ohhokk you have a great taste mamm!! my favs would be dead poet's society BECAUSE OH CAPTAIN MY CAPTAIN, there's this indian romcom called kal ho na ho, then we have all about lily chou chou and past lives, i also really love bong jonhoo's movies as you do so yes definitely parasite, memories of murder, tokyo etc. then i have got the truman show, aftersun, animated movies like spirited away, frozen, etc etc etc. the list goes on.
i love timothee's movies too actually, most of his earlier ones like beautiful boy, call me by ur name, although marty supreme's also great. thankyou for answering btww:33
SUCHHH GREAT MOVIES!!! you put me on a few that i will need to watch 👩🏻💻 and omg yes i love animated movies so much 🥹 they truly teach the most ! TWIN YOU JUST GET IT!!! but no babes thank YOU for asking!!! have a nice weekend 🩷🩷
randommmm ques but who are some of ur fav movie actors or ur top 4 films ?? i sound like those letterboxd interviewers but tellmeeee
OUUU what a nice question thank u!!! my top 4 movies got to be:
1. cars (first one obviously)
2. parasite
3. snowpiercer
4. soul
i’m a pixar and bong joonho girlie!!! but there’s so many others i wanted to include HELPPP like beautiful boy, 13 going on 30, challengers, beauty and the beast……. i’m also an indecisive girlie
my fave actor i’m gonna be so basic and say timothee chalamet but its bc i really loved him in every role!!! wait now i’m curious about your answer too tho…
hey cuties! ♡
this month’s reads might be just a little… hot! the result? a list full of smuts that are the smuttiest I’ve ever read.
special shoutout to Help Wanted because, man, I am literally obsessed and I’ve never read something so eagerly, it's just captivating and amazing!
pls reblog if you like any of my recommendations, and don’t forget to share lots of love and support for the incredible authors who write them.
i hope you guys enjoy them and love reading them as much as I did!
!! cover heavily inspired by @ dododesjgns on insta!
help wanted by @merakoo — series, ongoing
summary: In order to make ends meet you pick up a side job as the nanny of a brooding, cold perfectionist by the name of Jeon Jungkook — while in the process of doing so, you might've ended up twisting the narrative about your education just a little. Watching over a few children couldn't be too hard, right? Only Jungkook is very peculiar about how he wants things done — strict routines, meal plans and tedious study hours that make the Jeon estate feel more like a military camp than a home — and it's only a matter of time until cracks in the seemingly perfect facade begin to form.
tags: dilf!jungkook, single dad jungkook, nanny!reader, 1980s au, slowburn fluff angst explicit content, age gap (jungkook is 30, reader is 20), jungook keeps secrets & so does reader
2. girls on film by @merakoo
summary: In order to spice up your sex life — your boyfriend proposes making a sextape.
tags: no plot, just pure filth dom!jk, camera usage during sex, spanking, multiple positions (doggy style + missionary) unprotected sex + pullout cumming on stomach pet names (angel, love) dirty talk
3. feelings aside by @merakoo (again??)
summary: Jungkook had always been just sex to you and you had always been just sex to him. At least that's what you had believed. But when the line between you goes dry and your dating life takes off — you find him on your doorstep, and for once, it's not about sex.
tags: friends with benefits pining jealous!jungkook, kissing, mentions of past hookups ft. jimin yearner!jungkook oblivious reader possessive!jungkook suggestive content
4. stretch you out by @chateautae — obs. Namjoon is a bonus here (omg love it)
summary: you have a plan for your crappy, diabolical ex who’s set on ruining your life; making him jealous by snagging a raunchy photo with two hot employees at the gym. what you didn’t have a plan for? befriending the mischievous pair to aid in your revenge and ending up underneath not just one, but both of them.
tags: college!au, strangers to friends to lovers!au, porn but with plot :), the dIRTIEst smut, fluff, heavy making out, explicit sexual content, threesome
5. sinners by @wintrbears
summary: based on the concept from the movie “Sinners,” music has the ability to shred the barrier between planes of existence and draw creatures of the underworld to the land of the living, and Jungkook’s heavenly voice ends up bringing hell right to his doorstep.
tags: fantasy in the modern world!au, strangers to lovers, angst, smut, demons, religious lore, mention of death, life-altering decisions
6. deal by @jeonstudios
summary: what do you do when your teenage brother’s cancer is too far gone? well, you summon a cocky crossroad demon to make a deal; your life for taehyung’s.
tags: angst, smut, fluff, panic attack, penetrative sex, blood, mentions of killing, branding skin, wounds by arrow
7. best mistake by @lovieku
summary: you've tried, but you can't help yourself from crushing on your best friend's dad. hot, buff, tatted up and successful, mr. jeon is the starring actor in all of your wettest dreams. and as you wake up from one while sleeping over at his house after his daughter's birthday party, you don't expect all of them to suddenly come true. but they do.
tags: dilf!jk x inexperienced!fem reader, smut, angst, voyeurism
8. acts of service by @jiminsafairy
summary: using a tiktok trend to try to relieve your pregnancy back pain was supposed to be a sweet, innocent, wholesome moment. Jungkook certainly didn't plan on it turning into a messy fuck in the middle of the living room
tags: husband! jungkook x pregnantwife!reader, smut, fluff, pregnant sex, lactation kink
9. still don’t know my name by @dollfaceksj
summary: in which your annoying neighbor—that you can’t stand—turns out to be the person behind the online account you’ve been sexting. You still don’t know his name.
tags: smut, enemies, sexting, hard kinks (slapping, spitting, hairpulling, choking)
you've tried, but you can't help yourself from crushing on your best friend's dad. hot, buff, tatted up and successful, mr. jeon is the starring actor in all of your wettest dreams. and as you wake up from one while sleeping over at his house after his daughter's birthday party, you don't expect all of them to suddenly come true. but they do.
⌗ repost. originally posted as OLDER. from the grande series.
pairing: dilf!jk x inexperienced!fem reader
genre: smut, angst, dilf au, best friend's father au
contents: porn with some lots of plot, age gap (oc 21 | jk 38), dom jk, sub reader, voyeurism, messy blow job, fingering, oral (f receiving), bit of tit play (small chested reader yayy), two (2) spanks, unprotected sex, cum eating, dirty talk, a bit of degradation, but also praise, pet names, ANGST :P, she falls first he falls harder??? but miscommunication sadly, forbidden love
word count: 17.4k
author’s note: wellll… hey people 🤭 guess who’s back! i don’t wanna make this long so i won’t say too much, we can take this to the inbox if u guys want 💋 for those who remember me, hello lovies!!! i’m thinking of reposting some of my old fics before giving you new content hehe ! special thanks to my day ones who fought hard and brought me here again even through my hesitation, you know who you are 🥰🩷 love u!!! enjoy!!!
In the backseat of his car, you stare forward at his hands gripping the steering wheel. There's something hypnotic about the way his fingers curl around the leather. You bite your lips, an attempt to suppress the heat easily pooling low in your belly, your thighs rubbing together to conceal the effects of your lewd thoughts.
One in particular stands out. It’s the one that puts a shameless, selfish smile on your face when you fixate on the fourth finger of his left hand lacking a gold band.
It's been a few months since that day — since Areum, your best friend, showed up at your door in a frantic state, her finger jabbing the bell over and over in a panicked rhythm that jolted you from your bed.
You had nearly tripped down the stairs in your rush to swing the entrance open, and when you did, you were instantly tackled by your friend collapsing into your arms, her tears soaking through your shirt.
Kicking the door shut, your hands busy embracing Areum with your eyes wide, you tried to steady both her and yourself. In between her uncontrollable sobs, shaking you to the core, she let her worries tumble out her mouth. Words came in a torrent, fast and breathless, barely giving you any time to fully process them as she buried her face in your neck.
It took a moment for the huge news to break through your thick, slowed down brain, but then it struck you, Areum chanting it repeatedly as if she couldn’t grasp her mind around it: her parents were splitting up. Divorce was imminent.
Your own disbelief mirrored hers, but for very different reasons. You felt it in the way your shock turned into excitement; indecorous, depraved exhilaration, with your heartbroken friend still in your arms.
Even as her sobs echoed, your mind latched onto one single thought, repeating like a mantra: he’s single. Mr. Jeon is single.
You felt terribly guilty when you sensed a smile that you couldn’t quite suppress stretching over your features, and the jittery sensation that came with it flowed your body and reached your hands, tightening harder around Areum to try and squeeze the shame out of yourself.
Since that day, you’ve lost count of how many afternoons you’ve spent at the Jeon’s house. You've been doing your best to be the friend Areum needs, to keep her company when what she fears the most is loneliness. You’ve been a constant presence, helping her through the mountain of neglected work she left piling up, distracting her with baking sessions, or mindlessly binge watching entire seasons of Friends on lazy evenings. Anything to keep her mind off the pain.
But each visit is an opportunity. A fleeting chance to see him. To study how he moves around the house with an intensity that still manages to feel like a calm, steady current filling every room.
You’ve memorized many of his mannerisms. The way his eyes soften when he looks at Areum; the way his mouth twitches into a faint smile when she tries to cheer him up; the way he nods at you in recognisment, silently letting you know he’s grateful for what you’re doing to help his daughter.
You wish you could help him too. In other ways. Ways you know you shouldn’t be thinking about.
You can’t avoid it, though. You've witnessed him come back home from work countless times now, watched the tension etched across his features as he steps through the door, wished you could be the one to ease it off his shoulders. Let your hand travel down his chest, reach his belt.
You feel disgusting unfailingly, but how can you not let your mind wander when he groans so deliciously every time he loosens the tie around his neck and kicks off his shoes?
You know exactly what his next move is, the imperceptible sigh melting the weariness off his face the moment he greets his daughter, a tender smile breaking through his exhaustion.
“Any requests for dinner tonight, girls?” He always asks, his gaze jumping between Areum and you on the living room couch, waiting for a response.
After your friend replies she likes whatever her daddy cooks, your stomach twists with nerves when his eyes meet yours to make sure there’s no complaints, and you quickly shake your head, biting your lips to keep from saying something foolish. Is your dick on the menu? Perhaps?
And the man can cook. Exceptionally well. He moves around the kitchen with purpose in his every movement, each dish you have the honor of tasting better than the last.
While you help setting the table, you catch yourself staring more times than you should. You can’t help but wonder if there’s anything he’s not good at. Fuck. Is there even a single flawed bone in this man’s body? With every day you spend at his house, you’re convinced there can’t be.
You want him to notice you, the same way you notice him. You tell yourself you’re just being a good friend to Areum, but you know there’s more behind your constant visits.
There’s definitely more behind the way your skirts get shorter, your tops tighter, your bras purposefully not worn.
You feel crazed when you convince yourself his gaze falls upon your exposed thighs when he puts a plate in front of you at dinner, or when his eyes seem to be caught, only for a fleeting second, by your hardened nipples, evident through your poor excuses of shirts.
Even when your interactions don’t go further than a brief exchange about college and Areum or quiet, polite smiles in passing, the mere thought of being around him sends a rush through your veins.
You’ve been seeking more and more of that after one particular night, your feet making their way down the stairs after Areum had fallen asleep and you had rathered take your leave. You found him stretched on the couch, a drink in his hand.
His eyes hazily followed your movements, voice low and slightly slurred, “Are you leaving already?”
Hearing him acknowledge you outside of the usual context of Areum’s presence made you stop dead in your tracks, your reddened cheeks turning to face him, the dark color spreading all over your features when you fully took him in.
He was cladded in a comfortable attire, one you almost never saw on him, black sweatpants and a gray t-shirt deliciously hugging his shoulders, the short sleeves revealing the intricate ink designs running all over his right arm.
You shook yourself out of your trance suddenly, stuttering, “Huh… yes. Didn’t wanna be a bother.”
He chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine, “Oh, you’re not. I wish all of my daughter’s friends were like you.”
His words hung in the air, filling it with sincerity and a sudden tension landing right on your chest. You quickly brushed it away with a laugh, a nervous, shaky sound escaping your lips, trying to mask the way your heart was racing with desperation for the gods to grace you with the depth of his tipsy voice all night.
To this day, you still think your horny and delusional prayer was heard when he nodded to the empty space beside him, lifting his glass slightly, “Care for a drink? You’re 21 now, right?”
You only nodded shyly, more out of reflex than actual thought, slowly making your way to sit beside him just as he had instructed. The proximity sent a wave of heat through your body, your insides melting with the lava, the smell of his cologne and laundry detergent replacing the burned ground with a trail of flowers.
You were willing to do whatever he wanted from you at that moment, even if it meant downing the harsh liquor he poured into a glass for you. You took a sip, struggling not to grimace at the burn that followed. He smiled.
It was probably the alcohol loosening his tongue, but that night, for the first time, you saw a side of Mr. Jeon that he kept carefully hidden away, his vulnerability a strong characteristic of it.
His words tumbled out in an almost confessional tone. He spoke about his marriage, about how he had always felt somewhat trapped. Still a teenager himself, he was only 17 when he found out his soon to be wife was pregnant with Areum; 23 when they decided to marry. Voice soft but tinged with sadness, he admitted he never felt like he got to live his youth to the fullest, certainly blessed with his perfect baby, but also chained down by responsibilities and a tightening pressure he shouldn’t have had to deal with at such a young age.
Then, with his eyes burning into your shiny and equally flaring ones, he paused just for a moment, and you felt he could see right through you, into the very core of your being. That he had you all figured out.
“When I look at you,” he continued, his voice barely more than a whisper, gaze traveling down your bare thighs, squished together on his couch, “I feel like I get a bit of that youth back. You're so full of life, so fresh, so… full of love for my daughter. I'm glad she has you. Glad we have you.”
As he found your orbs again, you noticed his had significantly darkened. You were sure your heart would have failed you if you had kept navigating in his gaze; instead, you looked down at your hands folded in your lap.
That night, he paid for your uber and insisted you sent him a text when you made it home. It was only read the morning after, and left unanswered.
Even now, you’re convinced that if it weren’t for the whisky, those words would have stayed locked away in his mind, never seeing the light of day. Not even if he were forced to speak them at gunpoint.
Still, you’re grateful for the magical effects of alcohol and how they’ve brought you a tiny bit closer to give a look into his complicated world. It has awakened something in you, which led you to the conclusion that you always want to be there for him. Help him through the doubts and regrets. Be the youth he missed. Take the weight off his shoulders. Let him use you on that couch.
That feral, undomesticated monster inside you is a hundred times hungrier when, exiting the library building with Areum by your side, babbling in your ear about today’s plans, you see his sleek Mercedes parked outside.
He honks, getting his daughter’s attention too, who excitedly walks over the car when she spots it. The sound works as a pavlovian trigger for you, it has your mouth salivating and your senses alert, catching up with your friend and getting in the backseat.
It has been a few weeks since you last saw him, both you and Areum too busy with assignments and outside activities, and his charming smile as he asks about the day cuts the breath from your lungs.
You’re silent as your friend fills him in, your ears struggling to pick up her speech as it only takes a few more seconds for your eyes to be caught by an interesting detail, one that has your world rocked: he finally took his wedding ring off.
The wedding ring that has stood as an unspoken boundary between you and your reckless fantasies is gone. The realization hits hard, and suddenly your mind veers into dangerous territory, conjuring visions that feel too real. You can almost feel his left hand wrapping around your waist, pulling you in, claiming you. And the images are so vivid, so consuming, that you don’t even notice when Areum nudges your shoulder.
You don’t register her calling your name until the sound finally cuts through, pulling you back to the present with a jolt. You blink a few times, trying to ground yourself, before turning to face her, Areum’s voice light but her expression amusedly curious, “Dad asked you a question.”
Your whole face drops, panic clear in your features, and heat immediately rushes to your cheeks. You've been zoning out, lost in a daydream about the very man sitting in front of you, the one you literally just ignored, too busy thinking of him. The irony is almost too much.
Your eyes find his in the rearview mirror, and the slight smirk on his lips only makes you look even dumber, stuttering all throughout your explanation, “Sorry, Mr. Jeon. I— um. I was distracted.”
He simply chuckles, low and clearly not offended by your lapse in attention. His focus is back on the road, but as he speaks you keep yours on the words he’s directing at you this time, “It’s okay. And I always tell you, just Jeongguk is fine. I was asking about your day, you seem a little worn out.”
“Oh. I—it went well! I guess I'm just a bit tired,” the words feel clumsy as they leave your mouth, but you hope they sound convincing enough. You just can’t stop your eyes from falling on his left hand.
“Well, you can’t be!” It’s Areum’s excitement interrupting your furious imagination and bubbling over, “You need to help me set up for tonight. Then, we’re gonna do our makeup, our hair, and dress up. I'm so excited!”
Right. The reason why you could finally see Mr. Jeon after weeks and why you’re currently driving to his house is because it’s Areum’s birthday.
The day feels significant in so many ways. You're excited to witness your best friend turn a year older, especially with all the hardships she’s been faced with. Honored that you’re the one she’s chosen to help make this night perfect, ensure every detail is just how she’s pictured this moment to be like. And you can’t deny that you feel slightly nervous at the prospect of tonight, knowing there are going to be faces you’re not that well acquainted with. You'd say you’re a bit awkward with new people, but you’ll try to bear through it for the sake of Areum’s happiness.
But mostly, you feel guilty. Because no matter how much you try to focus on your friend, the thought that truly makes your insides all mushy with fuzziness is the fact that you’re going to be in the proximity of her dad, again.
You crave for the smallest moments. The brief second where you’ll catch his gaze. The way his cologne will subtly linger in the hallways of his home. Your eyes have a habit of drifting to his hands, those strong, veined, tattooed hands that move so smoothly whenever he speaks.
Even now, in his car, as you glance at his side profile, there’s a ridiculous and almost cosmic sense of gratitude. Like you’ve been chosen. Blessed by whatever God to exist on this planet at the same time as him, to simply witness his presence.
It should be enough. It really should. But you’re a sinner. You're greedy, wanting more. Always more.
That buzzing sensation sticks with you throughout the entire day, hours packed with anxious over-organization, both you and Areum moving as if every step had to be executed flawlessly. And with all the chaos, he’s there in the back of your mind. Mr. Jeon.
He helps for a while, joining you in the backyard as you set up for the evening, his calm demeanor in stark contrast to the whirlwind around you. But then he disappears into his studio, into his own space, leaving you to your tasks, and you don’t see him until hours later.
Yet, you still feel him, as if he’s always near. His upstairs studio’s window faces the garden, and it’s enough to make you hyper-aware of your every gesture. You straighten your back, slow your steps. Because even though you don’t know if he’s really watching, it feels like he is.
Getting your makeup, hair and outfit ready with Areum does slightly ease that sensation off your chest. You love these moments with her. Shared girlhood when you do each other’s eyeliner, the flutter of excitement as you zip up dresses, as you rummage through her closet, searching for the perfect piece to complete your look.
But even then, you’re brought back to the man working just a few rooms down the hallway. It's astonishing how easily Areum has access to everything she wants. The power her dad holds, the kind of wealth that makes life feel effortless in ways you can’t help but envy. For her, money isn’t just something that buys things. It shapes her world. It’s as simple as snapping her fingers.
You don’t resent her for it, not really. But it makes you wonder what it would be like to live in a world where nothing is out of reach. Where everything, even the man who haunts your thoughts, could be yours with the right words or a simple gesture.
When you see him again, you’re standing in his kitchen. Areum is still upstairs, fixing the tiniest details to her makeup, but you decided to come down early, just in case the first guests arrive, wanting to be helpful, wanting to keep yourself busy.
You’re momentarily lost in the view outside the window, the backyard garden bathed in the warm glow of fairy lights, soft hues blending beautifully with the sage and pastel yellow decorations. It pulls a small smile to your face, knowing your hard work paid off.
The quiet peace is soon interrupted by the sound of a cupboard cracking open behind you, and you startle, your heart giving a quick jump.
You turn, following the noise, and there he is — Jeongguk, bent over as he retrieves a bottle of red wine from the lower cupboard. As he straightens up, bottle in hand, he finds your eyes already staring in his. He's uncharacteristically deliberate as he lets his gaze wander up and down your figure.
You’ve dressed carefully for tonight, choosing a flowy pink dress that flutters delicately against your thighs. The corset top hugs your waist in all the right ways, accentuating your shape. It’s the kind of dress that makes you feel just a little more confident, a little more seen.
But now, under his gaze, you feel rather exposed, as if he’s seeing more than just the fabric of your dress. His eyes linger, and when his orbs dip to your chest, it’s almost as if he hesitates, like he’s trying to tear his eyes away but can’t.
You’re not even sure if the engrossed look on his face is real or just the product of your own twisted fantasies.
Still, your body responds instinctively, your hand drifting up to play with your necklace, an unconscious gesture, while your other arm wraps around your waist, as if you’re trying to hold yourself together under the intensity of his stare.
When his eyes return to your wide ones, he gives a subtle nod towards your dress, and although the smile that curves his lips is warm you can’t decipher that something else it wants to communicate.
His voice is smooth, literal honey, sweet and rich, dripping out from his pillowy lips, “What a beauty. You look very pretty.”
Now, you weren’t expecting that. It steals the breath from your lungs. It's not just the words, or even the way he says them, velvet wrapping around your senses. It’s how he seems to drink you in, his refined wine nothing in comparison. Like you’re something to be savored just as carefully.
At this point, you’re seriously questioning if there was a stronger substance in the liquor you and Areum shared earlier, even if you hadn’t taken big quantities. But you figure it must have been enough to distort the current reality around you. Or maybe, Mr. Jeon is the inebriated one.
You don't know how you find the voice to speak, or if you even do, the word escaping your lips in an uncoordinated mess, almost imperceptible, “Thanks.”
He hums deeply in response, and it vibrates through the space between you. You let out a shaky exhale the moment his gaze finally shifts away. He resumes the task at hand, effortlessly opening the bottle of wine and turning his back to you as he reaches for a glass from the higher cabinet.
The muscles in his shoulders shift under his shirt, and for a split second, you’re unsure what to do. Whether to stay, add anything else, flee the room entirely. Make small conversation about Areum’s birthday. Comment on his look, too. Oh, you’d have a lot to say about it.
You can tell he just wrapped up his work-related tasks for today from the way the first three buttons of his white shirt are opened, revealing his deep cleavage. His hair slightly tousled, but in a way that looks perfectly intentional, unintentionally. His slacks hug him deliciously, rounding the curve of his ass and making you swallow hard.
Your eyes can’t resist trailing over him, but they quickly move up to stare at the ceiling, feigning deep thought when he turns back to face you and the counter.
Surprisingly, he’s the one to break the silence first, again. The rich sound fills the air as he pours his red wine, the motion so precise, so fluid, it feels like witnessing an authentic art form.
He doesn’t bother looking up at you as he asks, seemingly casual, but slightly amused, “Is there a boy you’re trying to impress tonight?”
The way he steers the conversation makes you less agitated, suddenly confident. Especially with the question thrown your way. Teasing, almost belittling. You can see he’s not even trying to hide his pretty smirk, his focus on the wine flowing into the glass.
The question lingers, and you twirl your necklace around your fingers, smoothing down your dress with your other hand, your eyes flitting to his naked left hand, “Mh… you could say so.”
Of course, you’re not thinking about a boy. Mr. Jeon is no boy — he’s a man. The kind women dream about but know they’ll never find. The kind that belongs on the big screen or in the pages of a novel, with his effortless charm, wealth, looks that stop you in your tracks.
But he’s in front of you. And he’s tall, muscular, with hands that could crush or caress, tattooed in a way that makes your mouth dry up and water all at once.
It’s him you want to impress. You want to affect him the way he affects you. You want to pull him in, make him look at you the way he makes your world tilt on its axis with just a glance.
You’re hypnotized as you witness him in one of his rich man activities, performing a ritual with the wine glass. He brings it to his nose, his eyes fluttering shut as he takes in the aroma. It’s sensual, the way he handles the glass, its liquid dancing with precision, as if even this simple act holds meaning. You can’t look away.
When he's satisfied, he finds you again, and your mouth is slightly open without you even realizing it. The moment he lifts the glass to his lips, you bite your own, almost harshly, your body reacting before your mind can catch up.
His smile is soft. He must know exactly what he’s doing to you.
Jeongguk mutters into the glass, his words resounding even stronger, “Well, he’d be a fool not to fall for you.”
The implications of his comment make you swallow audibly, while he downs his first sip of the wine with fine ease, his Adam's apple bobbing with it. The whole time, his eyes never leave yours.
A thick silence stretches between you, and you wish you could break it but you don’t know how. Your mind spins with the unspoken tension, instead he seems entirely comfortable with it. He places the glass back on the counter, the soft clink of it slicing through the quiet. Smoothly, he nudges it in your direction, his movements slow, as if testing the waters.
His voice is inviting, even more than usual, “You want to try?”
”Is that wine?” You instantly cringe at the way you sound strained.
He hums, a low sound of affirmation, watching you carefully. You briefly glance at the glass, "I've never had it.”
”Have it, then.”
With a slow twist of his fingers around the base, he slides the glass toward you. As it moves across the marble surface, you notice how he rotates it imperceptibly, but purposefully, so that the side where his lips touched the rim is now facing you. The gesture is subtle, but the intent behind it is clear. At least to your deranged fantasies.
There’s a faint lip mark where his mouth had been, and the sight of it pulls you in, making your pulse pound in your ears. You look back up at him, finding his gaze still on you, expression unreadable.
Without a word you lift the glass, your fingers wrapping clumsily around its stem. You bring it to your lips, mouth closing over the spot his lips had just pressed on.
The wine hits your tongue — bitter, sharp, and unfamiliar. You gulp hard, the liquid burning slightly as it slides down your throat. Your face scrunches involuntarily; the richness of the flavor is too much for you, and you can’t help but grimace as the aftertaste lingers.
He watches, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. When you set the glass down, he effortlessly picks it back up and brushes his fingers across the rim.
His tone laced with amusement, he asks, “Love it?”
You shake your head quickly, trying to hide your discomfort.
His chuckle is low, a soft rumble that makes your stomach flip. Swirling the wine gently, he muses, "I heard there’s going to be alcohol tonight.”
You grumble lightly, slumping your shoulders, “Ugh, I know.”
The endearment rolls off his tongue like a secret meant just for you, his voice dipping into something softer, more intimate, “Make sure you don’t drink too much, pretty face. I'll be around.”
Just like that, he turns and walks away, leaving you standing there, your thoughts spinning. Pretty face?
What just happened? You're not so sure, but eyeing the glass left alone on the counter, you impulsively grab it and decide to gulp its remnants down, groaning immediately after. Taking wine as a shot might not have been the best idea, but you’re certainly going to need all the possible devices to shake this feeling off.
It’s hard to do so, even as the birthday party kicks off. The energy in the backyard shifts as more guests arrive. Lively voices and unfamiliar faces begin to fill the space. Areum’s laughter cuts through the hum, infectious and bright, drawing everyone in. With your best efforts, you start engaging with others, smiling as you talk to some classmates and mutual friends, but it’s all surface-level. Your mind is elsewhere.
It's only later, as the evening progresses and the party settles into a rhythm, that you begin to relax. Mainstream music plays in the background and it inevitably involves everybody, some classic party games becoming the main entertainment.
Long after the cake and the gift-opening, the group gathers into a loose circle, throwing each other Never Have I Ever questions. You can’t help the way you all are still too young, and how you still get foolishly excited whenever the topic turns hot and hints at anything that is sex related. Childish and immature, you know, but your ears still perk when the first probing question is tossed out.
“Never have I ever been fingered.”
Areum instantly shushes it, her eyes panickedly looking back to the house in hopes her dad isn’t around. laughter bubbles just as quickly, both because of the question and the girl’s reaction.
As expected, many reach for their drink, and you do too. The few present boys holler in a teasing manner, gaining some eye rolls.
Sheepishly, the plastic cup touches your lips and you take the smallest sip of your punch. You can’t appear unbothered like your other peers, your cheeks subtly flaming as the embarrassing memories rush to your mind.
It’s silent, the small plea you telepathically send to anyone that might be listening. You pray for the topic to shift to something else, something that won’t inevitably put you at the center of the attention. Something you can relate to.
But of course, God is not on your side. The questions only dig deeper, wandering in uncharted territory (at least for you), and you never reach for your glass again.
You can only sink further in your chair the more everybody else around you seems even more lively with the way the game has turned, sharing their experiences, giggling as they listen and refill their cups. Beside you Areum buzzes with energy, and every question is just something for her to drink to, nothing that shocks her or that she isn’t familiar with.
Never have I ever given head.
Never have I ever been ate out.
Never have I ever rode someone.
It’s undeniable, your skin heating up. With how you’ve been spending your whole day, fantasizing about the man who’s probably already asleep in his bedroom by now, your friends sharing their adventures only fuels your imagination. You feel dirty when you put yourself in those scenarios, and for every daring moment they relive, the figure that appears beside you is always Mr. Jeon.
If only you turned your head, just for a moment, and glanced toward the kitchen window that faces the backyard, you would have seen the same man dominating your thoughts, staring intently at the scene unfolding outside.
Jeongguk is swallowed wholly by the darkness of the house, every light turned off. Maybe that’s why neither you nor Areum notice him.
You don’t see him. For once, you don’t feel him. You’re too caught up in the moment, too consumed by your own desires, unaware that the man that put you in that same condition is standing so close, watching.
Jeongguk intently studies how your face dips down at every new question, how your smile seems just a little too tight, too forced when listening to the stories, the ones that make you shift uncomfortably in your chair.
If you don’t notice it, he does almost immediately — the moment the attention in the circle shifts toward you.
The glances thrown your way become layered with a subtle curiosity, laced with something that looks like concern. But then, in the eyes of a few, Jeongguk catches a faint trace of judgment. It’s there, in the tilt of their heads, in the exchanged fleeting looks with one another, as if they sense your uneaseness and interpret it as something lesser. Something they can pick apart.
His jaw tightens as he observes, that familiar protective instinct stirring within him. It makes his hands twitch by his side, but he stays rooted in place.
Eventually, the moment you clearly seem to dread the most (it doesn’t take a genius to know. It’s written on your face. Or maybe, he got so used to studying you. It comes easy to him. Knowing you,) follows.
It makes you want to vanish into the thin air caressing your legs, how you can sense that the question is put out with intent, an only pretending-to-be-careful tone wrapping it, all pairs of eyes instantly directed in your direction.
“Never have I ever… had sex.”
You feel trapped, a momentary panic bubbling in your chest as you reach for your cup, hesitant. The rim hovers near your lips and you try avoiding every expectant glance, taking the smallest sip you can manage.
A murmur ripples through the circle. You can’t decipher it, too busy feeling the heat spread across your face. It's only later that you realize no one else drank. The question had been crafted specifically for you, a test.
Lara exhales, a teasing smile playing on her lips, “Woah, I was getting worried for a second there, ___.”
You barely have time to react before Areum steps in, her voice sharp in your defense, “What’s wrong with never having had sex, either way?”
“Nothing, but—”
You’re not sure why you speak, and why you choose your speech that way specifically. You cut in before you even realize what you’re doing, driven by a sudden urge to explain yourself, an unshakable need to clarify forcing itself up your throat, "I only took a small sip, though.”
The group’s collective curiosity spikes, attention zeroed in on you like never before. You feel it — everyone waiting for you to continue, to reveal something you’ve kept to yourself until now. So, you give in, words tumbling out against your better judgment.
You clear your throat, straighten your back against the chair, your tone evasive, “I technically am not a virgin, but… When we— did it, he um… he got his tip in, but— God, this is embarrassing.”
“C’mon, tell us!”
You sigh, pressing forward with an explanation they do not deserve, “He came, like, two seconds after. So, I felt nothing.”
The laughter that erupts is immediate, your friends covering their mouths in shock and amusement. You can only chuckle nervously, shrinking in your seat with a deep, liberating exhale.
Yunjin pats your shoulder beside you, “That’s so sad, babe. We need to find you a real man.”
A strange sense of relief courses through you, the adrenaline from finally being acknowledged and validated by your friends swelling within. You don’t know why, but you keep talking, oversharing, feeding into the newfound attention, “Oh, I've been waiting for one in particular.”
You quickly become the center of attention for different reasons than the previous ones, now. Voices overlap, but you dismiss them all with a playful shake of your head, giggles bubbling up as you try to evade their questions.
But just as quickly as the moment came, it fades when you glance to the side, and your smile drops.
Jeongguk’s eyes meet yours immediately.
The intensity of the gaze knocks the breath from your lungs, and you immediately straighten in your seat.
He’s been watching the entire time, arms crossed, muscle in his jaw tensing as his tongue presses against the inside of his cheek. There’s an unusual frustration etched into his expression, a subtle irritation with your friends’ behavior. But it’s more than that.
Your confession had softly revealed your inexperience. Your innocence. The untarnished parts of you he’s only beginning to realize he wants to corrupt.
Truth is, he’s known for a long time. Longer than he’d like to admit, really. But he’s never let himself feel it fully until now. It wasn’t something that hit him all at once. No, it crept up on him slowly, over the months. He’s always known you were beautiful, in that distant, untouchable way. You’re his daughter’s best friend, after all.
But he couldn’t help his eyes from lingering on you a little too long when you’d come over to hang out with Areum, how he’d feel the tension of his work day melt when he’d let himself be coddled by the warmth of your helping actions, the way his muscles would instead tense when he’d catch sight of you lounging by the pool.
He’d been good at keeping it under bay. But you weren’t subtle, not even the slightest, and it all made it harder. Even more when you’ve been nothing but the proof that angels exist, and at some point he convinced himself you were sent on Earth to fill the void he felt his whole life, with your unconditional care towards his daughter and your pupils widening whenever they’d land on his.
Maybe it was seeing you tonight, all grown up and standing there in that dress, hugging your figure deliciously. How you carried yourself, confident yet unsure, mature yet untouched.
Hearing you talk about your inexperience, about that brief, awkward encounter with a boy who clearly didn’t know what he was doing. Watching you squirm under your friends’ teasing questions, witnessing how you tried to explain yourself.
It’s like it all clicks into place for him. And for the first time, he’s letting himself acknowledge it.
Jeongguk wants you.
He knows it’s wrong. So wrong. He's never felt this way about someone so much younger than him, and yet, the need to be the first one to truly touch you, to show you what it means to be wanted by a real man, makes his blood run hot.
Yet, he feels disgusting. Selfish, his stomach swirling with nerves. Dirty, his fingers twitching and begging to free his insides from such feelings.
There’s simply no ignoring it anymore, no pretending like you’re just Areum’s friend. That boundary he set in his mind is starting to blur. He's old enough to know better, but old enough to know exactly what he wants.
Your eyes widen with terror, meeting Jeongguk’s own hardened gaze. He wants to tell you, wants you to know, but the way your startled expression lingers in his narrowed eyes makes him hesitate.
The contact is abruptly interrupted when one of Areum’s friends, an older kid she’s met through her dad’s colleague, crashes into you from behind, draping his weight over your shoulders.
You struggle not to stumble forward, holding yourself on the arms of your chair while you look to the side, and immediately try to pull away when you realize the unwanted proximity.
But you’re weaker than the boy’s embrace, holding you still and wiggling his eyebrows, his tone playful as he ruffles your hair, “Is it me?”
The people around you laugh, but the way your body stiffens, the clear discomfort in your eyes — Jeongguk notices. And he also notices (reluctantly) the ugly feeling making space in his stomach the more that guy’s face moves closer to yours. His jaw twitches, the muscle at his temple ticking.
He can’t just stand there doing nothing anymore.
The sudden sound of the door to the garden opening catches everyone’s attention, and your gaze flies over in that direction.
Jeongguk steps out, presence commanding, and Areum’s eyes grow wide, instantly sensing something wrong in the way her father is looking at the scene. His eyes are too dark, too sharp, and if no one else detects it, you and his daughter surely do.
Still, the taller boy behind you moves up again, taking a step back from your seat, and Jeongguk seems to reserve him a look you find hard to decipher.
“Areum,” he calls, soft but firm. She’s quick to move toward him, and you can’t help but try to listen in on what he’s saying to her.
But the voices rise again, loud and boisterous, filling the space with chatter, drowning out any chance you had of overhearing. You sigh, returning to your slumped position on the chair. As you do, you can’t ignore how all the girls around you are sneaking glances at him, their giggles piercing through the air as they whisper among themselves.
Jeongguk has always had a certain effect on people, and tonight is no different. You hear some of their comments, but they don’t fully register in your mind. All you can focus on is the bitter feeling rising in your chest.
You bite the inside of your cheek, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your dress. It sickens you, the way you have to share the image of him with everyone else. You wish only your eyes had been granted the gift of looking at him, of admiring the way his shirt stretches across his chest or how his hair falls perfectly, even when tousled. Instead, he’s a spectacle for everyone to enjoy, and you hate it.
When Areum returns, it’s with a slightly slumped posture and her energy deflated. Behind her, Mr. Jeon stands with his arms crossed, a small, condescending smile tugging at his lips.
Areum’s voice is low as she announces, “The party’s over, guys.”
The subtle groans of disappointment echo around you as your friends gather their things, saying their goodbyes and slowly trickling out, only after trying to argue about it, giving up when met with no possible negotiation. Once the last guest has left, it’s just the three of you, left to clean up the remnants of the night in the dimly lit garden.
The air is tense on your skin. You can feel it in every movement, every glance that passes between you and Jeongguk, though he barely looks at you now. His focus is elsewhere. On the mess, on Areum, on anything but you. It’s silent for a while as each one of you picks up their own task. Teamwork seems to be efficient, every area of the backyard slowly regaining its original aspect.
Until Areum yawns dramatically, stretching her arms above her head as she makes her way over to you and her father. She mumbles, blinking heavily. "’M so sleepy."
Jeongguk raises an eyebrow. He teases lightly, voice tinged with a hint of amusement. "Oh, really? You’re just gonna leave all this mess behind?"
For a moment, you and Areum both freeze, glancing at each other with wide eyes, unsure if he’s serious. However, you don’t seem to notice Jeongguk’s lips curling into a soft, knowing smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Just kidding,” he chuckles, tone warm now, the joke clear. “Go sleep, c’mon. It’s past your bedtime.”
Areum sighs with exaggerated relief, rolling her eyes before stepping forward to wrap her arms around her dad in a loose hug. She mumbles into his chest, “I’m not a kid anymore, dad. I don’t have a bedtime.”
He chuckles with a lightness foreign to you until that moment, and he leans down, pressing his lips gently to the top of her head, voice a low and tender whisper, “Whatever you say. Happy birthday, Reumie.”
It’s such a simple moment, nothing grand or elaborate. Still, you watch them with stars in your eyes, completely captivated by this rare portrayal of vulnerability from Mr. Jeon. You almost feel like an intruder, yet you keep contradicting yourself when you can’t help but want to be part of it, too. Want to bask in his love, the one he keeps hidden but the same one that shapes him whole. That fills him from head to toe, never spilling, always quiet. Makes him the brave man you only know through your best friend’s admiring eyes, never from his words.
He doesn’t like talking about himself, but you’d kill to know what truly goes through his mind, even for just a second. You’d gladly settle in a cramped house in his brain, pay rent and everything.
When Areum finally pulls away and turns to you, her expression sleepy but content, she asks, “You coming with me?”
You hesitate, glancing at the mess still surrounding you. You speak with a small, reassuring smile, only looking at your friend, “I'll be there in a minute. I wanna help clean up first.”
She just shrugs, too tired to argue, and heads inside. Jeongguk's eyes follow her briefly before flicking back to you.
His lips part as if he wants to say something. Maybe to insist that there’s no need to help, that you should join Areum inside and get a good night's sleep. But the words never come. Instead, he watches you silently for a second longer, before turning his attention back to the garden.
Now, it’s just the two of you.
The quiet between you isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s heavy. The subtle hum of the night seems louder now without the chatter of party guests, and the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze fills the air as you move around the small round tables, readjusting the chairs.
You’re trying to focus on the task at hand, but your mind keeps drifting to other regions. In your distraction, you clumsily trip over your own feet, your breath catching as you stumble forward.
Before you can fall, though, a strong hand grips your arm, steadying you instantly.
“Oops. Careful, little one,” it’s Jeongguk’s deep voice murmuring close to your ear, the warmth of his touch grounding you.
Your face flushes immediately, heat spreading across your cheeks and down your neck. “Sorry,” you whisper, glancing up at him through your lashes, feeling ridiculously small under his intense gaze.
