→ summary: stuck sharing a motel room with him, you finally give into your craving for thee park jimin
→ pairing: bts!jimin x femsub!reader
→ tags: park jimin x reader, jimin x you, bts x reader, friends to lovers, slow burn, motel, one bed trope, forced proximity, rainy night, road trip, spring getaway, friends vacation, smut, fluff, angst (light), romance, cozy, intimate, first time, pining, mutual pining, soft jimin, confident jimin, explicit sexual content, oral sex, praise kink, multiple orgasms, aftercare, fanfiction, bts fanfiction, oneshot, bts au, body worship, kissing, creampie
→ word count: 2.8k
→ a/n: I enjoyed this ALOT. it's very cozy and sweet. I love body worshippppp...and yes I made namjoon drive now that he's got his license LMAO sue me
masterlist
-
the rain hammered against the windows of the van, a steady beat that matched the thrum of excitement in your chest. you were sandwiched between jimin and taehyung, the latter already dozing with his mouth slightly agape, his head lolling against his girlfriend's shoulder.
jimin, however, was wide awake. his knee kept bumping yours, a small, rhythmic touch that sent little jolts of electricity through you each time. he'd catch your eye in the dim glow of the dashboard lights and offer a small, secretive smile, one that was just for you.
"almost there," namjoon called from the driver's seat, his deep voice a comforting rumble. "the 'pines motel'. sounds… rustic."
jungkook snorted from the back. "as long as it's dry and has beds, i don't care if it's rustic."
you did care. you cared a lot. because this trip, this spontaneous getaway to see the spring grass and blooming flowers, was the first time you and jimin would be properly sharing a space. you weren't officially anything, not yet. you were a mixture of stolen glances, lingering touches, and conversations that stretched late into the night when everyone else had gone to bed. the unspoken thing between you was growing too big to contain, and this weekend felt like the tipping point.
the van pulled into a gravel lot, the headlights cutting through the pouring rain to illuminate a small, rectangle shaped building with a neon sign that flickered ever so slightly. it was exactly as advertised: cozy. a little dated, maybe, with its faded green carpet and wood-paneled walls, but charming in a retro way. hoseok, ever the planner, had booked three rooms. you watched with a sinking heart as he began doling out keys.
"okay, so me and namjoon, jin and his girlfriend, and…" hoseok paused, looking at the last key, then at you, jimin, and the remaining couples. "hmm. i think i messed up the booking. i only got three rooms, but there are… more of us."
a moment of chaotic silence descended. jungkook and his girlfriend were already looking at each other with a 'we can share' expression, as were taehyung and his partner. that left you and jimin. and one double bed.
"it's fine," jimin said, his voice disarmingly calm as he took the key from hoseok's hand. "we can share. right?" he turned to you, his eyes soft, questioning. there was no trace of awkwardness on his face, only a quiet confidence that made your stomach flip.
"right," you managed, your voice a little thin.
the room was small, dominated by a queen bed covered in a kitschy floral bedspread. the air smelled faintly of pine cleaner and something else, something clean and warm. jimin dropped your single bag and his own by the door and turned the lock with a soft click. the sound seemed to echo in the sudden quiet, sealing you in together.
"well," he said, a small laugh escaping him as he gestured to the bed. "cozy."
you couldn't help but laugh with him, the tension breaking. "rustic, too."
you both stood there for a moment, just looking at each other. the rain outside had softened to a gentle patter, creating a cocoon of intimacy around the small room. jimin took a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. he reached out, his fingers gently tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. his touch was feather light, but it burned a trail down your neck.
"you know," he began, his voice dropping to that low, honeyed tone he used when he was being sincere, "i've been wanting to get you alone all night."
your breath hitched. "jimin…"
the tension in the room shifted, and you tilted your head towards him.
"is this okay?" he asked, his thumb stroking your cheek. he was always so careful, so considerate, even when his eyes were dark with a hunger that mirrored your own.
you answered by closing the small distance between you and pressing your lips to his. it wasn't a frantic kiss, but a deep, searching one. his lips were soft, tasting faintly of the strawberry gum he'd been chewing earlier. he sighed into your mouth, his hands coming up to frame your face, holding you gently but firmly, like he was afraid you might disappear.
the kiss deepened, slow and tender. his tongue traced the seam of your lips, and you opened for him willingly. the kiss became wetter, more urgent, a silent conversation of months of pent up desire. one of his hands slid from your face down the curve of your neck, his fingers tracing your collarbone before coming to rest on your hip, pulling you against him. you could feel the hard line of his arousal through his jeans, and a fresh wave of heat pooled inside of you.
he broke the kiss, both of you were breathing heavily. "i've wanted this for so long," he confessed, his voice raspy. "just you, like this."
"me too," you whispered, your hands fisting in the soft material of his sweater.
he smiled, a genuine, breathtaking smile that reached his eyes. "good." he leaned in for another kiss, this one shorter, sweeter, before taking your hand. "come on. let's get more comfortable."
he led you to the bed, sitting down on the edge and pulling you to stand between his knees. he looked up at you, his expression a mixture of adoration and raw desire. his hands roamed up your sides, from your hips to your waist, his thumbs stroking the soft fabric of your shirt.
"you're so beautiful," he murmured, his gaze roaming over your face, your body. he leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to your stomach, right through your shirt. the gesture was so tender it made your heart ache. he continued his exploration, his lips tracing a path up your body as his hands slowly, torturously, inched your shirt upward. he kissed your ribs, the valley between your breasts, the hollow of your throat. each touch was deliberate and intentional.
you raised your arms, allowing him to pull the shirt over your head. he tossed it aside, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight of you in your simple lace bra. he didn't say anything, just watched for a moment, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. then he reached around, his fingers fumbling slightly with the clasp before it sprang free. he slid the straps from your shoulders, his gaze never leaving your skin as the bra fell away.
he leaned in, pressing a kiss to the swell of one breast, his tongue darting out to taste your skin. he took his time, worshiping every inch of you with his mouth and hands. he palmed the weight of your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples.
"jimin, please," you breathed, the need building to an almost unbearable pitch.
he looked up at you, a wicked glint in his eyes. "please what, baby?"
"touch me," you begged. "everywhere."
he chuckled, a low, husky sound. "that's the plan." he stood up, quickly shedding his own sweater and t-shirt, revealing the smooth, toned expanse of his chest and stomach. your eyes traced the lines of his muscles and the line art of his nevermind tattoo, and you reached out, wanting to feel him under your palms. he caught your hands, bringing them to his lips and kissing your knuckles before guiding them to his chest. your fingers splayed across his warm skin, feeling the steady beat of his heart.
he kissed you again, hard and deep, as he walked you backward until your legs hit the bed. you fell back onto the floral comforter, and he followed, covering your body with his. the weight of him felt perfect, grounding. he kissed you until you were dizzy, his hips pressing into yours in a slow, teasing rhythm that drove you wild.
his hands deftly unbuttoned your jeans, and he lifted his hips just enough to slide them down your legs, taking your panties with them. he paused, kneeling between your thighs, just looking at you, laid bare for him. the vulnerability should have been scary, but the look in his eyes; a pure desire made you feel powerful.
"you're perfect," he said, his voice thick with emotion.
he lowered his head, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh, so close to where you needed him but not quite there. he repeated the action on the other side, his stubble scraping deliciously against your sensitive skin. you were squirming, whimpering, by the time he finally parted your folds with his thumbs and gave you what you were craving.
the first swipe of his tongue was pure bliss. he was skilled, knowing exactly how to tease and torment, building the pressure slowly. he circled your clit, flicking it with the tip of his tongue before sucking it gently into his mouth. your fingers tightened in his hair, holding him to you as waves of pleasure washed over you. he slid one finger inside you, then another, curling them just right to hit that spot that made you stare up at the ceiling.
"jimin," you gasped, your back arching off the bed. "don't stop."
jimin didn't stop immediately, but slowed his movements, his tongue and fingers gentling you through the waves of your orgasm, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you were a helpless, panting mess beneath him.
he kissed his way back up your body, his lips soft and worshipful against your still flushed skin. when he reached your mouth, you could taste yourself on him, a heady, intimate flavor that made a fresh surge of arousal course through you. you kissed him deeply, pouring all the gratitude and desire you felt into it.
"you're incredible," he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with awe.
"you are," you countered, your hands roaming over the smooth, warm skin of his back. you could feel the tension coiled in his muscles, the evidence of his own desire pressing insistently against your thigh. you wanted, needed, to give him the same release he had just given you.
you pushed gently at his shoulder, rolling him over so you were straddling his hips. the look of surprise on his face quickly melted into one of dark appreciation as you leaned down, your hair cascading around both of your faces, and kissed him. you took your time, exploring his chest with your hands and mouth, tracing the defined lines of his abs with your tongue, feeling the way his muscles quivered in response. you loved having this power over him, the ability to make him gasp and shiver with just a simple touch.
you worked your way down, your eyes never leaving his. you could see the desperate need building in his gaze, the way his jaw was clenched with restraint. you reached the waistband of his jeans, your fingers making quick work of the button and zipper. he lifted his hips, allowing you to slide both his jeans and his boxers down his legs. his cock sprang free, hard and thick, the tip already glistening with precum.
you'd imagined this, fantasized about it, but the reality of him was so much more intense. you wrapped your hand around his length, feeling the velvety skin over the steel-hard shaft. he let out a choked moan, his head falling back against the pillows. you stroked him slowly, watching his face as you did, learning what he liked.
"baby," he breathed, his voice strained. "please."
you leaned down and took him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the head before taking him deeper. the taste of him was sweet and uniquely jimin. he groaned, one of his hands coming to rest gently on the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as you set a rhythm, bobbing your head, taking him as deep as you could. you used your hand to stroke what you couldn't fit into your mouth, your movements sure and confident.
you could feel him getting closer, his hips beginning to thrust up to meet your mouth, his breathing becoming ragged. but just as you felt him start to tense, he gently tugged on your hair.
"stop," he gasped. "come here. i want to be inside you when i cum."
you released him with a final, lingering lick and crawled back up his body. he captured your lips in a searing kiss, rolling you over once more so he was on top. he settled between your thighs, his propped on his elbows as he looked down at you. the rain had slowed to a misty drizzle, and the only light in the room was the soft, golden glow from the bedside lamp. it cast his features in a warm, gentle light, making his eyes shine.
"are you sure?" he asked, his voice serious, even as his body trembled with need.
you reached up, cupping his face in your hands. "i've never been more sure of anything."
he smiled, that beautiful, genuine smile that you loved so much. and then he was pushing into you, slow and steady. the stretch was exquisite, a slight burn that quickly melted into a deep, full pleasure. he filled you completely, and for a moment, you both just lay there, savoring the feeling of finally being connected, skin to skin, heart to heart.
he began to move, his hips rolling in a slow, deep rhythm that was both tender and possessive. each thrust was deliberate, stoking the fire that was already smoldering in your belly. this wasn't frantic or desperate; it was a deep, soulful connection. he looked into your eyes the entire time, his gaze so intense it felt like he was seeing straight into your soul.
"you feel so good," he panted, his forehead dropping to yours. "so perfect and made for me."
the words sent a thrill through you. you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, meeting him thrust for thrust. the room was filled with the sounds of your soft moans, the slick sound of your bodies joining, and the gentle patter of rain against the window. it was the most intimate music you had ever heard.
he shifted his angle slightly, and suddenly he was hitting that spot inside you that made your toes curl. a sharp cry escaped your lips, and you felt him smile against your skin.
"hold it," he murmured, his voice smug. he began to aim for that spot with each thrust, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your entire body. the pressure began to build again, higher and higher than before, a tight coil of tension in your core.
"jimin," you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders. "i'm… i'm close."
"let go then, baby," he urged, his own rhythm becoming more erratic. "cum with me. let me feel you."
his words were your downfall. with a few more perfectly aimed thrusts, the coil inside you snapped, and you were flying. your orgasm crashed over you, more intense than the first, your body arching off the bed as a silent scream tore from your throat. your inner walls clenched around him, and with a guttural groan, he followed you over the edge. you felt him pulse inside you as he found his release, his body shuddering with the force of it, a gush of warm liquid filling you up.
he collapsed on top of you, his face buried in the crook of your neck, both of you breathing heavily, your bodies slick with sweat. the weight of him was comforting, and you ran your hands up and down his back, feeling his heart hammering against your chest.
after a few moments, he rolled off of you before grabbing some tissues off of the rusty motel desk and cleaning you up as best as he could. he tossed the tissue and plopped down onto the bed, pulling you into his arms. he tucked you against his side, your head resting on his chest, his heartbeat a steady, soothing rhythm in your ear. he pulled the floral comforter over both of you, creating a warm, contented nest.
neither of you spoke for a long time, just lay there in the quiet, listening to the rain and the sound of each other's breathing. it was comfortable, peaceful. the unspoken thing was no longer hanging between you; it had been acknowledged, explored, and sealed in the most intimate way possible.
finally, he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. "so," he said, his voice a low rumble in his chest. "does this mean i get to call you my girlfriend?"
you tilted your head up to look at him, a wide smile spreading across your face. "i think that's probably a good idea jimin."
he beamed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "good." he tightened his arms around you. "because i'm not letting you go now, never."
you snuggled closer, pressing a kiss to his chest. as you drifted off to sleep in his arms, the rain finally stopping outside, you knew this cozy, rainy night at a rundown motel was just the beginning of something magical.
-
taglist: @mikrokookiex
lmk if u wanna be added <3 haven't done a TL in a long timeeee
Kim Namjoon lives a quiet, carefully ordered life, untouched by chaos. Until an arranged marriage brings a stranger into his world. What begins with distance slowly shifts through shared routines and silent understanding.In the stillness of everyday moments, something tender begins to grow.A gentle story of love that unfolds slowly, becoming home before either of them realizes.
The months had melted away into a seamless rhythm of domestic bliss. It was now 11:50 PM, the silence of the bedroom wrapped around you like a soft blanket. Only ten minutes remained until the clock officially marked one full year of you and Namjoon being husband and wife. You were tangled together in the center of the bed, limbs intertwined like two koalas who refused to let go.
"Ten more minutes," you whispered, your voice vibrating against his broad chest.
Namjoon hummed in response, a low, rumbling sound of contentment. Both of your gazes were locked on the glowing digital clock on the wall, watching the seconds tick toward the milestone.
The moment the numbers flickered to 12:00, you both sat bolt upright, grins breaking out across your faces as you shouted in unison, "Happy anniversary, love!"
Namjoon immediately reached for you, cupping your face in his large hands to pull you into a deep, lingering kiss. It wasn’t the hurried, hungry passion of the gala night; instead, it was slow and patient, filled with the steady, quiet power of a year’s worth of shared secrets and morning coffees.
"Oh my god, Joon... an entire year?" you whispered, pulling back just enough to look into his dark, shining eyes.
"And many, many more to come," he promised, leaning in to press a tender kiss against your cheek.
Suddenly, a loud knock thundered against the bedroom door. Before you could even answer, the door swung open and the Kim family burst inside. A loud pop echoed through the room as a blast of colorful confetti rained down over the bed.
Seokjin led the charge, beltling out a dramatic "Congratulations" song at the top of his lungs, while Yoona followed closely behind, carefully balancing a small, elegant cake topped with a shimmering candle. Mr. and Mrs. Kim were right behind them, laughing as they set off another round of confetti poppers.
You and Namjoon collapsed back against the pillows, laughing hysterically at the beautiful chaos. Together, you leaned forward, made a silent wish, and blew out the candle as one.
"Happy anniversary!" the four of them cheered loudly, their faces glowing with pride and love. In that moment, surrounded by family and held tight by the man who had become your entire world, you couldn't imagine being any happier.
The bedroom, which had been a quiet sanctuary of whispers and soft light, suddenly exploded into a riot of color and sound. The air was thick with the scent of vanilla frosting and the glittering drift of falling confetti.
"Happy anniversary!" the four of them shouted in unison, their faces glowing with genuine joy.
You and Namjoon were still tangled together on the bed, laughing as you brushed stray bits of foil from each other’s hair. Seokjin was mid-note, his "Congratulations" song echoing off the walls with dramatic flair, while Yoona carefully balanced a small, elegant cake topped with a single shimmering candle.
"You guys are ridiculous," Namjoon laughed, though he reached out to pull his mother into a quick side-hug as she beamed at him. "It’s midnight! Don't you all have sleep schedules?"
"For our favorite couple’s first anniversary? Never!" Mrs. Kim declared, patting your cheek affectionately. "One year down, a lifetime to go."
Mr. Kim stood by the door, the empty confetti popper still in his hand, looking incredibly proud. "We couldn't let the moment pass without a toast. Or at least some cake."
Yoona moved closer, holding the cake out between you and Namjoon. The small flame flickered, casting a warm glow over your joined hands.
"Make a wish, you two," she whispered with a wink.
You looked at Namjoon, and he looked back at you. In the reflection of his dark eyes, you saw the entire year flash by. You didn't need to say a word; you both knew exactly what you were wishing for.
Together, you leaned forward and blew out the candle.
As the room filled with another round of cheers, Jin started cutting the cake with practiced efficiency. "Alright, everyone! Cake in bed. It’s a Kim family tradition now, whether Namjoon likes the crumbs or not."
Namjoon groaned playfully, pulling you back against his chest as the room filled with the warmth of family. "I suppose I can live with a few crumbs for one night."
The next morning, the Kim dining hall was filled with the bright melody of laughter and the mouth-watering aroma of a home-cooked feast. Since the entire household staff had been given the day off to celebrate, the family had taken over the kitchen. Mrs. Kim was busy assisting Jin at the stove, while Mr. Kim meticulously arranged the table.
