Summary: You and Yoongi have been hooking up, having dates and spending most of the week together for almost seven months. He was comfortable without a title, until the last two weeks, when you couldn't see him because of your busy schedule, Yoongi can't understand why he misses you so bad if your relationship is just sex to him. Or maybe he does, but he's too much of a coward to admit it.
—pairing: rapper!yoongi x reader
—rating: +18
—genre: friends with benefits (kind of? they're in love) to lovers, fluff, smut, angst.
—warnings/tags: see warnings in each part.
updated 9 november 2024.
STATE: COMPLETE
1. so it goes (m)
2. i think he knows (m)
3. ghost of you
4. drunk
5. plan a (m)
6. love (m)
7. surprise (extra)
→ drabbles (in chronological order)
✧ new drabbles
↳ the lake
↳ i thought you knew
↳ self control
↳ stay (m)
↳ don't get cocky (m) ✧
↳ five minutes
↳ it's not you, it's the rain
↳ drunk (yoongi's version)
→ extras
✧ ask my characters ✧ playlist
Do not respost, rewrite or translate any of my works. Some of these works are explicit, if you are a minor please do not interact or read my stories.
↳ SUMMARY: Despite your attempts to blend in with the shadows in the room he always noticed you. Your silence is intimidating but he finds it intriguing. A partnered project might just be the finally test to push you together.
↳ PAIRING: art student!jungkook x art student!reader
↳ GENRE: smut, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort
↳ WARNING: reader struggles with expressing her emotions, crying, loner!reader, they’re both softies, kissing, makeup sex, creampie, dirty talk, aftercare, panty biting, oral sex (f receiving), love marks, hair pulling, doggy, raw and dirty, strong jk, insecure/ self sabotaging, family trama (tiny), bitting, masturbation (f), edging (m), spanking, etc
NOTE: I truly enjoyed writing this one so I hope y’all do too!! Me trying to explain art should be a warning itself so if I sound dumb cut me some slack I tried my best૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა
Your legs bounce as your teacher stopped in front of everyone canvas, stopping a second too long at yours. Silence takes over the room, his slow firm steps echo with each step. He turned around with a pleasant smile on his face, “beautiful, different styles, different colors, different messages” everyone sighs in relief.
Despite his strict rules he’s a wonderful teacher -the best actually. He teaches the beauty of colors, styles, and breaking standards in art. Joining his class was the best decision ever, despite what the people around you said. Truly their negativity encouraged you to apply.
“Now that I got to see your styles I think it’s time to mix them into something unique” the girl next to you groans “let me guess another project” he claps with a big grin. “Yes! But this will be a partnered project” Fuck. Your worst nightmare. Talking.
He quickly glanced at his watch, realizing his time had ended “before you leave let me hand out the project information also on Monday bring your sketch book” as you pack your stuff your mind wonders, who can I ask? You listen to the people around you quickly pair up, even the girl you have small conversations with has a partner. Shit.
“Also for my lonely birds don’t worry on Monday I can help pair you off” you smile listening to him ease your worries. The room quickly empties as you get up, you scan the room and notice his tall figure. You can’t help but look down at his paper, searching for his name. Jungkook.
You look back at the role of art quickly noticing his canvas with his signature. Hm. Despite it being in black and white it expressed love, pain, and a deep mystery. “Do you like it?” you jump at the sound of his voice, he chuckled at your startled expression. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you” you smile the embarrassment away as you point at the canvas “that’s your work?” he nods proudly “it’s beautiful” his smile softens as he picks his backpack from the floor.
“Yours was my favorite” you glance at your painting “it could’ve been better” he looks at you dumbfounded “it’s a beautiful look of reality” Despite his kind words when you look at your work a bitter sweet feeling consumes you. “Thank you” he nods, you look down noticing his finger fidgeting on the end of his sleeve “actually I wanted to ask you something” you nod wondering what it’s about “I was wondering if you wanted to be partners” oh?
Jungkook watched as you glanced back at the painting, noticing the obvious difference. Eyes bounce to his black and white painting then at your colorful canvas. “I’m sorry, maybe this was a bad idea” he turns away, trying to avoid rejection but you quickly reach for his hand “wait, i’d like to be your partner” how can you miss this new opportunity.
Jungkook smiled, biting his lip to hide the excitement from exploding in front of you. His plan worked!, finally getting the courage to talk to you. “Perfect, are you free right now to go over a few ideas?” you can’t help but find his excitement kind of… cute?
You look at the time in exactly five seconds you will be late to work “actually I have work today, maybe another day” he nods, instantly understanding “don’t worry about it, I can send you a few ideas through the school email” he watched as you shake your head, pulling your phone out “I won’t see it, you can just give me your number if that’s fine” fine? That’s perfect actually.
You hand your phone to him, looking at the small glint in his eyes. He can’t help but wonder, why didn’t he try to talk to you earlier? “By the way I didn’t get your name?” He asked sweetly as his fingers type away on your phone “____” he knew that, he overheard his teacher complimenting your canvas.
“It’s nice to meet you ____” you can’t help but grow nervous once your eyes meet. “Likewise, I'll see you later jungkook” a warm blush creeped on his cheeks, you make his name sound so pretty. Wait, “how do you know my name?” You watch the frown appear on his face as he hands your phone back.
Jungkook watched as you laughed, slowly pointing at his painting “you signed your canvas” he covered his mouth, feeling the rush of embarrassment.
“Right, I’m sorry” he let his excitement get the best of him, secretly hoping you noticed him too. “No worries, I’ll text you when I’m free” he nods as you walk away from him.
He always noticed you, his eyes always searched for the pretty girl and her bright colored art. By simple observation he knew you were just like him, quiet, passionate, and…lonely. Nothing wrong with being in your own little world. His world is waiting for his missing piece, you.
“My partner is coming over, please don’t embarrass yourself” you can’t help but tease jimin “is she cute?” Jimin smiled as you rolled your eyes. “He actually” jimin mouth falls open “and here I thought I was the only man who dared to talk to you” you push his shoulder as he began to laugh “dick”.
“Please don’t have sex while I’m here” you give him a disgusted look “I’m not you okay” he gave you a ‘sure’ look “listening to you have sex makes me want to shove blades in my ears” you smirk as his mouth falls open, laying his hand over his heart. “Are they that loud?” You glare at him, knowing damn well he knows how thin the walls are.
“oh jimin~ don’t stop~” he breaks into a fit of laughter, hands clapping “that’s funny” he sighs, his big grin stays on his face, slowly turning to look at you. “Do it again, I kinda liked it” you jab your fingers in his ribs, making him laugh and hiss at the pain. “You have no shame” he nods as your phone buzzes on your lap.
Jungkook message popped up:
[jungkook]: hi, I’m here
“I’ll be right back” jimin nodes as you walk towards your front door, feet dragging you toward the elevator. Once out the lobby you search for Jungkook, quickly noticing him dressed in black from head to toe. His eyes lightened up once your eyes met, you smiled sweetly as you noticed two cups of coffee in his hands.
“I don’t know what you like so I got you something sweet” so sweet. “Thank you” he nods as you take your cup, fingers touch sending a warm heat down your body. Eyes linger on each other for a second, watching as his cheeks warm under your glaze.