“It’s okay,” he instantly replies, tone so gentle it almost makes your heart falter.
Silence falls again, but this time, it’s thicker, and maybe even uncomfortable. You both remain still for a moment, his hand loosely gripping your arm, and you feel yourself burn where his fingers rest. His thumb brushes your skin lightly, a subtle, almost imperceptible gesture, but it’s enough to make you gulp audibly.
Finally, he releases you, stepping back slightly, but his eyes never leave yours, "Thanks for making my daughter happy today. I really appreciate that. I appreciate you."
Your mind races, trying to find the right words to respond, but all you can manage is a stutter, “Oh. I—”
His voice is firmer when he gently cuts you off, “Go sleep now. I'll finish here.”
You want to protest, but the way he’s looking at you — dark eyes locking onto yours, holding you in place even with his hand now by his side — makes it impossible.
There’s something about the way he’s speaking, like he’s being careful with his words, almost spelling them out, making sure you’re paying attention to each one, “If you need anything, you know where to find me. Yeah?”
You swallow hard, nodding slowly. His gaze is unwavering, and it feels like he’s saying something more than just the words themselves, something you can’t quite grasp yet. You stammer, “Right. Yes. I—I’ll… goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
It’s not exactly a good night for you. In a sense, maybe it is. You always welcome dreams like these when they decide to visit. But right now, it feels more than a little awkward.
Worst timing ever. You’re lying next to Areum, the daughter of the very man who’s making you wet with just a few flashes of imagery dancing behind your closed eyelids.
At first, it’s soft, almost serene. You see a beach, engulfed in warm, blurry tones that blend together like watercolors left to bleed in the sun. The sea is flat, unmoving, and glimmers like pearls under the flaming light.
A weight presses down on your exposed thigh. The sensation feels so vivid that it pulls you deeper into the dream, and as you glance down, you instantly recognize the large, familiar hand resting there.
Jeongguk's hand. His left one. On the fourth finger, a gold ring.
When you lift your head, his face greets you with a wide, unusual smile. His hair is wet, slicked back as if he’s just come out of the water, droplets clinging to the tips. He bites his lip, and you see it. A double piercing sits on the side of his mouth, the silver studs gleaming as he plays with them using the tip of his tongue. Your breath catches in your throat. You don’t just see it there. On his eyebrow, a matching piercing catches the sunlight, giving him a rebellious edge.
You remember them from old pictures Areum showed you once. Jeongguk, in his younger days, rougher, wilder, and undeniably charming.
It must have left a deep impression on you because your subconscious has dug it up now, weaving it into this dream. Deep in your slumber, you unconsciously whine.
His hand kneads the soft skin of your leg, and his grin stretches wider, eyes crinkling into familiar crescents, but with an edge you’ve never seen on him before.
"You wanna take another bath?" His voice is husky in your ear, filled with suggestion. He's leaning in now, closer, his fingers drawing lazy circles on your skin. Before you can say anything, his hand slides higher, fingers grazing the hem of your swimsuit. "Come on. Just you and me."
Jeongguk’s hand is still playing with the laces of your bikini, and he’s slow and teasing as he pulls one of them. When he fully undoes it, you’re bare in front of him.
But he doesn’t look down just yet. He keeps staring in your eyes, his smile gone now, replaced with something more serious, more focused.
Jeongguk leans closer to your ear, pillowy lips brushing your lobe, and it feels way too real when he whispers, “Let me make you feel good.”
It’s with a jolt that you wake up, the low sound still echoing in the depths of your brain, and you struggle to take in your surroundings at first. On your right, Areum is sleeping soundly, even snoring softly. You'll tease her about it in the morning.
If the thought initially puts a smile on your face, it morphs into a frown when you register the reason why you’re now awake, and you brim with guilt. You have to get away from your best friend. Need to get away from your brain, if possible. Wash it all with a glass of cold water.
You make sure not to cause too much noise as you slowly sit up, the covers falling from your figure and the air welcoming you with goosebumps on your skin. Your naked feet tentatively touch the ground and you force yourself to stand on them, padding on the floor and exiting the room, gently closing the door behind your shoulders.
At first, you only hear it. Faint, muffled noises; fussing; heavy panting; groans.
You blink rapidly, convinced your hazy brain is still cozily wrapped around the blankets, finding it hard to let go of the images that had flashed behind your eyelids and adapt to the new state of consciousness.
But as you make your way to the stairs, the sounds get closer, and more vivid. It's not just your mind playing evil games anymore.
It’s shushed moans, and eager whines. And they seem awfully close to how you’d always imagined Mr. Jeon would sound like. In that situation.
Having lost control over your own brain a long time ago, it feels like you’re now being ordered around by it, no freedom of choice whatsoever.
Your feet move on their own, following the source of that delicious music, and you swear your eyes get teary with joy when you find that the door was left ajar.
You feel delirious. The small gap is more than enough to give you a view into what you never thought you’d have the honor of witnessing: the man of all your desires has his hand wrapped around the base of his cock, squeezing it, then dragging it up and down in slow movements that you just know are torturing him, from the way he harshly bites his lower lip, to the way his furrowed eyebrows almost meet at the bridge of his nose, eyes focused on his doings.
Nonetheless, he loves it. His mouth opens every time he brushes the tip of his thick dick with his palm, releasing small whines, followed by quiet moans when he uses his other hand to play with his balls.
He cusses repeatedly, then grips his base and halts his movements. Only to go over the punishing pattern again, bringing himself closer to the edge then retraining when he feels like stepping over it.
The sight of Mr. Jeon edging himself makes your knees weak. It takes over you physically, you genuinely have to find support in the wall beside you.
You need to be there with him. You need it to be your hand; need him to guide it just the way he likes it; need him to teach you how to please him. His groans make your head spin, and you need to get closer.
You’re not thinking when you instinctively take a step towards the slightly open door, but when you do, the floor cracks under you.
You’re paralysed. In the silence of the house, wrapped in night time, the otherwise small sound is amplified, and he stops his hand.
With the little power you still possess over your actions, you move your back to the wall beside the door. Your breaths are ragged, too overwhelmed with the mixture of fear and lust, and you think of running away to hide but a huge weight is chaining you down, and you find yourself unable to move.
You can only register fussing from the other side, the soft thump of his feet on the floor and the door opening alarmingly. When he looks to the side, he’s met with his expression mirrored on your small face, your eyes wide but willing themselves to keep looking in his.
If you were to look down, you’re not sure you could keep yourself composed, knowing his cock is hard and unattended in his pajama pants.
“____? What are you doing up?” His voice quickly takes on the calm that characterizes him so well, instilling some of it in your startled figure.
Still, you stutter all throughout your answer, making it clear what you just spied into with the way your face changes color, “I— Water. I wanted— There’s no, huh, water in the fridge.”
Mr. Jeon does a weak job at hiding the confused amusement on his features. Nonetheless, he nods, a small grin on his lips while he says nothing, just walks to the stairs and makes his way down them. You follow hastily, careful not to trip.
There's plenty of water in the fridge, but he doesn’t question it. He takes out a bottle and pours a glass for you, sliding it over the counter.
You take the smallest sip, afraid you might choke with the way he stands facing you, staring so intensely into your orbs.
When you put the still full glass down, he smirks. You see his hands gripping the edge of the table in front of him, “Nightmare?”
The depth of his voice translates into heat pooling right in your lower stomach and staining your shorts. You're a mess just from the blurred sight of him. You shake your head, “More like… a weird dream.”
He smiles taut, having to break the prolonged eye contact and look elsewhere, his grip getting tighter and his patience wearing thin.
He won’t be able to control himself much longer if he doesn’t get out of this kitchen, especially with the effects of your effortless charm flooding down his pleading dick.
You’re in front of him, eyes fond with a feeling that scares him, only the counter dividing your bodies, and you’re wearing the tiniest satin shorts paired with a white tank top that leaves little to the imagination, the cut dangerously low and your nipples evident through the material.
He’s a gone man.
His eyes no longer anchoring you, your gaze automatically travels to where you shouldn’t be looking, for your own sanity. The outline of his cock is so delicious, it makes your mouth water with want.
You’re not sure if it’s your own eyes deceiving you, but you swear you can see it throb, and at that moment you realize he’s not wearing any underwear. Just thin, loose pants covering his length.
You gulp, clenching around nothing. You feel him sigh, and the sound makes your head spin with greater force.
He looks back at you, but you’re too enthralled by your current view, the effects of it almost completely shutting out your hearing and your rational thinking, as you round the counter and leave his words hung in the air, "I'm sorry for… what you probably saw. Should’ve closed the door.”
Apology silently dismissed, or simply ignored (why would he even apologize for blessing you with such an unforgettable sight?) you now stand next to him. As he turns to you, you’re faced with his chest, and you have to bend your head upwards to meet his curious eyes.
Your body has long forgotten to trust the thin amount of rationality that could still be found in your brain, and that’s how you find yourself leading your hand to cup his cock through his pajamas.
His face is stoic, staring at you intensely. He doesn’t startle, doesn’t gasp, doesn’t move away. But you feel him. If the contact does something to him, he doesn’t show it. He keeps looking down at you, in your eyes.
Then, he speaks, his voice steady, “What are you doing.”
You’re suddenly aware of your actions, and you fall victim to them, feeling small because of his stern, composed gaze while you feel like melting under it.
Your voice is frail, barely a whisper, too weak to sound as convinced as you truly are, and your words come out slurred, “Wanna help you.”
He doesn’t break, doesn’t seem affected by your desperation, but his pupils are blown out, knuckles white from grasping the counter, “You already did enough.”
Your hand is still on his clothed dick, unmoving. No one dares break the moment, though. If anything, being this close to him, feeling him while you both search for something in each other’s eyes, is only spurring you further.
You get on your tip toes, your perky nipples brushing against his chest, your voice low while you tilt your head to the side, “What were you thinking of? I'll be that for you.”
Immediately, his hand flies over yours. He doesn’t move it, just holds it still. The look in his eyes is a lot darker, his eyelids droopy, his jaw clenched, “Stop this.”
The electrifying spark that buzzes you the moment you feel his skin travels from your hand to your whole body, and it significantly weakens you.
You don’t know if you fall to your knees because they genuinely give up on you, but it’s how you find yourself facing his hardness, your eyes never leaving his glossy ones, highlighted by the dim light shining through the curtains of his kitchen.
“___. Get up.” There’s a tremor in his voice, and the hand that was blocking yours now falls by his side, twitching.
You see it in his eyes. Sense it in the tension of his muscles. He's holding back. But you don’t want him to resist you.
“Please,” your beg is muffled and quiet, your nose brushing against his length and following a torturous path that makes him hiss.
He groans deliriously, willing himself to tear his orbs off your big, pleading ones staring up at him, but he doesn’t do anything to move you away.
“Fuck,” the chuckle that follows is feverish, his body on fire with the forbidden, but so wanted touch, “Don’t make me have to reject you, doll.”
“You don’t have to,” you’re unexpectedly quick in your answers, your conscience coming back to you but letting it be taken over by a dark feeling, the one that makes you kiss his tip through the thin material, and lick along his length, finding his eyes, "I want you.”
Jeongguk inhales, his lower lip bleeding with the harsh biting, and he swears his knees are shaking with the effort of keeping even the slightest, thinnest thread of sanity intact.
He wishes he could stop you. Knows he should. But he can't. He can only watch as your slim fingers hook under the hem of his light pants and lead them to pool down his ankles.
The way his cock springs free and brushes your smooth, pure face makes him huff out a deep exhale, his jaw clenched and eyebrows furrowed as he takes in your eyes widening at the sight of his length.
Mr. Jeon is long. And thick. He's veiny, and perfectly shaved. It looks almost unrealistic, but he’s in front of you in all his glory and he throbs. Leaks pretty precum to coat his angry tip.
He doesn’t know how he manages to speak, especially when you look up at him through your droopy eyelids, pupils blown and tongue ready to take him.
His voice is rough, as if it wants to stay stuck in his throat, but he forces one last warning out, “___. Don’t do it.”
Any and all kinds of inhibitions are nonexistent the moment you attempt a kitten lip at his wet tip, and the simple action makes his head fall backwards, a way too loud growl escaping him. His breaths are heavy, broad chest moving with them as he looks down at you again, too tempted to look elsewhere.
He curses as soon as he does, his lust-filled orbs swimming in your equally craving ones, and he believes this view is crafted by the hands of a God, not slightly comparable to anything his mind came up with back in his room, not too long ago.
The reason why he’s gotten rock hard under his covers, it’s you. The yearning he couldn’t suppress anymore, the hunger making him salivate, the need to be consumed by your love, the desire to be touched by you, to be cured by your innocence, only to taint it.
He’s thirsty, wants to drink all of you in. Wants to finally have you, taste you, feel you. He's tired of fighting it.
Jeongguk doesn’t know how to decipher his heart doing literal flips in his chest when you fully take his cock in your mouth, and he lets out a sound he’s never heard his own self ever produce. It’s high-pitched, whiny, delirious, and it leads himself to subtly push himself forward, to bury his length in your throat.
You inevitably choke at the new sensation, your eyes fluttering shut to keep the tears welling up under your eyelids from spilling out, but you go relentlessly, just as hungry.
You tentatively bob your head up and down his length, messily taking him as best as you could, probably accidentally scraping him with your teeth a few times, and you try to make up for it with your swirling tongue, slurping thirstily.
He almost coos at your eagerness, and as badly as he wants to bask in the sensation, having to keep himself from pounding into your mouth, he holds your silky hair in a ponytail and gently pushes you away.
When you find him again, your eyes are glossy and your eyebrows drawn up with worry.
You don’t want this moment to end. You don’t want your insecurities to be proven right, don’t want him to ward you off, to still think of you as nothing more than a childish girl with an evident crush. You're on your knees for him to finally see you.
Jeongguk instantly reads your thoughts.
His voice is quick to sooth you, a sweet smile painting his face with an expression you rarely see on him. It's soft, just like his voice, “Come up here, angel.”
You want to listen to him, want to follow his every order. But you’re not sure how to when he’s regarding you with a care you’d never thought would be directed at you, one that empties you of any strength. When the pet name rolling off his tongue that easily seems so natural, you want to think it’s all he’s ever seen you as.
With a delicate tug at your hair, he leads you on your feet again. Still, you’re weak, your chin falling on his chest as you look at him through your lashes like he’s hung every single star in the sky.
His hand leaves your locks only to cup your face, promptly helping you stand straight to study your features.
If he didn’t know better, he’d say you’re high off the strongest substance you could find. Your pupils cover your orbs in a dark, wide circle, a lazy smile on your pink lips as you let yourself be handled by him, no control over your body, almost falling over his bigger one again before he steadies you by your hips.
He lets out an amused chuckle at the state you’re in because of him, and he hopes you know just how much you’re affecting him, too. He wants to swallow you, pill after pill, overdose on you.
When he’s sure you don’t need his help keeping you still anymore, leading your palms to rest on his wide shoulders, he takes your face in his big hands and forces you to swim in the intensity of his gaze.
His words are spoken slowly, a low whisper fanning over your lips, “If I kiss you now, I won't be able to control myself anymore.”
Your eyes jump relentlessly between his own orbs and his mouth, the latter winning the battle when you fixate on it, and speak just as weakly, “Please, kiss me.”
You barely manage to get the words out before Jeongguk is all over you. He devours you, pushing your lips open and finding your tongue, playing with it in a mess of slick and heavy breaths.
His fingers travel through every angle of your body they can find, pulling your face impossibly closer by your nape, leaving goosebumps along your bare arms wrapping around his neck, falling down your torso and squeezing harshly as they rest by your sides.
Your moan is inevitable when his palms reach down the curve of your ass and shove you against him. You feel his hardness meet the softness of your lower belly, his wet tip poking at it and making him hiss on your lips.
He does his best to swallow all your sounds, your muffled whines and whimpers his favorite meal as of now. It's a wince of slight pain that you let out as he positions you in between his body and the counter, the border pressing on your lower back.
When he moves from your kiss, even with your lungs being unable to breathe anymore and begging for a break, your head follows his movements to try and bring him back on you again.
The chuckle he lets out is almost belittling, the right side of your face being completely engulfed by his palm to put distance between your mouths, his other hand keeping you still by your waist, and his own hips push against you.
You quickly glance down to where your bodies meet, and you whimper when you take in the way his cock is just above your core, his balls brushing against your clit. You only need to lift yourself a little forward to fully feel him.
But it’s like he instantly knows what’s making your head spin, his grip tighter but still mindful not to hurt you. The sudden squeeze has your eyes finding his, feeling ridiculously smaller under the weight of his heavy gaze.
He makes sure you keep your whole focus on him, and as much as registering the way your orbs are glossy with anticipation and desire is making him almost regret his next words, he lets them out, steady but soft, in your face.
“You had your fun, baby. Now, you’re going to listen to me. Hm?”
This time, your reaction comes promptly following his request. You're hanging from his lips, tracing their every move and sound, immediately nodding at the order.
It’s not enough, and Jeongguk ensures to sound a bit firmer, ”Use your words.”
”Yes, Mr. Jeon.”
The way your response rolls off your tongue with seemingly no hesitation, your pupils still on his, the words you choose to say, make him let out an amused chuckle.
Your eyes widen, and he drinks in your state, cheeks flushed and lower lip trembling. You need to bite it in order for it to stop shaking when he narrows his eyes, his left palm rising from your hip and finding its way under your top, his remark making you startle, ”You’re such a bad girl. Aren’t you?”
Jeongguk makes up for the way more tears seem to well along your bottom lashes by cupping your small breast in his larger hand, swirling his thumb around your nipple, and you need to fight against the loud moan traveling its way up your throat, the choked sound getting stuck as your mouth hangs open, your eyebrows furrowed.
It only takes some more of his degrading tone for you to let out an unashamedly loud noise, his fingertips pinching your nipple, ”Calling me that only because it gets you off. Doesn’t it? You’re not so innocent after all, angel.”
He quickly swallows your sounds with his lips on yours, and both of you can’t help but hum lowly at the contact. Jeongguk thinks he could keep kissing you for hours on end. But he badly wants to feel every other inch of your body, too.
Unexpectedly, the kiss gets broken when he turns your body around with ease, your back now pressing against his front, and you steady your shaking figure by planting your hands on the counter.
The access to your ear comes effortlessly, he just needs to bend his head down to cover your height difference and make sure his whispered words meet you as close as possible, “I’ll give you what you want. But you need to be quiet and good for me, understood?”
You’re not sure if you should use your voice or stay silent, but your body doesn’t give you the chance to ponder over it before letting out a whiny Yes. You’re not exactly being quiet, but can he blame you?
The man you’d get to talk to for more than five minutes only in your dreams is now promising you he’s going to give you what you want. And his cock is perfectly nestled in between your ass cheeks. You're positive you’ll have to throw your shorts right in the bin after he’s done with you.
Though, the scoff resounding in your ear makes you regret not even trying to lower your volume. You really want to be good for him. Don’t want to disappoint him.
That’s why when he taps two fingers under your chin, without him having to express it for you, you part your lips open, tongue out. From the corner of your eye, you see the side of his face scrunched with a long dimple before he shoves the digits inside your wet mouth.
You instantly wrap yourself around his long fingers, coating them in your warm slick, and you can tell it’s affecting him with the way the hold on your hip tightens, and he shifts between your thighs.
With your tongue swirling around the two digits, your eyes search for his face. Looking up at him through your lashes, you clench around nothing when you take in the effortless way he towers over you, his body engulfing your whole smaller figure.
The sinful eye contact leads him to spur you on further, his voice rough with desire, “That’s right. Suck on them like you would my cock.”
You hum deeply at the encouragement, fluttering your eyelids shut as you energetically bob up and down along his fingers. You think you can still feel the taste of his precum lingering on your tongue, and you whine, wishing you could have him again.
The noise gets cut from your throat when he forces his digits out, the slicky sound lustful, and it makes him groan lowly.
With his other hand, he delicately pushes your head forward to bend you over the marble counter, the same one where hours ago he passed you his glass of wine to take a sip from.
The surface is cold against your cheek and he’s out of your vision as he stands straight. Not being able to see what he’s doing, the expression on his face as you lay folded for him, makes the anticipation flood even stronger in your veins.
You feel him pull your shorts down enough to reveal yourself to him, hear him hiss as he’s enthralled by the way your pussy glistens, all for his eyes to admire.
The curse that follows is instant, “Fuck. No panties?”
You’re embarrassed for your straightforward bareness, whimpering at his surprise with your fist tightening and your nails imprinting crescents in your palms, but you’re also so impatient to feel his touch.
Tentatively, you wiggle for him, hoping to brush against his length, but it’s to no effort as he instantly stills your movements with a hand on your lower back.
He scoffs incredulously, feeling your bare ass against his palm, “It’s like you knew this would happen. You dirty, naughty girl. Always giving me those eyes.”
It’s light, the spank that meets the side of your butt, but you gasp nonetheless. You need to bite your lower lip harshly in order to suppress the loud moan from escaping your throat, and you’re sure it bleeds when he strokes the spot he hit.
The hand soothing you now travels to your front, torturously putting pressure on your sensitive stomach and following a slow pattern, only to reach your wet core.
He finally touches you where you’ve been needing him the most, and you both groan when he uses his already soaked pointer and ring finger to spread your lips, his middle one tracing your slit.
You inhale deeply as he repeats the motion, and when you exhale you can’t help small whines from leaving you, the pleasure already too overwhelming.
You feel like passing out when his body weight presses on you again, his mouth directly on your lobe, the intention in his voice dripping on your skin, “You think I wouldn’t notice? You know how hard my cock gets everytime I see you in these tiny clothes of yours, huh? You’re quite literally the death of me, doll.”
Then, it’s like all your senses come back to you the moment he pushes his digit in, and he immediately reaches around you to put his other hand over your mouth the second he sees it opening, your eyes rolling up.
You cry in his palm, the sound muffled with his fingers tightening under your jaw, his body still leaning on yours. He whispers sweet nothings in your ear and stills his middle finger inside you, getting you used to his presence, “Shh, princess. Good baby, you’re doing perfect.”
The contrast to his earlier shaming tone only makes you whine more, your eyes squeezing closed to try and keep the noises in. You’re sure you bite his palm when he starts moving inside you, the finger curling tentatively and soon being joined by another one.
You shake your head weakly, feeling yourself reach delirium, and you manage to stammer out, “Can’t— can’t do this.”
“You can baby, c’mon. You wanna be a good girl f’me, don’t you?” His tone is still low, warm breath fanning over your nape, and you melt under the sudden change in attitude.
You nod, not because you believe you can actually get through this without your heart failing and the whole neighborhood hearing you in the process, but because you do want to be his good girl.
He hums, “That’s right. I need to stretch you out if you want to take my cock.”
You choke in his wrap, now looser around your face, surprised at his words, and you clench hard at the mention of his cock inside you. You throw your head backwards in search of more of his proximity, and you mumble nonsense, your brain completely melted, “Yes! Want your dick.”
“I know you do, little one,” with your head nestled between the crook of his neck, his hand now falls to your throat, and he holds you gently by it while his fingers pick up a faster pace.
He's ruthless as he moves them inside you, effortlessly finding your sweet spot with a curl of his long, tattooed digits, and you whimper at the foreign sensation, unable to moan like you really want to.
You feel like screaming the more he keeps going, the only possible reaction to what is happening to you. One moment ago you were dreaming of this, and now it’s your reality.
Mr. Jeon is fingering you and calling you his good girl. His large figure is behind your smaller one bent over the counter, his palm around your throat, his hard length pressing against your ass.
The moment he uses his thumb to flick at your clit, you arch your back into him and you hear him fight to suppress a surprised moan.
“Shit. You’re so impatient, sugar. Dripping around my fingers. Wanna taste your sweet juice, can I?” It’s a rhetorical question, hushed slurredly in your ear, because after he lets it out his fingers leave your hole, and find a new home on his warm tongue.
He purposefully moves your chin to make you a witness of his sinful action, humming deeply around the taste of you, his eyes fluttering shut, his digits popping out drenched.
Your mouth hangs, your tongue unconsciously peeking out as if asking to be made a participant, but Jeongguk only smirks and stands straight once again, his wet hand leaving another light spank on your ass cheek, “Turn around, sweets.”
You do as asked, making sure your palms are still steadying your weight on the counter now behind you, afraid your legs alone won’t be able to. You soon find out you won’t have to put much effort into that when Jeongguk lifts you with ease and sits you on the surface, your slickness meeting the cold marble.
You don’t have to lift your head to look at him anymore, your heights now the same. But finding yourself directly in front of his hardened gaze makes you feel even more intimidated.
Especially when he traces your inner thigh, his eyes never leaving yours, “Every time you stand up to leave after dinner, you always leave a puddle on my chairs. And I’m left to clean it up.”
You swallow audibly at the accusation, and you can feel your eyes water once again, biting your lips to conceal the shame.
He only grins amusedly at your state, the tip of his tongue coming out to play with his lower lip. The hand on your leg now forces it to move to the side, his face only getting closer to yours, his tone deeper, "I've thought about licking it up, you know? But then I always stopped myself, because I knew I'd get to taste your pretty, wet pussy.”
You gasp, a shaky moan leaving you uncontrollably, and your fingers hover over his figure, wanting to find support in him but unsure whether to touch him.
He finds your mouth in a short kiss, almost reassuring, but he’s back to spitting sins the moment he lowers his face between your spread legs, and the way he looks up at you is almost scandalous. He looks devilish, his orbs visible through his lashes, his tongue wetting his lips. He takes your uncertain hand and places it between his tousled hair, directing himself to you, instructing you how to use him.
He presses a peck above your clit, still drinking in your reactions, his smile wicked, “I knew you’d crumble soon. You little minx. Going after your best friend’s dad. So naughty.”
Your head is thrown backwards at his words, ones that only add to the pleasure that takes over you when he latches at your pussy, the wet sounds ungodly.
The shame and guilt mixing in the back of your mind generate a profane sense of bliss you’d never think you could reach, and even though deep down you feel dirty being confronted with the truth he sputtered out so easily, you can’t help getting off to it right now.
Jeongguk is ravenous as he finds your drenched lips, lapping furiously at them and drinking the juice that continuously drips out. He flicks the tip of his tongue up and down your swollen clit, and your hand that he himself put on top of his head now tugs at his curls, forcing him closer to you. He’s trapped, your legs squeezing around his head, his nose nuzzled in your slit, and he can’t stop the hand that reaches to stroke his pleading dick.
You think you hear him mumble something along the lines of taste so good as he teases your hole with his wet muscle, and you’re a gone woman the moment you look down, your eyes fluttering open.
His own are closed, brows furrowed in deep concentration, his nose relentlessly grinding against your sensitive nub, and the way he seems so affected by the act of pleasuring you breaks something inside you.
You feel it begin to crumble when his tattooed hand reaches up to lift your top just enough to expose your breasts, nipples hardening with the cold air and the stimulation, and you swear they hurt deliciously when he starts kneading at your boob, fondling it with care.
The deep hum generated from his throat vibrates against you, and the flick of his thumb around the center of your tit matched with the way your clit is being continuously abused unexpectedly leads you to your orgasm.
It’s fast, unannounced, and you find support in his hair, your body taking over your brain and relentlessly grinding against Jeongguk’s face, suffocated between you, unable to stop reaching for the heavenly, and so awaited high.
Your whines are frantically high pitched, but the moment he feels you cum all over his mouth everything around him disappears except you, and all he cares about is slurping you, drinking you as you let it all out because of him.
He pants, breathless, opening his eyes to witness your climax, to admire you breaking under his doings, chest swelling with pride and a primal sense of protectiveness.
When he hears you whimper the more he keeps sucking on your clit, your slim fingers pulling at his locks, he finally lifts himself up.
On the path he follows to come back up to meet your face, he finds your nipple with a sweet kiss, his tongue teasing your nub, and he smiles against it, teeth gently pinching it. When seeking with his eyes for your reaction he sees your own rolling back. Next, his mouth is on yours, smearing your wetness all over your lips and mixing it with his spit on your tongue, connecting in a frantic, hungry dance.
His forehead rests against yours when he breaks the kiss, breaths heavy, the lazy grin on his face the only thing you can focus on, hanging on his gentle words, “Did so good, babe. Came so hard all over me.”
Your eyes inevitably fall down to his cock, painfully hard against his stomach, the tip angry and slicked with precum.
You feel your core buzz, kissing him to conceal the unshameful desire building up so fast again, but still you can’t help from mumbling against him, “Wan’ you to fuck me.”
The hum of pleasure coming from his throat reverberates on your lips, and he smiles at your confession. Even chuckles, one hand resting at your hip and sliding you closer.
“That what you want, baby?” Your legs wrapping around him, he kisses along your neck and travels to your collarbones, leaving small bites to keep himself from marking you like he truly wants to.
He slips his palms under your thighs and lifts you up the counter effortlessly, your legs squeezing tighter around him in order to keep yourself balanced. The new position has his cock perfectly meeting your core, your slit brushing against his tip as he walks you two over the living room couch, his mouth promptly swallowing your whimpers.
When he lays you on the sofa, he straightens himself to fully admire you. You're sprawled for him, your hair framing your head like a halo, the sweat pearling your forehead adding to your angelic state.
Your hands are on either side of your face, fingers dainty and slender, and your tank top is lifted up enough to show him your small breasts, slightly spilling from the sides with the new position.
Your shorts still rest under your ass, and with a swift motion he fully takes them off you, giving him access to your center. But the attention is taken away from your wet cunt when he lets his eyes come back up to your face, your cheek resting on your shoulders, trying to hide your embarrassment at his ravenous observing.
He smiles, becoming impatient with the feeling that only grows inside him, and he walks out of his pants still pooled down his ankles, taking off his loose t-shirt and letting it fall on the ground.
Your eyes widen at his sculpted physique, now finally in front of you, his buff dimensions intimidating you, especially when your orbs follow his V line and put you face to face with his huge cock, so close to your watering hole. He teases it with his length, sliding it up and down your slit, then slapping it against your clit. You arch your back, groaning.
“Am I the real man you’ve been waiting for? You wanna be fucked by this big man, don’t you?” His sinful words only make you nod dumbly, becoming potty under his control.
At your eagerness, he wastes no time. Aligning himself with your hole, he enters you. The stretch is deliciously painful, his tip boldly splitting you open for him. He knows your wail is coming, so he lowers himself on you to block your sounds with his mouth. But, truly, he’s the one that needs to be silenced.
The moment he feels your tightness around his bare dick, he growls. His sounds grow more desperate as he sinks himself deeper, the grip on your waist enough to wreck you, and you’re expecting it to leave a mark
You hum roughly against his lips, your nails scratching along his shoulder blades in search of any kind of grounding you can find. It’s too much, his dimensions way oversized for what your hole can take, and the fact that you can’t help but grip him even tighter isn’t helping.
He reads you, your broken whines and the tear falling from your left eye, and the moment he bottoms out he stills himself, his face in the crook of your neck, his nose nuzzling the warm skin in a reassuring manner, “Shh, baby. I got you. Let me make you feel good.”
The whispered words are the same ones that jolted you from your sleep, the dream almost too real, and paired with his middle and ring finger circling your sensitive nub they cause you to emit a pleasured squeal, your chest arching into his.
At this point, you’re afraid you’re still trapped deep in your slumber. that none of this is actually real, it can’t be. You’re so convinced that it’s just too good to be true that you test it, scraping your nails harshly in his back, and when he bites the skin under your jaw in protest you gasp shakily.
It's definitely real. Jeongguk is fucking you. Almost. Not yet.
With the way your clit is being stimulated by his long fingers, the initial sharpness turns into more slick, and you impatiently groan, “Fuck me, please.”
One final kiss is left on your lips before he lifts his torso up, his hands roaming along your sides and grasping a hold of your tits. He teases you with a playful smirk on his face, your disappointed pout only resulting in a devilish chuckle from him as he massages your soft boobs. You can feel him throb inside you the more you swallow him in, and you know he’s just as impatient. You buck your hips up in search of friction, and the sudden motion makes the both of you moan.
He’s suddenly resolute as his palms fall to your waist and effortlessly holds it up as he begins fucking into you. With each stroke he picks up his pace, and he’s soon pounding your tight hole wrapping around him.
The both of you find out it’s impossible to be quiet. Your sounds are stuttered and pornographic, and it makes Jeongguk afraid he’s never going to be able to get them off his brain.
His own noises are heavenly, deep growls and surprised whines falling out his pillowed lips, slightly agape in bliss, brows drawn up.
Your eyes roll back and never come back, your vision patched, and you think you weren’t built to survive this kind of pleasure. It's almost deathly when he finds that one particular spot that makes you see stars.
Your skin slapping is louder than his hushed speech, but he makes sure the words reach you and translate into wetness coating his length even more, drenching it, making it soaked in your juices, “That’s how you need to be fucked. That’s how my girl needs to be fucked, hm?”
“Mhm, fuck, yes!” It’s breathless, but you want him to hear you. You feel yourself get closer just watching him smirk proudly at your state, his pupils blown out.
His palms are back to playing with your breast, kneading it harshly, and you enjoy the way he seems to be hypnotized by the vision, “Fuck. Love your tits. Fit just right in my hand. You were made for me, angel.”
Your head is thrown back between the cushions, your legs wrapping tighter around his ass and pushing him even deeper, the anticipated sensation building simultaneously in both of your trembling bodies.
“I'm not gonna last long, baby. This pussy’s too tight. Trappin’ me inside it,” Jeongguk’s voice is rough, the words leaving him slurredly and all his effort put into snapping his hips against yours, his eyes focused on the relentless in and out motion.
You wail, mumbling nonsense, but at the same time the most sincere words you’ve ever sputtered to him, “It’s yours, Jeongguk. F—fucking yours. Forever. Ah— fuck.”
He hums, feeling you contract around him the more he speaks to you, “That’s it. My pussy to fuck, baby. Mine to play with, mine to fill up.”
Your eyes widen at his territorial remarks, and when they meet his hazy ones they water with overwhelming ecstasy. The possibility of his cum filling you up is what does it for you, your nerves undoing once again and making you spasm around his throbbing dick. He talks you through your orgasm, praising you for cumming so good all over him, drinking in your blissful sounds and your hips rutting against his.
He’s just as close, and the realization that you came the moment he mentioned painting you in his seed makes him a crazed man, his motions stuttering sloppily, “Fuck. Aren’t you a naughty one, doll. You really want me to come inside you? You want it, huh? I bet you do.”
Your repeated nodding and the way your body is so pliant in his hold, letting it be completely handled by him with no functioning muscle, pervades his senses with a primal force that he puts into fucking your sensitive cunt.
He smirks wickedly, “You’d look so pretty. All stuffed. Want me to fill up this tight pussy? Want my mature cock in so deep you can’t breathe?”
You think you scream at his continuous suggestions, but you can’t be sure when all your senses are clouded, the oversensitivity turning you into a literal doll for him, no power over your actions. He looks just as fucked out, his lips parting as he basks in the feeling of being in control of you, eyes fighting to stay open and keep you in his vision.
When he feels you contracting around him in overstimulation, his breath stutters and he feels himself reach the peak, quickly pulling out of you to spill his cum over your naked skin. You gasp at the sudden emptiness and the warm liquid that keeps falling over your stomach, his cock being pumped in his fist and milked from all he can give you. You both pant in exhaustion, your legs loosening their grip around him as he dips his weak knees on either side of you on the couch.
He hums when he fully takes in your figure, marked by his cum, and he smiles when he sees your eyelids struggling to not fall. But you spasm once again when you feel his finger slide over your stomach, the wet liquid being collected, “Now, you gonna clean this up for me. Open your pretty mouth, baby.”
You don’t even ponder on the request, you just follow the order. Your brain is reduced to thoughts that are only related to him, and it automatically complies to anything that he orders from you. You engulf his digits promptly, swallowing his semen, looking up at him through your lashes and unashamedly clenching at his lazy smirk.
He makes sure every drop of his is collected and sucked by your hungry mouth, smiling when you don’t ever complain, “Mh, good girl. Get them neat.”
Only when he’s satisfied, he hovers over your face and finds your tongue in a sensual, slow kiss, both of you moaning at the exchange. With a sloppy sound, he parts from you only to disappear between your thighs, his eyes mischievous, “Gonna clean you up too.”
You gasp at the feeling of his mouth wrapping around your core once again, slurping your juice and lapping at your inner thighs, and you’re not sure how this is going to help in getting you clean. You only feel yourself becoming even wetter.
Leaving a kiss above your nub, he straightens up with a boyish smile softening his features, and with the fond way he’s looking at you, nobody could tell he just made you cum twice.
He moves your bangs from your forehead, closing the distance between you once again to leave small pecks over your still reddened face, “You did amazing, doll. Made me cum so hard.”
You hum contentedly, snuggling closer to him, your body unconsciously gravitating toward his warmth. Your hand lifts to thread through his hair, but before you can touch him, he shifts, pulling away.
The warmth he provided vanishes, replaced by the cold emptiness of the couch. Panic surges in your chest, washing away any remnants of fatigue. You prop yourself up on your forearms, eyes tracking his movements.
You don’t want him to leave you here alone, bare and vulnerable, maybe a bit confused and uncertain, and deep down deathly scared of whatever will come after this.
Your brows furrow, heart picking up a painful speed when you see he’s getting dressed — tossing on his shirt, pulling on his pants. And for a second, your pulsing organ clenches with dread. Is he leaving?
Then you notice him picking up your shorts from the floor, his expression softening as he walks back to you with that same gentle smile that had made your heart flutter earlier.
Relief washes over you.
He handles you delicately, as though you’re something fragile. His fingers brush your skin as he slips your shorts back on, pulling down your top before encircling your waist with his strong arms.
You squeal lightly when he pulls you onto his lap, settling back on the couch with you cradled against his chest. His hands never leave you, securing you to him. You settle into him easily, sighing in appreciation as the warmth of his body returns, your legs draped across his lap, arms circling his neck.
For a brief, fleeting moment, everything feels like it’s in its right place, like this is where you’ve always belonged. It feels so natural, so easy, being wrapped up in him. His deep, slow breaths lull you into a state of calm. His chin rests on the top of your head, hand rubbing soothing strokes along your spine.
You press even closer, breathing him in, feeling like you could get used to this, like you already have. Like you’ve always known this is where you should be. Your fingers trace absentminded patterns along his tattooed arm, the one holding you secure under your legs. You feel the need to look at him, to admire the man that marked you as his.
But when you glance up, you’re a bit startled when you notice the shift in his expression. His face is hardened, jaw clenched tight. He's not relaxed like he was just moments ago. His gaze is distant, staring intently at a spot across the room as if lost in thought. Yet his hands continue to cradle you, almost unconsciously, like holding you has become second nature to him.
Jeongguk’s mind is a whirlwind of emotions, and they only scatter all over the place as he feels you move closer, impossibly so. You seek warmth, care. Nuzzle your fragile body against his for protection, something more that he fears he can’t give you. Love.
He once thought he’d drained himself of it, had nothing left to offer. Now, with you in his arms, the smallest spark flickers to life, burning its way up his throat until it feels like it’s going to consume him.
He wants to give in. He wants to hold you tighter, trap you against him, keep you with him. Give you everything.
But he can’t do that to you. Can’t make you go through the same path that took everything from him. not without ruining you in the process.
He knows what comes next. What always comes next. Love turns into suffering, it’s inevitable. And could he survive seeing the look on Areum’s face when she finds out? How would she react if she knew the truth about what he’s done, about how he feels? About how he truly wants to act upon his feelings? The thought makes him feel sick, even as his heart beats steadily against yours, comforted by your presence.
Why doesn’t he feel disgusted? Why isn’t there shame gnawing at him, making him pull away? Instead, there’s only bliss. The sheer joy of having you this close, of holding you like this, makes him forget everything else.
He wishes he could be immature, for once. Wishes he was your age, and that nothing truly mattered. That he still could allow himself to make stupid decisions.
Maybe then, you’d be his, and reality wouldn’t catch up to him.
“Jeongguk? Are you okay?”
Your soft, honeyed voice pulls him from his spiral, and he startles slightly, caught off guard. His eyes meet yours, wide and filled with concern, searching his face for answers.
He tries to hide the storm brewing inside him, forcing a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Huh? Yeah. I'm okay.”