Yoona stood near the window, gently cooing at her newborn baby girl, Seri, who was bundled in a soft pink blanket. You sat at the counter, slicing apples and watching the domestic scene with a peaceful smile.
Namjoon, fresh from the shower and smelling of sandalwood, stepped into the room. He went straight to Yoona, naturally reaching out to take the tiny infant into his arms to give his sister-in-law a break. Your eyes twinkled as you watched him; he was a natural with Seri, rocking her with a gentle, steady rhythm that made her tiny eyes flutter shut. It was a glimpse into a future you both had talked about just months ago.
The rest of the anniversary pooled by in a beautiful, private blur. Namjoon took charge of the day, driving you through the city and showering you with thoughtful gifts at every stop. Eventually, as the sun began to dip, you found yourselves at a quiet, tucked-away side café. It was almost entirely empty, leaving the two of you in your own little world.
As you nibbled on a cupcake, you slowly reached into your bag and pulled out a sleek, ribboned gift box.
"What’s this?" Namjoon asked, setting his coffee cup down with a curious tilt of his head.
"A gift for you. You’ve spent the whole day buying me things, so it’s my turn," you said, sliding the box across the table toward him.
He offered a warm, dimpled smile as he untied the ribbon. When he opened the lid, his eyes widened. Resting on the velvet cushion was a stunning, high-end watch from a world-renowned brand. He carefully unboxed it, the polished metal catching the café’s dim light.
"Y/N... this is an incredibly expensive piece," he murmured, looking up at you with a mix of awe and slight reprimand.
"It’s not like we’re struggling for rent, Mr. CEO," you teased non-chalantly, though your heart was hammering in your chest.
"Oh, sweetheart. Thank you. It’s beautiful."
"Flip it over," you prompted, leaning in closer. "I had our anniversary date engraved on the back."
Namjoon gasped as he turned the watch over, his thumb tracing the elegant script of the date that changed both of your lives. A look of pure, unadulterated devotion crossed his face. He didn't say another word; instead, he leaned across the small table and pulled you into a kiss that tasted like vanilla and a promise of forever.
°
The dining room was filled with a warmth that had nothing to do with the gourmet spread Jin had prepared. Your parents sat across from the Kims, their faces beaming with pride as they watched you and Namjoon. Beside them, Jimin looked like he was vibrating with an energy he couldn't quite contain, a secret dancing behind his eyes that he was clearly waiting for the right moment to drop.
You, however, were feeling exceptionally light. After three glasses of champagne since the afternoon, the world felt soft and golden around the edges. You leaned back into Namjoon, giggling as Jin took full credit for the feast, much to Mrs. Kim’s mock indignation.
As the laughter died down into a comfortable hum, Namjoon slowly stood up. He adjusted his cuff—the new watch catching the light—and cleared his throat, his gaze fixing solely on you with an intensity that made your tipsy heart skip a beat.
"I’d like to say a few words," he began, lifting his glass. The room went quiet, even Seokjin pausing mid-bite to listen.
"A year ago, I thought I knew what my life was going to look like. I had my plans, my business, and my routines. But then Y/N walked in, and she didn't just join my life—she redefined it. She taught me that 'home' isn't a place or a building; it’s the person who makes you feel safe enough to be exactly who you are.”
"Y/N, thank you for your patience, your laughter, and for being the anchor that keeps me steady even when things get chaotic. This past year has been the best of my life, and looking at you now... I know the next fifty will be even better. To my wife: my partner, my best friend, and my heart. Happy anniversary."
He looked at you with such raw devotion that a stray tear escaped your eye. He leaned down, clinking his glass gently against yours before taking a sip, his hand lingering on your shoulder.
"To Y/N and Namjoon!" the table cheered in unison, the sound of crystal clinking filling the air.
As the toast ended, Jimin finally couldn't take it anymore. He set his glass down with a sharp thud and looked around the table. "Okay, now that we’re all sufficiently emotional... can I finally tell everyone my news?"
"Wait, wait... I have one more thing to say," Namjoon interrupted, a playful but nervous glint in his eyes. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a single, gleaming silver key, holding it up for everyone to see.
Your brow furrowed in confusion, your head tilting slightly from the champagne. "Wh-what is that?"
Mrs. Kim let out a fond chuckle, shaking her head at your bewildered expression. "She definitely looks a little tipsy, Namjoon. You better explain it slowly."
Namjoon laughed, the sound deep and warm as he took a steadying breath. He looked around the table at both of your families before settling his gaze back on you. "I bought a penthouse for Y/N and me," he announced, his voice filled with pride. "We’ve loved being here, but I want us to have a space of our own again. Somewhere we can just be 'us' while I focus on my winery research. I want to build a true home with her there and hopefully," he added, his thumb grazing your cheek, "start our own family very soon."
The room erupted into a mixture of surprised gasps and supportive clapping. The tears you had been holding back finally spilled over, blurring your vision as the weight of his words hit you. Without a second thought, you stood up—stumbling slightly from the drinks and threw yourself into his arms, burying your face in the crook of his neck.
"Awww..." Yoona cooed, leaning her head on Jin’s shoulder. "Look at them. They’re so precious."
Namjoon held you tight, his arms wrapping around your waist like a protective shield. He swayed you gently from side to side, whispering into your ear so only you could hear. "Happy anniversary, baby. Ready for our new chapter?"
you pulled back just enough to look at Namjoon, your heart fuller than it had ever been.
After some time,
"Oh, Jimin, what is it? You look like a total creepo!" you teased, your words slurring just a bit from the champagne as you made a playfully disgusted face.
Jimin shot you a sharp glare, though he couldn't hide the twitch of a smile on his lips. Your parents, sitting across from him, were clearly in on the secret, struggling to keep their expressions neutral as the rest of the table fell silent.
He took a deep breath, looking around at everyone before his gaze landed on you. "So, everyone... I'm engaged," he announced, his face turning a deeper shade of pink. "I proposed to my girlfriend, and she said yes."
The air in the room seemed to vanish for a second before you let out a dramatic, high-pitched gasp. "Wait, what?! My brother is actually getting married?"
"Oh, Jimin-ssi! Congratulations!" Namjoon cheered, standing up to clap his brother-in-law on the back. He immediately reached for the bottle, pouring a generous celebratory drink for Jimin. "That is incredible news. Welcome to the club, man."
The table erupted into a new wave of celebration. Mrs. Kim and your mother were already leaning across the table to discuss potential wedding dates, while Seokjin started jokingly warning Jimin about the "joys" of married life.
As the night settled into a comfortable, warm hum of family stories and shared laughter, you leaned your head on Namjoon’s shoulder. The room was filled with the people you loved most, and between the news of a new penthouse and your brother’s engagement, the future felt brighter than ever. Namjoon’s hand found yours under the table, his thumb tracing the new watch on his wrist, a silent reminder of the year you’d just conquered together.
°
The days that followed were a whirlwind of interior designers, high-end furniture showrooms, and the sheer, dizzying excitement of making a space truly yours. Your new penthouse was a masterpiece of modern luxury—floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of the city skyline on one side and the rolling, misty hills on the other.
It had massive bedrooms, a dedicated library for Namjoon’s research, and a sun-drenched workspace for you.
Life felt extraordinary, yet in the middle of all the grandeur, the two of you still found joy in the simplest, messiest moments.
Currently, that moment involved Namjoon standing in your pristine, marble-clad kitchen, wearing nothing but grey sweatpants and a look of intense, scholarly concentration. He was attempting to make a celebratory first breakfast omelette.
"Joon, honey," you murmured, biting your lip to keep from laughing as he poked at a suspicious-looking clump of eggs with a spatula.
"Don't," he warned playfully, not taking his eyes off the pan. "I’ve watched three tutorials this morning. It’s all about the wrist flick and the temperature control."
"The temperature control looks a bit... high," you pointed out, gesturing to the faint wisp of smoke rising from the butter.
He let out a frustrated huff, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth—a sure sign he was overthinking it. "It’s supposed to be 'golden brown,' not 'pale yellow.' The chef on YouTube was very specific."
"I think you’re past golden brown and heading straight for 'charcoal chic,'" you teased, finally letting out a giggle as he tried to flip the egg, only for it to fold into a sad, lumpy rectangle.
Namjoon stared at the pan for a moment, then looked at you, his dimples peeking out. "Okay, so maybe my talents are better suited for winery logistics than culinary arts."
He set the spatula down and stepped toward you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against him. The scent of his expensive aftershave mixed with the slightly burnt butter, but you didn't mind one bit.
"Change of plans," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. "We order in, and then we spend the rest of the morning breaking in that huge new bed. What do you think?"
The morning sunlight flooded through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, casting long, golden rectangles across the polished hardwood floors. Namjoon abandoned the ill-fated omelette entirely, turning his full attention to you.
"The kitchen can wait," he murmured, his voice thick with the gravelly warmth of a lazy morning. He swept you up into his arms, ignoring your giggles as he carried you back toward the master suite.
The bedroom was your favorite part of the new home—a vast, airy sanctuary with a view of the distant, mist-covered hills. He set you down in the middle of the massive, unmade bed, the high-thread-count sheets still cool against your skin.
For the next few hours, there were no schedules, no winery research, and no family obligations. You spent the time just being together. Namjoon lay propped up on one elbow, tracing the lines of your palm with his fingertip as if he were memorizing every detail of you all over again.
"It feels different here," he whispered, his eyes soft. "Just us. No staff, no parents in the next room. It finally feels like our own little kingdom."
You hummed in agreement, shifting closer to rest your head on his shoulder. "A kingdom with a very handsome, very clumsy king."
He let out a low chuckle, pulling the duvet up over both of you. "I’ll take it. As long as the queen handles the cooking from now on."
You spent the rest of the morning wandering through the house in your pajamas, exploring every nook and cranny. You tested out the acoustics in the grand hallway, debated where to hang the vintage Polaroid-style photos of your wedding, and sat together on the balcony, watching the city wake up below you.
It was the kind of slow, quiet intimacy that made all the extraordinary parts of your life feel grounded. You felt safe, cherished, and for the first time in weeks completely relaxed.
°
The penthouse was silent, the pale light of dawn just beginning to filter through the floor-to-ceiling windows, when Namjoon stirred. He let out a low, gravelly groan, the empty space beside him feeling cold. Squinting at the clock—barely 6:00 AM—he followed the faint, sweet scent of vanilla and sugar drifting from the kitchen.
He padded out barefoot, his hair a messy nest and his silk robe hanging loosely off his shoulders. He found you standing at the marble island, dusting flour off your apron as a freshly baked cake sat cooling on the counter.
"Babe... why are you baking a cake this early?" he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.
You didn't answer with words. Instead, you turned and threw yourself into his arms, your momentum nearly knocking him back. "Happy birthday, baby!" you shouted against his chest, pulling back just enough to pepper his cheeks with frantic, sugary kisses.
A sleepy, dimpled smile finally broke across his face. "Oh... right. It’s today. Thank you, sweetheart."
Once the cake was frosted, you insisted on the full ritual. You lit the candles, their flickering glow dancing in his dark eyes as he made a silent wish and blew them out. You sliced a piece, and the two of you began to eat right there at the island, the world still asleep around you.
But the atmosphere shifted in an instant.
As you licked a stray dollop of frosting off your thumb, your gaze locked onto his. You did it slowly, deliberately, your tongue tracing the curve of your finger while your eyes remained fixed on his.
Namjoon’s breath hitched. His pupils dilated until his eyes were almost entirely black, and you could see the visible tension take over his frame. The sweet, domestic birthday morning vanished, replaced by a sudden, heavy heat.
"Y/N," he warned, his voice dropping into that dangerous, low register you loved.
You didn't stop. You took another bite of the rich cake, letting a small crumb linger on your bottom lip, teasing him with a slow, challenging smile. You could see the way his jaw tightened, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of the marble counter to keep himself from lunging at you.
"You're doing that on purpose," he rasped, his breathing growing shallow.
Namjoon sank back into the plush cushions of the sofa, his head falling against the headrest as he watched you through heavy-lidded eyes. The contrast between your domestic morning bun and the intent in your gaze was driving him toward a breaking point.
"Fuck, baby..." he groaned, the sound vibrating deep in his chest as your hands made contact, firm and sure.
As you worked to free him from the constraints of his silk robe and sweatpants, his breath hitched. The sight of him—already slick and aching for you—sent a surge of heat through your own body. He looked down at you, his fingers tangling in the hair you had just tied up, his knuckles white as he fought to maintain some semblance of control.
"You have no idea what you're doing to me," he rasped, his hips twitching instinctively toward your touch. "Is this really how you wanted to start my birthday?"
You didn't answer with words. Instead, you leaned in closer, your breath fanning over his cock, teasing him with the proximity before finally taking him into your mouth.
Namjoon’s back arched off the sofa, a choked-back shout escaping his lips. His grip on your hair tightened—not enough to hurt, but enough to guide you, his dominance finally bleeding through the haze of pleasure. The methodical, scholarly man from the winery was gone; in his place was a man completely undone by his wife’s devotion.
Namjoon’s head thrashed back against the expensive leather of the sofa, his throat working as he let out a jagged, broken moan. Your hands were firm, guiding him as you took him deeper, your tongue swirling around him in a way that made his entire body vibrate.
"God, Y/N... right there," he rasped, his large hands tangling in your hair, his knuckles white as he tried to keep himself from losing it completely.
The wet, rhythmic sounds filled the quiet penthouse, mixing with his heavy, shallow breathing. You looked up at him through your lashes, watching his face twist in a mix of agony and pure ecstasy. He was a powerful man, a CEO, a leader—but right here, under your touch, he was completely undone. You swirled your tongue over the sensitive head of his length, catching the stray droplets, and he let out a choked-back shout, his hips bucking off the sofa instinctively.
"Enough, baby... I’m going to—"
You pulled back just in time, leaving him breathless and aching, his chest heaving as he stared at you with dark, blown-out pupils.
Slowly, you stood up, the power dynamic shifting in an instant. You didn't say a word as your hands went to the silk belt of your bathrobe. With one slow, deliberate tug, the knot loosened. You let the silk slide off your shoulders, the fabric pooling around your ankles until you stood before him completely bare, the morning light tracing every curve of your body.
Namjoon’s jaw literally dropped. His gaze swept over you, hungry and possessive, his cock twitching as it stood proud and dripping. "You’re not wearing anything under that?" he managed to choke out, his voice dropping an octave.
"It’s your birthday, Joon," you whispered, a wicked smirk playing on your lips. "I’m the only gift you get to unwrap today."
You didn't wait for his permission. You stepped forward, straddling his thick thighs and sinking down onto him in one slow, agonizing movement. You gasped as he filled you completely, the sensation of him stretching you making your toes curl.
"Fuck, you're so tight," Namjoon groaned, his hands immediately finding your hips to steady you.
You leaned forward, your palms flat against his chest, feeling the frantic thrum of his heart. You began to move, setting a pace that was slow and torturous. You ground your hips against him, circling and dipping, watching him lose his mind. He tried to take control, his hands tightening on your waist to speed you up, but you slapped his hands away playfully.
"My turn to lead, remember?" you teased, leaning down to bite his earlobe.
He let out a growl, his head falling back again as you picked up the pace. The sound of skin hitting skin echoed in the room, wet and frantic. You were relentless, riding him with a ferocity that had him calling out your name like a prayer.
You arched your back, your breasts swaying with the movement, and he reached up, his large palms catching them, squeezing and teasing your nipples until you were the one screaming.
"Joon... oh god, Joon!" you cried out, your internal muscles clenching around him in waves.
"That's it, baby... take it all," he rasped, his voice a low, gravelly vibration. He couldn't hold back anymore. He grabbed your thighs and pulled you down hard, meeting every one of your thrusts with a powerful surge of his own.
The friction was becoming unbearable, the heat between you reaching a boiling point. You felt your climax building, a tension that started at the base of your spine and exploded through your entire body. You buried your face in his neck, sobbing his name as you came, your walls squeezing him so hard he finally broke.
Namjoon let out a guttural roar, his body stiffening as he came deep inside you, his hands bruising your hips as he held you there, making sure you felt every drop of him.
For a long time, the only sound was the two of you trying to catch your breath. You collapsed against him, your skin slick with sweat and your heart hammering against his. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest and kissing the top of your head.
"Best. Birthday. Ever," he whispered, his voice still trembling with the aftershocks.
The morning sun had climbed higher, bathing the penthouse in a soft, ethereal glow that made the messy kitchen and the discarded silk robe seem like a lifetime ago. Namjoon didn’t let you go. Instead, he pulled a plush throw blanket over both of your naked, cooling bodies, tucking you firmly against his chest as you lay tangled on the oversized sofa.
The silence that followed wasn't empty; it was heavy with the kind of peace that only comes after a year of fighting for each other. You could hear the steady, rhythmic thrum of his heart beneath your ear—a sound that had become your favorite lullaby.
"You're remarkably quiet," Namjoon murmured, his voice vibrating through his chest. He traced the line of your spine with his fingertips, his touch light and reverent.
"Just thinking," you whispered, snuggling deeper into the crook of his neck. "About how much has changed. A year ago…we were just trying to learn each other’s favourites. Now... I can't imagine a single second without you."
Namjoon shifted, tilting your chin up so he could look into your eyes. The fierce dominance from moments ago had vanished, replaced by a gaze so tender it made your breath hitch. He reached for his left hand, the sunlight catching the expensive watch you’d gifted him, before his fingers laced firmly with yours.
"From the moment I saw you, I knew you were the missing piece of everything I was trying to build. This penthouse, the winery, the family we’re going to have... none of it matters if you aren't the one standing at the center of it." he confessed.
