”

“Nah — just itching to complete the set,” he laughs. You wonder if he’s been doing that more often because he knows its crippling effect on you, though you doubt he’s that sly. Again, maybe you’re just projecting too much of your own motivations onto him. “This was probably about two months of saving up combined.”

“No new Iron Man issues to look out for, then?” Your voice is warm even though it takes on a teasing tone; Mark’s hand rubs the back of his neck, and his expression is a little sheepish, but you’re happy that the times he used to go completely quiet, opting only to blush at your attempts to act more familiar with him are pretty much gone now.

“Maybe next month.” You also like that he doesn’t really treat his hobbies as secrets, neither out of shame nor snobbishness. He explains these things to you the same way he does the topics you study — with an air of contentedness, like he’s happy someone listens to him without interrupting. On your end, you have no qualms with listening to his voice for hours, wondering when he’ll stop using it to greet you when you come through the door and when he’ll start saying your name in a way that makes you feel like you’re the only one he sees whenever you’re near. It’s a win-win situation (sort of). “I was actually debating between this collection and a really rare copy of Spi— well, never mind that. I just thought — since you were asking me a bit about blind boxes last time. You know, if you wanted to. With… me.”

As much as he’s become comfortable talking to you about things that don’t involve coffee orders and school, you can’t say that you aren’t doing your fair share of the work in connecting the dots; the demand for your efforts is exponentially higher in moments like this, when you think he’s trying to ask you something but can’t seem to find less-than-eager words to avoid what he thinks might spook you.

Luckily, he augments his fragments with action; reaching into his backpack — which you notice seems to be bulkier than usual — he starts extracting small brown boxes, all with the same design; it seems, for lack of better words, aesthetically gothic, and you reach out to pick one up, turning it over and examining the print on each side with vague interest. Mark starts laying them out on top of each other until there’s a small, somewhat unstable pyramid in front of him, then shifts his attention fully to you, just as you’re putting the box in your hand atop all the rest.

“I’d love to.” You beam as he does, and there’s a wondrous relief in his eyes that tells you he’s glad you manage to catch onto his words — or lack, thereof — surprisingly well. “For as long as you don’t blame me for any bad draws.”

“The contents have already been decided by my own hand — sort of,” he chuckles. “Point is, I would never do that to you. But I won’t lie; I kind of want to rely on your luck a little more.”

“What makes you think I’d have any of that running through my system?”

“Not sure — beginner’s luck, maybe? You just kind of look like one of those kinds of people to me — like… you’re just made of good things.”

You don’t know how to take this compliment; on the one hand, it’s easily one of the sweetest things Mark has ever said to you that doesn’t involve anything with actual sugar content. On the other, you know you’re not as lucky as he makes it sound, considering you’re still striking out on getting past the borderline of friendship with him. All you can do is smile, nodding and making to move closer to him by sliding into the next seat.

It’s hard to ignore the sight of him stiffening; something like surprise mingled with both fear and interest flashes strong across his face, but you don’t do anything to acknowledge the slight change in atmosphere, choosing to settle down comfortably and clap your hands. “So. What are the rules? What can I do, and what can’t I?”

“Uh.” His throat constricts at the right moment, the syllable getting caught and causing him to clear his throat. You know that this is the nearest you’ve ever been to him, the sleeve of your shirt tickling his arm. Upon closer, albeit brief inspection, you note that he’s also rather veiny. That doesn’t do your impurity any favors. “Not… really rules, or anything like that. Just — these are the ones I’ve been looking for. Not that you can really control it, but in case you were curious about that.”

You squint intently at the scaled-down images he points out. There’s one that looks like a penguin caught in an oil spill; another that seems to be in a polar bear costume, dozing; and — “What’s… halo? Halo…bios?”

“It just means marine life,” he answers quickly, like the thought means close to nothing to him to know something that obscure. Whoever said that smart is the new sexy wasn’t joking. “Like… all things that live in the ocean, that kind of thing.”

“And you know this because?”

He pauses, looking thoughtful. “I’m not sure. I guess I must have just learned it when I was curious about what it meant some time ago. Isn’t that how we all learn things?”

You shake your head incredulously, and he smiles a little apologetically. “You never cease to amaze me.” Your nail drums against the silhouette of one with a question mark on it. “What’s this supposed to be? Can you draw your own figurine, or something?”

“No.” He’s clearly amused, but his expression’s still patronizing enough for you to not feel too bad about saying something idiotic. “It’s a secret design — a money drainer, basically. You could buy a full set of this and still not get it. Some people will open hundreds without any luck, so it’s really rare.”

“You don’t want it?”

“I try not to get too caught up in the secret thing,” he admits. “Otherwise…”

“No rare print comic books for the rest of your life, basically?”

He taps his nose, and you both share another laugh. It’s nice, you think, to have come this far — to be someone Mark can share his interests and thoughts with. You may have been stretching the word to its limit when you first punched your way into his social life and called yourself his friend, but it feels more real now, more natural to think about and say. Even if he still sometimes seems to be hyperaware of the gap between the both of you, there’s no denying, at least, that it’s been significantly reduced, and this much is a testament to that.

“Well, leave it up to me. I’ll let all of this beginner’s luck rub off on you,” you announce with overflowing albeit unfounded confidence.

You both decide to open a box each at the same time; Mark suddenly panics and asks you not to unseal the foil bag right away without looking at the card inside first, earning him one slightly alarmed look followed by a burst of laughter at his pained expression when you pretend to rip open the packaging. Comparing pulls, you identify them using the set chart — your luck doesn’t seem to be operating at full capacity yet because you can only offer him the card of one that looks like a floppy pigeon, which he responds to with a slightly apologetic grimace before saying he’s already pulled that thrice in the past. He, on the other hand, is turning the card of the polar bear over in his palm, trying not to make you feel bad for your duplicate pull by slipping it under his textbook when your eyes land on it.

The second round isn’t much better; both of you manage to pull something he’s already added to his collection, and as you’re ripping the seal to your third box, he pauses and watches you. You think it’s because he’s concerned about the obvious shit luck you’ve had thus far and wants to snatch it from you before your negative energy transfigures whatever’s inside into something he doesn’t want, and you’re just about to offer the half-opened package to him before he pushes the one on his end to you.

“No way, Mark.” Your eyes are wide, a palm up to reject it. “If that turns out to be another dupe by my hand, I’m literally going to walk into oncoming traffic.”

He has to control his amusement at your words so that it doesn’t completely shake his voice into incoherence. “I picked all of these while I was there, so if anything, you’re only riding off my bad luck. Besides, this is your first time doing this. I want you to have fun.”

“But,” your voice is pained. “Your money.”

“It’s not a big deal. With how few I need to complete them, I was definitely bound to run into more repeats than new ones.” He taps the front of the textbook — or, at least, the part of it not buried under the figurines and sealing tapes yet. “Probability mathematics.”

“I thought we already ended the study part of the day,” you grumble but concede, putting aside the one you half-opened to tear the top of his. You’re careful when you shake out the foil packaging, making sure to place it upright on the table before extracting the card. Both of your faces fall — yours more than his — when you see it’s a repeat of the polar bear.

“Almost. It would’ve been a pretty lucky pull earlier, so it’s technically not bad,” he tries to reassure you, but you childishly feel like you’ve been the sole source of his disappointment thus far. “Try the last one.”

It’s irrational, but you’re suddenly anxious about it. For some reason, you’re worried that this will topple the carefully constructed ladder you’ve propped up against Mark’s tower of social defense. Even if he’s being genial about your rotten pulls, you don’t know how much of it is just resignation to dismay on his part.

You say a small prayer, then fully rip off the seal; you don’t even take out the packaged figuring anymore. You just shimmy the card out of the box, turning it over when you notice it’s upside down.

For a moment, your shoulders deflate. It’s closest to this pastel purple figurine in the middle of the line-up, its stupid puckered lips almost taunting you. He hadn’t even mentioned it as something he’s looking for, so you almost feel like this has come to a horrible full circle. But then he grabs the box, checks the list, and looks back at your card again. He looks shell-shocked, and you’re not sure if it’s the strong air conditioning directed towards the two of you or if it’s just his hands, but the image he’s holding is shivering slightly.

You look more closely at it, and something just doesn’t feel right. Color palette aside, there are notable differences — different colored lips, a more intricate ear design, and closed eyes. It’s…

“Dream eater,” Mark’s voice is hushed, almost reverent, and very, very close to your ear. “It’s the secret one. You’re… incredible.”

“What are you talking about,” your words are just as raspy; you’re not sure if you’re actually choked up with emotion or something — over a figurine, you have to remind yourself. “You picked all of this. I just ripped open the box.”

The hush that falls over the both of you feels very concrete, weighty on your shoulders. His fingers creep towards the foil packet — the only one he actually opens because there’s no way he’s not keeping it. The shiny purple head gleams under the fluorescent, the glitter around the star and moon designs catching the light as he turns it left to right, like he’s worried it’s a fake. You can tell why people want these things so much; there’s a thrill in you that lingers, makes you feel warm and alert. It’s anticipation, despair, excitement, and triumph all in one sitting.

You’re stroking the smooth curve of the design by the ears lightly when Mark speaks up again and says the most outrageous thing.

“I want you to have it.”

“What?” You actually have to pop your ear canal in front of him with your pinky to make sure he knows how ludicrous he sounds. “This is… you said it was crazy rare.”

“Yeah. And you pulled it, with your magic. That’s like… unimaginable luck. Even more than beginner’s luck.”

“Like I said, I literally just opened the box.”

“No — you have like… the golden touch.”

“Please,” you hiss, a genuine testiness to your voice. “Do not. I was just here for the ride — the experience, and all.”

“Seriously, take it.”

“Absolutely not—”

It’s a chaotic moment of him trying to hand you the figurine and you outright rejecting it, with both your palms working hard to push it back to him. Instead of nudging the plastic back, though, you end up placing the full force of your hands against his fingers.

There’s no actual spark when you touch, but your reactions make it feel like there might as well have been; you even lock eyes in startled unison, like you can’t believe that just happened, before you pull away quickly, Mark drawing the figuring back to his torso while looking away towards the counter, where a lowerclassman is wiping down the stains. You want to scream at your warped reflection in the window. You barely initiate contact with him, but you imagine that if you ever did, you would prefer to not be saying something as abjectly negative as absolutely not while doing so.

Your mind flails in an attempt to mitigate the issue and water down the embarrassment, and clearly he’s struggling to figure it out too, because he pipes up before you can piece your thoughts together.

“No, really.” His tone is a lot milder and, consequently, a lot more persuasive this way. “You should take it. I want you to.”

“It’s not mine. This is your thing — your hobby.”

“That’s why I’m giving it to you. I swear — I want you to keep it.”

“Why?”

He lapses into silence again, but his face is much redder than earlier. His mouth opens in an attempt to say something, but he just manages to uh his way back into a state of quiet, which gives you a chance to speak instead.

“We can… share it,” you suggest. “Shared custody…. ish.”

His eyebrow cocks involuntarily, and his jaw falls again, but all he does in actual response is nod — slowly at first, then with more sureness to the act.

“Yeah. We can share it. I’d… like that.”

You’re glad that the bulk of the awkwardness has fizzled out fairly easily, and when you think about it, this feels like a pretty good course of action; you like that it’s this little link between the two of you now — something you share that no one else can touch.

Mark, you notice, is smiling as well — more to himself than towards you, it seems. His thumb grazes across the face of the figurine, slow across the lips, and you’re once again falling into a pit of nonsense by wondering when he’d do that to you.

“Thanks for staying with me, _________,” he finally says, and your heart jolts and melts all at once. “And for… doing this. For chatting with me. And giving me your luck, and all that. Great way to end the day… with you.”

You say no problem, but you instantly regret it when you realize you could have just said it didn’t have to end just yet.

“__________? Hello? Come back down to Earth?”

“Shut up,” you sigh at the guy seated across you — Seo Youngho, an upperclassman, your Gender Studies classmate, and current project partner, waves in front of your face. You shoo his hand away, which only joins his other one as he throws them in defeat above his head. “Stop moving. Be quiet. Don’t talk.”

“That’s the same thing as shut up and be quiet. What’s up with you?” He demands. “Fifteen minutes ago, you were full of ideas. Now I feel like I’m talking to a wax figure.”

You’d been engrossed in your report for the last hour and a half, and the subject matter is admittedly something you enjoy — the role of gender in Twenty-First Century Korean marketing and advertisement, a title Youngho had taken more than ten minutes to type into the Google Docs header because he was pissed off at how the numbers looked like in the fonts he chose. He’s an enthusiastic classmate and someone you’ve come to be friendly with, not only because he’s genuinely approachable but also because he has fits of nosiness and talkativeness at the strangest moments, so a chunk of your relationship is mostly based on social terrorism on his part. You like him well enough most of the time — save for the last fifteen minutes of this hour.

Because Mark had just come in for his shift fifteen minutes ago, and suddenly Youngho is much too noisy for your taste, and his head is honestly way too big to the point that it gets in the way of your opportunities to see Mark behind the counter. You even resent him for choosing a booth instead of your usual table all of a sudden, because your view of the central barista’s area is much more limited from this angle, especially since the huge espresso machine is in the of your field of vision.

You’re also (currently and abruptly) mad at Youngho because you remember that he’s the reason you’ve had to skip out on a couple of sessions with Mark. Like, it technically isn’t his fault that you have a lot of research to do for the literature review section of the paper, nor is it his fault that this is your final requirement that comprises a whopping forty percent of your grade, but like… you’ll blame him anyway. So you’re much more irritable, and you’ve definitely been missing Mark’s presence. In fact, you kind of just want to shove Youngho’s balloon head away and call Mark over to sit with you, but you’re not that much of an animal to actually do that.

Probably.

There had been inquisitiveness across Mark’s face when he’d come in; his eyes had trailed to the table at which you usually sat, surprised to find two guys hunched over a single phone there instead of the usual you, waiting for him with your eyes bright and your smile wide. You’d like to think it’s because he’s gotten as used to seeing you as you’re used to waiting to see him — like he just expects you to be there.

You hadn’t really known how to call his attention to where you were, especially since Youngho was prattling very matter-of-factly about the academic journal he’d unearthed yesterday and how he thought it would be useful in reshaping the methodology of your paper (whatever). There was a moment in which you briefly considered ordering another cup of coffee just to get in line to talk to him, but your hands were already shaking from the venti you’d had to keep yourself from passing out in front of your partner.

So you’re more than relieved when, half an hour into his shift, Mark finally steps out from behind the huge machine, a mug of water for himself in hand, and turns away from the front of the store to drink it — only for your eyes to lock as he twists his torso in your general direction.

The mug stops just inches from his lips, but you could swear he smiles at you briefly when he recognizes you, so you return the favor. Youngho’s face contorts into abject befuddlement, turning around to see what you’re grinning at.

“Oh, you poor sap,” he snorts, finally letting the puzzle pieces fall into place.

“What?” You’re still distracted even if Mark has taken a gulp of water and is now attending to a gaggle of girls still in the throes of discussing what to order.

“What what? You gonna spend the rest of the day eyefucking Mark Lee from over here? At least let me get a different table.”

“Shut up,” you repeat sullenly, coming back down to his level and finally — albeit reluctantly — meeting his eye (just because Mark isn’t looking your way). “What were you saying about the sample size?”

“That it’s much too large to be feasible, a point we closed twenty fucking minutes ago,” he says pointedly. “Is it a thing for baristas or a thing for smart guys?”

“It’s a thing for Mark Lee,” you sigh, following Youngho’s suit and shutting your laptop close. You’re at least glad he’s not annoyed that you’re delaying work for a crush, or maybe he’s also just equally lazy at this point. “You ever look at someone and think you would give it all up for a chance to hit that?”

“No, because this isn’t a porn movie, and I’m clearly not the main character in whatever’s going on in there.” He jabs at your forehead; you swat his hand away again.

“Well, I would.”

He rolls his eyes. “So do it, dumbass.” He says this so simply, like he can’t imagine why you’d be holding yourself back, which is a valid thing to feel, except it’s not really any of his business.

“Can’t.”

“Because?”

“Because it doesn’t fit into my elegant master plan. Also because I want him to ask me out. I just want that victory.”

“Oh yeah, there it is.” Youngho leans over, wiggling his fingers at your ears like he’s greeting a next-door neighbor. “Hey, delusion. Good to see you. Do you even understand how crazy it is that you’re taking a Gender Studies class while waiting for your dick-in-shining-armor like a damsel in distress?”

“Asshole,” you grumble, violently opening your laptop monitor again. “Get back on Google Drive.”

Thankfully, Youngho complies, and the next two hours pass in relative silence and productivity, with you hammering out a vague references list that he promises to format in your stead so you can ‘spend more time dreaming about Mark Lee between your legs.’ You want to strangle him, but there are far too many people in the cafe for you to get away with it. Also, aforementioned Mark Lee would only be a witness to your criminal record, and while you think there’s something romantic in killing for love, or whatever, you’re not sure it’d make the best impression on him.

“Next week’s my birthday,” Youngho announces as he stands to tug on his jacket.

“Congratulations,” you say wryly, peeking over his bulletin board torso to see Mark tugging off his apron and picking up his school bag. Your heart hammers in your chest as he looks over at you briefly, and something like embarrassment passes over his face before he busies himself with neatly folding the fabric. “Go away.”

“Usually people look uncomfortable for not knowing and then start thinking about what gifts to get the celebrant, but I always felt you were kind of a revolutionary.” He snaps his fingers right in front of your eyes, and you look up at him, a little offended. “I’m having a get-together — and by get-together, I mean it’s gonna be a rager. You should come.”

“When?”

“Next Thursday.”

“Can’t,” you chew on your lip, wondering if Mark is leaving. His movements seem particularly slow, but you wonder if he’s just taking his sweet time because he has nothing better to do. Of course, he would have something better to do if Youngho stopped fucking obscuring you from him and vice versa. “Busy. School… whatever.” Not completely untrue. Most of what you do with Mark has to do with school.

“This moony-eyed thing is just not for you, I fear.”

“Are you going to be here all day?”

“Are you? Why don’t you just fucking ask him out, you lunatic?” You can’t imagine why he sounds so exasperated. It’s not like this is his problem — or his business, for that matter. “Maybe if you did, you could fuck him and move on with your life and be an actual contributor to society’s development.”

“Has anyone ever told you how nosy you are?”

“Constantly.” He brings his palms down on the table, the thud shaking you out of another oncoming stupor. “Think about it. Maybe it’ll make you stop making that stupid face.”

“You’ve got a stupid face,” you mumble, sulking as he pinches your cheek as a goodbye before heading out of the shop.

At least you finally get to see Mark in full, glorious view — and you get to watch him come closer, although his stride is somewhat cautious.

“Hey.” Even his voice sounds unsure — almost like the way he used to sound earlier in your friendship. “I didn’t want to interrupt you and… your friend?”

“Oh. Well, you wouldn’t have been interrupting,” you inform him, completely genuine. “He was spouting a lot of nonsense.”

“You guys seemed pretty close.”

“I guess it’s a proximity thing,” you sigh, and Mark raises his eyebrows slightly in question. “We’re partners.”

“Oh.” The way he draws out the syllable is slow. “That definitely makes sense.”

The silence stretches out between the two of you again, with Mark checking his shoelaces. You almost grab your head; it hadn’t occurred to you until now how damaging missing meetings with him would be to your friendship. You feel like you’re slowly being dragged back to square one, and you want to give him an explanation.

“He’s actually… I haven’t been able to see you because I’ve been working on something with him.” you offer, trying to answer a question he didn’t even ask. “Sorry about that. I swear I’ll be back on track tomorrow.”

“No, no — I completely understand.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Thank you… for telling me, though. I— uh, appreciate that.”

“I’d love to see you tomorrow, though.” You try injecting more pep into your voice. “I’ve really been behind on my algebra. I’ve definitely been drowning without you.”

“Oh, yeah.” A small smile graces his lips, but you can’t tell if the reluctance behind it is from fatigue or something that looks oddly like sadness. “I’m down for tomorrow. Same time, same table, right?”

“Yeah, for sure.”

“Cool. See you, _________.”

You watch him turn on his heel, walking to the front door, and something like fear mingled with desperation clutches your heart. Fuck the traditional route, you think. You don’t know what it is about how he’s acting now, but it’s making you feel like he’s slipping through your fingers. All that hard work — there’s no way you’re letting him go.

“Mark, wait.”

You’re at his side, fingers curled into the sleeve of his jacket before you can figure out exactly what you want to say. You feel as surprised as he looks at your sudden liveliness in action, and his gaze trails from your clenched fist to your face slowly, like he’s trying to memorize this whole position.

Your exhale’s shaky, but even still, you try not to sound overtly self-conscious when you ask, “Do you like Chinese food?”

Something in the furrowing of his brows tells you he can’t seem to see where this conversation is headed, and that slightly bothers him. “I like it well enough. Why?”

“There’s this really good dim sum buffet near my mom’s office. We tried it before — the Xiaolongbao is awesome.”

“Hey, that sounds pretty cool. I love Xiaolongbao. I’ll definitely have to check it out then.”

You want to tear your hair out. “How about — you know, checking it out with me? Tonight? You know… together. With me.” You already fucking said that.

You’ve never seen Mark blink this rapidly; he looks like he’s trying to crunch large numbers in his head. A small part of you actually worries that he’s malfunctioning, but just when you think he’s going to glitch out completely, he clears his throat. It bothers you how uncomfortable he looks. “Tonight? Oh man… it’s my cousin’s birthday tonight. I can’t… reschedule. Well, obviously. Maybe some other… time?”

Your ‘oh, yeah’ is small, and so is the ghost of Mark’s smile. You can’t help but feel like he’s pitying you a little, although he doesn’t seem like the type, but the thought of it alone makes you want to puke. He makes no motion to move, and you think he’s extending this awkward moment out on purpose until you realize you’re still hanging onto him and he has no way of telling you to let go nicely.

Fingers unfurling from his sleeve, you take a careful step back, but when he walks away, it feels like you’ve gone much, much further away.

The worst part is that you can’t even figure out why.

Luckily, the next few times you see Mark, you manage to rebuild a rather shaky bridge back to where you had been. You even manage to strong-arm him into sharing an apple fritter one afternoon, and you know it’s a bit sad to think about it a particular, untrue way, but you can’t help but pattern what you’re doing into some kind of pseudo-date. Pathetic isn’t a word you normally associate yourself with, but you’ve been borderline desperate for progress where there seems to be none, so you take small victories where you can get them.

Unfortunately, you haven’t been able to revisit your stupid dim sum plan; sometimes, he says he has somewhere important to be, but most of the time, it’s actually your fault. No — it’s Youngho’s fault, because he keeps bothering you to finish the project. You’re aware that he can’t do it himself, but since he’s informed of your current plight, he could at least stand to be more sympathetic.

And you hate the way Mark looks every time you splutter out that you have to take a rain check for that reason; it’s not even disappointment, or something, which would be much more understandable. It’s this mysterious kind of faraway look, where his eyes glaze over a bit and he seems suddenly very lost in thought — or completely dissociated. He never strays away from his normal response of “next time, then,” but that ‘next time’ fades into the weekend and into the start of next week, and you have to spend every other evening with an annoying Seo fucking Youngho on a Google Meets call instead of eating soup dumplings loveshot style with Mark Lee.

Thursday night rolls around, and the former performs the most irritating stunt yet: blowing up your phone with so many KakaoTalk messages that it almost buzzes off the table during your session with Mark. Luckily, he seems to have learned a thing or two from his comic books, catching it before it hits the floor.

“You sure you don’t want to answer it?” He asks, gingerly handing the phone to you like he’s afraid it’s going to explode from all the pinging.

“Without the shadow of a doubt,” you sigh, flipping the screen downwards. Buzz.

“It kind of seems important. Or, like… urgent.”

“He’ll live. Unfortunately.”

Mark falls silent, fiddling with the page he’s on. He’s neatly highlighted the formulas on the page with blue ink, and his finger keeps scratching at the slightly wet paper. Buzz.

“Didn’t you say you two were partners?”

“Yes. Also unfortunately.” Youngho is actually a great person, but you kind of hate how Mark’s paying more attention to his texts than to you right now. “What did you get for number ten?” Buzz.

“A hundred and twe— are you really just going to let it keep ringing like that? What if he’s… I don’t know. In trouble? Like, he needs you?”

You smack your phone on its back, hoping that the punishment reaches Youngho because he absolutely is in trouble — only with you. “He’s just making a racket because it’s his birthday and he probably wants a bunch of people to trash his parents’ house, or something.”

“Sounds like fun.” The dubious tone in Mark’s voice indicates that his idea of fun definitely isn’t that. Buzz.

“Not really, but I assume he’ll only pipe down if he manages to get his way.”

“He must really want you there.”

There it is again — that weird, distant expression that makes you feel like he’s trying to free himself from the tethers of the earth. You close your textbook in defeat; it wasn’t even like you got the answer to number ten correct anyway. Buzz.

“He just wants everyone there, I bet. But I probably should show up so he shuts up.”

“Oh — yeah, okay. We’ll call it a day, then?” He’s avoiding your eye as he starts packing his things, which is actually impressive because you have practically nothing but your book to keep in comparison to his pencils and protractor, so you just stare, willing him to look at you.

You want to know what’s going on in his head. You want to know what’s going on in his heart — what he thinks of you, why he seems warm one second then almost like a stranger the next. You want to know if he knows you like him and if him not doing anything even if he knows is a sign that he doesn’t like you back. You want to know if he’d let you kiss him, if he’d kiss you first, if you can meet not because of sweet cream cold brews or algebra but because you just want to be together.

You just don’t know how to ask. For as much as you like him, for as much as you want him, you haven’t figured out the most basic part of this — if you mean anything more than a two hour talk to him at all.

“Mark.” This feels awfully like the dim sum conversation, only somehow ten times more disastrous. “Come with me.”

“Sorry?” The appalled look on his face makes you squirm in your seat.

“I don’t really want to go, but maybe if we go together… we can just hang out a bit and leave once it’s boring… I think it’d be fun,” you explain lamely, deciding at the last second to drop the with you that had originally come with your sentiment.

“I don’t think your… partner will like someone uninvited showing up.”

“I’m inviting you.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.”

“You’d be, like, my saving grace or something — my excuse to scram. We’ll say we came right from a study session; we only popped in halfway through for the sake of greeting him a happy birthday. Then we can just go. We can say — uh, we’ve got more work to do.” You’re practically begging him at this point, and you don’t even get why. You just don’t want him to leave looking the way he does — confused and a little detached. You want the Mark that had smiled at you while giving you your coffee — the one that had kindly pointed out an arithmetic mistake in the most gentle way possible. You want to open blind boxes with him, whine about your rotten luck, and part ways with his warmth still against your coat sleeve.

You don’t know what comes over you then, but you pluck up the courage and initiative to slip your hand in his. He stiffens a little, but you don’t care; your fingers squeeze his in urging.

Something in his expression breaks — cracks first, then falls away, before he’s nodding, still looking vaguely thoughtful.

“If you think it’ll help you, then… okay.”

The bus ride to Youngho’s neighborhood is uneventful because it’s quiet. You stand close to Mark at all times, but you barely touch, save for the times your knuckles accidentally brush his when you lurch forward slightly as the vehicle comes to a dangerously abrupt stop. He doesn’t ask anything about the party or the company that’ll populate it, which is just as well, because you don’t have a clue.

You know it’s the right house because the door’s wide open and there’s music coming from inside; you can’t make out much more than the deep bass pumping through the concrete, but you’re pretty sure it’s making your heart jump in your chest even more than it already is. There are quite a few people you vaguely recognize on the lawn, and even more that you absolutely don’t; a good number of them glance at you and Mark as you step through the threshold then look away, probably deciding you’re of no real consequence or harm to their moods.

Youngho’s easily spottable because of his massive height; he towers over the rest of his guests, and the red plastic cup in his hand calls even more attention because he’s lifted it over everyone else’s heads. You throw Mark an apologetic glance that he responds to with a short nod before you dive into the crowd alone, trying to weave your way to where you’d last seen Youngho.

“Bro, finally!” Youngho greets you, pretty much shouting over the music. “Where’s the gift? Did you leave it on the table?”

“Happy birthday, Youngho. Do you know how close you were to being blocked?”

“I see you brought mister espresso with you,” he ignores your comment completely, nodding to Mark. When you turn back to see him, you notice he’s squishing his arms closer to his sides, trying to minimize the space he takes up. “So what? Y’all get to hook up already?”

“No. I brought him here because we were in the middle of something and someone,” you stop, offering him a pointed look that’s also ignored. “Wouldn’t stop texting.”

“Cockblock,” the guy next to Youngho, who you now realize has been eavesdropping, singsongs. “Oh, sorry. You looked angry when you stomped through the crowd, so I wanted the juicy details. Name’s Jaehyun.”

You take the hand he offers you briefly, introducing yourself. When you say your name, realization dawns on his face, and he jabs his forefinger at you.

“Oh, dude. You’re that girl — the Starbucks Showstopper.”

“The what?”

“That’s what his friends call you.” He scratches his ear, seemingly racking his brain for more information. “I’m with Mark and a couple of his friends — Lee Donghyuck and Na Jaemin — in College Algebra.”

You completely gloss over the fact that you’ve finally found out the real government identity of the mysterious figure named ‘Hyuck.’ “They… talk about me?”

“From time to time. Not really. Once or twice. Donghyuck only calls you that because Mark apparently keeps blowing them off to hang out with you.”

“How do you know this?”

“I have ears. It’s not hard when they talk like no one’s around.”

You shush Youngho’s exclamation of and you’re saying I’m nosy?, your heart hammering hard in your ears, practically drowning out the music. “What… what else did they talk about?”

“Not sure. Something about not seeing you that often these days. Jaemin teasing Mark about getting dropped now that you don’t need his help anymore. Donghyuck piling on and saying you’ve got a boyfriend.”

“What?”

“Don’t shoot the messenger.” Jaehyun still inches away from you when your voice rises in pitch and decibel. Some people around you start, then move away as well, as if scared you’re going to incinerate them. “They were just teasing him that you probably ditched him after you started dating someone. Your partner in some project, or what.”

“Oh gross.” The realization hits you like a speeding truck. Youngho’s expression is affronted.

“First of all, you bitch. Second of all, as if I would date someone who didn’t even buy me a gift. Or want to come. Or yelled at me after coming. Wow — now that I think about it, you’re terrible, _________.”

“Oh, shit; that someone was you?” The only person that isn’t tense in this conversation is Jaehyun, who laughs point blank at Youngho’s sour face. “I think they were offering to put you into one of their Death Note notebooks. Sucks for you, hotshot.”

“What a smudge on my good name,” Youngho sighs mournfully. “On my special day, too.”

“I desperately need you two to be quiet for one second. I have to — where’s Mark?”

Even when you stand on your tiptoes, you’re not nearly as tall as the two of them; it’s Youngho, with his freakish height, who manages to spot Mark by the bowl of nachos, looking as though he’s trying to decide if they’re safe for consumption. You hardly excuse yourself; actually, all you say is a distracted “later” that dismisses Jaehyun’s cooing that something’s going down and you should clue him into all the mess later as a thank you. Your appreciation of his sudden and somewhat short-lived presence in your life is still up in the air.

Mark’s busy making a sour face at the sip of punch he’d just taken; he only straightens up when you’re right in front of him, putting his cup down next to the nachos. “Hey. Did you get to find… um…”

“That’s not important.” Your hand bunches the fabric of his jacket in a death grip, something he barely has time to register, let alone question, before you’re tugging him through the throng of people. You want somewhere quiet, somewhere private, and you initially consider the lawn, except you know it’s strewn with cups and has stragglers debating whether to go home or not. You can’t risk any of them being expert eavesdroppers like Jaehyun, so you make a beeline for the stairs instead.

“We’re not leaving yet?” He has to shout over the music, but there’s no resistance in his stride; he follows you up and waits patiently, although a little perplexed, as you check the doors on the second floor. Two are locked, one is a bathroom, and the other is a messy, musk aftershave-scented place you can only presume is Youngho’s room. Talking in front of a sink and a toilet doesn’t feel like it’ll be very productive, so you just drag Mark into the bedroom, kicking aside the crumpled shirt on the floor — which you could’ve sworn you’d seen Youngho wear for class yesterday. “_________, what’s going on?”