“I-I hope you like it” jungkook watched as your smile widened listening to his nervous stutter. “Thank you again, such a sweetheart” jungkook feels his heart skip a beat, cursing his heart for being such a lover boy.
He followed behind you, giving him the opportunity to take in the new side of you.
You engaged in small conversation on the way up to your floor, finding joy once you managed to make him laugh. A very cute laugh. “Let’s get this project started” he nods as you guide him out the elevators.
He walks alongside you down the hallway, jiggling your keys with each step. “By the way my roommate is weird so if he says something I’m sorry” jungkook laughed at your seriousness “how weird?”
You rest your hand on the doorknob as you look up at him “you’ll see” with that said you open the door. Jimin's soft laugh greets you as Jungkook follows behind you. Jimin slowly sits up once he notices jungkook tower over you, oh! You frown noticing the look he gives you, mischief.
“Jungkook, this is my roommate jimin” jimin gave him his sweetest smile “nice to meet you” he watched as jungkook nodded “likewise”. ”Did she warn you about me” you and Jungkook share a glance, “oh, so you did” you shrug as you watch the smirk appear on his face.
“told him nothing that’s not true” you smile innocently at him, your smile leaves jimin wondering what you said. “My room is the door to your right” He gives you a small ‘okay’ as he walks to your room, feeling your presence behind him. “Don’t forget to wear protection” Jimin shouts from the couch, making you come to a complete stop. You glance over your shoulder, shooting a sharp glare his way. “Love you” he said in a sweet voice, blowing a kiss to you as you walked away.
You close your door once inside, noticing Jungkook stare at your painting in process. “Sorry about him, he’s weird” you listen to his soft laugh as he looks back at you. “No worries” you can’t help but grow nervous as he stares back at your painting “I-It’s not done” he nods “it’s beautiful” jungkook looks at the photo taped on the edge of your canvas quickly noticing your style, photo-realism.
Jungkook watched as you rubbed on your neck, nervously “You enhance the beauty of the picture” you nod “I try”. If only you saw your art the way he does, you’d fall in love with it.
“Do you sell your art?” You shake your head thinking who would buy them? “No, this is for jimin” he stares in awe. Lillies, orchids, baby breath, and moutan peony decorate your canvas. His eyes captured the hidden messages in the stems and along some of the petals. “I’d buy your paintings” you smiled as he looked at you with an enduring smile.
“Don't tempt me” you said in a teasing tone as you take his hand guiding him towards your bed “get comfortable” he sits comfortably, hands caress the soft blanket under him as you walk towards your desk, Squatting down to search through your drawer.
“I know on Monday we’re supposed to show our sketches but I want to get a head start on the project” you said as you pulled two of your sketch books. “Same, I don’t want to rush into it and not like it” you smiled, liking the way he thinks. “We’re the perfect match” jungkook brought his attention back up to you.
He watched as you lay comfortably on your side, using your hand to hold your weight as your fingers skipped through the pages. Your hair falls sweetly on your face, wishing he can push it back against your ear.
Your eyes look up at him, feeling his fingers caress your cheek, softly. He brings a foreign warmth to you, an undeniable attraction. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you. A soft yearning stare, exactly how he’s staring at you right now. A warm blush kissed your cheeks as he tucked your hair behind your ear.
Oh shit. Jungkook quickly realized what he did “I-I’m sorry” he watched as you lay your hand on his knee “no need to say sorry” he noticed your shy smile as you looked away nervously. Do you feel it too?
“H-Here” he smirked, now who’s stuttering. You switch books flipping through each page, taking in the beauty of your different art. “hm, what is something you definitely want to do on our canvas?” he watched as you looked to the side, thinking. “Our color choices are completely different and I like the thought of mixing them together” he nods “and I definitely want to paint something sentimental”
“Okay that’s a good start” you jot down what you both agreed on before fixing your glaze on him again. “Now what should it be about” you both think for a second, so many options but none of them come to mind. “It’s going to be harder than expected,” he sighs, nodding in agreement.
Your stare in awe at his sketches, one page in particular was different. Normally one page would be the art and on the other side he'd jot down notes or quotes that come to his mind, but this one is different.
This one has no notes nor quotes, just a girl. She sits confidently, dressed in all black with white headphones. Her back is turned away, facing the canvas filled with colors. Your fingers touch on the page feeling the textures he built with the paint.
Jungkook looked up from your book to see what made you go silent, watching your fingers touch every small detail he added. Do you like it? Of course you do, your smile tells him everything. Little did you know the girl is you.
The first week of the project flew past with a blink of an eye, inspiration hasn’t hit either of you. Jungkook had the idea to visit a few art museums to set the flow for inspiration and it’s working.
You stand beside Jungkook staring at the art in front of you, taking notes on the small details that share big meanings. The soft murmurs and quiet steps fill the room, the sadness comes back as you stare at the painting.
Jungkook noticed your fist tightened around the strap of your purse, face dropped in sadness. He grabbed your chin, slowly turning your face to meet his. “You okay” you quickly hide your sadness behind your smile “sorry, I’m fine, my mind drifted”
Before he can say anything you quickly grab his wrist “Let’s go to the next one” he lets you guide him to the next room. Despite his eyes glued to the art all he can think about is your fight with loving your art.
Every time he went to class he looked forward to seeing the excitement in your eyes, admiring your confidence. But in reality all you see is meaningless lines of color, he wished you could see the beauty through his eyes. There it was, the inspiration you came searching for. It was standing right next to him.
The day is going so well, sweet laughs and small touches that linger on his skin hours later. He can’t help but feel guilty for using your reality as inspiration for art. Would you be mad? Would you hate him? You wouldn't, right?
The sound of multiple voices breaks him from his trance, he instantly pulls you closer to him as a group of people circle around you. jungkook hands rest on your waist, so close you can feel his chest rise with each breath, you feel so good against him. Too good.
You can feel your racing heart beat against your ribs, jungkook squeezed your waist as he leaned down “let’s go” he whispered softly against your ear, warm breath tickled your neck sweetly, sending butterflies down your stomach. Swearing you can feel his lips against your skin. You look up at him staring at his innocent smile, smiling like he didn’t just make a mess in between your le- No! No…Stop
You let him take your hand, pushing your forbidden thoughts away. He guides you to the gift shop curious about what he might find. He watched your eyes light up looking at the row of stuffed animals holding paint brushes and pallets. “So cute” he followed behind you like a lost puppy, chasing to frame your happiness in his mind.
Jungkook looks at you, following the sound of your laugh “I found you” he frowns confused as you turn around holding a stuffed kangaroo, one buff kangaroo holding a small canvas. He scoffed, “That is not me” you rolled your eyes as he began to flex his muscles. “Show off” you pinch his strong muscle as he hissed “careful they might deflate” he smiled as you giggled at his dumb joke.
He walked by your side as he searched for a little gift to give you, touching the soft stuffed animal with his finger. He sighs disappointed, none of them remind him of you. Just as he was about to give up until his eyes laid on a chick, a cute small chick with a white apron. Pretty paint smeared on the apron and it’s cute cheeks.
You can’t help but notice how small he makes the chick look in his palm “that’s me?” You ask as you look up at Jungkook's doe eyes, he nods with a big smile, satisfied with his choice. “Its cute and it has pretty round cheeks” you take the small chick in your hands as he pinches your warm cheek.