He lifted your joined hands and pressed a lingering kiss to your knuckles, right over your wedding band.
"I promise you, right here," he whispered against your skin, "that as long as I’m breathing, you will never have to wonder if you’re loved. I’m yours. In this life, the next, and every one after that."
Tears pricked your eyes—not from sadness, but from the sheer weight of being so completely seen and cherished. You reached up, cupping his face, your thumb tracing the dimple that peeked through his smile.
"Forever is a long time, Kim Namjoon," you teased softly, your voice thick with emotion.
"It's not long enough," he countered, pulling you into a slow, deep kiss that tasted like salt, sugar, and a thousand unwritten tomorrows.
As the city hummed to life far below your window, you closed your eyes, drifting into a light sleep in the arms of the man who was your husband, your partner, and your home. The story of how you met might have been extraordinary, but the story of how you stayed together was going to be your greatest masterpiece.
⇢ RATING/GENRE: m/18+ | college au, fwb, smut, fluff, angst
⇢ WC: 12.8k sorry
⇢ WARNINGS: emotional at points, fighting rip, oc lowkey in her villain era, they both say mean things to eachother (nothing tew intense), jk is not a himbo >:(, characters are forced to face their insecurites </3, misunderstandings, finger sucking, oral sex (f and m recieving), 69 action if u squint, brief ass eating, a little manhandling, titty sucking (obvi), flavored lube, butt plug moment, miss hitachi is finally here !!!, unprotected sex, corruption kink, squirting, overstimulation, slight dom jk, a bit of manhandling, praise, creampie, maybe unrequited love, maybe not (lol jk u'll find out), where's waldo but instead of waldo its bam
⇢ SUMMARY: sparks fly as you try to forget about jungkook.
⇢ NOTES: it’s finally here! if you haven't read pt 2 in a while, i'd suggest rereading it before reading this part! maybe even pt 1 bc callbacks. you might miss a few things if you don't. kinda nervy to post this bc everyone was so conflicted. hopefully the ending is satisfying for all. also sorry if the smut is meh, this piece was more plot driven than other things i’ve written. thank you so much for the love and support on this series. seriously cannot thank you guys enough. very bittersweet to be saying goodbye to it but i hope you stick around. love you and as always feedback is v appreciated !! big ty to @floweryjeons for betaing !!
⇢ SERIES MASTERLIST
dumbo do u want lunch? i can drop it off in about 30
You were midway through a three hour lab and you really needed to focus. Unfortunately, the professor’s droning was easily overtaken by incessant vibrating. You peek at your phone with a scoff before shoving it back into your pocket.
Jungkook doesn’t get the hint.
dumbo i’ll just get the usu
dumbo lol i forget… ur lab is in room 305 in the civic engagement building right?
Room 222 in the science building. You don’t correct him, though.
It was difficult to ignore the sharp, self-inflicted stabs that pierced through your back whenever he texted you. But you had to rip the bandaid off before it had time to adhere to you entirely. You hadn’t talked to him in days. Not since he lied to you.
Whenever you had the urge to respond, you went through memories. Pictures of him looking unamused, pink pout scrunched up as you smushed his cheeks together. Videos of his nostrils fluttering as blaring snores filled your dorm room; your soft giggles in the background.
Little snapshots of the present that were now the past.
You were slowly weaning yourself off of Jeon Jungkook.
Your phone goes off again during your break.
dumbo hey i’ve been waiting for like 20 min
dumbo gonna head out since ur probably caught up. free until about 4 tho so text me if u want anything i’ll come back
dumbo or we can just get something after the showcase?
dumbo are you running late?
dumbo you know it starts at 7p right?
dumbo ik you hate being late so i’m starting to get nervous…
dumbo just let me know that you’re safe please
Those texts were sent nearly three hours ago. You’ve tried to distract yourself with homework, Sailor Moon, and the watermelon mask you were currently washing off your face. Nothing helped. The guilt lingering in your chest was heavy and you wish it would trickle down the drain like the abandoned products.
You sigh, shaking your hands vigorously to flick off the excess water. A damp knuckle presses your phone screen. It’s 10 p.m. on a Friday. Back at square one.
The scent of your green tea moisturizer fills your nostrils as you glide the creamy substance over your skin. Fingertips dancing gently across the surface of your plump cheeks. The touch is soft and delicate, just like his was-
Intrusive thoughts make you want to remove your frontal lobe.
You try to remind yourself that although vibrant and dashing, Jungkook was anything but your knight in shining armor. Greedy. Disgusting. Selfish. Just like the rest of the men who tried to conquer the tall brick walls of your heart, mind, and body.
You look at yourself in the mirror. Despite the brightening mask, your dewy skin was dull. The inner corners of your big eyes were overtaken by winding red branches. The thick black bags under them appear even heftier than your beloved Playboy duffel. Your plump lips are coated in your Laniege lip mask. It’s candy-flavored, but it doesn’t taste as sweet anymore. You look lifeless.
Did cutting Jungkook off really affect you that badly?
Or perhaps you always looked like this, and the loss of him made you realize how truly gloomy and lackluster things were before.
For the past two months, your reflections were filled with pearly white teeth and crinkled eyes. Being with Jungkook was careless and irresponsible in all the right ways. Whenever you were with him, the negative thoughts that often plagued your mind were forgotten, and you were just… free.
But look where that got you.
The sound of your phone pinging brings you back to reality.
dumbo tae said that you’re home with mina…
Taehyung. What a little snitch. You’ll make sure that Mina punishes him adequately.
dumbo not sure what your deal is but i’m fucking heated
“What do you know, Taehyung?” You sneer his name like a curse; the nasty ‘T’ word.
“I know everything,” he responds nonchalantly, flipping through his absolute mammoth of a textbook. He nods his head toward the guilty party beside him. “Your bestie told me.”
“Liar!” Mina gasps, smacking his sweater-clad bicep. Her voice lowers immediately when Taehyung shushes her. You were in the library after all. She looks at you exasperatedly. “I didn’t tell him like- ‘everything’ everything.”
“I don’t need to know everything.” He closes the hardcover book gingerly, peering at you over the thick black rim of his glasses. You’re convinced they’re a sham, and he only wears them to look professional and intellectual. “My keen deductive reasoning has led me to the conclusion that this situation is—in fact—fucking ridiculous.”
You gawk at bluntness. “Aren’t you literally studying to be a therapist?”
“Psychiatrist,” he corrects with a cheesy grin. “I’m allowed to tell you when you’re being childish.”
“Tae, be nice.” Mina warns with a scowl, holding her index finger out right in front of his nose. “I know Jungkook is your friend, but he’s grimy.”
“I swear, I’m not trying to be a dick.” Taehyung laughs, raising his hands up in surrender. “I’m just giving perspective. I care about you, __.”
“Sure you do.” You answer curtly, rolling your eyes.
“And-,” Taehyung claps his large palms together, fingertips pointed towards you in an accusatory fashion. “-I know Jungkook better than both of you.” He gestures between you and Mina. “He’s not a bad dude.”
“He-,”
“He ditched her to go to a party!” Mina beats you to the punch, voice whiny and frustrated. “And lied about it! He’s trash!”
“Thank you, Mina,” you whisper-shout, placing a finger over your lips to remind her, once again, that you were still in the library. As much as you love her, you didn’t necessarily want all of campus knowing your dirty laundry. Your eyes scan the dimly lit room for eavesdroppers. Luckily, it was fairly empty at this time of day.
“Why don’t you just talk to him?”
“It’s not that simple, Tae,” you sigh, turning your attention back to the empty word document on your laptop screen. In the twenty minutes you’ve been sitting here, you have only managed to type the essay’s title and your name. Spelled wrong. Sneakily, you correct the typo before anyone notices.
“Maybe…” Mina starts, lips scrunching to the side in contemplation. She looks at her boyfriend innocently before tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear. Playing all the right cards. “Maybe… you could talk to him for her? Or do a little snoopy snoop to see what he’s up to?”
“There’s no way in hell I’m playing double agent for you guys.”
“Come on, Tae!” Mina pouts. “It could be fun!”
“No,” Taehyung laughs, shaking his head. “I refuse to get in the mid-,”
“Hey!”
Taehyung’s words are cut off by an uncomfortably familiar voice. Its usual soft, playful tone was laced with sternness. The sound makes your spine straighten.
Jungkook.
You were so distracted that you hadn’t heard his clunky black boots stomping towards you. The firm grip of tattooed fingers on your shoulder makes you look up. Even under the rim of his bucket hat, you can see the angry stars dancing in his black eyes. They’re hot and scalding with irritation. “Can we talk?”
“About?” You peep in feigned naivety.
“Oh, please,” he scoffs loudly, laughing in disbelief. The seat beside you is yanked out with a startling screech. Jungkook plops down on it and turns to face you, knees digging into your outer thigh. Always so incredibly close. “Don’t give me that shit-,”
“Jungkook.” Taehyung calls, trying to stifle the bubbling lava in Jungkook’s stomach before he erupts. It was rare to see his happy-go-lucky friend so agitated. “Chill.”
His eyes soften at the warning. It’s like Jungkook hadn’t even registered how angry he had actually become. The entirety of his college experience has been spent distancing anger—and any other negative emotion—so far from his being that he couldn’t even detect the cues anymore. He inhales deeply through his nose, white t-shirt pulling tight at his chest, before exhaling.
“You good?” Taehyung asks.
“Yeah, I’m good.” Jungkook nods, bringing a hand up to massage slow circles into his temple. Despite how upset you are with him, the self-soothing mechanism makes your heart ache. “I promise, I’m calm. I just want to talk.”
His pupils dart between the two unmoving figures across from you.
“Alone, please.”
Jungkook and Taehyung lock eyes for a moment, communicating silently through some bro-telepathy that has you and Mina exchanging confused glances. Suddenly, the curly-haired boy nods, collecting his textbook and intertwining his fingers with Mina’s. “Let’s go, babe.”
“Tae, wait!” Mina protests, trying to wriggle out of Taehyung’s grasp. She looks at you apologetically as her boyfriend urges her towards the exit, unable to break free. “Call me after, okay?” She shoots Jungkook a threatening glare before turning away.
And just like that, you were left alone with the man you’d been avidly avoiding for the past week and a half.
“Are you mad at me?” Jungkook questions, silver piercing glimmering in the light as he gnaws on his bottom lip. The pink skin under his bunny teeth was already turning red. “Like… did I do something wrong?”
You look everywhere but him, mindlessly scrolling up and down the empty page on your laptop screen. It was a poor attempt to act unbothered, despite the heavy thumping in your chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The showcase?”
“What about it?”
Jungkook always took your attitude in stride, leveling your petty comments with kisses and playful eyerolls. This eye roll, however, paired with a painfully clenched jaw, is anything but playful. “Quit playing games, __. I’ve had enough,” he grits.
He never calls you by your name.
“Playing games,” you echo with a sarcastic laugh. In the pit of your stomach, you can feel the sadness morphing into a fit of heady anger. The words taste vile and sour on your tongue before they’re spewed at him. “That’s rich coming from you.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you can see the puzzled expression on his face. Eyebrow piercing twitching in confusion as the cogs in his brain spin, trying to make sense of your words. “I don’t understand…”
How does he not understand?
“Why didn’t you come to the showcase?”
You huff out a sigh, gaze fluttering to the ceiling.
“Answer me,” he urges, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, clearly trying to shift your attention back onto him. As if that wasn’t what landed you in this position in the first place.
“Jungkook-,”
Your voice gets caught in your throat when you feel his sharp exhales fan across your cheek. Fast and restless. It makes you miss the deep, peaceful ones he would make when buried under your heavy duvet; hair disheveled from tossing and turning and the brush of your fingers as you lulled him to sleep. His breath smells like toothpaste and vanilla gum. You glance at your taskbar. It’s 12:23 p.m. and he hasn’t eaten yet.
“I didn’t go because this is unproductive,” you sigh, closing your laptop and finally gaining the courage to face the man beside you. “You being in my life is unproductive.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Unproductive.” When your eyes meet his big dark ones, you can’t stand them. You can’t stand him for what he’s done, for how he’s turned something so special to you, so ugly. It coaxes that equally ugly, scaly, green defensiveness out of you. You want to retreat, and rebuild the walls higher, so that your emotional security would never be destroyed again. Anyone who threatened it would be burned, including Jungkook, sitting before you with doe eyes as you prepared to breathe fire in his direction. “I know it’s a difficult word, but you’re a big boy. Sound it out.”
The look on his face makes you regret the low blow instantly.
“Jesus,” he huffs, taking his hat off and scrubbing his hands over his face like he’s trying to wake up from a nightmare. “Why are you being-”
You cringe, expecting a nasty insult.
“-so mean?”
Oh.
Ow.
For some reason, that hurt more than any curse word would.
“I’m not mean.”
“I know you’re not,” he lifts his head, searching your face for any remnant of the girl he’s spent the last two months with. “So why are you acting like this?”
Your silence eggs him further.
“You know what, I’m so fucking sick of you treating me like I’m stupid,” his eyes squeeze closed when he swears, nails digging into his tattooed knuckles as he crosses his big hands. The confession rips through him and hits you like a physical blow. You suddenly remember all of the times you’ve teased Jungkook about his major or insulted his intelligence.
‘What tests? You’re a photography major.’
‘You’re an idiot, Jungkook.’
‘Your major is showing.’
You didn’t mean any of it. Not one bit. They were just shitty efforts to conceal your feelings for him. You never realized that Jungkook was taking your comments to heart. But it was too little too late. You can’t turn back time and the floodgates have already opened.
“Just because I’m not some big-shot science major, doesn’t mean that I’m fucking brainless. And it certainly doesn’t mean that you’re better than me.” With his hat sitting on the glossy wooden table, you can fully see the angry arch in his brows. The scrunch in his nose intensifies as he seethes. “What? You think you’re too good to go to the showcase? If you didn’t want to come you should’ve grown a pair and said something.”
“It’s not that,” you protest, chin quivering with ugly dents as you try to hold back tears. “I just… figured you’d bring someone else.”
Jungkook pauses for a moment, cogs coming to a halt when he finally comprehends your vague statements. “Stop acting like you can read my mind- or that you know me better than I know myself.” He snatches his hat and drops it back on his head, fingers gripping the rim to adjust the position. “Because you clearly don’t know shit about me.”
You watch silently as he scoots his chair back, standing up with urgency. How did things come to this? Two months ago you were casual friends, now you’re fighting in the middle of the school library. You would’ve never let him into your dorm room that night if you knew it would hurt this bad.
“And I actually thought-,” Jungkook says, turning to face you. His lips open and then close promptly before he waves a hand at you. “Fuck it, nevermind. I’m done.”
You look extremely suspect.
Speeding through campus with your hood up, sweater strings almost dangling to the floor with how tight you’ve pulled them. You can barely see where you’re going. The small fluffy peephole you’ve provided yourself is no good for navigating the winding halls of the dreaded liberal arts building.
You’ve been sleeping in later and later; a recent habit. Most days you felt drained, barely able to muster the energy to crawl out of bed. That’s exactly what happened this morning, hence why you’re marching down this evil, forbidden shortcut, in hopes of making it to class on time.
It’s a Tuesday. Jungkook doesn’t have classes on Tuesdays. But you’ve done everything in your power to avoid him and the places he frequents. You haven’t heard from him since the.. incident. Not a single text or call. It hurt like hell, but what did you expect? You weren’t exactly nice to him the last time you two spoke. And it wasn’t like he cared to begin with. He was probably already buried in someone else; moaning blissfully. Meanwhile, you can’t even leave your damn room without thinking about him.
Shut up, evil brain. Back to the matter at hand—getting to class.
You decide that music is the best method of distraction. An exaggerated sigh slips out as you yank your phone out of your pocket. You’re just about to crank your airpods up when a couple of distant voices catch your attention.
“These are from this weekend's showcase, we’re taking them down next week…” A muffled response that you can’t comprehend. “Yep, all are my students.”
You stop dead in your tracks.
The professor’s prideful tone rings in your ears, drowning out whatever breakup playlist you were previously listening to. The mention of a showcase, the showcase, makes your heart drop with a painful thud.
Fuck.
Your skull feels exponentially heavier than normal when you lift it, finally breaking eye contact with the dingy concrete floor underneath you. There are pictures hung all along the white walls of the campus center. No doubt leftover from an event you deliberately skipped.
You roll your head back, attempting to loosen the uncomfortable tension in your muscles. Anxiously gnawing on your bottom lip, you take in your surroundings. Jittery hands pluck out your headphones and plop them back into your Luna-shaped airpod case. Underneath all the sadness and guilt, your body was teaming with curiosity.
You never found out what Jungkook’s topic of choice was. And now that you think about it, you haven’t seen any of his photography. Ever.
A quick look wouldn’t hurt, right?
Besides, maybe this was what you needed to move on. A final goodbye to the man who has held your mind captive for far too long.
With a deep exhale and a heavy heart, you take the plunge and step forward. You lull along the walls, staring wide-eyed at each photo. Most of them take on a dark modern vibe, displaying people and objects in dreary settings. A sea of gray and black. Devoid of color. You glance at the labels above. The topics chosen were gloomy, too.
Hm. Life imitates art.
You wonder if those students have had their hearts broken as well.
A vibrant splash of color makes you halt. Your eyebrows furrow as you stare at the canvas. There’s a blood-red rose. The lens is so zoomed in that the flower eats up the entire portrait. You place a manicured digit against it, tracing your fingertip along the jagged veins in the delicate petals. The imagery is surreal, almost comparable to a heart. Not a cutesy cartoon heart—the literal human organ. You think it’s stunning, standing out amongst the rest like a beautiful sore thumb.