“Mark Lee,” you burst out, ignoring the fact that his eyes widen slightly at your tone. “What’s your fucking deal?”

You don’t think you’ve ever sworn in front of him before; that much is evident when he continues to gawk silently, unable to find words to respond to your question. Or maybe it’s just the volume and force with which you demand an answer. The problem is that you don’t even know what kind of reply you want. A small part of you nags that this is uncalled for, especially at this level, with you practically caging him into an unknown room. In fact, even now, you’re still embarrassed at your behavior, wondering if you’ve gone too far and stepped over a line between you.

But the source of all your frustrations is, in fact, that line — one so strangely drawn, clear at some points and almost invisible at others. Sometimes, he seems simply content with the barest minimum of friendship: talking to you, helping you, politely laughing at your (terrible) jokes. But there are also times he blushes too hard for it to not mean anything, times that he makes you feel like you could mean a little something more to him too.

Yet, from there, he wavers, stepping back so as not to get entangled in something you don’t understand — like when he grows distant every time you mention Youngho to him. You don’t understand why he would unless he echoed, even just a little, the longing in you. But you also don’t get why he stays and builds more walls around himself, like he’s determined to ignore all the other signs — like he doesn’t want to know if it’s really true and will just accept the assumption that it is. You hate not knowing where you stand with him, and while you could easily ask, you know you don’t want to.

And for a long time, you’ve convinced yourself that it’s because you want to see Mark step out of his comfort zone and initiate something, but the ugly truth is staring at you: it’s simply just that you can’t stand the idea of seeing him come to the conclusion that you can’t be anything more to him than someone he makes a sweet cream cold brew for every so often.

There’s a moment of tense silence between you two, where you’re just staring at each other — him, perplexed, and you, agitated — and the only sound that passes is the faint but unmistakable voice of Youngho going who has the cake cutting knife? from somewhere down below. You try not to get caught up in the fact that Mark still looks cute when he’s dumbfounded.

“Sorry?”

“What,” you repeat pointedly. “Is your deal? Why have you been acting so weirdly around me these days? I thought — I thought we were… getting closer. I thought… we…”

You’ve confirmed it now; you’re the epitome of cowardliness. You can’t even say I thought we liked each other — because you know that you do, but you still can’t honestly, assuredly tell if he does. Maybe you just read too deeply into the smallest things — smiles before he asks for your order, glances at you when he thinks you’re not looking, sharing the dream eater figurine — to fuel your own emotions without really checking the depth of his.

“I thought we were cool,” you reroute your words, and they come out flat and lame. “But just when I think you’re warming up to me, you suddenly pull away. Like… you’re afraid of me. Or you don’t like me. I don’t know.”

“It’s not — I don’t — I’m not afraid of you,” he stumbles over his words, and even in the darkness of this space, you see his face turn bright red, very quickly. His feet shuffle, not because he’s lost his balance but because he seems to want to get rid of a sudden restlessness. “I do like you. We are — we were getting — we’re close. We — we’re friends. You said that, and we are.”

“Is it only because I say we are that you agree?”

“What? No, I—” His hand passes over his face, slowing at the curve of his chin. “I really like being friends with you. I like being around you.”

“Then why do you act so weird these days? Like — you’ll be fine one moment, then you’ll back off, like you suddenly remembered you don’t want to be around me.”

“It’s not like that. I’m — I don’t get…” He takes a deep inhale, recalibrating himself for a moment before his voice comes out again, less strained this time. “I just don’t want you to feel uncomfortable around me.”

“How could I?” There’s something more than confusion coloring your voice; there’s hurt, too, and he looks as surprised as you feel at hearing it. “I wanted to be your friend. I was the one that asked you to hang out. I was the one who wanted you to talk to me, to help me, to go to a goddamn dim sum place with me. Why would I feel uncomfortable? Or are you just using this as some roundabout way to say you feel uncomfortable?”

Mark falls silent, and you don’t know why this speaks volumes all of a sudden. His eyes are trained to the tips of his sneakers, which are rising in soft bumps every few seconds; he’s curling his toes inside them. You feel like you’ve gotten the worst answer possible, and something grows cold in your chest.

“You feel uncomfortable around me.” You rehash, but it’s no longer a question. “You don’t know how to get rid of me.”

“No, it’s not that.”

“You think I’m only using you.”

“No.”

“Then what?” Your voice breaks, no longer out of anger, but a desperate sadness. The moment your eyes feel hot and prickly, you decide you want to end the conversation. It’s embarrassing, you think, for someone like Mark Lee — whom you like, who only ever sees you as a friend — to see you get choked up at a fucking birthday party at someone else’s house.

A beat later, you’re mumbling a half-hearted forget it, and you detest overdramatics, but you hate the idea of being in a room with someone who’ll never return your feelings even more right now; you push past him, already on the thought of calling a cab home instead of taking the bus so that no half-drunk businessmen coming from their company dinners see you crying.

But something warm wraps around your wrist, then closes over your hand, and you’re unable to move, Mark’s palm pressed against the back of yours. When you look back, you notice he’s still not looking at you, but his ears are practically on fire with how red they are, and you feel his fingers tighten slightly, tremble slightly against yours.

“It’s not that. I didn’t ever want you to think — I heard about you two. That you were dating someone. Seo Youngho.”

“What does that matter?” Your words come out a little more bitterly than you expect, and you have to remind yourself to reel it in. “That doesn’t explain your discomfort.”

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he repeats, still evidently careful in choosing his words. “Because you wanted to be friends.”

“I don’t understand,” you state bluntly. In the back of your mind, you note that Mark’s grip keeps tightening and loosening, unsure of whether to keep holding on or let go. But there’s something else, too — the soft graze of skin against yours, his thumb gliding over your knuckles.

“That was all you said you wanted to be, right?” He waits for a response, but when you don’t give him one, he lets out a shaky breath and continues. “You kept saying — we were friends. You wanted us to be close like that. I just wanted to respect it, even if…”

“Respect what?”

“That you didn’t want… anything else.”

The music downstairs is a bit tamer now; you hear the door opening and closing every so often, signaling guests leaving here and there, but there are still enough footsteps downstairs for you to know that there’s a crowd Youngho hasn’t gotten rid of and therefore has to attend to. That much is good; you’d get slapped with a homicide charge if he came up here all of a sudden.

“You were jealous.”

Mark’s fingers pinch the bridge of his nose for a moment. “I tried to stop. I don’t have a lot of practice with — well, I didn’t know how to approach the situation. I thought I was still acting normally; I didn’t think… I didn’t want you to feel weird and stop hanging out with me just because… I couldn’t fix it.”

“Your friends are assholes,” you mumble, and he finally meets your eye, equal parts startled and amused. “We aren’t. Weren’t. We never were dating.”

“Even without that, I thought… it was a bit embarrassing. Liking someone like you — someone as pretty as you, as nice as you — I thought it would make you feel weird. Then you’d start avoiding me too. Or, worse, you’d keep doing it just because… you… felt bad for me.”

You don’t know what you find more ridiculous — that you hadn’t seen figured it out or that you could have avoided all of this if you’d just been a little more honest with him too. Mark’s hand starts loosening around yours, a little too much, and you turn your palm and grip his hand before he can escape. He stiffens again, just like earlier, but you now understand better why he does.

“I just wanted to keep hanging out with you as much as I could. I thought… It’d be fine, just spending time with you, and I’d be able to like you for a while, on my own, then…” He looks a little pained. “Then just let you go. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry you couldn’t let go?” You sigh softly, your palm guiding his until they connect, face to face, and you can finally lace your fingers into his. There’s no resistance, but his hand trembles slightly in yours still. “If there’s anything you should be apologizing for, it’s that you ever thought of doing it.”

Something clears in the air, lightens in his expression, and he chuckles, albeit a little shyly still. “It’s because I never thought someone like you would like someone like me.”

“I like you.” And it feels right to say it now, not at all out of the blue, never in fear of an answer he’s already given. “I like you when you smile at me every time you ask for my order. I like that you never get impatient when I’m getting my answers wrong. I like seeing you excited when you talk about a new series you’re looking forward to — something new you really want to collect. When you blush, when you laugh loudly, when you spin your pen in your hand — I like you in all those times.”

“Even when I’m jealous?”

“Especially when you are.” Your free hand comes up to cup his jaw, and you’re reminded of the fact that you’ve wanted to feel the strength of the angle under your palm for ages now. It’s not at all a disappointment, and your heart flutters irregularly in knowing you could’ve done this a long time ago, but it doesn’t matter because you’re doing it now, and fuck if Mark Lee doesn’t look good this close to you. “So be jealous — because now, you know you can be.”

Kissing him is better than you imagined, and you’ve imagined a little too much to be embarrassed at this point; there’s a heat to his lips that matches the one across his face, an upturn to them that makes you smile too. The setting’s not at all an expected one, but you’ll take it, not because it’s dark or because it’s private but because Mark’s in here with you, and you would have kissed him in a brightly lit football field full of people for as long as he’d let you.

You’d like to think he’s flushed for a reason other than shyness when you pull away, even if his laugh is quiet and breathy. In fact, when you murmur not enough, he’s the one that closes the gap this time, offering freely what you ask for with such little eloquence. The natural trepidation in his mouth relaxes, gives way to a curiosity that keeps you locked for so long that you forget you need to breathe, much more intent on finding out if Mark’s tongue tastes as good as you’ve imagined for so long.

It doesn’t; it tastes even better.

It’s still not enough, not by a long shot, but you have to resurface before you pass out like this, and even he looks a little dazed when you pull away — not in a bad way, with a grin on his face that you can only classify as endearingly goofy: slightly lopsided and a little shy, but with an unmistakable air of satisfaction.

“Months,” he mumbles, his lips still dangerously close to yours. Your eyebrows rise in questioning, and he laughs in that infectious way that makes you want to join in without even knowing what the punchline is. “I’ve been thinking of kissing you for months.”

And you do share the laughter this time, not out of amusement but of a happiness that spills without restraint. “But you’re suddenly holding back now?”

“Just letting myself bask in the moment, I guess. Letting it sink in so I remember everything.”

The two of you stand there quietly, still trying to fully parse the progression of events, and a small part of your mind registers that Mark’s thumb is still drawing circles on your skin. It’s also not enough — this touch, this closeness. You know now that he’s been thinking of you for months, and it reminds you that you spent that time dreaming of him too. And you remember you’ve always wanted to be even more familiar with him, and suddenly the desire is overwhelming; he’s right here, and you don’t ever want him out of your grasp again.

“Where are you going?” He’s only curious for the sake of it; there’s no alarm in the question because you keep your fingers tightly woven in his, tugging him along as you walk past him to the door. He’s still staring in wonder after the lock clicks shut. “What’s… happening now?”

“You waited months to kiss me, right?” He nods in response at your question. “I’ve been waiting just as long to have you too.”

His mouth falls open, but he doesn’t manage to say anything; his jaw tightens just as quickly when he feels your free hand trail down his chest, feather-light and asking for a green light. Your index finger stops just above his navel and draws back slowly, but not before you feel the shiver that runs down his torso.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you murmur, giving his hand a little squeeze. “But I just want you to know — I want to. I want you.”

A thoughtfulness settles on his face, and his eyes graze over yours, trying to read your seriousness. You don’t know how honest you look, but your words hold enough truth in them. A silence stretches over the next minute, but to you, it feels like an eternity, and you lose the test of patience somewhat, smiling softly at him.

“You don’t want to?”

“I—” His tongue peeks out, running over his bottom lip. “I do. It’s not that I don’t want to, but…”

“You seem worried.”

A hesitant nod. “I’ve never — well, no, I have, but not — with someone like you.”

“What’s someone like me?” You laugh airily.

“Someone pretty like you — I don’t know. Someone who seems to know exactly what they want. Someone who seems like… they could do better than me.”

“Mark.” You can’t keep the incredulity out of your voice. “I do know exactly what I want. I want you. The rest — I don’t care about. As long as it’s you, I want it.”

He cracks a smile, half of relief, half of disbelief. You don’t miss his hand coming up to press, warm, against your waist. “For real?”

Your fingers curl into the front of his shirt — an anchor to bring you closer, until the tips of your noses are brushing. “For real.”

The third time you kiss is slow, almost careful; there’s lingering worry in the line of his mouth that your lips try to ease until his slightly part under the movements of yours. You feel the tension leave his form in waves — first in his shoulders, then in his arms, until you’re able to press yourself closer and feel the slight give of his frame against your smaller one. He’s radiating an immense amount of body heat that’s pricking your skin and keeping you alert, and you’re hyperaware of the smallest things — the weak tremble in his mouth, the slight roughness of his teeth under your tongue, the ridges of his palate above it.

He tastes nothing like what he smells, you learn. Instead of the air of earthy coffee stuck to clean linen, you inhale a combination of spearmint and mild saltiness that’s made slightly sharper by the lingering splash of alcohol from his accidental sip of punch earlier. You decide then and there that this disparity is important to you; it makes you feel like you’re the only one who can have this experience — that everyone else can know his scent, but now, only you can know what Mark Lee tastes like.

You have to keep your wits about you to avoid this addictive stimulation of your senses; you let go of his hand only to lock your fingers around his neck, and there’s a show of trust in how he lets you lead him backwards, until his knees are hitting the edge of the unmade bed. The kiss breaks as he’s forced to settle on the mattress, and he looks up at you in what can only be described as a quiet kind of awe. He doesn’t complain when you place your hands, heavy, on his shoulders, using his sturdy form to keep you stable as you move to straddle his lap.

“I feel like,” his voice is hoarse as he speaks up. “We should have picked a different location. Someone… could walk in.”

“I locked the door,” you remind him, a light reassurance in your voice. He doesn’t say anything immediately, but it’s clear there are cogs turning in his head, and you think it’s unfair that he’s thinking way too hard about something else that isn’t you, right now, in this position. In a bid to rectify this, your face presses into the side of his neck, breathing in that familiar scent and leaving a light kiss on his skin right after. Your lips mark the moment he swallows hard at the contact. “Besides, would you really be that unhappy if someone did?”

His hands tighten against your waist, prompting you to leave another kiss against his collarbone. “What — what do you mean?”

“You wouldn’t like it if someone — say, Youngho — walked in to see me on your lap like this?”

The silence that follows your words is tense, and you can tell that Mark’s breathing has become shallower. Again, you can feel his throat constricting slightly, and you can’t help but laugh breathily as you nip at his skin, just under his Adam’s apple. He’s surprisingly easy to tease, you realize — quick to turn speechless and prone to hanging onto your words.

To say that you wouldn’t want to use that to your advantage would be a downright lie.

“Tell me,” you urge, your tone deceptively gentle. “You wouldn’t want him to see you kissing me like this? To see me wrapped around you, begging for more, saying your name over and over? You don’t want him to watch you take me — so he knows you’re the only one that can?”

A strangled groan punctuates your words, but it comes from him; his fingers dig hard into your side with barely constructed restraint. “What do you want from me, _________?”

“I want to know if kissing me was the only thing you wanted for months.”

You pull your head away, nudging his chin with the tip of your nose. Another groan escapes him, and his head tilts back slightly, almost like he’s praying. But when his gaze comes down to meet yours at your level again, you see a firm resolution in his eyes that stirs your heart — which takes off the moment he shakes his head, slowly but surely.

“Then,” you whisper. “What do you want from me?”

He doesn’t say so much as shows; he takes from you your breath, steals another kiss that’s now firmer and more openly demanding. Suddenly, his mouth can’t seem to stay still, trapping your lower lip in between his, drawing out your taste until it mixes with his against his teeth. You feel your head growing light again, and you’re pleasantly surprised that it’s suddenly become difficult to keep up with his lips, asking more from you without restraint. A hum of need sounds in the back of his throat, vaguely dissatisfied, and he’s telling you wordlessly that it isn’t enough right before he attaches his lips to the base of your neck, just above your collar. You think he’s just about to return the favor, but a laugh leaves you when you realize he’s taken it a step further, his teeth grazing your skin lightly, soft nips signaling how eager he is to sink his teeth in with only his slowly weakening self-control stopping him from doing it. Mark’s breathing is slightly labored when he pulls his lips away, warm breath fanning over your chest.

“It’s crazy — and stupid,” he croaks out, voice slightly raspy. “But I want it, and I don’t.”

“What do you mean?” Your fingers drag into his hair, combing it upward messily from his nape. He leans in for a quick kiss that’s somewhat misplaced, landing on the corner of your mouth instead of squarely atop it.

“I want them — him to see us. To see me with you, kissing you — fucking you, too. I want everyone to know we’re like this.”

You’ve never heard Mark say anything so forwardly before; a sweet, warm flush builds in your face, pleased at how comfortably he manages to say it — pleased that he’s saying it to you. “Then what’s the problem?”

“I don’t want him to see you.” There’s a bluntness to his words, but hiding behind them is an undertone of pleading — a serious request. “I don’t want him to see how pretty you look. I don’t want him to see you when you’re bare, or how you look when I’m inside you. I don’t want him to see—”

His voice wavers and dies, and you wonder if he’s embarrassed, but when you read his expression, you see an unyielding longing. A smile tugs at your lips, and your hand comes around to cup his chin, thumb extending upwards to drag his lower lip down.

“You don’t want him to see what’s only yours.”

He swallows hard again, but he doesn’t wait long to nod. Understanding passes between the both of you, silently but completely, and Mark presses his face to your throat, feeling the hum resonate as he places another long, firm kiss there.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, in a way that almost feels like he wants to convince himself of something impossible to believe. He doesn’t even wait for your affirmation, prefers to read it in the way you shiver lightly once his lips travel further down. His kisses trail past the collar of your shirt, and his hands are unabashed in how they seek skin, pushing the fabric upward so he can settle the palms of his hands, warm against your waist. Oddly, they don’t travel upwards; they only brush against the dip, down slightly over the upward rise of your hips, then upwards again, almost soothingly. It’s almost like he wants his mouth to meet them, but he stops halfway, sidetracked by the curve of your breasts.

He barely pulls away, only does for a moment, enough to meet your eyes.

“You’re only mine,” he repeats, his voice softer now. You realize he’s still waiting for some confirmation, and when you do, you’re quick to give it to him — quick to erase any doubt.

“I’m yours,” you affirm in the same tone, in the same careful volume. “Only yours, Mark.”

Whatever else he wanted to ask for, he knows you’ve given assent; that much is clear when he buries his face between your tits, inhaling your scent. You briefly wonder if he might feel just as intoxicated around you as you do around him, if your pleasant dizziness in being this close to him, in tasting and smelling him is something he experiences too, but you don’t get much time to dwell on it the moment you feel his lips part, a slight wetness seeping through the fabric. He’s kissing your chest, teeth grazing just above the cup of your bra, nipping without any real objective other than to feel the pad’s slight resistance to his mouth.

You almost miss what he says as he shifts his head, lips brushing over the curve of your breast — another breathless ‘mine’ that isn’t ever punctuated; his lips still stay parted, mouthing at the cloth, like he’s desperate to feel what’s underneath through it. There’s pressure where his tongue presses flush against the shape of your tit, tightness whenever he chooses to nip, attempting to take the flesh and all that’s between you and him between his teeth.

Not enough, you think, even when a whimper of need bubbles out of you; you want to be closer, your thighs pressing against the sides of his. You’re close in almost every way, but you still inch yourself further forward, enough to feel the taut hardness in his jeans. Your hips settle right there, letting fabric ride against fabric as you center yourself.

No sooner do you press yourself flush against him do you gasp; the light sting sends a jolt up your spine when his teeth close around your nipple through your bra, and when you look down at him, you see the corners of his mouth pulled up in evident satisfaction. He’s quick to atone, his tongue dragging your shirt slightly upwards in his attempt to soothe, and for some reason, the push of fabric and the barely-there feeling of motion leaves you tingling.

“Mark.” Your voice comes out in a whine, but in the haze you’re in, you don’t really have a clear idea of what you’re asking for. All you know is that you want more of him, and for as much as he’s already given you in kisses and words, you aren’t even halfway down the list of everything else you wish you could demand from him. You say the only thing that comes to mind — the only thing that really encompasses what you feel. “Mark, I want you. I want more of you.”

His hands on your waist are replaced by the significant tightness of his arms, locked around your torso; you don’t even have the time to take in your awe at the fact that he can easily carry you, turn you over until you’re on your back, until he’s already eased one knee between your legs.

The way he looks down at you is a mixture of hesitation and desire, but the former’s erased when you reach out for him, murmuring another ‘more’ so you can pull him in. With one palm pressed against the mattress, he lets his free hand graze against your side again, bolder in its movements, and his fingers trace a path up to your breast, squeezing the soft flesh through layers. Your back arches upwards in response, eager for more contact, for touch that’s almost there but not quite, and he smiles when you make a noise of frustration from his fingers tweaking the soft nub of your nipple.

“Mark, please—”

“Would you really let him see you like this?” His thumb’s still idly grazing over your breast, following the rise and fall of its curve. You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice level despite the growing want that threatens to break through it. “Would you really let him watch you… get fucked?”

You shake your head, and his brow furrows.

“I’d let him watch you fuck me,” you correct him, and the confusion in his face gives way to pure satisfaction the moment you make this nuance clear. “It has to be only you.”

His grip tightens briefly against your breast again, and he leans down, pressing a surprisingly chaste and brief kiss to your lips.

“Then I’ll unlock the door next time and give him a show.”

You don’t know if it’s what he says or what he does after — his hands bunching your shirt upward until the hem’s just below your neckline — that makes your breath hitch, but you decide it doesn’t matter when you realize you’d much rather be focusing on the journey his lips take, slick against your stomach as he presses languid kisses down to your navel. His fingers hook into the waistband of your jeans, the weight naturally pulling them down, and you see his muscles tighten for a moment as he stops himself from tugging them off completely.

Mark’s mouth is unparalleled in its attentiveness, seemingly intent on making sure he’s covered every inch of your stomach in warm kisses, but you only realize he’s somehow stalling when he starts the cycle again, his nails digging into the taut elastic of your jeans as though to remind himself to curb his desire.

You take the initiative instead, raising your hips slightly to signal your want, acutely aware of the fact that you brush lightly against his thigh when you do so. His eyes lift first, followed by the rest of his face, and he’s watching you quietly. You might have thought he was unsure of what to do all of a sudden again, but his knee pressing closer, an unmistakable pressure against you, is enough to tell you that he’s only curious to know what else you’ll do.

The second time you grind against his thigh, his hands catch your hips, keeping them aloft just long enough for him to tug the band of your jeans downward; he peels them off you with surprising ease, returning to the same position between your legs, hands still firm on your waist. With that done, he only has the thin garter of your panties left to curl his fingers into, bunching it into his fists when you roll your hips up one more time. You manage a shaky noise when you feel the stark difference — the roughness of the denim against you, the stick and drag of flimsy cloth. Mark lets out a low but unmistakable hiss.

“I can’t believe—” his idea is cut short by the movement of your hips again, and his grip tightens, knuckles pressing into your skin. “Can’t believe you’re here. I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

“What am I supposed to do,” you breathe out, the sound momentarily getting stuck in your throat. “So that you know it’s real?”

His fingers relax their hold, palms now pressed against your thighs; they travel between your hips and your knees, a soothing and thoughtful motion. “God — I don’t know. I just want — I just want you so badly. Like… I’m going to go crazy if I don’t have you now.”

You lean up, your weight resting on your elbow, and your other hand reaches out; Mark meets you halfway, bending just a little lower to press his cheek against your palm. There’s something intimate, something so giving about the way he turns his face to your fingers, pressing a fluttering kiss just under your thumb. The tips of your fingers trace the shape of his lips, even when they pucker again under your digits.

“Take me,” you murmur quietly. “Right now — from now on, every part of me is all for you.”

His exhale is shaky, but his fingers have a sureness to them; they slip under your thighs, cradling the backs of your knees, and lifting until they’re folded over your chest. You don’t even have the time to wonder if you should feel exposed all of a sudden; his breath warms the inside of your thigh as he presses his lips there — not a kiss, just a touch as he speaks.

“I want to taste you,” he mumbles, partly distracted with the act of inhaling the mild scent off of your skin. “Every inch of you — I want to know just how sweet you are.”

He lets his hold on your thighs relax, letting them fall apart; he busies his hands with your panties instead, hooking a finger into the strip of cloth just covering you. It’s clear you’re both aware that the fabric sticks light to your skin, poorly masking your wetness, and interest mingled with hunger flashes across his face as he pulls it aside.

“You’re so pretty,” he says, sounding like it’s a comment more for himself than anything else. His gaze flickers to you for a moment before it moves back to your pussy. “The prettiest fucking girl in the world.”

The pressure of his thumb between your folds causes you to forget what you wanted to say, and you know Mark had been nervous, but you realize that it doesn’t mean he’s supremely inexperienced by any means; there’s a quiet, understated confidence in the way he rubs slow, thorough circles, moving upward towards your clit. Your face, your neck, your whole torso feels flushed, but you power through the instinct to tilt your head back so that you can keep watching him — the minute changes in his expression, the slowly building strength in his touch.

“I want to taste you,” he repeats, looking up at you. “I want to know what you taste like when you cum against my mouth.”

You’re not sure if you’re gawking because you can hardly believe Mark Lee — your eternally blushing, mild mannered campus crush — had said all those words strung together into such a lewd sentence, but you’re sure as hell not going to deny him. Your hand travels down your torso, and he watches, curious at first, then awestruck when your index and forefinger settle against either side of your folds, pulling them apart in offering.

His eyes end up transfixed on your pussy again, observing how your fingers ease your folds further apart the more he massages his thumb against your slit. His mouth is slightly agape, intent on drinking in the sight, unaware that you’re trying to memorize this view of him too — Mark Lee, touching you, wanting you, eager to take you fully.

“I’ve always wanted to see what it’d look like with your face between my legs,” you say in a hushed tone, but he catches it anyway, briefly looking up at you again. “I’ve always wanted to know what your tongue would feel like against my pussy.”

Your index finger bumps against the tip of his thumb, and he stops its motions, allowing you to move his digit down until the pad of it hovers just in front of your tiny hole. You can see one cheek tucked between his teeth, bitten to muffle the groan you wish you’d heard louder.

“Won’t you show me?”

You think you hear him rasp out a ‘fuck yes’ before he bends down, pressing his half-open mouth against your pussy. The squeal of delight that leaves you is half-strangled as his thumb curls, hooking into your entrance. It starts a shallow, distracted motion, with his attention funneled much more clearly into keeping his tongue working. Flush against your slit, it drags up, and he releases a guttural noise at your taste, lips pursing slightly on the way back down — like he can’t stand not trapping every drop of wetness with his mouth.

The intensity of his tongue, the idle thrusting of his thumb — you’re not sure what you want to focus on more, and the result is you whimpering incoherently at the starkly contrasting combination of the two. Mark moves his mouth like he’s never tasted anything as good in his life; the sounds between your thighs are wet, sloppy — almost embarrassingly so — but you don’t have the presence of mind to dwell on that because Mark Lee is eating you out and that’s really all that you can think of.

The tip of his tongue suddenly flicks upwards; you keen, long and low, when it starts to circle your clit in that same intense, circular movement his thumb had gotten you used to. Your sensitivity skyrockets, and you’re completely unable to control the upward bucking of your hips, but Mark stays supremely unperturbed, his free arm winding under your thigh to keep the both of you steady. Your noises are growing embarrassingly loud, and you realize just how needy you’ve become when you vaguely notice that there’s a pattern in what you’re saying — his name, over and over again.

“Did you do that too?” He asks softly, his words slightly muffled against you. “Say my name, I mean — when you thought of me.”

“God, yes.” Your voice comes out strained, teetering on the edge of slurring. “So many times — every single fucking time.”

“Promise me something.” He lifts his head, and you see a fieriness in his gaze.

You nod — at this rate, whatever he’d ask you to do, you would without question. “Anything.”

His thumb presses in deeper, up to his knuckle and you reflexively tighten around his digit, but he keeps it anchored there, pushing down against your walls. He drinks in your gasp, the widening of your eyes, the way you chew on your lip with a singular kind of contentment on his face.

“Promise me — from now on, you’ll make sure I’m always there to hear it.”

The only kind of assent you’re able to make is a moan as he dives down again, mouth buried in your warmth, his nose pressed tight against your clit. His tongue moves in strong strokes, broad swipes that push your folds apart further, and his thumb, while not moving, increases in pressure to the point that you feel a heaviness adding to the growing pleasure. Your hands fly down, seeking some kind of sense and reason, and you thread your fingers into his hair, grip tightening as your climax builds in stride.

“Mark, I’m—” close, you want to say, embarrassingly so, but the moment he hears his name, his lips attach to your clit, and there’s suddenly so much more pressure as he sucks, almost like he’s desperate to draw out your orgasm. He chooses this of all time to start moving his thumb again, and this time, his movements are anything but slow and idle; they’re filled with the intent to drive you over the edge. “Fuck me, oh my god—”

“I want to,” he murmurs, pausing for just a moment to drag the tip of his tongue around the nub. “God, I want to. Let me see you cum first; let me taste how sweet you are.”

His thumb stops, buries deep into your pussy, and you’re not sure why this, of all things, is what pushes you beyond control; you’re only half-sure you say his name when your orgasm hits, the rest of your consciousness much too clouded by pleasure. He doesn’t stop, revels in the way you squirm under him as he hums low and keeps his tongue working against your clit. His licks become longer, more thorough as you come down from your high, your cries softening into whimpers as his tongue both attempts to clean you up and makes you messier in the process. His arm is still curled around your thigh, keeping you from inching away from him, even if instinct and stimulation are telling you to.

You’re barely lucid when you sit up, and Mark inches back, somewhat startled; you grab the front of his shirt, and the sight of his mouth, slick and glistening from your wetness, only makes you more curious to know what you taste like on him. You find out how tangy it is, how rich the two of you are together on his lips, and you’re able to fully appreciate the skill of the mouth that kisses you deeply, leaving traces of you against your tongue and teeth.

“Please — fuck me.” It’s the only thing you can say at this rate, only half-coherent and still trembling with desire, but Mark doesn’t seem to care that you’re stuttering over such a simple request. His thumb wipes traces of saliva off the corner of your mouth, kisses it clean for good measure, then straightens up, his hands working at his belt. You almost miss the fact that his hands are shaking slightly as he undoes the buckle and tugs it out from the loops.

You want to help — it’s the least you can do, after all, and your fingers push the button of his jeans out through the hole, his hands working in tandem to tug the zipper down. However, your movements falter when you hear a noise from just outside the room — the sound of the doorknob being jangled, the thud of a body gently hitting the door, as though worried it’s stuck. You glance up at Mark, ready to reassure him, but he either hadn’t heard or doesn’t care because he’s too busy stepping out from the pool of denim at his ankles, and you get completely sidetracked by the bulge straining against his boxers.

You almost ignore Youngho’s voice grumbling ‘Jesus Christ, now of all times? from behind the door, but you leverage it instead.

“Should we let him in?” You ask, tone innocent despite the evident deviousness in your words. It pays off, though; Mark’s cock twitches unmistakably under thin fabric, and he actually looks like he’s considering it. “You’re just about to fuck me, after all. Weren’t we going to — what did you say? Put on a show?”

He worries on his bottom lip, like he’s unsure if you’re serious, but in the end, he shakes his head, reaching out to smooth your hair away from your face and ushering you to lay back down. The lips that meet your forehead are gentle, almost apologetic.

“Not now,” he murmurs against your skin. “Right now, you’re all mine.”

You laugh lightly, nodding, and he chuckles too, but the sound of it slowly dies down when your finger hooks into the garter of his boxers. You can feel his breathing hitch as you tug it down, the elastic catching when it meets the shape of his cock, but you don’t make any move to free it just yet — for some reason, you want to see him do it.

“Show me.”

He complies without hesitation, one hand dragging the elastic down over his thighs, the other curling around the base of his length, and your face flushes as satisfaction works through your system at the bare sight of him.

Mark Lee is big — not monstrously so, but enough for you to make a pleased noise as your hand joins his, fingers barely wrapping around his girth. You give his shaft a gentle squeeze, and his exhale stutters, watching you stroke him, long and thorough in your movements. Your palm swipes over the tip, leaking precum, allowing it to slick up your hand enough to keep your movements smooth. You’re fixated on the tension in his lips, the throb of his cock against your palm, and the way his gaze never leaves your face, like a small, amazed part of him still can’t believe what you’re doing, even if you’re both half-naked already.