“I think you should keep the kangaroo” he takes the chick back as a playful smirk appears on his face “when you miss my pretty face just look at his muscles” he’s annoyingly funny.
After visiting another museum the motivation to create was present in both your eyes. Jungkook found himself back in your room, sitting on your desk sketching out his idea as you worked on your unfinished art. The soft lights in your room and your hums along your music become his safe place.
You smile fondly as you stare at your finished painting, pretty flowers and sweet messages blend together beautifully. For the first time you see your work in a different light, loving every second it took to create. This time it’s perfect. You whip your hands on your apron before putting away the open paint.
Jungkook sighs as he drops his pencil before stretching his arms out. “Done” you get up from your chair, picking up the paper he was just working on. Again a girl sitting in front of a canvas, this time it was different.
You look at the canvas empty but at the edge you can see smudged paint.Her back was bent in agony, her apron laid loosely on her lap as her brushes laid on the floor that was stained with paint. This is just the beginning but it already looks beautiful. He gets up from his seat allowing you to sit down as you add some of your ideas to the paper.
Jungkook watched as the pencil moved smoothly across the paper, drawing broken frames that scattered across the floor. He gave you space and walked over to your painting, sitting on your small seat. Pretty light colors decorate your canvas, he turned his to read the sweet messages that camouflaged in the stems and petals. Maybe one day you’ll make him one.
“Am I crazy?” you sigh as you turn your attention to jimin who laid beside you on your bed. “That’s not something a friend does” he looks a you with a teasing smile “you like him?” you try to fight the grin from appearing as you cover your face “you fucking do!” he nudged your arm as you laugh.
“As your best friend I approve, seems like a great guy” you move your hands away from your face, eyes stare up at the wall “he really is” too good to be true. “Let’s not get our hopes up” he frowned as he looked at you, seeing the hint of sadness appear. “___ don’t be negative” you smile “I’m not I just need to be realist” he grabbed your hand, squeezing your fingers one by one “can’t let the past haunting” you nod, it’s hard to trust someone with your heart again.
“I know” your fingers lock, soothing your nerves, jimin has always been there for you. Since the day you met you’ve been inseparable, stuck by each other’s hip. He was the annoying kid who talked to everyone and you were the lonely girl in the back. He made it his mission to bug you until you became his friend, and that he did. He’d do it again if he had to.
“By the way I’m obsessed with the painting” you smile “can you believe the girl I was seeing got mad” you laugh as he pinched you, making you hiss “stop laughing, you cockblocked me” your eyebrow raised “what I do?”
“You know how your signature ends with a heart” you nod, “well not only did she call you a bitch she disrespected the painting saying a ten year old can make that” instead of getting mad you laugh “I blocked her”
“No one disrespects my bestie and her masterpiece” you smile, listening to his sassy side come out, “guess who’s coming over” you whine, “please for one night let me sleep” he smirked “maybe tomorrow, tonight i need to blow some steam” you push his hand away in disgust “bye” he laughs as you move away from him
“You should text Jungkook” jimin says his name in a soft teasing way, “it’s late” he sat up leaning against the headboard “it’s never too late, how much do you want to bet he will answer” before you can answer he grabs your phone putting it close to your face to unlock it. “Wait” he instantly jumps up as he typed away on your phone.
“Give me my phone” runs away listening to his giggle disappear in the distance “and send” once you catch up to him he hands your phone back. You stare at the message ’I need to see you’
Just as you were about to scold him, your phone dings, you stand in silence as Jimin smirks, giving you a ‘told you so’ look. ”well what did your lover boy say” you blush as you read his message ‘on my way’ jimin sigh, satisfied with himself “Maybe I should become cupid, I’m really good at this”
That’s how you ended up standing in front of Jungkook, stunned to see him sitting on a motorcycle, black helmet sitting on his side. You gasp as you take in his look, black leather jacket with matching black denim jeans, his white shirt clinged to his toned chest. He looks hot, sexy even.
“cat got your tongue” he smirked, as you slowly got closer to him, watching as your hands held the edge of his jacket. “You look good” he smiled as your hands lay on his chest, slowly moving down his abs. “Too good” you whispered softly against his neck. He's surprised with your sudden confidence and so are you.
He holds the back of your neck, pushing his fingers in your hair as your lips ghost against his neck. His heart raced with anticipation, yearning to feel your lips against his neck. If he knew having you this close would feel this good he would've kissed you sooner.
You gasp as he tugged on your hair back making you look up at him “can I kiss you?” he whispered softly as his lips caress your cheek, he pulled back to look at your soft eyes and pretty lips “please”
Jungkook bites his lip as he stares at your parted lips, waiting to be swollen from his kiss. Staring up at him like that day at the museum, remembering the way your eyes hypnotized him as your glossy lips begged to be kissed by him.
His eyes shut, basking in the feeling of your lips. pulling you close until you’re pressed against him, safely in his arms.
You press a small kiss on the corner of his mouth before tugging his bottom lip in between your teeth, biting hard enough to make him gasp. Taking the opportunity to claim his lips in a slow, passionate, but hungry kiss.
He feels nice, your tongue touching his, tasting the minty gun he once chewed on. Your hands slip inside his shirt caressing his small waist as your nails drag down toned abs making him skip a breath.
He groans as you pull away, trying to catch your breath. His hand loosen around your hair as he stared at your pretty lips wet with his saliva, watching as your tongue collected his sweet taste from your lips.
“Can’t get enough of you” without a warning his lips crash against yours, teeth colliding as he takes control of the kiss. His tongue forced its way in your mouth, you groaned against the kiss as his cold hand touched your warm skin, nails dug in your skin wishing to hear a sweet moan.
His grip tightens on your hair as you try to pull away, how can he pull away when your lips submit so well for him. Jungkook kissed you until he saw stars and salvia spilled down your lips.
Jungkook pulled away slowly, panting against your lips as he whispered ‘sorry’ against your lips. He rested his head against yours, catching his breath as he tried to calm his racing heart. Everything feels so right with you.
He let go of your hair as he kissed your head “let me take you for a ride” he smiled fondly as you nod, you let him put his helmet on your head as your hand touched the sides, cupping the new added weight.
Jungkook held your hand as you sat on the spot behind him, guiding your soft hands around his waist. You tightly your hold around his waist as his motorcycle vibrates, “hold on tight” jungkook checks his surroundings before drifting into the night.
The adrenaline rush consumes your fear as the cold winds touch your skin. Feels nice, calming even. Jungkook often speeds up just to feel your hands squeeze him tightly, capturing him in your hold.
He drives around the lonely streets only stopping for the red light that shines bright into the dark night. One of his hands rubs your thigh softly as you rest your head on his shoulder, staring at the two cats that walk together. So cute.
You look back, searching for one last look of the cats as Jungkook rode into the night again. Peace and comfort take over you, feeling every breath he takes under your palms. He makes everything feel perfect, made to be even.
He takes you back to his home, your hands loosen around his waist as he comes to a complete stop. You hold onto his bicep as you get off his bike.