The printed black font along the border makes your breath hitch.
Love - Jeon Jungkook.
The subject confuses you, but the photography makes sense. Of course, this was Jungkook’s work. It’s obnoxious, lively, and so incredibly different from the rest. Stunning and enchanting, nonetheless. The next photo in his set is of two shadows, a bit distorted as they're splayed against the concrete. A couple holding hands. You recognize the silhouettes immediately; Mina and Taehyung. You can’t fight the smile spreading across your face.
Next in the portfolio is a room, white walls decorated with faux ivy vines. The little, golden lights laced throughout them gives the picture a warm saturated glow. At the center of the photo is a woman laying underneath a cream duvet. Her bare back is facing the camera, messy hair sprawled on the pillow. It’s a bit risqué, but you get how it connects to his chosen subject. It’s the aftermath of the physical act of love.
To any other student or teacher strolling by, the woman in the picture was a stranger. But to you, she’s the farthest thing from a stranger.
She’s you.
Jungkook must have taken it while you were sleeping.
A wave of the most perplexing, juxtaposing emotions washes over you. Your palms turn clammy as you try to process what you’re witnessing. Why would he do this? Include a picture of you in a project, literally titled ‘love’, only to fucking lie to you? To take advantage of your affection and string you along while he entertained another person?
You find the answers to your aimless questions in the next photo.
Fireworks.
The only time you remember seeing or hearing fireworks was…
The night of the party.
“Jungkook,” you sigh, pressing your damp forehead against the grainy wood of his door. You never thought you’d be in this position. Chasing after a man. It’s humiliating and out of character, but you need to make things right. “I know you’re in there…”
You’ve been standing outside of his dorm room for the past ten minutes. Knocking, pleading, begging. All to no avail. The sound of rustling blankets and footsteps on the other side makes you lift your head, eyes widening with hope. The optimism is lost once the soft noises stop completely. They only served to confirm your suspicions. Jungkook is home and he’s purposely ignoring you.
Oh, the irony.
Earlier in the week, the roles were reversed. Jungkook was the one pining for your attention. Now, you know exactly how he must have felt that day in the library. And you don’t like it one bit.
“Look,” you huff, shaking a few clumpy strands out of your face. “I know you probably don’t want to talk to me right now… but I’m really sorry.”
The only response you receive is the whoosh of running water.
Your shoulders slump in defeat. Obviously, he’s not going to answer the door. Why would he? He had every right to be mad. You hadn’t hesitated to dismiss him, and his passions, when you were the one upset.
You come to the grim realization that maybe things are better this way.
Jungkook is completely, entirely, wholeheartedly different from you, and you from him. So much so that you were incompatible. You’ve barely dipped your toes into anything serious, yet the two of you were already fighting and miscommunicating. It would never work, whatever it is. It couldn’t.
Deep down in your heart, you know none of that is true.
As much as you try to rationalize the distance, you can’t convince yourself that your life is better like this—because whenever you picture a future with Jungkook or reflect on the past, you see and feel nothing but sunshine. The walls begin to crumble and you feel free. Maybe, the characteristics of Jungkook you deemed annoying and different, were what made being with him so euphoric.
But none of that matters anymore. Whatever chance you had at that, at something more with him, you've completely destroyed. With a grimace and an awful pit in your stomach, you decide the best thing you can do for him is leave him alone. You adjust the takeout bags in your hand and begin to head out.
Just as you reach the end of the dingy hallway, you hear a click and a loud creak. You spin so fast you almost get whiplash.
Jungkook is standing in his doorway, looking at you blankly with a toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. He’s shirtless, full muscles rippling under his milky skin. Normally you would ogle at the sight of his toned chest and defined abs, but your focus is elsewhere. Like on the red flannel sweatpants hanging loosely on his hips, sharp v-line peeking over the hem. You recognize them from the night you helped him study for an upcoming quiz.
‘This is a conspiracy,’ he grumbled, convinced the test was an elaborate scheme by the school committee to punish him for his frequent drunken mishaps and countless guideline violations. You laughed, resting your head on his shoulder as you helped him memorize terms and ideas. You guys didn’t leave the library until 2 a.m.
He looks warm and cozy. Dark tresses swooping in messy waves across his forehead as he peers at you with doe eyes. After not seeing him or checking in on him for a while, you let out a sigh of relief.
“Hi.”
“Hey,” he mumbles softly, voice coming out muffled over the bristles of his toothbrush. He pulls it out, letting out a tiny ‘oops’ as a glob of toothpaste hits the floor. He wipes it away with his foot before continuing. “What are you doing here?”
“I…” Everything you wanted to say had trickled out of your mind like the little droplets of water running down your skin.
He meets your silence with an unamused squint and starts to close the door.
“Jungkook, wait!” You shout, taking a few frantic steps closer. “I saw the showcase!”
He pauses. “You did?” His thick brows slant in confusion. “How?”
“It’s still up in the liberal arts building.”
He nods his head slowly as an awkward quietness falls over the corridor. You can tell he’s still upset with you and the tension makes you queasy.
“I have pancakes,” you offer nervously, lifting up the crinkled plastic bags in your hand. It’s so damn cheesy. But you're trying your best. You prayed that he understood the reference, and remembered how he showed up to your dorm in the same exact way. The fateful night that started it all.
“Interesting.” His nose twitches as he tongues the little hoop on his bottom lip. Obviously fighting a smile. Thank God. “What kind?”
“Chocolate chip… your favorite.”
He hums a contemplative noise, scanning you up and down. Your hair is dripping. The pink velvet hoodie you’re wearing is clinging to your figure in ways he knows it isn’t supposed to. “Why are you wet?”
“It’s raining,” you point out.
Jungkook glances over his shoulder, glancing into his room and out the window at the cloudy, gray sky. There’s a change in his expression when he faces you again. “You walked here in the rain?”
You nod meekly.
The harsh glint in his eyes softens. He sighs deeply, head dropping in defeat as he holds out a colorful arm, inked digits gesturing for you to come closer. “C’mere, Bambi. I’ll get you some clothes.”
Bambi.
You’ve never been so elated to hear that nickname.
“Thank you,” you peep, scurrying towards his open door before he changes his mind and sends you packing. Goosebumps form on your skin when your bicep brushes against his bare chest as you hastily enter the room. The light touch leaves your cheeks hot.
“Hold on,” he says, disappearing into his tiny bathroom. You set the pancakes on top of his nightstand, awkwardly standing in the middle of his dorm. This isn’t exactly how you envisioned your first time at Jungkook’s place would go.
While idly taking in your surroundings, you spot a little whiteboard above his bed. On it, scribbled in blue marker, is the biggest boobs you’ve ever seen in your life. There’s a heart eyes emoji tacked on in the corner. A good artistic detail, you think. You should be rolling your eyes at his boyishness. That’s what you always do. But an endeared laugh comes out instead.
Why was a poorly drawn pair of tits making you soft?
Right underneath the whiteboard is a collage of taped pictures. You bend at the waist for a better look. There’s a polaroid of him and Taehyung, arms intertwining at the elbows, both downing a dark, probably alcoholic, beverage. How cute of them. The next photo is of Jungkook on a rollercoaster, tongue out and eyes crinkled as he middle fingers the camera. So wild and free. Your heart swells in familiarity.
But the more you stumble upon, the more unfamiliar Jungkook becomes. There’s a few blurry pictures of a big black dog he’s never spoken about before. The next one has you gushing. It’s a candid image of baby-faced Jungkook, holding up his high school diploma with a proud, big, bunny smile. There’s an older woman in the frame kissing his cheek. You tilt your head in confusion. You wonder if it’s his mother. You had just assumed he couldn’t stand his parents and didn’t keep in contact with them.
Maybe… you don’t have Jungkook figured out like you thought you did. There’s still so much you have to learn. You make a mental note of all the questions you want to ask him later.
That is if there even is a later.
The bathroom door opens and Jungkook walks out. “Here,” he says, handing you a pile of neatly folded clothes. There’s an oversized black hoodie on top. Your favorite sweater, the one you always steal from him. You watch sullenly as he sits down on the edge of his bed.
“I’m sorry,” you reiterate, absolutely loathing how weak and frail you sound. Jungkook doesn’t respond. He just stares into your soul with those scrutinizing eyes. “Can you talk to me, please?”
“I wanted to talk at the library,” he groans, arms jolting forward in frustration, fingers painfully flexed and hooked like claws. His bare chest flushed an angry red. “I’ve been trying to talk to you. All fucking week!”
Startled, you jump at his voice, dropping the stack of clothes you were holding. Jungkook’s eyes widen.
“Ah, I-'' he interrupts himself with a shameful hiss. You pick up the fallen fabrics with shaky hands, placing them on his nightstand with the forgotten pancakes. Jungkook digs the heels of his hands into his eyes, too apologetic and embarrassed for losing his cool to look at you. “I’m sorry.”
To be fair, he hadn’t been that loud. It was more abrupt than anything else. But your Jungkook was as happy and carefree as the wind. This side of him was new, and you were still figuring out how to navigate the uncharted waters. “It’s okay.” You can’t blame him. Not after everything you’ve done. “You’re allowed to be mad.”
“I’m not mad,” he sighs. The tattooed fingers splayed over his eyes slide in to clamp the bridge of his nose. The other hand pats the spot next to him on the black comforter. “Come here.”
“But,” you look down at the damp clothes, “I’m wet.”
“It’s fine. Sit down.”
You listen, cautiously sinking down into the bed. Despite the copious amounts of nude escapades, you’ve never felt more vulnerable with him. Usually, when you’re in bed with Jungkook, he’s panting above you, sleeping below you, or lying beside you. Head snuggled into your neck like an annoying, albeit affectionate, cat. Now, you make sure to keep your distance, anxiously picking at your chipped nail polish.
“What happened?” He questions breathlessly, relieved to finally verbalize the words that were weighing heavy on his chest. “Everything was going great and then you switched up on me. Like the showcase? Really, Bambi? I was the only person there without a guest.”
The disappointment in his voice cuts you deep, but the vision of him at the event he had been so excited for, completely alone, hurts even worse. You were his muse, and you rejected him. Looking at him was an awful decision, because you get lost in his eyes immediately. Those beautiful, captivating, endless eyes. Filled with pain and uncertainty. You realize the only way to make that awful look disappear, is to confess…
“I really like you, Jungkook… a lot. Like- more than just friends…”
Once again, you’re met with silence. Jungkook’s face is unreadable yet so familiar. You've seen that expression before. You can’t pinpoint when or where exactly, but it makes your heart pound so loudly that your ears ring.
“So,” you continue shakily, “the last time we hung out—when you canceled our plans—I got really upset.”
“I was finishing my project.”
“But then I saw a picture of you at a party-,”
“Yeah,” he defends, looking at you exasperatedly, unable to follow your train of thought. “I wanted to take pictures of the fireworks.”
“I know that now,” you admit, shifting uncomfortably in your seat, “but the picture was from Nayeon’s Instagram.”
“Nayeon?” He frowns. “I haven’t talked to Nayeon in months.”
“But you guys were-” your eyes dart around in search of the right phrasing. You settle on ‘a thing’, putting little air quotes around the ambiguous title.
“Why does that matter?” He asks incredulously. “Her and I ended things before we even started hooking up. I haven’t had sex with anybody else since we’ve been a thing.” The last part is teasing, he mimics your air quotes as his pierced pout curls into a smirk. Ah, Jungkook gets it now. Your unbecoming actions over the course of the week were a product of jealousy and possessiveness. Any lingering trace of anger is washed away with the revelation. “I told you that.”
“Yeah, but…” After mulling over your thoughts, you hesitate to speak. You hadn’t realized how ridiculous and childish you were being until now. Taehyung was right after all. “I don’t know, the way you said it seemed… fishy.”
Jungkook deadpans you before shaking his head, chuckling under his breath. You watch it all unfold awkwardly. How embarrassing.
“It’s not funny, Jungkook!”
“Ah!” He echos your shouts through a laugh, cupping your head with his large hands and jittering it gently. “Stop thinking! Your brain is evil!”
Hm. Valid point.
“In my defense,” you retort, cuffing his wrists with your tiny hands. His skin is warm and soft. You’ve missed touching him so much. “You literally mentioned Nayeon while we were having sex.”
The playful stars in his eyes combust. “Huh?”
“Oral fixation.”
His eyes widen in remembrance. “Oh shit,” he groans, slumping down, hands dropping into his lap. “Looking back, that was so fucked, but I- I just thought it was funny. I swear I didn’t mean anything, like- bad by it. I-.” Frustrated by his own stuttering and lack of judgment, Jungkook mushes his fingers into his sockets before laying down in defeat. “That was so fucking stupid of me. I’m stupid. I’m sorry, Bambi.”
Stupid.
That word coaxes a visceral reaction out of you.
“Don’t say that,” you whisper. His tattooed fingers part in the middle as he hesitantly peeks at you. You giggle for a moment, and so does he, but then you feel the gravity of the situation. Sniffling, you look down at the beautiful boy. How could you have ever been so nasty to him? You push his bangs back gently. They’ve gotten longer. Cupping his cheek, you slowly brush your thumb across his soft skin. You’re afraid that if you’re too rough, he’ll slip right through your fingers. “You’re not stupid, Jungkook... I’ve never met anyone who sees the world how you do. You’re so creative and clever in your own right… I’m sorry if I made you feel like you weren’t, because I don’t think that at all.” Voice crack. “I never did.”
“Hey,” Jungkook coos in concern. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not okay,” you argue, blinking furiously to fight back the waterworks. “And I’m really sorry about the showcase. I know how important it was to you.”
“Shh,” he shushes, “please don’t cry.” He catches your hand and brings it to his mouth, pressing the sweetest, gentlest kiss to your fingertips. “You apologized, so we’re good, yeah?”
“Mhm,” you sniffle. It feels like a ton of bricks have been lifted off of your shoulders. “For what it’s worth, your portfolio was gorgeous.”
“Nah,” he teases, wrapping an arm around your waist and encouraging you to lay down with him. “You’re only saying that because you were in it.” You smile softly, thankful for his light-hearted banter. You stay like that for a while. Face to face. Just looking at one another. You think you could stay like this forever, basking in his beauty. His warmth. Jungkook speaks first. “Why didn’t you just talk to me about the picture?”
“I guess, I was just scared of losing you… but then I just started ignoring you, which doesn’t make sense… so probably should’ve just talked to you about it.” The stream of consciousness makes him laugh. “I really like you, Jungkook.”
“I don’t do relationships.”
You feel your heart shatter into a million, irreparable pieces.
How cruel.
“Wait, those aren’t the right words,” Jungkook shakes his head. “What I meant to say is that I’ve never actually been in a relationship.” The stammered admission has you stunned. Campus fuckboy Jungkook has never been in a relationship? “And I have no fucking clue what I’m doing but… I really like you, too. I want you, I do… I don’t know how good of a boyfriend I’ll be but,” he looks at you for the first time throughout his nervous ramble. His eyes are just as terrified as yours. “I’m willing to try if you are.”
You blink at him. Did he just say… boyfriend?
“__,” Jungkook calls, anxiously toying with his lip ring. “Do you want this?”
You’ve never wanted anything more.
Without warning, you smash your lips into his. This kiss is sloppy and brash, but he’s yours. Jungkook is yours. “I think you chipped my tooth,” he winces, chuckling breathlessly. “Is that a yes?”
You nod vehemently.
“Okay,” he smiles, tilting your chin, “now give me a real kiss. None of that amateur shit you just pulled.”
You kiss him again, head full of clouds and tummy full of butterflies. Jungkook grabs under your thighs, maneuvering you on top of him, knees on either side of his cinched waist. Your lips are more controlled this time. There’s a little tongue action. Nothing too dirty, just soft brushes and prods like you’re two virgins testing the waters. Everything is slow and unhurried. You feel like you’re floating, levitating, fucking astral projecting.
“There we go,” Jungkook grins, the rounded tip of his nose tickling yours. It’s so sappy, and you can only imagine how dumb you two look, staring at each other with sparkly eyes and goofy smiles.
Jungkook is still Jungkook, though.
A sneaky hand and the grinding of a zipper interrupts the cute moment.
“You perv!” You shriek, giggling wildly as you swat his naughty fingers away. The damage is done, and the sleeve of your open sweater slips down your bare shoulder. “Is sex all you think about?”
“Mm,” he hums in confirmation, placing a peck on the newly exposed skin. “Sex with you,” he specifies before peeling the damp material from your arms and tossing it onto the floor. You cringe at the clanging of your expensive, deadstock, Juicy Couture hoodie. “Why are you so covered up?” Jungkook sits up to suck on your erect nipple, right through your translucent, white tank top. Whimpering, you grind against him. “You gotta take this off…” he sighs dreamily, yanking the pesky shirt over your head.
Wow. He’s extra needy today. Not that you’re complaining.
“Jungkook,” you complain, arms crossed over your chest. “Stop staring!”
“Why are you being so shy?” He does this often. Gawks at your naked body until your skin burns and your cheeks sting. It's a strange feeling. So uncomfortable yet so reassuring. You’ve never had a man look at you the way Jungkook does, like he’s trying to remember every birthmark, curve, and detail. That level of intimacy was scary. You can’t help but squirm under his intense gaze. “You’re my girl now, aren’t you, baby?
His girl. You swoon.
“I am, it’s just kinda awkward.”
“How so?” He patronizes, bottom lip jutting out in a deep pout. “Can’t I look?”
“You can just… don’t stare.”
“I do what I want.” The sudden switch in his voice makes your breath hitch. “Move your arms. Let me see you.”
Oh. He’s in one of those moods.