“I want to suck you off,” you plead, grip tightening slightly. He grits his teeth, stifling another groan, but he shakes his head clearly enough for you to slow your movements in mild surprise.

“Can’t — not now. I need to be in you so badly.” His breathing’s sharp and heavy, like he’s trying to keep himself in check. “You don’t even know — how long I’ve wanted to feel you.”

Your hold relaxes, and you let him maneuver you, his renewed hold on your hips dragging you closer to the edge of the bed. In this position, he can spread your thighs further, and you angle yourself optimally — enough for him to get a full view of your pussy, wet and still aching from your last orgasm.

“You don’t know how badly I’ve wanted to know how tight you are,” he continues, and there’s a faraway look in his eyes that makes you think he might be entrenched in fantasy. “How much I would have killed to see you — have you like this. I’m not gonna be able to wait anymore.”

His fingers dig into your sides, thumbs stroking your stomach in a weak pattern. The underside of his shaft presses against your folds, still half obscured by your panties, in a way that’s heavy enough to make you mewl, your hips reacting before your mind can, and he hisses softly as he feels his length glide along your slit before you relax your stance again.

“I can’t wait,” he reiterates, a breaking in his voice that sounds almost tortured. You don’t want him to either, want to see him buried to the hilt inside you, and you raise your hips again in need. “I want you so much it’s driving me crazy.”

“Then take me.”

And you’re not sure if it’s a demand or a plea, but he no longer stops himself; his hand fists his cock a few times, coating the slick of precum along his length before he lines the tip up with your entrance. His other hand’s flush against the inside of your thigh, a light pressure ensuring he always has enough space to fit himself between your legs — enough space to bottom out completely.

Mark’s considerate in his pace — maybe he knows he’s big, or maybe he’s just naturally careful, but he allows you the time to adjust to the stretch. Your nails almost puncture holes into the sheets, your grip so tight you wonder if it’s just to brace yourself or to hang onto the last threads of your sanity. He’s only halfway in, but you’re pushing fullness already, and he stops when his cock meets slight resistance, looking up at you in concern.

“You’re not—?”

“It doesn’t hurt,” you reassure him softly, and it’s true; the adjustment brings about slight discomfort, but it’s almost nothing to you — not compared to how much more you want. “Give me everything; I want all of you inside me.”

He pauses still, trying to read your expression for any lies, but when he can’t find any, he nods, his jaw tensing as he presses both palms against your thighs, keeping you open as much as possible to accommodate him. He doesn’t even stop when you whimper, feeling a tightening twitch in your pussy that also causes him to groan, until inch by inch, you’ve taken him, his hips flush against yours.

He doesn’t move — not yet, his eyes trained to where you’re connected like he’s once again unable to believe what he’s doing. You hear him mumble something to himself that you want to hear too; you squirm slightly, and he hisses through his teeth, looking up at you and finding the questioning in your face. He offers you a small smile, albeit somewhat strained.

“You’re tighter than I thought.”

“You’re bigger than I thought,” you hum, and neither of you is really to blame; the tight fit, the slight breathlessness it leaves you with, is perfect, you think — just what the both of you need. “Did you often think about fucking me?”

“Probably just as often as you’re making it sound like you thought about having me fuck you, I think.”

“Don’t get cocky,” you warn, but there’s no real heat in your voice.

“I won’t. But it makes me feel good — knowing you wanted me just as bad.”

“I still do.” Your gaze is lazy, a little hazy, even if you’re anticipating so much. Even just the feeling of Mark, throbbing inside you, is already slowly building the pleasure in your stomach again; you wonder if you could cum like this, given enough time, given enough patience. “I’m still waiting for you to fuck me. God, Mark— please.”

He chuckles good-naturedly, but even that’s drowned out by the long moan that leaves you once he draws his hips back; your body’s mildly shocked into a new adjustment, feeling a sudden emptiness that’s quickly mitigated by him filling you back up again. The pace is slow, almost torturous, although you know he isn’t doing it to get a rise out of you. He wants to ease you into speed, careful to help you adjust fully; his restraint in his movements is all the more evident on his face, in the furrowing of his brow and the determination in his gaze. Even with that, he can’t help what he says, so intent on controlling everything else he does that he lets his words spill out over your noises.

“Pretty,” he grunts out, and when your walls twitch around him, he accidentally thrusts sharper — just enough for you to whimper a little more loudly, and he has to reel his strength back again. “God, you’re beautiful. I should’ve told you sooner how much I wanted you. All those times I had to imagine you wrapped around me like this, wondering how much tighter you’d get once you came on my cock. All those times you drove me crazy while I was alone, when I could have been in you— I could have found out how good you felt. How pretty you’d look under me. And you’re still even prettier, even better than I ever dreamed.”

There’s an erratic melody of moans under his words, spilling from your mouth, and the fact that he riles himself up enough to increase his speed slightly doesn’t escape you. He’s a little less careful now, seemingly entranced by the view he gets, watching his shaft disappear into you only to come out glistening, and a part of you hates the idea of snapping out of his reverie, but the majority of your thoughts now lean towards wondering how much more you can get him to break free of his own self-imposed restrictions.

“I wanted to ask you so many times.” His eyes snap up, coming back into focus as he takes in the sight of you, flushed, hair tousled, gaze darkened. “Almost every day — I sat there, thinking about how all I could do was go home and fuck myself, frustrated you weren’t doing it for me. I should have taken you home with me right then and there — should have let you watch me touch myself thinking of you, should have let you touch me into cumming on your fingers.”

His breathing staggers as he leans in, eager to see you clearer, to hear your words, slowly becoming airier as they come out. For a moment, his gaze falls, torn between watching him move into you and meeting your eyes, but he ultimately chooses the latter once you speak up again, your tone even more hushed than before — like it’s meant to be a secret between just you and him.

“But there were times I wanted you even more than that, to the point that I almost felt like I couldn’t wait.” His eyes widen slightly, a few precious seconds of wondering if he understands what you mean, right before you confirm what he thinks. “I thought about making a move right then — I should have kissed you. I should have asked you.”

“Asked me what?” His voice is gruff with the effort to keep himself in check despite the fact that it’s clear to the both of you that it won’t last.

Your lazy smile’s illusionary; it hides the triumph swelling in your chest at knowing that he asked exactly what you hoped him to.

“I should have asked you to fuck me in front of everyone there.”

“God,” his eyes squeeze shut, his grip tightening. “Please. I can’t—”

“I should have bent over for you there, begged you to stretch me out right after our session,” you continue, bordering on merciless. “Mark, you don’t know — how badly I wanted to be on your lap, your cock in me, with everyone watching. How much I wanted you to fold me over that table, have people watch you pound me, have them listen to how good you make me feel. No one would ever even wonder; everyone would know I’m yours.”

You pause, allowing his eyes to fly open once again, and there’s a pleading in them that’s begging for release. Your eyes soften along with your voice, but you’re this far gone; you should at least see it through.

“And everyone would know you’re mine too.”

“Fuck,” he growls, and his hips stutter before new resolve fills him, his hips driving into you with the force of a strength you didn’t even know he had in him; your thighs tremble at the intensity, at the renewed impact, and feeling him drive his cock deeper into you has you crying out somewhere between a moan and a sob. “Fuck, _________. If I had known you’d thought about me like that — God.”

It’s your turn to shut your eyes for a while, allowing yourself to focus on his movements, breaching your tightness even faster now. You feel his hands skim up your sides again, fingers digging into the fabric of your bra and pulling them down until your bare tits are cupped in his hands. You shiver as his thumbs pass over your nipples, toying them into firm nubs.

“One day,” he hums out, his voice giving way to a slight hoarseness again. “I’ll do it. I’ll fuck you in front of him — in front of Youngho, in front of everyone. I’ll let them wonder how tight you are, how fucking warm you are, and I’ll let them leave knowing no one can know but me.”

It’ll never happen, you both know, but something about agreeing to something so absurd is what has your body almost shaking in longing, and it’s what causes him to press in deeper, folding your legs closer to your torso. Your hands do what little they can to help, keeping your thighs apart so as not to obstruct his view. You can tell it’s somehow not enough, not really all of what he wants when his brow furrows, and he shifts his weight, pushing into you at a new angle.

The stark difference has you gasping before you can control it. Immediately, Mark stops, and you’re already shaking your head before you even hear him say anything, presuming he’s paused out of concern. But before you can say you’re fine, his hushed voice cuts through the silence.

“Do that again.”

“What?”

“Do it again,” he mumbles, sounding distant. “Breathe in. Suck in your stomach.”

You’re not one to complain at such a simple request, albeit a little odd, so you comply, inhaling enough to tighten your torso. You’re surprised when you feel his cock twitch inside you, and you blow out the air alongside your question. “Mark, what are you—”

“I can see it,” he says in utter disbelief. “When you’re like this, I can — I can see my cock inside you. Just a bit.”

Your eyes follow his gaze, fixed just below your navel. From this angle, without any movement, you can’t see a thing, but you assume he’s not one to abandon fucking you so intently without good reason, so you press your palm against your stomach, just above your pelvis. Nothing really feels significantly out of place — up until the point when Mark draws his hips back again, and you feel the backward slide of his cock.

Your throat tightens, and you don’t really understand the feeling that spreads in you — a unique kind of arousal, knowing how deep he is inside you and how you’re taking all of him in despite the fit, because of the fit. Your hand falls away, allowing Mark’s to take its place, and he exerts just a little more pressure against your stomach in an attempt to get the most out of the experience when he thrusts back in. He groans, feeling the bulge push back up, and he quickly picks up the same pace, renewed in intensity so he can experience the rapid rise and fall he creates under his palm.

The faster he goes, the harder he presses, and you’re not sure if he knows it, but the onslaught of friction is what’s making you whine and squirm even more; you’re trapped, in the best way possible, in his hold, your hands back to clinging to the backs of your knees like a lifeline. Pressure from the outside builds on the slowly growing pressure inside, a knot in your pelvis that’s coiling so tightly you feel like you can’t breathe. If Mark notices how close you are, he doesn’t make it known; he’s busy feeling the outline of his cock against your stomach, and when he looks up at you again, his eyes are hazy.

“I would fuck you every single day, every single hour if I could feel this every time,” he whispers in a way that’s almost reverent. “Let me — I want to keep seeing you like this. I want to feel how deep I am inside you, too. Let me fuck you all the time.”

You nod, and your first attempt to say something is just another choked sob. When you do manage to get something out, it’s broken in tearful stutters. “M-Mark, I’m s— I’m so close… I’m — fuck—”

“Do it.” It’s not a harsh command but an urging made on short breath; through your misty vision, you see tension in Mark’s face and shoulders, like he’s bracing himself for something too. You barely register the ping in the back of your mind, too focused on the way he’s pressing his palm harder on your stomach, the way his hips quicken their pace — he’s close too. “Let me feel you — want to feel you cum all over my cock.”

You inhale, not to speak but to let out a loud whimper; your teeth dig into your lower lip as you try to stifle the moans that threaten to follow, but in the end, you whine out his name. Your thighs threaten to close, trembling as you finally reach your climax, an impossible explosion of pleasure, and you have to squeeze your eyes shut so that you don’t get dizzy from the stars that burst around your vision.

“Fuck.” Mark’s voice is strained, his one hand still firm against your stomach, the other sliding against the inside of your thigh. “You get even tighter — you feel even better when you cum.”

“Mark,” you hiccup, unable to do anything but flutter around him as he pistons harder into you. You don’t even know what you’re asking for when you say ‘please,’ but he somehow seems to, and you trust that your body’s saying something you can’t fully detect in this state, with your mind floating in the aftermath of ecstasy.

“I know,” his tone is soothing in contrast to the intensity of his thrusts. “I’ve got you. Just a little more — where do you want—?”

You blink slowly, his words sinking in at too leisurely a pace; his hips stutter dangerously before you’re able to respond. You barely even do that, your hand gently brushing over the one against your stomach, but he catches onto the meaning quickly enough.

You’ve never heard your name said in such a beautiful way; hearing him moaning it lowly is enough to make you whine again, and that noise is drawn out when he shifts and slips out of you fully. Your brain’s fuzzy, but your senses are at least sharp enough to drink in the perfect sight of him cumming — the way he leans his head back, jaw taut and eyes shut, as he pumps his cock and the heat of his release against your skin, pooling against your stomach once he finally cums. You see a shiver run through him, and then he’s still for a while in this position, the both of you basking in the afterglow of your highs.

You’re still weak and sensitive when Mark finally comes back down, a lucidity you don’t have right now coming back into his gaze. All you can do is smile when he leans in, catching your lips in another kiss — one that’s surprisingly soft and slow in comparison to everything else, but still leaves you breathless when he pulls away.

“Let me clean you up,” he murmurs, and you hum in agreement, your body limp as you watch him move off the bed and pull a handful of tissues from a box on the desk on the opposite wall. Even his hands are gentle when he scoops you up, shifting you until your head can lean against the pillows. They carry a scent you’re not used to, and your nose scrunches, rejecting the change, but that’s quickly overpowered by Mark’s familiar coffee-and-linen one when he presses next to you, careful as he wipes his cum off your stomach and thoroughly cleans between your thighs. From somewhere down below, you still hear hushed voices, and the front door slams shut again. People are still in the middle of leaving, but you know Youngho will likely run out of guests soon, and this makes you feel like the timing’s suddenly become urgent.

“I want to date you properly,” you start, slightly slurred but unmistakably blunt. Mark’s gaze snaps to yours, slightly amused, as he balls the tissues up in his fist. “You never asked me, so I’m asking you.”

He looks perplexed. “I just never thought you wanted me to, so I didn’t try.”

You reach up, locking your fingers into his hair and using your grip to pull him down. Your kiss is a little demanding, with a tinge of excess frustration, and he pulls away laughing lightly.

“Do you still think I don’t want you to?”

Mark hums thoughtfully. “I think you made a lot of things clear tonight. On my end, I was happy enough to be near you.” He smiles down at you, and in the faint light, you can see the flush slowly return to his cheeks. “Having you like this — dating you… there’s no way I’d say no.”

Your shoulders relax, satisfied with his answer, and you beam up at him — an act he easily returns, breathtaking and endearing all at once.

Moments later, you feel his arm wind around your waist; he allows you to lean into his side, his other hand crossing over his lap to stroke your thigh. His face turns, pressing a kiss to your hair, and you feel his lips move, hear the quick rush of a whisper. You tilt your head, eyes slightly wide in questioning. “What was that?”

He shakes his head at first, trying to pass it off as nothing. But when it’s clear your curiosity won’t abate, he chuckles softly, his hand gently cupping your chin so that you can only look at him. His thumb strokes your bottom lip gently, as if trying to coax the same words out of your mouth before he murmurs them to you one more time — and this time, he sounds fully convinced of them.

“You’re all mine.”

𓆩♡𓆪 “It’s the way you can ride, think I met you in another life, so break me off another time,” – jock!jk

·˚ ༘ 💌 TAGS — creampies, marathon sex (mentioned), face-sitting/riding, dirty talk, NASTY SMUT, soft moments too, drunk sex, oc being lovely and jk being obsessed with it, high sex, lazy sex, get ‘em cowgirl style, unprotected sex as always, jk gets sappy when drunk, love these two 🥺

MONDAY

Mondays are reserved for studying after partying the weekend with Jungkook and his friends. You ran your errands in the morning and by lunch you were back home with Luna doing assignments and lounging around in your room. Jungkook usually was off doing his own things and then later dropping by with food at your house. Nights however weren’t any different.

Mondays are for winding back and relaxing, and lucky for you Jungkook knows exactly how to get you to unwind with him on a peaceful Monday night.

“Jungkookie,” you softly moan out, “feels so good, ‘s deep inside me.” You murmur out with your head tilted back and hands settled over his chest for leverage.

Jungkook had his lip caught between his teeth and his face was scrunched in pleasure. He lets breathy moans slip past his lips, his hands were grabbing anywhere he could reach. His hands greedily squeezed and played with your ass cheeks while you worked your hips up-down, side to side, and back-forth over is cock. Oh Jungkook was convinced you were made for his cock.

“Just like that baby,” Jungkook whispers in a huff, “made it so messy, gonna have you clean it all up.” He licks his lips and looks down where his cock appears with a sheen coat of creamy slick, a ring of white forms around the base of his cock which disappears every time you sink back down.

You mewl at the idea of licking his cock clean and your hips stutter in their movements, his cock digs into that sweet spot and you roll your hips eagerly for more. “Love making it messy for you,” you whimper, “sounds so good.” Your words are slurred from the pleasure, your eyes flutter shut as you start riding him faster.

The headboard begins hitting the wall repeatedly from the force of your movements. You raise your hips up and down on his cock, bouncing the way you know will drive him crazy. Jungkook can’t do anything but lay there and take it as you use his cock to get off. He becomes more vocal and less talkative as he loses himself to the feeling of your pussy massaging his cock.

“Oh fuck..” Jungkook throws his head back and clenches his jaw, the way your hips slow down at the base of his cock and swivel in a small circle has him gripping the sheets for life. “Like that.” He swears you’re trying to kill him or something.

His groaning and slight whimpers send you over the edge, your tummy feels like there’s a ton of butterflies in there with the way he’s moaning out for more. You eagerly bounce on his cock with wet slaps as your ass makes contact with his thighs. His cock perfectly aims for your g-spot and has you shaking from your thighs.

“Jungkook..! ‘M gonna cum..!” You throw your head back, “Gonna cum, gonna cum,” you repeat breathily as a low whine slips past your lips.

Jungkook rolls his hips upward to aid you, his fingertips press into your hips as he grabs you for dear life. “Shit y/n,” he hisses out as he throws his head back, he feels your cunt clench down tightly on him and it makes his poor cock throb with need.

It happens so quickly neither of you register your orgasm at first, at least not until he feels your cunt squeeze him rhythmically, pulsing as your cream all over him and make the slick dribble down to his balls. Jungkook slows you down as his cock throbs weakly in response, it’s easily one of the most intense orgasms he himself has ever had. He feels like he’s in paradise as he collapses into the bed.

“Oh shit..” He gulps, what exactly just happened?

You collapse on top of him with a weak little moan, “Felt so good..” You whisper out as your eyes flutter tiredly, “I don’t wanna get up..” You mumble. Jungkook slaps your ass in response with a tired groan.

“You have to, gotta clean up.” He sleepily replies, ignoring your whine of protest. What a night..

+

TUESDAY

Tuesdays are free days, you always like to stay in and take the day off from studies and anything work related. You spend it lounging with Jungkook in his apartment watching some random movie on his TV while he rolls a blunt in the background propped up against your ass using it as a pillow.

“Baby,” Jungkook mumbles and licks over the wrapping paper, “I want some..” He murmurs out in a low whiny tone.

“Some what?” You softly reply.

Jungkook reaches up to grip your soft ass cheek, fondling it in his hand as he turns his head to give it a soft little kiss, “You know what.” He murmurs as he sets aside his blunt on the rolling tray and turns over. He cages you in under him, arms settling over both sides of you as he leans down to kiss your shoulder, “What are you watching?” He says softly as he looks over your shoulder.

“I put on that new Scream movie that came out.” You reply softly, shivering a tiny bit because you feel his necklace dangle behind your neck.

He hums nonchalantly and kisses over your shoulders, sighing deeply as he turns his face to hide away in your neck. He slips his greedy hands under you and into your shirt, cupping both tits in his hand as he rubs his thumb over your nipples and occasionally pinches the soft buds. When you whine out his name in that sweet little voice of yours he can’t help it, he turns you over on to your back and leans down to kiss you.

You softly moan against his lips and wrap your arms around his neck, he settles himself nicely over you with his hands splayed over your hips gently. Jungkook’s lips move against yours slowly. He's not rushing or anything, just savoring this nice moment with you. You’re not in much of a rush either anyways.

“Wanna smoke some?” He asks softly when he pulls away from the kiss, a thin string of saliva connecting both of your lips. He stares down at you with half lidded eyes and his lip between his teeth.

You look back up at him with hazy eyes and nod, “Yeah..” You pull him down for a gentle kiss, “Just a lil’ okay.” Jungkook nods and his eyes flutter shut again, kissing you while he reaches over for the rolling tray.

When you both pull away from the heated kiss you’re both panting softly, the movie is long forgotten and Jungkook focuses on lighting the blunt. You sit back and watch as he takes a small hit, hissing under his breath as he holds the blunt out to you. “You don’t have to.” He gently reminds you like every other time.

“I’m fine..” You softly say and take the blunt from his hand, taking a semi-long drag like he’s taught you before. It’s been a while so you end up coughing a tiny bit but Jungkook simply smiles as he drags you onto his lap. “ ‘m okay Jungkookie..” You murmur and pass the blunt back to him.

Jungkook takes a long drag from it as he lays there with his arm behind his head. Occasionally he passes it back and forth with you until there’s nothing left of it. You’re both left lying there with half-lidded eyes, high out of your minds but more importantly..horny. With Jungkook there’s no in-between, either he’s super hungry/sleepy or he’s super fucking horny. Same went for you.

It’s no surprise you end up lying under him with your panties cast to the side and his cock inside of you. Jungkook lazily leaves his marks all over your neck and tits he’s worse than usual as he covers you in dark purple blotches. The feeling sends shivers crawling up your spine, the pleasure is heightened from the weed doing its magic. You swear everything is ten times more better this way.

Jungkook lays his body flat against yours, groaning quietly into the side of your neck as he clenches the pillow tightly. You really made a mess this time given that his pelvis is smeared in your slick, every thrust sends you reeling in pleasure from the way his fat cock rubs against your oversensitive walls and his hips rub up against your swollen clit. You could really just cum from this slow pace alone.

“Kook..” You murmur out quieter than usual, your hands weakly come up to grip his shoulders. Your thighs shake from holding them up around his waist, they slip every so often until you end up lying there bonelessly with a weak whimper escaping your lips. “ ‘s so good..” You mumble.

“Yeah..” Jungkook turns to capture your lips in a slow kiss, “Need more..?” He hums out, reaching down to thumb at your slippery throbbing clit.

You keen in pleasure, hands shakily coming down to grip his wrist to stop him, “ ‘s too much..!” You gasp out, “Nooo..” You whine out, “Gonna make me cum too fast..”

Jungkook doesn’t reply and keeps rubbing instead, his hips kick upward a bit more forceful but still maintaining that lazy pace. He silences your moans and whines with a kiss, panting hotly into your mouth as he moves his lips against yours. The noises you two emit from the filthy kiss only makes you throb even more, you feel a bit of drool slip down your chin too..

“Mmm…” You wrap your arms around his neck and hold him to you, panting as you try to pull away from the kiss.

Everytime you do move away he follows you, lips pressing against yours insitently as he moans lowly, “Stay still for me baby..” He mumbles, “Wanna kiss you.” He whispers as he stares into your eyes. Both of your lips are coated in spit, glossy and swollen from basically sucking eachother’s faces off. Jungkook thinks it makes you look cuter.

“Jungkook,” you gasp and arch your back. He hits your g-spot dead on at this angle and it sends you into a surprise orgasm. It hits slow and makes goosebumps form all over as you tremble under him whimpering. He lazily smiles and keeps fucking you past your orgasm, chasing his own as he hugs you tightly and buries his face in your neck.

You lay there whining for him in oversensitivity as your cunt clenches around him tightly. Jungkook cums after a few more thrusts, he doesn’t make any noise and simply shivers as he slumps against you. “Ah.. fuck.” Jungkook mutters, “Baby, you want somethin’ to eat?” He smacks his lips as he slowly sits up, cock slipping from your wet pussy with a lewd squelch.

“Chips?” You softly say.

“Okay..” He slowly rolls out of bed, “Stay here, I’ll go buy some from the 7/11. I won’t take long, love you.” He comments on his way out after re-dressing.

“Love you too.” You sleepily smack your lips and lay back down with a sigh.

+

WEDNSDAY

Wednsdays you do your laundry, you find it so much easier to do it in the middle of the week that way you have it out of the way.

Jungkook sits there with his hands in his pockets just admiring the pretty view, oh it’s a view alright. You’re bent over digging through the dryer wearing these tight little shorts you got from PINK, you even wear this white tank top that rides up and shows your soft little tummy. Jungkook tilts his head with a stupid smile, kicking his legs as he watches your cute ass (literally).

“Jungkookie, I didn’t know that you had to take your dry clothes before the timer ends because then your clothes shrink! Can you believe that, look what happened to my undies.” You lift up the red lace undies to show it to him, dangling them right in the air where everyone looks and stares in shock.

Jungkook chuckles quietly, “Oh you’re so fucking cute.” He whispers under his breath and turns to side-eye someone who gives you a judgemental look, “C’mere, I can’t see them from here.” He says patting his thigh.

Like a puppy you come right over with the basket of dry clothes, huffing as you set the basket off to the side. You step in between his legs and lift the panties up, “See? I think they’re going to fit tighter now.” You pout.

“Tighter the better.” He grins and swoops down to take the garment out of your hands. “So,” he starts as you step away to the side, “are you still down to go out later? Jimin wants to go to this new bar that opened up, opens around eleven I think.” He tosses your panties into the basket as he gently taps your arms with his fist.

You nod, “Oh yes! I even bought this new outfit that I really like Jungkookie, it’s pink, it’s cute, and it’s pretty.” You cheekily smile. He laughs and you keep going, “The only downside is I don’t have anything to cover up with when it gets cold..” You pout sadly but then smile at him, “Can I have your hoodie? I think it’ll look super cute.”

“Sure, knock yourself out baby.” Jungkook grins softly as he picks out a few of your panties from the basket to neatly fold, “Maybe you should buy more of these,” he dangles the lace panties in your face, “they make your ass look so pretty.”

“I know! I was thinking about getting more because of how comfy they are!.” You smile softly and step between his legs again, giggling when he wraps his arms around you tightly, “Jungkookie if you help me fold the rest of my stuff I’ll show you what I got on right now.” You tease softly in his ear.

Jungkook hops off that counter so fucking fast.

+

THURSDAY

Thursdays are the busiest for you, they’re spent going to your lectures and turning in important papers. Your poor little brain is so fried by the time you’re done! Nothing beats coming home to Jungkook though, he already knows exactly what you need.

“R-Right there..!” You gasp and bury your fingers in his hair, “Please, please, please,” you beg under your breath and rock your hips against his face. Jungkook does not disappoint, he gives it his all, lapping at your slicked up hole and sucking on your fat little pussy lips, groaning and occasionally going back to your clit.

His strong arms hold you down over his face, his nose occasionally bumps into your clit whenever you move forward a tiny bit too much. You put one hand on the headboard and angle your hips down so your pussy sits perfectly atop his face. You’re half tempted to just ride his tongue, to make him take it while you get yourself off on him. He wouldn’t mind..would he..?

Jungkook’s hands squeeze your asscheeks tightly when you begin to ride his face earnestly. He moans softly and manages to catch your clit in his mouth, sucking harshly before letting his tongue run over it. “Kook..!” You sob out, hips humping his face as you rub your clit over his soft tongue over and over again.

Jungkook let you have it, groaning under you as he slapped your ass while you rode his face. He felt your thighs squeeze his head from the pleasure, shaking every so often as your hips stuttered in their movements occasionally. He was in pure heaven right now with a mouthful of pussy and your thighs as his earmuffs. He didn’t EVER want to leave.

“I’m coming..!” You whimper all breathy and high, “J-Jungkookie..!” You gasp out and your hips come to a stop as you cum hard. Your clit throbs and your pussy pulses around nothing. It feels so hot between your legs after such an intense orgasm. You almost forget Jungkook’s under you. “Oops..” You whisper and climb off of him, “Did I almost kill you?” You pout.

Jungkook pants softly as he lays there staring at the ceiling, “No.. even if you did I’m pretty sure that is what heaven feels like..” He whispers like he’s seen a whole new world, “Next time, wear your Sailor Moon costume.”

+

FRIDAY

Fridays are the best. The weekend is coming, classes are out for you, and Jungkook has plans for the two of you. You’re so ready to forget all about your stupid classes, and not to mention the fact that you’re looking forward to doing no work for the next two days.

Tonight Jungkook takes you out to a party his friend throws. You dance together and have a couple of beers before ending the night with good old fashioned body shots. Jungkook ends up taking about four shots from your pretty little body, and by the time you’re both going home in a uber he’s drunk and so are you.

Drunk nights lead to drunk sex, and drunk sex is hot, nasty, and it lasts all night.

You’ve been at it since you both stumbled into his room. He has you spread out under him wearing nothing but your pretty pink heels and that damned g-string with his intials hanging from the front and the back. The room feels hot and stuffy, the sheets are ruined and the headboard won’t stop banging against the wall. Your pussy makes the loudest noises ever, squelching wetly from both your creamy slick and his cum.

A light sheen of sweat covers your bodies, you’re not too sure how the hell he has so much stamina at the moment but you’re not complaining. In your drunken state you manage to pull him in by your legs, heels digging into his back as you cry out for more. Jungkook doesn’t mind, he carries on fucking you like nothing else matters. His balls slap against your taint creating this fopping sound everytime he bottoms out.

“Shit–” He moans out, “You look so goddamn pretty right now baby, pussy’s so fucken wet.. God look at those tits,” he slurs out and leans down to suck a nipple harshly, “fucken love fucking you.” He switches to your other nipple with a low groan.

You mewl in pleasure and hold on to the bed sheets for dear life as he fucks you within an inch of your life. It’s getting harder to hold back your orgasms when he’s pressing into your g-spot over and over again. This will go down in history as one of the best dickings he’s ever given you.

“y/n,” he moans, “look at me,” he pulls away to cup your face, “fuckin love you, you know that? Gonna make you my baby mama, marry you n all that shit too.” He grinds into you while he says this, “You love me too don’t you baby?” He moans out. You nod vigorously with tears in your eyes from the pleasure, you don’t trust your voice to reply verbally. Luckily he seems content with what, “Fuck,” he slams into you, “ ‘m gonna cum again..” He mumbles.

Jungkook fucks you until the sun rises, and by the end of it you’re left laying there with cum spilling from your pussy and sweat on your body. Jungkook somehow ended up on the ground sleeping in the mess of blankets and pillows, you don’t comment to much on that..

+

SATURDAY & SUNDAY

The weekend is reserved for fun, and fun comes in many forms. It could be Jungkook taking you shopping, going out to eat with friends, or even going out for drinks. This time however you’re both nursing the biggest hangover you’ve ever had. You decide a self care weekend is in order.

You both order takeout and spend the day inside curled up watching movies and trying to stave off those pounding headaches. “Owie..” You whimper and curl up into Jungkook’s neck, “The lights are hurting me.” You whine out, “Off, turn ‘em off..”

Jungkook hisses as he quickly shuts off his bedroom light, “Fuck I’m never drinking like that.” He shakes his head, “Next time pinch me if you see me trying to take shots or something baby.” He lays his head on yours with a sigh.

“That’s mean, why don’t I give you kisses! That way you focus on me and we can dance. Wait, do you want me to tell you no too for beer?”

“Oh you sweet thing.” Jungkook whispers under his breath, “Babe, beer is just as bad as the shots we drank, so yes, I need you to tell me no for that as well..” He trails off, growing sick from the thought of any more alcohol. You nod a bit too quickly because then you’re doubling over whining about the pain and dizziness, “You and me both baby.” Jungkook says as he sighs, “You and me both..”

And that’s how your week goes with Jungkook.

TAGLIST: @fragmentof-indifference @jungkooksseuphoria @kooliv @angelarin @jjeonjjk7 @lilliankoo @pb-n-juju @ellesalazar @saweetspoiled @laylasbunbunny @prettyprincejk @cherrysainttt @hyunjinswifeee @joongraduatewithonor @hellbornsworld @leire-mia @m1sss1mp @lissful @winkii @lifeless-firefly @exactlygreatcoffee @taestoess @ayalies @floweryjeons @softtcurse @lilspinachwrld @tearyjjeon @littleobsessedkitty @lovelovelovebts @angeljmnie @rerefundslocals @bangtans-mama @thvhoe @maddkitt @tvse @ohjeon @teteswtnr @jkslovey12 @kelsyx33 @milfpo1ice @sluttydidi @ztyur @beomgyuult @shescharlie @sweet-sourhotcoco @lalita-7 @hazzzelsdimension @p34rluv @kook-net @bonita0-0 @vmapy @dahliadaenerys

Legend

The man you help one day insists that he owes you everything.