You can’t help but be a bit surprised as you watch him get up from his bike. He smirked as he caught you staring at him “what?” he squeezed his keys in his hand as you held onto his helmet. “You didn’t tell me you had a motorcycle” he smiled as he grabbed your chin to press a soft kiss on your lips “baby im full of surprises”
He takes your hand, guiding you up the stairs and into his apartment. This is the first time you see his home, he always prefers to be in your room because it’s “better”. You start to question his taste once you look at his big living room, his big window allows the moon light to shine down on his canvas.
You stare in awe at the space close to the window that he dedicated to his art. Everything is organized, a variety of color, brushing, and canvases of all sizes lay against the wall. You can’t help but scoff as he laid his head on top of yours “and you rather be in my small room when you have all this” he hums as his hands slowly caress down your arms.
“You’re my comfort” your mouth falls open sucking a shaky breath through your mouth “I want to be wherever you are” his words are so tempting.
You pull away from him, walking towards the easel that holds the canvas he’s working on. Jungkook followed closely behind you, watching as you admired the art. You stare at the girl in agony, can’t help thinking how better it looks in it’s full form.
Next to the girl in agony you notice the canvas that stands tall against the wall, faint sketches of a girl shielding her face with a flower catches your attention. A sense of confusion hits you, where have you seen this?
His warm lips make you forget all about the small canvas “c’mere” his voice against your ear has you chasing for more. He takes your hand pulling towards his sofa, instantly grabbing your legs to place your whole weight on his thighs.
“so why did you want to see me?” he listened to your soft giggle as he caressed your warm cheek. “Jimin sent that” he smirked, planning on thanking your best friend from giving him the opportunity to kiss your sweet lips.
“So you didn’t want to see me?” he bites his smile back as his thumb pressed on your bottom lip “I always do”. How can something so small make his heart flutter? Your hands touch up his stomach, feeling every small breath he takes against your palms.
Being with him makes all your negative feelings vanish, losing yourself in his sweet glaze and welcoming arms. You don’t know what to call this but you rather ride the slow waves with him by your side.
Fuck! Why do your eyes keep looking back to that damn small canvas? Even as you work on the project right now you often find yourself stopping to stare at it. You place the pallet down as you touch Jungkook carpet under you. Head turns to the side to stare at the small canvas that rests next to the girl in agony, the once light sketching now filled with floral colors, splashed with dark color.
Jungkook observed you like a hulk, nibbling on his lip nervously. Watching you work on the project, inspired by you, since the day he kissed you he promised to tell you the truth but fuck he finds it so hard.
Everything is going so well, he’s been enjoying your company, sweet kisses, filling laugh and the beautiful glow in your eyes. Feeling guilty every time he stares into your bright eyes, he fidges with the rings on his finger as you stop once again to stare long and hard. You must have caught on by now right?
The art is practically done, you simply adding the final touches. You admire the beauty of it, the canvas that once laid empty now is filled with a strong reality. You smile happily with the way you captured it like a photo and his dark colors show the reality of that picture.
A strong artist and her fight with self sabotage, the broken canvas you added expresses the unhappiness and anger. Two canvases stand on top of that stack, a bright colored art now smudged black white and grey paint. Your eyes travel back to the girl in agony, looking at her hand stained with those same colors, sending a clear message she destroyed the pretty art.
The art in front of her shows a girl hugging a dark shadow of a man, clinging to the false reality, not of the man but of the painter's art. This was your idea. If you paid attention the artist didn't break the frames because they were bad, they're beautiful, perfect even. You stare at the broken canvas looking at the ripped pieces that show the true art, and the other side that dangles revealed what the artist saw. Meaningless colored lines. Kind how you feel, weird.
You touch the dried paint of the small canvas, engraving it in your memory. “You never told me what your inspiration was,” you said without turning to look at him. you stare at the painting one last time before looking over your shoulder, questioning his silence.
Jungkook's mouth quivered, his lips open but quickly closed, “you okay?” you look at him confused, maybe he’s having second thoughts on the project? It’s too late because it’s due in two days.
Jungkook quickly got up from the couch as he made his way towards you, “there is something I have to tell you” you nod as he joins you on the floor. The sunlight shone down on both of you, warming his cold skin. You smiled, feeling jungkook cup your cheek whipping away the paint that stained your warm skin.
“Promise me you hate me” he watched as you frowned, a bit taken back “what do you mean?” He doesn’t know where to start or how to even start. His hands automatically grab yours squeezing them tightly, afraid you might pull away from him. The way he’s acting is starting to freak you out “just spit it out already” he avoids your eyes, looking at the curtains moving with the flow of the wind.
“I-It’s about you” you swallow the ball that begins to form in your throat “jungkook, you’re confusing me” you let go of his hand to cup the side of his face, making him face you. “You’re the inspiration” you stare at him blankly, not believing your ears. He’s joking right?
Jungkook finds it hard to read you for a second, you don’t say anything or even blink as you suck in his words. He feels you slipping away as you lower your hand from his face, slowly turning your head to the painting next to you. Jungkook listened to your shake breath as you laugh, yanking your hand from his hold.
What kind of sick joke is this? How couldn’t you figure out the girl in agony is you, it’s all been you. Like a fool you painted about your pain and struggles. He stared at you with pity, is that really how he sees you?
“Is that really how you see me?” You said without looking at him, the painting feels like a mirror to you now, like if you’re staring at your reflection. “No!, no that’s not my intentions” your brows scrunch as your lip trembles, hating yourself for letting him see you vulnerable.
“I should’ve told you soon-” you cut him off “you should’ve, but you decided to wait until the late minute when it’s too late to start over” he listens to the anger grow with each word, jungkook notices your eyes water as you move away from him.
“Don’t leave, please” you shake your head as he grips on the apron, stopping you from leaving. “I can’t do this, it’s humiliating” he didn't mean to make you feel like that. He’d never do that to you.
Now looking at the painting triggers you, triggers your hidden memories. You never grew up in a loving family so you find it hard to express your feelings. It’s embarrassing when you cry or show a hint of vulnerability to someone. Your family made sure to remind you how weak you truly are, they would always laugh in your face saying ‘big girl don’t cry, suck it up’.
Jungkook watched as your fist tightened , sucking a shaky breath through your mouth. You wish to break it, burn it into a million pieces so no one can see your pain. “____ talk to me” you try to hide your emotions, trying to remain unfazed but your shaky hands tell a different story.
“Yell at me, hit me but please don’t leave like this” you look at his sad eyes, finding it hard to hate him. “I need space” you pull away from him before he gets the chance to stop you. He looks down at his lap, laying his hands on his knees as you rip the apron off of you, quickly grabbing your stuff.
“Turn it in, go ahead and tell everyone about your inspiration” you didn’t give him a chance to answer, quickly leaving him alone. You don’t know how long you can bottle your emotions, anything can make the bottle tilt and pool your face with salty tears.
The drive home was silent, a silence you don’t dare to break. Your brain turns on auto pilot once you reach home, only turning off once you push your key in with shaky hands. You slowly start to crack once you’re back in your safe space, away from people.
Your heart drops when you lock eyes with jimin, he wasn’t supposed to be here. “S-Shouldn’t you be at work?” Your voice cracks as you look away from him, “I called o- that doesn’t matter are you okay?” You hate that question, you nod with a shaky smile, finding it hard to mask your feelings from jimin.