You and Jungkook rarely dabbled in sub and dom dynamics. Maybe, he was too afraid of intimidating you. Maybe, you were too afraid to initiate. But boy was his aggressiveness a treat. The duality between the relaxed attitude he carried in his everyday life, and the occasional primal beast that came out during sex, made your mouth water.
“Really?” He tuts his tongue when you counter him with a scowl, raising a threatening brow at you, code for ‘go ahead, test me’. You do, not moving a muscle.
Jungkook physically pries your arms apart and twists them behind your back, holding your wrists together in one hand. The swift movement makes you gasp.
“This okay, Bambi?”
All you can see over the bubbles of your cheeks is his tangled, black hair. His forehead rests against your collarbones, sharp exhales fanning across your chest. The hot gusts make your nipples pebble and the light stimulation sends a jolt of electricity coursing through your spine.
“Yes,” you whimper.
Using his free hand, Jungkook grips your jaw, indulging you in a sweet kiss. “Good girl.” The whispered praise has your clit throbbing. He turns your face towards the sleek mirror mounted on the wall. “Look at you, baby.”
Insecurity looms over you like a black raincloud as you’re forced to look at the reflection. The sight of your nude body makes you feel icky. Instinctively, you try to jerk away.
“Hey, stop-” he gruffs, tightening his grip to cement you in place. “Chill. Take a deep breath.”
You obey, closing your eyes and inhaling deeply.
“Why are you so combative today?” The rough edge falters for a moment when Jungkook confirms that he ‘just learned that word yesterday from a synonym website’. You giggle. Why must he be so adorable? “Don’t I always take care of you?”
“You do.”
“Do you trust me?” You nod. “Use your words, baby.”
“I trust you, Jungkook.”
“Good girl,” he smiles, making you face the glass again. His touch is much more gentle this time, guiding you with a delicate finger on your chin. “Don’t look at me,” Jungkook chuckles when he catches you staring at him and then points at your bewildered expression, “eyes on you.”
Despite the initial resistance, looking own reflection isn't as difficult as it was the first time. There’s little things you pick up on, like the way your thick, fluffy hair lays. The way your chest looks so supple pressed against his. How your hips curve out at the right angle. Your skin is smooth and poreless. That Laneige toner is really out here doing the lord's work.
“Look at how beautiful you are.”
Although Jungkook’s words are sweet, you wouldn’t go that far. But you guess, one could say you’re cute—which is more credit than you’ve given yourself in a while.
“Aren’t you so beautiful, baby?”
You hum to appease him, but this experience was definitely a start. You’re gaining self-confidence, one baby step at a time. “You’re beautiful, too.”
“You think so?” He asks airily, flashing one of those teeny tiny smiles he does, where only his two front chompers poke out. You swear this man is an angel, or some mythical being that was too ethereal to exist on planet Earth. Mumbling a small ‘uh huh’, you peck at the corner of his mouth. His silver hoop feels icy against your lips, but his hands, rubbing soothing lines up your back, are so warm. “I wish you saw yourself the way I do,” he says with sparkly eyes. “How could I want anyone else, Bambi?”
Your heart swells two sizes too big and you don’t even know how to respond.
“Alright, space girl,” Jungkook chuckles at your ditzy state, delivering a quick swat to your ass to bring you back to reality. An impatient, tattooed arm is hooked under your thigh, tossing you to the side before he gets to his feet. “Lay down. ‘S been a while since I ate that pussy.”
“Wait,” you say, unphased by his lewd comment. “Can I…” you look down at his crotch, “you know?”
“What?” He smirks at your vagueness. “Suck my dick?”
Foreplay normally consisted of Jungkook’s head between your thighs, his fingers milking your g-spot, or a shy handjob here and there. Now that he’s your boyfriend, you suppose it’s finally time to return the favor. Especially since he looks so delicious with his messy hair and his pretty tits out.
“Please,” you choke, cheeks burning with embarrassment at how quickly the plead slipped out.
“You don’t have to beg,” he purrs, stepping between your parted thighs sat at the edge of his bed. You gulp, nose aligned with his growing bulge. “Actually, yes, you do,” he retracts, swiping his big thumb across your bottom lip tauntingly. You’re dripping, already knowing where things are headed. “Been a bad girl lately, haven’t you?”
“Yeah,” you pout, shrinking under his beady eyes, peering right at you over his big nose. “But you said we’re passed that.”
“We are,” he agrees, “but I could use some reassurance. Wanna give me a little bit, baby?”
“How?”
“Suck it,” he requests, tapping his thick digit against your deep frown, “show me how good you’re gonna blow me… just so I know…”
God, you can’t deny him. Not when his voice is drenched in lust and he looks that yummy. Flicking your hair over your shoulder, you grab his wrist, taking his thumb into your mouth, all the way down to his palm. Moaning, you swirl your tongue around the pad. He plays along, plunging and pulling his finger into your wet suction. Your lips are going to look so fucking pretty around his cock, Jungkook thinks.
“‘Kay, no more,” he says, voice strained as he yanks his hand away. The movement makes you accidentally bite your tongue. Asshole. He proceeds to tangle his spit-covered hand into your hair. Major asshole. With a thick fistful, Jungkook shoves you into his clean-shaven pelvis. “Am I hard yet? Check for me?”
He knows he’s hard. You know he’s hard. But you indulge him anyway, mushing a sloppy kiss into his v-line. The view of his eyes is disrupted by the heavy heaving of his chest, and his cute little nipples; spiked and erect. Dipping down, you place a loving peck on the tip through his pants. The red material is damp from his arousal. “Yep, hard.”
“Cute,” he laughs in reaction to how sweet and innocent you look down there. “Take it out, then.”
You tug his pants down, letting them pool at his ankles. His boner springs up with vigor, whacking you in the nose on its path up to his navel. “Oh fuck,” he gasps, smacking a hand over his mouth in guilt. You glare at him, suspicious of how genuine that ‘guilt’ really is. Something you’ve noticed about Jungkook is that his smiles reach his eyes first. You don’t need to see his lips to know he’s holding in a laugh. The little stars in his irises and the crinkles in the outer corners blow his facade. “You okay, Bambi?”
“Control your dick, Jeon,” you sneer.
“Can’t,” he pouts, wrapping his palm around his tree-trunk-sized base while kicking his pants aside, “he wants you.” You’re impressed at how quickly he steers the conversation back to sex. Also, personifying his dick? That’s new. Clicking his tongue, Jungkook measures his hard cock across the length of your face. If it wasn’t for the curve, his pretty pink tip would be touching your hairline. “How’s he gonna fit, baby? You sure you can take it?”
The questions were rhetorical, purely dirty talk, but they held a piece of the intimidating truth. “I don’t know,” you respond honestly.
“Have you ever done this before?” Sensing your nerves, he pulls back a bit.
“Only once,” you shiver, recalling the questionable memory. “So I don’t know how good I’ll be at this…”
“Pfft,” he dismisses your concerns, “don’t worry about that.” He pets your cheek and you nuzzle into his touch, thankful for the comforting gesture. Then, Jungkook plops down, shimmying up the bed clumsily until he’s hunkered down in his pillows. Following suit, you turn to face him and begin tying your hair up.
“Wait!” He hollers, stopping you at the elbow. His eyes widen at his own unexpected outburst. “Leave it, please. I like it down…” he coughs, “so pretty.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you can see your frizzy baby hairs shooting wildly in all different directions. Pretty? Regardless, you let go, messy strands falling in loops against your chest and back.
“I have flavored lube if that helps. In my nightstand.”
Of course, Jungkook owns flavored lubricant. It's pretty on-brand for him. But your eyes nearly pop out of your skull when you open his top drawer, unveiling almost an entire Adam & Eve store.
That’s a stretch and you’re dramatic.
Still, you stare in wonderment. There’s an unopened pack of condoms, ‘ribbed for her pleasure!’ printed on the front in purple letters. The blue and white wand next to it makes you choke. The Hitachi. It’s much bigger than you expected, but it makes sense. If it’s as powerful as Jungkook boasted, it must need a fucking car battery. You gulp.
“Snooping through my things, Bambi?”
“No,” you squeak, shaking your head. “You have quite the collection here, Mr. Jeon.”
“Mr. Jeon, that’s sexy,” he laughs, making you jump with an unexpected smack to your ass. “See anything you like?”
Cheeks ablaze, you stay focused, finally spotting the little aqua bottle of… blue raspberry flavored lubricant? You pick it up, causing a shiny piece of metal with a little glint of pink to roll out.
“Really, dude?”
Jungkook’s brows furrow in confusion until he sees the silver butt plug, decorated with a pretty pink gem on the end. Absolutely perfect for you. “Oh, yeah,” he snatches the toy from your clammy hand and eyes it with pride. “Isn’t it pretty?”
“I can’t believe you actually bought one.”
“Why not? I said I was going to.”
“I know,” you huff with a nervous snicker, “but I didn’t think you were actually going to do it.”
“I mean,” he looks at you like you’re brainless, “you like anal, no?”
“No!” You shriek defensively. Anal play wasn’t even on your sexual radar...
Well, that’s not entirely truthful.
You enjoyed it the last time you had sex with Jungkook, in the shower, getting stretched out by his thick thumb in your butt. You remember how mindblowing and pleasurable it felt to be full. “Well, maybe. I don’t know.”
“That’s okay,” he smiles reassuringly. “We don’t have to use it. I just figured it’d be nice to have, in case you wanted to experiment, you know?”
He’s so sweet and thoughtful it makes you ill.
Now that you think about it, your sexuality is basically untapped. You’ve barely scratched the surface of self-discovery. Before Jungkook, you’ve never had a man care about your pleasure, or encourage you to take risks for your own sake. No ulterior motives. Being with Jungkook was like skydiving. Horrifying at first, life-changing once you took the plunge. With him, the parachute was there whether you decided to jump or not. You know that you’re safe, so why not take the plunge?
“Actually, Jungkook,” you stammer, “I kinda wanna try it… the butt plug.”
“You sure?”
“I’m positive.”
The conviction in your voice is like a beautiful ballad in his ears. Brick by brick, you’re opening up. Every day spent together, the walls erode a bit more.
“I got the smallest size I could find, see?” He holds the toy up to his thumb to demonstrate. It’s only a little longer, a little thicker. “So it’s not that far off from what you’re used to.”
“Thank you, baby,” you gush, planting a fat kiss on the dough of his cheek. The contrast between his bready, baby face and his razor-sharp jawline makes you dizzy. You need him in your mouth asap. “Can I suck your dick now?”
“Absolutely, but first can you-,” his index finger twirls in a circle. You blink at him blankly. “Ah, fuck it.” Deciding it’d be much easier to move you himself, Jungkook sits up at the waist to spin you until you're face to face with his third leg, resting patiently against his stomach. The modified 69 has you creaming. “Like that…” he mumbles dreamily, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your track pants, tugging them down your thighs to expose your perky behind and glowy cunt.
“I don’t know where to start.”
“Innocent little thing…” he whispers, smoothing a palm over your lower back. He leans up to chomp on the fat of your ass cheek, leaving bunny-toothed dents in your skin. A predator eating its prey. “Want help?”
“Please,” you mewl, melting under his touch.
“Spit,” he orders, cupping an inked hand under your mouth. Reluctantly, you spit into his palm. He uses your saliva to wet himself, coating his unbearably hard cock with a few languid pumps. Opening the cap, Jungkook squirts a little drop of lubricant onto his finger. “Taste.”
You softly suck on his fingertip. The liquid is sweet like a blue raspberry jolly rancher, but it’s not nearly as sweet as Jungkook’s deep guttural moan and hooded gaze. So worked up just for you. Only you. Yours.
“This, too,” he coos, bringing the butt plug up to your lips, “suck it.”
Seeing him this needy and touch-starved was doing things to you. Maybe you should ignore him more often, if it meant that he would be this feral. You comply, wrapping your lips around the icy metal.
“Being so good, baby,” he affirms, resting the drenched plug against his solid stomach before squirting a generous amount of lubricant onto his length, tugging until he’s glistening with a sticky blue sheen. Big and pretty. “Just start with the tip, alright? Go slow.”
You nod, mesmerized by the little bead of dew resting on the slit of his pretty pink head. Well, it’s a bit blue now. Cotton candy. Yummy.
“Stick your tongue out.” You do, hovering closer. Jungkook taps his length against your tongue with nasty, wet smacking noises. “You want me so bad, don’t you?”
You nod impatiently, making your flat tongue brush against the crown of his leaking cock
“Fuck,” he groans, “put it in your mouth.”
There are a few reasons why you find blowjobs problematic. Unfortunately, you were cursed with an annoyingly overactive gag reflex. Very unideal for dick sucking. However, your primary concerns were taste and texture. But Jungkook’s cock feels like butter when you take it into your mouth. Smooth and silky. And the lubricant made him candy-flavored.
“You like that taste, Bambi?” Jungkook chuckles at how eager and dutiful you look, licking and sucking on his swollen tip like a lollipop. You hum in response, slowly swirling your tongue around his tip with purpose. Giving you a hand, literally and figuratively, Jungkook starts stroking the shaft, stimulating the parts of him you have yet to gobble up. “Want more?” You’re not sure what he’s referring to, but you agree anyway, completely entranced by him. With that, Jungkook squeezes under the tip, and you feel a tiny burst of precum hit your tastebuds.
He’s so sexy you could die.
Moaning, you clench your thighs together for some much needed friction, causing a single drop of wetness to trickle down your leg. Right before his very eyes. He’s never been so hungry, and it would be so easy to just…
“Jungkook!” You moan so loudly you’re sure everyone on campus can hear it. He had laid his tongue flat, trailing your arousal back up to your pussy and then sensually dipping between your folds in one hot lick. He even traces higher, prodding against your other hole until you’re seeing stars.
“Watch your teeth,” he winces when you get carried away, “be gentle, baby.” Peeping a shy apology, you curl your lips over your teeth and slide down past the tip until you’re halfway down his length. You focus on your breathing, nostrils expanding as you inhale deeply. “That’s it, take more.”
So captivated by his ‘yeahs’ and ‘uh huhs’, you miss the sound of a cap clicking open. Suddenly, you feel a cold drizzle slide between your cheeks, before a pair of warm hands spread the slippery substance all over. He uses the residual to thoroughly coat the butt plug.
“Gonna put it in now.” He spreads you open with one hand, pressing the silver against your clenched muscle. “Let me know if anything feels off.”
The initial push is a bit much. You pull off of him with a wet pop, whimpering as he sluggishly inserts the foreign object. He stops at the sound of your whines.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah- fuck,” you grunt, “big, thas all. Please, keep going.”
“I mean, it’s not that big,” Jungkook chuckles, running some saliva over the toy for more moisture, “you’re taking it well, though.” Slowly but surely, he works you open. The noises you moan around his cock are obscene. Not because it hurts, but because it’s so satisfying.
“Feels good, Koo…”
“Sheesh,” he breathes, staring in astonishment at the pink gem in your ass, “it’s so fucking pretty. So sexy.” In his fucked out, head empty state, Jungkook bucks up, shoving all eight of his curved inches down your throat. He doesn’t realize what happened until you pull off with a gag and teary eyes.
“Bambi,” he coos wearily and fear ridden. “I didn’t mean to do that, I swear.”
You send him the meanest, fiercest glare you can conjure up, hoping his conscience burns just as much as your throat does.
“No, come on,” he pleads in despair, reaching for you as you crawl away, “I’m sorry. It was an accident. I wo-,”
You shut him up by hoisting a shaky leg over his hip, straddling him. “You really can’t control yourself, can you?” You hover over him with a teasing smile. How could you possibly stay mad at him when he looked like Tuxedo Mask? The dreamy love interest of your favorite cartoon.
He sighs in relief, panic leaving his body as fast as it came. “No, I can’t,” he smiles softly, shaking his head and snaking both arms around your waist, “not with you.”
And at that moment, you swear you’ve never been happier.
The closeness you felt was indescribable. Not physically, although his python grip was warm and comfortable. It was all emotional. You’re spiraling out of control, heading flipping and stomach somersaulting, but it’s okay—a contained type of chaos. Jungkook feels it too. The shift in the air. The subtle, yet painfully obvious, change in your dynamic. You’re different this time around. A little more outgoing. A little more fearless, as you sit on top of him. He loves it. He thinks he might even love…
“You gonna ride me, Bambi?”
“Mhm.” You feel like a schoolgirl again when you kiss him. That nervousness, wrapped in unbearable excitement, whenever you passed your first crush in the halls. Yeah, that's how you feel right now, looking down at the most stunning person you’ve ever experienced.
Sparks. Fireworks. Butterflies.
You and Jungkook exchange shy smiles when your hands touch, reaching for his erection, desperate to close the gap and become one. So ready to connect your bodies, minds, and hearts in the most intimate way. Clumsily, you fail at first. You’re both so wet that his flushed tip slips, completely missing your entrance and sliding past your clit.
“Sorry,” you chirp abashedly.
“That’s okay,” he pipes, holding himself up for you, “try again.” Just the thick head of his cock resting against your folds is enough to know that there’s going to be an adjustment period. A stretch. There always was, Jungkook is fucking huge. But you have a feeling that this new position would hit differently, making him feel bigger, harder, longer. With a firm grip on your hip, he guides you down onto his piercing length. A symphony of moans and sighs fills the room.
“How’s that?”
You’ve never felt so full.
The butt plug makes the squeeze even tighter, pushing his cock right into your g-spot. The burn ignited a mind-numbing fire inside of you. That, or he was just so deep that you felt him in your stomach. “‘S okay,” you whimper, gnawing on your lip and clinging onto him for stability, “really deep like this, Koo.”