Pairing: Jungkook x F! reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Selkie! JK, smut, angst

Word count: 10.6k

Warnings: Sex, swearing, knotting

It’s early, but you prefer walking along the beach when there are less people. The sun’s up, barely, there’s a light salty breeze blowing your hair in your face and there’s movement out of the corner of your eye. 

Three men fighting over what seems to be – a fur coat?

You don’t want to get involved but two of the men are fully dressed and the other one is naked so it seems unfair that the pair are trying to take the fur coat off him. 

‘Hey!’ you shout, before you can talk yourself out of it. ‘Back off!’

You wave your phone. ‘I’m calling the police!’ 

The two men exchange a look and shove the naked man into the sand. Then they’re off. 

You approach the naked man warily. ‘Are you ok?’ 

He looks up at you, dark hair in his face, almost covering his eyes. He’s slim but there’s bulk to his shoulders and arms, a ridge of muscle along his abs. 

He gets up suddenly, overbalances, and you take a step back so he doesn’t fall into you. 

The fur coat’s back on his shoulders, you’re glad for him given, judging by his bare legs under the hem of the coat, he’s stark naked otherwise. 

‘Thank you,’ he says. ‘For helping me.’ 

‘Don’t worry,’ you say. You smile and move past him to continue your walk. 

He says, ‘I owe you everything.’ 

His words make you turn back, slightly nervous at the seriousness of his tone. 

‘You’ve very welcome,’ you say, ‘I didn’t really do anything.’

You’re a few metres down the beach when you realise he’s trailing behind you. 

‘I have to return your kindness,’ he says, when you stop dead and turn around to look him fully in the face. 

Shit. What is this guy on?

‘You can return it by living your life,’ you say, nodding encouragingly. ‘Away from me.’ 

He considers this carefully. ‘Do you feel threatened by me?’ he asks, keeping his distance. 

You eyeball him from the top of his mussed hair, to the ridiculous fur coat he’s got on in the middle of summer, to his bare feet, and can honestly say that you don’t. 

‘You don’t owe me anything,’ you insist.

‘Can I try to repay you?’ he asks. He pushes his hair away from his face, like seeing more of him will change your mind. 

He’s got an interesting face, wide eyes, beautiful skin, a mole under his bottom lip that draws your gaze. 

You sigh. ‘Can you do yard work?’ 

***

Half an hour later your new acquaintance is standing beside you, regarding the mess that was your grandmother’s yard quizzically. 

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ you say. ‘This isn’t worth it. You’re free to go, you don’t have to help me with this.’ 

‘That’s not what I was thinking,’ he says. He looks at you worriedly. ‘How would you have done this alone?’ 

‘It would have taken me longer without your help,’ you allow. 

‘Your hands are small,’ he says, critically, brows furrowed. ‘And your arms —’ 

‘And you’re wearing a fur coat in summer, there’s no judgement here,’ you interrupt, raising an eyebrow at him. 

‘It’s a pelt,’ he tells you, huffy. 

‘There’s probably something up in the loft that’ll fit you,’ you say. ‘Stay here. I’ll go up.’ 

When you get back down to the yard, you’re greeted by the twin mounds of his very firm buttocks. 

‘Holy shit. Get some clothes on,’ you say, turning your eyes up hurriedly as he approaches you. 

‘I see people on the beach wearing tiny clothes that don’t cover much more than this,’ he tells you. 

‘Well you’re not on the beach, you’re in my yard. And in this house we wear clothes,’ you retort. 

You shove the bundle of clothes you’ve found into his chest, and turn your back as he gets dressed. 

When you look around again, thankfully, he’s decent. 

Your grandfather’s clothes are a size too large but it’s probably just as well given your new friend’s penchant for getting naked at the slightest opportunity. 

‘Just to be clear,’ you clarify. ‘This isn’t indentured servitude just because I helped you this morning. You can go whenever you want, ok? You don’t owe me a thing.’ 

‘I owe you everything,’ he says solemnly. 

‘Are you even listening,’ you grumble. 

You decide you’ve spent enough time arguing with him. He looks strong, and willing, and the yard isn’t going to clear itself. 

He works hard, genuinely like he believes he owes you something for scaring those guys off, carrying the weeds you clear out to the bins, seemingly tireless.

By lunchtime you’ve made decent headway. You get up, ignoring the way your knees protest after kneeling in the dirt for so long, and say, ‘come in, let’s take a break.’

‘I don’t need a break,’ he tells you earnestly. ‘I’ll help you finish this.’

You furrow your brow at him. ‘We’re not carrying on unless you eat something —‘ 

You realise you don’t know his name.

‘Jungkook,’ he supplies helpfully, ‘of the Jeon clan.’

You stare at him. ‘I’m Y/N L/N.’

‘Clanless,’ he murmurs to himself, nodding like that explains things.

You frown. ‘We don’t have clans where I come from,’ you start, and then you close your mouth. Why are you arguing with this dude?

‘Fine, Jungkook, let’s have lunch.’

***

For someone who didn’t want to take a break, Jungkook sure seems hungry. 

You watch, bemused, as he wolfs down his sandwich and salad.

‘More?’ you ask, holding out half of your own sandwich. 

He accepts, and the sandwich disappears in three quick bites.

When he’s finally satiated, you go back outside and get back to work.

The sun is starting to drop when you turn to him a little awkwardly. 

‘Hey, Jungkook. Thanks so much for your help today. It would have taken me ages to do this myself.’

He looks at you seriously. ‘You shouldn’t be doing this yourself.’

‘Yeah well, I’m clanless remember?’ you say, jokingly.

He shakes his head. ‘You need help.’

‘You’re not the first person to tell me that,’ you offer.

Jungkook’s unamused. 

‘I’ll help you,’ he says, like that decides it. 

You want to keep arguing but you’re tired, and it’s late, and he does good work.

‘I’ll be back in the morning,’ Jungkook says. He’s got redressed in his pelt, placed the folded clothes you loaned him neatly on the porch. 

You open your mouth and shut it again, and Jungkook takes this as assent.

‘Wait,’ you say, as he walks away.

He turns back to you, and there’s something about the way his profile looks in the fading light that makes your heart beat a little faster. 

He’s beautiful.

‘What do you want for breakfast?’ you ask.

He turns fully to face you, eyes crinkled in a smile. ‘You don’t have to feed me. I’m the one who owes you, remember?’

‘You honestly don’t—‘

You stop talking when you realise he’s too far away to hear you anyway.

***

The next morning, you’re awakened by noises coming from the back garden. You stumble to the window and are greeted by your new friend Jungkook’s shirtless back. 

His muscles ripple in the sunlight, and he’s already worked up a sweat somehow. 

You lift up the sash window, and he turns at the sound. 

His face lights up at the sight of you, and you’d be lying if you said the sight doesn’t make you feel a little giddy. 

‘What –’ 

Your voice comes out as a croak, so you clear your throat and start again. 

‘What do you want for breakfast?’ 

‘Surprise me,’ he says cheerfully. 

He turns back to the thatch of brambles he’s hacking through. 

‘Hey,’ you call again. 

You swipe a hand over your dressing table, grab the sunscreen you apply religiously. 

You toss it out the window, at his feet. 

‘Put sunscreen on.’ 

Jungkook picks it up like he’s unaware of the concept of sun protection. 

‘Can you show me how to use this?’ he asks. 

He’s looking at you quizzically, all bare chest and gleaming skin, and you back away from the window before you say something you’ll live to regret.

You’ve got breakfast in the pan on your grandmother’s old Aga when Jungkook pops his head in the back door.

‘It’s hot today,’ he says.

‘You look hot,’ you agree.

Then you realise what you’ve said. 

Thankfully, Jungkook seems to have missed it completely, walking into your kitchen, looking around curiously. 

He stops in front of a painting on the wall of a lighthouse by the sea. 

‘This looks like it was painted around here,’ he says. ‘I’ve been past this lighthouse.’

‘Would you like the painting?’ you offer. 

At his surprised look, you hasten to explain. 

‘I live in the city. I came here because I inherited this house from my grandmother after she died.’

You wave a hand. ‘I’ve got to pack up her things, get rid of what I can, and then sell this place.’

‘If you like the painting then please take it,’ you say. ‘It’s got no sentimental value to it.’’

‘I don’t have a lot of things,’ Jungkook replies.

He watches as you serve up two plates, lay the table. 

He takes a seat opposite you. 

There’s silence for a bit as you both eat, then Jungkook asks, ‘Isn’t there someone who can help you? It seems a big job.’

‘My parents live abroad,’ you tell him. ‘I don’t have any siblings. Just me.’ 

‘Your mate?’ Jungkook suggests, around a mouthful of eggs. 

You nearly choke on your coffee. ‘I don’t have a – mate, at least not in the sense you mean. I have friends, and they’re stopping by in a few weeks.’ 

You shrug. ‘It’s quite a personal job. I want to make sure my grandmother’s things are handled properly.’ 

You look out the window. Sitting, like this, you can’t see the sea, but if you were to stand, you could see the ocean from every window of this cottage. 

‘I used to spend my summers here, with her,’ you tell Jungkook. 

‘I’ve lived here my whole life,’ Jungkook says. 

You exchange a smile. 

‘I can help you, with anything you want,’ Jungkook tells you earnestly. 

You look at him for a long moment. ‘I can pay you.’ 

Jungkook almost looks offended. ‘I told you I owe you for helping me,’ he insists. 

‘You don’t owe me a thing.’ 

‘I owe you everything,’ he says again, so firmly you don’t have the heart to argue it. 

You get up. ‘I need to stop by the store and get more supplies this morning.’ 

Jungkook says, ‘I can get the brambles cleared today.’ 

You hesitate, then decide to ask. ‘Do you want anything from the store? Is there anything you like to eat?’ 

Jungkook’s smile is shy, a contrast from the fact that he’s parading around shirtless. 

‘I eat anything,’ he tells you, but you get the sense he appreciates that you asked. 

He’s turning to go back into your garden when you stop him. 

‘You should put sun protection on,’ you tell him. 

You squeeze sunscreen onto your palm, show him how to rub it in.

‘On my back, too?’ Jungkook asks, once he’s covered his face. 

You look at him carefully, trying to gauge how serious he is.

‘Yes, on your chest too.’ 

Your voice comes out unusually high-pitched, and Jungkook gives you a funny look as he rubs suncreen into his chest.

You’re trying not to stare at him, acting like it’s the first time you’ve noticed the glorious sea view outside.

‘Can you help me with my back?’ Jungkook asks.

‘Sure,’ you say, gulping a little.

You dot sunscreen on your palm, start rubbing it into his shoulders. His defined back muscles flex under your hands as you rub more cream in.

Jungkook looks down at the waistband of your grandfather’s shorts thoughtfully, and you toss the sunscreen on the table, grab the keys hurriedly.

‘I’ll get you a hat, too,’ you call as you practically run out the front door.

‘See you later Jungkook!’

***

The line at the store’s longer than you expected, you’re looking around for the shortest queue when you spot him.

‘Y/N!’ 

‘Namjoon!’

You step into Namjoon’s hug. He’s always been taller than you but in recent years his build has filled out. You can barely get your arms around him now.

‘I heard you were back,’ he says, smiling at you, friendly. Just for a moment, a shadow crosses his face.

‘I’m sorry about your grandma,’ he says.

‘Thank you,’ you reply. You pull your arms down, clasp your hands awkwardly together. 

‘I’m clearing out her old things,’ you tell him.

‘Need a hand?’

‘I’ve got someone helping me,’ you say.

Seeing the change in Namjoon’s expression, you hasten to explain.

‘I met him yesterday,’ you say. ‘Some guys were hassling him on the beach. He was grateful so he’s helping me clear out the yard.’

Namjoon frowns. He’s one of your childhood friends, you used to look forward to seeing him in the summer.

‘Is he an ok guy?’

‘He seems perfectly nice,’ you say. ‘He doesnt seem like a creep or anything.’

‘Well, you can always call me if you need anything, ok? Maybe we can grab dinner one of these days.’

‘I’d like that,’ you say. 

Namjoon dimples at you. ‘Maybe this weekend?’

‘Sure,’ you agree.

You pay for your things, load up your car and, on impulse, pick up ice cream for you and Jungkook on the way back.

You’re holding your cups of ice-cream carefully, walking around the side of the house to the back, when you hear voices.

You feel a twinge of alarm as you round the corner to see Jungkook and another man you don’t know having what seems to be a heated conversation.

‘Jungkook?’ you call.

The man you don’t know turns and gives you a long look. 

It doesn’t seem friendly.

You’re suddenly aware that you don’t know Jungkook well, you don’t know this man at all, and your nearest neighbour is over a mile away.

Jungkook steps forward, like he senses your apprehension. ‘This is Jimin,’ he tells you. ‘He’s part of my clan.’

Jimin gives you another searching look, but he eventually says, ‘Hi.’

Alarm bells are going off in your head.

You take a step back.

‘My friend Namjoon’s coming over,’ you tell Jungkook and Jimin.

It’s a complete lie, but it’s all you have.

Jungkook says, very gently, ‘Jimin’s leaving. He just came to see where I was.’

You take another step back, ice-cream forgotten.

‘Sure,’ you say. You’re trying your best to sound normal, past the rising panic.

You turn and head back to your car.

It’s only after the car door is closed behind you that you finally feel like you can draw a breath.

The rapping on the window makes you scream.

It takes you a moment to realise it’s Jungkook, another moment to notice that he’s chosen the passenger seat window to knock on even though you’re in the driver’s seat. 

Like he wanted to give you distance.

You lower the window.

‘I didn’t mean to scare you,’ he starts, and he sounds so genuinely upset about it that it goes a long way towards assuaging your fears.

‘No, I —‘ 

You sigh and give up on protesting when you realise it was pretty obvious you were uneasy.

‘It’s ok, Jungkook.’

He says, hesitantly, ‘I want to stay and help you, but if me being here is making you uncomfortable, I’ll go.’

You don’t know how to make this decision now that the ball’s in your court.

So you postpone it, like you’ve done with so many other decisions in your life.

You unlock the car doors. 

‘Do you want ice cream?’

***

Jungkook, it turns out, likes ice cream quite a lot. Somehow, you’re not surprised.

He’s scraping the sides of the cup like he wants to get every single lump, so you pass him your half-eaten ice cream.

He accepts immediately, wide-eyed and so thrilled that it amuses you.

It’s hard to imagine him ever hurting anyone.

‘What’s your favourite flavour?’ you ask.

‘All of them,’ he replies, chocolate smeared at the corner of his mouth.

You laugh. 

‘I’m sorry about Jimin,’ Jungkook says.

He’s not looking at you now, swirling his tiny neon spoon in his cup. 

‘He’s scary when he’s angry, even though he’s so small.’

He hadn’t seemed small to you, although you guess Jungkook’s bigger. 

‘What’s he mad about?’ you ask.

‘He doesn’t trust people,’ Jungkook answers. He glances at you. ‘He thought maybe you were forcing me to help you.’

You snort. ‘How?’

Jungkook doesn’t answer for a moment.

‘Your grandfather,’ he says, changing the subject. ‘There aren’t many photos of him.’

‘He left my grandmother,’ you say. 

In all honesty, you don’t know much more than that. It had all happened when you were very young, your mother hadn’t told you anything about it, and your grandmother had always refused to discuss it.

Jungkook reaches out, fiddles with the dial on the car radio.

‘We should bring the groceries in,’ you say, remembering.

‘I’ll carry them,’ Jungkook insists.

He looks affronted when you try to take a bag off him.

‘I’m much stronger than you,’ he says, huffy.

‘Fine. Carry it all then. Can you make lunch too?’

***

You end up fixing lunch for you and Jungkook with leftovers and deli meat. You sit on the swing on your grandmother’s porch as you eat. 

It’s a hot day, you’re grateful for the light breeze even though it’s barely making the leaves rustle.

Jungkook glances at you as he takes a swig of water, and you hold his gaze. 

‘I’ve got some guys coming to collect the clippings and yard trash next week,’ you say. ‘Think we’ll be done by then?’ 

Jungkook nods, earnestly. ‘We should be.’ 

‘Do you have another job or something? Don’t feel obliged to stay, like I said you’ve helped me so much already.’ 

Jungkook says, firmly, ‘I owe you a debt, please let me pay it.’ 

You search his face. ‘How will I know when the debt is paid?’ 

‘I’ll know,’ Jungkook says. He seems unconcerned, sure of himself. ‘I’ll know, and I’ll take my leave then.’ 

‘What if I get sick of you before then?’ you ask, teasing. 

‘Unlikely,’ Jungkook says, confident. ‘I’m well-liked.’ 

You frown a little as you mull this over, only to catch him watching you, a spark of mischief in his eye. 

‘Are you fucking with me?’ 

Jungkook blinks. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ 

He’s all round-eyed innocence as you look at him suspiciously. 

Finally you get up. ‘Come on, we’d better carry on, then.’ 

***

You’re up in the loft, trying not to feel overwhelmed at the sheer amount of things around you.

The trappings of a lifetime.

You pick up the item closest to you, a small wooden box with a mother of pearl inlay on the lid.

Inside, there’s a pretty champagne pearl set on a thin gold chain. 

You smooth the pad of your thumb over the pearl, admiring the way it gleams even in the gloom of the loft. You put the necklace around your neck, set the box aside, and reach for the next thing.

In the next few hours, you sort old clothes, separate items into charity and junk piles and start bringing things down.

You’re three steps from the bottom of the folding ladder when you lose your balance.

You don’t have time to make any sound when you’re steadied by strong arms. 

‘Easy, I’ve got you,’ says Jungkook.

He helps you down the last few steps, takes the armful of clothes off you.

‘Thanks,’ you say, gratefully.

‘I’ll bring things down,’ Jungkook says. ‘Is there a lot up there?’

‘We can take turns,’ you say. ‘There’s a lot.’

Jungkook mutters something about human materialism which you don’t quite understand but you’re distracted by the way he looks. 

His neck is stretched, the line of his jaw sharp as he peers up the steps. His profile is beautiful.

He looks back at you, catches you staring at him.

‘I did tell you, didn’t I, that I was well-liked?’ he says, a twinkle in his eye.

He’s definitely fucking with you.

You say, casual, ‘you did mention that.’

Your eyes meet.

Then his gaze drops to the pearl necklace you have on.

‘Was that your grandmother’s?’ he asks.

He reaches out, hesitates, then, when you nod, lifts the pendant gently.

‘It’s a natural pearl,’ he says, something like awe in his voice. ‘These are very rare.’

‘My grandmother loved the sea,’ you say, your voice dropped to a whisper, you’re not sure why.

Jungkook looks down at you. Like this, he’s so close you can see a tiny beauty mark on his lower lip, a small scar on his cheek.

Imperfections that only make him seem more perfect.

He’s not touching you at all, but you can feel the warmth he radiates. 

For the first time, you notice he smells faintly like the sea.

You like it.

Jungkook’s gaze is so intense you have to look away.

He lets go of your necklace, and takes a step back.

You try not to feel disappointed.

‘I need to go,’ Jungkook says. ‘I’ll be back tomorrow.’

‘Sure,’ you say, too quickly, with a nervousness you can’t explain.

He turns, descends the stairs.

You push the fold up ladder to the loft up, re-fasten the catch, trying to calm your fluttering heart.

‘Hey,’ Jungkook says.

He’s climbed back up, is holding out his pelt to you. 

‘Can you keep this for me until tomorrow?’

‘Sure,’ you say, lifting your arms out for it.

It’s heavier than you expected. 

‘I’ll keep it somewhere safe,’ you reassure him.

Jungkook says, ‘I know you will.’

He smiles at you, and jogs back downstairs. He stops at the foot of the stairs, waves, and then he’s off.

***

You’re not sure what to do with Jungkook’s pelt when you go to bed but you know it’s important to him, so you end up laying it at the foot of your bed.

It’s hot and sticky tonight, the air ruffling the thin gauzy curtains isn’t providing any respite.

There’s a knot, low down in your groin, a neediness between your legs.

Unbidden, Jungkook’s face floats into your head.

His pretty eyes. The way his jaw clenches whenever he catches you doing something that he thinks should be his job.

The feel of his arms caging you in when he stopped you from falling down the steps earlier.

You look down at your body. Your nipples are hard, pressing against the gossamer thin cotton of your sleep tank. You run a hand over your breasts, pinch restlessly at a nipple.

Your moan sounds obscene in the quiet of your room.

Your cunt tightens, and you slide a hand between your legs for relief.

The pads of your fingers press against your swollen bud, and you moan again.

Jungkook’s naked back, muscles glistening with sweat.

The feel of his bare, sun-warmed skin under your fingers.

You’re breathing faster now, bucking your hips into your own hand as you press two fingers into your warmth.

You imagine Jungkook’s hands inside you instead of your own.

His smirk when he told you he was ‘well-liked’.

You don’t doubt it.

Your need builds as you touch yourself, legs splayed, toes pointed.

Your foot touches Jungkook’s pelt, and you sit up, breasts heaving, nipples pointed, hard.

You reach down for Jungkook’s pelt, bring it up to your face, and inhale. 

It smells like him. 

You pull it to your chest as you finger yourself, and the friction of it on your sensitive nipples tips you over the edge.

You come with a whine, a gasp, gushing stickiness between your thighs, thinking of Jungkook.

***

You wake up late the next morning, the sun’s high in the sky by the time you get out of bed.

You look out the window and see Jungkook’s now familiar back in a corner of the garden.

‘Morning!’ you call before you remember exactly what you did with Jungkook’s pelt last night.

You don’t wait for a reply, leaning back from the window quickly. 

Thankfully you hadn’t got any cum on his pelt. 

Shit. What got into you?

You groan inwardly as you traipse to the bathroom to brush your teeth.

You run lightly down the stairs, only to skid to a stop when you see Jungkook lifting his pelt from where you put it on the couch before you went to sleep.

He’s been sniffing it.

You blink, straighten your back, and say, brightly, ‘What do you want for breakfast, Jungkook?’

You do, after all, come from a long line of women who’ve made a lifetime about not talking about things they don’t wish to talk about.

Jungkook looks at you, a little sweaty, dazed. His pupils are huge, his eyes dark.

‘Anything,’ he says. His voice has dropped to a timbre you haven’t heard before from him, low, almost a rasp.

‘Sure,’ you say, turning smartly to the kitchen.

It’s a good twenty minutes before Jungkook joins you in the kitchen.

He looks flushed, damp like he’s been splashing water on his face, but he looks more like his usual self.

You put a plate of pancakes in front of him. Your hand brushes his accidentally, and he moves his hand back like he’s been scalded. 

‘Shit, sorry,’ you say, flustered by his reaction. 

Unsure what else to do, you take a seat opposite him, and start eating. 

After a moment, he starts eating too. 

You give yourself a moment so that your voice won’t betray you and then say, ‘I’m going to be clearing out the loft again today.’

Jungkook takes a moment to reply. 

‘I can help bring things down.’

‘Great. Thank you.’

You push the remaining pancakes towards him. 

Jungkook clears his throat. 

‘Have you, uh, done something to your hair? You look pretty.’

‘Nothing special,’ you answer.

You flick your gaze his way. 

‘I’m well-liked too.’

Jungkook nearly chokes on the mouthful of pancakes he’s chewing.

He gulps down water, eyes watering.

You smile at him as you clear away your plate. 

***

Jungkook grunts as he sets a box down next to you.

You’re trying hard not to notice exactly how he’s worked up a light sweat, just enough to make his skin glow and his t-shirt stick to his torso.

Jungkook lifts his arms over his head, stretches. The hem of his t-shirt lifts two inches above the waist of his jeans. 

You fight the sudden urge to bite his taut skin.

Jungkook rakes a hand through his damp hair. It’s wavier today, curling around his face prettily.

You’re struck by the duality of his pretty face and his distinctly masculine body. 

To hide the warmth in your cheeks, you look down into the box he’s just brought down.

There’s a stack of letters, shoved haphazardly into torn envelopes. 

You pick one up and begin to read.

Dearest,

I thought of you today. When Ara gets mad, she furrows her brows and tilts her head, and she looks exactly like you. 

I know we chose this life, but it doesn’t make it any less hard.

All my love, always,

Dasom

You wonder why the letter’s with your grandmother and not your grandfather, if he ever got to see it.

You pick up the next.

Dearest heart,

Your uncle stopped by today, and as you can probably guess, he didn’t have any pleasantries to share.

One day I’ll be kinder, but today is not that day. 

I shooed him off with the driftwood you salvaged from the cove.

You would have been proud of me.

Look after yourself, my love, I cannot wait for when you come back to me.

All my love, always,

Dasom

You smile to yourself, amused. Your grandmother was dainty, with the petite stature of many women of her generation, and yet somehow it isn’t a stretch to imagine her shooing off a man twice her size.

Beneath the letter is a photograph, a faded black and white, of your grandparents. You smile fondly at it, at the way your grandmother’s smiling brightly at your stoic-looking grandfather. 

You notice something just in the frame that gives you a jolt of recognition. At their feet, what you thought initially was a rug looks on closer inspection to be a fur skin of sorts.

It reminds you, oddly, of Jungkook’s pelt.

A shadow falls over you.

‘Are those your grandparents?’ 

You look up, startled, and the photograph slips from your hand.

Jungkook leans down to pick it up, looks at the photo. He blinks, frowns a little.

‘They’re my grandparents,’ you tell him.

Jungkook asks, with a new note in his voice, ‘Why is there a pelt in this photograph?’

You have no idea.

‘Was one of your grandparents a selkie?’ 

You blink, totally confused.

‘What’s a selkie?’

Jungkook’s examining the photo closely. ‘It looks like the pelt’s your grandfather’s size.’

‘Rewind,’ you demand. ‘What’s a selkie?’

Jungkook looks at you like he’s debating something in his head. 

Finally, he says, ‘I can show you. We’ll have to walk down to the sea.’

***

It’s a glorious late summer day, you can feel your confusion and curiosity lifting as you and Jungkook walk down your grandmother’s path to the beach.

He’s got his pelt with him, slung carelessly over his shoulder. 

His steps are lighter the closer you get to the sea, it’s like he feels as unburdened as you.

When you get to the water’s edge he stops, turns to you.

‘Will you wait for me?’ he asks. ‘I’m about to show you a lot, I’m worried about how you might react, so will you wait here until I come back to you?’

He’s so serious about it, you can’t protest.

‘Where are you going?’ you ask.

‘I won’t be far,’ Jungkook says. ‘But I promise, I’ll come back to you.’

He’s already slipping off his clothes, barenaked in the sun, and you avert your eyes hastily.

‘When you said you had a lot to show me—-‘ you start.

Jungkook turns his head. He smiles, more than a hint of mischief in his gaze. 

‘Wait for me.’

He slips his pelt over his shoulders, and dives into the water. 

He’s a strong swimmer, a few hundred yards out already.

There’s a strange tingling in your stomach, a fizzing in your veins.

You wonder if you’re about to be profoundly changed.

You can barely see him now. 

Hold it.

You can’t see him at all.

Shit!

Is he caught in the current? 

You take a few frantic steps out into the surf, panicked, unmindful that your entire bottom half is wet.

‘Jungkook?’

Your first shout is weak, barely carrying, lost in the crash of the surf.

You try again.

‘Jungkook?’

You take another few steps out, you’re deep enough to swim but you can’t see anything in the sea.

Your eyes sting with salt and the sun as you surface.

‘Jungkook!’

There’s a dark shape in the water, a ripple through the waves, and you scream as the shape brushes past you.

It turns, heads straight to you, and you dive into the water to swim away from it.

It follows, and every shark story you’ve ever been told jumps into your head.

You’re not as good a swimmer as Jungkook, but you did spend a lot of summers at the seaside growing up.

You head back to shore, kicking strongly, and by the time you’re knee deep you’re exhausted from the adrenaline.

You realise the creature’s followed you to the shore.

It’s not a shark at all.

It’s a seal.

It stays half submerged.

It looks like it’s looking straight at you.

Like it’s waiting for you.

Jungkook’s parting words pop into your head.

Wait for me.

You take a step closer. The seal stays where it is, facing you.

There’s something familiar about the tilt of its head.

The world rocks on its axis, and you?

You slip down into the sand in a dead faint.

***

You wake to sunlight that’s too bright, and Jungkook leaning over you.

His expression’s panicked, his eyes wide and worried.

You wince a little, raise your hand over your head to block out the light.

Jungkook’s saying your name, so you squint up at him.

‘Jungkook?’

‘Are you ok?’ His words come out rushed, urgent.

‘What happened?’

It comes back to you in a flash.

You groan and try to sit up.

Jungkook helps support you, hand flat against the small of your back.

‘Where did you go?’ you ask, a dumb question because you’re not sure if you’re ready to ask the question you really want to ask.

Jungkook says, ‘I went into the ocean, then I—-‘

He breaks off, then says, ‘Then I came back to you.’

‘There was a seal,’ you say carefully.

Jungkook just waits.

‘Jungkook, what’s a selkie?’

Jungkook smiles at you, gentle. 

‘I just showed you.’

***

You’re looking out of the window of your house  as Jungkook makes you tea. He’s been hovering around you like a worried mother hen since the beach, no matter how much you reassure him you’re ok.

His pelt lies beside you on the couch, thrown carelessly next to you as he rushed to fix you a drink when you got back.

You reach out gingerly and run a hand over it.

It’s warm, sleek, the short fibres bristling under your palm when you brush the wrong way.

How had you not recognised it as sealskin before?

Jungkook comes back, carefully holding a mug. He sees you touching his pelt, and you pull your hand away.

‘I don’t mind, if you touch it,’ he assures you.

You say, ‘I like how it feels.’

You sip the tea Jungkook’s just given you.

‘Tell me about selkies,’ you say.

Jungkook sits next to you on the couch. ‘I have a clan. Jimin, whom you met the other day, is part of it.’

‘We mostly live close to the sea. We can take either form—‘

At your expression, he clarifies, ‘I can be seal, or human.’

‘And the pelt?’

‘It’s part of my seal form,’ Jungkook tells you.

You have more to ask about his pelt, but Jungkook changes the subject.

‘Your grandfather was selkie,’ he says.

‘Is that common?’ you ask. ‘That selkies marry humans?’

‘It’s not unheard of,’ Jungkook says. ‘Some clans frown upon it.’

‘My grandfather left my grandmother,’ you tell him.

‘I’m sorry.’

You shrug. ‘I don’t know much. My grandmother didn’t talk about it.’

You turn to him. 

‘I found all these letters she wrote him, I don’t know if he ever got to see them.’

Jungkook’s thoughtful. ‘I can ask around, if you want.’ 

He gets up. ‘I should go. Jimin wanted my help tonight.’ 

He gives you a careful look. ‘Will you be all right?’ 

‘No wonder Jimin’s a selkie,’ you say. ‘I bet his bark is worse than his bite.’ 

Jungkook gives you an exasperated look. 

You’re on a roll. ‘Don’t worry I won’t tell anyone. My lips are sealed.’ 

Jungkook tosses his pelt at you. ‘Shut up.’ 

You struggle to extricate yourself from under his pelt. ‘Don’t you need this?’ 

‘Nah,’ Jungkook says, casual. ‘Besides —’

His voice drops low as he tilts his chin at you. 

‘I like the way it smells when you look after it for me.’ 

Now you’re the one stammering and heating up. 

Jungkook smirks at you and lets himself out. 

***

Jungkook loads the last of the boxes into the back of your car and shuts the trunk. 

He’s stepping back from the car when you ask, ‘Hey, you want to come with?’ 

Jungkook considers this. 

‘We can get ice cream,’ you offer. ‘You’ll have to put a shirt on, though.’ 

Jungkook’s already pulling his t-shirt over his head and sliding into the passenger seat. 

‘You’ll need someone to help you unload this stuff at the charity shop,’ he reasons.

‘Chocolate or vanilla?’ you ask.

‘Both?’ suggests Jungkook hopefully.

You smile affectionately at him. ‘Anything you want, doll.’

Jungkook pouts. ‘It sounds like you’re making fun of me,’ he complains.