Of course, you don’t believe him. An ugly feeling makes space in your stomach, and the weight of everything begins to press down. You don’t want it to take over you just yet, want to be coddled by the moment a little more, want to try and believe there’s nothing to be afraid of.
You offer a tentative smile, hoping to ease whatever tension is growing between you. “You… you seem worried.”
“I'm not, baby. I'm just thinking.”
“About?”
“Stuff.” His voice is clipped, and the small wall he’s building between you becomes clearer.
The distance stings, and your heart sinks as you try to hold onto the moment that felt so perfect just a second ago. Desperate to reach him, you place your hands on his face, tilting his chin down to meet your gaze.
Your eyes glisten with emotion, but you manage a genuine, if small, smile. “You can tell me, you know. You can talk to me.”
One simple, small smile spreading across his lips makes you doubt all of your worries. It makes you want to believe that maybe, there’s truly no reason to be scared. That maybe, this can go well.
“I know,” it’s whispered on your face, his hand coming to play with the hair that frame your cheeks sweetly. “Let’s get you to bed now, hm?”
Before you can protest, he’s lifting you off the couch with ease, cradling you in his arms bridal style as if you weigh nothing at all. You clutch onto him.
You feel your insides fuzzy with the gesture, and you wiggle yourself closer in his embrace, looking up at him expectantly, “Your bed?”
It breaks his heart having to disappoint you, tone soft as he tries to make up for it with his thumb brushing your thigh, “No, baby. You gotta go back to Areum’s room.”
“But— but… I wanna sleep next to you,” you plead, your voice small and almost childlike as you pout up at him, hoping to sway him.
He looks away, focusing on the stairs as if looking at you would break his resolve. “We can’t, dove. You know we can’t.”
His words feel like a punch to the gut, and your eyes well up. “We can't?”
The silence that follows is louder than any answer he could have given, and it weighs heavy between you, suffocating. There's no actual explanation to it, and the realization leaves both of you uneasy.
At Areum’s door, he sets you down gently, making sure you’re steady on your feet. He's careful with you, like he always is, his voice low, “Go wash up. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?”
“No…”
“C’mon, sweetheart. Don't make this harder.”
You frown in protest, keeping eye contact, but he doesn’t break. His gaze is steady, resolute.
You want to argue, want to push, but the exhaustion settles over you, and you slump, defeated. You still sway sweetly for him, your hands tied behind your back, “Okay… Can you kiss me?”
Your voice is small, muffled behind your pout as you seek for him with anticipation, a sheepish smile making its way on your lips.
When he doesn’t move closer, you get on your tippy toes and lean in his direction once again, your eyes almost fluttering shut before you hear him clear his throat, and take an awkward step back.
You’re back on your heels with a thump, the same one reverberating in your chest with your heart falling, your mouth hanging open with confusion written all over your expression.
You go to say something but he’s quicker, his voice solemn, “Goodnight, ___.”
Jeongguk smiles, but it’s nothing like the ones that took over his whole face just minutes ago on the couch, his eyes full of you. You're not even sure if you can define it as a smile. It’s polite, almost too polite, and it only results in feeling tremendously distant from him. Completely disconnected from you.
He retreats, long legs carrying him away, his back to you as he slips into his room. The door clicks shut behind him, the sound final, and it echoes in the hollow space.
You stand still, the weight of his absence pressing heavily on your chest. The spot where he left you feels like a grave, your feet sinking into the cold floor as if it’s pulling you under. The warmth he offered, the fleeting sense of safety, is gone, and you’re freezing. Your throat is tight with the effort to hold back the tears welling in your eyes. It's useless, though.
Your bare feet shuffle against the floor, but you can’t move forward. You can’t go back. You can’t do anything except stand there and feel the weight of it all crash down on you.
You’d been so afraid this would happen. How could you have been so foolish? Even in the midst of the sweetness, you knew it was too good to be true. A part of you always knew. And yet, you let yourself believe for a fleeting moment that something real could come from it. That you could be enough.
You’d have done anything to prove it to him. To show him your loyalty, your willingness to make it work. You still would. You'd give him every part of yourself, if he’d only take it. If he’d only look at you the way you want him to.
The full weight of your reality sinks in. In the end, none of it was truly real.
A sob breaks free from your chest, raw and painful. The sound echoes in the quiet hallway, bouncing off the walls that now feel oppressive, like they’re closing in on you. This house, every corner, it’s all stained now, tainted by the memory of what just happened, by the lie you let yourself fall into.
synopsis: your skills as a videographer gets put to the test when your friend, who happens to be in the same profession, falls victim to double-booking. problem is, you only specialized in weddings, not adult films. despite your initial reluctance, you take the job. cue the lights … you meet jeon jungkook, a pornstar, on set — in his world. you just never expected him to play a part in yours.
pairing: pornstar!jungkook x wedding videographer!fem reader
wc: 21.1k
genre: s2l, pornstar au, smut, angst, fluff
cw: slice of life, miscommunication, anxiety, fear of future, inaccurate adult filming industry discourse/depiction, jk had a tough time at work, mentions of injuries, tension, yearning, angsty confrontation, alcohol consumption, confessions, fluffy moments, 18+ ONLY, oral (f&m), rimming (f receiving), nipple play, fingering, cum eating, jk watches pix, protected sex, accidental orgasm delay, multiple orgasms, multiple sex scenes, aftercare
a/n: finally here!! 😛🎉 as always, enjoy~
masterlist | prologue | act i. | act ii. | act iii.
Is a glass of water half-full or half-empty?
You observe the glass, hoping for a revelation or answer — a good distraction from your miscalculations all evening; well, miscalculations in the duration of meeting Jeon Jungkook. Tucking yourself further into your small couch, the corners of your lips tug at the reminder of the boy. The icy glass cools your hot skin, which still remembers the flames he left you surrounded in on the dancefloor.
And those eyes — his always spoke to you without words.
Eyes smitten and playful all evening, you can’t forget how they morphed into fear and panic when you finally moved on the pathway he laid out for you. Were you wrong to assume he wanted more with you?
“Ah, so stupid.” You slam your eyes shut at the memory, shame heats your cheeks at his rejection — at another loss you’ll need to process on your own. Loss, after loss, after loss. It wears on your bones, empties your soul just like how you empty the glass of water clutched in your hand.
Didn’t matter whether your glass was ‘half-full or half-empty,’ the water will eventually be consumed. Jungkook had a way of overfilling your glass with an abundance of hope; however, you later found out the glass you shared with Jungkook contained holes and eventually left you empty.
No one leaves you empty like Jungkook does.
Sitting up higher on your couch, you dig your lower back into your armrest, wanting to feel some form of support.
Maybe you should’ve stayed and taken the water Jungkook offered. Wake you up from that drunken state and snap you out of your innermost desires for your friend. You’d probably go as far as blaming the alcohol and the night would’ve just ended from there.
Probably would’ve been a better alternative than pathetically running away. Then again, there was no way you were going to last another second in the venue — not after the way he pulled away.
You know it’s rude to leave in the middle of the party. Can’t even bear looking at your phone since ordering a cab outside the club, opting to place it on silent afterwards. Now, the phone rests heavily on your kitchen counter, begging to be checked on.
You should text him. Tell him you’re safe and use indigestion as an excuse for your abrupt departure — no one would ever find fault in that reason. Another pang of anxiety holds you back from touching your phone. What if he didn’t bother checking on you? Upset with your bad habit of leaving?
He has all the rights to.
Setting your feet into your house slippers, you’re thankful for the flat cushion after a night of dancing in heels. Bathroom first, then you’ll text Jungkook. The order of events seemed the most logical and definitely not your way of avoiding the inevitable. It’s a solid plan—
You jolt at the series of knocks against your door. Although your building was relatively safe, living alone had its downsides, especially at this hour. The grip on your glass changes and you ready yourself for self-defense.
Best case scenario? A ding-dong ditcher. Worst? Nope. You don’t want your mind wandering there.
One eye closed, you peer through the peephole.
The fisheye effect warps your vision, but you could easily make out the person standing facing away from your doorway. The dangly, silver five-hooped earrings were a dead giveaway to your visitor. Felt them graze the top of your hand every time he tilted his head in your touch. Felt them when you wrapped your hands at the base of his nape. They glimmered prettily under the club lights, but they look nearly dull now under your complex’s standard lightbulbs.
He’s a few steps away, pacing, looking anywhere but your door as if it was the most offensive piece of object … as if your home was the most deplorable place he could be at right now.
And it should be. He should be at his party celebrating his wins and accomplishments, surrounded by people who love and care for him — not on shame’s breeding grounds. Shame nearly has you running to hide underneath your covers, hoping he’d leave if you refused to answer. Rather than give into shame’s call for isolation, your fingers flick the locks and wrap around the doorknob.
“Jungkook?”
He’s still turned away from you, pacing back and forth in your building’s hallway. No longer styled how it was in the beginning of the night, his hair looks to be run through … whether it be by him or a stranger.
Couldn’t be you.
Your mouth parts, words lodged in your throat, but you manage to utter, “What are you doing here?”
He lets out a breath. So unstable, you could feel the restraint in his action but he stops in his tracks, head tilting up at the ceiling to will the words.
“Why do you keep doing that?” His voice raises, back still turned to you.
You frown, looking around to see if there was anyone in the vicinity. Definitely not at this hour. Your neighbors should be asleep, which is why you don’t want to make a scene outside your home.
“Jungkook—”
Suddenly, harshly, his back shifts and his body whips around, “Why do you keep leaving me? Is that all you know how to do?”
You’re standing face to face with his wide eyes and desperate furrowed brows. The hand raking through his hair only showcasing more of the distress forming on his forehead.
Your mind flashes back to your meeting at the milestone party. There was nothing wrong with your departure at that time. A small, but selfish part of you, doesn’t think you were at total fault for tonight’s departure either.
“Jungkook … please,” you stammer, eyes drifting down to your feet.
“I-I don’t fucking get it, Pix. I just–”
“Can you come inside?” You ask, looking around once more. And although Jungkook hasn’t made far enough noises to warrant a complaint, you’d rather talk inside the privacy of your home. “We can talk in here. Please?” You plead in a small whisper.
Jaw clenched as he looks at you and over the threshold of your home, he nods.
Citrus, with no more lingering scent of cigarettes, wafts past you. Even if he was upset with you, he’s still respectful in your home as he toes off his shoes at the entryway. He exhales through his nose, finally turning to face you. His jaw ticks, eyes bloodshot for multiple reasons but he’ll blame the alcohol and not the exhaustion of looking for you.
You can’t meet his eyes, can’t even bring yourself to speak in the comforts of your home.
“You keep doing this.” His voice cracks.
“I-I,” Your own voice wavers at his statement, you fight the lump in your throat as you lie, “wasn’t feeling well—”
“Cut the bullshit.”
You frown, having never seen Jungkook speak nor act this way towards you. He extends patience and understanding towards you like an additional limb on his body; perhaps, you’ve tested them enough tonight. Still, your own emotions come out just as unsteady and unreasonable.
“You’re being unfair.” You croak.
“I’ve been anything but that, Pix.” He retracts his head, brows furrowed. “You’re the one that left. Like you always do when things don’t go your way.”
Your brows pull together, unable to mask the hurt at the accusation. “What did you expect me to do? You—” Your bottom lip trembles.
“What?” He takes a step forward and you’re once again engulfed in his overbearing scent. The action stunts your train of thoughts, and for a split second, you think he’s almost just as affected.
You’re tired of going in circles, chasing but also running away from what appears to be your own desires.
“You led me on all night.” Voice small, Jungkook nearly misses what you say.
His frustration morphs into surprise, then guilt at the sudden forwardness of your words.
“I …” His eyes widen at the realization as he chews on the inside of his cheeks. He shakes his head, denying the allegations. “I didn’t.”
“But you did.” You walk past him, lower back leaning against the kitchen island. Arms crossed, you don’t miss how Jungkook’s eyes drop to your breasts pushed together. His throat bobs, hands twitching on his sides as he tries to rack up an appropriate response.
“We were dancing. Having fun.” He reasons. “That’s all.”
Friends don’t dance the way you both did tonight; their touches don’t burn. They don’t leave the party after being deserted from a dodged kiss on the dance floor. They sure as hell don’t stare at you like you’re made of stardust.
“Okay.” As if whatever happened in the last couple of hours could be reduced to ‘just dancing.’
His throat emits a low growl, patience once again tested. “Why’d you leave?”
Truthfully? There was no alternate reality where you’d stay after his rejection.
Your crossed arms drop to your sides, throat tightening to keep the contents in your stomach from hurling out. You can’t bear the truth, which seems to point at the fact Jungkook has moved on and there’s no more room for you in his life and heart.
He’s left you behind.
Jungkook fills in the silence with the same words circling in your head, slipping from his mouth now directed at you with an ache you’ve done your best to forget. “You’ve moved on.”
Your face falls, having spent months trying to forget him through hobbies, friends, and even another person, only to find out … nothing’s worked.
Unable to meet his eyes, you mutter, “I had to.”
“I know.” He says, “I know that.”
The filter on your fish tank acts as a buffer for the silence stretched in the small distance.
“You’ve moved on, too.” You don’t mention the woman you saw in his apartment lobby, too afraid of the confirmation that he has indeed moved on.
He lets out a shuddering breath, head hung low. “I tried, okay? I really did.”
Something within you shatters at his revelation. It hurts to be right, and it hurts more knowing no one was at fault in the aftermath of a heartbreak.
He drags his hand down his face, fighting the drunken exhaustion and confusion. “Things got better, I swear. But then I see you and I’m just reminded …”
“Of what?” You ask.
He stays quiet. So different than the man who was just outside your door ready to scorn the world. You wonder how he has kept his composure during the times of your silence when all you want to do right now is shout for an answer, resolution … or ending. What was left after this? Was there another title after being demoted to friends?
… Strangers?
You don’t wait for his answer, choosing to fill the gaps of the conversation with your reality. “You don’t tell me about your life anymore. Like … like, I’m some sort of afterthought learning all these things about you after the fact.” Tears falling freely, you sniff and palm away the moisture on your cheeks.
“Pix–”
“Why did you push me away?” From his life, from the kiss … no clarification needed — it all bleeds together anyway. “Did I misunderstand?”
“Pix.” He repeats, eyes crestfallen and exhausted. “You’re with someone, there’s no way I would do that to you–”
“I’m not with him anymore.”
He pauses, drawing in a sharp breath. “Still doesn’t make it right.” Despite his words, you recognize a faint glint in his eyes.
Of course he becomes the voice of reason when this conversation shouldn’t exist among supposed friends. Now it’s your turn to stay quiet, too ashamed for further humiliation and rejection.
“All I do is remember you, Pix. All I find myself doing is thinking of you. Could never stop even if I wanted to.” He shakes his head. Your stomach sinks, an uncomfortable mass lodged in your throat as you process his words. “And I’m so tired of having to remember you.” He looks at you with so much anguish, wishing and begging for you to end this turmoil.
“Jungkook …”
“I still think about the night at the hotel.” He continues, jaw clenched to stop the trembles. “And I feel so guilty.”
You shake your head vehemently. “You never once did anything I didn’t want to do.”
“I knew you couldn’t be with me, but I still pushed for more. It was selfish of me and I—”
“I’ve always wanted you, Jungkook,” you sob. “You never gave me the chance to make things work.”
Your hands cover your face as you heave into your palms, moist from your tears and breath. Jungkook tilts his head up at the ceiling, furiously blinking away the stray tears he thought he had swore away on the cab ride over to your place.
The buzzing travels up from your fingers to the back of your head. Your body convulses from your silent sobs, mind numbing from all the fog and confusion. Like a bee, refusing to leave you alone, you want to cower away from the source of noise. The buzzing continues for another fifteen seconds, too loud even when neither of you utter a word. It’s impossible to avoid when the buzzing happens from within. How do you remedy this? How do you run away? How, how, how—
The buzzing stops.
Zapped away by a strong pair of arms, the bees stop swarming in your mind, all honeyed scent — all citrus consuming your senses.
Jungkook holds you and it’s the closest thing to the security of your home. Possibly better. Home shelters you from the brewing storm, and as you cry into the expanse of Jungkook’s chest, he holds you tighter, chin resting on the top of your head.
“What are we even doing?” Jungkook mumbles against your hair, voice hoarse and tired.
You inhale into your hands and answer honestly, “I don’t know.”
He swallows, breathing you in, “I hate this.”
Your heart crumbles again. Was this it? Has to be. He’s finally done and wants nothing to do with you anymore.
Instead of his warmth departing from your body like you’ve grown used to, he holds you tighter.
“I fucked everything up.” He says. “I messed you up, and I’m trying to do right by you, I swear, but I–”
His words are cut off with your arms around his waist. Face pressed into his chest, your tears became another source of darkness on his grey shirt, but neither of you cared.
“You didn’t mess anything up.” You heave. Months passed, things changed. Time was a marker for healing and forgetting old wounds; though, there were just some things — some people — you can’t and don’t want to forget.
“I missed you so much, Pix.”
You pull back a little to look at his face. Hurt and longing never needed a competition and there’s no winner when both of you were wounded in the process. The frame had always been a little unfocused and hard to decipher, but you’re both in view now.
“I never stopped thinking about you.” You confess.
He blinks twice, hand now coming to cup your wet cheek. Ache and remorse stretches over his face at the time lost in the absence of one another. He needs to be honest, barring out the truth if there was even a possibility to start anew.
“I can’t promise perfection, P.” He admits, scared and worried for this potential dealbreaker.
“I never asked for perfection.” You shake your head, breath finally coming out even. Pausing, you let the reality of your recent failures sink in, “I just got out of something and I don’t know if I’m any good, but I wanna figure things out with you — do things properly. Please give me time.” Please give us time.
You both loosen your hold on one another, but maintain your gazes as your hands finally intertwine. The hold is weak, full of uncertainty of the future, but you push forward, “Please?” You ask again, heart in your hands — no, heart in his hands. You pray and hope he handles it with care. He has all the power to do the opposite, turning your heart to cold steel for the next poor soul.
He doesn’t, though — can’t imagine anyone but him holding your heart with delicate hands if you allow him to.
Jungkook’s always wondered when the world would bend for him; yet, he’s got the world in his arms right now willing to bend for his sake.
He nods and the night bleeds into the morning as you and Jungkook sit on your small couch to catch up, mending lost time with one another. The hours of bitterness leading up to this moment was well worth it after you finally taste the hint of sweetness lodged behind his growing smiles. The catch up bounces back between idle chatters to late night secrets until you both settle into the mundane and content.
“Group work is the worst, P. Avoid it at all costs.” He recounts the number of times his classmates let him down on a project this past semester.
You laugh wholeheartedly. “Why’d you think I run this business alone?”
“Smart girl.” He grins, and your body warms from the small compliment.
A natural silence fills you both at this time, between the chuckles and stares. You think you could get used to this. A new norm knowing you both want to start over with an agreed upon future. The two glasses of water on your coffee table gets refilled throughout the night, but sits empty now.
Yet, you’re both so full.
And you realize no one’s replenishing the glass the way Jungkook does. Around your imaginary glass filled with holes, Jungkook always does his best to cover and mend them.
“I’m sorry for not keeping you posted on my life.” Jungkook says, knees brushing against yours. “I was trying to figure things out on my own.” He leaves out the part where he wanted to reach out for your opinion, opting to struggle by himself.
“Could’ve reached out to me. I wouldn’t have minded.”
He nods, lips pursed debating his next words.
“What?” You ask, eyes heavy from exhaustion, but you don’t want to miss a single second with your special boy.
“Mm, nothing.” His trademark dimples make an appearance when he hides away a playful smile.
“Come on,” you push, “Tell me.”
He laughs softly, lips pulling to an embarrassed smile, “Wanted you to notice me, so I …”
Your eyes narrow, doing your best to piece together the meaning of his words. Something finally clicks as you lean back against your couch. You’d never peg someone like Jeon Jungkook to do things out of spite or attention, but you suppose love has a way of making people do stupid things.
This was love, right?
“I know. Stupid and immature.” He shakes his head.
“It worked.” You shrug, returning his sheepish smile. He interlaces his fingers with you, relaxed knowing you had been trying to keep up with his life in secret.
He smiles, but shortly after dips a little at his next musing, “Classes have really taken up a lot of my time. I haven’t been able to work as much, but I still take on projects every month or so.”
Your expression falters a little, guilt filling your system as he relays this information. You nod, head leaning to rest on his shoulder.
“Does it bother you?” He asks another forward question. He doesn’t sound as uncertain as he did months ago in the hotel, courage coming as he knows your inevitable answer.
“A little.” You admit.
You’ll get used to this just as Jungkook needs to get used to this too — that sometimes he will disappoint and hurt. Your acceptance isn’t a form of a bandaid over a reopened wound; instead, allowing the healing process to take on whatever form is needed. Eventually a scar tissue will rise over the persistent lesion, granting you the chance to perform better this time around.
Around 5 a.m. your sleepy eyes fight to stay open as you watch Jungkook put on his shoes. He stands up, eyes heavy but with so much anticipation. Realizes the moment the door shuts behind him, he’ll be left anticipating the next time he’ll be graced with your company again.
He comes close, and with a soft exhale through his nose, he presses his lips to your forehead. Breath fanning over, his voice is low and gravelly on your skin, “See ya, Pix.”
Life with Jungkook, again, is ever soft and changing. The effort is there, the pace of the relationship slow as it should be. Jungkook’s main focus is school now and you’re there to support him along the way. You come over to work while he’s studying or in virtual lectures.
He wants you close. Giving you access to his apartment by creating your personalized finger scan into his home. You also give him a spare key to your place, prompted by a recent out of the city wedding you had to attend and no one else was available to feed Gum and Bubba.
On his large couch, you sit on the opposite end as you answer email inquiries. Wedding season’s peaking again and no matter how busy you may get, you’re never too busy for Jungkook. Nothing stops Jungkook from remaining close to you — not even his overly large couch. He’s never too far, wanting your legs slung over his lap as he listens to his lecture through his headphones. His hands mindlessly massage the bottom of your soles, knowing exactly where you’re most sensitive and tired after a long weekend of being on your feet.
You aren’t quite lovers, but you definitely are not just friends. What you’re building with Jungkook takes time. Lots of failing and hard days, but there are just as many and if more, softer and gentler days where you’re reminded this was all worth it.
Things move as they intend to. Like your slow evening walks, shared hot meals, and camera shutters when Jungkook needs to work on his portfolio or an assignment for class. He tags along with you on a couple of weddings to keep you company, inevitably revealing to you that weddings aren’t his thing. It’s good to be honest with these truths — one less field he’d find himself dipping with in the world of photography. But no matter his contempt, he likes being where you’re at.
His lecture finishes and he closes his laptop on his table, leaning back as he rests his eyes after realizing how long he’s been on the computer. Sure, school was difficult, but it was structured — no surprises. Just an obligation he willingly signed up for.
You don’t look up from your laptop, speaking as you type up a response to an inquiry, “What’s on your mind?”
He debates sharing his predicament, hands haven’t stopped his ministrations on your feet as if you were his version of a stress-ball. You breathe through your nose when he hits a particular pressure point.
“I have to go to work next weekend.” He sighs, working on your other foot now. “I’m tired.”
“Can you decline or postpone?” You look up, blue light from your screen bouncing back to your face.
He shakes his head. “Can’t. I signed a two-parter contract a while back and this is the last installment.”
You close your laptop, feet swinging down to touch his fluffy carpet rug as you scoot closer to him. You were aware contracts and waiver forms existed to protect a business and their clients. In Jungkook’s case, the production he signed with was protecting their assets and securing their future projects. It’s a little demoralizing to view Jungkook as an asset, but that’s how business worked. He had to fulfill his duties to avoid legal penalties.
You lean in and it’s a familiar sight Jungkook’s grown fond of these couple of weeks: cheek squished on his shoulder, you look up with reassuring eyes. ‘It’ll be okay.’
Slowly, you’ve grown to manage the unease of his work, ache returning similar to tides crashing onto land. Sometimes the waves hit stronger than anticipated, but smaller and more manageable tides come ashore.
“Just one day, and it’ll be over soon. Then you’ll be free to focus on your exams afterwards, hm?” You soothe, setting the scenario to make the finish line easier to visualize.
“Yeah.” He grunts, not completely relaxed at the idea of having to do something he doesn’t particularly want to, but a job was a job.
“Hey,” you sit up higher, “is there anything I can do to make it better?”
Shouldn’t have offered that because there’s probably a number of things Jungkook can list off the top of his head. His tongue grows heavy in his mouth at the mere idea of having anything he wanted from you.
“Something sweet?” You suggest, brows wiggling up and down.
“Right now?” Declining was never in the books when it came to desserts.
You shake your head with a small laugh, “Whenever you’re done with the project. I can bring something after.”
“Okay, Pix. I’d love that.” His hand holds yours. “Surprise me.”
Nights were always spent like this until it was time for one of you to leave. He walks you to your car, waving at the kind receptionist on the way out to the guest parking lot. No longer embraced in summer’s sweltering heat, fall’s brisk air hits your cheeks when you both step out the complex. You never needed an excuse to press your body closer to Jungkook’s side, hand lodged deep in his coat pocket.
“Bye.” You whisper, tippy-toeing as you press a kiss to his cheek, letting your lips linger on his cold skin just a little longer.
The grip around your hands tighten as he fights off the intrusive thoughts of wishing for your lips to move over any expanse of his skin. There’s no need to deny the fact of having impure thoughts of you … had always been the case whether or not you were with him. It doesn’t help when you press your body closer to his, testing the boundaries of your new relationship with each other. Though, the test always stops where it is needed.
Passing the test, he gulps, “Text me when you get home, ‘kay?”
“I will.”
Five hours of work and he’ll be free. Considering the masses need to work on average an eight hour shift and sometimes more, Jungkook is fortunate for his work hours to salary ratio. Still not easy doing what he does especially since he isn’t in the right headspace at the moment and school’s been eating up his time — a love-hate relationship when it comes to being in a new learning environment.
He’s been reevaluating a lot these days, wondering how he’ll juggle his profession with school. And when he finds himself thinking too much of the possibilities, he forces himself to run from those thoughts of quitting everything all together.
In those difficult moments, thinking about you helps calm his nerves about the future and he feels himself landing back on reality. Not everything needs an immediate answer or decision; moreover, he’s allowed to make mistakes. Much like your relationship with him, the ambiguity doesn’t make him run for the hills anymore. Although you and Jungkook don’t currently have any labels for what you are now, there isn't any uncertainty in his devotion towards you.
He checks his bathroom mirror one more time, piercings taken out because today’s shoot may be a little more physically demanding and he isn’t keen on risking any additional injuries like he had sustained in the first shoot. He signed up for the project on a whim because … well, at the time the money and deal seemed decent. BDSM isn’t something he dabbled a lot in on both the receiving or giving end. However, around the same time he signed the contract, he was still grieving the relationship with you and in need of a distraction — something to make him feel again no matter how painful or rigorous to the body.
After the first shoot, he needed at least two weeks of rest … both mentally and physically. He isn’t fond of his co-star — Jungkook still remembers the numbers the man did to his body despite signaling his discomfort.
Locking his door, he makes his way to the elevator. The doors open to reveal a familiar face: Yoona.
She smiles at him, the lines around her eyes crease from the action. Jungkook nods and steps into the elevator next to her. Her strong perfume permeates his senses; a little too floral for his liking in comparison to the subtle cucumber and jasmine scent on your skin he’s grown attached to.
“Work?” He asks, looking at his phone. It’s nearly noon, a little late to be going into the office. Then again, what does he know about the corporate life?
“Hyunbin wanted me to visit.” Ah, her ex-husband — explains her appearance and unusual demeanor. He assumes a revenge outfit underneath her long fur coat. “You working?”
“Yup.” He exhales through his nose.
Even without his explanation of his reluctance, Yoona reads him easily … just like how she read him the first two weeks after his split with you, choosing to end things with him because she wasn’t fond of messing with someone who was in emotional distress. She’s already got a lot going on and the last thing she wants is a fuckbuddy using her as an emotional crutch.
She’d rather be a friend or a … mentor? Maybe just a friendly neighbor until he got his shit together.
Be it her years of wisdom or her innate ability to read the younger man, she catches wind of his unwillingness to go to work.
“Hang in there.” She offers, just as her friends regurgitated on multiple venting sessions during the nasty divorce process. It’s the bare minimum as a friend if they aren’t able to do more for you.
“Thanks, you too.” He returns the encouragement with a toothy grin. One of the advantages of being taller than most is his ability to spy over people’s phones. Yoona types away in her phone, the prior messages included a clear image of a male’s lower half and her own response with an image of her freshly showered body in a towel.
Even with her sunglasses on (which, by the way, are totally unneeded with this gloomy weather), she rolls her eyes under the elevator’s fluorescent lights.
“He’s been begging to make things work again.” She places her phone in her purse.
“You gonna let him back in?” Surely would lessen the alimony she has to pay him.
Yoona scowls, “I may be single, but I am not lonely.” The elevator dings and signals their arrival on the ground floor. “I can have my cake and eat it.” She smiles, red blooming with her pearly white teeth.
Jungkook laughs under his breath, a surge of sweetness also embraces him now after realizing he also has his ‘cake’ too. Hasn’t quite eaten you the way he wants to, but he’s content. Loves where you are both at and is willing to wait till things settle more in life for the both of you.
Yoona clears her throat, strong floral scent leaving along with her as she steps out of the elevators first. “Take care, Jungkook.” Her heels click on the marble floors as she runs out to the cab waiting for her.
Jungkook sighs again, making his way to his car and already programming the job site’s address into his Maps app.
Five hours and he’ll be done.
As promised, you have a sweet treat ready to reward Jungkook after his shift.
It’s uncharacteristic of Jungkook to not answer your texts after a couple of hours. You push away the worry as you make your way up the elevators, tiny brown bag containing something rich and icy you’d typically save for the summer.
Though, there were no rules on when to consume ice cream, especially if it was made by scratch — especially when you made it with your own spin. Anticipation brews as your steps near the front entrance of his home.
Your fingers press on the knob’s scanner and the latch clicks, ready for you to turn and enter into his home.
The living room’s dark, save for the small light Jungkook programmed to turn on at a specific time. There’s no greeting like you’re used to. Hanging your coat and scarf on the stand, you peer past the entryway as you toe off your shoes.
“Jungkook?” You call out with an air of uncertainty.
Still no answer. Your eyes adjust to the dim surroundings, eyes eventually falling onto a figure you’d recognize in any condition.
Jungkook’s laid down on his couch, one arm over his eyes. He’s in his sweats, showered and asleep. Your shoulders drop, tip-toeing past him to put the sweet treat into the freezer. You come back to the living room, not without picking up the fallen throw blanket on the ground, placing it on his body.
You could crack open your laptop to do some work in his kitchen until he stirs awake or just leave and let him rest. Straightening up from your bent position, a sharp inhale comes from below as Jungkook removes his forearm from his face and lifts his head up to peer around his surroundings. He sees you and drops his head in relief, breathing patterns stabilizing with a drag of his hand down his face.
“What time is it?”
“A little past 8.” You reply, sitting near his knees.
“Sorry, Pix. I crashed.” His throat cracks from sleep, “Time slipped.”
“‘S okay.” You reply, pinkie hooking onto his. “Would you like to rest some more? I won’t bother you.”
He swallows, unsure if he would rather be left alone or if he needed your company. He’s not sure he would be good company.
“I don’t know.” His other arm comes up again to cover his eyes. Misery also needed company too, and he doesn’t want to be away from you.
You seem to get the hint. Couch, stiff and hard as ever, seems to bend at the weight of you both for this moment of tenderness.
“Hard day?” You ask.
His throat bobs, and that’s when you notice the red marks near his Adam’s apple and his wrist. Your lips tug down, fingers itching to soothe the pain over his skin. You curl closer to him, hoping your presence would be enough to redirect his thoughts.
“Yeah. Was difficult.” He replies, voice shaky. His breath comes out uneven as he sniffles into his arm. “Ah, sorry, maybe it’s better if I’m alone.”
He hadn’t realized a couple tears had slipped out from the corners of his eyes until one of your hands cups his jaw, thumb rubbing away some of the moisture in your touch. He sucks in another breath, chest stuttering as a small sob tumbles out. He turns, burying his face into your chest as his arms come from underneath to hold you.
“I’m sorry.” He apologizes repeatedly. You repeatedly tell him you’re not leaving — that you’re here to stay. Fingers running through his dark locks, your touches force his eyes shut, a relieved sigh exiting as he regulates his breathing.
“I’m here, you’re okay.” You promise, your nails scratching his head produces a soft whimper as he buries his bigger frame deeper into your body. When you try to pull away to assess his face, he only tugs you in tighter. You chuckle, hand patting and soothing the expanse of his back.
“Kook?”
He grunts, too exhausted to verbalize a reply.
“I’m gonna go make something, okay? You stay here and rest.”
He reluctantly loosens his grip on you, and holds onto the fact you were staying. Accepting your proposal, he goes back into a more dignified position with his arm slung over his eyes.
You move with precision; kitchen layout memorized of where all the seasonings and cooking utensils were located, you come back into the living room with a small pot of ramen in under ten minutes. The wooden heat protector clanks onto his coffee table in your descent to the ground. You wince, apologetic for startling him again.
“Didn’t have to make me food, Pix.” He pushes himself up slowly, face contorting in discomfort as he sits upright.
“Wanted to. Come on, have a bite, please?” You had already started rolling the noodles into the spoon, creating a perfect single bite. You blow on the food a little before Jungkook dips his head halfway to receive the food.
Unlike the painful expression he previously sported, his brows furrow as he chews on the food — a good sign. Nothing’s more healing than a warm meal; a warm meal made with love.
“Thanks, P.” He smiles, and the parts of him lost during the hours of the shoot are slowly coming back.
“I’m glad.” Your eyes land on his neck first, then over his wrists where the red rings were most prominent. “Did you want to put on ointment? Tell me where you keep your medicine and I can—”
“It’ll heal on its own.” He declines, ready and rehearsed for your concerns. And because he knows there were a billion other questions in that pretty head of yours, he comes clean on his reasons for tonight’s exhaustion. “Co-star went off script towards the end and it threw me for a loop.” He explains, head rested on the back of the couch.
You nod, arms tightening around him. “That sounds awful. I’m sorry …”
He releases another heavy breath. “I-I don’t know, Pix. It’s usually not this bad.”
“What do you mean?” Frowning, you didn’t think you’d ever witness Jungkook in this state: defeated over the profession he willingly chose and stayed for.
His blank eyes stare off into the distance, zeroing on the corner of his flat screen television. The corners of his mouth twitch, exhaling a shaky breath before murmuring, “I’m scared to quit.”
And despite his discomfort with the subject, he continues, “I … I’ve been thinking about it and it feels like I can’t focus on other things when I have to think about work.” He also doesn’t want to mention the shame he has in quitting, inevitably proving people right that his line of work was not sustainable in the long-run. He doesn’t want to admit he’s outgrown the field that’s built everything around him: his friends, home, experiences, and … you. If it weren’t for his job, he wouldn’t have found you.
But was gratitude and loyalty needed for a profession that brings him more stress and worries?
Though rare, he’s wrestled with these difficult moments in this field, often wondering how life would be if he didn’t need to endure. What version of him exists outside of the industry? He knows what happiness is, but he’s also familiar with the deep dread and disappointment in staying.
“It’s scary.” You concede, staring off into the same space Jungkook had fixated. “But I know you’ll figure it out. You’re not alone. I’m here with you no matter what you decide on.”
His eyes well up again. He used to think people were crazy for suffering, crying during and off work hours. Now? He’s no different. Change is scary, but remaining the same is scarier. And he’s remained the same for so long, fighting the norms and societal expectations of him.
All this to realize … he’s also just a boy with dreams and aspirations, hope cupped in his hands waiting to be discovered. The industry may be a part of him, but it was never all he was. While he doesn’t know what the future entails, he knows he needs to do something different — his profession does not define his identity.
“Yes, I know.” He lets you rub gentle circles on his bruised wrist, lets you bring up his wrist and blow a cooling breath over his skin before you lay a gentle kiss. “Thank you.”
You and Jungkook remain like this for a while, just sharing each other’s warmth and company until you perk up about the dessert you brought over. He chuckles as you pry open the container and a peek of light orange reaches his vision. Jungkook relishes in the small notes of cinnamon and persimmons hitting his taste buds.
The container of ice cream gets annihilated within fifteen minutes, cold running down your esophagus and tummy, but there’s always a source of heat in your stomach as you sit close to your biggest source of warmth.
Refusing his offer to walk you to your car, you only allow Jungkook to see you out his door in favor of him resting more.
“Thanks for tonight, P. I really needed this.” He needs you more than ever. Holding your hands, he lets his gaze trail down to your lips before he brings them back up to your eyes. He’s been through this route many times, showing restraint because he knows better than to do something too rushed despite his mind and body screaming at him to disobey the boundary you both set.
As always, he presses a tender kiss to your forehead.
It’s enough. Because he feels you through the food you make for him, your touch, and your unwavering care.
As you stare up at him with starry eyes, he also realizes:
Intimacy doesn’t have to be perfect, but it is with you.
Jungkook completed his first semester of courses with flying marks. With a heavy heart, he decided to stop working in adult filming after another week of mulling through his options. In his resolve he tells himself the decision’s indefinite … subject to change. But ever since he let his agent know of his career change, he has not looked back.
Though the weather remains chilly, spring’s around the corner. The season brings the birds in the early mornings, flowers blossoming around his apartment complex, and the love blooming in his chest whenever he sees you.
Tonight’s a special night for you. Your cohort wanted to do a little social gathering at a club and you invited Jungkook as your plus-one. He wasn’t planning on drinking, opting to be your designated driver for the night. He looks over at you, eyes sparkly with glitter … or perhaps, you glow more under his stares.
Weather’s still cold, but he knows it will warm up at the venue as the night progresses. He lays his brown jacket on your lap as he drives you both to the venue. You’re so pretty in your skin-tight black turtleneck and gold chain necklace. Upon final inspection in your body length mirror, you made a remark how you looked like The Rock minus the fannypack. Jungkook laughed and tugged you along, mumbling how you looked beautiful and how you were going to be late if you did another outfit change. And while the weather is ever turbulent, jumping between hot and cold days, there’s nothing turbulent between you and Jungkook.
Even though you abstained from changing out of your ‘Pre-2012 The Rock’ fit, you were late with how the parking situation worked out. Too many cars, too little parking options when you were deep into the nightlife district of the city. Jungkook parked at an open lot about a twenty minute walking distance. Terrible, you know. But the trip was well worth it with his company. Had you been alone, you probably would have chosen to order a cab, but you’ve never felt safer in Jungkook’s hand as you both walk down the busy streets on a Saturday night.
“Thanks again for coming with me.”
“Wouldn’t miss it. Plus,” He squeezes your hand. “You’re coming with me to my friend’s wedding next weekend. So we’re even.”
“Oh no … weddings are so, so, so awful,” you chide with batted lashes.
He grins, “It is when you gotta be in dress pants.”
You giggle, staring up at the illuminated neon lights around town. “My classmates are excited to meet you, Mr. 9th-Annual-Shutter-Winner.” You grin, the side of your body presses close to him. You look down at his phone where it navigates the leftover walking distance to the club: estimated time of arrival – five minutes.
Jungkook was nervous. Not as a result of meeting your classmates, but he knew a certain someone was going to be there. Kim Taehyung, your best friend and confidant, will also be in attendance. He’s gotten along with him in the past on set. Eccentric guy, a bit of a Namjoon fanatic, but birds of a feather flock together. Namjoon’s creative, kind, and visionary. It’s only natural Taehyung gravitates towards him in this industry.
Regardless, Jungkook’s nervous. He doesn’t voice his concern when you had disclosed that Taehyung was aware of your relationship history with Jungkook. He would never hold you back on talking about your troubles to your friends because it’s important to build that trust and rapport. He hopes his entire persona isn’t completely irreconcilable just yet with the time he’s spent trying to grow and cultivate a healthy relationship with you.
Once in the club, you make your rounds with Jungkook by your side. Lots of new faces, and maybe a select few that were recognizable as a result of the photography competition.
“Hey Jungkook, heard you were in the photography program,” one of the judges for the past photography competition, Rowoon, smiles, “I know at the end of your photography program they’re going to request for an internship. Let me know if you need help connecting with a photographer.”