“Take your time,” he gruffs, wincing under the dig of your petite fingers, making little crescent indents in his biceps. Amid sex, the tension in your body served as a reminder that you’re still learning. He was doing his best to be good, but the way your pussy just swallowed him up like that, triggered something primal. Tightest, wettest pussy he’s ever had the blessing of penetrating. Biting his tongue until his mouth tastes metallic, Jungkook battles the urge to thrust up into you until you’re dumb and drooling. He’s trying so hard to be good. The internal struggle is heard in his voice when he speaks, strained and gravely. “Start slow.”
Eventually, the tiny licks of pain transform into a milky, insatiable hunger. When you look down at him, all you see is the base of his thick neck, head thrown back as he succumbs to the gratification of your walls. ‘Wow, what a man,’ you think to yourself. Your man. Encouraged by your eagerness to please, you begin sloppily jerking your hips at a fast pace. No flow or rhythm.
“Easy, easy,” Jungkook shushes with a grin, stopping you at the waist. “Why are you in such a hurry, hm? We have all night.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing,” he laughs, grabbing the shaky hands that are resting awkwardly on your thighs. “Let’s get your form right first. Lean on me.” With the command, your palms are placed flat on his broad, solid pecs. Already, the angle and leverage work with his curve deliciously. “And it’ll probably feel better for you, if you moved like this instead,” Jungkook grips your ass, rocking you into a grinding motion. Instead of up and down, your cunt drags back and forth on his throbbing shaft.
He’s right. It feels so much better like this. The dreamy sensation has you moaning and moving like a pornstar.
To be honest, this wasn’t even the type of video Jungkook clicked on when looking through his PornHub feed in the mornings. Absently scrolling past orgies and blowjobs like the daily newspaper. He preferred things fast. Pummeling every inch into you before pulling out swiftly, leaving only the very tip inside to keep you needy and begging. But fuck, the slow, sensual rolls of your hips were turning his brain to mush. And the way you’re dripping down his balls might make him demote missionary to his second favorite position. He’s hypnotized, staring up at your perky tits, rippling and bouncing freely above him.
“Yeah, baby…” you cheer, carding your fingers through his thick, healthy hair as he sits up at the waist, latching onto your nipple. The gentle runs turn into harsh tugs when he takes the sensitive teat between his teeth. The overstimulation makes you hiss.
“Taste so good,” he huffs, “I can’t keep my mouth off of you.” Slicking his wispy bangs away, Jungkook leans back, stealing a naughty peek at you fucking yourself on him. Using him just how he likes. He spreads his legs apart, praying it’ll help you sink down even further, if possible. “Yeah, take it all…”
“Love taking it all…”
That hot, gooey ballooning is already forming in his balls. The pooling in his shaft is a warning; he’s going to bust soon. Jungkook maintains a strict ladies first policy, so he needs to think of something. Fast. A lightbulb switches on in his head when your neglected clit glides across his smooth pelvis.
“Hold on.” With a hand on your lower back, Jungkook squeezes you against him, preventing you from toppling over as he leans to the side and fiddles around in his special drawer. You gulp when he takes out the infamous vibrator.
“You look terrified,” he jokes, pointing out your fearful gaze and plump lips, currently forming a cute little ‘o’ as you observe the wand.
“Hm, I wonder why?” You scoff at him in fiend ignorance. “Oh, it’s superrr strong, most girls don’t even last five minutes,” you mimic in your best Jeon Jungkook impression. Voice dropping an octave to match his deep, even tone. You think it’s pretty accurate, but his melodic giggles say otherwise.
“I mean, it is,” he confirms, powering on the vibrator, “but there’s different settings, like, here’s the lowest.” The white crown is placed on your inner thigh, letting you get accustomed to the movement before he uses it to destroy you, and your most private areas. The low rumble travels up the muscle in your leg until it reaches your clit with a faint hum. “See? Not bad, right?”
Wrong.
The lack of foreplay on your end, had you teetering on the edge. So when Jungkook presses the strong, creamy buzz to your swollen bud, you’re a goner.
“Fuck!” You wail. “This is the lowest speed?”
“Tell me how it feels.”
“I- oh!” Evilly, Jungkook moves the toy down, nudging the rounded corner underneath your hood, directly stimulating your little bundle of nerves. “I… don’t know… can’t… think right now…”
“Have nothing to say now, huh smart girl?”
Oh, so this was your punishment.
If you could even call it that. You’ve never felt so fucking good.
The rapture coursing through your vein forces you to stop, clawing at Jungkook’s shoulders. He picks up where you left off, rutting into you with vigor, hitting all of your sweet spots perfectly. That, combined with the smooth plug in your ass and the vibrator on your clit, has you overwhelmed and out of control.
“Fuck! Jungkook, I can’t- too much.”
You’re cumming before he even has the chance to object. Thighs quivering. Arms shaking. Eyes rolling back into oblivion. The darkness is disrupted by lightning bolts of white, hot pleasure. Your entire body tingles like you’ve just stuck your acrylic into an outlet. Jungkook guides you to the light as you brace the crashing tsunami of your orgasm.
A literal tsunami.
“You squirted.”
“I did?”
“A little.” Unfortunately, he didn’t get the chance to witness it. Just relished in the warm splashes on his pelvis, his upper thighs, and his cock. You nuzzle into his shoulder, groaning disgruntledly in shame. Jungkook humors you by resting his cheek on top of your head, swaying subtly as he holds you. “Guess you’re not my Bambi anymore. Deer can’t swim.”
“They can swim,” you murmur. “You don’t shit about deer, Jungkook.”
“You’re more like a fish or something,” he coos happily, ignoring your correction. “...Ponyo.”
“You like Studio Ghibli movies?” You ask, picking up your heavy head and looking at him with big, animated eyes. “Since when?”
“Since before my balls dropped,” he responds curtly.
“I didn’t know that…”
“I think there’s a lot about me you don’t know yet, baby.”
There’s no malice in his words. They’re not a sneaky jab, or an attempt to make you feel guilty. They’re just the truth.
“Can I ask you something, Kook?”
“Of course, you can,” he hums, friskily nipping at the apple of your cheek.
‘Do you like anime in general? Or just Studio Ghibli?’
‘If so, what’s your favorite? Oh my God, this is so exciting!’
‘Is that your dog in those pictures?’
“You’re crazy, and yes, that’s my dog,” he chuckles at your endless string of curiosity. “But how about I nut first?” As if on cue, his member twitches inside of you, reminding you that he’s still hard and waiting patiently for his release. “And then you can interview me. Sounds good?”
“Yes,” you say, cheeks scalding. “Sorry.”
“Stop saying sorry,” Jungkook repeats, pecking you lovingly. "I'm gonna lay you down now..." Strategically, he maneuvers you onto your side, plopping down behind you. You curl into his frame, back arching with the rise and fall of his panting chest, his beautifully sketched arm wrapped around your waist. The other rests on the bed, sticking straight out for you to use as a pillow. Your top leg is thrown over his hip, spreading you enough to run his length over your puffy cunt. Grabbing the Hitachi, he brings it back to your engorged clit. The touch makes you yelp.
“Mm, I love how sensitive you get,” he whispers, licking a hot, needy stripe against your cheek. You peep out a confused noise, cowering under his tongue. Yuck. He’s so gross… but so sexy. “It’s not even turned on yet, baby. What would happen if I put it all the way up?”
“I think I’d fall in love with you…”
His heavy breaths stop as locks eyes with you. You can't distinguish the iris from the pupil. It all blends together like the night sky, filled with little stars of raw emotion. He’s pondering something, dewy lips parting and closing as the thought fades.
Nothing is said, but you don't mind. Because when he enters you, rocking into you with languid, passionate thrusts, you feel it. The unspoken words surround you like the weather. They’re warm like a summer breeze.
“Mine, isn’t it?” He speaks against your lips, Hitachi set to the max, going full throttle on your nub. “Say it.”
“This pussy is yours,” you cry, crystal streams clouding your vision and streaming down towards his arm.
“Not that,” he chokes through gritted teeth, trying to postpone his orgasm. Waiting for you to say the magic words and open Pandora’s box. “You, baby. Tell me that you’re mine.”
“I’m yours.”
“Yeah,” he nods, lips curling in as he bathes in your dripping cunt. His strokes become short and uneven as he reaches the point of no return. “I’m yours, too.”
The declaration of reciprocal affection and want fills your chest before shooting to your core. You cum together, sighing into each other's mouths as pure, intense bliss takes over every square inch of your body. Every cell tingles. You try to kiss, but the seal of your lips is broken by your needy cries. During the mutual orgasm, Jungkook trembles. Chest, legs, and arms all quivering in unison as he milks both of you dry. Painting your walls with warm, white spurts until he has nothing left to give. The Hitachi isn’t turned off until you beg.
Euphoria.
When you’re done, neither of you can bring yourself to disconnect. Sex left your sweaty bodies idle and fucked out, but the intimacy of it all kept you rooted in place. Airy kisses are planted on your shoulder. Light scratches outline his tattoos. His seed is hot inside you in the most disgustingly comfortable way. You don’t move for a while, laying in each other's aura until the rain clouds fade and the milky way can be seen by the naked eye. Twinkling lights of stars and headlights flicker against his skin as you count his breaths. They grow more steady as the minutes pass.
“I have a plan.”
Intrigued, you crane your neck, quirking a brow at the man behind you. “A plan?
Without warning, Jungkook expertly gets to his knees. Your ankles are hauled up by your head, manicured toes tickling his cotton pillowcase. Folded in half at the waist.
“Jungkook!”
“Bambi,” he huffs above you, softening cock still tucked inside of you. “Hold your legs for me.”
Oh. You know what he wants.
“Baby,” you giggle flirtatiously, hands curling under your thighs to keep them in place, “what are you doing?” He must want another round. Excitement bubbles in your squished chest and cramped stomach at the thought of having him twice in one night.
“If you stay like this, I should be able to run to the bathroom without getting cum on my bed.”
“Are you kidding me?” You spew in disbelief and disappointment.
“Baby, please,” he groans with pleading eyes. “It’ll take two seconds, I promise.”
“Fine,” you oblige with an overexaggerated pout, “but hurry. This hurts!”
With your permission, he scurries off into the bathroom. A light turns on and the faucet runs. He must be getting something to clean up with. Despite your best efforts, and the ache in your bent neck, his baby juice leaks out of you, cascading down your butt with impeccable speed.
“Jungkook, It’s dripping!”
The door slams against the wall with a loud thud as he bursts through, wet cloth in hand. A second too late. “No!” He sighs in annoyance, dropping to his knees on the mattress, angrily watching a fat white droplet splash onto his black comforter. “Really?”
“What was I supposed to do?” You shout back playfully. The whole situation was dumb and immature, but you can’t stop laughing. You cackle like a madwoman when he runs the damp towel through your folds. “‘M ticklish,” you respond dazily when he raises a brow at you. The giggles turn into a sharp hiss when he slowly removes the plug from your swollen hole.
“Does it hurt?” Jungkook coos, spreading your cheeks to get a better view of the slightly red, inflamed area.
“A little, but I’m okay. I promise.”
“Good,” he hums, smacking your ass, hinting that he wants you off the bed. “Go pee while I change the sheets.”
There’s a change in your appearance when you look in his bathroom mirror. The girl reflected, wearing her boyfriend’s black, pine-scented, oversized hoodie, seems… happy. She is happy. The resting bitch face that Mina often teased you for is completely gone. All you see is glowy skin, bright eyes, and puffy cheeks. A tiny hand comes up to massage them. Ow. They hurt from smiling so much. From laughing like a maniac. You’ve never seen yourself so lively. You’ve never felt so alive.
With a content sigh, you skip back into the bedroom.
Jungkook is already settled, snuggled under the clean bedding like a big baby. The sound of the door opening makes him jump, waking up from the two minute nap he accidentally fell into. Turning to you, he smiles lazily.
You’ll never get used to that face of his. That beautiful face.
“I’m knocked, Bambi,” he yawns, opening his big arms. “C’mere.”
Heart heavy with warmth, you climb between the sheets. You lay on your back, preparing for him to sink his head into your full breasts like feathered pillows. His favorite cuddle position.
“We never ate the pancakes,” you frown, noticing the plastic bags on his nightstand when you reach over, shutting his lamp off.
“‘S okay. We’ll eat ‘em in the morning.”
“Ew, Jungkook,” you scoff revoltingly. “They’ll be rotten by then.”
“You’re rotten but I still eat you.”
Hm. Touche.
“You know,” he lulls, lips smacking together. It’s a habit that only comes about when sleep clouds his mind. “I’ve had a crush on you since the day we met.”
“Liar,” you whisper with a smile, twirling the loose strands at the nape of his neck. Just the way he likes. “You called me a bitch, the day we met.”
“You’re so dramatic. I did not call you a bitch.” The way his tired, hooded eyes blare open at your false statement makes you laugh. “I said you were bitchy. There’s a difference.”
You recount the memory.
“You know what, I like you. You’re a little bitchy but-,” he slurred at the end of the night, helping you gather the discarded solo cups, "Also innocent. Kinda like a baby deer. What the fuck was that movie?”
“But underneath that attitude… I don’t know- There was just… something about you. Something special. And I knew that I could bring that side out of you, eventually."
“Bambi! Right… I can’t wait to ruin you.”
God, why are you so emotional today?
Tears pile into your waterline. They’re not from sadness or anger.
Laying in bed with Jungkook, who’s sighing peacefully as he drifts off to sleep, you can’t believe that this is your life.
After a few minutes of silence, you realize that there’s no way you’re following him into dreamland. You’re way too wired and ecstatic. Who could blame you?
“Jungkook,” you whisper.
No answer.
“Jungkook.”
A grunt of acknowledgment.
“Are you awake?”
“No…”
“But you just responded, though...”
Silence.
“Can we watch Sailor Moon?”
Crickets.
"Jungkook?"
“Baby!” He whines, high-pitched and huffy as he turns his head in frustration. “‘M sleepin’!’”
“Jeez,” you roll your eyes, still sluggishly playing with his dark ropes. “Someone’s grumpy…”
There’s another beat of silence before he speaks.
“Fine,” he groans dramatically, twisting back to his original position with a smushed frown against your boob. “I’ll watch one episode. One.”
You squeak excitedly, pecking the top of his head in appreciation, pulling out your phone and turning on your favorite series with glee. He puts up a good fight; loopily murmuring ‘wow’ and ‘no way’ whenever you share a little fun fact about the character lore. Halfway through, the sound of Usagi and Rei arguing is overtaken by Jungkook’s soft snores.
Soft for now. You know once he hits the REM phase, he’ll turn into a lawnmower.
With a defeated sigh, you close the streaming app and put your phone away, cuddling closer to your boyfriend.
Your boyfriend.
You're dying to finish the season. At this rate, it's going to take you guys forever to watch Sailor Moon in its entirety. But that’s okay, you suppose, because forever with Jungkook doesn’t sound that bad at all.
Bjorn Ironside is the oldest and strongest of the brothers. To Hvitserk, Bjorn is the most like their father. He possesses the charisma and majesty that Ragnar had — something Hvitserk never believed he possessed himself. He admires Bjorn’s confidence and wanderlust, but after traveling with him, Hvitserk realized that while Bjorn was a great Viking, he was not the type of man Hvitserk wished to become.
Ubbe Ragnarsson was Hvitserk’s first companion in life. They are close in age, trained by the same sword masters, and matched each other stride for stride with a blade. They shared everything from their mother’s breast to the women they bedded. More than a brother, Ubbe is Hvitserk’s closest friend — the brother he understands best and feels most at peace beside.
Sigurd Snake-in-the-Eye is the brother Hvitserk secretly envied in some ways. Sigurd was allowed to appreciate music, art, and refinement in ways Hvitserk never could. As one of Ragnar’s older sons, Hvitserk was expected to raid, fight, and bring honor to the Ragnarsson name. But he always admired the way Sigurd’s face lit up when he played music and entertained others.
Ivar the Boneless is the smartest, most cunning, and most dangerous of the brothers. But beneath all of Ivar’s rage and cruelty, Hvitserk sees what others often miss — a frightened child who lashes out because he is afraid. Hvitserk’s loyalty to Ivar runs deeper than reason. He would protect him at any cost, even from himself. Not because Ivar is his favorite, but because Hvitserk knows that once Ivar stops listening to Ubbe, there are very few people left in the world he will listen to at all.
So who is Hvitserk’s favorite brother?
Ubbe.
Because Ubbe is the brother Hvitserk chooses naturally. Ivar is the brother he feels he cannot abandon.
Ubbe loved all of his brothers fiercely, but there was always something especially tender in the way he loved Ivar. He never saw him as weak, despite the way the world treated him. Ubbe would have given the shirt off his back for his youngest brother and often trusted Hvitserk to be the bridge between them whenever Ivar became too angry or stubborn to listen.
And that became the tragedy of it all. The more Hvitserk protected Ivar for Ubbe’s sake, the further he drifted away from the brother he loved most naturally.
Stay Safe, Stay Home Writing Challenge - (Call me if you need anything) @waiting4inspiration
Genre: Romance
Pairing: Modern Ivar x OC
Warning: Language, strong sexual content
Rating: M
A/N: Sweet Jesus, it's been a long time! Years even. I never gave up on this story; I just hated the way I ended it. Luckily, I finally figured it out, and because I don't quit, I have decided to finally post the endings! I'm sorry it took so long, but the last chapter will be coming up soon.
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Ubbe had told Ivar to stop thinking. But how was he supposed to turn off his brain and just concentrate on her? There was no way he just focus on the time they were spending together, when it was their last night in Vienna. Of course, he should he should only been thinking about the beautiful woman beside him however the thought of tomorrow and everything it would bring kept creeping back into the forefront of his mind.