‘Don’t be seal-y,’ you say.

Jungkook groans. ‘I don’t know if ice-cream is worth this.’

You chuckle softly to yourself as you pull out of your drive onto the road into town.

***

Jungkook waits patiently on the kerb outside as you speak to the owner of the charity shop.

When you’re done you smile up at him. 

‘Ice-cream?’

‘Sure,’ he agrees amiably.

He doesn’t say much until you’re back in the car, ice-creams in hand.

‘Are you ok?’ he asks.

You glance at him but he’s not looking at you, licking up the rivulet of cream that’s trickled down the side of his cone.

‘Yeah,’ you say.

‘Your grandmother was more than what she left behind,’ Jungkook says.

He’s still not looking at you.

‘She was.’

Unexpectedly, your voice cracks, you clear your throat abruptly in an attempt to hide it.

He’s looking at you now, when you’re trying to look away, to discreetly wipe the tears pricking your eyelids.

Jungkook reaches out, and, without comment, thumbs the tears off your cheeks.

You finish your ice creams in silence.

When you pull onto your drive and kill the engine, Jungkook turns to you.

‘Tell me another seal joke.’

‘What type of music do you like?’ you ask. ‘Club hits?’

Jungkook laughs. 

He looks so pretty like this, dark hair wavy and tousled, golden skin gleaming, that you lean forward and kiss him.

His laughter stops, and you aren’t given time to fret about whether that’s a bad thing because he’s nudging closer, seeking your lips as you pull away.

There’s a sigh, and you couldn’t say if it’s from you or him, don’t care anyway, because he’s kissing you back, and it’s good.

He tastes like chocolate, and salt, his lips firm, his tongue teasing at the seam of your lips until you part them for him.

He licks into your mouth with a sweet urgency that makes you squeeze your thighs together.

His hand’s stroking the exposed skin of your back where your t-shirt’s ridden up, and his skin warms you more than the sun.

‘Jungkook,’ you murmur, as he presses kisses down the column of your throat, ‘wanna go upstairs?’

‘Yeah,’ he says. He pulls away, eyes dark, lips pink. ‘Yeah.’

***

You’re on your bed, half-undressed because Jungkook’s taking his time kissing along your breasts.

He’s shirtless, his beautiful chest toned and golden, flat nipples pebbling under your hand.

You brush a hand over the front of his jeans, thrilled by his hardness.

He groans, tugs at your shorts, lifts your hips up like you weren’t going to do it for him anyway.

He stares at the scrap of pink lace between your legs, so rapt you’re shy until he presses an open mouthed kiss to your folds.

The whine that falls involuntarily from your lips surprises you with its neediness.

Jungkook doesn’t seem to mind.

He tugs your panties half down your thighs, spreads you apart, and kisses you again.

His tongue slides between your folds, wet, insistent.

You’re throbbing, sensitive, as he licks you again and again.

He moans as you get wetter, slicker. 

‘Swollen,’ he pants against your cunt. ‘Need me to lick you.’

You’re beyond words, bucking your hips so you can get more of the delicious pressure of his tongue where you need it.

‘Inside,’ you moan. ‘Need you.’

‘Yeah,’ Jungkook agrees. 

He shoves his jeans down, draws out his cock.

Your mouth waters. He’s pretty. Thick, precum glistening on his head.

Jungkook strokes his cock between your folds, making himself even wetter, and you cry out at the feel of his cock head against your clit.

‘Shit. Do that again.’

He nudges himself against your clit, rubbing precum against you. ‘Like that?’

‘Yeah,’ you gasp.

Jungkook swears softly. ‘I need to be inside.’

You still as he pushes in, the hard blunt head of him stretching you as he slides in. He thrusts shallow, slow, and you’re wound so tight you could scream when he groans, deep in his chest, and fills you all the way.

He rocks his hips against yours, the head of him nudging at your front wall. You’re wrapped around him somehow, you don’t remember doing it but you thighs are around his hips, ankles crossed, holding him tight to you as he thrusts.

Jungkook groans, reaches out to grab your breasts as he makes them bounce with every lunge of his hips.

He’s so fucking strong. You knew that, you’ve seen him carry things, but you’d never put it together that he would be strong like this too, his body moving against yours like he was made to fuck you.

He slows, panting, canting his hips, changing his angle, grabbing at your thigh when your ankles unlock.

‘That’s it,’ he grunts. ‘That’s it, fuck me back.’

He throws his head back as you lift your hips to meet his, sweat gleaming on his throat.

‘Jungkook!’

‘Take it,’ he moans.

You cry his name repeatedly as you come, a pulse of pleasure so intense you lose track of everything that isn’t Jungkook and his cock inside you.

Jungkook’s grinding against you, filling you up, mouthing at your neck, when he cries out and pulls out abruptly.

You moan in protest, and he kisses you, deep, long. You can feel his heart pounding against you.

‘Tried to knot,’ he mumbles. ‘Sorry.’

You have no idea what he’s talking about but you’re enjoying the feel of him holding you too much to care.

You’ll ask later.

***

Jungkook, it turns out, is beautiful when he sleeps.

He’s splayed beside you, face down in your bed, the sheet loose over his hips. 

His face is slack with sleep, brow unfurrowed, lips parted in an ‘o’ that makes him look surprised.

He’s adorable, and the warmth in your chest as you watch him sleep surprises you.

You turn over, face the open window.

A moment later, Jungkook’s moving, curling himself around you, his chest pressed to your back.

‘Can’t sleep?’ he murmurs, his husky voice against your ear making you shiver.

‘I’m trying,’ you tell him.

You can feel him, hard, as he curls his body around yours. 

‘Let me help,’ he says. 

He reaches round to touch your naked breasts, arches your back, slides his cock between the cleft of your ass, entering you shallowly until you’re gasping and moaning.

Then he fucks you again, and it’s even better than the first time.

***

You’re trying not to stare at Jungkook as you have breakfast together, but it’s hard when you can still feel the imprints of his hands on your body.

Your only consolation is that Jungkook seems to be struggling as much as you are. 

His eyes flit between your neck, where he left a hickey close to your ear, skim over your breasts, and eventually his gaze lands on your face.

When he sees your smile he returns it, endearingly shy.

‘I had a good time last night,’ you say.

‘Me too,’ he replies.

You’re still smiling at each other like idiots.

There’s a knock on the door, and you look up, surprised.

You open the door to an unfriendly expression on a fiercely pretty face.

Jimin lifts a brow at you. ‘Is Jungkook here?’

Jungkook’s up. ‘Jimin?’

‘We have to go. Taehyung’s hurt.’ Jimin throws you a look that makes you step back.

He’s furious, and his next words hit you like a slap. ‘Fucking humans.’

You’re not given a chance to react, as Jimin’s already turning away. Jungkook throws you an apologetic look, but he doesn’t say anything. 

Then they’re gone. 

***

You’re nervous, waiting by your front door like it’s the first date you’ve ever had, and it’s not even a date. 

Namjoon’s picking you up and you’re going into town for dinner. 

You haven’t seen Jungkook since he left with Jimin. Granted, it’s only been a couple of days, but you’ve got used to having him around. 

For the thousandth time, you wonder what he’s doing. You hope he’s ok. 

There’s the flash of headlights in your front window, you’re opening the door before you realise you’re moving. 

Namjoon pulls to a stop, gets out, and you have a flash of realisation. 

He’s dressed up for this - shoulders and chest broad and strong against a crisp blue shirt, slacks that hug his ass and make his legs look even thicker. 

‘Hey,’ you say, feeling suddenly shy. 

This feels different from the Namjoon who used to collect shells and catch crabs with you when you were kids. You know he’s different now, but you’re still getting used to it. 

He walks over to open your door for you. 

‘Hey,’ he says. He smiles, and the flash of dimples makes you feel more at ease. 

‘Hey,’ you say again. 

‘Hey,’ he replies. ‘You look really pretty.’ 

You put your hand over your grandmother’s pearl, hanging in your decolletage. 

‘Thanks,’ you say. ‘You look good too.’ 

You slide into the passenger seat, look up just in time to catch the way Namjoon’s gaze drops to how your skirt’s ridden up your thighs. 

There’s a beat of nothing, then you hastily pull your skirt down, and Namjoon straightens up to close your door. 

At the restaurant, Namjoon leans back in his chair across from you. His arm’s slung casually over the back of the chair next to him – you’ve never seen his shoulders look so broad. 

‘How are you getting on with clearing out your grandmother’s house?’ he asks. 

‘We’re doing well,’ you tell him. You take a sip of your wine. ‘The loft’s almost empty, that was the biggest task, and the garden looks pretty good now.’ 

You see the way his brow rises slightly at the ‘we’. 

‘Remember that guy I told you about in the store? Jungkook? He’s been helping me.’ 

‘I’m glad you have help,’ Namjoon says. ‘If you need any extra hands, I’ve got time next week.’ 

‘I think we’ll be ok, but thanks,’ you tell him. 

‘Are you staying?’ Namjoon asks. ‘After you finish clearing out the house?’ 

He shifts a little, and his thigh brushes yours under the table. 

You try to ignore the rush of heat through you at the unexpected touch. 

‘I might stay for a bit,’ you say. 

You’d love to say you’re going back to where you were living, but the honest truth is, you feel untethered. 

Your friends in the city were great, your little apartment is your sanctuary, and your job was ok, but since being back you’ve felt a distance between you and your old life. 

You’ve never felt so strongly that there’s more out here for you. 

Namjoon tilts his head. ‘It’d be great to see more of you. My mum’s always asking after you.’ 

You laugh. ‘I miss her a lot too.’ 

‘She thinks you and I would be perfect together, she was more excited than me about our date.’ 

You roll your eyes. ‘Surely she knows, Namjoon, that you don’t really date.’ 

Namjoon pretends to be hurt, but the twinkle in his eyes gives him away. ‘We’re in a nice restaurant, I wore a nice shirt, how can you say this isn’t a date?’ 

You pretend to be thinking. 

‘Is this table too small, do you think? Because your thigh keeps brushing against mine, and —’ 

Namjoon laughs, sips his wine. ‘I also like that pearl you’ve got on that’s hanging between your tits. Like I needed more reasons to look there.’ 

You laugh. ‘It’s my grandmother’s!’ 

‘That ivory colour suits your skin tone,’ Namjoon says. He dimples at you. 

‘Shut up,’ you grumble. ‘Eat your food.’ 

‘Load up on carbs, baby,’ Namjoon suggests. ‘We’re going to burn them off later.’ 

You ignore him. 

***

Namjoon pulls up outside your house, gets out to open your door for you. 

He looks at you hopefully. ‘Are you gonna invite me in?’ 

You laugh. ‘No. I’m fine with being the only woman in town you haven’t fucked.’ 

Namjoon laughs, cups your arm as he walks you back up to your front door. 

There’s movement in the shadows, and you realise Jungkook’s been waiting on your front porch. 

He steps forward, eyes you and Namjoon. 

Beside you, Namjoon stiffens, turns towards you. 

‘Hey, Jungkook,’ you say. ‘This is Namjoon. Namjoon, Jungkook.’ 

Jungkook nods at Namjoon. 

Namjoon turns more, putting himself between you and Jungkook. 

‘I can probably take him,’ Namjoon tells you, in a stage whisper. ‘If you want me to get rid of him.’ 

You roll your eyes. ‘No one’s getting rid of anyone. Thanks for dinner, Namjoon.’

Namjoon gives Jungkook a long look, then leans down deliberately to kiss you on the cheek. 

‘Call me later,’ he says.

You wait until he’s got back in his car and driven off before turning to Jungkook. 

‘Hey,’ you say. ‘How’s your friend?’ 

‘Taehyung? He’s ok. He was hurt but the clan’s looking after him. He’ll be fine,’ Jungkook tells you. 

‘What happened?’ 

‘Some guys out in a fishing boat thought it’d be funny to try to catch him,’ Jungkook says. His eyes are serious. ‘There are some pretty cruel people out there.’ 

‘I’m sorry,’ you tell him. 

You reach out to touch his arm, and he pulls back like he doesn’t want you to touch him. 

You drop your hand, stung. 

‘Is there much left to do? Have you made progress since I Ieft?’ Jungkook asks. 

There’s a distance to his voice now, a coolness you’ve never felt from him before. 

‘Yeah,’ you lie. ‘I’m almost done, actually.’ 

‘That’s great,’ Jungkook says. He’s barely looking at you. 

‘Yeah.’ 

‘You probably don’t need my help anymore,’ Jungkook says. 

You’re too upset to hide it, so you’re glad for the darkness around you. 

‘Thank you,’ you say. ‘Thanks for helping me.’ 

Jungkook doesn’t say anything. 

You fumble through your bag, looking for your keys, trying hard to see through the sheen of tears suddenly in your eyes. 

‘Here,’ Jungkook says finally. He reaches into your bag, plucks out the keys, unlocks your front door. 

‘Yeah, thanks,’ you say. 

You risk a glance up at his face. 

‘Are you — are you going?’ 

‘Yeah,’ he says. There’s something like regret in his eyes, but maybe you’re over-reading his expression. 

‘Ok. Thank you.’ 

You step into your house, and very slowly, close the door behind you. 

You tell yourself it’s probably for the best. 

***

You have no idea why you keep coming back to this spot on the beach, apart from it was the spot Jungkook picked to profoundly change your world view. 

It’s usually deserted, but today the usual serenity of the vista is marred by shouting. 

You approach, and to your horror, there’s a seal on the shore, and a couple of guys standing over it. 

You rush forward. ‘Hey!’ 

You have the oddest feeling of deja vu. It’s not the same, not the same at all, but this reminds you of the first time you met Jungkook. 

You see the swing of a piece of driftwood, and you jump forward. 

At the last moment, the guy who had been about to hit the seal manages to swing away so he doesn’t hit you. 

You ignore him. 

‘Get back in the water,’ you say. 

The seal looks at you, watching, waiting. 

‘Fucking go,’ you plead. ‘Please, just go.’ 

You think it’s Jungkook but you really have no idea, you’ve only seen him in seal form once. 

You wait until he moves, before turning back to the guys. 

‘Why would you even do that?’ you ask, angrily. ‘It’s a seal!’ 

The guy scoffs. ‘What’s it to you, bitch?’ 

You clench your jaw. ‘You’d better walk away, asshole.’ 

The two guys stare at you, but you’re too angry to care. 

‘Hey!’ comes another voice. 

You all turn to see Jimin approaching. 

Fuck. Just what you need. Another angry man who hates you. 

You turn back and realise the seal’s gone. 

‘Come on,’ Jimin says. To your astonishment, he steps between you and the men. ‘Come on, Y/N, let’s go back home.’ 

You’re so surprised that you allow him to lead you away from the men. 

Eventually you look at him. ‘We don’t even have the same home.’ 

‘Yeah, I’m aware of that,’ Jimin says, dry. 

‘Guess you saw those assholes.’ 

‘Jungkook should know better.’ 

You try to ignore the flare of hope in your chest at the acknowledgement that it was Jungkook on the beach. 

‘I guess you think he should know better about a lot of things,’ you say, spiky. 

Jimin hums. ‘You didn’t hurt him but there are a lot of cruel humans out there.’ 

You’ve reached your door. ‘Yeah.’ 

You turn to Jimin. ‘I hope he’s ok,’ you say. ‘Look after yourself, Jimin.’ 

You don’t think there’s anything left to say. 

***

You fall into a routine of sorts as the days click into place. 

Jungkook had been right, the garden didn’t need any more work after he left. 

The loft’s empty now, apart from a box of letters, some of which you’re waiting to have the emotional headspace to read. 

After the loft, emptying the rooms is easy. The house still has its memories, but you no longer feel laden with the past. 

It’s a week after you saw Jungkook on the beach that you wake to find his pelt on the step up to your kitchen door. 

You pick it up carefully, look around like Jungkook might still be around even though your instincts tell you that you’re alone. 

You place it on the couch, wonder what the hell you’re supposed to do with it, why he would even leave it with you considering he doesn’t want to see you. 

You remember the picture of your grandparents and your grandfather’s pelt, and re-open the last box from the loft. 

Letter after letter, tiny fine trinkets, a lock of your mother’s hair tied with a ribbon. 

Another picture, this time of you, on your grandfather’s lap. 

You don’t remember much about him apart from that he’d been kind, and that he’d seemed to love your grandmother. They’d seemed to have loved each other. 

You unfold another letter. The paper’s crisper than the others, like it’s been wet and dried. 

Dearest, 

I don’t have any regrets about the life we chose. I’ll always cherish our time together, short though it was. 

Today is hard. I’m angry, and I’m upset, and I miss you so very much. 

I wish you’d chosen me instead of your clan. 

I wish I’d told you what I wanted before you left. 

I hate that we are apart, and today, I almost hate you. 

I don’t mean that. Maybe I do. 

Most of all, I wish I could tell you, my love, that even on days like this, it was worth all our while. 

It was worth it. 

All my love, always

Dasom

Tear prick your eyelids, and you blink them back hurriedly, but not quickly enough. A fat teardrop lands in the middle of the letter, and you realise now why the paper is crisper than the others, why the ink in some spots is smeared. 

Your grandmother was crying when she wrote it. 

You’re re-folding the letter, about to close the box, when you spot another letter at the very bottom. 

It’s written on different paper, and when you unfold it, in different handwriting. 

Dasom, 

You know I’m not one for writing, you always wrote so much more beautifully than I did. Did you get the pearl? I found it last year, and it’s always reminded me of you. 

I want to ask how Ara is but I see her sometimes by the shore, with Y/N, and they’re perfect. 

Loving you was the best thing I ever did, and I think that every day. 

All my love, always

Dal

You’re crying so hard you can barely breathe. 

The knock on your kitchen door startles you. You wipe your tears away hastily, and open the door. 

It’s Jungkook. 

He’s wet, and it takes you longer than it should to notice that it’s raining. 

Jungkook leans down so his face is closer to yours. His eyes are worried. ‘Are you ok?’ 

‘I’m fine,’ you tell him. ‘I was reading old letters.’ 

‘Thank you for helping me,’ he starts, ‘that day on the beach.’ 

‘Which one?’ you joke, tearily. 

Jungkook smiles. ‘You’re always saving me,’ he agrees. 

He steps closer, and you realise he’s trying to stop the rain from reaching you by shielding you with his own body. 

You step back, into your kitchen.

‘I can’t sleep,’ Jungkook tells you. 

‘Want a hot chocolate?’ you offer. 

‘Always,’ Jungkook admits. ‘But I don’t think that’s why.’ 

You look up at him. 

‘I belong to you,’ Jungkook tells you. 

Your heart begins to pound. 

‘I always have,’ he says, eyes intent on you. 

You turn to give yourself some space. ‘I’ve told you, Jungkook, you don’t owe me anything.’ 

Your voice comes out firm, confident. 

‘I owe you everything,’ Jungkook says. 

‘You don’t owe me a damn thing —’ 

You’re cut off by Jungkook stepping forward and leaning down to kiss you. He’s gentle as always, his arm wrapping loosely around your waist to hold you as your lips meet. 

Jungkook says, ‘Have you packed your bed?’ 

He’s backing you gently out of the kitchen, heading to the stairs. 

‘Jungkook we can’t —’ 

He stops. ‘Don’t you want to?’ he asks. 

‘Yeah, fuck, ok. We can.’ 

***

You’re loose, still boneless from your orgasm, when Jungkook goes to fetch you water from the kitchen. 

He comes back with a glass of water, and his pelt. 

‘Kinky,’ you say, teasing. 

‘I didn’t tell you about pelts before,’ he says. He scoots in next to you, brushes your hair away from your face. 

‘I have something to tell you about your pelt too,’ you confess. 

At his expression, you say, quickly, ‘You go first.’ 

‘The reason I was so grateful to you when you helped me that day at the beach is that you stopped those men from taking my pelt,’ Jungkook tells you. 

He looks at you. ‘For a selkie, a pelt is the source of our ability to change form.’ 

‘If those men had taken my pelt, I’d have been stuck in human form permanently.’ 

‘You should take better care of it,’ you scold. 

Jungkook’s still looking at you. ‘I did. I left it with you.’ 

The realisation makes you sit up. ‘You should have told me how important it was!’

Jungkook says, simply, ‘I trusted you to look after it.’  

You groan. ‘Why would you trust me like that, Jungkook?’ 

Jungkook rolls over, on top of you. 

He’s heavy, but that’s not the main reason your breathing’s quickening. 

‘I have more to tell you,’ he murmurs, voice husky now. 

‘Yeah?’ you ask. 

Jungkook leans his head down, tugs the sheet off you with his teeth. 

His eyes darken as your breasts are bared to him. 

‘I almost knotted you,’ he tells you. 

You’re distracted, because he’s grinding against you, and you can feel exactly how hard he is. 

‘Hmm?’ you ask. 

Jungkook nudges his cock between your legs, pushing himself in an inch. Two. 

You close your eyes. ‘Fuck, Jungkook.’ 

‘Knotting’s an important thing for selkies,’ Jungkook explains. 

You have no idea how he even has the presence of mind to still be making full sentences. 

Shit, you can’t think! Not when he’s inside you like this. 

Jungkook moves, a shallow thrust that makes you moan. 

‘When a selkie meets his mate, his biological response is to knot.’ 

‘Shit, Jungkook,’ you gasp as he moves again. ‘Can we talk about this later?’ 

Jungkook’s breathing hard as he moves again, and you’re pleased you’re not the only one hot and bothered by what he’s doing. 

‘No,’ he says. ‘We need to talk about it. I’m worried I might —’

Your eyes snap to his. 

‘What’s knotting?’ 

Jungkook stills, but you can still feel him, hard and throbbing inside you. 

‘I’ve never knotted anyone before,’ he tells you. ‘But the other day, I nearly knotted you.’ 

Now he has your full attention. 

‘After I come, the base of my cock swells inside you.’ He looks shy, which is a lot considering he’s inside you still. 

‘It’s biological. To keep my sperm inside you.’ 

‘I’m on birth control —’ 

‘I know,’ he says. ‘But selkies haven’t evolved to get past that yet.’ 

You laugh. ‘Are you saying your cock gets even bigger after you’ve come?’ 

Jungkook buries his face between your breasts, but he’s still so hard. 

‘Fuck. Ok, show me.’ 

‘It might hurt you,’ Jungkook says, touching your cheek. 

‘You’ll look after me, won’t you?’ 

‘I will,’ he promises. ‘Fuck, I will.’ 

He starts moving again, grunting as he thrusts. You curl your hand around the nape of his neck, holding him close as he grinds against you. 

‘Jungkook I —’ 

‘Yeah,’ he says. He presses kisses to your cheeks, to your neck, as you tighten around him. 

You cry his name again as you come, hear his answering moan. 

Jungkook’s thrusting slower now, movements getting more erratic as he reaches his peak. 

He seals his lips to yours as he comes, groans deep in his chest. You can feel him twitching inside you as he fills you. 

There’s so much come you can feel it leaking out of you. 

Jungkook strokes your face, kisses you. ‘I’m going to knot,’ he tells you, voice strained. ‘Can I?’ 

‘Yeah,’ you say. 

You turn your face into his hand, press a kiss into his palm as he swells inside you. 

You shift a little, and Jungkook says, hoarse, ‘You’re doing so well, shit, it feels so good.’ 

He moves, once, and you moan at the pleasure of it. 

‘Does it feel good for you?’ Jungkook asks. He makes the same movement again, and you moan again. 

‘Yeah,’ you tell him. ‘I like it —’ 

Jungkook groans. ‘I like it too, baby.’ 

He reaches between your bodies, strokes your clit as he moves, and between the fullness inside you and the way he’s touching you, you come again.

Jungkook swears, pupils so blown his eyes look black. ‘I can feel you,’ he tells you. ‘Fuck, I can feel you.’ 

You bury your face in his chest, breathing in the scent of him as he holds you tightly. You have no idea how long the pleasure goes on for, if it even stops. All you know is the feel of Jungkook all around you, inside you, and it all makes sense to you. 

***

Your grandmother’s grave is a simple one with a small flat polished headstone. The inscription reads, Dasom, loving mother to Ara and grandmother to Y/N, and loving wife to Dal. 

Yours are the only flowers in front of it, but as you set them down you notice the square laid carefully on the ground. 

It’s part of your grandfather’s pelt, you’d know it anywhere. 

You look up at Jungkook, hesitant. ‘Does this mean –’ 

‘When a selkie dies, his pelt is given to his loved ones,’ Jungkook says. 

You don’t put much stock in physical things, especially not now when you’ve seen firsthand how none of it matters, really, but you like that your grandfather’s pelt is with your grandmother. 

You hope it means they’ve found each other again. 

Jungkook holds out his hand to help you up, and you walk down the path together. 

Author note: For Memes @madbutgloriouspond , because your friendship and kindness means the world to me.

©hamsterclaw 2023

Race me to happiness? Jeon Jungkook

My masterlist

Summary: Your urge to beat Jungkook in a race makes you realize how deep you have fallen for him. 

Word count: 1.7k Best Friends to Lovers

Ratings: 18+

Warnings: Just a fluffy drabble with Jungkook being the best boyfiee. They are in a relationship. Mentions of intimacy. Lots of kissing. Reader promotes the Spidey Kook agenda.

Authors note: Wanted to write some fluff before I post some smut.

______________________________________________________________

Okay, this is not what you signed up for when he asked you out. This man might have the cutest bunny smile, the perfect boyfriend behavior, and big strong arms to hold you up and down, he might even be the epitome of the word perfect but the only thing you would like him to dial down about himself is the urge to make you do athletic stuff, like, you are a very tiny human and he expects you to run towards the farthest pillar or the farthest lamp post in your sight in the Han river park?

Could you say no to him? Should you not run along? Would you not comply with all the wishes he makes with that puppy-like face of his?

No to all the questions.

How could you when he gets so excited and smiley making him look like a happy-jumpy bunny when he wins the casual-jogging-but-now-its-a-race? The fact that you don't like to lose too makes you make hasty decisions and then regret them later

Today is no different.

You sit on the grass with a sprained ankle which makes you want to smack your head to even think that Jungkook is unbeatable, for which you are thankful today, because if you actually had outrun him and then twisted your ankle? It was your face that would've been bruised, not the little scratch on your knee, along with the mind-wrecking sprain.

You see him jogging towards you with a cup filled with ice and you smile at him. He sees your hand caressing your ankle making his face soften he jogs up to you faster than before and up close, you can see, the guilt.

He stands in front of you with a frown and looks at you with his facial features all tense. Kneeling down in front of you he brings the ice in his hand to press softly on the sprain for some relief. When you hiss he pulls it away and looks at you with big round eyes, with concern and-

Is he tearing up? Oh no.

"Baby." You call for his attention in a whisper and he looks down in an instant pressing the ice so delicately as if you'd break.

"Baby. It's not your fault." You tell him, tilting your head to make better eye contact but he tries to hide his teary eyes by looking down and concentrating on your ankle. You take his cheeks in your palms and he looks up with a pout your hands created on his face along with his glassy eyes, he tries to move his face but you chuckle and pull him closer by the lapels of his jacket.

You spread your other uninjured leg to accommodate his big body closer to yours, him trying not to put pressure on your ankle. The evening sun gives an orange glow to his face when he comes closer to you, sitting in the grass, with your left shoe lying on the ground beside you with laces untied shabbily.

"It's not your fault, okay? I wanted to win this time. It was an adrenaline thing, baby." You tell him looking into his eyes and scratching his scalp with your nails while you speak, to which he closes his eyes and sniffs.

"I'm really sorry, princess. I should've been more careful." He says nuzzling his head in the crook of your neck, sniffling and you feel your insides melt from how cuddly and big and comforting he feels. The way he is not putting pressure on your body, staying away from your ankle, not before he positions the ice box on your ankle somehow perfectly making sure it doesn't fall, makes your heart swell.

"You literally fell down trying to catch me bun. I don't think you could've saved me from twisting my ankles even with your spidey senses. Especially in public? I can't risk people knowing, yeah?" You smile when he looks up at you with narrowed eyes at the spider man comment because of the recent childhood spidey underwear scenario.

"I could've saved your ankle if I was a real superhero though, and make fun all you want, atleast I didn't show up at the fancy dress in a banana outfit. I mean, what were you thinking-" he cuts his sentence with a laugh he lets out making his shoulders bounce, you vibrating along with him.

Cheeks red, you smack his shoulders embarrassed and he pulls himself back from your neck wiping the corner of his eye. Still chuckling he pulls back and you almost whine when he removes the slight weight you felt on your body he was so hard trying to not put.

"I was 9, Jungkook. Nine is a small age." You huff with a pout and he chuckles at your cuteness.

"It was just- there were three other kids with a banana outfit. It was funny, how you looked like a bunch of bananas when you grouped for that picture." He laughs looking at you but stops seeing your pouty face.

He smiles sheepishly and bends to pinch your cheek, "You looked adorable though, baby." You both laugh it out and enjoy the silence while he shifts back.

Sitting back he removes the ice box and changes its position not to make the skin feel numb. You smile at his thoughtfulness which makes your heart fall harder for him. Having been best friends since you were 6 you never knew you would know how much of a loving boyfriend he would turn out to be. Not knowing what forever meant with this man as a kid you thought he would be the best friend you saw in Disney movies or the bridesman at your wedding just like your aunt Ji-ah's wedding.

But neither did he turn out gay, nor he wants to cheer for the groom like a best friend. Instead, he wants to be the groom. You never understood how it happened but one day you're best friends (with one-sided feelings from your side of course) and the next day, he confesses. Since you had been trying to hide your feelings for the sake of the friendship, you felt overwhelmed and cried in his arms confessing your love too. Ending up sleeping on the couch, cuddled up.

He became your special person when you first saw his eyes look at you in a way he looked at the stars, his comfort, when you walked up to his car in a white summer dress for your first date, the memory of him telling you he wants to see you walking down the aisle in a white wedding dress for him just like that in future, is still engraved in your head.

"It would've been more convenient if I were a superhero you know? I could just jump and fly away with you. I think they would last longer than humans with the superhuman strength their balls would have."

How could he be cute and dirty in the same sentence?

"You are my superhero, Jungkook." You reach for his tattooed arm and say this with a smile and he looks up at you with wide eyes and a blush that he tries to hide, smiling. You chuckle at his baby-like behavior, all giggly and peachy, which contrasts his persona when he wants to fuck.

Double bunny, a name Taehyung gave him on one of those nights you and the whole squad plus their girlfriend hung out. Making fun of how he was trying to kill a waiter with a death glare for ogling you up and down but suddenly turned his head towards you with big puppy eyes when you excitedly called his name for showing him the new boba drink plushie you saw online.

You fell for his eyes the moment you saw him sitting alone on the swing. If thats were even possible for a 6-year-old kid.

Jungkook looks around and notices it getting dark, so he gets up, picking up the shoe and your phone beside you, seeing him getting up you try to do that too, but he suddenly speaks with his voice dropping to a lower octave, "Hey?!" You pause mid-movement at his voice, and he clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth. Scoffing at how you thought he would let you walk.

"I was picking up your stuff, making sure you don't forget anything and you thought I would make you walk on your own? The audacity, I swear." he scoffs with a smile pulling you up in his arms. Lifting you in bridal style he makes you gasp when you notice attention drawing towards you two, you try to push yourself off him and tell him to put you down. He stands there like a sim with narrowed eyes on you and you wiggling in his arms, letting you calm down from the little protest show you were having.

You stop your movements when your movements cause a piercing pain in your ankle, and you wince. Looking up at him with big eyes, you give up and he chuckles shaking his head.

"You can be stubborn as fuck you know that?" He gives short chaste kisses to your lips, one time, two times, three times, and the fourth time you don't let him pull his head back. His grip on you tightens the moment your tongue pushes past his lips and he groans in the kiss.

You pull back and look into his already dizzy eyes. "Just for you to put me back in my place, Jeon."

"Fuck" he curses with his eyes squeezed shut, you can be a minx if you wanted to be, he thinks.

"Gonna note that for the time I fuck you when your ankle heals, baby." He gives a wet open-mouthed kiss to your cheek and walks you over to the car, smiling at how you blush when people look at you in your boyfriend's arms, placing you in the passenger's seat he bends further to put on your seatbelt. While getting back up you lock your eyes with him, and the love in them makes you snake your hands around his neck, kissing him, you smile in the kiss and he whispers a little 'I love you' in between. Your smile reaches your eyes when you hear him say that. Making your heart flutter.