“That’d be awesome.” Jungkook smiles.
Jungkook’s appreciative for moments like these, easy conversations blending in with your life. You’ve been surrounded with good people. Well, good enough for you to want to rekindle and meet up every so once in a while.
He watches you from afar now, a mocktail in hand as he lets the ice melt and lessen the syrupy taste of the drink.
You smile into your cup as one of your classmates animate a pose of some sort — probably from a recent project or client. Regardless, he finds himself smiling too, eyes focused on your figure. It’s all tunnel vision, really, how everything around you blurs and this gooey feeling swirls and pools in the pit of his stomach.
He recognizes this, having experienced this similar breakthrough in the past with previous partners. While the hard impact of the realization came far less than this moment, his feelings were undeniable.
He loves you.
An awful realization to have when you guys are out in public and not in privacy, where he can bare his emotions to you freely. His palms sweat, heart accelerating at the welcomed epiphany and rush.
He has been patient and gentle in these last couple of months. That, he’ll give himself credit for. But all the self work he’s done is about to leave as he’s one mocktail sip away from walking over to you and declaring his feelings.
Not the right place nor time. Certainly worse when he can’t drink to distract himself.
“Mind if I join ya?”
Jungkook startles out his thoughts, craning his neck to the side to find Kim Taehyung smiling lazily at him. He simply gestures for the empty stool, all while trying to relocate you after the minor detractor.
Even with the heavy bass of the club music, Jungkook’s eyes still remain on your figure, making sure you’re safe and having fun — as you should always be.
Taehyung grunts in his descent onto the barstool, gaze following where Jungkook looks at.
“You all socialed out?” Jungkook mindlessly asks — a miracle he’s strung up a coherent sentence.
Taehyung scoffs at the lack of focus, but replies, “Gets a little tiring explaining my gigs and seeing them react the same way.”
This time, Jungkook stares back at the seated man, completely understanding his sentiment. He knows exactly what Taehyung has experienced being in the industry — their little common ground.
“You know,” Taehyung begins, “I still don’t get the whole thing with you and her.”
Lips pursed, he drums his fingers on the bar counter, “How so?”
“Friends, but not. Lovers, but not.” Taehyung tips his drink back. “What are you guys even waiting for?”
What was Jungkook waiting for?
“Just want to take our time.” He replies. “Not trying to rush things.”
“Kind of backwards, don’t you think?” He shrugs his shoulders before continuing, “Look man, I’ll be upfront. I’m still on the fence about you.”
“I know.” Jungkook’s aware he’s far from perfect, knowing his hesitancy in moving forward stems from his insecurities and his fears of hurting you in the process.
“She likes you a lot. And I trust my best friend. If things go sour, well … at least we’ll know how to pick up the pieces this time around.”
Taehyung waves down the bartender for a refill. “I give her a lot of shit for putting herself in a box, but all she does is try. So why don’t you guys try?”
Jungkook’s been so afraid of hurting. In turn, he’s robbing you both of the possibility for something so much more. He loves what he has with you, but was this enough?
You turn, also finding him, and smile.
It’s not enough. He wants more — he needs more.
Taehyung settles back as he watches the scene unfold in front of him with a smug smile.
Finally.
Jungkook’s on autopilot as he weaves through the crowd. The back of his neck grows sweaty, less from the stuffy venue and more from his nerves and this final act of trying to do the right thing for once. He wants to do right by you, and right now all he wants is to be near you.
He needs to be near you.
You seem to think the same too, placing your empty glass onto the edge of the bar top. There aren’t any remnants of green or cherries, only a sliver of yellow on the bottom he recognizes as his trademark drink.
His heart drums against his chest as you do a quick side hug with the classmate, so eager to get to him in the midst of the hazy, man-made smoke and crowded dance floor.
The path to you was damn near impossible to get to, packed like sardines and people unwilling to move. Though, you both will always find a way to each other. Head tilted, you motion Jungkook to the side of the dance floor. It’s dimly lit, some of the club’s strobing lights don’t touch. Light’s not needed because you’re forever drawn to each other.
“Hi.” You smile up at him, eyes slightly droopy as your hand finds his. “Sorry. Haven’t been able to hang out with you that much tonight.”
He shakes his head, placing your hand behind his neck. Your fingers search for the longer locks he sported in the winter months, but you’ve always preferred his shorter cut. The prickle of the undercut was something you’ve longed for all night long. His silver hooped earrings graze your exposed wrist, the cold metal offering a nice touch on your hot skin.
He shakes his head, “‘S okay, Pix.” You both sway, neither of you really know what song is playing. It all blurs to white noise when you’re with each other. “Did you catch up with everyone?”
“Mhm.” You hum, leaning in to press your face against his chest. There’s a slight drop to your shoulders signifying your exhaustion, but Jungkook reads your demeanor like the back of his hands.
With a hum, he murmurs, “What’s on your mind?”
“Everyone’s in production companies.” You sulk, frown felt on his strong front.
Your words hold a little bitterness, a hint of dejection at the idea you weren’t exactly doing what everyone was doing. But that’s what made you special. You’re doing what you want to do and you’ve stuck by it.
“You ever think about joining one?” He asks into your hair.
You lift your head from his chest, chin digging into his sternum. “It’s not for me, but sometimes, I feel like I’m missing out.”
Just like how he thinks he might miss out on something wonderful if he continues as things are, but a club where you’re having a reunion with old classmates isn’t the right time or place for a confession.
Jungkook nods. “Can do whatever you want. The world’s your oyster.”
He doesn’t need any of the strobing lights or a spotlight in the tiny nook you’ve both claimed with the way you smile at him. Not when you stare up at him like he’s the world, ready to be claimed by you. Before he does anything too impulsive, he leads you both closer to the center of the dance floor. Back turned to him, his hands rest on the dips of your hips. Chin tucked in the crook of your neck, he takes in your jasmine and cucumber scent, wondering if you’re just as addicted to his scent.
“Did you have your usual?” He mumbles into your ear.
You shake your head, shivering from his voice. “Midori sour’s not always on the menu.”
He hums in agreement, thinking back to the arrangements he made at the club he hosted his celebratory party at. Honestly, there was no major issue requesting the addition of the drink; the manager was happy to accommodate.
“What’d you have earlier?” His voice comes out low, rumbling against you.
You nearly whimper your answer as he circles his arms around your midsection, not wanting to lose any physical contact from you. “Highball.”
His grin stretches across his face, muscle memory as his mouth salivates for the drink. “Did you like it?”
You turn around now, and Jungkook does little to reposition his forehead on yours. This time, another type of restraint courses through his body as his eyes bounce between your hooded stare and pouty lips.
“Mm, I wanted to try what you liked. Not my thing,” you conclude. “Wasn’t sweet at all.”
Jungkook doesn’t need the additional sweetness in his drinks when he’s surrounded by sweetness in his life. Can do away with sugar because you’re here.
“What did you have tonight?” You ask back.
“Wild night with some sort of wild berry mocktail.” He teases.
“Lucky, I wish I had that.” Your eyes drop to his lips — he follows your line of vision as you look back up at him.
“Was nice.” He concedes, voice dropping an octave. “Better if it was a highball.”
The music’s loud, but nothing’s louder than the drumming in his ears — the voice in his head yelling at him to close the gap between you two. The same gap you both maintained in these last couple of months. It’s been working so well for you two, reworking your foundation and taking things slow all while hoping it would lead to your desired goal: each other.
Jungkook’s forehead remains on yours, lips parted slightly at your delayed blinks. And although the label had always blurred between the two of you, he had always been yours. Yours, when he entered the establishment with his hand on your hips, guiding you away from rowdy groups at the main point of entrance. Yours, when all you’ve done tonight was match his stares, wanting so badly to be in his company instead of folks you haven’t spoken to in years face to face.
All yours.
“Want a taste?” You ask, making no move to go to the bar. He stays rooted there too, knowing full well he’s not allowed a single drop of alcohol in his system. The entrancement lasts all but a second before a flicker of fear flashes across your features.
Deja vu.
Was this all a figment of your imagination and it could get ripped from you any moment? If you lean in like you did months ago, would you be punished by rejection again?
Your brows furrow, eyes pleading up at Jungkook to answer your unspoken questions.
And he reads you so easily — remembers you and knows your insecurities before you do sometimes.
He breathes you in, nose now nestled against your own with no intentions of ever leaving.
“Please?” Your warmth fans over to him, a soft plea worthy of ending wars Jungkook would only qualify as his own battles.
He thinks about that night at the club where you had left him, foolishly clutching onto the flimsy cone-shaped cups while the world spun with you nowhere in sight. Thinks about the prospect of you leaving again and how ruined he’d be without you.
Jungkook pleads with you too now, “Please don’t leave me.”
You shake your head. “I’m right here.”
He thinks he deserves a little bit of heaven. Funny, how he thinks the universe could grant him kisses from a million angels, but he’d only want a lifetime of yours. The last thing he sees are two slow blinks from your sparkly-glittered lids, pulling and signaling him into a soft landing: to home — he finally finds his way back home.
He cups your face, delicate in how he holds you because there’s nothing more he’d like to do than to handle you with all the care and tenderness in the world. He sighs into your lips, relieved to finally have you like this. Where you both meet in the middle now.
Highball, in the simplest terms, was bland whiskey. The taste of the drink was probably the furthest thing you can get to the sweetness of your typical midori sour. And yet, you still tried for him. He knows how much you try for him and you’ve done your best to accept him — the work and effort you put into adoring Jungkook never goes unnoticed.
He doesn’t taste the highball, none of the usual remnants of the drink he’s grown to like as he runs his tongue over your plump lips. Perhaps it’s also that he no longer searches for that familiar aftertaste; instead, welcoming something he’s longed for and missed these months. His tongue moves over your lips again, slow and deliberate to savor the sweetness.
Your mouth parts for him, a tentative push of his tongue and you’re reduced to putty. He trails one hand down your hip, pulling you flush against him.
It’s all muscle memory, how puzzle pieces fit just for you and Jungkook. He groans against your mouth, the low sound vibrates through your body, sending a shock through your body and heat building in your middle.
Your name is all but a rasp as Jungkook goes straight to your lips again after your small whine. He can’t get enough of you, the background noise and people blurring in his pursuit of you. You kiss him back. Months after months of waiting, slowly rebuilding, knowing exactly where the finish line is … and the kiss now was just one of your many monumental milestones with Jungkook.
He needs to pull away for air, mindful of your own state too despite his unwillingness to stray away. It’s everything he’d expect a kiss from you to be after all this time: sweet, with no hint of the drink he fancied.
Nose nestled to yours and brazen smiles exchanged, Jungkook does his best to regulate his breathing.
“You’d ever give highball another try, Pix?” He breathes, peppering tinier kisses on your lips, rendering it nearly impossible to properly respond.
“Yeah.” You reply in between kisses. “I’d try it again. It’s worth another chance.”
When he finally pulls away with much reluctance, his heart drums against his chest at your response — at your implication.
You wanted this with him.
“You’ll teach me how to properly drink it?” You look at him with the softest gaze.
He shakes his head, a smile playing on his lips. “Will drink it with you.”
No one was talking about the drink. Though, much like the drink, love and affection was always better shared and experienced together.
And it’s so much better savoring those moments with you.
You and Jungkook eventually leave the dance floor to socialize with your other classmates, catching Taehyung with a content smile as he peers down at your interlinked hands. Jungkook’s hand involuntarily tightens around yours and you look up, eyes holding a playful curiosity as to what he wants.
You mouth, ‘You tired?’
He shakes his head no, though, his droopy eyelids and slight sway to his body tells you otherwise. You’re also tired too, wanting nothing more than to be with your desired source of warmth.
You quickly make your rounds, bidding your farewells and blaming your age for not being able to stay longer. Thankfully, a couple of your other classmates left before you, so your attempt to leave didn’t look out of the blue. Your goodbye with Taehyung takes a little longer as he whispers something in your ear, eyes playful as you pull away and lightly smack his arm.
Jungkook smiles once you’re back by his side, the cold night air hitting you both outside the club. He offered to run to the car while you wait back, but you insisted on coming with him. “Ready for the walk, Miss Rock?”
With narrowed eyes, you huddle closer, pretty pout on your lips he so wants to kiss.
“You said I looked great.” You huff, beginning the long trek back to the car.
“The Rock looked great, and so do you, Pix.” He teases.
Three minutes into your walk, a random downpour starts out of nowhere.
Jungkook takes off his brown jacket, slinging it over both your bodies as you do your best to run from the rain. Shared incredulous giggles and glances with each other made the trip back even better. Unable to fully avoid the downpour, Jungkook opts to just cover you with his jacket. The theatrics continue once a car passes, wheels producing a splash over your bodies.
Unneeding of the jacket now, you lower the jacket around your shoulder, tugging Jungkook through the rain as you both near the car. He looks at you from behind, catching your stare back while urging him to move quicker.
But he’s in no rush.
He’s never been in a rush with you.
Steps coming to a halt, you look back again with a questioning expression. His hair’s matted on his forehead, eyes squinting from the rain water, but he can see you so clearly under the yellow of the streetlights.
He says your name, your steps stumble as you land in his embrace. Cold fingers run on your cheek before he admits, “I don’t think I can just be what we’ve been. I want this with you — I want to be with you.”
He doesn’t ask you if you want the same. Didn’t have the chance as his eyes widened the same moment your lips met his.
Rain beats down on your bodies, hard and punishing. The cold water seeping through your clothing is nothing compared to the heat searing from your bodies. Your fingers run through his hair from behind, urging him closer if it were possible. His hold on you tightens and you unconsciously arch into him, no longer caring how the rain water runs down your face.
Jungkook breaks apart from the kiss, “It’s always been you, P.” Warm breath on your lips as he utters words he's long realized and wanted to tell you, “I … I’m in love with you.”
It’s freeing. Not just his confession, but how the rain continues washing out everything around you both. The good, the bad. The aftermath of a storm allows for rebuilding — for flowers to blossom, for growth and to start anew.
He thinks about all the time spent together and apart — the happiness, trust, and fears … it all inevitably brings him back to you. And as the rain waters continue to fall, he finds himself free falling into your embrace — the easy love.
“I love you,” You profess, brows pulling together tears mixing in with the rain, “So much. You know that, yeah?”
He does. But even so, he still asks, “Please be with me.” He chews on the inside of his mouth, so fearful of rejection as though you could choose any other route. “Please?”
You nod, leaning in for a kiss that could only seal your answer to him. “I’m yours. Always been yours.”
A relieved chuckle stutters from his chest, holding you close. “Home?”
“Home.” You reply.
Jungkook’s home was closer in proximity, so it would only be natural to head over there to change out of your soaked clothes. Even with the seat warmers turned onto the highest setting and his jacket slung over your lap like it was in the beginning of the night, you shiver and shudder in your seat.
“Can use my shower too, P.” He pushes his wet bangs back and reasons, “Don’t want you catching a cold.”
“Mmkay,” Your teeth involuntarily chatters, hands tucked in between your thighs underneath his jacket to retain your heat.
His hand naturally finds yours. “We’ll be home soon, ‘kay?”
Back at his home, he gives you a spare t-shirt with some sweatpants, letting you know that he’ll shower at the guest bathroom while you use the master bedroom’s. It’s not your first time in his bedroom, having been there a couple times when he was busy and needed you to retrieve something for him in there. The citrus scent embraces you as you walk in, fingers tightening around his clothes. He’s fumbling around his dresser to get his own clothing, hair dried to a damp mess and coarse at the ends from the washed away hair products. His shirt drags over his large frame, seemingly heavier around the shoulder area from the rainwater.
Back still turned away, he cranes his neck to you and catches your curious stare. “Go on and use the shower, P.”
You nod, clothes feeling unbearingly tight whether it be from the rain or the suffocating dilemma of not wanting to leave Jungkook’s side.
In the shower, he’s still with you through the shampoo and body wash. You run your hands around your body, knowing this is your way of keeping him close. Will you need to go home after this? Does the mirage end here with the suds of soap pooling at your toes?
Does it end with his scent on your body?
All dried and in his clothes, you stare at the mirror, a small smile playing at your lips at the visual of your body drowned in his oversized t-shirt. You roll the bottom of the sweatpants and tug at the drawstrings to secure around your waist.
You peer into his bedroom. “Jungkook?” No response.
Walking out to the living space, you notice a tuft of hair on the large couch’s armrest. Two glasses of water — all full — just like your heart, rests on the coffee table. Peering over the couch, your lover lays there, eyes closed with a rhythmic breathing pattern nowhere close to being asleep.
You come around and seat yourself on the edge of the couch. An unsuspecting force pulls you down, followed by a small ‘oomph,’ you attempt to sit back up.
“Can we rest a little before I take you home?” He mumbles, breathing into your hair.
Your ear is pressed against his chest, his heart thumping way too fast for rest. Working up your courage, you snuggle into his warmth as you murmur, “It’s late. Don’t want you driving at this hour.” Before he could ask if you’d want him to fetch a cab, you follow up with, “If it’s okay … can I stay over tonight?”
The drumming in his chest speeds up, but his words come out assertive. “Of course, P.”
The guest room sits empty as Jungkook leads you back to his bedroom, a sleepy smile on his face as he catches your yawn and places the glass of water onto the nightstand closest to where you’ll sleep. He hooks his index fingers in the collar of his shirt and yanks it over his head, tossing the article of clothing on the ottoman near the foot of his bed.
You swallow, eyes raking over his toned body you’ve grown so familiar with. His tattoo lines look darker under the warm hues of his nightlight. Underneath his covers, your eyes fight to stay open, only allowing them to blink shut when he encircles his arms around you.
“Night, P.” He mumbles.
“Good night, Kook.”
Around 5 a.m. you wake up with the worst case of dry mouth, having already drank the glass of water in the middle of the night, and another time Jungkook refilled without your knowledge. You pout at the glass sitting pretty and empty on the nightstand.
There’s an unfamiliar weight on your midsection causing you to suck in a breath as you look down. Intricate patterns and faded colors greet you before you turn your head to meet their owner.
Jungkook’s on his front, pouty mouth parted and lashes kissing the top of his cheeks. His rhythmic light snores tell you he’s still in deep slumber if not for the sleep-lines on the side of his face where he buries himself further into his fluffy pillows.
There’s a stillness in waking up next to Jungkook like this — at the realization there’s no need to run or leave. He’s here within a distance you can comfortably reach.
You think back to last night, between the kisses and confessions, everything seemed like a dream. You’re tempted to reach over to brush away the strand of his bangs. Want to see if he’d stir awake and look at you as he did before you both fell asleep last night.
That’s the funny thing about love — can’t bear the selfishness and greed of your own desires. So instead, you do your best to uncurl from his lazy hold, already missing his warmth as you grab the rims of your glass to fetch some water.
You’ve only been over in the afternoon and evening, never knowing the brisk morning air. Jungkook’s room was warm, temperature maintained by the heat of your bodies, but in the open living space, you shiver a little from cold and the absence of a familiar body.
Glass refilled, you make your way back to Jungkook, but something pulls you to an abrupt stop.
You’ve only seen this view at night, always curious how differing the morning view would be. Orange peeks and greets you on the horizon, begging for your presence even when there is another star you rather be with.
Just a couple more minutes and the sun will rise — a view you’ve never seen from here. Lips nursing on your glass, you smile as you hear another pair of feet shuffle in your direction. Not subtle at all. He makes his presence known with a small yawn, standing behind you, he presses his chest against you from behind and wraps his arms around your abdomen.
“Whatcha doing up so early?” Voice laced with sleep.
“Wanted to get water,” you bring the glass up to his view, “sun’s about to rise now.” You nod at the window.
His body vibrates against yours at a particularly low chuckle. “‘S nice, isn’t it? Can see everything from here.”
You hum in agreement. You love the view, love his touch, love him. And because you love him, you give him the remainder of your water. Glass now empty again, he sets the cup on a small stand. The surrounding air stifles as a strong pair of arms wrap around you tighter, cluing in a shift in the easy morning conversation.
“P, I meant everything I said last night.” He says, afraid you hadn’t retained any recollection of last night’s event — as though all the magic last night was all but a trick and illusion.
There’s no illusion in your adoration for him, turning away from the sun, you realize you have everything in front of you worth orbiting for.
“I meant everything too.” You reply, feeling the sun warm your back, but even that source of warmth wasn’t enough incentive to have you turning away from Jungkook again. “I love you. Wanna be with you.”
You tip-toe, lips pressing delicately against his only spurs on his tiny moan as he meets you in the middle. His teeth nibble on your bottom lip, causing you to part them with a small gasp. He takes this moment to lick into your mouth, tongue running against yours to savor you. He could blame the morning wood on … well, the morning, and not your soft lips, but he’s wanted you like this for so long and now you’re finally his.
He angles your chin, doing his best to distract you from the bulge pressed against your stomach, to which you also push against. Grunting, he huffs into your mouth, “Pix, please.”
You hum a small ‘what?’
So dangerous of you to push something he’s been suppressing for months. Aching for your touch, but he’s respectful of the change in dynamics. He wants to be respectful now, but was there a need?
“I’m trying to be good.” He mumbles, kissing along your jaw and making his way down your neck. His teeth rake against the expanse of your skin, reveling in your shivers and the way your nails dig into his back.
“You are good.” You sigh prettily. “So good to me.”
And because of this, Jungkook wants to show you other ways he could be good to you. It’s what you deserve — nothing makes him happier than making you feel good. Back pressed against the glass panes, the initial cold morphs and changes with the sun and your combined body heat.
His hand snakes up your shirt, large palm halting at your stomach until you nod for him to move.
Finally after a small plea from your lips, he finally moves to cup your breast. You moan at the contact of his thumb moving over your hardening bud.
“Feels good, pretty?” He mouths against your neck.
You swallow and nod, “J-Jungkook, can people,” another moan slips as he sucks on a particularly sensitive juncture of your neck, “see us from here?”
Being on the thirty-fourth floor had its perks and advantages. He doesn’t have next door neighbors except for the floor above and below him, which works in his favor.
“No one can see us, P.” He shakes his head, “You want them to?”
He grips your chest a little harder, urging for an answer before he continues. Head lifted to your face, his hooded eyes draw you in.
“No,” you place a soft kiss on his jaw, “Want this just between us.”
He also can’t imagine having another person watch you both. Can’t imagine sharing an experience like this with someone other than you.
“Yeah, it’s just you and me.”
The hand on your hip runs up your front, cupping your cheek first before he slips a soft request while looking at your lips, “Open, please.”
Your mouth parts, and his hand drags over your cheek, his middle and ring finger probing and sliding over your wet muscle. His cock twitches in his sweats at the thought of possibly feeling your mouth again. Those thoughts break the moment you close around his digits, warm and wet around him. Your cheeks hollow without command as you eagerly suck on his fingers. You look at him with determined eyes, fighting to stay open but loses the battle before fluttering shut when his thumb runs over your hard nipple again.
“Gonna make you feel good.” He promises, “‘s that okay?”
You nod, unable to verbalize a response with his fingers in your mouth. Soon his wet fingers slip out of your mouth and he slips them past the waistband of your folded sweats.
“Oh god,” Your hips buck back from the sudden contact of his fingers, ass pushed against the glass. “P-please.” You beg, unsure of what exactly but Jungkook takes it as a request to move. His middle finger slots perfectly between your wet folds, circling around the bundle of nerves.
“Wanna touch you, too.” You plead, “Can I?”
He tips his forehead against yours, hips pushed against your hand. “Uh-huh, want you to touch me.”
Your hand slips into his sweats, making contact with his bare length. The angle of your bodies makes it difficult to tug or squeeze as you like, but he shudders just by the mere contact of your soft hand.
“P, don’t—” He moves back slightly to peer down at your hand working over his length. “Don’t tease.”
Lip tucked between his teeth, his own hand speeds up over your clit, wet sounds growing by the second. He hopes you do the same too, but you keep your lazy strokes, watching him with hooded eyes. “Not,” you pause, eyes closing when he nears you, pressing a dainty kiss, “teasing.”
“Tell me what you need.” You murmur against his lips.
“Faster,” He whines, “need you to go faster—fuck—” He groans when you comply, hand picking up the pace.
And be it from the patience and time endured after months of dreaming of being with you … or he was just that easy, he finishes in his sweats in under a minute. Your hand slowly jerks over his length, hand coated in his cum.
“Koo, did you cum?” You breathe, unsure from the sudden liquidy warmth. He moans a small yes, angling his head for your kisses on his neck, teeth dragging over his collarbone as a reward for his confirmation. Your hand glides over the head of his sensitive cock. “Made a mess all for me.”
He kisses you, deft fingers on your clit as he touches away the embarrassment of cumming before he’s gotten to properly take care of you. It’s no give or take situation, but he wants to give back to you.
He removes his hand and you nearly cry out at the loss of his touch. Your cum covered hand gets tugged from his pants at the same time. Doesn’t care you’re unconsciously wiping away your hand on your shirt — everything was going into the wash anyway, ridding any evidence of the sinful acts you’ll both willingly partake in.
How sinful were they if they were embarked by two people in love?
Fingers hooked on the waistband of your sweats, he drags them down your hips, leaving both your soaked underwear and pants pool at your ankles. His eye contact never wavers as he drops down on his knees. His eye drops at the long shirt length covering your bare cunt, and with a knowing glance, you hold the bottom of the shirt, while the other one falls on the side of his head for support as nudges your legs apart.
“So perfect,” he praises, eyes peering up at you, “All mine.” His fingers form a ‘v’ as he spreads your glistening folds, mouth watering at the sight of your twitching clit. He moves in, placing a kiss on the side of your pussy, just shy of your nub. The action has you furrowing your brows, mouth dropping open as you involuntarily push your hips forward.
You mewl, thighs closing when he finally slots his tongue over the self-made opening between his fingers. He licks, sucks, and kisses the tiny nub. And you stand there, taking everything he’s willing to give you. He loves watching you struggle maintaining eye contact, loves the shy smile you give him when you had a moment of realization of how loud you were in the early hours of his home, and loves the small tug from your fingers in his hair when he repeatedly presses his lips to your clit.
You were already so close before this, but now he has you tipping on the edge again. Jungkook’s eyes close, tongue lapping your cunt.
Your thighs shake, breath caught in your throat as he continues the motions. And even though he’s not looking at you, he knows you’re about to let go as you rock your hips into his face. Using one hand, his fingers dig into the back of your thigh as he brings one of them over his shoulder.
“Baby–” You rasp.
“Hm?” He answers, muffled against your core. The vibrations against your cunt have your eyes rolling to the back of your head as your lids slam shut from the sensation.
You whimper, stomach clenching at the first signal of your orgasm. Your fingers clutch pathetically at the end of the shirt, mindful of the other hand interlocked with his locks. But you’re bolder now, know what you like and need … and what you like is Jeon Jungkook moaning against your core, encouraging you to cum. What you need is to extend this feeling for as long as you can, so you push his head closer as you grind your spasming cunt to his face.
“Cumming,” you manage to get out, “Oh fuck, I’m cumming.”
Jungkook can’t answer, wishes he could; though, all his wishes are being fulfilled as he’s head deep between your legs. He pulls away after your hips press back against the glass, signaling your sensitive state. Hooded gaze fixed, he takes in the visual of your cheek pressed onto your shoulder — a habit he’s noticed every time you’ve cummed. Your eyes blink open slowly, blinded by the light coming in from the rising sun.
“I’m sorry, P.” He doesn’t sound sorry at all with his mischievous grin as he kisses your inner thigh — the one he has thrown over his shoulder. “You missed the sunrise.”
You croon, a small playful pout on your lips. “I did.” You release his hair, hand cupping his jaw. You moan in surprise when he latches onto your clit again, lazy sucks as he peers up at you.
He places one last kiss to your nub and suggests, “Should turn around then, take in the current view.” He leaves out the fact that you’ll have plenty of more chances to see the view.
He places your leg down. While wobbly at first, you plant your feet sturdy before complying with his request. He’s right — the city’s beautiful.
Jungkook also has the best view in the city too.
You look back at him from your shoulder, eyes catching his, “You’re not watching with me?”
“Perfect view here.” He scoots back a little, ignoring the discomfort and numbness in his knees. You brace against the glass, fist clenched tightly at the anticipation of what your lover wants to do. No one cares about the prospect of a stained glass as you hinge your hips out to him, the underside of your wet pussy entrances him.
He pushes your shirt up over the curves of your hips and the sight before him has his cock hardening in his sweats again. A creamy white sheen trickles down your slit, begging to be licked up before it dribbles onto the floor.
And he does. With a cock to his head, he slots his mouth over your leaky cunt.
You wail, cheek pressed against the glass as you fog up a small section with your warm puffs of air. His tongue laps over your clenched hole, pleased you haven’t pulled away from him. He rewards you with a small probe of his tongue and you surprise him again by pushing back, tongue gliding into your warm cavern with little resistance.
You both moan, caught in the euphoric moment of this new experience.
He reels his head back, spreading you wide to look at your gaping pussy — all his doing.
“Please,” you beg, greedy for his mouth. Without warning, he dives back in, tongue thrusting in and out of your hole with a new profound hunger. One of his hands comes from under and rubs at your clit. The new feeling has your legs shaking again, your hand coming around to place on top of his to ground yourself.
He pulls away, placing wet kisses alongside your thighs. “You liked that, Pix?”
“Yeah, I loved it.” You reply, looking back at him through your lashes.
“Good.” He chuckles, stomach warm from your confession, “Keep looking at the view though. Sun’s pretty today.”
The sun’s pretty every day, you think to yourself as you look at your source of light. But you turn away, obedient as you look at the rays the rest of the world relies on.
“Gonna do something new, ‘kay?” He says, strained as he places a small kiss on one of your cheeks. He lets his teeth graze your skin, fingers digging into the meat of your ass to gain your confirmation. “Tell me if you don’t like it.”
You nod, can’t think of anything you won’t like aside from being away from Jeon Jungkook, but you’re sure to vocalize any discomfort for whatever journey he’s about to embark with you.
“Open wider for me.” He husks. You comply, feet shuffling apart as you hinge lower.
You couldn’t predict what he wanted to try with you, certainly not anything remotely close to how he parts your ass and you feel his breath on your skin before he leans in.
You nearly cry out at the first lick over the tight ring of your asshole. There was an adjusting period, one that involved your breasts pressed hard against the window, mouth hanging open as Jungkook goes in for another lick.
It’s not unpleasant. New, like he mentioned.
“You taking in everything, P?” His finger slips over your cunt, long index finger teasing the entrance. He takes his time running his fingers between your wet folds, watching your bleary eyes struggle to stay open. It’s fine. You’ll have plenty more opportunities to see the view in the future — he’ll make sure of it.
You moan at the feeling of his finger probing the entrance of your pussy, hole clenched around nothing as he continues teasing you.
“Hm? Answer me, pretty.” His tongue teases around your taint. This time, you relax into it, even going as far as pushing back.
“Mhm,” you try, “‘s pretty.”
You have your head turned again, watching him the best you could, completely unfocused from the view beyond the massive curtain wall. A wrecked moan escapes the moment his long digit pushes into your sensitive cunt — just up to the first knuckle, nothing more. At the same moment, his tongue guides itself past the tight ring of your hole.
You don’t know what to focus on: his tongue fucking into your ass or his finger coated in your arousal as he has you plugged up on both holes simultaneously.
Jungkook’s always been an ass man, and he honors the title as he continuously dives his head between your cheeks. The finger inside your other hole stays in place, never pushing another inch until you whine and reach between your legs. Your fingers touch the top of his, pushing at them to sink deeper into your pussy.
He pushes his digit into you, the full length wrapped around your wet walls. “Do what you need to make this feel good.” He says. “Want you to feel good.”
A content sigh leaves your lips as you rub slow circles, pleasure building again in your stomach as each minute slips by. You’ve never been one to cum multiple times … unfortunately, you’re no better than a man. One and done type of girl, but the eagerness to cum again from this new experience has you motivated and greedy for more. Especially when the experience is with someone you love and care for.
“I-I think I’m gonna cum again.” You announce, pushing your ass back to his face as he continues fucking his tongue into your ass. He groans and nods, picking up the pace from behind with fervor at the mention of your orgasm.
His finger gradually speeds up, curling a little before he decides to add another finger in.
Oh.
“This okay?” He asks as he senses a change in your demeanor at the sudden intrusion.
You whimper, body stiff and rigid during the adjustment period. The stretch has you halting before you’re rubbing feverishly against your clit, babbling and begging for him to move faster.
Jungkook’s lucky on the thirty-fourth floor. So lucky no one’s able to hear the the sounds you make both from your mouth and wet cunt as he fucks his digits faster as requested. He curls his fingers and your legs start shaking, your hand no longer able to move as you take everything Jungkook gives from behind.
You gasp, his name falls from your lips as you let go. There’s definitely an imprint of your mouth and cheek on his glass window now, memoirs of the acts you both committed.
The wetness grows between your legs, both holes pulsating as you finally cum around him again. Jungkook groans, letting you ride out your orgasm as you need.
He removes both his fingers and tongue from your holes and parts your ass to marvel at the mess you’ve made. The puffy ring of your ass shines with his spit, while your pussy quivers from the aftermath of your strong orgasm. He thinks about how it would be if you were stuffed full of him right now, but he’s in no rush with you. Knows there’s no time constraint to loving you right this time around. Your shirt drops from the curve of your hips and down to your knees as you stand upright, turning and pressing your back to the glass again. Jungkook stands up, fingers already in his to lick up any remnants of cum.
His arms wrap around your waist to hold you up, forehead touching yours as it’s meant to. Doesn’t go for a kiss no matter how much he wants to because he’s not sure of your aversion after where his mouth has been. But you don’t care, looping your arms over his neck and slotting your lips over his for a messy kiss, eventually reduced to small pecks.
“You okay, P?” He asks with round eyes. You nod and ask the same in a hushed whisper.
Why wouldn’t he be when he’s got all he’s ever wanted in his arms? He rubs over your back in a soothing motion, “More than okay, P.”
More kisses are shared, until Jungkook murmurs how he’s still tired and wants to go back to bed. You look at the clock and as tempted you are, you hum and shake your head. His eyes widen at your response, about to offer a quick retort, but you beat him to it.
“You said you had registration for the upcoming semester in a couple hours. Didn’t you say you needed to work on a schedule?”
He tips his head back, both grateful and upset at your memory after he mentioned it to you in passing last week.
Still, these things can be done while in the comforts of his bed and your company. Hand enclosed in his, he tugs you back to his bedroom, no longer omitting the same warmth when you left.
But perhaps, the warmth was anywhere you were with Jungkook.
Saturn takes twenty-nine years to complete its cycle. When you turned twenty-nine, you thought your Saturn was still out there, taking their sweet time with the journey back home.
“Pixie?”
“Coming!” You call out, finishing the last touch of your dusty-pink blush. Smoothing out your sage-green dress, you do a small once-over in your mirror before properly greeting your boyfriend.
Your Saturn’s returned, watching you embark on your new adventure, cheering you on through your wins and losses. Jungkook smiles from the doorway, leather dress shoes placed neatly on the side. His hair is styled as he would for all the wedding events he’s gone to with you, but this was a new suit. Usually in black, the light grey suit brings out his dark features even more — boyish charms emulated with his suit jacket off and hooked on his fingers over a shoulder. The brooches on his vest glimmer on the side, adding a nice finishing touch to his wedding guest look for the evening.
He shines either way when his orbs land on your features, taking in your soft curls and dress you’ve chosen.
“Pretty.” He’s kind enough to not kiss you, seeing you’ve just freshly applied your lipstick, but you’ve never been opposed to reapplying. You tip-toe to plant a soft kiss, not enough to transfer any product, but enough to tempt him for further damage.
“You look very handsome.” You say, hands automatically coming up to fix the angle of his tie. Spring’s weather is ever unpredictable and today’s one of the more warmer days of the week, but the temperatures rise in the small nook of your home as he stares at you.
To avoid any potential deterrence, you move behind him to get to your shoe rack. He presses his back against the wall opposite to you, watching as you crouch down to pick out a strappy nude heel.
“What if we skipped the wedding, Pix?”
You pout, blowing at the random strands of hair in your peripheral. “Your friend would be disappointed. Plus, we both got all done up. Would be a waste if we didn’t go.”
“It’s not a waste,” he replies, “can just have a night in.”
“Also would give me an excuse to get out of these dress pants.” He adds with a scowl.
You lean away, doing a double take on the slacks he has on. You’ve always fancied a guy in dress pants and Jungkook was no exception. Loves how his thighs fill up the spaces and how his ass looks in them.
“Couple hours and we can have a night in.” You reassure with a soft smile. “I’ve got a watermelon in the fridge waiting for us.”
The wedding was standard, especially with it belonging to someone you don’t know. Technically most, if not all, weddings you’ve gone to have belonged to strangers. But there was something special about this wedding — it’s the first time you attended a wedding with Jungkook where you aren’t working.
Weddings have always felt magical; the usual string of fairy lights and flower arrangements appear even more enchanting tonight. And you realized, the enchantment started months ago at Yoongi and Hoseok’s union.
During cocktail hour, he made sure to get all your favorite finger foods without request. When the ring bearer and flower girl comes into view during the ceremony, he’s quick to move higher on his seat, letting you peer past him to get a better look at the little ones. And when he holds your waist during the reception’s dance, you know weddings are magical because the moment’s shared with him.
“This was nice. Thanks for having me as your plus-one.” You sigh in content, cheek rested on his chest as you both slow dance to When a Man Loves a Woman.
He snorts, lighthearted and warm. “I’m glad you enjoyed.” Meant as a sarcastic remark, he also agrees this evening was a lot nicer than he had anticipated in the month leading up to this day.
“I really love weddings.” You mumble to yourself.
He loves weddings with you. Jungkook presses his cheek on the top of your head, “I know.”
You and Jungkook stay like this for a while through a couple slow songs until the DJ changes up the genre of the music, signaling older couples to evacuate the dance floors for the younger crowd to reminisce on an era where their knees existed for the thrill of it all.
Your bodies move in tandem: his, warming your back, and your bottom pushed against his groin with your preferred pressure, knowing you’d never go overboard at a wedding but just enough for him to have him let out a shy chuckle.
His breath fans over the shell of your ear, “I really hate these dress pants, P.”
You turn your head to him, sultry expression matching his hooded lids. “Why’s that?”
“Shows everything.” He laughs through his nose, “Can’t leave here any time soon now.”
You ease up a little, facing him again while your fingers slide over the brooches resting on the left side of his chest — where his heart resides. He’d argue his heart is in his arms staring up at him.
“I’ve always loved you in dress pants.” You confess. “‘Cause that’s when we’re at weddings together.”
Considering how he leans down, pressing a small kiss to your lips where you reciprocate with another lingering kiss, maybe being in dress pants isn’t that bad.
“Have we met our quota yet, Pix?” He nudges his nose against yours.
For someone who loves weddings, you’re eager to go home, too. You want nothing more than to just spend time with Jungkook in the comforts of your home.
“Quota met.”
Sheltered by the indoor venue, you didn’t realize how humid it got outside in the time spent at the wedding. Your apartment was practically a sauna by the time you and Jungkook arrived back at your place. Opening up your windows, you have a fan running in the background to air out the space.
“Sorry,” You say sheepishly while cutting into the watermelon. Your eyes rake over Jungkook where he unbuttons his grey vest and rolls up his sleeves to reveal his tattooed arm.
He shakes his head, taking two spoons from your drawers, “It’ll cool down.”
Will it?
Air heavy with both the atmospheric moisture and tension brewing between you and Jungkook all evening, you’re not so sure if the temperatures will drop any time soon. The watermelon center caves as you both dig with the metal spoons. You favored the center; whereas, Jungkook aimed closer to the watermelon rind.
He peers over at you where you stand. Hair now put up by a claw clip, he counts the baby hairs sticking onto the back of your neck, momentarily forgetting to dig into the watermelon when it’s his turn.
“Why do you only pick at the sides?” Your brows twitch, digging into the middle again and turning to him with a center piece.
He shrugs, opening his mouth on cue for you to stick your spoon into his mouth. Sure, the middle pieces were sweet, but he thinks they might be sweeter coming from you. He chews and swallows, tilting his head a little to meet your equally sticky lips.
“Sweet either way, Pix.” He wonders if the salty moisture on your skin would pair well with the sweet watermelon.
Well, one way to find out.