It wasn’t fair.
There were so many things that he and Cash hadn’t done. They still hadn’t made it to Salzburg. He hadn’t gotten the chance to dazzle her with his culinary skills. He hadn’t even taught her basic Norwegian yet. Still, somehow, she was flying back to the States in the morning?
When would they see each other? Would she want to make a long-distance relationship work? Would she be willing to come to Norway? If he went to the States, would Ubbe make one of his brothers travel with him?
This was going to be a fucking disaster!
He was deep in his musing when he felt Cash’s lips on his neck. His head turned toward hers. “Hey, where are you?”
Lowering his eyes to her mouth, he smiled at the slight pout on her lips. He was going to miss her kisses the most. Her lips were always so soft and warm. Whatever the lip stuff she was wearing had the faintest taste of vanilla and gave her lips a smooth, balmy feel.
He found himself rubbing his lips together after they kissed and smiled, “I like that flavor.”
“You like the flavor of everything I wear,” she said, snuggling up to him.
Nodding in agreement, he held his hand up to the back of hers and interlaced their fingers. “You smell and taste better than me.”
Pulling her arm over to his mouth, he gently held her wrist and licked her hand, smiling at her giggle. As his tongue ran up the center of her hand to the length of her middle finger, he felt a familiar tingle in his groin. Slowly, he took her finger in his mouth and gently sucked it before repeating the action on the rest of her digits.
By the time he was done, Cash was no longer giggling.
“See...absolutely delicious,” he smiled softly before turning over and closing his mouth over hers.
Cash tried her best to keep her fingers laced with Ivar’s, but it was hard. She took slow deep breaths, looked at the ceiling, and tried to concentrate on everything else but the velvety softness of his tongue and those piercing blue eyes staring up at her.
Every time she looked down at him all she wanted was to run her fingers through those gorgeous chocolate locks. But, whenever she tried, he’d stop his exploration. “Ivar,” she panted breathlessly, determined she was going to smother him with her thighs if he stopped again.
“Okay, okay,” he laughed, enjoying the look of frustration on her face. Releasing her right hand, he pulled his hair over his left shoulder, “Do you trust me?” When she nodded, he nibbled her thigh before placing a gentle kiss there.
Ivar had always hated his hands. All of his brothers had such long slender fingers, but he was plagued with thick, meaty paws. It didn’t make sense. Yes, he was the shortest of his brothers, but he was still easily six feet when standing. Yet, his hands and feet were short and fat. His fingers looked like they belonged to someone short and stumpy, not someone as tall, slender, and muscular as him.
However, this was the first time ever that Ivar didn’t hate his hands or the fingers that were attached to them.
“Jesus Christ,” Cash squeezed his left hand tighter as her hip raised off the bed. Where in the hell had he been hiding that little trick? Were his fingers always that long and thick?
Shit.
How many was he using? Everything about him was amazing. It was like he listened to each noise she made, and he adjusted his ministrations accordingly.
He was mesmerized by the way her body moved. Though, she didn’t seem to know what to do with her right hand. One minute it was on her belly, then she would grip the sheets – that is, when she wasn’t grasping at the air in an attempt to reach his shoulder. Then there was the vice grip she had on her own hair. He was sure she going to pull it out at the root.
He wanted to watch her. He wanted to listen to her. He wanted to kiss her. Ivar wanted to stop his musings to concentrate solely on everything she was doing, but there was a curiosity in him that wanted to know if he could take her farther.
He had to know if he could. It was plausible. At the frenzied state she was in, he could take her there, couldn’t he? Should he dare to even try?
Cash now understood what sensory overload meant. When his lips touched hers and moved and the same incredibly slow pace of his hands, she forgot her name. She wanted to say something, but it was a little fucking hard to talk. Besides, she doubted she could hear her own voice over the sound of her heart pounding in her ears. All she knew that there was a tickle in her nether regions that felt like she had to pee. But she would be damned if she asked him to stop so she could run to the bathroom.
No sooner did the thought leave her mind, did her entire body start to grow hot and taut.
The grip on Ivar’s hair was tight, but the way her nails scratched his scalp and the sound of his name on her breath made his crotch ache. As she held his head, she released a strangled cry and her body shook, back arching off the bed.
When her limp body fell back to the mattress, he kissed his way up to her face, placing his forearms on both sides of her head. With tears in her eyes, Cash pushed his long hair behind his ears and leaned up to kiss him.
“You just...I just...oh fuck,” she couldn’t finish talking. Her brains hadn’t yet returned to working order. All she wanted to concentrate on was how soft his lips felt. They smelled like her. They tasted like her. Would he think she was weird if she told him how turned-on she was by that?
Ivar was smiling so hard his face hurt. “Did you?” He watched her nod her head vigorously. “Good,” he kissed her before sitting up and reaching for the bottle of water on the nightstand.
“You are amazing,” he took several big gulps, before handing her the bottle, “and beautiful.”
Handing the bottle back to Ivar, Cash bit her lip. She ran her fingers through his hair as she placed a gentle kiss on his shoulder. He ignored her eyes on him, as she placed another kiss on his neck. As her kisses continued on his jawline, her hand made its way over the expanse of his chest and down until she felt his stomach flinch as her fingers brushed over his navel. By the time her hand made it under the covers, she had captured him in a searing kiss.
He closed his eyes at the sensation of Cash’s delicate fingers as they swept over his thigh with a feather-light grace. If the situation were different, it would tickle, but right now, it was anything but funny. And when the warmth of her hand traveled toward his groin he felt a thin layer of sweat form on his upper lip. He didn’t know how she did it, but her slender fingers provided a grip that wasn’t necessarily tight, but firm enough to elicit the most exquisite tingle that he swore he could feel in his normally numb toes.
Cash hoped that Ivar couldn’t tell what she was debating. She had only done this to one other person before - her ex...the one that after 5 years together, decided to break it off and up and married some other chick.
It was one of two sexual acts that she put a lot of meaning behind. To Cash, it meant trust and commitment - that this wasn’t just some random encounter. If she was going to do it, then she had to do it right.
But fuck, she wasn’t an expert. What if she wasn’t any good at it? And she didn’t have any experience with an uncircumcised one before. It looked different, what if there were different rules for one?
Where the hell was Glenn when she needed him? Having a gay best friend should pay off in situations such as these, no?
Ivar sucked in a breath, “Ingen...stopp,” he had temporarily forgotten how to speak English.
Her index finger gently pressed against his lips before he inhaled and laid his head back on the headboard.
He couldn’t look at her, could he?
No. He shouldn’t.
You weren’t supposed to, right?
Shit. What did Ubbe say about that?
Fuck, he couldn’t remember. He knew that Hvitserk would have told him to watch. He would have said something stupid like that’s what you have eyes for, or they love being watched, or you should record it.
That’s why he didn’t talk to Hvitserk - because he was a fucking idiot.
Wait...why was he think Hvitserk right now?
She didn’t know what Ivar liked or even if it felt remotely pleasurable to him. He didn’t make the same types of noises that she did. And when she happened to glance up at him, he had this weird look on his face that seemed more uncomfortable than anything.
Was she hurting him?
She knew she should have watched more porn.
He was completely powerless, but he had to touch her. His hands gently found their way into her hair and he unconsciously massaged her scalp. She had no idea what she was doing to him, and she was leaving him in just a few short hours. It wasn’t fair.
Cash nuzzled into the feeling of his palm on the side of her face, gently guiding her movements. She found herself making silent promises to him each time she bobbed her head.
She wanted them to last. She was going to do everything in her power to make this work. This was her pledge to him.
When their eyes met, he guided her up and settled her onto his lap. Thus far, it hadn’t been difficult for them to find a rhythm that suited them. With his back propped against the headboard and his hands on her hips to guide her, it was easy to help fall into step with him.
However, even moving in tandem, this time they both needed something more.
Their lips on each other weren’t enough.
It was as if they needed to be closer - if that were humanly possible.
Ivar wasn’t sure how it happened, but he found himself on his side facing her, moving with her.
They hadn’t tried this position before. He couldn’t quite figure out where to place his one leg, but it worked - he could feel her. All of her. He could hold her close, caress her and kiss her as much as he needed to. And when he felt like he needed more of her, he pulled her leg higher over his hip.
She couldn’t understand the words he was saying, but it sounded beautiful. When she got home, she was going to make it a point to download Bable and study Norwegian.
He rolled them once more until he completely covered her.
Normally, he hated being on top. It reminded him too much of being with his ex.
That bitch was always so happy to just have him there rutting away until she got what needed = then she would push him off of her, always leaving him feeling completely unsatisfied.
That was one of the great things about Cash. She seemed to enjoy being on top. Not only did he not have to do anything but watch her, but even though he didn’t finish he still enjoyed himself immensely.
Being with Cash was nothing like what he thought about sex. In fact, being with Cash didn’t feel like sex at all.
It was making love.
She could see on his face that he was searching for something, only he didn’t know how to find it. What was he thinking about?
“Do you trust me?” she whispered holding his face in her hands, feeling him nod against her palms, “then let go.”
He lowered his head to her shoulder and tried to concentrate. God, he wanted to let go so bad, but he didn’t know how. He felt like he never had control over anything in his life - he had to rely on people to take him places. He couldn’t do anything without permission or help.
Hell, he didn’t even have control over his body. His stupid legs didn’t work and wouldn’t do what he told them to do. Now, he couldn’t even control this.
It was so fucking frustrating.
“I can’t,” he looked at her with embarrassment and shame in his eyes.
She hadn’t noticed that his movements had stopped when she repositioned herself to plant her feet on the bed and tilt her pelvis forward. “I want to do for you what you did for me.” She wrapped her arms around his back and held him close to her. Pushing her waist against his, she moved slowly.
“Just look at me,” she whispered in between kisses to his chin, “stay here - with me.”
How could he resist her anything? She could have asked him to walk to the moon and he would have.
His big cerulean eyes locked on her brown orbs and didn’t move. Every time he found his mind drifting off onto some other place, he would lose himself in her eyes again.
“Cachet,” this was the first time she’d ever heard him say her name. It sounded weird coming from him, but she liked it.
The room erupted a fit of giggles, “I am sorry,” he apologized by kissing the space on her shoulder that he had bitten down on when he lost all bodily control, “did I hurt you?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t know you were into that kinky biting shit,” she said as his head rested on her chest and he held onto her tight. “I kinda like it.”
“How did you know to do that?” When she didn’t answer, he looked down at her, “Hello?”
She stopped the lazy path she was tracing up and down his arm and looked at him, “Hm?”
“How did you know to do that?”
She gave a quick shrug and a half-hearted smile. “You know how they say mother’s can pick up a car to save their babies? I guess I didn’t know my own strength.”
He nodded absently, paying too much attention to the distance forming behind her eyes. “Hey. We promised. Remember?”
She nodded quickly and tried to turn her head before he saw the tears starting to pool just below her lashes.
“We will enjoy today. And worry about tomorrow, later.” He kissed her quickly.
She sighed, “But what about everything that happens after tomorrow?” Why couldn’t she turn her brain off? Why did she have to think about everything and always have a plan? This couldn’t be the last night she would spend with him. They just found each other, really found each other and in a few short hours it was going to be over? How the fuck was she supposed to act like everything was going to be just fine now? Especially not after what they just shared.
Ivar rested his head on her shoulder and enjoyed the feeling of her fingers on his scalp. He wasn’t going to tell her that he was worried about it, too. He wouldn’t upset her more. Especially not when she looked like she was going to cry a second ago.
The only thing he did know was this couldn’t be the end of them. Not yet. They were on the verge of something really good. But how did he get there? Short of her giving up her life and moving in with him, he didn’t see a way.
I’m sad your blog is abandoned! I feel like we would gooodd friends haha. If you ever continue some of your fics I’ll be the first to read!
Hey there! My blog isn't abandoned...I've just been on a hiatus of sorts. I've been looking for something to pique my interest enough to make me start writing again. I'm not trying jinx myself but I have been writing again, slowly but surely.
I just posted something in the BTS fandom and I hope to get back to my Vikings stories soon.
Warning: Language, sex, obsession, unknown sexual encounter
Rating: MA+18
Summary: Sometimes the road to hell is paved with the best of intentions. See what happens when the sweetest thought turns into three lives upside down.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, only the concept of the story. I mean no form of disrespect, only the highest form of flattery. This work is a complete work of fiction.
Please do not copy or post my work on any other platform without my permission.
a/n: I know it’s been a minute and that I have other stories in the Vikings Fandom that I need to finish. They aren't abandoned. I promise! I am just getting back into writing again. Writer's block has been a bitch. Luckily, I'm almost finished writing this one. I think I only have one or two chapters left!
This is my first crack at a BTS fic. I'm a Taekookshiper, but this idea came back in my head. It's a revamp of something I wrote a long time ago. I hope you enjoy.
Also, I'm still looking for a BETA!
Be easy!
Shanny
Chapter 1 - Miscommunication
JK’s POV
Tonight – 19:30 Embassy Suites – Times Square, Room 624
The door will be unlocked. The only thing I’ll be wearing is a blindfold.
Kookie
P.S. Anything you want, baby.
The note should’ve been enough.
It was clear. Direct. Impossible to misunderstand.
So why does the silence feel so loud?
Maybe he didn’t see it. Maybe it slipped too far into his pocket, buried under everything else the way he buries all the things he doesn’t want to deal with.
It was supposed to be a surprise—something small, something good. A way to pull him out of whatever has been weighing on him all day.
He’d been off. Not in a way anyone else would notice, but enough that it doesn’t sit right under my skin.
No—he saw it. He had to.
“Fine,” he sighed.
It wasn’t.
Tae’s body always gave him away—the tension in his shoulders, the way he holds himself just a little too tight.
Stepping in close felt automatic, arms wrapped around his waist from behind before I even thought about it. My chin rested against his shoulder; hands pressed lightly into his sides. “Beach.”
A pause. Then the smallest shift—his body eased, just enough. “Cabin,” he murmured, leaning back into me.
Better.
My thumb traced slow circles against his stomach, just enough to make him squirm. A quiet laugh caught low in his throat. He had always been weak there. Always given in.
“Times Square hotel room?” The question slipped out as the note disappeared into his pocket. A risk—but one I didn’t hesitate to take.
“Mmm…” His head tilted slightly, voice dipping low. “Times Square hotel room.”
For a second, everything felt easy again.
But, now there’s nothing but waiting.
--------
The blindfold presses softly against my eyes. Pointless to close them, but they fall shut anyway. It sharpens everything—the quiet hum of the room, the faint rustle of fabric when I shift against the sheets, the slow, steady rhythm of my own breathing.
Time stretches too long.
The room changes before anything else. A quiet click. Stillness settles in behind it.
He’s here.
Not loud. Not heavy. Just… present.
He’s different tonight. It’s subtle, but I can tell that he’s not taking up as much space as he normally does.
My breath catches before I can place why.
The session must’ve gone worse than I thought. It didn’t matter.
We’ll make it better.
“There are only two rules tonight,” I smile. “Rule one—no talking.” Turning my head toward the sound of his presence, raking the lip ring between my teeth. I stretch my hand out to him, “Rule two—the blindfold only comes off when you take it off me.”
I wait for a moment anticipating his first gentle kiss.
He always –
It doesn’t come. A second passes. Then another.
This is different. There’s never been a time when Tae hasn’t initiated anything without his lips pressing against mine.
The thought flickers and disappears just as quickly.
The first touch comes instead.
Light.
Careful.
Almost hesitant.
That’s not— The thought slips before it can settle.
His scent comes next—faint, familiar. It’s enough to settle whatever doubt tries to form.
It’s him. It’s my Gomi.
His hands find my wrists, guiding them above my head with a slow, deliberate control that makes something in my chest tighten. There’s no rush in the way he moves, no urgency—just a quiet focus that feels almost unfamiliar.
Like he’s taking his time.
The blindfold stays in place. Longer than I would have expected.
Tae normally doesn’t— or maybe he just wants, no needs this right now
The urge to touch him builds quickly.
Instinctive.
Immediate.
The need to pull him closer, to anchor into something solid. S00omething known. But my wrists stay where he left them. Above my head. Held there by nothing but my damn rules—and my willingness to follow them.
His mouth moves lower, tracing a slow path down my neck, across my chest, lingering in places he already knows too well. Except tonight, it feels like he slow. Measured. Like he’s learning me, anew.
My body reacts deliciously. It always does.
Cold touches my skin without warning.
Soft. Spreading slowly. Not ice - something smoother.
Whipped cream.
A quiet breath slips out before I can stop it, gooseflesh prickles my skin as my thoughts try to catch up.
My legs part easily under his hands, anticipation tightening low in my stomach as he follows with his mouth—warm, deliberate, devastating. All thought disappears after that. There’s no room for it anymore. There is only room for sensation.
Only him.
Time fractures, breaking into moments that don’t connect.
His hands.
His mouth.
The heat builds under my skin. The slow, deliberate pressure that makes it impossible to focus on anything else.
Control slips easily.
Too easily.
His finger follows—one, then another—slow and measured, like his hesitation in my movements are to gauge my reactions. Every shift in my body.
Our normal bed play offers a different paradigm. However, at this moment there is no ask too great to grant him.
I want this.
I want him.
I’m ready.
My initial protest is brief. Quickly, my body responds, arching into him, giving in with no further resistance.
A hand moves on instinct, reaching for him, needing something to hold onto. But, it never lands.
Caught.
He guides it back. Firm and final. A soft sound follows, “Tsk, tsk, tsk.” Disapproval, with a hint of playfulness. But not.
Everything builds – body, breath, thought – gone. I trust him enough to quiet whatever lingering apprehensions that still remain.