"I love you too, baby" you whisper back to him, and at that moment, in that closeness, with his breathe on you, with the love in both your eyes and heart you realize you can fall for one person all over again, multiple times and that love can grow up to limits you can never measure.

hours || jjk

⇝ title: hours ⇝ pairing: jungkook x f!reader ⇝ genre: humor, i think? | neighbors to lovers | smut | implied unestablished relationship to established relationship ⇝ summary: You walk across the hall and visit your neighbor Jungkook every Wednesday to drink, chill, sing some karaoke… watch some Netflix. But you always end up wobbling back to your apartment after hours of doing all kind of unholy things. Not tonight. ⇝ rating: 18+ ⇝ word count: 3k ⇝ warnings: alcohol consumption | strong language | they’re both kind of bratty but cute | mentions birth control | pussy eating | edging | fingering | unprotected sex | pull out method | cervix touching/bulging | jungkook has a lip piercing and a septum piercing | uhh he puts his nose in her coochie lol | light tit slapping | teasing | throat grabbing | dirty talk | hairstyling (wink, wink) | missionary | cum shots | squirting | slight dom!jk | nipple sucking | breath play | crying | ass worshiping | aftercare | bam makes an appearance | naked jk… yes this is a warning and you will see why | i brought up BTR, i need to apologize immediately for that | discussions about relationships | i think that’s all

⇝ author’s note: she’s here, bitches!!!! lol thank you @m1sss1mp​ and @monvante​ for putting posters of this man all over my blog. this fic is for the both of you. thank you so much for holding my hand through it all. thank you @baljinciaga​ for beta’ing and screaming in the comments because you gave me the confidence to post this lol. listen, i’m rusty with the smut y’all so i apologize if it’s a mess. anyway, i hope you enjoy. this has been beta’d but there’s still probably some errors since i changed some things after it was beta read.

masterlist | permanent taglist form | read on ao3

drabbles: the unholy drabble | nails drabble

Weiterlesen

It'll grow back

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: You miss Rafe's long hair after being dared to cut it, and he convinces you it looks good

Warning: mentions of sex, slight smut, breeding kink, 18+

a/n: just a surprise hey heyyyy, this is slightly edited and very rusty my apologies. This is about that one tweet i saw where people were complaining about drew’s ‘ugly’ haircut and i decided to put my own twist to it, enjoy!

please do not post this anywhere without permission, thank you!

━━━━━━

"You did not." the words rapidly left your lips as your boyfriend stepped right through the front door, sunglasses still on as he came back from his barber.

This was Barry's fault. The dare was just a suggestion in your mind, and even after begging on your knees, you can't help but feel a twinge of regret for not speaking up more and stopping him from cutting it.

The hair you loved to pull while he licked through your folds and ate you out like it was his last meal on earth, hearing nothing but muffled groans between your legs as you pulled and gripped.

His smile was wide, and cocky even as he closed the door behind him and saw you sitting on the corner of his couch.

"I miss your long hair already," you say with a small pout.

Rafe chuckles as he sits next to you, getting comfortable before he pulls you closer to him. "Really? I kind of like it like this," he says, running a hand over his head.

You look up at him skeptically, but he just smiles and leans in to kiss you. You can't deny that he still looks handsome, even with his hair shorter than you're used to.

"You're lucky, that I love you," you mumble against his lips that had now pressed themselves against yours, his tongue sliding easily against yours and using his arms to pull you on top of him.

"Yeah?" his hands had found their favorite spot against your ass, moving your hips slowly against his, "It'll grow back," his lips wrapped themselves around your tongue as he sucked it gently, pressing you back against the sofa.

The man walked in and saw you wearing nothing but his shirt and underwear, the smell of sex lingering in the air after hours of pounding you down into his mattress all morning.

Like a man still starved, his lips had made their way down your body, lifting off his shirt from you and groaning at the sight of you with no bra, "Tsk tsk, you're practically begging me to take you right here,"

you squirmed against his lips as they pressed themselves against your stomach, hands cupping your breast, "and you fell for it," you giggle as he bites down onto your thigh playfully, your hands going to hold onto his hair, "I'm gonna miss being able to grip your hair," his buzzed hair felt rough yet soft against your touch.

In a swift motion, you were flipped onto your stomach and pinned down by his hands, feeling his breath hit your right ear as he bit your earlobe gently, "even better, you won't be able to pull me away when I eat that pretty pussy of yours," he hummed, as you hear his belt getting thrown to the side, his one hand pulling down his shorts slowly, "and I'm just gonna keep going, even after you've begged it's become too much,"

You moaned against the pillow that had muffled your sounds in the last few seconds, back arching back against his growing bulge that kept pressing itself against you, "and just when you think I've stopped," he pressed his lips against your neck, pulling your underwear to the side as his tip kissed your entrance, the pre-cum mixing with your juices, "I'm gonna slide my cock in," he hissed as he spoke, slowly pressing his hips forwards and happily being welcomed by your warm cavern, "and pump you with so much of my fucking cum, buried deep inside, and get your belly big and round with my children," his breath was shaky as he slid all the way inside of you.

Your legs were spread, back arched against him as he deliciously split you open, never getting used to his monster cock.

"Fuck, Rafe.." was all you could let out, as his hand pressed your head deeper onto the pillow, the other hand smacking your ass and savoring your cunt that gripped onto him, "My hair should be the least of your worries right now, better hope that pill of yours works," he slid out of you before slamming back into you, earning a gasp from your lips, "cause you're in for a long afternoon, mama."

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Taglist: (let me know if you'd like to be added/removed, or if you changed your username!)

@maybankslover @phildunphyisadilf @ailee-celeste @onmykneesforrafe @rafesrings @unbelievablystillafangirl @fashphotolife @rootbeerfaygo @ishipit1420 @babeyglo@georgiaxxxx @stevesmixtape @cityofidek

ೃ⁀➷ i hope nobody catch us, but i kinda hope they catch us.

- ,, neteyam x fem reader

- ,, you and neteyam get caught making out?

- ,, warnings - SUGGESTIVE! adults watch out this is a teenager ur reading abt. minors be careful yo, making out, neteyam is like deadass whipped for u.., can u guys tell i love when character is whiny and so inlove atp??

-‘๑’- les - childish gambino

Your friendship with Neteyam is not exactly.. per say, a friendship. Its what you would technically call it, since you both gave it no other said title. But we all know you guys aren’t just friends, lo’ak knows, kiri knows, spider knows, jake and neytiri know, hell, even tuk knows. Everyone acts oblivious as it is.

There are times where you wonder what your relationship really is, anything but “just friends” comes to mind, some specific memories take you back and give you scary realizations.

For instance, that one time when the whole crew was hanging out together in the forest, our designated hangout spot, you showed up a little after everyone else because you had errands to run, and Neteyam had saved a spot just for you.

“hey guys”

“y/nnnnnnnn” tuk smiles at you and runs towards you with her arms outstretched, signifying her desire to be picked up and spun by you, you do just that and laugh with her. “What’s little girl doing here with the big kids” you question teasingly, knowing Tuk dislikes being called a little girl.

“y/n, finally bro , i almost thought you ditched us” lo’ak says dramatically and spider and kiri laugh, you walk to the group with Tuk in your arms as you slap the back of lo’ak’s head, Tuk jumping out of your arms to go lay in Kiri’s lap.

You look at neteyam, he hasn’t taken his eyes off you since the moment you came into their vision, he’s leaning against a tree, sitting with his legs spread quite a bit, manspreading was a trait neteyam got from his father, and it was so hot.

He pats the space between his legs, and you happily oblige. “hi” you whisper when you look up at neteyam, his chin resting on your head, his arms encircling your figure, thumb rubbing sweet circles on your thigh. “hi sweetheart” he flashes you his infamous smile.

Or that one time when you went hunting for rabbits with him in the forest, you just couldn’t set your aim right, it was getting so frustrating you almost cried. But hey, you have neteyam with you, don’t worry!

He helps you fix your posture, his chest pressing up against your back, he’s so close you can feel his breath on your cheek, his deep voice rumbling in your ear that tells you to focus makes you do quite the opposite. How could you possibly focus when he’s this close to you? Your insides are exploding with butterflies, your lower belly warm and your lip almost draws blood from how hard you’ve bitten it.

Somehow you end up hitting a rabbit with your arrow without even realizing and only realize the situation when you hear neteyam’s laugh and him congratulating you. “you got it y/n!!” (mf that was all you)

This man really has no idea of the effects he has on you does he?

You don’t have to think hard of moments like these with neteyam, they rush through your mind like a film reel. Countless.

No one really thought much of it when they saw you and neteyam having moments like these. No one questioned when he called you sweetheart, or his love, or beautiful, or some sort of nickname on a daily basis, not even you. All waiting for that one particular moment where you both realize its love and make it official.

Which seems so likely to happen today, the tension is thick through the roof with everything that just happened.

You’re patching him up because of course he just got into a fight with some dingus because lo’ak can’t handle a fight alone for shit.

“y/n, gentle please” neteyam lets out a low hiss as you dab a piece of cloth on the cut that bleeds on his jaw.

You’re angry with him, he knows that. And god, he’s angry with himself too, but what’s he gonna do if his baby won’t talk to him?

He doesn’t know what to say, anything to ease the tension, so he decides to go with

“are you upset?” he looks at you with soft eyes

you move his face around to find any other cuts to deal with, his chin between your fingers “so upset, you don’t even know” you hold back a grin at his quiet voice.

“im sorry y/n, lo’ak would get his ass handed to him if i wasn’t there” he sounds so desperate, which he is, for you.

your heart swells, you wanna play.

you put on an act and look away from him, huffing in faux anger.

“y/n please” he whispers, looking at you with pure distress in his eyes, you think you can even see tears. He’s so hard to resist right now, how is he not catching onto your game?? Or maybe he is playing along?

You decide you’re done. With two things.

Torturing him, and torturing yourself.

You stroke the apple of his cheek with your thumb, swiping at the tear that dare fall from his eye “take it easy neteyam” he nods eagerly, he’ll listen to you until he dies.

You sigh, and clean up the cloth and medicine and get ready to leave, standing up but neteyam grabs your wrist and pulls you down, onto his lap, his arms circling your waist as he holds you close to him.

His forehead rests on your collarbone and you stroke his hair.

“okay, nete look at me..” he obeys.

you cup his face in your soft hands, he nuzzles against them and you lean forward, you look at his eyes and he’s already closed them. God!!! He’s so cute you could squeal!!!

You smash your lips against his and his hands automatically bring you closer, your legs straddling his lap as you run your hands through his hair, grazing at his nape.

Neteyam pulls away to look at you for a split second, and you look so so pretty he just can’t hold his tongue, “i love you” he whispers against your lips, three words meant for you and you only. He goes back to kiss you before you could reply, he gives you a few open-mouthed kisses before you mewl into his mouth and he crumbles.

Neteyam groans and he attaches his lips to your jaw, giving you gentle kisses that trail down to your neck, “i love you so much y/n” you wonder where he learnt this from.

“i love you neteyam” you whisper as you feel yourself grow more impatient as time goes.

he kisses you again and you feel him smile into the kiss, your chest is warm, neteyam intertwines his hand with yours and it becomes sloppy quiet fast.

you’re both a mess, whining into each others mouths , you’re so deep into it you don’t even realize footsteps getting louder and louder, eventually you are pulled out of your fantasies when you hear neytiri address her son right before she catches sight of you both in this sinful activity, you pull apart suddenly and scramble to get off his lap, failing miserably as neteyam seems opposed to the idea of letting go of you.

“neteyam! fuck!” you whisper-yell and shove your face into his shoulder, his hands still on your hips as he sputters to explain to his mother what she just witnessed

Neytiri coughs.

“mother i was just- we were- “

“making out?” Neytiri chuckles and shakes her head, making her way out after grabbing the plate you used to fix neteyam’s wounds.

“neteyammmmmm i can’t do this right noww” you cry embarrassed into his shoulder and he shudders at the thought of his mom knowing what you guys were doing. He laughs soon after, snaking his hands around your waist as he holds you in his lap

“i don’t know this isn’t all that funny nete” you grumble and shake your head, “poor neytiri”

“no.. poor neteyam, i didn’t get to finish “making out” with you” he says, putting up fingers meant to imitate quotation marks to mock his moms words.

you slap his arm gently “as much as i was enjoying, i don’t wanna risk getting caught again.. ewya forbids its tuk next time.. i would never even kiss you again”

he gasps, putting a hand over his chest to fake his hurt and you giggle at his expression

he kisses you again, and again, and again until you have to put your hand over his lips and tell him to stop in between a fit of giggles, he laughs with you “just kissing you enough so i don’t die when you refuse me later” you grin so hard your cheeks hurt, but its so worth it.

You hear lo’ak , spider , kiri, jake , and tuk cheering from outside, “GO BIG BRO” “is y/n my actual sister now?” “ugh finally they stopped beating around the bush” “thats my son, on his lap?? thats literally us neytiri!”

Oh.. Neytiri told them. Great!

TONIGHT YOU ARE MINE [s. neteyam]

pairing neteyam x metkayina!fem!reader

summary fed up with his siblings stealing you away while the sun shines, neteyam decides it's best to see you during eclipse

wc 1.2k

warnings mentions of jealousy, probably littered with grammatical errors (oops)

note first actual neteyam oneshot 😋 it took me WAYYYY too long to actually finish this. i must admit i’m a bit embarrassed lol. also this is heavily inspired by this song !!

glossary yawntutsyìp (darling), skxawng (idiot), oel ngati kameie (i see you)

neteyam wasn’t jealous. he wasn’t. he swore to both you and himself that jealousy was something he felt a lack of, always trusting in you and the relationship you both upheld. he took great pride in not having experienced the pesky emotion. but now, as he stood watching you from the shore of one of the reef’s many beaches, he was trying to force down the bitter feeling that caused his jaw to tighten and stature to straighten.

the na’vi stealing your attention away from him weren’t even strangers. neteyam felt more betrayed that you were making more time for his siblings than you were for him. he supposed he could join in on your fun, integrate himself into the smiles and laughter, but he wanted time with you and you alone. so as he turned away, gears beginning to turn in his mind, he worked out a supposed better moment to approach you.

“there you are! i’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

your words carried a lilt to them, and you wore an exhilarated smile as you walked up to neteyam, reaching for his hand in earnest. 

“that’s funny, ‘cause i’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he replied gingerly, his lips pulling into a grin similar to yours. he took notice of the way you were practically bouncing on your heels as he began to tug you in the direction of the water.

it was just after eclipse, and you could sense that his family (or parents in particular) would be worried about him, but you didn’t question when he said, “come with me.” 

his braids fell past his shoulders as he walked, and you squeezed his hand tenderly as water started to lap at your ankles, the waves pooling around your feet. out beyond the beach, the reef glowed with bioluminescence. you had always thought it to be prettier now than when the sun touched it.

“where are we going?” you asked.

neteyam shook his head, smile refusing to feign or falter. “you’ll see, yawntutsyìp. we’re not going far, just…out.” his tone of voice was stoic, and a small part of you thought there might be more to his answer than he was letting on.

“just out,” you repeated, hyper-aware of the way his hand felt in yours. “i like the sound of that. it has been a while since we have been together. alone.”

scoffing out a laugh, neteyam nodded, stealing a glance your way as you both walked along the shoreline. “indeed it has. you’ve been spending all of your time with my brother and sisters.”

you frowned at his words, mentally recalling your activities throughout the day. much to your dismay, neteyam was right. “they’ve required my attention; their breath hold is getting longer and longer each time we practice,” is all you told him.

“yes, but i require your time too,” neteyam drawled, his face morphed into an expression of longing. he pulled you to a stop. “you’re so distant when the sun comes out. why don’t you let tsireya take over. just for a day. i miss being with you.”

lips stretching into a soft smile, you released neteyam’s hand before bringing both your palms to his freckled face. his cheeks were warm against your skin as you said, “you’re with me now. and yes, i can talk to tsireya. she will take over tomorrow’s lessons.” after a slight pause, you stepped closer to him. “there’s no need to be so jealous, ‘teyam.”

your lover rolled his eyes, large hands grabbing your wrists and pulling them from his face. his thumbs smoothed over your knuckles as he said, “i’m not jealous. just…”

“envious of your siblings?” you finished for him, a teasing smile stretching your lips.

neteyam gave you an unamused look, but you noticed the way he was biting back a grin. “you’re such a skxawng.”

“says you!” there was no point in trying to hide that some part of you found it humorous and sweet that neteyam was jealous of his siblings for ‘stealing you away.’ you found it to be quite cute.

instead of trying to find a proper rebuttal to your intended banter, neteyam only sighed and guided your hands to rest behind his nape, his own fingers finding themselves latched to your hips. your front pressed against his, and he sighed as his amber eyes met yours.

intimidated by the sudden closeness, you found your insides twisted with anxiousness. in your peripheral, you noticed the way neteyam’s tail flickered behind him. 

“what do you want to do tomorrow?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. his gaze consistently jumped to your mouth as he awaited your response.

hit by the abrupt urge to kiss him, you shook your head. “ask me when i’m not distracted by your presence, okay?”

neteyam grinned, and you caught sight of his elongated canines as he stroked the outline of your jaw with his right thumb. “when are you not distracted by my presence, yawntutsyìp?”

giving him a disgruntled look, you rolled your eyes, leaning into his touch regardless of your annoyed facade. “just shut up and kiss me, skxawng.” using the heels of your palms, you gently urged neteyam closer and pressed your lips against his, instantly losing yourself in his taste.

your mouth moved with his, fingers splaying and threading themselves into the roots of his braids. he was so close, and yet you wanted him closer, forever engraved into your skin and mind and soul. as his teeth grazed your bottom lip, you moaned quietly before pulling away. neteyam followed suit, though, and you found yourself exhaling as his mouth began to trail the column of your neck.

“neteyam,” you said, failing to steal his attention away from the marks he was branding onto your skin. “neteyam.”

he breathed heavily against your throat. “what?”

“people…” you started, mind clouded with the sensation of his warm tongue. “people will notice marks, neteyam.”

“good,” he regarded with no hesitation, placing chaste kisses on your jawline. “let them notice.”

you let out a strained whine, your eyes locked on the blazing stars above, hands sliding down to his biceps. “my parents will notice. yours will too.”

at this, neteyam finally pulled back, his gaze lidded. his head tilted ever so slightly to the left. “what is so bad about them noticing?”

exhaling through your nose, you shot him a pointed look before shifting yourself against him. you rested your forehead against his chest, squeezing your eyes shut. “there’s nothing distinctively wrong, i suppose. everything about this—about you—just makes me nervous. or, rather, excited. my mind and senses feel tuned to a hundred percent when i’m with you. i have never felt this way. i think i am scared to express whatever this is.”

neteyam’s gaze softened with understanding, leaning down to rest his chin atop your head. he embraced you tightly—to which you were quick to do the same—and he said against your hair, “i have never felt this way either.”

you pulled away, just enough to properly look at him. “oel ngati kameie, neteyam. oel ngati kameie.”

he did not hesitate to say the phrase back, his fingers splaying across the small of your back. “i see you, my love.”

neteyam let the words hang in the air, their weighted meaning bringing heaviness to your heart. and it was at this moment, as you both stood facing each other, skin against skin, that you deemed the entire sully family to be a gift from eywa herself—it had never been so clear to you than it was now.

© luvsellie 2023 | do not repost, republish, steal, or translate !!

— TOUCHY

🖇️ char. Neteyam x Omaticayan! fem! reader

🖇️ warn. Spicy, jealousy, fluff

💭 In which Neteyam is an extremely affectionate boyfriend whose love language is physical intimacy, and when some Metkayinan boys start getting a bit too flirty with you, be gets jealous and sulks

❕a/n Requests are open! Just a short drabble. I always thought Neteyam was around 17-18, but I found out he was 15 😭 He’s 17-18 in my fics

Neteyam was your mate, and you were his. Ever since he first hooked his eyes on you a year ago, he had been obsessed with you in every way. The way you looked at him with loving eyes, or the way you never complained whenever he held your hand while you did whatever you needed to do. You understood Neteyam loved being physically intact with you.

When he was sitting next to you, even that wouldn’t be enough. He would lay his head on your shoulder, or hold your hand, or wrap his arm around you. Around his family, he would play with your hair—the tiny unbraided strands of your goddess braids, or he would just hook a finger around yours.

He had separation anxiety, though you would never comment on it. You didn’t mind, one bit. You thought that part of him was adorable, like a little puppy.

Because you were his mate, it was decided that you would move to Ao’walu with Jake and his family, leaving your family behind. You were heartbroken, having to leave your siblings and parents behind, but you said your goodbyes and left anyways.

When you arrived at the Pandora Reefs, Neteyam never let go of your hand, not once. But this time, it was to reassure you. When Au’nong and Rotxo stepped forward, he pulled you behind him, while they smirked.

At your new home, he huffed in displeasure. “They were looking at you.” He sulked, sitting next to you with his head on your collarbone, your body leaning against the wooden pillar, his pointer finger hooked to your pinkie.

You smiled reassuringly, shaking your head. “And I was looking at you, Neteyam.” You told him softly, playing with the bead on his braid. Your heart was full, your throat tightening at how adorable he was.

Another instance was when you were at the beach with Tuktirey, accompanying her and looking for seashells on the shallow waters. The two of you knelt on the sand, her laughing in joy. “Look, there’s one!” You laughed, pointing at a pink shell when you heard the water behind you splashing as if somebody was walking near you.

You turned around, seeing a stranger your age walking up to you with two of his friends. You furrowed your eyes. “Tuk, come here.” You whispered, ushering her.

She whimpered in fear as you grabbed her arm and pulled her behind you. You then stood up. “What’re you doing?” The boy asked, tilting his head. You gave him a dirty look. “Can I help you?” You asked, ignoring his question. His friend laughed. “We just want to get to know you, chill out.” He shrugged his shoulders, and you tried your hardest not to roll your eyes.

“I like your hair.” The third guy commented, running his fingers through some braids on your hair. “We should hangout sometime, I can show you some islands around here.” The first guy said, smiling. You huffed, frowning.

“Excuse me.” You mumbled, making sure to keep Tuk away from the guys as you walked past them, and away. “O-Okay! See you around!” The guy yelled after, and you shook your head in disbelief and sighed. Pathetic.

Unknown to you, Neteyam had seen it all. He had the urge to go in and just punch those guys square in the jaw, but after fighting the Au’nong and his friends yesterday, he was sure his father would skin him alive if he were to cause more trouble.

So instead, he stayed out of sight, and watched quietly as his nails dug into his palms. He was glad you quickly had left and even barely spoke to them, displaying your clear unliking to them, but still, he couldn’t help but feel jealous.

Later that day, when the sky was dark, you stood in your home, your back turned to the entrance as you were busy taking the leaves off of berries Kiri had picked. You heard Neteyam enter, turning your shoulder and glancing at him. “How was your day, Neteyam?” You asked, not having seen him all day. He stayed silent, which you ignored. If he didn’t want to talk, he didn’t have to talk. You respected that of him, because you had your moments too.

You heard him dropping his things on the floor, then walk up to you. Without saying a word, his hands slid around your waist, pressing himself against your back as he kissed your shoulder. You smiled, leaning your hair into him as you continued to pick at the berries. His butterfly kisses trailed up your shoulder, to your neck, and his kisses became longer. Your breath hitched as he started sucking softly on the skin on your neck, his thumb rubbing your stomach.

“Neteyam.” You whispered, turning your head slightly towards him, but he ignored you again. You were confused on why he was acting this way. His tongue pressed against the bruises on your neck, before he turned you around and kissed your lips. You immediately responded. “Netey- mm- What’s- Mmph!” You tried talking, but he kept cutting you off by kissing you, each kiss more aggressive than the last. “Shh.” He hushed quickly, before kissing you again.

You did as told, letting him pour his feelings out on you. Your fingers brushed his back, tracing his spine upwards, before lightly tugging on his hair. He pushed his lips against yours, trying to get as close as he could to you, his eyebrows furrowed. He felt goosebumps on his skin as your tail brushed up the inside of his leg. After leaving his final kiss on you, he hugged your waist, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

Surprised, you looked at him, before smiling softly and rubbing his back. “What happened, Neteyam?” You asked quietly, closing your eyes as you leaned your head against his. He was silent for a couple heartbeats, but then finally spoke. “I saw those guys trying to hit on you today.” He whispered, and it almost broke your heart—how cute he was. You laughed at his sulking sight, hugging him tighter. “Neteyam, you are too perfect for this world.” You told him, kissing his head.

i spoke to the stars of you.

neteyam (avatar) x female reader

in whereas you grew as a figure to become the right hand woman of the heir to the omaticayan’s olo’eyktan, a mentor to neteyam. however are you really simply a mentor to him?

(if people are interested then i will continue a slice of life series, perhaps! btw sorry if it’s kind of stagnant, got rusty hehe)

“become my partner,” he demanded, with a tone trained to reign the battlefield — rigid and stern. however, many have realized, over the years, on the battlefield or outside of it — he has reserved a certain tone to speak to you with.

you, the right-hand woman of the omaticayan’s heir, neteyam.

he would speak in hushed whispers as if your voice was a tune only his ears can listen to, body crowding over you — towering over your figure so no one could see your expression when you are speaking with him. his eyes would trace over the marks on your face, a sight that would make him tremble and fall to his knees. constellation, you were his star — his universe. he’d stare at the eclipse with a croaked throat, and the firstborn of toruk makto would lose all purpose and yearn for his oasis. even if it was there. even if you were beside him, laughing carelessly.

he’d still kneel and plead for more.

it was never enough.

tsahey, if he lost you then he might as well burn the world, what is the purpose of his existence if the only world— universe he had worshipped on had perished?

“nete you fool, why worry about such trivial subjects?” you asked him with genuine confusion, eyes staring at him with wonder.

his breath always hitched when his eyes met yours. terrible. it was too terrible. he had always felt like ash when he was gazed upon with your eyes. your caresses were like the slithering of a snake crawling up his neck, holding him in a gentle chokehold.

“i promised your father from the moment i crawled out from my mother's cradle. i promised him that i would become your right-hand woman,” you exaggerated in a sing-song tone, all the while you sharpened your arrow, “i have always been by your side during battles, haven’t i?” you batted your eyelashes at him, a teasing grin adorning your face.

he’d always question himself. what, what did he do during his past lives to be worshipped and looked at by those irises with such gaze? it was impossible to forget you. your figure was an extended version of himself. your hands were something he would bury his face into and peck every morning, kissing every scar that adorned it. the space in between your shoulders was the backstage of the heir, ripping all of his masks as he would exhale in relief and inhale the scent of flora tingling. he’d think that maybe when he would caress his nose in between your shoulder, he would recognize this as love long before he even learned the definition of it.

arms crossed, neteyam chuckled, eyes crinkling to a figure too similar to his mother's and a grin too charming like his father, he walked towards you with leisure and confidence. alluring eyes towering over you as he entrapped your chin in between his fingers, tilting your head up with gentle force — you realized, eyes blinking, he has grown well.

“mmhm,” he replied to you with fondness, breaths mingling, pitch black irises contracting as the both of you saw the reflections of yourself in each other's eyes. it was terrifying to see such a faceless expression on your face, knowing your insides are molten lava in turmoil, about to erupt.

it was a game between the two of you, you admitted.

closing his eyes respite, neteyam pressed his forehead towards yours, engulfing your head with a sense of fondness, “you have done a wonderful job by being my partner...” neteyam whispered with his eyes closed as if those sentences were meant to be heard by only you.

“in battle.” neteyam cackled and opened his eyes.

you groaned, he has grown too well.

and it seems like neteyam won this round as well.

Fangs

Pairing:Neteyam x Na'vi!reader

Warnings:none but ig it can be slightly suggestive in the end but thats it rlly

Tbh i just love how they have fangs. Sorry if it has many error, its fr 2 am rn so ill edit it later.

Their like 18 in this soo

☆ ——————————————————— ☆

After sneaking out successfully, you and Neteyam ran to your secret spot with you sitting on Neteyam lap, straddling his hip as you caressed his face. Neteyam leaned in your hand, purring lowly as he felt you hand massage his scalp lightly.

You observed Neteyam peaceful expression, eyes lingering on his lip before you lowered your head to give him a quick peck, to which he eagerly responded to, chasing your lips the moment it left his causing you to giggle.

"What's so funny." He huffed, pouting as he leaned in to kiss you only for your hand to cover his lips. "Hey, stop that," He said, voice slightly muffled under you're hand, and with a few seconds of you not letting go, he opened his mouth to lightly bite your hand.

"Hey!" You yelled, snatching youre hand the moment you felt his fang dig into your skin, with Neteyam just staring at you with a smug smile.

"You deserved it."

You let out a sound of disapproval before tracing the luminescent freckles on his face, to which made him close his eyes as he felt your fingers hover over his lips.

"Nete."

A hum was heard in the air at the sound of his name, ears twitching to your direction slightly.

"Open your mouth."

His eyes opened as he looked at you funny.

"Why?"

"Just because. Pleasee Nete."

He pondered for a few seconds before sighing as he opened his mouth slowly, to which you leaned forward, tail swaying behind you showing your sudden interest in his mouth.

Neteyam watched you closely as you brought your finger to touch his fang . He felt you push your finger against the bone slightly before going down to press it against his tongue, which he stuck out for you as you put more pressure on the wet muscle.

You finally looked up at his eyes, the corner of your mouth quirking up at the half-lidded gaze he was giving you.

"You wanna see somthing cool?" You questioned him, to which he nodded.

Neteyam eyes widen as he look into your mouth.

On your tounge, a metal ball was seen sitting in the middle of it.

"You like it?" You asked, as Neteyam just stared into your mouth focused on the piercing.

"Y-yeah. Hell yeah," He said, before grabbing your hips lightly as he brought you as close as he can to his chest. "That's so hot."

You laughed at his daze expression before leaning into him, this time actually kissing him as you opened your mouth slightly to let his tounge clash with your own.

Neteyam groaned at the feeling of the cold metal touching his tounge, pushing his mouth harder into your causing your teeth to clash as he held your face in his hands. Your hands ran through his hair, before tugging his head back, making him let out a slight whine.

You wiped your lips against the back of your hands as saliva was slowly falling down due to the messing kissing.

"Did that piercing turn you on or something." You teased, watching him roll his eyes at your comment. "Your so eager tonight."

"Quiet," Neteyam hands slid down you waist, rubbing soothing circles on it. "Lets not forget your sudden interest in my fangs."

"Shut up Nete."

𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 | 𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐲𝐚𝐦

(gif credits to @peace--n--love)

— summary: ao'nung calls you the way neteyam usually calls you, which makes him feel jealous and insecure, but that finally pushes him to confess something he has been feeling for too long. — pairing: neteyam x female!na'vi!reader — word count: 2k —warnings: pure and comforting fluff, ao'nung being ao'nung (an idiot), love confessions, jealous!neteyam, neteyam being the purest and most beautiful angel&lt;3

* Neteyam is aged up, for obvious reasons, of course; he is 19 years old. * Sluyang means flower.

writer's note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!

You liked to observe the beauty that Eywa gave to Pandora, you were still surprised by how beautiful the forest and the places it could hide, even after having grown up there and having been all those years among its leafy trees, even so, the forest hid secret and beautiful places, worthy of being seen and found by only those chosen ones.

Your mother was sure that you had a special connection with Eywa, practically since the day you were born and opened your eyes for the first time, green as a pair of emeralds. She told you that you had come into the world for a purpose, that you were Eywa's chosen one, in fact, those were her last words to you before she passed away in your arms, haunted all her life by an illness from which she never got better. And since then, Jake and Neytiri had taken care of you, accepting you into their family as if you had always been one of them. You soon became close to their children, especially with Neteyam, as you were close in age.

And because of that special fascination you had for the forest and nature in general, Neteyam made a habit of always bringing you things from his many explorations and hunts, things that reminded him of you; flowers, leaves and even rocks, bright and beautiful, out of the ordinary, that stood out among everything else, just like you.

“You don't have to, 'Teyam.” You always said every time he came to you once again with a new gift. But he would simply shake his head, offering you a charming and gentle little smile, ever so kind, ears slightly bent and gaze so bright every time he met yours that it seemed to dazzle you, leaving you completely mesmerized.