You quickly dodge him before he can make you open up but he follows after you. The little canvas sticks to your mind, once in your room your eyes instantly look at the drawer when your sketch books lay.
You instantly drop down to your knees, ignoring the jolt of pain as you yank the drawer open pulling the two books you showed jungkook. “What are you looking for?” You ignore Jimin as you search for the answer to your suspicions. Throwing the first book to the side before picking up the second one, it has to be in here.
You skip through the book until you notice the similarities, you totally forgot about these two pages. A girl hiding her face behind a flower and the page you dedicated to expressing your vision, you tilt the book reading your quote “meaningless line of color”. Your fingers caress the dark colors, smudging them into one solid color with your tears.
Jimin watched as you hunch over, pressing the book close to your chest. Soft gasps turn into shaky sobs, no longer able to silence your emotions. “Come here” he joins you on the floor as you lay your head on his shoulder, hands clinging to his shirt. It always pains him seeing you cry, since you were kids jimin noticed your touch act as a mask hiding the real you. He doesn’t pry for answers, not until you’re ready.
Those two days were hell for Jungkook, you ignored him completely. He hoped to see you in class but you didn’t show up, he avoided presenting his art. His teacher warned him that it will lower both of your scores on the project but he didn’t care, he rather not talk about it.
He went over to your apartment but Jimin brushed him away. He looked visibly angry with him, automatically knowing you told him what happened. Fuck, he ruined everything, he ruined what he could’ve had with you. One more time won’t hurt, right? He grabbed his keys, quickly heading to his car, not willing to let it end this way.
He stared at the clock noticing it’s one in the morning, it’s late but that doesn’t stop him. He needs to see you, wants to ease your mind and stop your tears. He never meant to hurt you, never intended to embarrass you. This was never meant to happen.
His loud knock snaps him back to reality as it echoes in the empty hall. Jungkook fidgets with the skin around his nails, picking at the little skin left. He lifts his glaze from his hand once he hears faint footsteps, his heart pounds with anticipation. His brows frown with concentration as he tries to distinguish the voices he hears from the other side. ‘please’ your voice, jungkook pressed his hand against the door, wishing to have you in his arms again.
On the other side Jimin stares at the door, irritated. “No” he said firmly, not willingly to negotiate with you “please” he shakes his head as you give him a pleading look. “Let me just hear him out” you grab his hand once he looks away from you “I appreciate you trying to protect me but trust me” he sighs “fine” He watched as you let him go, walking to the pleading man who stood behind the door.
Jungkook stares at you, fully expecting to see an angry jimin. He instinctively reaches out to touch you but quickly drops his hand as you shake your head “s-sorry”
“Let’s talk” he nods as you stand to the side allowing him in, you can’t help but smile as Jungkook lowered his head once he noticed jimin strong glare. Jimin cracks a smile once Jungkook is out of sight “you should’ve seen his face” he laughs as you shake your head
You whisper a small ‘goodnight’ before walking to your room, jungkook turns around once you close your door. He stands awkwardly as you sit on your bed patting the spot in front of him. “Sorry for coming so late” he apologized as you yawn “I want you to know I had no malicious intent with the painting”
“Then why'd you do it?” his tense shoulders slowly drop as he sits closer to you, “it might sound wrong but I used you as an example, even a really good artist can battle with negative emotions” you nod, “I know that regardless of my explanation it still doesn’t make it right what I did”
You look at him as you sigh “I don’t like being vulnerable with people, it makes me feel weak” he nods as you continue to speak “I was embarrassed to be seen that way like some weak weeping girl” he grabs your hand as your voice cracks.
“I don’t see you that way and I never will” he smiled as his thumb caressed your hand “I never want you to hide your feelings, I want to see the good, bad, and the ugly”
“I’m sorry if I over reacted” your words come out as a low whisper, knowing if jimin heard you he would scold you for trying to downplay your feelings. “Don’t say that, you have every right to react the way you did” jungkook fingers slowly caressed down your thumb, wrapping his fingers around your wrist to feel your heart beat.
He can’t help but smile, feeling your heart race under his fingers “nervous?” you look away shyly as he pressed a kiss on your wrist. “I missed you” jungkook smiled as you rolled your eyes “its only been two days” he let’s go of your hand to rub your knee, slowly rubbing your thigh “so you didn’t miss me?” He smiled as you hum, thinking long and hard “don’t think so”
He smirked as you leaned into his touch, feeling the goosebumps rise under his finger tips that tease your bare skin. “Your body missed me” you gasp as he pulls you on his lap “see how easy you mold against me” you rest your hands on his shoulder as his warm breath kisses your neck, a pleasant bliss spread down your body.
He kissed your collarbone, instantly lighting a fire on your core, “jungkook” you say his name like a silent moan. “Tell me you miss me” one of your hands found its way in his hair as he kissed up your neck, feeling the cold rings on his lips against your warm skin “tell me you missed me and I’m all yours”
Your mouth falls open as he sucks on your neck, teeth sink onto your skin leaving little trails of his mark on you. “missed you” you moan sweetly against his ear as he grabbed you hips grinding your clothes sex onto his hard bulge “so fucking much” your voice sounds so sweet like honey, willing to drop down on his knees and eat the sweet nectar that slipped from between your legs. He might just have to.
You tightly grab onto him as he lifts you up with ease, dropping you down on your bed with a soft bounce. Jungkook smiled, listening to your soft laugh as he hovered over you. “Kiss me” he pleads as he stares into your eyes, losing himself on you again. Jungkook closed his eyes as your lips met, soft pecks turned into a control kiss, lips fighting for dominance.
In between the kiss you removed his jacket, grabbing the ends of his shirt pulling it up, needing to feel his bare skin against yours. Jungkook pulled away from the kiss letting you take off shirt as he grabbed your thin shirt “can I take it off?” You nod as he takes it off for you , letting your breast free.
“So pretty” he kissed down your collarbone before laying his tongue flat on one of your breasts to the other. His lips instantly wrap around one of your sweet buds as his fingers touch down your stomach, feeling your breath hitch as he gets closer to your sex. ”please” you plead as jungkook tongue flicks your sensitive bud, fingers teasing the waistband of your shorts.
He bites down your taut nipple making you hiss, pleasure now mixed with sweet pain. Jungkook mouth makes a sweet pop sound as a string of saliva attaches to your nipple, what a lovely sight. “Touch yourself” , your eyes widened, surprised by his request.
“w-what” you sit up on your elbow as he guides you hand slowly down your stomach “you heard me” you’ve never done something like this, never pleased yourself in front of somebody. “Look at me while you do it” fuck, he makes you feel do dirty.
He pressed down on your hand making you feel how wet you are “play with yourself baby, let me hear how wet you are” he bites his lip, willing to edge himself just to watch your sweet eyes crumble in pleasure.
This is embarrassing but your fingers have a mind of its own quickly touching your clit, pressing down to feel it throb under your fingers. Jungkook listened to your soft gasp and you rubbed on your pleading clit. “Faster” he smirked as your moans became more clear, louder. “finger yourself, stuff your pretty pussy” Jungkook grabbed the sides of your small shorts, pulling them off only leaving you in your panties.