No longer following a script, Jungkook moves on his own accord — loving and falling freely as he likes knowing you’ll be there to catch him. He shifts his body, head dipped in the crook of your neck as he licks a thick stripe over your neck. You gasp, spoon dropping onto the counter as your hands fly to grab onto his forearms for support.
He’s right; you do bring out more sweetness.
The half eaten watermelon sits on your counter, long forgotten in the pursuit of Jungkook’s body pressed to yours. His lips slot perfectly on you, a relieved sigh escapes as your bodies move as it’s desired all evening.
He trails kisses down the column of your throat, marking a pathway on your collarbone. Fingers in his hair, your grip on him tightens as you shyly ask, “Bed?”
Knees digging onto your bed, you sit up taller to kiss your still-standing boyfriend. He’s busy trying to unbutton his dress shirt while you race to unbuckle his belt — a race no one formally declared, but it was an unspoken need. And you both needed each other … badly.
You beat him, of course. The black Calvin Klein lettering on the banding greets you first as the front opening flaps of his pants fall to the side. He whimpers as you run your hand over his bulge.
“Can I …” Your sentence trails off as you kiss along his exposed neck.
He nods unsure of what you exactly want, but the godforsaken dress pants drop and pool at his ankles without a second thought. You kiss your way down his torso, paying extra attention to his chest. With a determined look, you stick your tongue out on his hard nipple for a tentative lick to glean at his response.
Oh, it’s good — so, so, so good.
He shivers, hand hitting your claw clip as it flies to the back of your neck to hold you in place. Your teeth grazes over the hardened bud, a sliver of pained pleasure courses through as you bite down with a gentle force. He hisses, mouth dropping open to bite back his moans. You remedy the pain with your tongue, silently apologizing without actually feeling sorry.
You slither lower on all fours as you take his hard cock out of its confinements. Round eyes look up at him for permission to proceed.
There’s a slight hesitance in your actions as the last time you wanted to give him a blowjob, he made it a goal to stay protected for both your sakes. He’s always for safe sex, but he knows he’s clean and wants to feel your bare lips around him as long as you’ll allow it. You seem to share the same sentiment as you tilt your head up, eyes burning with want and ownership of his bare skin.
Still, you ask, “Do we need a condom for this?” The thin straps of your pretty evening gown cascades loosely on your shoulders.
“No, but only if you want …” Jungkook pants, a harsh exhale when you give him a gentle squeeze. The small, pleased sound you make, paired with another harder tug confirms your answer.
He releases your hair from the clip, watching it cascade down your shoulders. Bunching your hair in a messy ponytail, he uses it as an anchor as you tug on his shaft.
“Spit on it.” He pleads, groaning when you comply. Your saliva lands on the tip, dripping over the small bead of precum on his slit. So messy how your thumb glides over his slit, mixing the fluids together. Even messier when you place a kiss on his tip, mixed fluids tainting your pretty lips. His stomach contracts, the dips and ridges of his abs are even more defined as a result.
“Missed this with you, Pix.” He melts. It’s even better than how he imagined over the course of time spent with and without you.
“I missed you, too.” You reply, tongue darting out and wetting your lips before moving in for a small lick over the head of his cock. “I wanna take care of you.” You mumble as you press messy kisses on the underside of his cock. “Is that okay?”
His stomach warms at your sentiment, knowing it’ll never be one-sided as he’ll always do the same for you. He nods, giving you the go ahead to do as you like. The grip on your hair increases and the hand cupped underneath your chin props you upright to take him fully.
He wonders how a place like heaven could ever beat this feeling with you.
Your eyes never stray from his, watching him through your lashes and how he struggles to maintain eye contact with you. It’s only when his cock begins hitting the back of your throat, your lids flutter shut. You gag from the action, pushing past the discomfort each time to hear more of his grunts and praises. Your skin prickles each time his thumb runs across your skin to soothe your aching jaw.
“Fuck, Pix, if we keep going like — god,” he hisses, “I’m not gonna last long.” He warns.
“Mmhp,” You try to answer even with your mouth fully stuffed. He pulls back and you whine, robbed at the opportunity of having him release all over your tongue.
“Please,” you breathe, hoarse and rough, “wanna taste you.”
Your mouth falls open again. Instead of sliding in again, Jungkook jerks over his length, fast as he needs with the visual of you on your knees so readily to be ruined.
“Baby–I, I’m gonna cum. Fuck,” He tilts his head up to the ceiling.
And when he finally cums, he does so with your name and a string of praises. The first rope of cum lands on the corner of your mouth. Without another thought, you enclose your lips around his tip. His strangled noises spurs you on in your mission to suck and milk him dry.
When he finally slips out of your mouth, the hand underneath your chin guides you up and your knees walk you close to his standing body again. You still haven’t swallowed, unsure what you want to do with the fluid resting on your tongue.
Reading your expression clearly, Jungkook bites down a smile. “You don’t have to swallow, P.” He chuckles, placing a quick peck to your tightly shut mouth, “Want me to get the waste bin?”
He runs his thumb on the corner of your mouth, catching the stray droplet before wrapping his lips around his digit. Honestly, he doesn’t care for the taste and gets your hesitancy, but you hold his gaze and shake your head no, pressing your lips to his. He groans and opens his mouth for you to slip your cum-coated tongue in.
You whimper at his large hands running up and down your backside, ultimately landing on the bottom of your swelled ass. Absolute sin and filth personified when you both exchange and swallow your mixed fluids.
Your body aches differently for Jungkook these days. Can’t believe he’s in front of you now in your home, surrounded by everything you love.
And you love him.
“I love you.” He says, as though all your internal thoughts and feelings are tethered to him. It’s no secret, and unworthy of hiding.
You kiss him again, pulling him down with you. He giggles and shrugs off the rest of his clothing as he hovers over you with starry eyes.
Cupping his jaw, you reply, “I love you. Want this with you.”
The relationship. The love. The experience.
His heart — it’s all yours.
The long dimples appear again, disappearing from view once he lowers his head to kiss your neck all while fumbling on the thin straps of your dress and tugging it to expose your bare breasts.
He's said this before and thinks there’s no greater truth than this, “You’re perfect.” Leaning down, he places a wet kiss on your sternum, mouthing, “so beautiful.”
You keen into his touch, back arching when he takes one nipple in his mouth. He does this for a few minutes, teasing your nipples and rotating between them with equal amounts of love and attention.
Again, the ache runs through your entire body, gathering right at your core when his teeth bites down on your sensitive nipple. Your hand detaches from his hair and makes its descent down to his crotch.
He’s only half-hard, still sensitive from his first orgasm.
Sensing your impatience, he chuckles against your skin. “Gimme some time, P.” Eyes closing as you squeeze around his length again.
You pout, but nod nonetheless, letting go of his shaft because the last thing you want is to do the opposite of keeping him hard.
“But,” he muses, “you could help me.”
And this is how you end up as equally naked as Jungkook on your bed. You’re supported by your numerous pillows as you lay there, watching his eyes jump between your face and closed legs.
His hands are on your knees, soft as he pries them apart to reveal your soaked core.
You instinctively move to cover your mound, suddenly feeling shy even though Jungkook has seen you bare from below multiple times. His bigger hand covers yours, pressing against it just enough for you to feel the relief it brings.
“‘S just me, pretty.” He says, eyes never leaving yours. His words and stare makes you sling your free arm over your eyes, blocking the visual of him: kiss-swollen lips, locks no longer in its styled state, red flush on his chest — a stark difference from the dark, solid ink on one of his arms … you can’t bear to look at him in this state.
Can’t bear him looking at you either.
“I know,” you reply, “I’m just … embarrassed.”
You can’t see him, but you’re sure he’s giving you one of those smiles. One that asks ‘What for? You’re amazing.’
You think about the sheer amount of people who have watched Jungkook — yourself included — and wonder how he isn’t shy. And because of that, you feel yourself growing braver at the thought of giving Jungkook something to watch and appreciate.
Still, you keep your forearm over your eyes, but the other hand covering your pussy nudges Jungkook’s warm hand away. You move up a little. All practiced precision in how your middle finger dips between your slit, rubbing slow circles on your swollen clit.
“Oh, fuck.” He lets out a breathy laugh. Your senses are heightened in this self-visually impaired state; his swallow is heard in the distance.
You think about whether he’s just looking at your hand on your pussy or if he’s watching your covered face — if his eyelids are hooded … if the visual of you playing with yourself is ‘helping’ him. Perhaps it’s these thoughts that also make you grow wetter in between your legs, the wet sounds reach your ears through your staggered breaths.
You feel his lips press on the top of your knee, his breathing also coming out haggard.
“Is this enough?” You whimper, wanting him to take rein of your pleasure.
“A little longer, please?” He begs. “For me?”
He moans at your compliance, noting the speed change in your fingers. The bed shifts too, he nears your body again and you feel his warm breath fanning over your fingers. Suddenly, a dribble of wetness slides on top of your digits and trickles down to the entrance of your pussy, mixing with the rest of your arousal.
The feeling has you removing your arm, finally looking down where he’s at in between your legs. A small playful smile on his lips as he sits back up in his kneeled position. He's more than ready — just wants to see more of you.
You take note of his hard cock in his hand, a slow stroke up before he thumbs at the slit like he likes to. A twinge of pleasure hits your core again and you’re forced to rub harder circles to relieve yourself of the heavy ache building up at the sight. He laughs again, a mixture of disbelief and horniness as the pace on his cock speeds up too.
“So much better seeing this in person.” His eyes involuntarily shut as he tilts his head to the side.
Huh?
The movement of your hand pauses and so does he with widened eyes. He clears his throat, trying to find the words before you ask, “W-what’s that supposed to mean?”
A sheepish smile stretches across his face and instead of explaining right away, he leans over your body now. Nose against yours, he places a tiny kiss on the corner of your mouth.
“Promise you won’t get mad?” He asks, his hand moves yours away from your pussy and slots his cock in between your soaked folds. Meant as a distraction or to ease your worries for his next words, he finds himself breathing heavier at the feel of your bare cunt with his shaft. The head of his cock slips over with ease onto your swollen clit, twitching as he moves his cock side to side now.
“I–fuck–Pix, you’re so wet.” He drops his head to your neck.
You nod, almost distracted as well, but you bring his head back to your eye level. He swallows nervously, wrist slowing the movement with his cock. Jungkook should’ve rephrased his question to ‘promise you won’t get embarrassed,’ because shortly after he slyly recounts the details of Your Video™ popping up in your living room, you lay there surrounded in the flames of humiliation.
“So embarrassing.” You mumble, unable to meet his eyes.
Jungkook giggles, kissing your cheek, “Hey, I liked it a lot.”
You turn your head, nose touching his now, “Did you?”
“Uh-huh, more than you’ll ever know.” His hips shift, resuming the grind on your cunt again. “But I like this more.”
His movements get you worked up again, forgetting about your mortification just moments ago. You whine, whimper, and mew into his shoulder; the ache comes and goes — reminding you need more than just this.
“Jungkook,” You gasp at the taps of his cock against your folds.
“Hm?” Eyes hooded, he watches you through his lashes, mouth dropped open when your hands run down his torso.
“Need you.” You plead, hip angled up so you can press harder against him.
“I know, I know, pretty. Just–” He shuts his eyes, “I gotta get you nice and ready for me.”
He senses your hesitancy again and he stops to stare down at you.
“I-I’ve had sex already,” You say, teeth worrying on the bottom lip and debating if you should say your next words. “With, um, Mingyu. So, we don’t have to prep.” While both unnecessary to tell him and unreasonable to feel this way, guilt courses through your body at the confession.
“Doesn’t matter to me if you’ve had sex.” Jungkook says, “I always want you to feel good and comfortable.” He kisses you, soft just like the fingers he trails at your entrance gathering your arousal.
You swallow, “Are you upset it happened with someone else?”
He blinks, head tilting in confusion, “Not something for me to get upset over, P.” Studying your face, his brows eventually relax as he asks you, “Are you upset?”
You shrug, looking to the side. “It was … whatever.” That’s all you’re willing to say about the experience and you’re sure Jungkook doesn’t want to hear about another man while he’s just about to get intimate with you. At this point, maybe he’d opt out to stopping in general, but he sighs a small hey to gain your attention.
“The experience will always be yours.” He kisses your forehead. “Nobody can take anything from you.”
You nod, eyes closing at the feel of his finger at your entrance. He keeps his lips at your forehead, feeling it furrow as he sinks one finger into your pussy. It’s a slow and leisure pump, easy to have you forgetting about the prior conversation and putting the focus back on him. Penetration has never been your thing; technically, it’s still not. But there’s some relief as Jungkook curls and massages his finger against your walls, stretching you out as he intended to. He refuses to take his eyes off yours, especially when he decides to add in another finger.
“That’s it, baby. Taking it so well.” He praises, voice cracking at the end of the sentence.
“You make me feel so good.” You sigh, eyes closing as he speeds his fingers inside you. “Always feel so safe with you.”
He curses, mentally prepared to hear your choked whine when he removes his fingers from your sopping hole. He says your name sternly, followed by a thick swallow. You hum in response, hips mindlessly chasing after any part of his body for friction. He slots his hard shaft against your wet folds again, giving you both some form of pleasure in the interim. He looks down, moaning at the sight of his cock coated with your arousal.
“Need you inside me.” Your hands hold his waist in place to stop him from grinding against your clit, head of his cock positioned at your entrance. You bubble with anticipation, wondering how he’d feel inside you.
And as much as he’d like nothing more than to finally sink inside, a small part of his lovesick brain still holds some form of logic and manages to utter, “Birth control?”
You blink, a slight falter in your response as you shake your head shamefully. There wasn’t a medical necessity for you to be on birth control before and you didn’t think far enough when it came to intimacy with Jungkook.
He chuckles, “That’s okay, P. I just wanted to check.” He hops off the bed and fishes for his wallet. Another ten seconds go before he drops his wallet onto the ground with a triumphed smile and brings up the small squared package between his fingers. The smile drops a little at the sight of your tiny pout.
Beating him to his question, you remark, “I wanted to feel you …”
He exhales hard through his nose. Keeping the condom in between his fingers, he makes his way back to you on your bed. You both seem to fall back into position again.
“Not sure if either of us are ready for kids, P.” The thought of having kids is scary, but weirdly … he finds the fear lessening at the thought of it with you. Seen how you reacted and smiled around children — he wonders if his future kids would have your smile. Either way, too early for these thoughts.
“Okay, okay,” You let his words simmer a little and he suddenly wants to do away with the little package in his hands when you look up at him. “You’re right.”
He’s right, knows he is when you blink away those irrational thoughts. The same thoughts get pushed to the side when the foil packaging tears and a sweet scent fills your nostrils. This time, hints of rich chocolate and confectioned goodness. You relax back onto your mattress, watching as he positions himself between your legs.
“Do you only have flavored condoms?” You ask, impish smile lifting the awkward conversation from before.
He grins, “Someone gifted a five hundred flavored pack for my birthday last year.” Hint: it was Hoseok. “So … we’re stuck with this for now. Do you hate it? I could stop using them–”
You shake your head and his eyes soften at your answer. There’s relief in knowing it’ll always remain sweet between you and Jungkook.
“I wanna feel you, too.” He admits as he lines himself at your entrance. He doesn’t push in just yet, watching how your hole clenches around nothing … for now. “We’ll figure something out.”
The defaulted option is to simply have you go on birth control, but that’s something to discuss and for you to decide. If need be, he isn’t too opposed to a vasectomy. You both have all the time in the world to discuss.
“Okay,” you stutter as he begins pushing the head of his covered cock in. That’s all he does for now, opting to drop onto his forearms to kiss you, praise you — love on you. You do little to hide the sting, face contorting before you let out a couple shallow breaths.
“Too much?” He asks, hips stalling and fingers brushing away your hair.
You shake your head, “Hurts a little, but,” you lift your hips a little, legs parting to accommodate Jungkook's body. “Wanna keep going.”
He doesn’t move.
Tattooed arm dropped in between your bodies, he rubs practiced circles on your clit. You sigh in content, wiggling your hips to push more of him into you. Eyes fluttering shut, similar to how your pussy flutters and gushes around his length after every little push inside as a reward for taking more of him. He shudders and grunts deeply, mentally counting backwards from a hundred to keep himself distracted by how snug your walls feel around him.
You moan, soft and saccharine at the stretch of his full length inside you.
“You feel so good.” He husks into the shell of your ear. “Feel that, Pix?”
“Yeah …” You keen, unable to verbalize a proper response.
“You gotta tell me how you feel, ‘kay?” He lifts his head up and connects his forehead on yours, but his heavy eyes observe how your lower halves connect.
“M-mhm,” You reply, eyes shutting at the fullness below. “Can we stay like this for a bit? I-It’s … it’s a lot.”
He nods. A part of him is thankful for this pause, allowing his mind to think of other things in the meantime so this experience can be better for you. The other part is worried you’re uncomfortable. He wants to make this good for you — wants you to feel good, so it doesn’t matter how long he needs to stay still inside you. Sex could end right now and he’d be okay with it.
“Kiss me, please?” Your request comes out small, but he feels the harsh drumming of your heart against his chest. Your hands are bunched up on his nape, not relaxed how they usually are when you’re with him.
What else could he do but comply with your wishes?
Kissing’s good — the belief he’ll die on a hill for. Kissing’s even better with you; he loves your lips, the way you lick the seam of his lips, how you sound when you’re being kissed as you deserve. Could stay like this forever with you. The heavy making out goes on for another two minutes, until he unconsciously bucks his hips which forces you to detach from his lips in a loud gasp.
He immediately searches for your face, eyes swelling with concern. “Sorry, I–”
You shake your head, thighs clamping around to hold him still before he pulls out. “‘s okay,” you reassure, “That felt good. Just, go slow.”
The pace he sets out is controlled — slow, as requested. And god, is it good. Your bed creaks with every movement, but the sounds are overshadowed by your shared breathy moans and praises only heard between each other. His fingers move swiftly over your pussy, so love drunk with your body, he feels his balls tightening — a sign of his forthcoming orgasm.
Call it selfish or greedy, he doesn’t want it to end, pulling out at the last second to delay his orgasm. Typically so well-versed in your body cues of an impending orgasm, his own dilemma clouded his judgment when you let out an involuntary frustrated cry at the loss of contact.
Your chest stutters, stomach clenching from your heavy breaths. And although you should question why he did that, you can’t think when he guides his cock into your warm cunt once more.
“You were gonna make me cum again, pretty.” He lets out a breathy laugh, hips resuming its pace.
You whine, “Was gonna cum, too.” You look down where he fucks his thick length into you. He makes up for the accidental edging by rocking his hips faster into you, fingers once again finding home on your clit forces a high pitched squeal from your kiss-swollen lips.
“Yeah? I’m sorry.” He truly is. Your pleasure’s always his top priority — you’re his priority.
“You deserve to cum.” His fingers flatten on your mound, and the wet squelching sounds increase with the fastened movements. “Give it to me, pretty.”
So sensitive and lost in the pleasure, you gasp and arch your body into his, eyes slamming shut at the onset waves of pleasure building below.
“Jung–” Couldn’t finish your sentence before you’re squeezing tightly around him. He doesn’t stop the movement of his fingers, but he stills himself in you, giving you a couple hard pumps while you ride out your sudden orgasm.
He doesn’t think he ever wants to forget this feeling.
Finally letting off your clit and pushing himself up again, Jungkook marvels at the thin sheen of sweat in between your chest and the white ring of cum coated at the base of his cock where the condom doesn’t fully reach.
“Please, need you to cum inside me.” You beg.
He can’t, not with the condom on, but the sentiment makes him act like he doesn’t have one on. Parting your thighs wider, he thrusts in slowly, mindful of your oversensitivity. The ring of cum builds and thickens at the base, transferring some of your arousal over his pubic bone in a messy haze. Alas, the visual combination of your chest moving in tandem with his thrusts, your scrunched brows, and hand on his stomach was enough for him to release once more.
Though, the final blow came from your soft declarations of love while you tell him how good he makes you feel.
“Baby,” He manages, hands dropping your thighs, his front also comes down onto your chest as he lazily pumps inside of you with his cum-filled condom. The pleasure continues in the form of your fingers raking up and down his back, drawing shapes and patterns of love.
You know things will always remain sweet between you and Jungkook — like the giggles, doting questions, and soothing hands as he brings you to the shower. It’s not the hot water you feel on your skin, but Jungkook’s tender kisses and embrace forever etched on your body.
“P, sit still, won’t you?” Jungkook stands behind the tripod, angling the camera.
“You ever consider modeling? You’re a natural.” You say as you sift through the album on the tablet. You’re doing everything to avoid Jungkook’s latest assignment in class. Sure, it’ll be a good headshot update for your business card and website, but you weren’t keen on having your picture taken. It was always better behind the camera.
He rolls his eyes, gentle smile on his lips as he walks over. “Flattery won’t get you out of helping me. You promised you’d be my model for this semester.”
“Camera shy.” You pout. “You know that.”
“I know.” Jungkook chuckles. “I’ll teach you.” Leaning down, he places a soft kiss on your lips.
The thing with teaching is that he inadvertently learns as well. Knows it’s also the same for you too. Skills refined, new ideologies unlocked, and discoveries waiting to be explored. He no longer follows a script anymore — no longer feels like he’s boxed in … life is forever limitless as long as he makes it to be.
A shutter goes off from behind capturing the two of you in the frame.
fin.
ending a/n: beta’d by @takeitawaykenny who sat thru my ridiculousness but also entertained it. prologue wouldn’t have existed without her, yall … she rly was brain behind rkivedshots' beginnings on god love u bookie ;__; and @lovieku who’s been nothing but supportive and rode thru my (many) moments of doubt. she was the angel i needed on my shoulder during the makings of my first series and helped shape so much of itf!! couldn't have done this without your guys unwavering love and support!! oceans of gratitude to my two champions 😭🫂
🧚🏻♀️࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ
alas, thank YOU all for joining me on this fun ride. i hope you guys got something out of this whether it be a chuckle, life lesson, or soiled panties, i’m lucky yall stuck with me. to my lovelies who have been here since the beginning and cuties we picked up along the way: i appreciate your trust, patience, and overall enthusiasm for this series — you’re my dream!! i told yall i’d guide us to my desired ending with so much love and care. ain’t no way this couple wasn’t gonna be end game … i just had to make the journey difficult. oop. anyway call me #aftercarequeen 💅
with that said … epilogue? send your thanks to lovieku for convincing me bahaha it won’t come any time soon cuz i have other things i wanna work on, but do not fear … i have something planned!
in the meantime, feel free to send in your reaccs/thoughts for our lovely itf!couple. i’m here for ya just as you’ve been here with me xoxo ♡
this beautiful journey comes to an end 🥹 (almost 😛) i am so proud of you my missie for completing this with the prettiest bow at the top, the most deserved ending for a couple that has meant so much to me, both as individuals and as the perfect pair they make together (FOREVAAA) 🥹
but most of all i am so grateful to this fic for what it has meant to our friendship, how honored i am that i could be part of the process and stick by your side throughout the whole thing, how much it means to me that you found even the tiniest bit of comfort in me as much as i always found the biggest in you 🩷 i am forever thankful to you and the trust you put in me… it makes me so happy knowing i’ve been here to see you get through all the hardships as a winner 🥹 i always knew you would!!! and i will always be inspired by you and your constance and immense talent ❣️
i think there could have been no better way to end their complex and so delicate story, than to be as delicate with their complexities and handling them with such care 🩷 i really loved that they finally allowed themselves to love, to fail, to be !!! this is much more than fanfiction guys… it’s the prettiest, most beautiful tale about love, especially when it comes to self love… jungkookie i’m looking at you i’m so proud of u 😼😼
i love u so much missie and always will, thank u for blessing us with the best work bangtumblr has seen and will see in years 🙂↕️ we truly don’t deserve to be in the presence of such majesty… but i’m selfish and i can’t wait to be there with you through more projects !!! hehe excited for what’s to come wink wink 🩷🩷 SHOW SO MUCH LOVE TO THE FINAL CHAPPIE OF ITF!!!! will see you at the epilogue tho 😛
idk who might care or want to know But as i had already anticipated in my author’s note for ootw, i’m going to be inactive for quite a while, at least when it comes to posting fics … your girl is graduating soon (i hate it here) so expect a comeback by the end of this year or straight 2027 😭
however, there’s so many wips that i wanna get to as soon as i’m done with uni stuff!!! i might already have an idea of which one i’d like to work on first, but i also wanna know your opinions based on these pairings and tropes! i could maybe post moodboards to set the vibe for each one if you’re interested tho heh 🙈
anyway!!! it’d be cool if you voted on this poll 👩🏻🍳 if you’re perhaps curious about any of these i’m so sat to answer your questions 🤓 if not that’s okay i guess… shrugs shoulders and walks away with head low
thank ya love ya see ya 🩷
pick one wip !
dilf girl dad!jk x student&barista!fem reader, strangers to lovers
mechanic!jk x writer!fem reader, childhood friends to strangers to lovers
olympian snowboarder!jk x olympian hockey player!fem reader, enemies to lovers
dilf jk has won YAY!!! MY PEOPLE!!! you know ball 🙂↕️ the way this is also most probably gonna be the posting order for these fics… oh my lovies let’s go ! i hope you can be just a bit patient 🩷
if i manage to i’m thinking of posting a small smutty fic for kinktober/halloween starring ghostface jk and best friend’s mother fem reader … WHO’S EXCITED!!!
looking at it now, it all seems so simple. your neighbour is burn-in stubborn, you’re no better, and somehow you become another fire he feels compelled to put out. but flames don’t just burn — they leave everything changed. jeongguk knows only how to run, never to let himself be consumed. you’re willing to see what happens if you stay in the heat.
pairing firefighter!jk x vet!fem reader
genre neighbours au, frenemies to lovers, fluff, angst, smut
contents slice of life, crack-ish rom-com energy, banter & bickering, lowkey grumpy x grumpy, Or sassy x sassy, dog dad! jk, hurt/comfort, healing process, dog seizure, panic attack, vet talk, mentions of weed and drugs, mentions of emotional abuse and manipulation, hints at sh, crybaby jk, burn scars, hints at minor character death, fluffiest sweetest glimpses of their life, jk wears glasses!!!!, subby jk if you squint, oral m&f receiving, nipple play, fingering, cum eating, protected & unprotected penetrative sex, handjob, happy ending hehe
word count 12.3k
author’s note i’m emotional !!! this beautiful journey comes to an end 🥹 ootw reawakened my passion for writing, especially about complex people who only need a little love after all. i’m proud of myself for finishing a series, never thought i’d have seen this day ! and i got another one planned too, so lovies wait for me… i’m sadly going to take a long writing hiatus because your girl is graduating in a few months and needs to lock in academically! but i’ll always be here more than happy to interact with you guys 🩷 i wanna thank Everyone who’s interacted and left feedback for ootw, every little comment has been so special and i’d love to hear more of your opinions … hopefully this has been a fun journey for you guys as it’s been for me!! thank u and enjoy 🫶🏻
beta read by my sweet lover @voyter who’s been supporting ootw couple and me through Everything, and my amazing best friend @missenu whom i have to thank so profusely and infinitely and profoundly for literally cowriting this chapter ! she’s been an immense source of help and wisdom and this whole fic has only seen its light because of her magic mind ᥫ᭡.
banner creds ⋆ masterlist ⋆ series playlist
prologue ⋆ one ⋆ two ⋆ three
Relearning life on the fifth floor without the oddly familiar uncertainty of your front-door neighbour is harder than you’d imagined.
It’s hard when every morning you pluck a pair of shoes from the rack he built for you in diligent silence, and Ratatouille sits unfinished in your recently watched list. Hard when you can’t bring yourself to give back his jacket, leaving it to hang behind your bedroom door like shed skin.
Hard when even hiding in Grandma Mimi’s living room, curled on her worn couch, doesn’t keep you away from thoughts of Jeongguk. Especially when the old woman sits in the armchair facing you, but her eyes remain fixed on the calendar across the room.
Only a few days remain until the date marked with Jeongguk’s initials. You’d initially assumed it was his birthday, but the finality of the red ink and the contrast from the heart shape signaling her own anniversary suggest it might be something entirely different.
Grandma Mimi has been eerily quiet, you’ve noticed, a stark departure from the woman whose tongue is usually rolling with gossip or recipes.
Sitting straighter on her couch, you fiddle with the skin around your nails, and your frail voice has her slowly turning her head toward you.
“I feel like there’s something you know about Jeongguk that I should, too.”
She swallows hard, eyes looking to the side where her calendar resides and takes a moment to gather her words. Then, she offers a reassuring smile, the one she always uses to soothe your easily agitated nerves, though it doesn’t fully reach her eyes.
“What do you mean, dear?”
“It’s just…” her welcoming expression does little to calm your mounting anxiety as you reposition on the sofa, legs crossed. “I thought there was something. Then, the next second, he goes all cold on me. I… I don’t get him.”
Grandma Mimi looks unusually torn. Beneath the fond affection you’ve come to rely on, you find a new layer: restraint. It’d be unfair of you to ask for Grandma Mimi to pick sides; she wasn’t one of your girlfriends, though, she’s more. Which is an added layer of hurt knowing her loyalty to your front-door neighbour supersedes the bond you both shared in the time of your residency.
With resolution and a heavy sigh, she inhales. You lean in, eager to welcome a possible solution to all this uncertainty.
But she opts for a short explanation. “He’s been… hurt, in the past.”
“Grandma Mimi…” You’re truthfully sick of half-sincere reasons, and it filters through the exhaustion etched in your tone. Your eyes beg for honesty, and a dull ache that has started to feel familiar spreads through your chest. “I know you care about him. But … I’m hurting, too. I just want some clarity.”
Sad how you need to turn to another person instead of the direct source for said clarity.
The old woman purses her wrinkled lips into a smile. One that tells you her heart carries the same hurt now reaching your features. She reaches out and takes your hand in her cold one, lacing your fingers together.
Exhaling, she begins arranging pieces of the puzzle, yet the picture remains blurred. “There was this girl… their relationship was turbulent. She was messed up. Then, she cheated and left him.”
“Oh, that’s… that sounds rough.” You swallow, unconsciously nodding along with her bobbing chin.
But you know that can’t be all there is to this story. Right? It’s so clear across the lines of her face, how her eyes drop to your joined hands and drift toward somewhere distant, hauntingly mirroring the look Jeongguk wore in his kitchen.
Instead of closure, further confusion merges with a sudden indignation. “I still don’t get why I’m being treated like this.”
“You didn’t deserve that, sweetie,” she reaffirms, meeting your eyes again with fierce compassion, and her hand grips impossibly tighter around yours. “Look, dear… I care so much about you both, my angels. I don’t think it’s my place to tell this story. Jeongguk carries so much love, but that spark was stolen from him.”
You suddenly feel ridiculous. You’d spent weeks thinking the spark you saw in Jeongguk’s eyes — the one that seemed to burn wherever his skin brushed yours — was a shared flame. Turns out it’s just been a reflection of your own.
You thought you were both willing to stand in its light together, slowly swallowing everything around you and making the flare impossibly high. But when you turn around, you realize he’s left you alone to be consumed by your own making.
So much for a firefighter.
Teeth harsh on your bottom lip, you let Grandma Mimi’s next words sink into your growing resentment, aimed mostly at yourself for being so naive.
“He’s a boy with baggage. I get if you don’t wanna embark on this journey with him. You gotta take care of yourself, too. You don’t have to understand him, just… show him a little patience.”
Gulping down the bitter taste on your tongue, your brows knit together at the bridge of your nose. You, showing him patience. That’s all you’ve done.
The bitterness grows sour as it appears the one person who could understand the predicament with Jeongguk is inevitably showing him more compassion, even when he’s not around.
Will she do the same for you if Jeongguk comes to her for advice? You could only hope. Though small, you smile and nod at the older woman, ready to move on from the topic.
And days later, when resentment blends with acceptance, you think you could offer him patience.
You’ve been moving through the week on autopilot, finding refuge in the dog shelter where you often volunteer. You sit in silence with stray puppies and older mutts who only ask for so much patience and care when they softly whine the first time they feel the touch of a kind hand.
More often than not, your stomach grumbles by the end of your shifts, demands a patience of its own. You’ve rarely been feeding it properly: when you do, it’s with instant ramen or whatever processed food you can grab without thinking.
You find yourself asking your heart for that same patience, too, as your mind constantly runs on a loop of unanswered questions and stalled feelings. Peace only comes when you feel yourself finally drifting into sleep, but then the alarm always blares just as your body begins to relax, and the cycle repeats.
So, when his door happens to open just as you’re unlocking yours after work, his eyes resemble those of shelter puppies, and patience is supposedly all you’ve learned to give during the time spent apart.
You haven’t seen or heard from Jeongguk for almost two weeks. Gureum never once whined through the wall, so you’d presumed he was either locked inside or that you’d simply been lucky enough to never cross paths.
Jeongguk wears exhaustion on his face like patience hasn’t been his replacement as it’s been yours, and when he sees you he stops dead in his tracks, brows twitching upward in an expression that feels painfully akin to relief.
You tell yourself to stop presuming things you don’t know the clear answer to.
Gureum emerges from behind him, tail wagging, and he sniffs excitedly at your feet. You flash a small, instinctive smile at the dog, but when your gaze lifts back to Jeongguk’s, your lips tighten into a straight line.
You’re about to turn your back to him when he speaks your name, agitated, taking a tentative step toward you and letting his door fall shut behind him.
“Can we talk?”
Brows furrowed, you witness his face fall once again at your stunned silence. You hesitate, still carrying those flames within you, feeling them slowly merge with the patience you thought you’d mastered, and that you eventually manage to show him.
“Jeongguk, I think it’s best if we don’t.”
He nods, and you immediately recognize the compliance in his eyes, the one he’s always had ready for you, even when you’d asked him to get up for the third time after you’d finally settled on your couch for Ratatouille just to grab another blanket.
“I just need one minute, please. I’m sorry—”
“I’m not ready to talk yet.” Ironic how days ago you were wanting clarity and he’s willing to give it to you now. Still, your heart’s too fragile to hear him out.
“But–”
“You hurt me.” You stop him, words, heart and all. Your words burn — a first responder whose livelihood depends on saving and rescuing … is responsible for hurting now. Patience shaped acceptance, and made you realize you might simply not be the person he longs for, no matter how well you fit together. “I feel like we should keep our distance for a while.”
“I—”
“Goodbye, Jeongguk.”
Your own heart breaks at the finality in your tone, shatters when you see its effects on his face. He inhales sharply, extending a hand to stop you from disappearing into your apartment, though it never actually touches you.
“Is your ex boyfriend still bothering you?”
The mention of Mingyu has you stalling your reply for longer than you thought you’d have to think for it. You’ve been so deep in your own head that you hadn’t even noticed his constant texts ceasing — no calls, no accidental meetings. You study Jeongguk’s expectant face, blink to try and make sense of why he’d ask this now.
You can only shake your head no.
“Okay,” he licks his lips, nodding to himself as he tugs lightly on Gureum’s leash when he starts whining at the lack of attention. You desperately wish you could kneel and pet him like you usually would have done, but you’re held captive by the way your neighbour’s face morphs, expression suddenly loosening.
“That’s good. Be safe, okay? Please, come to me if you ever need any help.”
Patience has been a virtue you’d tried cultivating. But after knowing what it feels like to have looked for him, looked in his trembling orbs as you asked for something as essential as truth, only to find no one there, something inside you snaps at his words.
“Come to you?” You let out a short scoff, keys jangling in your shaking hand. “Only for you to disappear again? You know, Grandma Mimi said I don’t have to understand you, but—”
Suddenly, he moves, stepping closer, far over the boundaries of what’s now allowed, and Gureum lets out a low bark. “What did Halmeoni tell you?”
You instinctively step back, retreating beyond the threshold of your apartment where you won’t let him reach you. Disappointment etched into every line of your face as you shake your head slightly.
“Nothing that she wouldn’t want you to tell me first. She wouldn’t betray your trust like that.”
It’s a pang ringing simultaneously into both of your chests, vibrating with the silent implications. Jeongguk betrayed your trust the very moment after he’d asked you for it, and the reminder has his nose twitching in visible shame.
He swallows hard, withdrawing to an accepted distance as the surge of panic washes out of him. “Look, I just wanted to apologize—”
“And you did.” You finalize, gaze dropping to anywhere but him. Your worn out heels, Gureum’s panting mouth, your bitten nails. “I don’t think there’s anything else we should talk about. I’m tired of this back and forth.” You’re tired of never knowing where you stand with him.
Then, you offer him one last flash of dejection before stepping inside your space and letting the door shut, signal an erect wall between you, one that trembles under the pressure of the unsaid but that you both fight to keep standing.
Another week passes without a glimpse of his sleep-deprived eyes or a single sound from the fifth floor. Jeongguk asked you to look for him exactly when it comes to the kind of help he knows you struggle to accept.
You wish you could look for him simply because you get lonely on your walks, and the other day you found a jazz song in one of your dad’s vinyl compilations that you think he’d really like, and you baked too many cookies once again but you can’t knock on his door.
Time will mend the hurt. In a month, it’ll probably feel less awkward to say hello in passing instead of dodging him at the grocery store, the way you do the next week. In two months, you might even return to friendly terms, listen to what he wanted to say in the hallway, accept that he can only find solace in your friendship, not your lips on his.
And you’ll be okay with that. You’d take it over this abrupt loss, how the tide stripped him from you cold turkey. It’s been a brutal process relearning life on the fifth floor, relearning lunches at Grandma Mimi’s without him in the seat opposite of yours, relearning Pixar movies without him overanalyzing the animation.
You give yourself the grace to do it gradually.
Gradually, just like when you convince yourself none of your own jackets fit. So you wear his over a short dress you picked for drinks with friends — strictly because the oversized look pairs better with the leather of your boots, not because almond-and-pine-equals-shelter is still something you can’t unlearn.
Gradually, so that when you finally get to Ratatouille, you sniff and wipe at your cheeks as Remy combines strawberry and cheese, and the flavors merge with jazz instrumentals, and the colorful shapes on screen would have had him go off on one of his geeky animation tangents.
Gradually, like how you’ve been staying after hours at the clinic, offering to take on the mindless, end of day tasks. Your coworkers thank you when you confirm that, for the second week in a row, you’ll be the one preparing the clinic for the morning rush.
It’s a way for you to stall time, be here where it doesn’t truly feel like you’re alone, even as the clinic is dimmed and quiet. The pharmacy prep area becomes your sanctuary smelling of antiseptic.
The only sound heard is the repeated tink-tink-tink of the small plastic spatula as you move the yellow tablets across the counting tray. It’s a robotic motion, the one to count a massive prescription of heart medication for a regular patient, a Great Dane.
You’re hunched over the counter under a single pool of fluorescent light, and the silence might even be loud enough for you to become aware of the pace of your pulse — relaxed, echoing in your ears.
Tink, tink, tink. Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub.
When a loud thump resounds from the lobby, you think you can feel your heart bursting against your ribs in perfect sync with the way the front door is slammed open.
You flinch, spatula jumping in your hand and sending a dozen pills skittering across the floor like marbles, mimicking the door bells chiming.
All of it gets drowned by a rough, panicked voice that has you standing up out of a sharp instinct. “Help, please!”
You bolt from the prep area, lab coat flapping behind you as you round the corner into the lobby. The voice was unrecognizable, a jagged, breathless wreck of a sound. But the sight in front of you is unmistakeable, stopping the air in your lungs.
Jeongguk is staggering toward one of the chairs of the waiting room, frame trembling so violently you almost miss the cause: Gureum is clutched to his chest, and his knuckles are white and slimy with the dog’s saliva. It’s the little maltese vibrating with him that sends you hurrying their way.
“Jeongguk, put him down!” You assert, professionalism surging through you and overriding the panic that rushed at the sight of him, voice sharp enough to pierce through his own fright. “What happened?”
You recognize the throes of a grand mal seizure, Gureum’s tiny body rigid, head arched back at an unnatural angle, his paws paddling the air. You still urge a response out of Jeongguk, whose wide eyes are bloodshot and fixed on the dog’s flickering eyelids.
“We were— we were on a walk, he— he fell,” his voice cracks, yet he doesn’t let Gureum go. “He started shaking, his eyes… he wouldn’t look at me. Please, I can’t— he’s dying—”
You drop to your knees in front of him, hands moving with practiced grace. “He’s not dying. It’s a seizure. You have to lay him down before you drop him.” You pry his shaky arms open, guiding him so that Gureum would be safe on the linoleum floor.