With a coy smile you tried to avert your gaze from his, analyzing the object now in your hands. “Really, it's not necessary.”

“I like to do it.” He would simply reply, seeking your gaze with his big, captivating, coaxing eyes, as if it were something insignificant, something that didn't matter, something that wasn't like the nicest thing anyone had ever done for you. And you would do nothing but grin at him. You couldn't stop smiling, your cheeks felt almost numb, but you were happy, content, he made you happy. And you knew that this, in the long run, would bring serious consequences, not so good, you supposed.

And now, in the huge ocean, when you thought nothing would surprise you anymore, Eywa seemed to turn every assumption you had upside down. Jake had taken you with him and his family to the place where the Metkayina Clan lived, leaving the Omaticaya behind, leaving the shelter that the forest offered you, to now be surrounded by the ocean; salt water and sandy land.

They had been kind enough to accept you into their home and to show you their ways, noting the great difference from your own, but, apparently the younger members of the clan were not as friendly to strangers as the older ones.

Ao'nung had been rather harsh with you, especially Kiri, whom they had addressed as a freak, as they had nicknamed her, and from there, the problem grew larger, for you and Lo'ak had taken up against them in her defense.

“Look at her.” Ao'nung called out, following Kiri like prey, looking at her with big, disgusted eyes. “Is she a freak or something?”

“Don't call her that.” You stated in a not at all friendly tone, scowl and defiant eyes looking up at the chief's son, pointing at him with your index finger and thus causing him to move backwards. “You have no right to call her that, did you hear me? The Chief's son or not, I'll kick your ass.”

With a tilt of your head, you stated the threat, making him snort ungraciously, looking at you with a raised eyebrow.

“For such a pretty little girl, you sure have a big mouth.” His big eyes narrowed as he spoke, demonstrating a smug attitude as he heard a couple of snickers from his little friends at his words. “You are one of us, little flower. Why you waste your time hanging out with these aliens?”

“Hey!” Lo'ak exclaimed, appearing at your side, fists clenched and face angry. “Don't call her that, get away from her!”

“Please, leave us alone.” Kiri grumbled behind your back, hearing how now, you were the target of annoyance from the little group.

Your mouth hung open wide, totally offended now, feeling the fury shake your body from head to toe, your tail wagging angrily as you lunged at him at the same time you heard an 'oh uh' from Lo'ak.

But your movement was halted as you watched as a body larger than yours stepped between you and the bully, leaving you in view of nothing but a broad back you knew all too well and blocking Ao'nung's smug, sneering face from your view.

“That's enough.” Neteyam said in a stern tone, deep voice and tense body, always as diplomatic and calm as ever, braids moving under the command of the wind and his head, which rose slightly, giving him a more stern and much more menacing stance. “As long as we are here you will treat my family with respect and call no one by other than their names.”

His head moved so that he could look at the faces of the little group that had formed, friends of Ao'nung, as silly as he was, apparently, but who, in Neteyam's presence, seemed to have been brought back to reality and put back in their places. They were not so foolish after all, they knew that against him they would have no choice but to flee. Cowards.

“(Y/N) is just fine for you, got it?”

“Whatever.” Ao'nung replied, rolling his eyes and starting to walk, bumping his shoulder against Neteyam's as he walked past him, his eyes met yours for a couple of seconds and he offered you a smirk, making you grunt and by the time you could take a step towards him, a hand found itself on your forearm, stopping any act of violence you had planned to do.

“Cowards.” Kiri spat, rolling her eyes.

When you looked back, Neteyam was looking at you with eyes, dark, but now filled with concern, his fingers barely caressing your skin before he pulled away from your arm.

“Are you okay, syulang?”

You rolled your eyes, sighing heavily. “I'd be better if I'd beaten that skxawng—”

“Hey.” He interrupted you, noticing how your ears were still bent and your tail twitching behind your back and he laid both of his hands on your shoulders now, in an attempt to reassure you, giving you delicate petting strokes. “It's okay, it's all over now.” His gaze traveled to his siblings behind you, moving his head and face transforming to one of authority, chin up. His voice came through loud and clear, almost scolding. “Home, now. You've had a lot for today.”

Lo'ak lifted his hands, looking incredulous. “But they were bugging-”

Neteyam was quick to interrupt him. “Home. We will talk to father later.”

The younger boy let out a snarl and without further ado, began walking back to where his family was staying, followed closely by Kiri, who kept a glum face, arms crossed over her chest.

And now, all of Neteyam's attention landed on you, as it naturally did, as his body always seemed to do instinctively, even though he didn't even intend to, he always focused on you, as if you were the center of the universe, the sun of his world, the core of his heart, the magnet of his mind and the horizon of his eyes. He saw you. He had always seen you. And practically everyone in his family knew, perhaps everyone on the whole planet, except for you, of course.

Neteyam had expressly refused any offer or even, even idea from his parents to find him a Tsahik as his position as the future leader of the clan, it was his duty and it behoved him to follow to the letter the duty that rested on his shoulders as the future chief, but now, all that had been left behind with his leaving. Now all he cared about having was you. All that mattered was you.

With a beautiful sunset behind him, he began to speak to you once again, hands gently running over your shoulders and arms, becoming more attentive, affectionate, but still concerned. His brow furrowed slightly and you knew immediately that a scolding was coming now. “What were you thinking, hm? Fighting them all?”

He was always like that with you, especially when you were alone together. Neteyam never felt he was enough for his father, and he too never seemed to be satisfied of him, let alone see all that his son did for his family, for his siblings and for him, but with you, with you everything was different, he could be different, he could be himself and he knew that was enough for you, you made him feel enough, you made him feel special.

“If that's what I had to do for protecting Kiri, Lo'ak and their family's honor, of course.” You answered immediately and with your words, sounding so sure and affirmative, Neteyam felt his heart be flooded with a most familiar warmth, an emotion quite well-known to him whenever you were near him and said things such as those, always putting others before yourself, putting the welfare of his family before yourself.

A smile tugged at Neteyam's lips, admiring you with bright, big eyes, his hands trailing down your shoulders, sliding down your arms to your hands, taking them between his own tenderly, fingers toying with yours absentmindedly as he watched the clear size difference.

“He called you little flower.” Neteyam stated after a silence of a couple of seconds, twisting his head. His jaw was clenched and ears barely tilted back. “I call you that.”

You bit your lower lip, holding back the smile that threatened to curve your lips at his clear display of jealousy. He was upset about it and you had to reassure him. Your fingers caressed his wrist, tracing imaginary lines down his forearm. “I like it better when you do it.”

“I sure hope so.” He smiled again and tugged on your hand, inviting you to walk with him, both of your hands tangled between his arm, and he didn't waste a second in drawing you to him. “I want to show you something.”

. . .

Neteyam had found the spot walking along the local beach, it was a bit far from the place where his family was staying and it was far from the town in general, but that made it a perfect location. It was a small bay, surrounded by coastal vegetation, a couple of palm trees and soft silky sand, but what was really amazing, was the glows of bioluminescence under the clear ocean water, algae of all colors, small animals swimming, with the sunset light bathing exquisitely over the turquoise sea.

It was beautiful, of course. But your reaction at the sight of it was even better; mouth half-open, eyes huge and amazed, face in wonder.

“'Yam… it's beautiful.” You murmured in a soft, barely audible tone of voice, but he was right next to you, as close to you as possible, so he could hear you perfectly. His fingers were intertwined with yours and he pulled you with him across the sand to the perfect place to sit.

“Yes it is. I found it as I was passing by... I immediately thought of you.” His gaze lowered with a hint of embarrassment flashing across his pretty face. “I know how much you love nature, all the things our great mother has given us, so, I thought, you would like it.” He stated and then shrugged, attitude becoming quite braggy now. “I've seen more beautiful things, though.”

You rolled your eyes, pushing your shoulder against his in amusement as you wrapped your arms around your knees, admiring the scenery in front of you. “Don't lie now.”

“I'm serious.” He laughed, looking up at you, analyzing every expression on your pretty face. “I'm no liar, you know that.”

You raised an eyebrow, turning your head so you could look at him now. “Really, huh? So what have you seen? What possibly have you seen prettier than this?”

Neteyam smiled thinly, stirring his arm lightly, his hand passed down your back, resting on the sand, fingers fiddling with it. “Something prettier than this?”

“Hm.” You hummed, looking at him curiously.

His ears perked up, gaze dropping to his lap, steeling himself inside, trying his hardest to calm the nerves that were practically eating him alive. And then, he moved his eyes up your body, until he met yours. “I'm looking at it right now.”

Your breath hitched and your mouth parted, feeling your body freeze. Your arms fell to either side of your body, adjusting your position.

“Nete…” You whispered in a shaky voice.

“Yes, sluyang?” He tilted his head softly. “I'm being honest.” He swallowed saliva, his hand trailing up your arm, caressing your shoulder and tracing your jaw, down to rest on your cheek, fingers tracing every inch of skin he could, arranging your hair and tucking it behind your ear. “I've always seen you as the most beautiful thing…” His lips trembled, faltering for a few moments. “I see you, (Y/N).”

You closed your eyes and rested your forehead against his, nuzzling his nose against yours. “I see you too, Neteyam.”

He closed his eyes too, caressing your face with his. “When that idiot called you flower and treated you that way… like you were nothing.” His hands cradled your face now, and you rose up to face him, completely silent, breathing agitatedly. He was breathing in an agitated way too, looking frustrated, disturbed. “I was furious. They should respect you. Every one of them should know that you are mine and they should treat you as such, as my equal, as my mate.”

You opened your eyes to find his eyes already on you, your fingers stroking his arms subconsciously. Your lips brushed his as you opened your mouth to speak in an agitated voice. “I want to be yours, Neteyam.”

“I can't pretend anymore.” He declared between shaky breaths, gaze traveling between your eyes and mouth as he shook his head. “I don't care what anyone else says, I don't want anyone else. I have already chosen. I just want you, (Y/N)... I was made for you.”

“Then just take me.” You murmured against his lips before joining them with yours in a needy, agitated kiss that felt as if everything at last, made sense, as if life had been created just for this moment, as if you had been brought to life just this moment, for each other.

It felt as if all the constellations had aligned for you, as if you had all the stars just for you, and that was given just once, you knew. Everything made you feel as if Ewya had created you for each other. You were made for each other and perhaps the Great Mother had aligned the whole universe for it, for you.

“I am yours.” He promised. “I always have been.”

Your legs tangled between his as you landed on his lap, being drawn in by his arms chaining themselves around your body, massaging your waist, tattooing his touch on your skin.

“Forever.”

the, “his secret mate.” part in your fic where she took the bullet from neteyam had me tearing up huhuhu can we get the detail of their intimacy in relationship before that war? not always to be nsfw, but fluff with full of lovesick moments aarghhwbd

You and Neteyam Mate In Secret (Slight-NSFW / Comfort)

Prologue of "You Take The Bullet"

CW: nsfw implied ( and a little described ), right after his second birth ( he is now a tribe-observed man, and part of the People ), you and Neteyam are so in love, kinda magical ngl, reminder that Utral Aymokriyä is the place Jake and Neytiri mated, Neteyam is a consent king

"You skxawng! Where are you taking me?" you laughed, Neteyam's hand in yours as he ran through the forest with you, his trademark smile plastered on his face.

"You'll see," he teased, jumping off a large tree root and landing on the mossy ground.

You did your best to keep up, jumping as well, but you landed off balance, and were about to fall.

Neteyam noticed this and quickly turned around, yanking you toward him so you landed in his chest, instead of the mud.

You sighed, pulling your face out of his pecs, and resting on it instead.

You were tired.

This man had made the both of you sprint from Hometree, all the way to....wherever here was.

Technically, the both of you weren't even supposed to be out right now.

Neteyam had just had his Second Birth, and was supposed to be spending it with the People.

But through the commotion, he managed to sneak the both of you out.

"I must show you something. Come!" his words echoed in your head.

If Neteyam wanted to sneak out, then it must be something incredibly important.

"Irayo," you panted, breathless as you took your quick break.

A dark tint of blue rested on his cheeks as he nodded, his hands instinctively going to rest on your hips.

"Kea tìkin," he assured, averting his eyes from you so you could not see his blush.

Noticing the slight purple-ish glow that was shining from behind him, you lifted your head, peeking over his shoulder and gasping at the sight.

Utral Aymokriyä.

"Oh, Neteyam!" you gasped, quickly breaking from the hug and walking over to the large tree.

It stood tall, and proud, like the might of thousands lay hiding in it's branches.

Despite being Omaticaya, you had never been to this place. Though you had constantly told Neteyam how you dreamed of doing so one day.

Out-stretching your arms, you walked toward the base of the tree, smiling as you allowed all of it’s tendrils to rake over you, softly.

Neteyam did the same, but not without letting his gaze linger on you.

He couldn't help but smile as he watched you experience the tree in wonder.

You were adorable.

The tree bathed you in purple light, accentuating your every feature.

Your beauty was a sight to behold, that was what caught his attention first. 

Your face was sculputure-like, ethereal.

Even if he were to stare at your face for hours, he wouldn’t be able to find a single thing wrong. 

You laughed, dancing with a tendril of the tree as if it were another person.

And your voice. It came out so smooth and silky, like his favorite song on repeat.

Sitting down on the ground, you rested your hands on the ground, shutting your eyes and allowing yourself to feel the beautiful energy the tree was emitting.

It wasn’t just your physical features, either.

It was the way you carried yourself, the way you were strong, and tough, yet soft and kind for your people and Pandora.

You had this man weak in the knees every time you crossed paths, and it was getting to the point where it was affecting his day-to-day life.

All he thought of was you. Eat, sleep, breathe, repeat. You.

You were a distraction, but a beautiful one. One that deserved to be protected by every ounce of his being.

"My mother took me here when I was no older than a baby," Neteyam started, walking over and sitting down next to you.

"She said this was a place for prayers to be heard. ....And sometimes answered."

He took his queue, making tsaheylu with a soft sigh, before turning back to you, who was watching him in peaceful, silent awe.

It made him blush.

You did the same, a soft gasp leaving you lips as you shut your eyes, the songs and chants of past peoples dancing through your ears, as clear as day.

When you opened your eyes again, Neteyam chuckled at your child-like expression, your mouth slightly gaped in wonder.

“I can hear them,” you nodded, eyes trained on the tendril you were bonded with.

Neteyam disconnected the bond, and looked up at the mighty tree, your gaze burning holes into his face.

"My mother told me that now I am truly one of the People, I can make my bow out of the wood of Hometree.....and choose a woman," he cheesed, the thought of you being his mate bringing a smile to his face.

But you did not think the same.

Oh. He has already chosen.

You expression fell, but you did your best to keep your smile happy.

"Who are you going to choose? We have many good women for a future Olo'eyktan," you tearfully recommended, a quiet gasp leaving you lips as a atokirina floated down to you, resting in your palms.

Neteyam snapped his head over to you, confused.

What in the world are you talking about?

"Eyati is a good hunter."

"I do not want Eyati," he quickly shut down, looking at you intently.

Lovingly.

"Oh," you nodded. He didn't want a huntress, then.

"Ilyena is a good dancer."

Neteyam internally facepalmed.

You were not understanding.

He thought he was being quite obvious with his admiration.

His frequent touches, talking of finding a woman, taking you to a spot where people literally go to mate.

You were the only one he wants. The only one he could ever want.

What else would he have to do to get that through your head?

Once the atokirina flew away, you returned your hand to the earth, where Neteyam smoothly interlocked his with yours.

"I do not think you are understanding. I have already chosen," he smiled, looking down at your conjoined hands.

"Oh," you sighed, averting your eyes from him. "Who is the lucky woman?"

Oh, for Eywa's sake.

He groaned, cupping your face in his hand and turning you to face him, where he roughly landed his lips on yours, practically knocking the wind out of you.

At first, you were shocked. All this talk of women, and now he was kissing you?

But you decided to let a good thing be.

You kissed back, matching his roughness as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

His hands immediately went to your waist, resting his hands on your hips as he pulled out from the kiss, staring at you like a lovesick fool.

And his heart seemed to pick up speed when he saw that you were looking at him the exact same way, a beautiful smile on your face.

It seems you liked it better when he showed, not told.

He would remember that for the future.

"(y/n), it is you. You are the woman I have chosen. I cannot think of anyone better to be at my side," he beamed, switching his gaze to the glowing tendrils around him, along with the many atrokirina that decided to make an arrival.

"Do you not see? Eywa has chosen us for each other."

You were on the verge of happy tears.

You had loved this man for so, so, so long, and so hard. And to hear that he has loved you with the same intensity, if not more, was something that warmed you from the inside out.

"I see you, my Neteyam," you smiled, cupping his face in your hands, resting your forehead on his.

"I see you, my love," he smiled back, giving your lips a peck.

It wasn't enough.

As he pulled back, you chased him, attaching your lips once more, throwing your arms over his shoulders.

He groaned, his hands softly caressing your hips as he kissed back with just as much fervor.

"My Neteyam," you sighed, trailing your kisses from his lips, down to his jawline.

He understood your quiet plea, shifting his position so he sat on his knees, before lifting you into his lap.

With this new angle, he peppered your chest with loving, heavy kisses, making you sigh once more.

You raked your hands through his hair, one sensually trailing down his braid and carefully holding up his kuru.

Using your other hand, you found yours, and were about you connect them when Neteyam stopped you.

"My love, are you sure? We do not have to do this if you are not ready," he asked, firmly.

Don't get him wrong. He wanted do to this more than anything in the world.

Having you in his arms, kissing him like this, was his greatest dream come true.

But just because it was his, did not mean it was yours.

And he wanted you to do this of your own volition.

"I am ready, Neteyam. I have always been ready," you assured, resting your forehead on his as you landed another heavy kiss on his lips.

With that, he nodded, and you made tsaheylu.

And the moan you two set loose surely reached the stars.

The feeling that enveloped the both of you was too much.

You could feel everything the other was feeling perfectly. Their heartbeat, their longing, their love.

Oh, the feeling of Neteyam's love was flooding your senses so much it was overwhelming.

Every piece of exposed skin he touched burned with fiery heat, but it felt so, so good.

You had no idea he loved you to this extent.

And as he lay you down on the mossy ground, him placing feather-light kisses across your exposed chest, the vision of children flashed through your head.

His vision.

They were your children, the kids running around the tent as the two of you lay in the corner, curled into each other.

Even in a moment so intimate, even as he entered you, his thoughts still traveled to something so wholesome and domestic.

It made you blush uncontrollably, and he sensed this.

"I....hnngh...see you, my (y/n). And there...fuck....is no one else I can see to be the mother of my children...shit...," he said huskily, peppering kisses on your shoulder with each thrust.

As tears welled in your eyes, you tightened your grip around his neck, another moan escaping you lips.

"I see you....ohhh!....my Neteyam," you sighed, bringing your hands to rest on his chest.

But for the first time, the both of you felt like that word didn't express enough.

Your love for each other expanded farther than just I see you, it was indescribable.

There was no Na'vi word for it.

But there was an English one.

One Jake had taught both of you, respectfully.

"I love you!" the two of you exclaimed in unison as you finished together, Neteyam making his final thrust.

And as you both lay on the ground, intertwined, coming down from your high, Neteyam said something that made you feel all the happiness in the world.

"I am with you now, (y/n)," he sighed, a tired smile on his face.

"We are mated for life."

Neteyam Has Something Important To Tell You As You Patch Him Up (SFW)

Reader is Fem! Omaticaya

CW: fluff, Neteyam is smooth asf, little bit of blood, Neteyam is a simp, Mo’at is an awesome wing-woman, Utral Aymokriyä is where Jake and Neytiri mated

“Be sure that mushroom is ground well, (y/n). We will need it when the hunting party return,” Mo’at instructed, implying the bioluminescent fungi that sat next to you.

You nodded firmly, placing the plant into something that was the earthly equivalent of a mortar and pestle, and promptly starting your work.

Weiterlesen

hi!! can i request a oneshot for lo’ak where instead of his brother being shot it was you trying to protect them. a good ending though please 😭 where you survive. thank you!

Genre: angst; fluff Warnings: mentions of bloods Words: 1,279

an: some you are evil with your requests, making me tear up while writing them! :/ But i really loved the idea! I made the reader Na’vi, hope that’s okay!

p.s - obviously I have no idea how to make a tourniquet, so please don’t judge my poor description haha

Hope you enjoy! x

Everything happened so fast. 

There was the sound of a gunshots, some screams and heavy steps, who seemed to be running way faster than you and the Sullys, especially since Spider was trying to keep up with your pace as well. You saw some water beneath you and without anyone sparing a single thought, you dived in, swimming between the bullets, who continued to be shot at you.

“It’s okay, we are safe now”, Lo’ak assured the rest of the group, when you finally got far enough from the ship to swim up to the surface. Spider was heavily panting behind his mask, while Neteyam scanned the horizon for potential enemies around you. You emerged a few seconds after them, your hands immediately clinging to Lo’ak shoulders. He instinctively gave them a reassuring squeeze, moving towards a nearby rock.

“Lo’ak...”, your voice came out weak, your body now completely laying on his back. Not wanting to waste any time, he just tightened your arms around his neck, continuing to swim away.

“Shh, it’s okay. We are okay now...”

“Lo’ak”, Neteyam gasped “she is bleeding.”

The younger Na’vi’s eyes widened at his brother words, looking down only to notice a pool of blood was forming around them. Worry started to boil in the pit of his stomach and his legs started paddling with a faster pace, determined to get you out of the water as soon as possible.

Lo’ak has felt real fear only a couple of times in his life. Having such a reckless nature, he usually relied on the belief that everything would fall into place and it is going to be fine. Now, however, no matter how hard he tried to convince his brain, he felt like there was no hope to grasp. By the amount of blood around him, he knew your wound was more than just a mere scratch.

“Y/N, breathe”, was the first thing he said taking your face in his hands. He looked down at the wound in your chest, breathing shakily. He knew he should put pressure on the wound, yet the thought of having your blood on his hands, left his hands trembling above your body.

“Lo’ak... Take me home...”, your tired voice pleaded,”...I want to die there.”

Noticing his brother’s distress, Neteyam quickly took over and pressed his palms on your chest. The blood continued flowing between his fingers, yet it seemed to drip in way slower pace.

“What happened here? Y/N?”, Jake said the moment he came out of the water, quickly rushing to his kids’ aid. He carefully lifted his son’s hands, only to see a bullet wound flowing with red liquid. He carefully turned your body, noticing there was also an exit wound.

“Oh, shit”, he muttered, putting you back down and putting pressure back on. He noticed your eyes started to close and your breathing started to become rigid, forcing Lo’ak to grasp your face, shaking it between his fingers.

“No, no, don’t close your eyes”, he pleaded, warm tears falling from his eyes directly on your cheeks. He kept shaking you, trying to keep you awake, but his attempts remained unsuccessful.  “Lo’ak!”, Jake yelled. “Neteyam, remove your brother from her.”

The older sibling quickly nodded, grabbing his brother underarms and dragging him away, despite his protests and the occasional kicks. The oldest Sully looked around noticing the peace of leather he used to hold to his skimwing. 

“Tsireya, see that piece of leather over there? Untie it and give it to me! Quick!”

Your eyes were already closed and your breathing looked almost nonexistent, yet Jake could feel your weak effort, which still kept your heart beating in a slow pace. Having the leather in front of him, he immediately started to wrap it around above the wound, hoping it would stop the bleeding. He heard the loud thud of Neytiri’s ikran behind him.

“We have to get her back to the village! Now!”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Na’vi has always believed that once you reunite with Ewya, you go back to the place you felt closest to your heart and your spirit rest in peace there.

Opening your eyes, you found yourself in your Marui. The sun was shining through and you could hear the Metkayina’s children laughing and splashing water outside. You tried to lift you arm to shield you eyes from the blinding light, but felt immediately restrained by a cloth, tightly wrapped around your torso and left shoulder. Sharp pain spread across the region and your hand fell back by your side. 

You were definitely not with Ewya, right now.

You heard quiet snoring noises coming from the end of the Marui and you tuned your head to find Lo’ak sleeping in a ball position on the ground. His eyelids seemed puffy and his usually neat braids looked frizzy, as if he was picking each one individually.

“He hasn’t left your side since our ritual ended”, Ronal’s voice sounded from the entrance, making your head turn. “This boy has strong feelings for you.”

With burning red ears and cheeks, you mumbled “Thank you” when she gave you a shell with water, ignoring her earlier observation. You tried to sit up, the tsahik rushing to help you, once she noticed you groan in pain. The noise, however, did not caught only her attention.

“Y/N, you are awake!”, Lo’ak quickly scrambled off the floor and rushed to your side, taking your unwrap hand in his and bringing it to his lips. Ronal took that as her sign to give you a moment of peace.

“I thought I lost you...I mean we thought we lost you”, he cleared his throat. “How are you feeling?”

You caressed the back of his hand with your thumb, looking down at your chest.

“I’ve been better”, you laughed, cutting your smile short after you felt your body aching from the sudden movement. Lo’ak got up from his knees, body moving to take a seat at the end of the bed, before he felt your hands tugging him towards you. Blushing he sat right next to you and you immediately moved your head towards his chest, finding a comfortable position for your arm and torso.

“The tsahik said you refused to leave my Marui...” you started, filling him tensing beneath you. 

“She has been closed for three days here, with you”, he mumbled, voice cracking at the end. “We all prayed to Ewya to bring you back, Ronal said that it was up to the All-Mother, considering how much blood you lost.”

You nodded your head, trying to put the pieces of past events in your head. The last thing you remembered was you getting shot in the process of shielding Lo’ak, Neteyam and Spider, jumping into the water and after that... Nothing. You had no idea of what happened, despite having a distant memory of the younger Sully screaming your name, while shaking your body.

“I am sorry, Y/N, if it wasn’t for me...”, you brought your finger to his lips, shushing him.

“It’s not your fault. It’s no one's fault, but the sky people, who came to our home seeking destruction”, you assured him, looking up so you can see his eyes. “You saved my life.”

“That’s not true, it was the tsahik that...”

“She brought me back to life, yes”,  you interrupted him, “but you brought me to the shore. If it wasn’t for you, I would’ve been laying at the ocean bottom right now.”

You cupped his cheek, before closing the distance between you and laying a gentle kiss on his lips.  “Thank you, Ewya”, you both thought at the same time, melting into each other’s embrace.

The Ikranä Maktoyu (‘banshee rider’)

Pairing: Neteyam x TayrangiClan!Reader

Summary: There was nothing you thought you couldn’t do. So, when the eldest son of Toruk Makto challenges you to a race on your Ikran? Well, you never were one to run from an honest challenge. Especially when you had the fate of your feelings riding on the line.

Note: This is my first Fanfiction for Avatar and specifically WoW. This doesn't follow any sort of plot, so it's not technically necessary to have watched the new movie. Anyways I hope you enjoy xx

Warnings: Fluff, Enemies to Lovers (kind of?), Blood. Kissing? idk. This is a long one. I like to give my fanfics context, ok?? lol

Word count: 4,203

As far as you were concerned you couldn't be any different from the similar blue skinned Navi in front of you. While you were used to more complicated headdresses, and guarded expressions, these Forest children of the Omaticaya clan, wore little and expressed much. Several Tayrangi Clan members and you had journeyed vast from the Eastern Sea to meet with the Omaticaya people and its fairly new leader, Jake Sully.

Your mother had brought you up on the story of Jake Sully's arrival, on how the Toruk Makto had led all the clans together in harmony in order to rid your home planet of the humans who were intent on destroying it. Everything about Omaticaya had fascinated you, but as you grew so did your responsibilities, and now you reserve your emotions to plain passiveness.

This was mostly due to the fact that the people were so much different from your own. Tayrangi had long been separated and socially outcasted due to their spirited independence, and the Omaticaya people had once despised it. However, times had changed, and as your mother fondly admitted to yourself, new beginnings can bring new outlooks.

So, there you sat, trying to hold in any regard of the Omaticaya children in front of you, who had been introduced upon arrival as the Olo'ekytan's children. The youngest and giddiest, Tuktirey, smiled brightly at you as if she noticed your presence for the first time since you had been there.

"Come play with us, y/n! We were just about to go out into the forest." Tuktirey laughed, as she tugged on her elder sister's hand. Kiri looked up at you with a shy smile, and for some reason it made your heart warm.

They were very sweet children, most of them at least. Upon your clan's arrival to the forest, you were bombarded by the sounds of Ikrans all around you. While you were mostly familiar with the sound, the laughter and rambunctious noise as they swooped across the trees startled your clan. Who was behind the wonderful greeting? None other than the eldest of Jake Sully's children, who you were introduced to through a flurry of apologies as Lo'ak and Neteyam.

Each bore a startling resemblance to their kinfolk, and by closer inspection you saw the youngest of the brothers resembled the same five fingered trait as his father. He was the most feigned of the two, which made you suspect this wasn't his first time having to apologize. Neteyam was sincere in his apologies at the least, the perfect mockup as the prodigal son, burdened since birth you could tell.

However, something about Neteyam made your heart race just a little faster. Perhaps it was the way he laughed, and his broad shoulders lifted up ever so slightly. Or maybe it was the way he looked into your eyes, and you felt the weight of the world fall endlessly at your fingertips. Either way, you made sure you kept your feelings in check. You had goals in life, and you wouldn't let some skxwang (idiot, moron) mess it up.

"I was hoping to head near the top of the mountains. It's actually really beautiful to see near sunset." Kiri voiced out, the sound startling you out of your memories, as she looked back to see Tuktirey jumping for joy.

"Mom never lets us go out there before dinner, but maybe she'll let us since you're here!" Tuktirey laughed as she began to beckon us to follow her.

"We can go, but we've got to wait for Spider. He should be here any minute." Kiri rolled her eyes, before glancing back in apology for her sister's rambunctious nature.

"You called?" You heard a male voice call out from behind you, your body jumping in fear. You were used to the rocky shores of your homeland providing you a sense of hearing, but now that you were hidden between the sounds of the forest, you couldn't quite gather your surroundings.

"Spider! There you are, where were you?" Kiri exclaimed, as you watched to see the human jump from a fallen tree limb, as he laughed underneath his mask.

When you had first taken a glimpse of a human on Pandora, it had not been under good circumstances. It was as the RDA had begun to shuffle their way out, but the memories from your older clan members had done enough to make you hold reservations against them. Even though you had been told of Spider's upbringing, you couldn't help but feel as if his alliance did not stand completely still against one side.

Spider glanced your way, a careful nod towards you, before pulling on Kiri's tail in playfulness. Kiri hissed as she smacked him away, him dodging her advances. Before you knew it, they were in their own little world arguing about something leaving Tuktirey to sigh in impatience.

"Guys can you stop! We have to get going!" Tuk complained. Kiri looked up as she glanced your way in apology. She beckoned Spider to follow us, as we began heading through the thick jungle.

You watched in hesitance as the Sully clan leaped and bounded across tree limbs and small streams. Syaksuk (lemurs) danced across the forest vines, their playful voices echoing around as they swung. Every so often Tuk would stop, playing with some sort of creature or fauna before Kiri or yourself would have to get her away from the distractions.

The trek was long, but it resembled your own passages on top of jagged rocks, trying to avoid falling. You laughed as you tried to keep up with the Omaticaya children, your passive disposition beginning to fade away. You actually felt really happy.

At this point in the day the light in the sky was beginning its descent, and you had just reached a parting in the densely bushed trees. Pushing forward, you followed Kiri and the rest stopped at what you could tell was an overlook. Pushing back a stray vine, your eyes widened before looking up.

There it was. Out of everything you had heard of the Omaticaya clan growing up, Ayram Alusing (The floating mountains) was the most magical. Your arrival to the clan had been up these very floating rocks. You could almost see the activity where the clan resided near the Tree of Souls.

"Mons Veritatis." You heard Spider whisper in awe, your gaze settling to where he looked to see one of the tallest mountains you had ever seen. Its top didn't even reach vision, the dense vog settling eerily to the distant calls of the Ikrans.

It made your heart thump in excitement at riding your Ikran across the sky.

"Iknimaya. It is our rite of passage to ride our Ikrans. You do the same right?" Kiri looked over at you, noticing your excitement with a smile.