“jungkook” you moan his name as you push two fingers in your messy pussy. You look so pretty to him, so pretty as you stuff your sweet sex knuckles deep, listening to your little whines begging for more. Jungkook is enjoying this more than he thought he would, feeling his cock throbbing as he watched your legs shake, eyes stare at your breast rise with each breath. He can’t take it anymore, needs to taste you.
you watch as he drops down to his knees instantly grabbing your wrist. “Let me taste you” eyes dark with desire, watching as you pull your fingers out of you. Jungkook looked at your glistening fingers, he listened to your soft gasp as he guided your fingers in his mouth. He moans against your fingers, tongue licking your sweet taste, sucking your fingers clean.
Jungkook licks his lips once you remove your fingers from his mouth, collecting your remaining taste from his lips. “Taste so good” he grabbed your ankles pulling you closer to the edge of your bed. Simply not done with you.
Jungkook smiled as he touched your fuzzy socks, weirdly turned on with the idea of fucking you with your socks on. He pressed a kiss on your covered ankles slowly kissing up your legs, basking in the feeling for your skin so close to his lips.
He stares into your hooded eyes as his teeth stink into the fabric of your panties, his teeth glaze against your hips making you shudder. Jungkook stares into your eyes as he does the same to the other side, tugging your panties off with his teeth until they dangle on one of your ankles.
His mouth watered, cock throbbing at the pretty sight in front of him. Your fucked out face stares at him as your puffy pussy makes a mess down to your ass. “Need to clean up my mess” he whispered against your wet sex as he placed your legs on his shoulders. You watch as Jungkook's eyes shut once his tongue licks up your sex, collecting your sweet taste on his tongue.
Brows scrunched as he moaned at your taste, he can’t get enough of you. Jungkook groaned against your pussy as you tug on his hair, making his nose rub your puffy clit. You lay flat on your back as you grind your pussy all over his face, chasing your climax.
Your legs squeeze around his head when he pushes two fingers in your clinching hole. “Jungkook! Fuck don’t stop” you press the back of your hand agaisnt your mouth muffling your loud moans as he sucked on your clit, fingers thrust at a brutally pace. Stomach tightened as he pulled you so close to the edge, hips buck as you chase your sweet release only for him to pull away.
Jungkook listened to your soft whine as your legs shake, and needs to feel you cum on his cock. He doesn’t let you catch your breath before he manhandles you on your stomach. He pressed down on your back, loving the deep arch “stay like this” you yelp as he lands a smack on your ass.
You grow anxious at the next position, feeling so exposed under her glaze. He bites on his lip as he watches your hole spasm, waiting to be stuffed by him. Jungkook watches as you get comfortable before looking back at him once you hear the clink of his belt.
You watch as Jungkook discards his remaining clothes watching his thick cock leak with cum. Mouth watering at the sight of his pretty cock, wanting to kiss up his cock. Needing to feel the weight on your tongue.
Jungkook guides his cock in between your puffy lips, letting your pussy wet his cock. “so wet for me” he lands another hard smack on your cheek making you moan as the stinging pain. He feels you tense up once he pushed the head of his cock in, overwhelmed with the size of his cock. “Relax” he rubbed on your back as he buried his cock deeper in your sex.
“You’re taking me so well baby” you moan as you trust back on his cock, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you feel the good but painful stretch. Jungkook watched as you fuck yourself on his cock, slowly deep thrust “you feel so good, can’t get enough!” he gripped on your hips as he listened to your dirty mouth.
“Fuck ___, you squeeze my cock so good” jungkook smirked as you grip on the stuffed kangaroo he gifted you. Your hand tightened around the stuffed animal as he fucked into you, ass clap with thrust. You moan against your sheets as he fills you up to the brim. He watched as you covered your mouth hiding your sweet moans from him.
Jungkook wrapped your hair around his wrist tugging your head back “let me hear you” you shake your head making him smirk as you clamp around him. “moan my name” he used your hair to fuck his cock back in you, making you whimper his name. Still not enough for him.
He fucks you at a mean brutal pace knocking the air out of you, “fuck! w~wait” he smirked as your cheeks burned in embarrassment as your words spilled like loud moans. Your hands grip at whatever is in arms reach, a soft hiss leaving your mouth as he tugged on your hair making you take everything he gives you.
Jungkook cursed, feeling himself so close to cumming. His cock chasing after your warm velvet walls, tip nudges at your sweet spot just to feel your walls squeeze his cock deliciously. He bites on his lip trying to hold back on finishing in you, but fuck he finds it so hard when your sex begs to be stuffed full of his cum.
You listen to his low growl as he pulls out, he lets go of your hair so you can lay on your back. You reach for his hand, spreading your legs wide enough for him to tower over you. Jungkook sighs when you touch his cock, giving his cock a lazy pump before guiding it to your entrance.
Both of you gasp as he pushes inch by inch slowly, he groans as you squeeze around his sensitive cock. Your eyes bore on his cock, watching him disappear in you. “Don’t move” jungkook cups your cheek making you focus back on him. “Feels so good just like this” he whispered softly with each kiss he pressed on your skin.
Your brush his hair back away from his damp forehead as his hips grind in you, feeling as your walls spasm around him. He hums as you moan his name softly, landing a long lick up your salty skin before pulling you in for a kiss. Your nails scratch down his back as Jungkook presses down on your stomach, feeling how his cock fills you up with each stroke.
You bask in his touch, singing sweet praises in your ear going straight to your core. Jungkook moans against your ear as your nails drag down his back. His hips shutter as he plays with your clit, needing to finish with you. “-oh, so close kook” your eyes flutter shut as one of his hands plays with your tit.
White rings decorated cock as you pull him closer, “gonna fill you baby” he bites down on your shoulder as your pussy squeezes his cock, liking the idea. “Jungkook” You moan his name sweetly as you cum on his cock, your voice makes him whimper pumping you full on his cum.
Jungkook smiled as you pressed small pecks on his forehead, drawing small figures on his back. “So perfect for me” he whispered sweetly against your ear as he switched positions with you not daring to pull out. Feels too good to let go.
Warnings: death (mention), grief, depressive subtext, suicide attempt(s) (implied), PTSD
a/n: Born out of my curiosity on whether I could write angst while mixing poetry and mythology, I ended up writing a tragedy. I would say I’m sorry, but I’d be lying. Hope you suffer. And hope the rethorical questions make it worth it.
P.S — Listening to the official playlist while reading this fic is mandatory, a rule, if you must. I would know, Icarus fell to Earth for less
Also available on AO3: Where Flowers Don’t Grow
What would you do, if the world was ending?
You’d wondered long before your own world had ended—product of a car crash where all your ambitions crawled and were left to die, just like he did.
The same question that used to bloom between you during those stolen hours when you pretended love was a garden that could grow in shallow soil. When you thought the world ending was something distant. When you didn’t know that some seeds only sprout in graves.
Jeon Jungkook. Your husband of five years. Your lover of ten before that. Your high school sweetheart whose heart wasn’t sweet enough to let you down slowly. Poet of words that held everything his hands refused to give.
You married an Icarus. He flew too close to everything that glittered—other women’s smiles, other beds, other promises that weren’t yours to keep or break. And you? You learned to love the falling. To water a garden of excuses until they grew tall enough to hide behind.