The heat radiating off the dog’s body is intense against your palms once you gently reposition him and check the pulse in his groin. Gureum’s breath comes in hot, wet gasps, and it almost matches his owner’s hysteria.
Jeongguk looks like he’s about to follow the dog into a collapse. He’s hyperventilating, fingers digging into his now empty thighs as he watches his dog shake with the last of the muscle tremors surging through his body.
“I’m sorry. Puh—please, help him,” Jeongguk hiccups, and your heart constricts. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him lose control, lose composure like this, let go completely the way he’s now breaking apart in front of you. You’re momentarily stuck, eyes flickering all over his shattered face.
His eyes are glossed over with succumbing as they follow your every shift, as you recover and reach over to grab Jeongguk’s wrist to pull his hand flat onto Gureum’s flank.
“Jeongguk. Gguk, hey. Look at me.”
He gasps, vision tunneling and drowning once he feels the dog’s beating heart beneath your warm hand, body unmoving save for his heaving chest and shaky fingers.
You beg, “Breathe with me.”
When his face snaps up at your wobbly voice, he’s a wreck of tears and exhaustion, his bangs matted to his forehead. His head twitches with a quick shake. “I’m sorry. I duh—don’t wanna lose him.”
You don’t break eye contact, don’t risk losing him to the void, and force strength in your tone. “You won’t, okay? Gureum is okay. Look.”
As he follows your gaze down, you both witness how Gureum’s tiny legs have stopped paddling. The dog blinks, head lifting a few inches, looking up at his owner with a dazed expression.
The seizure is over.
Jeongguk cracks a relieved smile, breath hitching, “Gureumie… My baby.” His large hand slides from your hold to gently cup the side of Gureum’s muzzle, eyes still wide and now blinking heavily.
You let them stay like that for a moment, allowing Jeongguk to catch his breath, unconsciously regulating with your own deep inhales, slow exhales. Batting away a pair of very unprofessional tears, you gently encircle Gureum’s weak body and lift him as you stand.
Looking up, Jeongguk sniffs and abruptly wipes his cheek with the back of his hand. “What— what’s going on?”
“It was a seizure,” you repeat, watching how his brows pinch like he’s just now letting the information filter through his padded ears and sink in. You’re quick to reassure him. “It’s over now. I just need to do a proper check-up, but he’s already coming around. Wanna come with us?”
You hold the dog closer to your chest, mindful to keep your grip gentle, as well as your tone when speaking to your neighbour, clearly still shaken up. He nods, hesitant, and stands to follow you into an exam room.
On the stainless steel table, Gureum shivers against the cold and unforgiving surface, a tiny tremor that sends a fresh wave of agony across Jeongguk’s face.
“He’s shaking again,” Jeongguk rasps, hands hovering near the table, twitching as if he wants to snatch the dog up but knows better. “Is he having another one? Is he—”
“No,” your voice is steady, settles low between the both of you. “It’s the post-ictical phase. He’s just disoriented.” A raised hand comes forward to halt his forward lean, keeping your expression stern but reassuring. “I know what I’m doing. I need you to be calm and stay where you are. Can you do that for me?”
His nod is frantic, as if he’s suddenly snapping out of a daze, and he takes a step back. He moves his eyes up at you with a desperate guilt that tells you it has nothing to do with the dog. “Yes. Sorry.”
Reaching into your lab coat, you pull out a small silver penlight, the beam cutting through Gureum’s dark, glassy stare.
“Pupils are equal and reactive,” you murmur, watching the irises contract. “That’s good. He’s coming out of the woods.”
You continue the examination in silence, moving expertly as you look for further signs of recovery. Checking his gums for that healthy flush of pink, monitoring his temperature. As expected, Gureum is burning up, little body still reeling. You remain collected, although the weight of Jeongguk’s eyes on you has your expression flickering.
After you’re finished scrubbing Gureum’s tiny paws and the thin skin of his ears with alcohol-soaked pads to regulate his temperature, the weary whine he gives into the medicinal-scented room has Jeongguk letting out a half-hiccup, morphing into a broken smile.
Gureum leans his head into your touch, his core temperature cooling down and his body readapting to his surroundings. Jeongguk grips the edge of the exam table so hard the metal groans.
Finally, you tuck your stethoscope back into your pocket after having checked for a rhythmic heartbeat, and you look up into the widened eyes in front of you. “He’s fine, Jeongguk. His heart is strong, this was a fluke. He just needs to rest.”
Jeongguk nods repeatedly, reaching out with hesitance to pet Gureum's fur. “Thank you, thank you so much.”
You hum, turning your back to him to wash your hands. The scent of alcohol evaporating from Gureum’s paws still waltzes in the air, mingling with a thick, regretful silence.
He’s the one to break through it, voice returning to its usual regulated tone, yet it’s pitched low with the realization of his complete loss of control dawning on the both of you. “I’m sorry for… Hell, I’ve a lot to be sorry for.”
“It’s okay,” you whisper. The exhaustion of the day, of these past weeks, sinks into your chest all at once. The familiar void begins taking up more than its allowed space, and with Jeongguk in the same room but nothing left on your tongue to say, you find yourself searching for an exit.
“No, it’s not,” Jeongguk lets out with a voice as frail as yours, and your brows twitch as you turn around. He sniffs, and there’s a sudden resolution across his features. “If you give me the chance, I… I think I’m ready to be honest with you, now.”
Gureum presses his face further into Jeongguk’s palm, and you’re both looking down at his timid tongue licking over his skin rather than witnessing the hurt tightening both your expressions.
You hesitate, inhale shaky, “Look, I’m still working, and…”
“I know, I know,” he nods, pointer finger sliding gently across the dog’s wet nose. “Whenever you want to, you can knock on my door. Just… consider it. Please.”
You do consider it. Let another week pass as you do.
Before work, when your leg bobs restlessly under the table and you forcefully wrap your mouth around a spoon of soggy cereal.
After work, spotting him from a distance in the park, sitting on your bench, while Gureum trots freely through the grass.
When you close your eyes, and all you can see behind your lids is his tear-streaked face and the tremor of his brows.
At the grocery store, when you’re buying apples and find yourself wishing Gureum would rip another of your plastic bags, and hoping the dog’s doing better.
Whenever you’re closing your door or opening it, and the vision in front of you is always his closed one.
Exactly one week later, coming back from another of your increasingly long walks, you finally hear sound coming from beyond the piece of wood separating you. You think you can distinguish Gureum’s nails clicking on the floor and Jeongguk’s small giggle resounding in the space.
And it’s as if your heart finally gives up the fight, longs for that melody to vibrate through it again. You clearly don’t think of it enough when your knuckles meet the wood.
Followed by an eager bark, you hear Jeongguk’s feet hastily making their way to the door. As it swings open, you wonder if he’s worn that same expectant expression every time someone has knocked over the past seven days.
Eyes large and sparkling, his lifted brows relax once he takes you in, standing in front of him, wearing the same baby blue set you had on during your very first walk together.
“Hi,” he breathes through a smile, and you think that vision alone might be enough, him looking at you like this is worth the risk of whatever rejection or truth follows.
“Hey,” in return, your smile is weak and doesn’t fully form. You spot Gureum behind him, tail wagging and tongue lolling. Returning your gaze to his owner, you ask, hesitant, “Is this a bad moment?”
“No, not at all.” Jeongguk is quick to step aside, pulling the door wide. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
He says he’s been waiting for you — just as you’ve punished both of you by stalling this conversation, you suppose — yet, after the meaningless small talk has faded and you’ve acknowledged how much better Gureum is doing, his words desert him as he fiddles with his fingers on his lap.
His couch feels firmer than you remember, and you reposition yourself as you cross your legs and turn your front to fully face him, sitting next to you.
“You said you wanted to talk.”
Jeongguk nods, locking his gaze onto yours. “I do. I owe you an explanation.” It’s not long before his eyes drop back to his hands. “I’ve been such an asshole to you this whole time, and you’re still here willing to listen to me.”
You gulp, fighting the lump in your throat and trying to silence the anxiety whispering in the back of your mind, anticipating what he might say.
He licks his lips before inhaling, “I’ve been in a dark headspace for quite some time. The time apart from you… made me realize I’ve been pushing away the only person who made it all a bit brighter.”
Looking up, he lets his glossy eyes speak to your swollen pupils and the silence speak for his regret.
Jeongguk tells you about a girl named Nora who once occupied your apartment, long before the family of four. He explains how she’d always get into trouble, pair that with his unfortunate hero complex, he’d always mend the damage.
“I fell for her because she gave me purpose. I think I was Pavlov’ed into being her dog.” A humourless chuckle escapes him, but his face soon twitches back into hurt. He leans back onto the couch and looks up at you as if he’s trying to read your thoughts. “She was good to me only when I did things for her. I lost a lot in that relationship.” He sucks in a breath. “Money, time, dignity… love.”
His money was spent on her distractions, innocent enough at first. This is how you learn that Gureum wasn’t even his dog to begin with, but Nora’s emotional support animal. He doesn’t regret the money he spent on the Maltese. His face does twist with shame when he mentions buying weed just to comply and make her stay, paying for the city’s best therapist only for her to reject the help, emptying his wallet on hospital admissions and pills which she swore she needed in her healing process.
That’s similar to how his dignity got stripped from his hold, too. Especially when he recounts, with a visible shiver, how she convinced him to get high with her, claiming he didn’t really love her if he wouldn’t join her, and the sex almost resulted in him getting baby-trapped.
The words nearly hiccup on their way out of his throat, and your hand flies to hold his in comfort. Your breath hitches, “Gguk, oh god… I’m so sorry.”
When he snaps up from the spot he’d zoned out on, he sees your face wet with tears and his palm engulfs yours so tight it might have hurt if your chest wasn’t already constricted by the truths spilling from his mouth.
Jeongguk shakes his head and you notice his other hand twitching on his thigh, almost as if he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure if he could.
“After that, it got worse.” He gulps, face stiff as he skims through the wreckage of those years, but still pushes for the honesty he owes you. “She started really abusing drugs. Then harming herself, too… but, you know. I thought I could help her. Save her.”
His voice breaks on the last admission, and you slide closer on the couch until your knees are bumping, forcing him to look at your face, your lips as you whisper with assurance, “I’m sure you did more than enough, Gguk.”
“Not enough to keep her with me. She… she just left us. Me and Gureum.” His gaze falls to the dog laying at the feet of the couch. He sniffles, worrying at his bottom lip before shaking his head to clear the fog. “But, yeah. This— I’m not telling you this so you’ll pity me.”
You inhale, open your mouth to reassure him, but he interrupts. “I just want to apologize for projecting all that onto you. I shouldn’t have let my insecurities speak over what you were telling me. And what you were showing me.”
Jeongguk had been grieving you, anticipatorily. This whole time, looking into your eyes has felt like his last time doing so, and tasting your every baked good has felt like a privilege he was destined to lose. And he had tried his best to extend that time, prove to you he could be worth it.
You’ve been expecting him, anticipatorily. Willing to discover what being so close to the fire would do to your insides, whether it would melt you into ashes or forge you into something better. And you find ashes only provide the space for new and greater beginnings, after all.
Your thumb brushes over his knuckles as you lean closer, resting your side against the cushions. In the narrow space between you, you can clearly see the subtle twitch of his chin, how hard he’s fought through this conversation.
“You need to stop worrying so much about other people. Sometimes, they don’t wanna be saved.” Your whisper fans over his cheeks like cold air over the flames. “Save yourself, Gguk. Leave some life for yourself, too.”
Jeongguk swallows back words that refuse to come out without tears, and he isn’t ready to cry. He doesn’t want to.
But it’s so hard to stay composed when your other hand, shaky and uncertain, places itself gently against his cheek, touch so soft he lets his eyes flutter shut along with your tender words.
“I hope you know that if I’m here, it’s because I found so much more in you than a person willing to carry the world’s weight. And that is nothing to be ashamed of, either. Ever.” You punctuate with finality.
When your thumb strokes his cheek, it is to catch the tears that inevitably break loose. You speak sincerity into the inches between you.
“I wish you could’ve seen from the beginning that I would’ve stood by you even if you weren’t constantly trying to prove your worth. You are worth it, Gguk. The right person doesn’t need you to only give. I wish you could also learn how to take.”
For the weeks that follow, you both truly relearn life on the fifth floor with no barriers between you — no emotional walls, at least, just two wooden doors and cracking hesitance.
You’ve confirmed your belief that loss is not just absence. What’s empty leaves space for something else, and losing Jeongguk had only prepared you to welcome him back properly, in a way. Grief led you to blooming patience and understanding, so that when you found yourself facing Jeongguk’s glossy eyes, you simply gave him back what was already his — a permanent spot in your heart.
Jeongguk, in turn, learns that loss doesn’t always look like failure, that failing might just mean the same mistakes cannot be repeated, and he can still take from them. Failing is no longer a monster under the bed when you continue to smile up at him every day, regardless of whether he can be the strong one.
When he finally allows you to see the burn scars on his bare back, the marks of the moment he truly felt like he had failed, you don’t see weakness. You don’t see someone incapable. Instead, you’re there to wipe his tears and look at him with a deepening adoration in your eyes that he never thought possible.
You learn that Nora didn’t only leave him emotionally empty. That door shutting close behind her signalled the very last time he’d ever have the chance of seeing her again.
Because Nora also left a physically empty void in her departure. She was consumed by the same flames he dominates and saves people from. He blames himself for failing to save her, but as you trace the jagged lines of his scars, you whisper that they’re only a further proof of the courage he carries — and if that ever weighs him down, you tell him to topple onto you. You’ll be there to cradle him with the care he’s finally learning to allow and accept.
Jeongguk keeps giving. Constantly. Even more than he did when he was just your neighbour turned friend.
For starters, you discover the reason Mingyu’s constant texts finally ceased: Jeongguk. He doesn’t offer much detail, only that your ex boyfriend is no longer someone you should worry about. You jokingly ask if he’s murdered him, and he laughs like he doesn’t know the sound alone tugs at your heartstrings painfully, beautifully.
“God, no,” he chuckles, laughter dimming as if he still feels he hasn’t quite earned the right to let loose like that. “Just told him to leave you alone. For good.”
You bite on your smile, shrugging playfully. “I wouldn’t have snitched on you.”
When you also let out a giggle, he can’t help but join in, softly nudging your shoulder with his. “You’re so ridiculous.”
He attempts to bake cookies, just to return the sweetness, but you can’t suppress the huff of a chortle the moment you take a bite.
Furrowing his brows, he mimics your contained smile. “What?”
“No, it’s—” You mumble around a mouthful before swallowing hard. “It’s good.”
“Oh, I knew I got something wrong,” he shakes his head, turning back to the tray, grimacing at the cookies’ pale, wet appearance.
You raise your brows, shifting into comfort mode as you wrap yourself around his arm to recall his attention. “It’s probably just the oven settings, Gguk. They’re really not bad.”
He smiles sheepishly down at you, catching your sneaky, mischievous dimples. “Okay, finish the cookie, then.”
You inhale, slowly detaching from him, “Um…”
In a heartbeat, his fingers are digging into your sides. You shriek, doubling over in his hold as he tickles restlessly, and he’s also laughing right against your ear, “You liar!”
The next time he tries, the cookies are considerably better. Perhaps it’s the determination in his eyes, the kind that says failure is no longer a reason to stop. Either way, you end the night crashing on his couch, full-tummied and high on sugar.
Almost every weekend, he cooks dinner for the two of you, and while he does the dishes you’re rambling into his ear about work. By now, he’s so invested that the times he drives you to the clinic he’s tempted to stay through your shift — can’t wait for the evening to hear the latest developments.
It’s a series of silent actions: having already the couch prepped with your favourite blankets for movie nights even as the warm spring weather approaches; carrying your every heavy grocery bag on his wide shoulders; heating up your water bottle when you’re on your period.
He even lets you drag him out for drinks with your friends, staying by your side despite his drowsiness, and he never once complains. Always has his eyes on you, attuned to your every shift.
If you want to dance, he’ll let you grind against him and guide your hips even as he shivers from the contact, restraining himself from placing his lips where he’d really want to. If you want to drink, he’ll be by your side for a glass or two before he begins monitoring your alcohol-intake.
One night, sitting together on the bar stools, when the techno-house music begins to blare too loudly against your temple, you let your head slip onto his shoulder. He runs a warm palm up and down your back and you turn sheepish at the contact, burrowing closer into his side.
He leans in, speaks into your ear, “You wanna go home, Oompie?”
Nodding into his chest, he chuckles softly. And he moves just as carefully, straightening you up so he can stand. “Okay, I’ll go grab our stuff from the table. Don’t move.”
You watch him go with a lazy, unconscious smile on your lips. Once he disappears into the crowd, your palm replaces his shoulder as you rest your cheek on it, elbow propped up the counter.
When you hear the stool beside you scratching against the floor, you turn your head with a light in your eyes ready to welcome Jeongguk back, tell him about this face mask you should try once you’re home, until the flicker dims at the sight of a stranger.
The man is buff, not in the lean way Jeongguk is. His beard makes him look rougher than he already appears, and he acknowledges you with a nod of his chin and a slimy smile. “What’s a doll like you doing alone?”
You immediately straighten up your slugged position, head spinning slightly from the drinks. “Huh, I—”
“Let me get you a drink.” He’s already waving for the bartender, but you stop him quickly.
“No, I— I’m about to leave with my boyfriend, sorry.” The word slips naturally over your tongue, whether it comes as a handy excuse or a subconscious wish.
Scoffing, the man shakes his head at the bartender, who looks on with confusion. “Right. Boyfriend. You females always use that one, huh? How come every time you say you have a boyfriend, he’s never actually there?”
Furrowing your brows, you inhale, alcohol fueling a sudden spark of anger. “Have you considered that the only way males stop bothering us is once we mention another ma—”
“Hey sweets, ready to go?”
Both you and the entitled stranger turn around at the sound of Jeongguk’s voice, standing right behind you with raised brows. They pinch together the moment he takes in the guy sitting in his previous spot, and he’s immediately wrapping a firm hand around your waist once you hurriedly step off the stool.
“My bad, bro. I ain’t mean anything,” the man mutters, lifting his hands in defeat before vanishing back into the crowd, just as you imagined he would’ve once he saw Jeongguk.
Tall, buff, tattooed and scary-looking Jeongguk, who looks down at you alarmedly, his palm traveling up your side. “Did he try anything?”
“No, no,” you shake your head, leading the way toward the exit as he follows closely. “He offered a drink, and I told him I have a boyfriend. And then he started going off about how women lie about it, like—”
You stop mid-sentence when, looking up, you see Jeongguk biting back a grin while his eyes are fixed on the ground, making sure you don’t trip on the sidewalk. Then, noticing the silence, he turns to you expectantly.
You narrow your eyes, curling into his chest as the chilly night air hits your skin. “Why are you smiling like that?”
Jeongguk shrugs, guiding you both toward his car. “Nothing, just wasn’t aware you had a boyfriend.”
Rolling your eyes, you swat at his stomach and try to detach yourself, but he just tugs you back in. You keep up the banter, only because there’s nothing you love more than playful and relaxed Jeongguk.
“Yeah, well… I would’ve told you eventually.”
“Oh, really?” He opens the passenger door and eases you into the seat before rounding the car. He gets inside, doesn’t start the engine, just shifts to look at you. Noticing your tight shoulders, he pulls his jacket off and drapes it over your exposed legs. “What’s he like?”
Your fingers curl into the leather, and you let the side of your head rest back against the seat, looking at him through heavy lids. “He’s the perfect guy to scare other men away. He’s tall, has lots of tattoos…”
Humming around a smile, Jeongguk reaches out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, hand staying to cup around your cheek. “And is he really that scary?”
Jeongguk is also learning how to take. Take in how your words sink straight into his heart, no intrusive thoughts of selfishness, simply basking into the feeling of being taken care of. Being seen, heard, understood. Being allowed to trip and finding your extended hand ready to lift him up and mend his wounds.
Ever so attentive, you read every wave of emotion washing over his face without the need for words. You have enough for the both of you, and you use them to tame the flames into a nice, warm bonfire.
You shake your head against his palm, turning your face just slightly so you can leave a faint, warm peck on his wrist. “No… he has the kindest, biggest heart.”
The next night, while thumbing through his vinyls, your fingers stumble onto a sleeve that feels unfamiliar. On the turntable, The Sky Is a Landfill by Jeff Buckley nears its end, but the record you pull from the shelf is a limited edition Radiohead. Karma Police, to be exact. The song you were born to.
You stand up from your crouched position, eyes raking over the autographed cover. Turning to Jeongguk, he’s still on the couch, glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose as he scrolls through next month’s work schedule.
You quip, loud enough over the drums of Everybody Here Wants You. “When did you get this, Gguk?”
Looking up at the sound of your voice, he adjusts his glasses only for his eyes to widen once they land on the record in your hands. He sits up straighter, “I, huh…” sighing, he admits. “That was supposed to be your gift.”
“What?” It’s your eyes dilating, glancing between the gift and the gifter. A thirty-two-teeth smile stretches across your mouth. “Are you serious? Why didn’t you…”
Phone discarded, he strides his way toward you, a shy dimple hollowing his cheek. “I’m sorry…”
Once he’s in front of you, looking so pretty and vulnerable under the amber hues of the lamp reflecting off his glasses, your gaze drops back to the vinyl. Shaking your head, you slide the record back into its place and finally allow yourself to take him in.
“Can we both agree on not apologizing anymore?”
He nods sheepishly, but whatever agreement was on his tongue turns into a yelp as you throw yourself into his chest. Your arms lock around his neck and he instinctively lifts you off the carpet.
“Thank you, Ggukkie.” Squealing, you kick your legs in the air before he’s setting you back down, giggling against your ear.
“Do you like it?”
“I love it!” You pull back just enough to better express the sentiment, eyes locked onto his blown-wide pupils.
Your smiles linger, but they morph into something easier, lazier. You’re both playing the toughest ping-pong match between eyes and lips, and Jeongguk admits defeat first, straightening slightly and loosening his grip on your waist.
“Sorry.”
You hum, eyes narrowing as you tug him back into your space with a hand splayed over his nape. “What did I just say?”
“I know, I know,” he grumbles, gaze falling onto your mouth as he swallows hard, almost as if it’s painful to look anywhere else. “I just wanna give you your space. I know that I still don’t have your full trust.”
Your brows twitch. “Gguk… You do.”
Fingers traveling up, you cradle his jaw and let your thumb brush the corner of his mouth, parted and breathing out a trembling exhale. It’s like you can see the fight slowly leaving his body, how his lids droop and his palms settle on your hips.
With your other hand, you fix his glasses and ruffle his hair — getting a little too long now — with a gentle touch. “I’ve had enough space. I can’t stay away from you.”
There never really was space between you, and there never needed to be. You’re magnets that have tried to reject one another for far too long, but when you’re face to face the pull is stronger and undeniable.
Jeongguk can only drop his forehead against yours, breathing in the sweet merge of cotton candy and almond. You speak the assurance you know he needs in the puff of air left between you.
“I wanna be there for you. With you. Through everything. I just need you to let me in.”
The flames engulf you once again, but this time you’re both standing in the heat together. You’ve decided it’s worth being consumed, and he realizes that all the times he’s ran, he only deprived himself of this comfortable warmth.
You whisper, “Do you trust me?”
Jeongguk, ever so responsive, nods his head against your forehead. “I do.”
It’s all the permission you need. You lean in, pressing your mouth to his in a kiss that has you both sighing through your nose, limbs instantly locking tighter around one another. When he lets one hand drag lower around the curve of your hips, you whimper against his lips and he wastes no time finding your tongue with his.
You don’t think you’ll ever need air to fill your lungs again, because oxygen still flows through the kiss directly to your heart. And you don’t care if it’s messy, if Jeongguk’s glasses are slipping further down his nose, if your teeth clash the more you push against each other — because when you hear him whine, it only spurs you further.
You detach just enough to trail kisses along his chin, following the line of his jaw down to his throat, causing him to throw his head back, unable to keep his moan trapped behind his teeth. Your hand buried in the hair at the nape of his neck tugs him backward, giving yourself more space to suck and nip at the expanse of his neck.
“Baby, oh shit,” he groans as you push him against the furniture, the impact hard enough to have Jeff Buckley’s voice startle and skip on the still-spinning vinyl. You release his skin with a wet smack, looking up at him through your dazed fog and swollen lips.
Jeongguk moans from the vision alone, trying to conceal it by colliding your mouths together once again, his hands firming on your waist to guide the slow but sharp grinds against his already embarrassingly, clothed and hard length.
It throbs beneath his thin sweats when you press your hand on it, pulling him lightly by his hair so you can whisper against his flushed-pink ear. “Do you trust me with your pleasure?”
He nods, moans so loud around a yeah, and watches in awe as you drop to your knees in front of him, lowering his pants along with you. You look up through your lashes and flash a wicked smile before mouthing at his cock, licking over the wet spot on his white boxers.
Jeongguk quite literally wails, messily pushes his glasses back against the bridge of his nose, then bucks his hips up in search of more friction. “Please, sweets.”
“Hm? What?” You let your lips drag over his incredibly hard girth, placing your hands on his muscular thighs and causing him to whimper. Batting your lashes, you tilt your head. “What do you want?”
“I want you to do whatever you want to me, please,” words so compliant and vulnerable clash with the way his wide palm comes to cup your jaw, fingers extending to the rest of your face and digging in desperate need of restraint.
You turn for a quick kiss on his wrist before wrapping your hand around it, shaking your head as you let his arm drop at his side. “If you want me to suck your cock, you need to keep your hands to yourself. Okay?”
“O–okay,” he stutters and wraps his fingers tight around the edge of the cabinet, knuckles turning white.
“Not a punishment, Ggukkie,” you reassure as you slowly pull his boxers down, cock springing free and brushing your nose. He hisses, tries pushing forward but your palms are back on his thighs, digging. “I just wanna take care of you tonight. Would you like that?”
Whimpering, he breathes, “Yeah, fuck, I’d love that.”
You look between his length and his face, both pretty and blushing pink. His tip throbs and leaks, begs to be welcomed in your warm mouth. His brows twitch, too, angled upwards and only accentuating his wide eyes behind the glasses.
Your tongue runs from his base to his tip before you’re wrapping your lips around it, humming along with his dragged moan. The dresser rustles once again, this time with the force of his constraint, and you start bobbing your head as your fist pumps the parts you can’t reach.
“Shit, you feel suh—so, mmph—good,” his stutter syncs with the way his own hips slip, pushing his cock further inside your mouth and hitting the back of your throat while your fist is still wrapped around his base, causing you to gag.
He gasps, hand hovering the side of your face but, ever so obedient, he doesn’t touch you. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
You retreat with a wet sound, length bouncing straight in front of you and keeping your vision of his face obstructed. “Yeah, Ggukkie. Did you like that?”
His fingers curl into a fist beside your head, and you can see his throat bob around a hard swallow. He hums, head nodding slightly.
You decide he’s been good enough. Guide his hand with your own on top of your head, where his fingers sneak into your hair and you let yourself be held as you’re wrapped around his cock again and he slowly bucks his hips into your warmth, your tongue coming out to swirl around his tip.
Jeongguk is long, and he feels even thicker in your mouth. You choke at the intrusion, but nonetheless press yourself further — anything it takes to hear his pretty, wailed sounds.
Knees numb from his hardwood floors, your panties grow wetter as you imagine what he’d feel like inside you, and the thought alone has you moaning around him, nodding your head at a faster pace while your hand keeps flicking at his base.
That’s when you look up at him, meet the flushed mess on his cheeks, how his glasses are close to slipping off his nose and his furrowed brows threaten to leave a premature wrinkle.
He opens his mouth around a moan when he takes in your glossy eyes staring up at his through your drawn up brows, and his thrusts stammer. “Baby, I’m gonna cum.”
You hum, hollowing your cheeks around his tip while your other hand lowers to tease his balls, and then you truly hear him cry.
His hand slips to your jaw so he can angle your gaze on his, glasses only heightening the twinkle in his dazed, swollen pupils. And it must be the same look mirrored in your eyes that leaves him empty of words, of any warning, before he’s choking around a moan and painting your throat white.
You cease your movement, allowing him to thrust lazily into your mouth however he wants to ride through his well-deserved orgasm. He pulls his softening cock out of your warm cavern, fucked-out gaze matching yours before he helps you up to your feet. Lips crashed to yours, he thrust his tongue into your mouth, relishing the mix of his salted taste with your saliva.
“You’re so good to me.” He pants against your lips. “How’d I get this lucky?”
You whimper in his embrace, too overwhelmed by his touch to verbalize your retort of how good he’s been to you.
Hours later, when he’s found it hard to stop kissing you and you’ve found it hard to keep your sneaky hands off him, Jeongguk has you sprawled on his bed, tugging your shorts down along with your uncomfortably slicked panties.
You support yourself on your forearms, can’t miss the look on his face when he spreads your legs wider and pants at the sight of your soaked lips, swollen clit.
“Fuck, baby,” his hands hover, overwhelmed at the sight of you from above, even more when you pull at the neck of your tee and take it off in one swift move.
He almost wanted to fuck you with that shirt on, the one you stole from his drawer nights ago, only because it felt good to see you entirely bathed in him.
But the sight of your tits shuts his every other thought out. Glasses thrown somewhere on his nightstand, he isn’t a bit phased at the sudden change in vision. You’re so close to him — so close where he can see the tiny freckles and marks you’d consider imperfections. They all look the same to him: home to his lips and touch.
He sighs, lowering his face in between your spread thighs, “Can I taste you?”
Although he still gives you the illusion of being in charge, you’re putty under his hazed, hungry eyes, nodding expectantly and pushing your chest forward to welcome his warm and wide palm around your boob, thumb brushing the nipple.
His other hand grips the side of your thigh as he softly blows on your clit and makes you whimper. Not louder than when he wraps his lips around it, suctioning the bud in his wet mouth and making your eyes roll to the back of your head.
“Gguk, oh my god,” you don’t care about how pathetic you sound, not when he lets his tongue slide between your puffy folds, his groan vibrating right through you. He still circles shapes around your nipple, and you fall on your back as you spasm under him.
You let out a particularly loud cry when you feel the tip of his tongue teasing your entrance, only to lick up where he slurps around your clit and speaks against it. “Taste so sweet. The sweetest.”
When your hand flies into his hair for support, your gazes meet before you shut your eyes at the overwhelming sensations. You feel yourself clench around nothing when his sliced eyes lock back with your wide and teary ones as he dives deep into you, humming incomprehensible praises.
You’re left whimpering at the intensity of his stare, and he sucks on your clit avidly as his grip on your boob tightens. You jolt forward when you feel one of his thick digits taunt your hole before slipping inside, and he’s instantly groaning when he feels your gushy walls squeeze.
Your fingers grip his locks tighter as he pumps the finger in and out a few times before curling inside, only to be joined by a second digit. You wail, panting and bucking your hips forward as he leaves your nub alone in favour of tracing sweet kisses along the inside of your thigh.
He’s evidently determined to ruin you when he adds a third finger, and you’re mewling loudly, mouth agape and brows raised as you shake under his ministrations.
The stretch is mind-numbing as he thrusts his thick digits at a rapid pace. You bite down on your forearm to muffle the lewd sounds, and it only motivates him more to work you through your impending orgasm.
“Jeongguk—” You cry. “I—I’m cumming, shit, baby, I’m cumming.” Your back arches against his mattress, cunt pulsating around his fingers as you let yourself go. His mouth finds home around your clit again, ignoring your sobs as he suctions harder around you.
He knows what you need — knows he needs to give back just as much as you’ve given him.
Jeongguk is quick to come up to your face and leave comforting pecks over your jaw, his other hand keeping you firm by your waist.
When he kisses you and lets your tastes mix together, tongue slicing against yours in a wet and slicked exchange just as he angles his fingers into a particular spot, you keen and squeeze around him so tight he feels lightheaded thinking of how well his cock would fit in you.
“Did so good for me, sugar,” he whispers sweet nothings against your lips as you come down, mouth traveling up to peck your temple as his fingers slowly ease their way out of your gaping hole.
Your hand reaches down and engulfs his wrist, bringing it to your face. Mouth wrapping around his fingers, you lick and suck your essence off his digits. His lips part, wishing he had been the one to taste more of you.
“How’d you taste, hm?” He presses his mouth to yours.
Your tongue massages against his, a breathy giggle escaping as you whisper your answer, “Sweet.”
You had been too drowsy for anything more in the aftermath, no matter how much you wanted it. Jeongguk gently shushed your dozy whines with small, repeated pecks on the corner of your mouth until the warm pattern he traced over your arm and the prospect of his morning pancakes lulled you to sleep.
And you find waking up beside him has been worth every wait, especially rewarding when your smaller frame is curled into his broad chest, embracing you from behind with an arm draped over your front.
Shuffling closer into him only has you gasping in more delight when you feel how his hard length pokes your soft ass, and how the friction immediately has him stirring behind you. You go still when he groans groggily in your ear, and his hand splays warm over your stomach.
“Baby,” he mumbles, the word barely leaving his lips but having your legs pressed together, only tightening the tension between your meeting middles.
You hum and try a tentative push, his hot breath fanning against your lobe as it escapes his lips paired with a growl. In response, he attempts a more decisive grind, pinning you into him with his spread hand over your womb, his hardness melting into the tender skin of your cheeks.
It doesn’t take long for his hand to slide lower, for him to sneak his fingers between your already soaked folds, impatiently prepare you with one digit in before the lazy circles of his thumb on your clit have you spasming messily. He then grinds against your covered heat, wetness soaking through your panties as his movement grows quicker.
“Please, Gguk.” Your mouth falls open. “I need to feel you inside me.”
He groans, breath coming out harsh as he continues rubbing his hard cock between your folds, enjoying the wet, slick sounds just a little more before he gives into your pleas. Your arm reaches back, hand sprawled over his ass as you hold him in place, tucking him just enough where the tip of his cock catches your entrance.
He hisses, restraint going out the door as you angle your ass to tease the possibility of sinking into your warmth.
And it doesn’t take long after that for his thick cock to find its rightful place inside your snug walls, though not without a condom wrapped around it.
The stretch is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, and you’re unable to stop the breathy sounds you let out in the quiet of his bedroom, your sloppy grip also rendering him incapable of keeping increasingly louder moans in — a combo which probably explains why you let go together, in no time, with a few lazy thrusts.
Doesn’t take long to figure out why you have sex almost every day after that, after being stuffed full by him and tightening so hard around his length you swear you’d have kept him locked there forever.
You never protest against the condom. You understand the boundaries he still needs to keep, even as you find yourself wishing to feel him bare once he finally feels secure enough. Condom or not, you’ve been on cloud nine ever since discovering what orgasms that aren’t results of your own, pathetic efforts feel like.
There’s not a single corner of either apartment that hasn’t witnessed the two of you breaking apart in pleasure.
You jerk him off on his stiff couch, he eats you out in your shower, then fucks you on the kitchen counter as you wait for brownies in the oven. You suck him off in his bed, and he bends you over with your face next to his record player as he thrusts deep into you from behind.
Then, another night, you’re on your soft couch while Netflix patiently asks if you’re still watching.
“Wanna ride you,” you say through a sheepish smile, straddling him with both knees at either side of him as you press your warm and soaked core on his throbbing length, squished between you and his toned stomach.
“Shit, baby.” He can’t help but buck his hips forward and you both moan at the slippery friction, his hand traveling up to find the curve of your breast. “You do?”
“Yeah,” nodding, you take his cock in your hand and slowly tug at it. “Condom?”
He bites his lips harshly at your strokes, moaning when your thumb brushes his slit. With vulnerable honesty, he whispers, “I— I wanna feel you, please.”
His shaky plea has your movements faltering, brows furrowing as you search his eyes. There is nothing you want more, but you need him to be sure. You need him to feel secure, never doubting the space you’ve built together.
“Are you sure, Gguk?”
He nods all too quickly, “Yeah. I trust you.”
It’s impossible to bite back your grin — impossible when a wider one stretches over his features, impossible when your eyes water with the confession.
You bend down for a messy kiss, lining his tip with your entrance before you’re sinking down his length with a loud moan that breaks through your mouth.
His fingers dig in your skin, and you can tell that even through his constant, whispered praises, he’s trying his hardest to contain himself from pushing up.
You straighten yourself once again and he groans at the vision of you, warm walls snuggling his cock all the way in, chest out and nipples hard, bottom lip caught beneath your teeth as you meet his hardened gaze, softening once you whimper.
He takes one erect nub between his slicked lips and looks up at you devilishly. “You’re so beautiful.”
And there’s no going back after experiencing bare skin against bare skin, feeling his every vein throb, spasming around the feeling of fullness and welcoming his own release, his expression contorting into pure animalistic pleasure.
There’s no going back once you’ve learned the comfort of falling asleep engulfed in his embrace every night, and no matter who heads to work first, the warmth lingers and etches a smile onto your faces for the rest of the day.
Sunday means you’re waking up first as the early morning light filters through your curtains. You grumble, letting your eyes adjust to your surroundings before landing on the figure beside you, the man who makes sure your bed is never empty, never cold.
Jeongguk is lying with his broad and defined back to you, and as you blink the sleep away, you put all details into focus. Scars run along the ridges of his muscles, blend with small moles you could kiss and trace a map with. His shoulder blades shift with the slow and deep rhythm of his breathing, and you slide closer where his warmth reaches you even if you’re not directly touching.
Still, you take your finger and lightly follow a path through his marks, soft enough where it’d only feel like a mere tickle. The sight of these burns up close makes the corner of your eyes prickle; for a moment, the memory of his tear-streaked face flashes behind your lids.
You can’t go back, can’t reach into the past and prevent nor fix all the series of events that convinced him of his own unworthiness. But you’re determined to be the anchor of his present and, hopefully, future. Where you can only see comfort in the shape of his smile and your laughter. Where scars become a proof of strength and never weakness.
When you feel him stir beneath your hand, you realize just how close you crept, palm flattened against his spine and your plush thigh sneakily slotting itself between his.
Jeongguk grunts, reaching behind him, catching your hand and pulling it around his side to rest against his stomach.
“Why are you awake, hm?”
His rumbled tone has you squirming closer into him, propping your chin on his shoulder. “It’s Sunday.”
“Exactly, baby,” he murmurs, shuffling backward until he’s tucked firmly into your embrace. “It’s rest day.”
“Grandma Mimi is probably already cooking lunch.” You speculate.
Pressing a kiss to his cheek, you giggle when, as soon as you try to pull back, he groans in protest. His fingers now wrap around your forearm, tugging you in place.
You hum, nipping playfully at his earlobe. “Is my Ggukkie still sleepy?”
He scoffs, turning his face enough to glare at you with narrowed eyes, still puffy from sleep. Even as you laugh, he talks through a growing pout. “Stop calling me that.”
“Or else?” Wiggling your brows, you keep pecking wet smacks along his jaw, then down his shoulder, moving further so that you can kiss the large and deep scar along his nape, where your lips place with sudden delicacy.
He whimpers, a sound you know he didn’t mean to let out when you feel his fingertips dig harsher into the skin of your arm.
You speak against his spine, the tight space making your voice sound muffled. “Do they hurt?”
Jeongguk loosens his grip and strokes comforting tickles on your wrist, before lacing your hand with his. “Hm, no.”
His answer spurs you to leave more kisses over his wounds, and with each one he’s holding your hand tighter. “No? But you’re so sensitive.”
“You get muh—me like that,” he stutters, letting out a low whine when you keep peppering his skin.
“Yeah?” You leave his hand only so you can press your palm flat against his toned abdomen, making it spasm under you. “Are you hard, Ggukkie?”
“I said don’t— oh, fuck,” he can only pretend he doesn’t like not being in control for so long when your fingers slide lower, under the hem of his briefs where he’d already been growing hard from your delicate, loving mouth.
Your hand wraps around his length and he startles, moaning your name and throwing his head back against you. He’s heavy in your hold, twitching when you squeeze ever so gently. You lick a path along a scar, making him shiver and buck his hips into your wrist. You clamber your body closer to his, front pressed flushed against his back where you leave more of your wet kisses across the expanse of his broad back.