"Yes, although I'm not sure which is more dangerous." You laughed as Kiri giggled, latching onto Tuk's hand. 

"Well, there is only one way to find out."

You were startled by how quickly they began to race across the overlook and jump onto the vines. Your heart began to thump as you scaled the rocks higher up into the sky. You looked down to the steep fall below, wondering if you had just enough time to call for your Ikran to save you if you fell.

You were surprised that with each step it got easier, and even Spider, who was not built for Pandora's harsh terrain, kept up almost effortlessly. Maybe that was why they called him monkey boy.

"We're almost there!" Tuk squealed, as the sound of the Ikrans could be heard louder. The waterfalls were louder too, and you felt a strange lightness as you along with the rest of the group slowed down as you neared an alcove.

"There they are." Kiri said, pointing over to the left side of us where the Ikrans nested. The backdrop the rest of the way was beautiful as the Sun began to hang low, and the outline of the gas giant was visible.

You felt yourself wanting to ride your Ikran Payngyì , remembering that the hangar in which she resided was not too far away, and perhaps you could reach her.

Before you could debate it further a call could be heard, the voice sounding familiar, as you began to recall back to before and your arrival to Omaticaya.

Neteyam.

His Ikran soared across the sky, the multicolored blues of its wings casting shadows in the sky. Neteyam held strong to his Ikran, a symbol of good ability and you couldn’t help but feel your heart race at the sight. He swooped below, somehow spotting us in the little opening that we stood.

Spider began whooping, before you looked over to see Kiri rolling her eyes.

“It’s so obvious he’s trying to show off.” Kiri snarked, the signature fourteen year old attitude dripping off of her like hot honey. You couldn’t help but chuckle, before looking back towards Neteyam.

He now perched his Ikran where we were, his hushed whispers calming the still active creature. Looking over towards us, he swung his legs off the Ikran, before lifting his Ionar (rider's mask) and grinning.

“So, how long until Mom punishes you guys for being up here now?” Neteyam laughed at his siblings, before looking over at you. He pushed his head forward, and signaled a greeting. “Oel ngati kameie”

You felt your face heat up, as you returned the gesture haphazardly. “Oel ngati kameie.” Usually it came to you like clockwork, but you were quickly starting to realize even everyday tasks came awkward and jumbled when he was around.

Neteyam shifted his head in curiosity, before looking back at his siblings. “You know this won’t be a good impression to the Tayrangi clan if we keep breaking rules.”

“No. That was you and L’oak. Y/n wanted to be here.” Kiri sassed, knocking Neteyam over the head who groaned in playfulness.

“Mom will let us be here if y/n is here. She is a fierce hunter!” Tuk replied looking up to her older siblings.

Neteyam looked back at you, and the same expression graced his face. Can he seriously stop staring at me like that? It’s like he’s looking into my soul. You thought quietly, albeit returning his stare.

“Is that so?” Humor now splashing his face as he laughed. You frowned at his obvious display of mockery. “Pray tell me, where’s your Ikran now?”

Something in you snapped and whatever ounce of female gaze you had for him went away, and a competitive nature overtook you. “Where your clan resides. Why do you sound so shocked?”

Neteyam’s eyes lit as he watched you begin to challenge him with your voice. Something about the way your eyes squinted, or the way your soft lips titled in a scowl made his heart race in excitement.

Ever since your arrival he couldn’t help but find any way of talking to you, being near you, anything. He would be lying if it wasn’t driving him mad, especially when his siblings were beginning to pick up on it.

“I’m not. I just…” Neteyam paused thinking about his words before smiling deviously. Your head tilted as you began to realize what he was about to ask you.

“Do you care for a race? Since you’re a fierce hunter, I’m sure you and your Ikran can make a fine challenge for mine.” Neteyam crossed his arms, his mouth trying to hide the obvious nature of trying to get you to blow your temper.

“Now I would pay to see that.” Spider laughed looking over to Kiri who was shaking her head.

“Alright, what are the odds then?” You replied, your hand already itching to latch onto Payngyì.

“If you win, I’ll cover for you in case we get into trouble after this.” Neteyam shook his head in humor.

“And if I don’t, what… I’ll be thrown off the mountains for all of eternity?” You laughed.

Neteyam smiled widely before shaking his head. He began to walk towards you, and the feelings that you had pushed back in place of competition started coming back all at once. He leaned down, a wonderful scent invading your nose before whispering in your ear. “You owe me a date.”

You tried to hold in the gasp that threatened to push out, your head which had been cast down tilting up toward his own, very near face. “Deal.” You whispered. You watched as the corner of his eyes crinkled in amusement, the ghost of his touch passed your waist, before standing back. “Call to your Ikran.”

You wasted no time in standing closer to the edge, letting out your familiar call in hopes Payngyì would hear. You were right, as a few moments later her beautiful light blue figure flapped its wings and perched with a sounding screech.

You walked over to her, the beautiful golden shade of her pupils dilated as you gazed into her, petting her slowly in greeting. You looked over to Neteyam with a nod. “What are the parameters?”

Neteyam points out past the Tree of Souls to where a carefully arched connection of vines floated two mountains. “Over there, a little stretched away from where the camp is.”

You looked at him curiously, and he seemingly read your mind in the instant it crossed your face.

“Trust me it will be a challenge. The mountains move quickly, and you have to be careful to not hit anything.” Neteyam walked over to his Ikran, leaping up onto it.

You climbed up on your own, latching onto the Tsaheylu (bond/connection), feeling Payngyì screech, and her breath beginning to pump as she anticipated your next move.

“You can do it y/n!” You heard Tuk cheer, looking over you watched Kiri look at you with careful caution.

“Be careful. My brother is stupid, but he knows these mountains well. As much as it pains me to say it, he is one of the best hunters.” Kiri grimaced, Neteyam cheering out in response to her compliment.

“Are you ready, y/n?” Neteyam looked over at you with a wide smile.

You couldn’t help your own smile grace your face, nodding before him. 

“I will see you at the finish line, then.” He winked, and suddenly you had forgotten there ever was a race, before watching as he dove his Ikran down, and upwards into the sky.

“Oh sh-” You exclaimed with a huff, following after him, the legs of Payngyì tightening, her wings closing in downwards. You felt the gust of air and you were suddenly very laser focused on winning. Not because the bullshit win might not guarantee you a harsh scolding afterwards, but simply to beat Neteyam. A man that was so intently after your own heart. And winning. 

You saw him not too far in the distance, realizing there had to be a shortcut or some way to catch up to him and gain more speed. You tightened your hold on Payngyì, her voice squawking out as you nearly collided with a mountain that was moving closer to your right side. You banked left, realizing the air was a lot similar to that of the Eastern Sea.

Before in races, you would use the wind speed to gain traction by going downwards and upwards. This worked even better, once you realized that Neteyam in the distance was having to lose traction to weave through the mountains.

“Come on Payngyì.” You whispered, feeling her move exactly what you had in your mind, soaring upwards and downwards, before realizing you were nearing the tree of souls and the archway. 

Neteyam glanced behind you with a fierce look in his eyes, before banking off and passing behind a particularly large mountain. You frowned realizing the same mountain that was coming left was now barreling toward you. You gasped narrowly escaping the bottom as you dived downward.

You must have startled Payngyì, because now she strained on your hold, and you could feel the fear in the bond. She began to slow down much to your disappointment, as you tried to push her forward. 

All of the sudden you heard Neteyam fly past you from the opposite side he had come from. Payngyì, who had already been startled by the unfamiliar mountains, saw the shadow of his Ikran and screeched before diving again this time barreling towards the cliffs. You screamed, urging your Ikran to pull up but to no avail.

Neteyam must’ve seen the whole thing as you heard him call out to you. “Quickly this way!” He cascaded his own Ikran near the rocks, trying to keep Payngyì from hurting herself. In the process of pushing your own away from the cliffs, you watched as his shoulder scratched against jagged rocks, his skin tearing up. “Shit.” He swore.

“Neteyam!” You yelled, sighing in relief as he managed to pull his own Ikran away from the cliffs and fly smoothly next to mine. “Are you alright?”

“Yes…” He groaned, his injured arm locking up as his face squinted into a scowl. “I think-hold on…”

“Neteyam… do we need to stop?” You replied in concern, worried for the fact that his injury had begun to slowly bleed. 

“Uh yeah…maybe…” His words now stuttering, looking at you in embarrassment. “Look, let's not go back to camp, I won’t be able to make my promise to you if we do.”

“If I was that worried about that Neteyam, I wouldn’t have agreed to this race.” I huffed. “Where do you want to go? You need care, you’re going to bleed out.”

“No, I know a place.” Neteyam grimaced, beckoning you to follow him. “Follow me.”

You grappled at the possibility of finishing the race or saving Neteyam, as you realized the way he was taking you was straight past the archway. He’s going to win, and I’ll owe him a date. You shook your thoughts from your mind, realizing any race or date was far from the task at hand, and making sure Neteyam is safe was more of a priority.

You sailed through the sky, the sun now setting, and the realization that your own mother and clan will be very disappointed if you embarrassed them by arriving past curfew. “Shouldn’t we just go back? I just don’t understand how any place we’re going will help you or anyone’s case.”

Neteyam, who had gone quiet, shook his head. “There is a place on the ground near the tree of souls not far from camp. Our ancestors used to go there because it possessed great healing powers. That’s where we get most of our medicine.” 

You stared at him, his braided hair flying in the wind and his eyes focused intently on the mission ahead. It made you realize just how deeply he knew about his clan, and the role he knew he would have to serve one day. It made you look at him differently, and not just as a headstrong boy. He was a leader, he would be their savior one day.

As you neared the forest floor you saw a few spirit trees up ahead and a small rocky alcove. Resting both of your Ikrans on the floor, you realized the forest was beginning to come alive with its beautiful glow. 

Neteyam grumbled, holding onto his arm loosely before looking up at me. “Uh.. if you grab some of those nearby plants-” You held up a hand, taking over realizing this routine was much similar to that of your clan near the Eastern Sea. Many times, you had to seek out ways to produce medicine for your injured clan, and the forest was no different.

“Sit down.” You ordered, pushing him down his mouth beginning to move in protest. “It’s the least I could do. You saved my life.” You looked down at him before turning back and grabbing some plants to make some sort of salve.

“Thank you.” You heard Neteyam quietly speak, feeling his eyes staring intently at your back. Your face heated up, grabbing a nearby rock and beginning to mash a few plants together.

You turned around, meeting his eyes who looked almost fascinated at you. You scrunched your face, and for the first time voiced your opinion. “Why do you always stare at me like that?”

“Like what?” Neteyam whispered, the nearness of your body to his and possibly the loss of blood making his voice go hoarse.

“Like…you’ve known me all your life or something.” You began applying the makeshift salve to his cuts, making him hiss in alarm. “Stop moving.”

“Well sometimes I think I do. You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met.” Neteyam reached out his free hand, stopping you in your tracks. Your ears flicked in curiosity, before you shrugged his hand off of yours so you could continue. “Why do you ignore me?”

“I don’t.” You frowned, now suddenly very intent on helping bandage his arm, and stop from blurting out every ounce of feeling you have all at once. “You just-” You paused before continuing. “All the other boys in my clan have never once been so intent on getting my attention. Not that I want it but- you seemingly always do. And I-”

“Secretly like it?” You scoffed watching Neteyam’s mouth form into a wide smile.

“You’re a skxawng you know that?” You hissed, wrapping the bandage a little tighter against his arm much to his chagrin. At this point in his bandaging process, you had knelt next to him, and not realizing your nearness to him until you looked up to see his face so close to yours.

You inhaled that wonderful scent again and this time there was nothing to pull either of you away from each other. Neteyam closed in first, wrapping his uninjured hand onto your cheek softly, pulling you in for a kiss.

Wow. You thought to yourself. His lips were just as delicate as you had imagined them to be, yet strong and firm. You felt yourself move your own lips against his until both of you were passionately locked in one another. You felt his arm slide against your waist as you gasped, pulling you into his lap. Your mouth moved fervently against his, feeling the way he groaned beneath you. Something about the moment was complete bliss, and suddenly you were far away from your worries and goals in life, and all you wanted to do was to be wrapped in his arms for all eternity.

It all came to a halt when you felt his bandage arm try and glide against your body to pull you further down before the pain tore through. “Damn it!” Neteyam cursed, as you both pushed away in alarm. Your eyes widened as you  fell away from his arms looking frightened at hurting him, but also at what had just transpired.

Looking around you realized it was now nightfall and most definitely one skip away from being permanently grounded forever. The spirit trees moved as the wind passed them by, a few sacred seeds falling around both of you, most definitely aware of what had just transpired from you.

“I’m sorry.” Neteyam apologized, his breath still uneven, and his mouths a bit swollen from your own lips. If it had been any other situation you would have climbed back into his arms, but you realized you definitely should be heading back. Getting up from your position, your hand reached to grab his uninjured one. 

“We should get going.”

Neteyam stuttered before grabbing onto your hand and standing next to you. “I- Don’t you want to talk about what just happened?” His hand swept across his face. “So does this mean…?”

“I-” You were at a loss for words. “I don’t know.”

Neteyam laughed before shaking his head. “You are unlike any female I’ve met.”

You bit your lip as you shook your head, laughing with him. “Look, I’m not sure if I’m-”

“Before you say anything.” Neteyam said, grabbing your arm to keep you from walking away. “Can I take you out on that date anyways? Since I figured it was a tie, and I was going to try and cover for you anyways.”

“I don’t think anything will save either of us from punishment, Neteyam.” You chuckled, shaking your head, before turning around and making your way back to your Ikran to fly back to camp. 

“So?” Neteyam called back to you, as you heard his steps race toward your own. You turn around watching as he got closer and everything that had just transpired came rushing in.

“Yes.” You smiled. You realized there was nothing stopping you from him. You spent so much of your life running from love because you thought it would stop you from achieving your goals in life. That was until you met Neteyam, and suddenly you couldn’t imagine your life without him. You were hopelessly in love. “As long as you promise you can kiss me just like before.”

Neteyam grinned, before nodding, grabbing your waist and pulling you in close. “Deal.” 

And just like that, you had fallen for the Ikranä Maktoyu, with no chance of catching yourself either.

: 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 — (𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐲𝐚𝐦 + 𝐥𝐨’𝐚𝐤 𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲)

— from avatar 2 : way of the water (spoiler free!!)

contents. gn! reader, reader is a omoticayan on the shorter side, full on fluff, flirting + teasing, just teenagers in love, implied size difference, hints of mutual pining, mild profanity, reader is around 7ft + wc. 1.3k

notes. i got this idea from that one scene with tsireya and lo’ak then noticed how humongous na’vi hands are and the cogwheels started turning in my head. i had to look up their heights and do a comparison chart to make it accurate lolol. so i hope you guys enjoy this one ^^

NETEYAM・✶ ｡ﾟ

he was visibly confused when you asked to compare hand sizes, eyes flicking back and forth between his hands to yours. when it came to neteyam, he was a little more cautious, especially growing up around three troublesome siblings. there always has to be a catch when it comes to silly requests like these.

but after a few moments of awkward silence, he ends up obediently holding up his hand to you, earning a pleased smile from you.

“are you playing tricks on me right now?” neteyam had to make sure in case the situation calls for any medical attention. kiri and his grandmother weren’t that far off from you guys.

“no i’m not, swear,” you laughed, raising your own hand towards him.

the air felt weirdly tense as he felt your soft palms brush against his, a strange warmth enveloping inside his chest. for all the times you guys have physically touched each other, whether it be to tend each other’s wounds or when he mindlessly latched onto your waist whenever he feels like there’s a threat approaching, he has never felt that intimate towards your touches.

neteyam watched the pads of your fingers drag itself into the calluses of his palm, it made him slightly jolt from the ticklish sensation and you couldn’t help but quietly giggle at his reaction. he gave you a playful glare that silenced you, but there was still a smile on your face. finally, you laid your hand flat over his— mirroring his outstretched fingers. neteyam realized how much your hands were completely different from his.

he noticed how your fingers were a lot shorter compared to his. if he could close his hands into a fist right now, your hand would be completely engulfed by his slim fingers. this shouldn’t be a surprise to him, you were a lot more shorter than him by a whole foot— always having to crane your neck whenever the two of you talked or when he always teases you for being short. but somehow, neteyam felt like he just learned the secret to pandora. it made him melt inside a bit.

he couldn’t help but think your hands are adorable.

“you have baby hands,” neteyam teases, his fangs flashing in his smirk. “tiny and soft.”

there was blush that appeared on your cheeks, your eyebrows crinkled at his teasing, “they're not that small!” 

your mind couldn’t quite register the fact he also called your hands soft. it made you feel even more flustered.

his long fingers smoothly wrapped around your entire hand, restraining your hand completely. you tried to wiggle your fingers out of his firm grasp, but there was no use. you nodded in a defeated agreement, he was right— your hands are completely tiny. but with someone like neteyam, he needed to hear it from you verbally.

“say it,” neteyam can be such an ass sometimes. 

you rolled your eyes, tongue suddenly feeling heavy with denial. but you knew neteyam wouldn’t let go of your hand until you admitted it. childishly, you stomped your feet a couple of times before you spoke again.

“i have baby hands,” your voice slurred with anger.

neteyam smiled in satisfaction and slowly released your hand. you quickly snatched away and petted the delicate skin of your hand— comforting it after being restrained by his rough touch.

after that, neteyam would always hold onto your hand whenever you went anywhere together. it could be when you guys hunted in the depths of the forest or just out of comfort, but there was always one sly comment about the softness of your skin or how tiny your hands are. your hands are so cute, he would whisper teasing remarks until your ears grew red. the other sully’s caught on and started to tease you as well. now you have to deal with even more relentless teasing whenever you come to visit them. as a result, your new nickname became “baby hands.”

although he could tease you about your small hands, you could always get him back for liking them.

LO’AK ・✶ ｡ﾟ

he quietly watched you mindlessly trace circles on his blue palms, his other hand supporting his leaning form. you guys had ventured out into the lush forest, resting in a secluded area that you found together that one night lo’ak ran off to train by himself. lo’ak always had a swell of adoration towards you, there was no denying that.

whenever he got injured from flying his banshee too close to the floating mountains, he would come straight to you. sometimes he would even fake his own injuries, repeatedly slamming himself into a random tree— brash and completely mindless. at the end he would be groaning on the ground and clutching himself in pain. witnessing his weak form nearly gave you a heart attack, you quickly aided him back to health after that.

one thing he noticed from each interaction was how soft your hands were. they felt feathery to the touch, it was like you didn’t even touch him at all. the brush of your fingertips could put him under a permanent trance. kiri was always so rough with him when it came to healing, pressing so hard on him that it could add more bruises to his already-beaten body. but lo’ak came to the conclusion that kiri was purposely bad at healing him. lo’ak wasn’t really surprised.

“lo’ak, i need you to answer me honestly,” your gentle voice sent him back to reality, he had to blink a few times to focus on you again. 

you still traced your fingertips on his palm, but this time he felt you drawing little hearts and some words he couldn’t form together— maybe he could figure out what it means later.

he nodded at you.

“are you purposely hurting yourself?” 

oh shit he was caught.

lo’ak fidgeted a bit but didn’t dare to move, not wanting to disrupt your comforting traces on his palm. he knew that he shouldn’t lie to you, it would only make you worry even more. so lo’ak inhaled a deep breath and looked into your eyes.

“yes i have,” lo’ak sighed when he remembered how he would beat wooden sticks onto his calves and shoulders. “i just…wanted to be closer with you.”

your eyes flicked in worry as you stopped tracing his palm, instead you held his hand tightly, “you should’ve just asked lo’ak, you didn’t have to hurt yourself.”

lo’ak looked away in guilt, the images of your eyes prickling with tears and the worried cries from his own mother filled his thoughts. once again, lo’ak felt like a burden to the people he loved.

the chirps of the wild animals and the rustle of leaves played in the background, your sad gaze slowly moved onto his fourth finger— something lo’ak felt slightly insecure about. he was about to pull his hand away out of embarrassment but your three fingers slowly latched around his pinkie, they wrapped perfectly around it.

so small, he thought.

lo’ak stuttered a bit, none of his words could form cohesively. his heart was pumping faster at the foreign contact, but he tried to keep it cool.

“you better ‘pinkie’ promise me this lo’ak,” your voice was stern and powerful. “that you’ll never hurt yourself again.”

“i promise,” lo’ak gave you a reassuring smile, earning a relieved grin from you.

you guys both stood together, silently agreeing that it was time to retire for the night. your smaller hand was still latched onto his pinkie, the softness of your fingertips sent blood rushing to his face. there was also something that he really wanted to ask you.

“how do you know what a ‘pinkie’ is?” he wiggled his pinkie in your grasp, he saw you look away for a moment until you sighed softly.

“i asked your dad what it was,” you looked at your own hands, wiggling your three fingers in the humid air to avoid his gaze. “i was just curious.”

lo’ak couldn’t help but laugh out loud at your cuteness. he leans in closer to give you a heavy kiss on the cheek— rendering you completely flustered. he’s going to be teasing you for a while.

© 2022 keisobe – please do not copy any of my writing and repost or translate to other sites.

Hi could you write something about y/n going on holiday to like a cute cottage with Jude and his family for a while and then being all fluffy and cute and jobe makes fun of them, etc. thank you xx

whipped - jude bellingham

the warmth of your mug is comforting against your hand as you sit down on the little window seat in the corner of the room. you take a moment to admire he view, only trees and flowers for as far as the eye could see, everything was peaceful and you felt more than content.

“its pretty isn’t it?” you jump slightly, turning around to glare at jude as he laughs. jude ignores the glare you send his way as he wraps his arms around you, smiling to himself as you melt into his embrace. “i hate you” you grumble, jude raising his eyebrows at your statement before turning you around to look at him.

“yeah?” jude questions, a small smirk settling on his lips as your eyes widen. he’s wearing nothing but his grey sweatpants and you know you cant stay mad at him when he looks that good. you drop your tough facade as you lean against his chest, cuddling close to him. he presses multiple kisses to your head, soaking up the peacefulness of the moment.

“i love you.” jude mumbles against the top of your head, his arms wrapping even tighter around you form as he does. “i love you too j.”

you stay like this for a while, neither of you attempting to move, the sun shines in on the two of you as you step back, admiring the way jude looks in the morning sunlight. you can help yourself as you take a few pictures, his back turned to you as he looks out at the grassy planes.

“come on, lets get ready and see if anyones awake.”

at his words you reluctantly pull your eyes away from him, pecking his lips quickly before picking out an outfit and finishing off the rest of your tea. the two of you make your way downstairs shortly after, taking in every little detail of the cottage as you do.

as you reach the bottom of the stairs three pairs of eyes land on you. “took you long enough to wake up jude.” jobe grumbles, though you can see a slight smile on his face, a clear indication that he’s not mad.

half an hour later you’re all out the door and on the way to the markets, jude quickly intertwines his hand with yours as he walks, his thumb stroking the back of your hand softly. jobe takes notice of this and gags.

“you two make me sick.”

“you’re just mad because you can’t get a girl-”

“jude bellingham i swear.” you drop his hand as you speak, teasing him a little as he starts to believe you’re actually upset with him.

“what” he pleads, “its true” you only shake your head in reply, catching up with denise and leaving the two to argue behind you.

the teasing continues that night, the weather outside was perfect for a campfire. you and jude were sat on one log, huddled close as you share a blanket. the two of you in your own little world as you talk, sharing quick kisses when no ones looking. judes hand is intertwined with yours under the blanket as you play with his fingers, something you find yourself doing whenever you feel tired. jude picks up on your little habit, gently pushing your head down to rest on his shoulder.

“you can sleep for a little, i’ll wake you up when we go back inside.” you shake your head against his shoulder, willing yourself to stay up a little bit longer. you indulge yourself in conversation with denise, sharing your ideas for tomorrow as jude starts talking to jobe.

‘you’re actually whipped” jobe teases, though jude doesn’t bite back, knowing what he’s saying is completely right. jude was utterly whipped for you, everything you did left him feeling giddy and he didn’t miss the butterflies that went off in his stomach whenever you were around.

his cheeks heat up as he feels you lean against him more, a sign that you’d fallen asleep. he never got over the feeling of you falling asleep in his arms, loving the way you felt safe around him. he kisses your forehead, admiring your sleeping form as his mother awes at the two of you.

jobe continues his teasing, though it does nothing but bring heat to jude’s cheeks as he hides his head against your head.

“there’s no one else i’d rather be whipped for.”

MASTERLIST • REQUESTS ARE CLOSED

JJ MAYBANK

ONESHOTS

this sucks, i’m lovesick

STEVE HARRINGTON

ONESHOTS

like heaven 18+

quiet for me 18+

my girl

somebody else

tell me again

pillowtalk

wet dream 18+

11:11

finny

the babysitter’s club

love on you 18+

late night talking

clueless

some sweet lovin’ 18+

a little taste 18+

out of your league

kiss her and don’t tells

a kiss or two… or three

you can hear it in the silence

tell me that i’m all you want

written in these pages

livin’ in a daydream

remember how i said i’d die for you

SERIES

tongue tied | marlboro nights

EDDIE MUNSON

ONESHOTS

devil in disguise 18+

JUDE BELLINGHAM

ONESHOTS

daft pretty boys

you know i adore you

home is where the heart is

simple touches

home

i love you

biscoff

ritual

kiss in the kitchen

back to you

under the covers

worth the wait

all over you

all eyes on you

my valentine - insta au

hot chocolate kisses

BABYBLURBS

salt and ice (m)

pairing: haechan x reader

genre: angst, smut, fluff, f2l (kinda)

warning: unprotected sex, sixty-nining, dirty talk, oral, fingering, semi-public fingering, orgasm denial, overstimulation

wc: 14.6k

summary: lee donghyuck was your best friend, but you hated him. well, at least you think you do. you hate everything that he is, and everything he had become. despite this, you find your friendship actually quite simple with him, never crossing the line of being too complicated. as time starts to grow, and as donghyuck starts to realize he wants to become closer to you, things start to change. and soon enough, you’re stuck on the ‘complicated’ line with him. your dynamic soon becomes like salt and ice.

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Imagine being THAT asshole asking a Korean native speaker to speak English. Like how are you so entitled? To ask someone to speak in English to accommodate you? How about YOU learn THEIR language, you prick. Jesus heck. This goes with like every language by the way. Don’t just whine about NOT understanding — it’s called learning and adapting. Open your mind and spectrum.

Aka, Jungkook AND EVERYONE ELSE don’t need to speak outside their language. Smh

Pearlescent

Pairing: Haechan/Lee Donghyuck x Reader 

Genre: Fluff, smut, romance, established relationship. Inspired by the From Home MV aesthetic. 

Warnings: Unprotected sex 

Summary: A shoreline sunset spent cozied up against Hyuck dives deep past surface level. His lips profess his heart’s intent; his eyes reflect waves dancing in iridescent glimmers; his love whispered into your skin evokes heated passion. 

Header: by Jackie @/ hchan 

Word Count: 5k

“Pack your bags for a night away,” Donghyuck mischievously instructs through your phone’s speaker, only to revert to his usual playful, singsong tone. “I’ll pick you up in fifteen minutes, baby.” The call ends before his distorted laughter has even finished. 

And sure enough, a few minutes of hasty packing and insatiable curiosity later, the horn of Donghyuck’s quaint little 1985 sedan honks from outside your apartment door. 

Crisp autumn air awakens your senses better than any cup of coffee, and when you hop into his passenger seat you’re met with the sight of one very pleased Donghyuck. Adventure dances in his eyes as he idly taps his foot on the gas to rev the engine, a lopsided grin playing at his lips. 

He leans across the center console to deliver a well-placed good morning peck, and without a moment to waste, he shifts the gear and whisks you away. With the windows rolled down, his hair flutters in the wind as he tells you of your plans for the day. 

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alcoholman

summary: you and mark were complete different. you were way out of his league and he was way off than what you expected to be a heartthrob. yet fate tied you together.

pairing: fuckboy mark x rich reader.

genre: romance, enemies to lovers, slow burn.

warnings: mark has tattoos because he’s hot shit, sexually suggestive activities in public, language, alcohol addiction, unprotected sex (be safe!), oral sex, semi-public blowjob, fingering, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, degradation, humiliation, dirty talk, slut shaming, spanking, bondage.

words count: 20k (my apology).

taglist: @sloppykiths​ @chitaphrrrr @eylaaa5 @kathylovesexo @keuriiii @hwazoned @rnrjldpdrp @mrkleelvr​ @mellowvoidexpertfriend​ 

You’d been told that love and hate are the same feelings experienced under different circumstances. The passion was the same, the hurt was the same. The odd thing that bubbled inside your chest. Same. You didn’t perceive it personally until you met Mark Lee and he became your nightmare.

The nightmare then became your reality and worse, your addiction.

You thought you could escape him, only if you could bring yourself to stop looking at his direction but somehow, he hit you harder every time you fought back against him.

And like a domino, you fell.

Two years ago,

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I Heard a Rumor. jjk

Banner credits to the talented @introgfx

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: fluff, smut, college!au, campus crush!jk, mutual pining, friends to lovers

Summary: One slip of a finger, and you realize you’ve liked an Insta photo of college hotshot Jeon Jungkook…from two years ago. You manage to unlike it within seconds, except it’s too late — Damn Kim Namjoon and his lightning-fast eyes. Do not tell a soul, you hiss. The man merely smirks. Next thing you know, a rumor is spread throughout campus. Y/n likes Jungkook…and now he knows.

Rating: 18+ sexual content.

Warnings: spitting (y/n has a spitting kink don’t ask idk what i was thinking pls it’s not that bad), protected sex, fingering, making out, a little grinding, frat party, alcohol consumption, Namjoon is very unhelpful

Word Count: 8.1k

a/n ✑ ok this is very random. idk how and idk why but here it is.. i’ve had this idea for a while but may have written this whole thing only five minutes ago lol. i also edited the first few sentences and then was like.. hmm ok i done enough :) 

and also big thank you to Onyx @introlxv​ who made this banner so fast when i didn’t even write the fic yet 😭 thank you ily 💖 

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𝐎𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝.

Pair:  Na Jaemin x female reader Genre:  Fluff, smut, slow burn, college au, sports au (basketball), strangers to friends to lovers, angst (very minor) WC:  26.2k Synopsis:  A public, handsy encounter with your schools’ star shooting guard sparks a string of run-ins on campus that can’t simply be downplayed as coincidences. After acknowledging the sudden spike in brushes, a connection blossoms between the two of you. Warnings:  Mature language, alcohol consumption, sexual content, protected sex​

▻ 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

  Sports games are the quintessential experience of college, especially Friday night games. Everyone comes together to root for their school, everyone is on the same side. Food, drinks, and smiles are in abundance as everyone–both players and fans–has their eye on the prize: the win.

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ruined | kth (m)

Summary: “Does forever sound too long?”

You first see Kim Taehyung at the office you’ve just started working at – and his eyes draw you in immediately. Quiet, powerful, and confident; yet he’s wrapped in a suit of secrets. A suit you want to take off layer by layer.

⋙ pairing: Taehyung x female reader ⋙ rating: 18+ ⋙ genre: strangers to lovers; angst, fluff, smut ⋙ warnings: heartbreak and coping with it, tae panics a bit once or twice, mention of cheating in the past, mention of threesomes/fuckboy!tae, mention of therapy, pining, a coworker being an ass, crying; explicit sexual content: (soft) dom!tae, big dick!tae, grinding/dry humping, heavy making out, oral (f. & m. receiving), fingering, biting/praising, unprotected sex (soft & rough), some masturbation, some spit, finger sucking, the smut is p long wow. taehyung is the most precious being ever :( ⋙ word count: 24.4k ⋙ a/n: HI HI. i feel… so empty after finishing this 😭 thank you so much @missgeniality, @amourtae & @sugalaritae for always brainstorming with me (and harrow for coming up with this summary !!!) & @hobisuniverse​ for beta’ing this so fast, you own my heart 🥺 hope you enjoy, everyone !! <3 ⋙ NOTE: this is the epilogue to my ruin you series, but IT CAN BE READ AS A STAND-ALONE !!

⁂ part of the ruin you series (but can be read as a stand-alone!)

⁂ playlist 🎶

MASTERLIST | WIPS

Kim Taehyung is an unravelled mystery personified.

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