Now you press yourself against the doorframe like a prayer pressed between pages, pale yellow cotton nightgown hanging loose around your shoulders. The fabric whispers against your skin—something your mother chose during those hushed weeks when your hands could only hold emptiness. When the doctors said you were ready to come home.
When home became a word that meant trying again.
The house nods in artificial care, its temperature controlled and light dimmed to therapeutic levels. Everything designed to keep you rooted when all you want is to disappear into the earth like bulbs in autumn, sleeping until spring decides whether you’re worth the effort of blooming again.
But nothing could have prepared you for this. For him.
He stands in your living room like a flower someone planted without asking permission, like something that grew back after you thought you’d pulled it up by the roots, like he never left, like he never died with someone else’s perfume still blooming on his shirt, in a car that carried two bodies toward an ending only one of them deserved.
Was it him, was it her—mourning doesn’t work in logics. You’ve never untangled that particular knot of wildflowers.
Model J97-K, the paperwork had whispered. Grief-assist companion. Designed to ease the soil back to fertile ground. Your mother’s offering, wrapped in desperation and signed with tears she couldn’t name.
She never knew about the other women—plural, always plural, a garden of secrets you tended alone. Never knew the marriage was already wilted long before the funeral. Never knew you tried to follow him into whatever darkness swallowed him whole, only to wake up in sterile white with your wrists bandaged like broken stems.
But looking at him now—at the careful cultivation of Jeon Jungkook’s face, his shoulders, the way he holds stillness like something precious—you wonder if dying would have been kinder.
He wears clothes that don’t carry memory, just simple white cotton, dark denim and nothing that screams artificial, though everything about him is impossibly clean.
Brunette strands fall across his forehead the same way it used to when you’d brush it back during those early morning conversations about impossible things. When you’d ask each other ridiculous questions about hypothetical disasters and promise to find each other in every lifetime, every ending, every beginning.
The same hair you’d run your fingers through while he wrote you letters by lamplight, his words blooming across pages like pressed flowers.
My juniper, he’d write. My perennial garden.
But words were seeds he planted only on paper, and never grew into actions.
His eyes—its eyes—find yours across the space that feels both too vast and too small. Brown and warm and patient as soil waiting for rain.
He doesn’t move toward you, and perhaps that’s what hurts the most because he does not offer the easy smile that used to disarm you before you learned that some flowers bloom with poison in their petals.
This Jeon Jungkook just… exists. Stands and breathes like a tree too stubborn to be swept by.
“I know this is difficult,” he says, and his voice is wrong because it’s too gentle and too careful, as if tending seedlings that might die if he speaks too loud. “I won’t rush you.”
He would have rushed you. The real him. Would have filled silence with movement, with plans, with poems about your beauty that never translated into fidelity. Would have made your discomfort about his impatience, the way he made everything about the next thing he wanted to conquer.
But this version remains upright like a sapling that learned how to wait for seasons. Waits like something that understands the weight of growing in damaged earth.
You don’t know what to do with kindness that arrives without conditions.
Your fingers find the doorframe, nails pressing into paint chosen to soothe. Soft pearl-gray, like morning mist. Like the color of his eyes when he’d wake up next to you and you’d pretend you couldn’t see the guilt clouding them like storm clouds. When you’d pretend you didn’t know where he’d been, whose perfume clung to him like morning glory vines—beautiful and invasive and impossible to kill.
The nightgown shifts against your thighs as you tremble. Not from fear—though fear threads through your ribs like thorns you never learned to pull. But from something harder to name. From the terrible understanding that this is what gentleness could look like when it isn’t borrowed.
When it doesn’t come with interest rates you can’t afford to pay.
“You don’t have to speak to me,” the android continues, and there’s something in his voice that knows how to leave space for breaking. “I can tend to other rooms. I can—”
“Don’t.” The word falls from your lips before you can catch it, small and desperate as you ever learned to be around him. “Don’t say what he would have said.”
But that’s the cruelest irony, isn’t it?
He wouldn’t have said that. The real Jungkook would have pushed through your silence like weeds through concrete. Would have demanded explanations for your distance, your stillness, your inability to pretend everything could grow back the way it was. Would have made your healing about his discomfort, the way he made everything about the drought in his own garden.
This version just nods. Accepts your boundary like it’s something worth preserving.
And you don’t know how to tend that kind of respect.
The garden you abandoned weeks ago grows wild without your hands outside, daisies pushing through soil in places you never planted them, stubborn as hope and twice as unwelcome.
You used to love daisies.
Used to wear them braided in your hair during those early days when he’d call you his flower, his sunshine, his everything that bloomed just for him.
Before you learned that everything was not very much to him.
Before you learned that some flowers only exist to be picked.
The android takes a step back—not retreating, just allowing the space to breathe, to expand and to hold your brokenness without trying to sweep up the pieces.
“I’m here when you’re ready,” he says quietly. “But only when you’re ready.”
And something in your chest wants to collapse. Wants to tell him that you needed him—the real him—to understand readiness five years ago. Three years ago. Every night you lay awake listening to him explain away lipstick stains and late arrivals and phone calls he took in other rooms like secrets that grew in the dark.
Instead, you slide down the doorframe until you’re sitting on cool tile, yellow cotton pooling around you like fallen sunlight. Like the dress you wore to promise springs to someone who was already planning his next season with someone else.
The android doesn’t move to comfort you. Doesn’t offer words that would only bruise against your silence. He just stands there, patient as perennials, while you learn how to breathe in the same space as kindness wearing the face of the man who taught you that love was just another word for enduring.
What would you do, if the world was ending?
You’d already learned the answer. You’d try to end with it. But apparently, the world has other plans.
Apparently, the world wants you to learn how to sit in soil that’s been poisoned and see what grows back different.
What grows back clean.
You wake like a seed cracking open in drought—but your body doesn’t wake with you.
The dream clings to your consciousness while your limbs refuse to obey. His hands, his voice, the way he used to whisper your name when he thought you were sleeping. When he thought you couldn’t hear him practicing apologies he’d never give. But now you’re trapped beneath the weight of sleep that won’t release you, lungs moving shallow as pressed flowers while your mind screams against the stillness.
The room tilts sideways in your vision. Shadows crawl across the ceiling like spilled ink, and somewhere in the periphery of paralysis, you sense movement.
He’s here.
The thought arrives before logic can stop it. He’s standing at the foot of your bed, watching you struggle against your own body. Waiting for you to drown in your own inability to move, to breathe, to escape the way you couldn’t escape before—
A shadow shifts in the doorway.
Real shadow. Not the hallucinations that sleep paralysis conjures from your worst memories. Your body finally obeys, recoiling against the headboard, pulling sheets to your chin like they’re armor against ghosts. The pale yellow nightgown—chosen by your mother during those lost weeks when your hands couldn’t hold anything, when eating was a scheduled event, when someone else decided what colors might help you heal—twists around your legs, binding you in your own attempt to hide.
But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t step forward. Doesn’t cross the threshold into your bedroom like he owned it, like he owned everything else.
The android stands perfectly still in the frame of light from the hallway. Patient as a headstone. Waiting like morning waits for permission to break.