“Can I leave my mark here, Gguk?” You nip at the edge of his shoulder, and he nods, groans around an agreement.
You begin faster strokes on his girth, giving extra attention to his sensitive, pink tip. Speaking around your suctioning, you hear him whine from the stimulations. “So pretty. Your scars make you the prettiest. Strongest.”
Jeongguk keens, can’t help but grind into your grip, and moans particularly loud when you move your kisses back to his nape. His large hand covers yours, not in an attempt to take control, just wants to feel you and your efforts. Peering down, the blanket covering his lower half moves feverishly from your jerking motions, and his eyes slam shut at the heavy sensations pooling at his balls.
“You’re gonna make me cum, fuck.”
“Cum, please,” you whisper against his neck, and he desperately turns his face in search of your mouth, to which you eagerly comply as you slide higher. Your lips meet in a messy, hushed kiss that has him spilling warm drops into his boxers and over your fingers.
Jeongguk usually takes longer to let go, makes sex a lasting experience that puts your pleasure on a pedestal. He doesn’t come unless you do first, and even then he likes to take his time, whether he has to fight against restraint.
That’s why, as he keeps searching your tongue with his, he rolls around so that you’re laying on your back and he’s hovering over you, until your kiss is broken by his sheepish smile. He hides his face in the crook of your neck, where he keeps working his mouth around small, shy pecks.
“Thank you,” he whispers, and you run a comforting hand through his hair.
His sex rules stand. Your pleasure is always his priority. Can’t let you go if you’re not letting go over his hand first. Minutes later, you’re pathetically grinding over his warm palm, with one of his thick digits twitching inside you.
“Such a perfect girl. Made for me,” always knowing what to say, he speaks sweet affection against your ear as you pant and grip his forearm, moaning louder when your hips buckle primally against his hand as you ride through your orgasm.
Once your breath regulates, you seek refuge with your cheek flat on his chest, and he’s quick to engulf you in his arms, whispering reassurance of how good you’ve been for him. You remain like that for what feels like eternity, a timeline you wouldn’t mind at all.
“We need to shower,” you whisper with your forehead snug against the curve of his shoulder.
He hums, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm wrapped around his torso. “Yeah. I’m so hungry, though.”
Looking up, you leave a lingering peck under his jaw before your eyes meet. “What should we eat?”
Jeongguk bites his smile, raising his brows. “Cookies?”
Giggling, you only slide closer into him, until your faces are level. “Okay, but I’ll make them this time.”
He narrows his eyes at you and you feel his fingertips threatening to tickle against your ribs. “And what exactly are you trying to say?”
You squirm, laughing as his face slides closer on the pillow. “Just that baking… maybe it’s not your calling.”
Jeongguk lets out a mock gasp and strikes, tickling fingers making you squeal and fight playfully against his hold. In between gasps, a sharp bark echoes through the room as Gureum trots toward the bed. The dog has become fiercely protective over you, even if it means going against his owner.
That’s why he hops up and begins digging his way between the two of you, forcing Jeongguk to detach and groan. “Gureumie, your mom is so mean.”
Your giggles turn sheepish at his words, your breathing evening out as your hand finds its home in the dog’s white fur. Jeongguk’s fingers lace through yours, and the dog happily rolls onto his side, belly up, satisfied that he’s successfully neutralized any threatening attack.
“Mommy’s gonna shower,” you tease, immediately laughing at his grimace.
“Don’t ever call yourself that again,” he furrows his brows even as a snicker breaks through. “Are you soft launching a new kink?”
You chuckle, sitting up and arching a brow as you look back at him. “Is daddy gonna tag along?”
He scoffs, shakes his head to conceal his grin as you keep giggling. “You actually disgust me.”
You tug at his wrist so he’s lifting his back off the mattress, but when he teasingly topples lazily onto your figure, both of you flop back into the soft bed.
You groan, attempt pushing him off even though being separated from him in any capacity is the last thing you want. He must know — he’s finally realized, you sigh contently — because he only wraps an arm around your torso tighter, nose nuzzling your hair.
In the narrow space, he mumbles, “I think girlfriend fits you more.”
Your heart skips a beat in your ribcage. You’re sure he’s felt it, too, because his fingers dig into the skin of your hip and he timidly peers up from his hiding spot.
You bite on a smile, raising your brows. “Does it, boyfriend?”
He hums around a widening grin, tenderly finding your lips with his to seal the promise.
Shower takes much longer than expected — though, you should’ve expected it would have been impossible to keep your hands to yourself.
You end up baking too many cookies, but that morning none are left. The only remaining traces settle in the corner of your lips, and as Jeongguk makes sure to kiss them away, he thinks love and trust have never tasted quite this sweet.
thank YOU so much for this and for sticking with ootw until the end!!! i really appreciated your reviews and reactions more than you know 🩷🩷 and i’m glad you liked it!! also thank u a lot hehe i wish you the bestest week ever 🫶🏻 take care ❣️
idk who might care or want to know But as i had already anticipated in my author’s note for ootw, i’m going to be inactive for quite a while, at least when it comes to posting fics … your girl is graduating soon (i hate it here) so expect a comeback by the end of this year or straight 2027 😭
however, there’s so many wips that i wanna get to as soon as i’m done with uni stuff!!! i might already have an idea of which one i’d like to work on first, but i also wanna know your opinions based on these pairings and tropes! i could maybe post moodboards to set the vibe for each one if you’re interested tho heh 🙈
anyway!!! it’d be cool if you voted on this poll 👩🏻🍳 if you’re perhaps curious about any of these i’m so sat to answer your questions 🤓 if not that’s okay i guess… shrugs shoulders and walks away with head low
thank ya love ya see ya 🩷
pick one wip !
dilf girl dad!jk x student&barista!fem reader, strangers to lovers
mechanic!jk x writer!fem reader, childhood friends to strangers to lovers
olympian snowboarder!jk x olympian hockey player!fem reader, enemies to lovers
idk who might care or want to know But as i had already anticipated in my author’s note for ootw, i’m going to be inactive for quite a while, at least when it comes to posting fics … your girl is graduating soon (i hate it here) so expect a comeback by the end of this year or straight 2027 😭
however, there’s so many wips that i wanna get to as soon as i’m done with uni stuff!!! i might already have an idea of which one i’d like to work on first, but i also wanna know your opinions based on these pairings and tropes! i could maybe post moodboards to set the vibe for each one if you’re interested tho heh 🙈
anyway!!! it’d be cool if you voted on this poll 👩🏻🍳 if you’re perhaps curious about any of these i’m so sat to answer your questions 🤓 if not that’s okay i guess… shrugs shoulders and walks away with head low
thank ya love ya see ya 🩷
pick one wip !
dilf girl dad!jk x student&barista!fem reader, strangers to lovers
mechanic!jk x writer!fem reader, childhood friends to strangers to lovers
olympian snowboarder!jk x olympian hockey player!fem reader, enemies to lovers
my favorite jk EVER i’m so happy to be on this list heh… not the last you’ll see of dilf jk by lovieku TRUST 😼 THANK U for the mention and for these juicy fics !!!
Jeon’s the editor-in-chief for Big Hit Publishings, a closet romantic with a penchant for antagonizing his assistant on the reg. When his work visa is in the process of being renewed and he takes a trip to Norway, his eligibility to stay in America is on the line. However Jeon Jungkook doesn’t go without a fight, and in order to save his job he offers you a proposal you can't refuse. | 20.1k [f, a]
❖ magic stick — by @badbtssmut
Jungkook is kinda sad because he has never been with a girl who could take him balls deep because of his size, reader doesn't believe him and she wants to see, but he tells her that he can't atm bc he's not hard. She is wearing this kinda halter top style with no bra so she looses the top and shows her tits to him and let's him touch them. After he's hard he shows her his dick and she says she's willing to try to take it all and she rides him into the sunset. | ? [s]
❖ crazy — by @girlygguk
you know it sounds twisted. that most people would see hyungwon as the perfect boyfriend. healthy, balanced, all the things that relationships should be. that’s when you realized... you weren't like most people. but that's okay. because neither is jungkook. | 15.5k [s, f, a]
❖ we are all dreamers — by @yoonia
Jeon Jungkook is a cocky bastard. Not only does he have the pride and insolence twice the size of his head, but he also has an anger that could open up the door to hell on itself. As he continues to refuse to believe on the soulmate system, he keeps on unknowingly hurting you, punishing you for what the universe has thrown at him in the past. Would he change his ways as he finally meets you? Or would you run away, giving him the exit that he had seemed to desire so greatly? | 16.5k [a, s]
❖ comfort inn ending — by @joonbird
“It was you who Jungkook gave his heart to- that is, until the day you broke it. And it is you now, hoping that some faultlines can be repaired, and that some broken hearts can be put back together again.” | series [a, s]
❖ angel’s trumpet — by @hansolmates
one second, your life is flashing before your eyes and the next, you’re transported into a world exactly like your own. but the jungkook you meet in this world isn’t a renowned singer or your former almost-lover, in fact he has no clue who you are and why you know him so well. as you work to find your way home lost and confused, you conclude that you’re either dead or in the middle of the most wicked drug trip of your life. | series [ a, f, s]
❖ the habits of a broken heart — by @softykooky
jungkook and you are soulmates. so says the matching crescent moons on both your wrists. however, things are never as easy as they seem, and you are quick to learn that falling in love with someone who does not believe in love is a one-way ticket to heartbreak. | 26.3k [a, f]
❖ animal — by @cutaepatootie
series [a, s]
❖ a fallen bookmark on a thursday afternoon — by @cutaepatootie
He came to you like the air comes into the train station after the fast arriving of the machine. It comes fast and unexpected, making you hoist your head to look at the long vehicle and the people inside. It is so fast you can't even distinguish the different wagons. As the train comes to a stop, the wind that it creates plays with your hair, leaving you breathless. That's how Jeon Jungkook came into your life. | 19k [a, f, s]
❖ scattered stars — by @taegularities
It’s easy to despise Jungkook when your contradicting magic doesn’t allow you to touch each other without fatal consequences - but what if your eternal enemy turns out to be your soulmate with whom you, unfortunately, do fall in love? | 17.9k [f, a, s]
❖ welcome to the heartbreak show — by @numinousher
you’re in love with your partner in class that everyone fears (and loves) due to his stoic facial expression and the way he rejects girls rather harshly. as you get to know him, will he be able to handle your heart that you so willingly gave him to care for or, will he break it due to his hatred for people who are in love with him? | 28k [a, f]
❖ mutt — by @letsbangts
when you realize you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. | 6k [s, a]
❖ answer your phone — by @letsbangts
when the consequences of his actions come calling. — 12.8k [a, s]
❖ the love prognosis — by @awrkive
for as long as you can remember, you've always been a hopeless romantic. the girl who’s always dreamt of cheesy encounters with her soulmate, grand love declarations, and a cute little beach wedding to boot. but reality pretty much slaps you hard right on the face, because love, unfortunately, doesn’t come grand — it’s simple and it’s quiet, but it is quite painful, especially when the love that you’ve been seeking for all your adult life has just been right under your nose all this time. | series [f, a, s]
❖ lie with you — by @girlygguk
in which jungkook doesn't realize what he has until he just about loses it. | 8.4k [a, f]
❖ out of gas? — by @97kuu
It was a setup between Taejoon and Jungkook to get him to hook up with you in the car. However, his guilty heart and physical desire revealed that he wanted more than what he was willing to confess that night.. | 3k [s]
❖ ordinary things — by @lovieku
after a lost match, jeongguk’s only source of comfort is you. | 6.9k [a, f]
❖ cosmic balance — by @explicit-tae
Every universal realm has a positive and negative - good or bad. Jungkook manages to cross the portal from his dystopian world to your utopian one and decides that he'd do anything to stay with you. | 8.7k [a, s, f]
❖ seven storms — by @wintaerbaer
As a young woman of considerable wealth, it has always been your father's expectation that you would marry one of the local aristocrats once you came of age. Your family's stable hand? Certainly not an option. | 9k [a, s, f]
❖ first class— by @girlygguk
in which you are just another spoiled, bitchy, annoyingly gorgeous trust-fund baby who has everyone at Yonsei University eating from the palm of your hand. and jeon jungkook, your spoiled, fuck-boy, annoyingly gorgeous trust-fund baby best friend, is always first in line to take a bite. | 25k [a, f, s]
❖ when she loved me — by @jungkookstatts
How does one live when life is bound to end? | 11.2k [a, s]
❖ staged for the season — by @voyter
Going back home for the holidays meant facing his ex — the one he still couldn’t let go of. determined to win her back and spark a little jealousy, he brought you along… as his fake girlfriend. — 18.3k [f, s, a]
❖ guilty as sin — by @gldrushh
You are stuck in time, and Jungkook doesn't stop running from it until he eventually does, and you learn that grief doesn’t wait for death, that love isn't all that dignifying. — 17.3k [a, s]
❖ mature — by @jiminrings
The good thing about professing your feelings to jungkook is that it'd be over with, whether or not he likes you back — the bad thing is that he rejects you, even if you haven't confessed. — 8k [f, a]
❖ 6 AM — by @neimaami
Jungkook wakes you up at 6AM for more than just morning cuddles. — 4k [s]
❖ year 22 — @rkived
‘‘I knew you’d be standing in my front porch light, and I knew you’d come back to me.’‘ — 11.5k [a, f, s]
❖ tangled webs — @ughseoks
Soulmates are tricky thing. Not everyone is lucky enough to have their destinies intertwined with their missing piece. Signs come in dreams for those fortunate souls; short bursts that are barely memorable when the sun rises. As for you? Flashes of red and blue are your only indicators to the identity of your other half. — 14.1k [a, f]
❖ fighting hearts — @kooktrash
Never living a life of luxury, Jungkook does what he has to do to make ends-meet. right now that means fighting in underground clubs, getting beat black and blue until he wins. he knows there’s a better life out there for him but he never let himself think about it. until you came along and suddenly a weight is being lifted off his shoulders letting you through his guarded walls. you’re everything he needed and you make him want to fight for more. — 15k [a, s, f]
❖ a thousand reasons why — @taegularities
After leaving to work towards his dream rather than the bonds that shackle him to home, you didn't expect to see Jungkook again years later at your best friend's wedding. And even less, for love to rekindle at second glance. — 43.1k [a, f, s]
❖ can’t be without you — @ahundredtimesover
One night you’re gushing over rom-coms and Jungkook’s cooking; a few nights later you’re tending to his beat-up face. But while it’s his stubbornness that’s saved you countless times before, it’s that same quality that constantly puts him in danger. OR your best friend just can’t let go of underground fighting and so, drama ensues. — 30.4K [f, a, s]
❖ tangled thoughts — @hongcherry
It wasn’t easy to leave your boyfriend of two years, but the constant lies made you question your relationship. You tried to move on, but you were somehow constantly tangled in his web. After being captured by an unknown, yet familiar, enemy, Jungkook wondered if he was doing the right thing by keeping his secret identity from you. Was it too late to come clean? — 10.5k [a, f]
❖ warning signs — by @hongcherry
Spider-Man is a beacon of hope for most residents in Seoul; although, it causes you to feel a little useless to society. With determination to be a change in the world like your masked boyfriend, you find yourself involved in a secluded organization meant to eradicate underground gangs. However, you’re deeper than you expected—leaving Jungkook trying to discover who this ‘new you’ is alone. — series [a, f]
❖ kiss me better — by @jaykaysthicthighs
Jungkook said some really mean things to you when you started coming home so late. when he realizes how horrible he was, he tried making it up to you. — 4k [a, f]
❖ disney+ & blast — by @1kook
There’s a pounding on your door a little past noon, so hard and rough, that you almost think it’s the police finally coming to catch you for all your years of illegally pirating Phineas and Ferb. It’s not. It’s just a really drunk boyfriend wailing for your forgiveness at the door. — 13k [f, a, s]
❖ blackjack — by @kpopfanfictrash
Bangtan is one of the most vicious mafias on the west coast. Only six members are known by name though, with a mysterious seventh member dubbed only as ‘the shadow.’ When you become indebted to the worst of the worst – how, exactly can you find a way out? — series [s, a, f]
Pt 2 of my JK fic recommendations - in order of when I read them :)
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
Date in a box by @jimlingss [fluff] 9.7k
If you're in a hurry then we're here to help you! Everything you need in a box. Delivery less than five minutes. Upgrade and we can personalize your date even more! Guaranteed 100% Dont fret, we're here.
Then/Now by @wintrbears [angst, fluff, smut, reincarnation!au, royalty!au] 28.5k
(Jungkook x reader, Taehyung x reader)
Taehyung finally finds you again after years of searching, and all he needs to do is kiss you to return the memories of your past life together. The only problem is you're already in a relationship, and with the very person who executed you in the first place.
Motherfuckin' Trainwreck by @lovieku [smut, angst, fluff, fwb!au] 17.5k
when renowned fuckboy jeongguk catches feelings, he loses his mind. only when it comes to you, though.
Fight For You by @ahundredtimesover [angst, smut, bodyguard!Jungkook, 18+] 80k
Working at a private security agency has its perks. The downside? Being the personal bodyguard of spoiled, rich heiresses like you. But there are things that Jungkook didn’t expect, like rejecting you, falling for you, and realizing what he’d been missing all along.
How to get a guy by @taeshobipop [fluff, angst, smut, college!au, roommates!au, 18+] 35.9k
Star basketball player and fuckboi Jeon Jungkook strikes up a deal: he’ll teach you the ways of flirting if you lessen your load of Roommate Rules™. But the longer Jungkook spends with you, the more he realizes that maybe he doesn’t want to be the campus fuckboi anymore. The problem is, how does he prove that to you?
Not in the way by @girlygguk [fluff, angst, smut, college!au, 18+] 30k
in which you're hopelessly in love with your best friend, min yoongi. meanwhile, your other best friend, jeon jungkook, is hopelessly in love with you.
Bloody Crawling Back To You by @acheronsociety [smut, angst, secret agent!au] 7.7k
in which... you absolutely hate your co-worker, the insufferable Jeon Jungkook. but you're badly hurt, and somehow, your feet led you to his door.
Deal by @jeonstudios [angst, smut, fluff, demon!Jungkook] 19.5k
What do you do when your teenage brother’s cancer is too far gone? well, you summon a cocky crossroad demon to make a deal; your life for taehyung’s.
The Probability Of Us by @jiminrings [fluff] 6k
Jungkook's the son of the university's president, y/n's cardigan is everyone's favourite, and adjacent walls mean shared victories.
"It's a simple rule in the gang: avoid attachments. But when it comes to Jungkook, that's easier said than done."
When you join Kkangpae's Seduction Division, you know the rules: no attachments, no relationships, no exceptions. The consequences are fatal—you've seen them firsthand. But rules become complicated when the Chief of Tactical Assassinations keeps looking at you like you're his next target, and not the kind he takes out with a sniper rifle.
Starstruck by @inthelow [fluff, angst, smut, idol!au] 48k
you have a pretty normal life as a college student. Everything changes one spring break when you visit Korea to see some family and your sister decides to drag you along to stalk the famous pop-star Jeon Jungkook, part of the most famous group in the world — the one you despise— and the one you unexpectedly keep running into.
All This Time? by @jimxnslight [fluff, angst] 4.2k
Another day, another boyfriend caught cheating. You’re hardly surprised, but before you can even process another one of many betrayals, your best friend Jungkook offers a solution: a blind date. The twist? The guy Jungkook has in mind might not be a stranger at all.
True Love by @lovieku [fluff, smut, tattoo artist!Jungkook] 10k
when you and jeon jeongguk's paths cross again, you question if having a crush on the school's emo and alternative boy was really just a phase, or if it was true love after all.
ink between us by @sunsetfilmss [WWII!au, pilot!Jungkook, angst, fluff, eventual smut] on-going
You work as a Postal Clerk, where the war comes back in pieces, in envelopes, in lists, in the carefully intricate accounting of names that were still spoken, and those that no longer were, but more importantly the ones that stop appearing altogether. You’re grounded in the permanence of the ink.
Jeon Jeongguk, is one of the few who aren’t. A First Lieutenant Pilot who lives between takeoff and return, he has no patience for performance, no letters, no promises, nothing that might outlast the moment he’s in. It’s easier for him that way. Lighter.
In the spring of World War II, a single mistake places you on the wrong train, and in the path of Jeongguk, a man who doesn’t believe in things that last. What passes between you is a brief, almost inconsequential, yet it lingers in ways neither of you expect, settling quietly into a memory, where some moments, no matter how small, refuse to remain forgotten. This is the moment you’d both look back on.
Hit Me Up by @jjksmagicshop [social media!au, idol!au, fluff, smut, angst, crack/humour, 18+] on-going
for a while now, weverse has allowed fans to ‘dm’ their favourite idols. it’s controlled, it’s monitored, it’s all very pc… until you come along one drunken night and break the rules. what is supposed to be a harmless act of communication quickly spirals into much, much more and begs the question, how far should communication between a fan and an idol really go?
looking at it now, it all seems so simple. your neighbour is burn-in stubborn, you’re no better, and somehow you become another fire he feels compelled to put out. but flames don’t just burn — they leave everything changed. jeongguk knows only how to run, never to let himself be consumed. you’re willing to see what happens if you stay in the heat.
pairing firefighter!jk x vet!fem reader
genre neighbours au, frenemies to lovers, fluff, angst, smut
contents slice of life, crack-ish rom-com energy, banter & bickering, lowkey grumpy x grumpy, Or sassy x sassy, dog dad! jk, hurt/comfort, healing process, dog seizure, panic attack, vet talk, mentions of weed and drugs, mentions of emotional abuse and manipulation, hints at sh, crybaby jk, burn scars, hints at minor character death, fluffiest sweetest glimpses of their life, jk wears glasses!!!!, subby jk if you squint, oral m&f receiving, nipple play, fingering, cum eating, protected & unprotected penetrative sex, handjob, happy ending hehe
word count 12.3k
author’s note i’m emotional !!! this beautiful journey comes to an end 🥹 ootw reawakened my passion for writing, especially about complex people who only need a little love after all. i’m proud of myself for finishing a series, never thought i’d have seen this day ! and i got another one planned too, so lovies wait for me… i’m sadly going to take a long writing hiatus because your girl is graduating in a few months and needs to lock in academically! but i’ll always be here more than happy to interact with you guys 🩷 i wanna thank Everyone who’s interacted and left feedback for ootw, every little comment has been so special and i’d love to hear more of your opinions … hopefully this has been a fun journey for you guys as it’s been for me!! thank u and enjoy 🫶🏻
beta read by my sweet lover @voyter who’s been supporting ootw couple and me through Everything, and my amazing best friend @missenu whom i have to thank so profusely and infinitely and profoundly for literally cowriting this chapter ! she’s been an immense source of help and wisdom and this whole fic has only seen its light because of her magic mind ᥫ᭡.
banner creds ⋆ masterlist ⋆ series playlist
prologue ⋆ one ⋆ two ⋆ three
Relearning life on the fifth floor without the oddly familiar uncertainty of your front-door neighbour is harder than you’d imagined.
It’s hard when every morning you pluck a pair of shoes from the rack he built for you in diligent silence, and Ratatouille sits unfinished in your recently watched list. Hard when you can’t bring yourself to give back his jacket, leaving it to hang behind your bedroom door like shed skin.
Hard when even hiding in Grandma Mimi’s living room, curled on her worn couch, doesn’t keep you away from thoughts of Jeongguk. Especially when the old woman sits in the armchair facing you, but her eyes remain fixed on the calendar across the room.
Only a few days remain until the date marked with Jeongguk’s initials. You’d initially assumed it was his birthday, but the finality of the red ink and the contrast from the heart shape signaling her own anniversary suggest it might be something entirely different.
Grandma Mimi has been eerily quiet, you’ve noticed, a stark departure from the woman whose tongue is usually rolling with gossip or recipes.
Sitting straighter on her couch, you fiddle with the skin around your nails, and your frail voice has her slowly turning her head toward you.
“I feel like there’s something you know about Jeongguk that I should, too.”
She swallows hard, eyes looking to the side where her calendar resides and takes a moment to gather her words. Then, she offers a reassuring smile, the one she always uses to soothe your easily agitated nerves, though it doesn’t fully reach her eyes.
“What do you mean, dear?”
“It’s just…” her welcoming expression does little to calm your mounting anxiety as you reposition on the sofa, legs crossed. “I thought there was something. Then, the next second, he goes all cold on me. I… I don’t get him.”
Grandma Mimi looks unusually torn. Beneath the fond affection you’ve come to rely on, you find a new layer: restraint. It’d be unfair of you to ask for Grandma Mimi to pick sides; she wasn’t one of your girlfriends, though, she’s more. Which is an added layer of hurt knowing her loyalty to your front-door neighbour supersedes the bond you both shared in the time of your residency.
With resolution and a heavy sigh, she inhales. You lean in, eager to welcome a possible solution to all this uncertainty.
But she opts for a short explanation. “He’s been… hurt, in the past.”
“Grandma Mimi…” You’re truthfully sick of half-sincere reasons, and it filters through the exhaustion etched in your tone. Your eyes beg for honesty, and a dull ache that has started to feel familiar spreads through your chest. “I know you care about him. But … I’m hurting, too. I just want some clarity.”
Sad how you need to turn to another person instead of the direct source for said clarity.
The old woman purses her wrinkled lips into a smile. One that tells you her heart carries the same hurt now reaching your features. She reaches out and takes your hand in her cold one, lacing your fingers together.
Exhaling, she begins arranging pieces of the puzzle, yet the picture remains blurred. “There was this girl… their relationship was turbulent. She was messed up. Then, she cheated and left him.”
“Oh, that’s… that sounds rough.” You swallow, unconsciously nodding along with her bobbing chin.
But you know that can’t be all there is to this story. Right? It’s so clear across the lines of her face, how her eyes drop to your joined hands and drift toward somewhere distant, hauntingly mirroring the look Jeongguk wore in his kitchen.
Instead of closure, further confusion merges with a sudden indignation. “I still don’t get why I’m being treated like this.”
“You didn’t deserve that, sweetie,” she reaffirms, meeting your eyes again with fierce compassion, and her hand grips impossibly tighter around yours. “Look, dear… I care so much about you both, my angels. I don’t think it’s my place to tell this story. Jeongguk carries so much love, but that spark was stolen from him.”
You suddenly feel ridiculous. You’d spent weeks thinking the spark you saw in Jeongguk’s eyes — the one that seemed to burn wherever his skin brushed yours — was a shared flame. Turns out it’s just been a reflection of your own.
You thought you were both willing to stand in its light together, slowly swallowing everything around you and making the flare impossibly high. But when you turn around, you realize he’s left you alone to be consumed by your own making.
So much for a firefighter.
Teeth harsh on your bottom lip, you let Grandma Mimi’s next words sink into your growing resentment, aimed mostly at yourself for being so naive.
“He’s a boy with baggage. I get if you don’t wanna embark on this journey with him. You gotta take care of yourself, too. You don’t have to understand him, just… show him a little patience.”
Gulping down the bitter taste on your tongue, your brows knit together at the bridge of your nose. You, showing him patience. That’s all you’ve done.
The bitterness grows sour as it appears the one person who could understand the predicament with Jeongguk is inevitably showing him more compassion, even when he’s not around.
Will she do the same for you if Jeongguk comes to her for advice? You could only hope. Though small, you smile and nod at the older woman, ready to move on from the topic.
And days later, when resentment blends with acceptance, you think you could offer him patience.
You’ve been moving through the week on autopilot, finding refuge in the dog shelter where you often volunteer. You sit in silence with stray puppies and older mutts who only ask for so much patience and care when they softly whine the first time they feel the touch of a kind hand.
More often than not, your stomach grumbles by the end of your shifts, demands a patience of its own. You’ve rarely been feeding it properly: when you do, it’s with instant ramen or whatever processed food you can grab without thinking.
You find yourself asking your heart for that same patience, too, as your mind constantly runs on a loop of unanswered questions and stalled feelings. Peace only comes when you feel yourself finally drifting into sleep, but then the alarm always blares just as your body begins to relax, and the cycle repeats.
So, when his door happens to open just as you’re unlocking yours after work, his eyes resemble those of shelter puppies, and patience is supposedly all you’ve learned to give during the time spent apart.
You haven’t seen or heard from Jeongguk for almost two weeks. Gureum never once whined through the wall, so you’d presumed he was either locked inside or that you’d simply been lucky enough to never cross paths.
Jeongguk wears exhaustion on his face like patience hasn’t been his replacement as it’s been yours, and when he sees you he stops dead in his tracks, brows twitching upward in an expression that feels painfully akin to relief.
You tell yourself to stop presuming things you don’t know the clear answer to.
Gureum emerges from behind him, tail wagging, and he sniffs excitedly at your feet. You flash a small, instinctive smile at the dog, but when your gaze lifts back to Jeongguk’s, your lips tighten into a straight line.
You’re about to turn your back to him when he speaks your name, agitated, taking a tentative step toward you and letting his door fall shut behind him.
“Can we talk?”
Brows furrowed, you witness his face fall once again at your stunned silence. You hesitate, still carrying those flames within you, feeling them slowly merge with the patience you thought you’d mastered, and that you eventually manage to show him.
“Jeongguk, I think it’s best if we don’t.”
He nods, and you immediately recognize the compliance in his eyes, the one he’s always had ready for you, even when you’d asked him to get up for the third time after you’d finally settled on your couch for Ratatouille just to grab another blanket.
“I just need one minute, please. I’m sorry—”
“I’m not ready to talk yet.” Ironic how days ago you were wanting clarity and he’s willing to give it to you now. Still, your heart’s too fragile to hear him out.
“But–”
“You hurt me.” You stop him, words, heart and all. Your words burn — a first responder whose livelihood depends on saving and rescuing … is responsible for hurting now. Patience shaped acceptance, and made you realize you might simply not be the person he longs for, no matter how well you fit together. “I feel like we should keep our distance for a while.”
“I—”
“Goodbye, Jeongguk.”
Your own heart breaks at the finality in your tone, shatters when you see its effects on his face. He inhales sharply, extending a hand to stop you from disappearing into your apartment, though it never actually touches you.
“Is your ex boyfriend still bothering you?”
The mention of Mingyu has you stalling your reply for longer than you thought you’d have to think for it. You’ve been so deep in your own head that you hadn’t even noticed his constant texts ceasing — no calls, no accidental meetings. You study Jeongguk’s expectant face, blink to try and make sense of why he’d ask this now.
You can only shake your head no.
“Okay,” he licks his lips, nodding to himself as he tugs lightly on Gureum’s leash when he starts whining at the lack of attention. You desperately wish you could kneel and pet him like you usually would have done, but you’re held captive by the way your neighbour’s face morphs, expression suddenly loosening.
“That’s good. Be safe, okay? Please, come to me if you ever need any help.”
Patience has been a virtue you’d tried cultivating. But after knowing what it feels like to have looked for him, looked in his trembling orbs as you asked for something as essential as truth, only to find no one there, something inside you snaps at his words.
“Come to you?” You let out a short scoff, keys jangling in your shaking hand. “Only for you to disappear again? You know, Grandma Mimi said I don’t have to understand you, but—”
Suddenly, he moves, stepping closer, far over the boundaries of what’s now allowed, and Gureum lets out a low bark. “What did Halmeoni tell you?”
You instinctively step back, retreating beyond the threshold of your apartment where you won’t let him reach you. Disappointment etched into every line of your face as you shake your head slightly.
“Nothing that she wouldn’t want you to tell me first. She wouldn’t betray your trust like that.”
It’s a pang ringing simultaneously into both of your chests, vibrating with the silent implications. Jeongguk betrayed your trust the very moment after he’d asked you for it, and the reminder has his nose twitching in visible shame.
He swallows hard, withdrawing to an accepted distance as the surge of panic washes out of him. “Look, I just wanted to apologize—”
“And you did.” You finalize, gaze dropping to anywhere but him. Your worn out heels, Gureum’s panting mouth, your bitten nails. “I don’t think there’s anything else we should talk about. I’m tired of this back and forth.” You’re tired of never knowing where you stand with him.
Then, you offer him one last flash of dejection before stepping inside your space and letting the door shut, signal an erect wall between you, one that trembles under the pressure of the unsaid but that you both fight to keep standing.
Another week passes without a glimpse of his sleep-deprived eyes or a single sound from the fifth floor. Jeongguk asked you to look for him exactly when it comes to the kind of help he knows you struggle to accept.
You wish you could look for him simply because you get lonely on your walks, and the other day you found a jazz song in one of your dad’s vinyl compilations that you think he’d really like, and you baked too many cookies once again but you can’t knock on his door.
Time will mend the hurt. In a month, it’ll probably feel less awkward to say hello in passing instead of dodging him at the grocery store, the way you do the next week. In two months, you might even return to friendly terms, listen to what he wanted to say in the hallway, accept that he can only find solace in your friendship, not your lips on his.
And you’ll be okay with that. You’d take it over this abrupt loss, how the tide stripped him from you cold turkey. It’s been a brutal process relearning life on the fifth floor, relearning lunches at Grandma Mimi’s without him in the seat opposite of yours, relearning Pixar movies without him overanalyzing the animation.
You give yourself the grace to do it gradually.
Gradually, just like when you convince yourself none of your own jackets fit. So you wear his over a short dress you picked for drinks with friends — strictly because the oversized look pairs better with the leather of your boots, not because almond-and-pine-equals-shelter is still something you can’t unlearn.
Gradually, so that when you finally get to Ratatouille, you sniff and wipe at your cheeks as Remy combines strawberry and cheese, and the flavors merge with jazz instrumentals, and the colorful shapes on screen would have had him go off on one of his geeky animation tangents.
Gradually, like how you’ve been staying after hours at the clinic, offering to take on the mindless, end of day tasks. Your coworkers thank you when you confirm that, for the second week in a row, you’ll be the one preparing the clinic for the morning rush.
It’s a way for you to stall time, be here where it doesn’t truly feel like you’re alone, even as the clinic is dimmed and quiet. The pharmacy prep area becomes your sanctuary smelling of antiseptic.
The only sound heard is the repeated tink-tink-tink of the small plastic spatula as you move the yellow tablets across the counting tray. It’s a robotic motion, the one to count a massive prescription of heart medication for a regular patient, a Great Dane.
You’re hunched over the counter under a single pool of fluorescent light, and the silence might even be loud enough for you to become aware of the pace of your pulse — relaxed, echoing in your ears.
Tink, tink, tink. Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub.
When a loud thump resounds from the lobby, you think you can feel your heart bursting against your ribs in perfect sync with the way the front door is slammed open.
You flinch, spatula jumping in your hand and sending a dozen pills skittering across the floor like marbles, mimicking the door bells chiming.
All of it gets drowned by a rough, panicked voice that has you standing up out of a sharp instinct. “Help, please!”
You bolt from the prep area, lab coat flapping behind you as you round the corner into the lobby. The voice was unrecognizable, a jagged, breathless wreck of a sound. But the sight in front of you is unmistakeable, stopping the air in your lungs.
Jeongguk is staggering toward one of the chairs of the waiting room, frame trembling so violently you almost miss the cause: Gureum is clutched to his chest, and his knuckles are white and slimy with the dog’s saliva. It’s the little maltese vibrating with him that sends you hurrying their way.
“Jeongguk, put him down!” You assert, professionalism surging through you and overriding the panic that rushed at the sight of him, voice sharp enough to pierce through his own fright. “What happened?”
You recognize the throes of a grand mal seizure, Gureum’s tiny body rigid, head arched back at an unnatural angle, his paws paddling the air. You still urge a response out of Jeongguk, whose wide eyes are bloodshot and fixed on the dog’s flickering eyelids.
“We were— we were on a walk, he— he fell,” his voice cracks, yet he doesn’t let Gureum go. “He started shaking, his eyes… he wouldn’t look at me. Please, I can’t— he’s dying—”
You drop to your knees in front of him, hands moving with practiced grace. “He’s not dying. It’s a seizure. You have to lay him down before you drop him.” You pry his shaky arms open, guiding him so that Gureum would be safe on the linoleum floor.
The heat radiating off the dog’s body is intense against your palms once you gently reposition him and check the pulse in his groin. Gureum’s breath comes in hot, wet gasps, and it almost matches his owner’s hysteria.
Jeongguk looks like he’s about to follow the dog into a collapse. He’s hyperventilating, fingers digging into his now empty thighs as he watches his dog shake with the last of the muscle tremors surging through his body.
“I’m sorry. Puh—please, help him,” Jeongguk hiccups, and your heart constricts. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him lose control, lose composure like this, let go completely the way he’s now breaking apart in front of you. You’re momentarily stuck, eyes flickering all over his shattered face.
His eyes are glossed over with succumbing as they follow your every shift, as you recover and reach over to grab Jeongguk’s wrist to pull his hand flat onto Gureum’s flank.
“Jeongguk. Gguk, hey. Look at me.”
He gasps, vision tunneling and drowning once he feels the dog’s beating heart beneath your warm hand, body unmoving save for his heaving chest and shaky fingers.
You beg, “Breathe with me.”
When his face snaps up at your wobbly voice, he’s a wreck of tears and exhaustion, his bangs matted to his forehead. His head twitches with a quick shake. “I’m sorry. I duh—don’t wanna lose him.”
You don’t break eye contact, don’t risk losing him to the void, and force strength in your tone. “You won’t, okay? Gureum is okay. Look.”
As he follows your gaze down, you both witness how Gureum’s tiny legs have stopped paddling. The dog blinks, head lifting a few inches, looking up at his owner with a dazed expression.
The seizure is over.
Jeongguk cracks a relieved smile, breath hitching, “Gureumie… My baby.” His large hand slides from your hold to gently cup the side of Gureum’s muzzle, eyes still wide and now blinking heavily.
You let them stay like that for a moment, allowing Jeongguk to catch his breath, unconsciously regulating with your own deep inhales, slow exhales. Batting away a pair of very unprofessional tears, you gently encircle Gureum’s weak body and lift him as you stand.
Looking up, Jeongguk sniffs and abruptly wipes his cheek with the back of his hand. “What— what’s going on?”
“It was a seizure,” you repeat, watching how his brows pinch like he’s just now letting the information filter through his padded ears and sink in. You’re quick to reassure him. “It’s over now. I just need to do a proper check-up, but he’s already coming around. Wanna come with us?”
You hold the dog closer to your chest, mindful to keep your grip gentle, as well as your tone when speaking to your neighbour, clearly still shaken up. He nods, hesitant, and stands to follow you into an exam room.
On the stainless steel table, Gureum shivers against the cold and unforgiving surface, a tiny tremor that sends a fresh wave of agony across Jeongguk’s face.
“He’s shaking again,” Jeongguk rasps, hands hovering near the table, twitching as if he wants to snatch the dog up but knows better. “Is he having another one? Is he—”
“No,” your voice is steady, settles low between the both of you. “It’s the post-ictical phase. He’s just disoriented.” A raised hand comes forward to halt his forward lean, keeping your expression stern but reassuring. “I know what I’m doing. I need you to be calm and stay where you are. Can you do that for me?”
His nod is frantic, as if he’s suddenly snapping out of a daze, and he takes a step back. He moves his eyes up at you with a desperate guilt that tells you it has nothing to do with the dog. “Yes. Sorry.”
Reaching into your lab coat, you pull out a small silver penlight, the beam cutting through Gureum’s dark, glassy stare.
“Pupils are equal and reactive,” you murmur, watching the irises contract. “That’s good. He’s coming out of the woods.”
You continue the examination in silence, moving expertly as you look for further signs of recovery. Checking his gums for that healthy flush of pink, monitoring his temperature. As expected, Gureum is burning up, little body still reeling. You remain collected, although the weight of Jeongguk’s eyes on you has your expression flickering.
After you’re finished scrubbing Gureum’s tiny paws and the thin skin of his ears with alcohol-soaked pads to regulate his temperature, the weary whine he gives into the medicinal-scented room has Jeongguk letting out a half-hiccup, morphing into a broken smile.
Gureum leans his head into your touch, his core temperature cooling down and his body readapting to his surroundings. Jeongguk grips the edge of the exam table so hard the metal groans.
Finally, you tuck your stethoscope back into your pocket after having checked for a rhythmic heartbeat, and you look up into the widened eyes in front of you. “He’s fine, Jeongguk. His heart is strong, this was a fluke. He just needs to rest.”