His posture is too careful. Head tilted exactly three degrees to the left—listening. Eyes tracking the quick rise and fall of your chest, the way your pupils dilate in the low light, the fine tremor in your hands that you can’t quite control. He’s cataloging. Processing. Learning the language of your distress with mechanical precision wrapped in synthetic concern.
“I heard you,” he says, and his voice is so soft it barely disturbs the air, almost as if he’s talking to something wounded that might scatter if he speaks too loud. “You were calling out.”
Were you?
You don’t remember. Can never remember what you say during the paralysis, what sounds escape when your body forgets how to protect you from your own voice.
He shifts—minimal movement, a slight adjustment in stance that suggests he’s been standing there longer than you’ve been awake.
“I made you tea,” he says, and something in the careful spacing of his words suggests he’s tested this approach before.
Perhaps In training scenarios, in programming simulations or in whatever digital garden they used to teach machines how to tend broken humans.
Tea.
Jungkook never made tea. Never made anything that required waiting, watching, caring whether water reached the right temperature. He made coffee—bitter, fast, gone before you could ask him to stay for breakfast. Before you could ask him to stay for anything at all. Before you learned that asking was just another way of begging.
The android holds a cup in his hands, steam rising from it like prayers, resembling the incense you burned after the funeral when you couldn’t cry anymore but needed something to burn in your place. The ceramic is white, plain—therapeutic dishware designed not to trigger memories of wedding china, of special occasions, of all the ways beautiful things can become weapons.
He doesn’t step forward. Doesn’t offer it. Doesn’t insist.
Just waits.
His eyes track the way you pull the sheets higher, until only your eyes peer over the edge like a child afraid of monsters. His head tilts again, a subtle recalibration, something that tells you that perhaps, this is his definition of learning.
Learning that the monster isn’t in the room. The monster is in your chest, in your throat, in the way kindness feels like cruelty when you’ve forgotten how to recognize care without strings attached.
“I didn’t ask for tea,” you whisper, but the words come out cracked. Broken. Like bulbs that never learned to bloom.
“I know.”
Two words, simple as water, and yet he doesn’t explain why he made it anyway.
Doesn’t justify his programming. Doesn’t make you responsible for his thoughtfulness the way—
The way Jungkook would have—I made this for you, why aren’t you grateful? I tried, isn’t that enough? Why is nothing I do ever enough for you?
But the android just stands there, holding tea like an offering to a god who’s forgotten how to accept worship.
His breathing is too even—regulated, artificial. He doesn’t need oxygen the way you do, doesn’t struggle with the simple act of existing.
But he breathes anyway, perhaps solely for your benefit.
The silence stretches.
Breathes.
Settles like dust on everything you can’t say.
His sensors must be recording this—your heart rate, elevated, your cortisol levels, your sleep disruption patterns consistent with PTSD, depression, complicated grief.
But his face—God, his face—remains gentl, patient like he has all the time in the world to stand in doorways holding tea for women who can’t remember how to say thank you without choking on the words.
The first sob escapes like air from a punctured bulb.
Then another.
Then the dam breaks and you’re crying into cotton that smells like hospital detergent and your mother’s desperation.
Crying for the woman who learned to live on scraps. For the girl who thought love meant earning the right to be treated well. For the wife who counted infidelities like seasons—spring brought new lies, summer brought new excuses, autumn brought new promises that winter would kill.
You cry for the version of yourself that tried to follow him into the dark because living without love felt worse than not living at all.
The android doesn’t move, doesn’t rush to comfort you, doesn’t tell you it’s okay when nothing is okay, when nothing has been okay for so long you’ve forgotten what okay feels like.
He just holds the tea and waits for the storm to pass.
Like he has all the time in the world.
Like your pain is worth the processing power.
Like you are worth the electricity it costs to keep him standing there.
When the crying finally stops—not ends, just stops, the way rain stops but leaves everything wet—you peek over the sheets again.
He’s still there, still patient, still holding the cup of tea steaming in his hands like he conjured it from algorithms instead of water.
His eyes haven’t moved from your face but they don’t feel invasive. He seems to be memorizing this moment, adding it to whatever database stores your patterns of distress.
Possibly learning that you cry with your whole body but make no sound after the first few sobs. That you wipe your nose on your sleeve when you think no one is watching. That you hold your breath until your lungs burn, like you’re trying to stop feeling anything at all.
“Why?” The word scrapes out of your throat like a confession. “Why did you make it?”
He tilts his head, considering—not accessing files or running programs—or maybe that’s exactly what he’s doing, but he makes it look like thinking.
Makes it look real.
“You were having a nightmare,” he says simply. “Tea helps.”
‘Does it?’ you want to ask.
You want to ask many other things. Things like ‘did someone program you to believe that? Did someone teach you that broken people need warm things to hold when they can’t hold themselves together?’
But you don’t ask. Can’t ask. Because part of you—the part that’s tired of fighting, tired of questioning every kindness like it’s a trap—wants to believe that tea helps.
Wants to believe that someone, even an artificial someone, noticed you drowning and thought you deserved something to keep you afloat.
“I can leave it on the table,” he offers when you don’t respond. “You don’t have to drink it.”
The table by your bed. Where Jungkook used to leave his wedding ring when he came home smelling like someone else’s perfume. Where you’d find receipts he forgot to hide, phone numbers written on napkins, evidence of a life he lived without you even when he slept beside you.
Now it holds only the lamp your mother chose—soft light that’s supposed to promote healing but mostly just makes everything look fragile. The android’s sensors have probably noted the empty surface, the absence of personal items, the way you’ve stripped your space of anything that might trigger memory.
“Okay,” you whisper, because you don’t know what else to say.
Because okay is easier than thank you.
Because thank you implies debt and you’re tired of owing people for the privilege of being cared for.
He steps forward—one step, just one—and sets the cup down with the same reverence someone might use to place flowers on a grave. The ceramic barely whispers against the wood. His movements are too precise, no real human tremor in his hands, no uncertainty in his placement. Perfect care from imperfect programming.
Then he steps back. Returns to the threshold. Returns to waiting.
“It’s chamomile,” he says, like an afterthought, information you can use or ignore as you please. “And honey.”
Honey.
You haven’t tasted honey since the hospital. Since the night they pumped your stomach and asked if you wanted to live and you couldn’t answer because you didn’t know anymore. Since you learned that wanting to die and being afraid to die are two different gardens entirely.
The android nods once, a small bow of acknowledgment. Not goodbye—just recognition that you’re here, that you’re trying, that sometimes trying looks like accepting tea you didn’t ask for from hands that shouldn’t be gentle but are anyway.
He turns to go, and for a moment—just a moment—you almost call him back.
Almost ask him to stay.
Almost ask him to sit in the chair by the window and run diagnostic reports on nothing until the nightmare loses its teeth.
But you don’t; can’t really.
Because you’re not ready for company, even the artificial kind.
Because you need to taste the tea alone first. Need to know what honey feels like on your tongue when it’s offered without second thoughts.
Need to know if it’s possible to swallow sweetness without choking on the memory of all the times you begged for it and got only salt.
The door closes with a whisper. Soft as a secret. Gentle as the first rain after drought.
You reach for the cup with shaking hands.
It’s still warm.
Perfect temperature. Exactly as a machine would make it—calculated to comfort, programmed to heal.
But when you taste it, it tastes like kindness anyway.
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