Jeongguk nods repeatedly, reaching out with hesitance to pet Gureum's fur. “Thank you, thank you so much.”
You hum, turning your back to him to wash your hands. The scent of alcohol evaporating from Gureum’s paws still waltzes in the air, mingling with a thick, regretful silence.
He’s the one to break through it, voice returning to its usual regulated tone, yet it’s pitched low with the realization of his complete loss of control dawning on the both of you. “I’m sorry for… Hell, I’ve a lot to be sorry for.”
“It’s okay,” you whisper. The exhaustion of the day, of these past weeks, sinks into your chest all at once. The familiar void begins taking up more than its allowed space, and with Jeongguk in the same room but nothing left on your tongue to say, you find yourself searching for an exit.
“No, it’s not,” Jeongguk lets out with a voice as frail as yours, and your brows twitch as you turn around. He sniffs, and there’s a sudden resolution across his features. “If you give me the chance, I… I think I’m ready to be honest with you, now.”
Gureum presses his face further into Jeongguk’s palm, and you’re both looking down at his timid tongue licking over his skin rather than witnessing the hurt tightening both your expressions.
You hesitate, inhale shaky, “Look, I’m still working, and…”
“I know, I know,” he nods, pointer finger sliding gently across the dog’s wet nose. “Whenever you want to, you can knock on my door. Just… consider it. Please.”
You do consider it. Let another week pass as you do.
Before work, when your leg bobs restlessly under the table and you forcefully wrap your mouth around a spoon of soggy cereal.
After work, spotting him from a distance in the park, sitting on your bench, while Gureum trots freely through the grass.
When you close your eyes, and all you can see behind your lids is his tear-streaked face and the tremor of his brows.
At the grocery store, when you’re buying apples and find yourself wishing Gureum would rip another of your plastic bags, and hoping the dog’s doing better.
Whenever you’re closing your door or opening it, and the vision in front of you is always his closed one.
Exactly one week later, coming back from another of your increasingly long walks, you finally hear sound coming from beyond the piece of wood separating you. You think you can distinguish Gureum’s nails clicking on the floor and Jeongguk’s small giggle resounding in the space.
And it’s as if your heart finally gives up the fight, longs for that melody to vibrate through it again. You clearly don’t think of it enough when your knuckles meet the wood.
Followed by an eager bark, you hear Jeongguk’s feet hastily making their way to the door. As it swings open, you wonder if he’s worn that same expectant expression every time someone has knocked over the past seven days.
Eyes large and sparkling, his lifted brows relax once he takes you in, standing in front of him, wearing the same baby blue set you had on during your very first walk together.
“Hi,” he breathes through a smile, and you think that vision alone might be enough, him looking at you like this is worth the risk of whatever rejection or truth follows.
“Hey,” in return, your smile is weak and doesn’t fully form. You spot Gureum behind him, tail wagging and tongue lolling. Returning your gaze to his owner, you ask, hesitant, “Is this a bad moment?”
“No, not at all.” Jeongguk is quick to step aside, pulling the door wide. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
He says he’s been waiting for you — just as you’ve punished both of you by stalling this conversation, you suppose — yet, after the meaningless small talk has faded and you’ve acknowledged how much better Gureum is doing, his words desert him as he fiddles with his fingers on his lap.
His couch feels firmer than you remember, and you reposition yourself as you cross your legs and turn your front to fully face him, sitting next to you.
“You said you wanted to talk.”
Jeongguk nods, locking his gaze onto yours. “I do. I owe you an explanation.” It’s not long before his eyes drop back to his hands. “I’ve been such an asshole to you this whole time, and you’re still here willing to listen to me.”
You gulp, fighting the lump in your throat and trying to silence the anxiety whispering in the back of your mind, anticipating what he might say.
He licks his lips before inhaling, “I’ve been in a dark headspace for quite some time. The time apart from you… made me realize I’ve been pushing away the only person who made it all a bit brighter.”
Looking up, he lets his glossy eyes speak to your swollen pupils and the silence speak for his regret.
Jeongguk tells you about a girl named Nora who once occupied your apartment, long before the family of four. He explains how she’d always get into trouble, pair that with his unfortunate hero complex, he’d always mend the damage.
“I fell for her because she gave me purpose. I think I was Pavlov’ed into being her dog.” A humourless chuckle escapes him, but his face soon twitches back into hurt. He leans back onto the couch and looks up at you as if he’s trying to read your thoughts. “She was good to me only when I did things for her. I lost a lot in that relationship.” He sucks in a breath. “Money, time, dignity… love.”
His money was spent on her distractions, innocent enough at first. This is how you learn that Gureum wasn’t even his dog to begin with, but Nora’s emotional support animal. He doesn’t regret the money he spent on the Maltese. His face does twist with shame when he mentions buying weed just to comply and make her stay, paying for the city’s best therapist only for her to reject the help, emptying his wallet on hospital admissions and pills which she swore she needed in her healing process.
That’s similar to how his dignity got stripped from his hold, too. Especially when he recounts, with a visible shiver, how she convinced him to get high with her, claiming he didn’t really love her if he wouldn’t join her, and the sex almost resulted in him getting baby-trapped.
The words nearly hiccup on their way out of his throat, and your hand flies to hold his in comfort. Your breath hitches, “Gguk, oh god… I’m so sorry.”
When he snaps up from the spot he’d zoned out on, he sees your face wet with tears and his palm engulfs yours so tight it might have hurt if your chest wasn’t already constricted by the truths spilling from his mouth.
Jeongguk shakes his head and you notice his other hand twitching on his thigh, almost as if he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure if he could.
“After that, it got worse.” He gulps, face stiff as he skims through the wreckage of those years, but still pushes for the honesty he owes you. “She started really abusing drugs. Then harming herself, too… but, you know. I thought I could help her. Save her.”
His voice breaks on the last admission, and you slide closer on the couch until your knees are bumping, forcing him to look at your face, your lips as you whisper with assurance, “I’m sure you did more than enough, Gguk.”
“Not enough to keep her with me. She… she just left us. Me and Gureum.” His gaze falls to the dog laying at the feet of the couch. He sniffles, worrying at his bottom lip before shaking his head to clear the fog. “But, yeah. This— I’m not telling you this so you’ll pity me.”
You inhale, open your mouth to reassure him, but he interrupts. “I just want to apologize for projecting all that onto you. I shouldn’t have let my insecurities speak over what you were telling me. And what you were showing me.”
Jeongguk had been grieving you, anticipatorily. This whole time, looking into your eyes has felt like his last time doing so, and tasting your every baked good has felt like a privilege he was destined to lose. And he had tried his best to extend that time, prove to you he could be worth it.
You’ve been expecting him, anticipatorily. Willing to discover what being so close to the fire would do to your insides, whether it would melt you into ashes or forge you into something better. And you find ashes only provide the space for new and greater beginnings, after all.
Your thumb brushes over his knuckles as you lean closer, resting your side against the cushions. In the narrow space between you, you can clearly see the subtle twitch of his chin, how hard he’s fought through this conversation.
“You need to stop worrying so much about other people. Sometimes, they don’t wanna be saved.” Your whisper fans over his cheeks like cold air over the flames. “Save yourself, Gguk. Leave some life for yourself, too.”
Jeongguk swallows back words that refuse to come out without tears, and he isn’t ready to cry. He doesn’t want to.
But it’s so hard to stay composed when your other hand, shaky and uncertain, places itself gently against his cheek, touch so soft he lets his eyes flutter shut along with your tender words.
“I hope you know that if I’m here, it’s because I found so much more in you than a person willing to carry the world’s weight. And that is nothing to be ashamed of, either. Ever.” You punctuate with finality.
When your thumb strokes his cheek, it is to catch the tears that inevitably break loose. You speak sincerity into the inches between you.
“I wish you could’ve seen from the beginning that I would’ve stood by you even if you weren’t constantly trying to prove your worth. You are worth it, Gguk. The right person doesn’t need you to only give. I wish you could also learn how to take.”
For the weeks that follow, you both truly relearn life on the fifth floor with no barriers between you — no emotional walls, at least, just two wooden doors and cracking hesitance.
You’ve confirmed your belief that loss is not just absence. What’s empty leaves space for something else, and losing Jeongguk had only prepared you to welcome him back properly, in a way. Grief led you to blooming patience and understanding, so that when you found yourself facing Jeongguk’s glossy eyes, you simply gave him back what was already his — a permanent spot in your heart.
Jeongguk, in turn, learns that loss doesn’t always look like failure, that failing might just mean the same mistakes cannot be repeated, and he can still take from them. Failing is no longer a monster under the bed when you continue to smile up at him every day, regardless of whether he can be the strong one.
When he finally allows you to see the burn scars on his bare back, the marks of the moment he truly felt like he had failed, you don’t see weakness. You don’t see someone incapable. Instead, you’re there to wipe his tears and look at him with a deepening adoration in your eyes that he never thought possible.
You learn that Nora didn’t only leave him emotionally empty. That door shutting close behind her signalled the very last time he’d ever have the chance of seeing her again.
Because Nora also left a physically empty void in her departure. She was consumed by the same flames he dominates and saves people from. He blames himself for failing to save her, but as you trace the jagged lines of his scars, you whisper that they’re only a further proof of the courage he carries — and if that ever weighs him down, you tell him to topple onto you. You’ll be there to cradle him with the care he’s finally learning to allow and accept.
Jeongguk keeps giving. Constantly. Even more than he did when he was just your neighbour turned friend.
For starters, you discover the reason Mingyu’s constant texts finally ceased: Jeongguk. He doesn’t offer much detail, only that your ex boyfriend is no longer someone you should worry about. You jokingly ask if he’s murdered him, and he laughs like he doesn’t know the sound alone tugs at your heartstrings painfully, beautifully.
“God, no,” he chuckles, laughter dimming as if he still feels he hasn’t quite earned the right to let loose like that. “Just told him to leave you alone. For good.”
You bite on your smile, shrugging playfully. “I wouldn’t have snitched on you.”
When you also let out a giggle, he can’t help but join in, softly nudging your shoulder with his. “You’re so ridiculous.”
He attempts to bake cookies, just to return the sweetness, but you can’t suppress the huff of a chortle the moment you take a bite.
Furrowing his brows, he mimics your contained smile. “What?”
“No, it’s—” You mumble around a mouthful before swallowing hard. “It’s good.”
“Oh, I knew I got something wrong,” he shakes his head, turning back to the tray, grimacing at the cookies’ pale, wet appearance.
You raise your brows, shifting into comfort mode as you wrap yourself around his arm to recall his attention. “It’s probably just the oven settings, Gguk. They’re really not bad.”
He smiles sheepishly down at you, catching your sneaky, mischievous dimples. “Okay, finish the cookie, then.”
You inhale, slowly detaching from him, “Um…”
In a heartbeat, his fingers are digging into your sides. You shriek, doubling over in his hold as he tickles restlessly, and he’s also laughing right against your ear, “You liar!”
The next time he tries, the cookies are considerably better. Perhaps it’s the determination in his eyes, the kind that says failure is no longer a reason to stop. Either way, you end the night crashing on his couch, full-tummied and high on sugar.
Almost every weekend, he cooks dinner for the two of you, and while he does the dishes you’re rambling into his ear about work. By now, he’s so invested that the times he drives you to the clinic he’s tempted to stay through your shift — can’t wait for the evening to hear the latest developments.
It’s a series of silent actions: having already the couch prepped with your favourite blankets for movie nights even as the warm spring weather approaches; carrying your every heavy grocery bag on his wide shoulders; heating up your water bottle when you’re on your period.
He even lets you drag him out for drinks with your friends, staying by your side despite his drowsiness, and he never once complains. Always has his eyes on you, attuned to your every shift.
If you want to dance, he’ll let you grind against him and guide your hips even as he shivers from the contact, restraining himself from placing his lips where he’d really want to. If you want to drink, he’ll be by your side for a glass or two before he begins monitoring your alcohol-intake.
One night, sitting together on the bar stools, when the techno-house music begins to blare too loudly against your temple, you let your head slip onto his shoulder. He runs a warm palm up and down your back and you turn sheepish at the contact, burrowing closer into his side.
He leans in, speaks into your ear, “You wanna go home, Oompie?”
Nodding into his chest, he chuckles softly. And he moves just as carefully, straightening you up so he can stand. “Okay, I’ll go grab our stuff from the table. Don’t move.”
You watch him go with a lazy, unconscious smile on your lips. Once he disappears into the crowd, your palm replaces his shoulder as you rest your cheek on it, elbow propped up the counter.
When you hear the stool beside you scratching against the floor, you turn your head with a light in your eyes ready to welcome Jeongguk back, tell him about this face mask you should try once you’re home, until the flicker dims at the sight of a stranger.
The man is buff, not in the lean way Jeongguk is. His beard makes him look rougher than he already appears, and he acknowledges you with a nod of his chin and a slimy smile. “What’s a doll like you doing alone?”
You immediately straighten up your slugged position, head spinning slightly from the drinks. “Huh, I—”
“Let me get you a drink.” He’s already waving for the bartender, but you stop him quickly.
“No, I— I’m about to leave with my boyfriend, sorry.” The word slips naturally over your tongue, whether it comes as a handy excuse or a subconscious wish.
Scoffing, the man shakes his head at the bartender, who looks on with confusion. “Right. Boyfriend. You females always use that one, huh? How come every time you say you have a boyfriend, he’s never actually there?”
Furrowing your brows, you inhale, alcohol fueling a sudden spark of anger. “Have you considered that the only way males stop bothering us is once we mention another ma—”
“Hey sweets, ready to go?”
Both you and the entitled stranger turn around at the sound of Jeongguk’s voice, standing right behind you with raised brows. They pinch together the moment he takes in the guy sitting in his previous spot, and he’s immediately wrapping a firm hand around your waist once you hurriedly step off the stool.
“My bad, bro. I ain’t mean anything,” the man mutters, lifting his hands in defeat before vanishing back into the crowd, just as you imagined he would’ve once he saw Jeongguk.
Tall, buff, tattooed and scary-looking Jeongguk, who looks down at you alarmedly, his palm traveling up your side. “Did he try anything?”
“No, no,” you shake your head, leading the way toward the exit as he follows closely. “He offered a drink, and I told him I have a boyfriend. And then he started going off about how women lie about it, like—”
You stop mid-sentence when, looking up, you see Jeongguk biting back a grin while his eyes are fixed on the ground, making sure you don’t trip on the sidewalk. Then, noticing the silence, he turns to you expectantly.
You narrow your eyes, curling into his chest as the chilly night air hits your skin. “Why are you smiling like that?”
Jeongguk shrugs, guiding you both toward his car. “Nothing, just wasn’t aware you had a boyfriend.”
Rolling your eyes, you swat at his stomach and try to detach yourself, but he just tugs you back in. You keep up the banter, only because there’s nothing you love more than playful and relaxed Jeongguk.
“Yeah, well… I would’ve told you eventually.”
“Oh, really?” He opens the passenger door and eases you into the seat before rounding the car. He gets inside, doesn’t start the engine, just shifts to look at you. Noticing your tight shoulders, he pulls his jacket off and drapes it over your exposed legs. “What’s he like?”
Your fingers curl into the leather, and you let the side of your head rest back against the seat, looking at him through heavy lids. “He’s the perfect guy to scare other men away. He’s tall, has lots of tattoos…”
Humming around a smile, Jeongguk reaches out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, hand staying to cup around your cheek. “And is he really that scary?”
Jeongguk is also learning how to take. Take in how your words sink straight into his heart, no intrusive thoughts of selfishness, simply basking into the feeling of being taken care of. Being seen, heard, understood. Being allowed to trip and finding your extended hand ready to lift him up and mend his wounds.
Ever so attentive, you read every wave of emotion washing over his face without the need for words. You have enough for the both of you, and you use them to tame the flames into a nice, warm bonfire.
You shake your head against his palm, turning your face just slightly so you can leave a faint, warm peck on his wrist. “No… he has the kindest, biggest heart.”
The next night, while thumbing through his vinyls, your fingers stumble onto a sleeve that feels unfamiliar. On the turntable, The Sky Is a Landfill by Jeff Buckley nears its end, but the record you pull from the shelf is a limited edition Radiohead. Karma Police, to be exact. The song you were born to.
You stand up from your crouched position, eyes raking over the autographed cover. Turning to Jeongguk, he’s still on the couch, glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose as he scrolls through next month’s work schedule.
You quip, loud enough over the drums of Everybody Here Wants You. “When did you get this, Gguk?”
Looking up at the sound of your voice, he adjusts his glasses only for his eyes to widen once they land on the record in your hands. He sits up straighter, “I, huh…” sighing, he admits. “That was supposed to be your gift.”
“What?” It’s your eyes dilating, glancing between the gift and the gifter. A thirty-two-teeth smile stretches across your mouth. “Are you serious? Why didn’t you…”
Phone discarded, he strides his way toward you, a shy dimple hollowing his cheek. “I’m sorry…”
Once he’s in front of you, looking so pretty and vulnerable under the amber hues of the lamp reflecting off his glasses, your gaze drops back to the vinyl. Shaking your head, you slide the record back into its place and finally allow yourself to take him in.
“Can we both agree on not apologizing anymore?”
He nods sheepishly, but whatever agreement was on his tongue turns into a yelp as you throw yourself into his chest. Your arms lock around his neck and he instinctively lifts you off the carpet.
“Thank you, Ggukkie.” Squealing, you kick your legs in the air before he’s setting you back down, giggling against your ear.
“Do you like it?”
“I love it!” You pull back just enough to better express the sentiment, eyes locked onto his blown-wide pupils.
Your smiles linger, but they morph into something easier, lazier. You’re both playing the toughest ping-pong match between eyes and lips, and Jeongguk admits defeat first, straightening slightly and loosening his grip on your waist.
“Sorry.”
You hum, eyes narrowing as you tug him back into your space with a hand splayed over his nape. “What did I just say?”
“I know, I know,” he grumbles, gaze falling onto your mouth as he swallows hard, almost as if it’s painful to look anywhere else. “I just wanna give you your space. I know that I still don’t have your full trust.”
Your brows twitch. “Gguk… You do.”
Fingers traveling up, you cradle his jaw and let your thumb brush the corner of his mouth, parted and breathing out a trembling exhale. It’s like you can see the fight slowly leaving his body, how his lids droop and his palms settle on your hips.
With your other hand, you fix his glasses and ruffle his hair — getting a little too long now — with a gentle touch. “I’ve had enough space. I can’t stay away from you.”
There never really was space between you, and there never needed to be. You’re magnets that have tried to reject one another for far too long, but when you’re face to face the pull is stronger and undeniable.
Jeongguk can only drop his forehead against yours, breathing in the sweet merge of cotton candy and almond. You speak the assurance you know he needs in the puff of air left between you.
“I wanna be there for you. With you. Through everything. I just need you to let me in.”
The flames engulf you once again, but this time you’re both standing in the heat together. You’ve decided it’s worth being consumed, and he realizes that all the times he’s ran, he only deprived himself of this comfortable warmth.
You whisper, “Do you trust me?”
Jeongguk, ever so responsive, nods his head against your forehead. “I do.”
It’s all the permission you need. You lean in, pressing your mouth to his in a kiss that has you both sighing through your nose, limbs instantly locking tighter around one another. When he lets one hand drag lower around the curve of your hips, you whimper against his lips and he wastes no time finding your tongue with his.
You don’t think you’ll ever need air to fill your lungs again, because oxygen still flows through the kiss directly to your heart. And you don’t care if it’s messy, if Jeongguk’s glasses are slipping further down his nose, if your teeth clash the more you push against each other — because when you hear him whine, it only spurs you further.
You detach just enough to trail kisses along his chin, following the line of his jaw down to his throat, causing him to throw his head back, unable to keep his moan trapped behind his teeth. Your hand buried in the hair at the nape of his neck tugs him backward, giving yourself more space to suck and nip at the expanse of his neck.
“Baby, oh shit,” he groans as you push him against the furniture, the impact hard enough to have Jeff Buckley’s voice startle and skip on the still-spinning vinyl. You release his skin with a wet smack, looking up at him through your dazed fog and swollen lips.
Jeongguk moans from the vision alone, trying to conceal it by colliding your mouths together once again, his hands firming on your waist to guide the slow but sharp grinds against his already embarrassingly, clothed and hard length.
It throbs beneath his thin sweats when you press your hand on it, pulling him lightly by his hair so you can whisper against his flushed-pink ear. “Do you trust me with your pleasure?”
He nods, moans so loud around a yeah, and watches in awe as you drop to your knees in front of him, lowering his pants along with you. You look up through your lashes and flash a wicked smile before mouthing at his cock, licking over the wet spot on his white boxers.
Jeongguk quite literally wails, messily pushes his glasses back against the bridge of his nose, then bucks his hips up in search of more friction. “Please, sweets.”
“Hm? What?” You let your lips drag over his incredibly hard girth, placing your hands on his muscular thighs and causing him to whimper. Batting your lashes, you tilt your head. “What do you want?”
“I want you to do whatever you want to me, please,” words so compliant and vulnerable clash with the way his wide palm comes to cup your jaw, fingers extending to the rest of your face and digging in desperate need of restraint.
You turn for a quick kiss on his wrist before wrapping your hand around it, shaking your head as you let his arm drop at his side. “If you want me to suck your cock, you need to keep your hands to yourself. Okay?”
“O–okay,” he stutters and wraps his fingers tight around the edge of the cabinet, knuckles turning white.
“Not a punishment, Ggukkie,” you reassure as you slowly pull his boxers down, cock springing free and brushing your nose. He hisses, tries pushing forward but your palms are back on his thighs, digging. “I just wanna take care of you tonight. Would you like that?”
Whimpering, he breathes, “Yeah, fuck, I’d love that.”
You look between his length and his face, both pretty and blushing pink. His tip throbs and leaks, begs to be welcomed in your warm mouth. His brows twitch, too, angled upwards and only accentuating his wide eyes behind the glasses.
Your tongue runs from his base to his tip before you’re wrapping your lips around it, humming along with his dragged moan. The dresser rustles once again, this time with the force of his constraint, and you start bobbing your head as your fist pumps the parts you can’t reach.
“Shit, you feel suh—so, mmph—good,” his stutter syncs with the way his own hips slip, pushing his cock further inside your mouth and hitting the back of your throat while your fist is still wrapped around his base, causing you to gag.
He gasps, hand hovering the side of your face but, ever so obedient, he doesn’t touch you. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
You retreat with a wet sound, length bouncing straight in front of you and keeping your vision of his face obstructed. “Yeah, Ggukkie. Did you like that?”
His fingers curl into a fist beside your head, and you can see his throat bob around a hard swallow. He hums, head nodding slightly.
You decide he’s been good enough. Guide his hand with your own on top of your head, where his fingers sneak into your hair and you let yourself be held as you’re wrapped around his cock again and he slowly bucks his hips into your warmth, your tongue coming out to swirl around his tip.
Jeongguk is long, and he feels even thicker in your mouth. You choke at the intrusion, but nonetheless press yourself further — anything it takes to hear his pretty, wailed sounds.
Knees numb from his hardwood floors, your panties grow wetter as you imagine what he’d feel like inside you, and the thought alone has you moaning around him, nodding your head at a faster pace while your hand keeps flicking at his base.
That’s when you look up at him, meet the flushed mess on his cheeks, how his glasses are close to slipping off his nose and his furrowed brows threaten to leave a premature wrinkle.
He opens his mouth around a moan when he takes in your glossy eyes staring up at his through your drawn up brows, and his thrusts stammer. “Baby, I’m gonna cum.”
You hum, hollowing your cheeks around his tip while your other hand lowers to tease his balls, and then you truly hear him cry.
His hand slips to your jaw so he can angle your gaze on his, glasses only heightening the twinkle in his dazed, swollen pupils. And it must be the same look mirrored in your eyes that leaves him empty of words, of any warning, before he’s choking around a moan and painting your throat white.
You cease your movement, allowing him to thrust lazily into your mouth however he wants to ride through his well-deserved orgasm. He pulls his softening cock out of your warm cavern, fucked-out gaze matching yours before he helps you up to your feet. Lips crashed to yours, he thrust his tongue into your mouth, relishing the mix of his salted taste with your saliva.
“You’re so good to me.” He pants against your lips. “How’d I get this lucky?”
You whimper in his embrace, too overwhelmed by his touch to verbalize your retort of how good he’s been to you.
Hours later, when he’s found it hard to stop kissing you and you’ve found it hard to keep your sneaky hands off him, Jeongguk has you sprawled on his bed, tugging your shorts down along with your uncomfortably slicked panties.
You support yourself on your forearms, can’t miss the look on his face when he spreads your legs wider and pants at the sight of your soaked lips, swollen clit.
“Fuck, baby,” his hands hover, overwhelmed at the sight of you from above, even more when you pull at the neck of your tee and take it off in one swift move.
He almost wanted to fuck you with that shirt on, the one you stole from his drawer nights ago, only because it felt good to see you entirely bathed in him.
But the sight of your tits shuts his every other thought out. Glasses thrown somewhere on his nightstand, he isn’t a bit phased at the sudden change in vision. You’re so close to him — so close where he can see the tiny freckles and marks you’d consider imperfections. They all look the same to him: home to his lips and touch.
He sighs, lowering his face in between your spread thighs, “Can I taste you?”
Although he still gives you the illusion of being in charge, you’re putty under his hazed, hungry eyes, nodding expectantly and pushing your chest forward to welcome his warm and wide palm around your boob, thumb brushing the nipple.
His other hand grips the side of your thigh as he softly blows on your clit and makes you whimper. Not louder than when he wraps his lips around it, suctioning the bud in his wet mouth and making your eyes roll to the back of your head.
“Gguk, oh my god,” you don’t care about how pathetic you sound, not when he lets his tongue slide between your puffy folds, his groan vibrating right through you. He still circles shapes around your nipple, and you fall on your back as you spasm under him.
You let out a particularly loud cry when you feel the tip of his tongue teasing your entrance, only to lick up where he slurps around your clit and speaks against it. “Taste so sweet. The sweetest.”
When your hand flies into his hair for support, your gazes meet before you shut your eyes at the overwhelming sensations. You feel yourself clench around nothing when his sliced eyes lock back with your wide and teary ones as he dives deep into you, humming incomprehensible praises.
You’re left whimpering at the intensity of his stare, and he sucks on your clit avidly as his grip on your boob tightens. You jolt forward when you feel one of his thick digits taunt your hole before slipping inside, and he’s instantly groaning when he feels your gushy walls squeeze.
Your fingers grip his locks tighter as he pumps the finger in and out a few times before curling inside, only to be joined by a second digit. You wail, panting and bucking your hips forward as he leaves your nub alone in favour of tracing sweet kisses along the inside of your thigh.
He’s evidently determined to ruin you when he adds a third finger, and you’re mewling loudly, mouth agape and brows raised as you shake under his ministrations.
The stretch is mind-numbing as he thrusts his thick digits at a rapid pace. You bite down on your forearm to muffle the lewd sounds, and it only motivates him more to work you through your impending orgasm.
“Jeongguk—” You cry. “I—I’m cumming, shit, baby, I’m cumming.” Your back arches against his mattress, cunt pulsating around his fingers as you let yourself go. His mouth finds home around your clit again, ignoring your sobs as he suctions harder around you.
He knows what you need — knows he needs to give back just as much as you’ve given him.
Jeongguk is quick to come up to your face and leave comforting pecks over your jaw, his other hand keeping you firm by your waist.
When he kisses you and lets your tastes mix together, tongue slicing against yours in a wet and slicked exchange just as he angles his fingers into a particular spot, you keen and squeeze around him so tight he feels lightheaded thinking of how well his cock would fit in you.
“Did so good for me, sugar,” he whispers sweet nothings against your lips as you come down, mouth traveling up to peck your temple as his fingers slowly ease their way out of your gaping hole.
Your hand reaches down and engulfs his wrist, bringing it to your face. Mouth wrapping around his fingers, you lick and suck your essence off his digits. His lips part, wishing he had been the one to taste more of you.
“How’d you taste, hm?” He presses his mouth to yours.
Your tongue massages against his, a breathy giggle escaping as you whisper your answer, “Sweet.”
You had been too drowsy for anything more in the aftermath, no matter how much you wanted it. Jeongguk gently shushed your dozy whines with small, repeated pecks on the corner of your mouth until the warm pattern he traced over your arm and the prospect of his morning pancakes lulled you to sleep.
And you find waking up beside him has been worth every wait, especially rewarding when your smaller frame is curled into his broad chest, embracing you from behind with an arm draped over your front.
Shuffling closer into him only has you gasping in more delight when you feel how his hard length pokes your soft ass, and how the friction immediately has him stirring behind you. You go still when he groans groggily in your ear, and his hand splays warm over your stomach.
“Baby,” he mumbles, the word barely leaving his lips but having your legs pressed together, only tightening the tension between your meeting middles.
You hum and try a tentative push, his hot breath fanning against your lobe as it escapes his lips paired with a growl. In response, he attempts a more decisive grind, pinning you into him with his spread hand over your womb, his hardness melting into the tender skin of your cheeks.
It doesn’t take long for his hand to slide lower, for him to sneak his fingers between your already soaked folds, impatiently prepare you with one digit in before the lazy circles of his thumb on your clit have you spasming messily. He then grinds against your covered heat, wetness soaking through your panties as his movement grows quicker.
“Please, Gguk.” Your mouth falls open. “I need to feel you inside me.”
He groans, breath coming out harsh as he continues rubbing his hard cock between your folds, enjoying the wet, slick sounds just a little more before he gives into your pleas. Your arm reaches back, hand sprawled over his ass as you hold him in place, tucking him just enough where the tip of his cock catches your entrance.
He hisses, restraint going out the door as you angle your ass to tease the possibility of sinking into your warmth.
And it doesn’t take long after that for his thick cock to find its rightful place inside your snug walls, though not without a condom wrapped around it.
The stretch is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, and you’re unable to stop the breathy sounds you let out in the quiet of his bedroom, your sloppy grip also rendering him incapable of keeping increasingly louder moans in — a combo which probably explains why you let go together, in no time, with a few lazy thrusts.
Doesn’t take long to figure out why you have sex almost every day after that, after being stuffed full by him and tightening so hard around his length you swear you’d have kept him locked there forever.
You never protest against the condom. You understand the boundaries he still needs to keep, even as you find yourself wishing to feel him bare once he finally feels secure enough. Condom or not, you’ve been on cloud nine ever since discovering what orgasms that aren’t results of your own, pathetic efforts feel like.
There’s not a single corner of either apartment that hasn’t witnessed the two of you breaking apart in pleasure.
You jerk him off on his stiff couch, he eats you out in your shower, then fucks you on the kitchen counter as you wait for brownies in the oven. You suck him off in his bed, and he bends you over with your face next to his record player as he thrusts deep into you from behind.
Then, another night, you’re on your soft couch while Netflix patiently asks if you’re still watching.
“Wanna ride you,” you say through a sheepish smile, straddling him with both knees at either side of him as you press your warm and soaked core on his throbbing length, squished between you and his toned stomach.
“Shit, baby.” He can’t help but buck his hips forward and you both moan at the slippery friction, his hand traveling up to find the curve of your breast. “You do?”
“Yeah,” nodding, you take his cock in your hand and slowly tug at it. “Condom?”
He bites his lips harshly at your strokes, moaning when your thumb brushes his slit. With vulnerable honesty, he whispers, “I— I wanna feel you, please.”
His shaky plea has your movements faltering, brows furrowing as you search his eyes. There is nothing you want more, but you need him to be sure. You need him to feel secure, never doubting the space you’ve built together.
“Are you sure, Gguk?”
He nods all too quickly, “Yeah. I trust you.”
It’s impossible to bite back your grin — impossible when a wider one stretches over his features, impossible when your eyes water with the confession.
You bend down for a messy kiss, lining his tip with your entrance before you’re sinking down his length with a loud moan that breaks through your mouth.
His fingers dig in your skin, and you can tell that even through his constant, whispered praises, he’s trying his hardest to contain himself from pushing up.
You straighten yourself once again and he groans at the vision of you, warm walls snuggling his cock all the way in, chest out and nipples hard, bottom lip caught beneath your teeth as you meet his hardened gaze, softening once you whimper.
He takes one erect nub between his slicked lips and looks up at you devilishly. “You’re so beautiful.”
And there’s no going back after experiencing bare skin against bare skin, feeling his every vein throb, spasming around the feeling of fullness and welcoming his own release, his expression contorting into pure animalistic pleasure.
There’s no going back once you’ve learned the comfort of falling asleep engulfed in his embrace every night, and no matter who heads to work first, the warmth lingers and etches a smile onto your faces for the rest of the day.
Sunday means you’re waking up first as the early morning light filters through your curtains. You grumble, letting your eyes adjust to your surroundings before landing on the figure beside you, the man who makes sure your bed is never empty, never cold.
Jeongguk is lying with his broad and defined back to you, and as you blink the sleep away, you put all details into focus. Scars run along the ridges of his muscles, blend with small moles you could kiss and trace a map with. His shoulder blades shift with the slow and deep rhythm of his breathing, and you slide closer where his warmth reaches you even if you’re not directly touching.
Still, you take your finger and lightly follow a path through his marks, soft enough where it’d only feel like a mere tickle. The sight of these burns up close makes the corner of your eyes prickle; for a moment, the memory of his tear-streaked face flashes behind your lids.
You can’t go back, can’t reach into the past and prevent nor fix all the series of events that convinced him of his own unworthiness. But you’re determined to be the anchor of his present and, hopefully, future. Where you can only see comfort in the shape of his smile and your laughter. Where scars become a proof of strength and never weakness.
When you feel him stir beneath your hand, you realize just how close you crept, palm flattened against his spine and your plush thigh sneakily slotting itself between his.
Jeongguk grunts, reaching behind him, catching your hand and pulling it around his side to rest against his stomach.
“Why are you awake, hm?”
His rumbled tone has you squirming closer into him, propping your chin on his shoulder. “It’s Sunday.”
“Exactly, baby,” he murmurs, shuffling backward until he’s tucked firmly into your embrace. “It’s rest day.”
“Grandma Mimi is probably already cooking lunch.” You speculate.
Pressing a kiss to his cheek, you giggle when, as soon as you try to pull back, he groans in protest. His fingers now wrap around your forearm, tugging you in place.
You hum, nipping playfully at his earlobe. “Is my Ggukkie still sleepy?”
He scoffs, turning his face enough to glare at you with narrowed eyes, still puffy from sleep. Even as you laugh, he talks through a growing pout. “Stop calling me that.”
“Or else?” Wiggling your brows, you keep pecking wet smacks along his jaw, then down his shoulder, moving further so that you can kiss the large and deep scar along his nape, where your lips place with sudden delicacy.
He whimpers, a sound you know he didn’t mean to let out when you feel his fingertips dig harsher into the skin of your arm.
You speak against his spine, the tight space making your voice sound muffled. “Do they hurt?”
Jeongguk loosens his grip and strokes comforting tickles on your wrist, before lacing your hand with his. “Hm, no.”
His answer spurs you to leave more kisses over his wounds, and with each one he’s holding your hand tighter. “No? But you’re so sensitive.”
“You get muh—me like that,” he stutters, letting out a low whine when you keep peppering his skin.
“Yeah?” You leave his hand only so you can press your palm flat against his toned abdomen, making it spasm under you. “Are you hard, Ggukkie?”
“I said don’t— oh, fuck,” he can only pretend he doesn’t like not being in control for so long when your fingers slide lower, under the hem of his briefs where he’d already been growing hard from your delicate, loving mouth.
Your hand wraps around his length and he startles, moaning your name and throwing his head back against you. He’s heavy in your hold, twitching when you squeeze ever so gently. You lick a path along a scar, making him shiver and buck his hips into your wrist. You clamber your body closer to his, front pressed flushed against his back where you leave more of your wet kisses across the expanse of his broad back.
“Can I leave my mark here, Gguk?” You nip at the edge of his shoulder, and he nods, groans around an agreement.
You begin faster strokes on his girth, giving extra attention to his sensitive, pink tip. Speaking around your suctioning, you hear him whine from the stimulations. “So pretty. Your scars make you the prettiest. Strongest.”
Jeongguk keens, can’t help but grind into your grip, and moans particularly loud when you move your kisses back to his nape. His large hand covers yours, not in an attempt to take control, just wants to feel you and your efforts. Peering down, the blanket covering his lower half moves feverishly from your jerking motions, and his eyes slam shut at the heavy sensations pooling at his balls.
“You’re gonna make me cum, fuck.”
“Cum, please,” you whisper against his neck, and he desperately turns his face in search of your mouth, to which you eagerly comply as you slide higher. Your lips meet in a messy, hushed kiss that has him spilling warm drops into his boxers and over your fingers.
Jeongguk usually takes longer to let go, makes sex a lasting experience that puts your pleasure on a pedestal. He doesn’t come unless you do first, and even then he likes to take his time, whether he has to fight against restraint.
That’s why, as he keeps searching your tongue with his, he rolls around so that you’re laying on your back and he’s hovering over you, until your kiss is broken by his sheepish smile. He hides his face in the crook of your neck, where he keeps working his mouth around small, shy pecks.
“Thank you,” he whispers, and you run a comforting hand through his hair.
His sex rules stand. Your pleasure is always his priority. Can’t let you go if you’re not letting go over his hand first. Minutes later, you’re pathetically grinding over his warm palm, with one of his thick digits twitching inside you.
“Such a perfect girl. Made for me,” always knowing what to say, he speaks sweet affection against your ear as you pant and grip his forearm, moaning louder when your hips buckle primally against his hand as you ride through your orgasm.
Once your breath regulates, you seek refuge with your cheek flat on his chest, and he’s quick to engulf you in his arms, whispering reassurance of how good you’ve been for him. You remain like that for what feels like eternity, a timeline you wouldn’t mind at all.
“We need to shower,” you whisper with your forehead snug against the curve of his shoulder.
He hums, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm wrapped around his torso. “Yeah. I’m so hungry, though.”
Looking up, you leave a lingering peck under his jaw before your eyes meet. “What should we eat?”
Jeongguk bites his smile, raising his brows. “Cookies?”
Giggling, you only slide closer into him, until your faces are level. “Okay, but I’ll make them this time.”
He narrows his eyes at you and you feel his fingertips threatening to tickle against your ribs. “And what exactly are you trying to say?”
You squirm, laughing as his face slides closer on the pillow. “Just that baking… maybe it’s not your calling.”
Jeongguk lets out a mock gasp and strikes, tickling fingers making you squeal and fight playfully against his hold. In between gasps, a sharp bark echoes through the room as Gureum trots toward the bed. The dog has become fiercely protective over you, even if it means going against his owner.
That’s why he hops up and begins digging his way between the two of you, forcing Jeongguk to detach and groan. “Gureumie, your mom is so mean.”
Your giggles turn sheepish at his words, your breathing evening out as your hand finds its home in the dog’s white fur. Jeongguk’s fingers lace through yours, and the dog happily rolls onto his side, belly up, satisfied that he’s successfully neutralized any threatening attack.
“Mommy’s gonna shower,” you tease, immediately laughing at his grimace.
“Don’t ever call yourself that again,” he furrows his brows even as a snicker breaks through. “Are you soft launching a new kink?”
You chuckle, sitting up and arching a brow as you look back at him. “Is daddy gonna tag along?”
He scoffs, shakes his head to conceal his grin as you keep giggling. “You actually disgust me.”
You tug at his wrist so he’s lifting his back off the mattress, but when he teasingly topples lazily onto your figure, both of you flop back into the soft bed.
You groan, attempt pushing him off even though being separated from him in any capacity is the last thing you want. He must know — he’s finally realized, you sigh contently — because he only wraps an arm around your torso tighter, nose nuzzling your hair.
In the narrow space, he mumbles, “I think girlfriend fits you more.”
Your heart skips a beat in your ribcage. You’re sure he’s felt it, too, because his fingers dig into the skin of your hip and he timidly peers up from his hiding spot.
You bite on a smile, raising your brows. “Does it, boyfriend?”
He hums around a widening grin, tenderly finding your lips with his to seal the promise.
Shower takes much longer than expected — though, you should’ve expected it would have been impossible to keep your hands to yourself.
You end up baking too many cookies, but that morning none are left. The only remaining traces settle in the corner of your lips, and as Jeongguk makes sure to kiss them away, he thinks love and trust have never tasted quite this sweet.
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