The rhythm that follows is slow and controlled.
This is unfamiliar…but tonight I am willing to follow wherever he leads. Every movement feels intentional, measured, never rushed. There’s something grounding in it, something that settles deep beneath everything else.
Is this what it feels like when he gives himself to me? I didn’t think it was possible to feel closer to Tae when we make love. My body has never felt such sensations befo0re.
A sound tears free before I can stop it—loud, unfiltered, real. It echoes throughout the space of the room. Nothing exists outside of this moment.
His teeth graze my shoulder, something comforting settling into place at the back of mind, anchoring me there.
Finally.
I love when he sucks and bites my flesh when it’s this tender.
The tension builds quickly after that, too fast to control, pulling tight until there’s nothing left to hold onto.
And then it breaks.
The release hits hard, sharp and overwhelming, dragging everything with it. His coming close behind.
Sleep comes quickly. Pulling me under before I can think too much about it.
--------
A touch wakes me. Soft and familiar. Unmistakably his.
The blindfold lifts, light spilling in as his face comes into view above mine.
Warm.
Real.
Right.
My smile comes easily, “You’re full of surprises tonight.”
His mouth finds mine. And everything settles back into place.
Jimin’s POV
Did he write this to me?
It’s the only question racing in my head. So clear and immediate, it’s like an alarm going off.
My name isn’t on it.
But it has to be for me. It in my jacket. Tae had it this morning when he went to get coffee. He had it most of the day. So Kookie left it for him.
But he knows he put it in my pocket.
Kookie wouldn’t do that to Tae. He loves him.
Except— he wrote, ‘Anything you want, baby.’ Did he mean…
No. It’s for Tae. It has to be…unless it isn’t.
Unless he knows. Unless all those jokes weren’t just jokes. Did he see through my endless flirting to get a rise out of Tae for what it was? A thinly vailed attempt to reveal the truth about how I feel about him?
The thought settles in too easily. Like it’s been waiting for the right moment to present itself. For me to finally bear my soul.
Then the memory of that night comes back before I can stop it. I was doing a bed check. The wrong moment. Or maybe it was the only moment that ever mattered.
Kookie leaned back in the chair, completely undone in a way I had never seen before—relaxed, open, beautiful. The lazy smile dancing on his lips. The way his heavy-lidded eyes watched Tae’s.
Tae between his legs. Like he belonged there. Like that space and everything that occupied it was his. The gentle pleading he made with each blink as he met Jungkook’s stare.
It was beautiful. It was sickening.
It should’ve ended there. It was an accident. Something to forget. But I didn’t. Because once I’d seen… I couldn’t unsee how beautiful he was.
Kookie’s phone stays silent. There’s no answer. No reply. Nothing.
Maybe there’s still time to fix this. If I call him again...tell him the truth.
There is no need for me to hand the note back to him. But I just want to see. I can always walk away before anything changes.
Before anything breaks.
The hotel door isn’t fully closed. It opens with barely any pressure. There is soft music and low light. Rose petals are scattered across the floor like something out of a dream I was never meant to step into.
And there he is.
Waiting.
Blindfolded.
“I—” The word barely forms in my throat.
“Rule one—no talking,” It lands like a command. Final.
This is wrong. This is all wrong. I should take one step back ...just one word and it ends. Make one choice—
But his hand reaches out without hesitation or doubt. Like he already knows who’s standing in front of him. Like he’s waiting.
For me.
“Rule two – the blindfold only comes off when you remove it,” his whisper intoxicates me and I lose all my senses.
That’s when something shifts. It’s not loud nor sudden. It’s just gone. Every reason I had to leave, or stop…every line I swore I wouldn’t cross completely leaves at that moment.
My belt hits the floor before I can think it through. The rest follows too easily. Too quickly. Like the decision was made long before I got here.
It’s too late now. There’s no going back.
His skin is warm. Softer than I expected. Closer than it should ever be. And he’s so open. Trusting. Unaware. That’s what makes this so dangerous.
Every instinct in me says stop. That I need to leave; to fix this. But none of them matter.
The urge to taste his skin is overwhelming. But not his lips. The hollow of his throat is safer.
It works. Too well. His body reacts like I’d hoped it would. He trusts me.
His movement shifts—just enough for something to catch my eye. Dark ink, that like that on his arm. Instead this is low, his hip. A bear.
My breath stutters. I look away quickly.
My hands stay controlled despite my growing anxiety. Carefully touching him with deliberate strokes. Every movement is measured and every touch is intentional. There is no room for mistakes. I just can’t let him think.
I know there are differences between Tae and I. There must be. Our weight, the way we touch, the way we kiss. Differences that he would definitely notice. But if I concentrate on keeping him on the brink of ecstasy then he won’t be able to discern them.
The room fades around us.
Music, light—everything dissolves into something distant and unimportant. There’s only him. And that’s the problem. Because this was never supposed to happen. Not like this. Not here.
His body arches beneath me. The motion breaks that thought clean in half.
Focus snaps back momentarily.
Sharp.
Immediate.
There’s no room for hesitation anymore. Only movement. Only reaction. Only – need. It builds fast. Faster than I expected and harder than I thought possible. Everything narrows. Pulls tight and centers on one thing.
Us.
Nothing else exists. Not Tae. Not the consequences. Not tomorrow. Just right here and now.
His loss of control is audible. It’s not dramatic or sudden. As it dissipates I am left with the taste of him on my lips.
Every boundary erases without resistance. Every line crosses without a fight. And the worst part – it feels right. His reaction. His breath. The way he explodes in my mouth -. It all fits.
Too well.
Being inside him causes something to shift inside me then. The feeling is heavier. More perilous. It allows possession to settle where guilt should be. This feeling is uncomfortable, unwanted and unavoidable. The feeling lingers longer than it should. Much longer than is allowed.
Mine.
The thought comes anyway. I hate it.
Everything tightens. Builds. Spirals.
Until it culminates.
My release pulls everything in me with it – all control, thought, restraint. All gone momentarily.
Silence rushes in after. Thick. Heavy. Impossible to ignore.
Reality comes back too quickly.
I need to leave.
Looking at back the bed, he’s still there, waiting, totally unaware of what just happened.
That’s what makes this so wrong.
--------
The hallway feels colder. Maybe because my phone is already nervously in my hand. Tae’s name lights up on my screen. For a second—I consider not sending anything. Maybe, I should just let them fall apart on their own.
But my thumb moves anyway.
He’s waiting for you. Times Square. I stare at the message. I hate myself for this. 22:00.
The numbers sit heavier than they should. But, I send it anyway.
It’s too late now.
Tae’s POV
If Suga asked for one more take, I was going to lose it.
The song already sat too close to something I didn’t want to touch. Too many memories wrapped up in it—ones Kookie and I had barely managed to move past. Singing it over and over again felt like reopening something that never fully healed.
And for what? So it could be repackaged, cleaned up, made palatable for everyone else.
I was done.
Jimin’s text sat heavy in my mind as I pulled the headset off.
Meet Kookie at the hotel. Times Square. Something about his jacket and a note. It didn’t make much sense, but it didn’t need to.
Kookie was there.
That was enough.
But, why didn’t he text me himself? The thought lingered, but not long enough to matter. I was already late—too late—and if there was one thing I knew about him, it was that he hated waiting.
“Guys… I’m done.” The headset slipped from my hand, falling somewhere behind me as I stepped out of the booth. My voice sounded distant, even to myself. “It’s not happening tonight.”
Suga started to protest, but I didn’t stay long enough to hear it.
Namjoon’s voice cut in instead, calm and steady, smoothing things over like he always did. “Tomorrow,” he said. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”
That was all I needed.
By the time I reach the hotel, it is past midnight. The hallway is quiet. Too quiet.
The door opens easily.
Inside, the room glows softly—candles flicker, rose petals across the floor like something out of a dream.
“Tokki…” His name leaves me on a breath, softer than I intend.
I move through the room slowly, taking it in.
The champagne has gone warm. Whipped cream is melted into something unrecognizable. Everything feels… paused.
Like it has been waiting. And so has he.
He is asleep. Flat on his back, one arm tucked under the pillow, the other resting lightly against his chest. His head tilts slightly to the side, breath slow and even.
It looks normal, save for the blindfold. Not a sleep mask or a bandana slipped down to his eyes. But a deliberate blindfold hiding them.
My chest tightens. How long did he wait for me? “Sorry…” The word barely makes it past my lips.
A quick shower to wash the day off, but not the weight of it.
By the time I step back into the room, the quiet has settled deeper.
He hasn’t moved.
Sliding into the bed beside him feels natural.
Easy.
Like coming home.
I prop myself up on one elbow, watching him for a moment before leaning in. A soft kiss brushes against his lips.
Familiar.
Grounding.
“You’re full of surprises tonight.” His voice is still thick with sleep, but his body reacts instantly, without hesitation. His hand finds the back of my head, pulling me closer as the kiss deepens.
There he is. My hand moves instinctively, finding him, drawing a slow reaction from him as his breathing quickens. His hands follow, tracing along my shoulders, my back, pulling me fully on top of him.
He’s so warm.
Real.
Mine.
The blindfold must go. I need to look into his soul. I crave that connection—the way his eyes always soften, and everything diminishes when he looks at me. That is ours. It always has been.
I push it over his head letting it fall away.
His eyes blink open, adjusting slowly, and then—that smile. “Like this,” I murmur, brushing my lips against his jaw. “Always like this.” I manage before capturing his lips again.
The rest comes easily. Naturally. Just like always.
Our skin touching is my safe haven.
We move together without thought, falling into a rhythm we know too well to question. His body atop mine, trailing slowly down. His movements at a snail’s pace at first, measured—until they’re not. Until they can’t be.
I always giggle when his tongue brushes the bunny tattoo hidden on my hip and this time is no different.
The nervous energy starts to settle as I anticipate what’s next to come.
His mouth moves over me, hot and insistent, pulling everything out of me piece by piece. Every touch, every breath, every sound—it all builds to something I can’t hold back.
I don’t try to. I never do.
“Please…” The word slips out before I could stop it, deep and desperate.
He only smiles that same sly smile, like he already knows.
As soon as he’s sheathed within me, my mouth finds the tender area of his neck just above his collarbone. Then his pace shifts.
Faster.
Deeper.
The tension builds, pulling us both toward the same edge.
“Fuck…” I try to steady my voice but to no avail. One hand deep within his hair and the other on the small of his back. My body moves with his, creating a rhythmic dance that only we hear the music.
Our pace slows. “Look at me.” My quiet command locks his eyes to mine instantly. This is it. This is everything. “I love you.” The words come easily. Like they always do. They are arrive on breath and something deeper I hope he never has to question.
“I love you, too.” He licks his lips before dipping his head to kiss me again.
And then— everything breaks.
The release hits hard, pulling us both under, leaving nothing behind but breathless silence and the steady rhythm of our hearts trying to catch up.
He collapses against me, limbs tangled. His sweat slick skin against mine.
Right where he belongs.
Let me know if you want to be added/removed from the list of tags.
Warnings: angst, implied sexual content, mild enemies to lovers, canon divergence
Summary: When Rollo’s nephews visit his duchy in Normandy, you, a Frankish princess, are immediately smitten with King Ivar. Feelings are mutual but duty must come before self-interest. Ivar has other Ideas.
Again, another very special thank you to @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie for beta reading this monstrosity as well as making beautiful moodboards. Thank you so much for your help. I wouldn’t have done it without you <3
Also, this was written for @pomegranates-and-blood, a request that she asked for a million years ago. Sorry, I’m only getting it to you now. I had horrible burnout. Anyway, the prompt was from this list and was:
a hug that some might consider as ~too long~
but make it angst. This part is the angst 😂 This is the final part btw.
Moodboard image and gif credits go to Pinterest and/or the original owner.
Part 1
...
Hvitserk wouldn't call it friendship.
He wasn't as dense as Ivar thought him to be.
Sure, most of his time in Normandy was spent drinking, fighting, hunting, and fucking, but he wasn't blind.
He noticed.
He noticed the way your fingers grazed his brothers ever so gently over a frequent game of chess, and he noticed how Ivar reciprocated.
He noticed whispered conversations between the two of you, almost silent, in mostly empty corridors. And how could he not notice such tender looks you shared? Or how when one would disappear, so would the other. He noticed how eyes lingered for longer than necessary when feasting at night too. It was almost impossible.
Almost.
But Hvitserk noticed.
He recalled the warning Rollo had given them a few days into their visit.
"The princess is off-limits." Rollo had said, hands folded over the table. Between them was a chessboard, a game being played between the Duke and Ivar.
"Your wife?" Hvitserk had snorted the question. To be quite honest, he didn't care much for Rollo's wife. His dick went limp at the sight of her.
"He means her cousin." Ivar had corrected, hand resting on his chin as the other moved across the board.
"Correct," Rollo had agreed, "off-limits."
"But she's a pretty thing," Hvitserk had whined, taking a sip of his wine, "don't be so cruel, uncle."
"I wasn't asking, Hvitserk."
"Your concern is quite curious, uncle," Ivar had begun. "You have grown soft all these years in Normandy."
"She is like a daughter to me," Rollo had raised his glass to his lips to take a great gulp of Burgundy wine, "and I'm sure you'd feel the same if you had something to protect. I will not be questioned in my own home. Do I make myself clear?"
Hvitserk couldn't remember the last time Rollo had been so stern.
"You've nothing to worry about," Hvitserk had leaned back in his chair, "especially not Ivar. He has no interest in these Frankish women, isn't that right brother?"
Ivar had only grunted in response.
Oh, how wrong Hvitserk had been. He'd been wrong about a great many things, but this? This was surely something that amused the gods.
One night, after having ravished a particularly underwhelming lady, Hvitserk had silently made his way back to his chambers, unbothered by his messy hair and open breeches.
When turning a corner he’d abruptly stopped, taking a few steps back until he was hidden with enough of a view to eavesdrop. Hvitserk could have snorted at the sight before him. Of all the rules to break, Ivar went ahead and broke this one.
There were no guards by your chambers, meaning they were changing their posts.
But what amused Hvitserk the most was you. You had his brother pressed against the wall, your face mere inches away from Ivar's before planting a gentle kiss over his mouth.
Ivar had reciprocated immediately, a hand gripping onto his crutch while the other rested on your face, gently pushing a few strands of your hair behind your ear. He’d whispered something in your ear before you reluctantly pulled away from him. He’d taken your hand and pressed his lips over your knuckles, a familiar smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as you quietly complained. "I will see you in the morning," was all Hvitserk heard of that conversation. Ivar surged forward for another kiss and ushered you into your chambers. With a final look, you smiled and softly shut your door.
Ivar had stood there for a few more moments, his finger grazing over his bottom lip. He’d stared at your door as if he could look through it, then turned with the help of his crutch, and walked down the corridor to his own chambers.
No, Hvitserk wouldn't call it friendship.
Seeing his brother this way was surprising yet refreshing. If Rollo were to discover this he'd surely rage. But that was if he found out, and if he did, it wouldn't be from Hvitserk.
Hvitserk had smiled, finally rounding the corner.
If he could call it anything, then he'd call it love.
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“Stop staring at him,” Gisla scolded, “you look foolish.” Her dark eyes were stern and her thin lips were set in a line.
“It does not hurt to look, cousin.” Your eyes fluttered over the golden rim of your cup, sparing Ivar another glance. Even in the dim light of the hall, you could make out the blue of his eyes and how the evening shadows danced across his chiseled face.
He met your gaze without fear, and something within you stirred.
“You are a Frankish Princess. It is unbecoming behavior.” You loved your cousin to death, truly, you did, but not even the saints could grant you patience to deal with her.
“Gisla, please,” you huffed, “you’ve been in a mood for weeks and it bores me. My eyes are mine to do with as I please. If I wish to look, then I will.”
“My father, the king, will not be pleased to know his niece has a wandering eye for heathens.”
“He married you off to one.”
“Rollo is a changed man,” she snapped, patience wearing thin as well, “but his nephews continue their pagan ways.”
“And why should that be any concern of mine?”
“Because you desire King Ivar.” Gisla’s tone dropped significantly, masked by the dull music she preferred during feasts, but you heard her well enough.
Your cheeks flared as you denied the accusation.
“He is handsome,” you said in a small voice, “but I don’t desire him.”
“Good,” she nodded, “because arrangements are being made for your betrothal.”
You almost spilled your wine at her words. You knew the day would come. You were a princess after all and niece to the king. It was out of your hands.
“You are well past marrying age and I will not allow you to wither away. You are a princess.”
“So you remind me every day.” Gisla easily ignored your glare.
“Then you should understand your duty to the kingdom.”
You bit your lip, choosing to remain silent. Your fingers moved to grip your skirts at the knees, nails jabbing at the skin through the fabric. You risked another glance at Ivar sitting across the room from you.
He was already watching you like a hawk, ever so vigilant, with a crease between his brows.
“Excuse me.” You tossed your linen napkin over your plate of untouched food before pushing your chair back.
Gisla rolled her eyes as she watched you stand. “If I could do it, cousin,” she began, pressing a bright red grape to her lips, “so can you.”
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“Princess.”
“King Ivar.” You greeted him in return, head bowed and eyes glued to your hands. You stood by a window not far from the feasting hall, overlooking the castle gardens.
“Why are you hiding?” His fingers gently skimmed over the nape of your neck like a whisper, pushing your hair off to one side.
You shuddered under his touch, your eyes closing for mere moments to savor the feeling of his skin on yours. “I’m not hiding.” You mumbled the lie.
Ivar leaned his back against the stone wall beside you, moving his arms toward his front and over his crutch as he always did. He had a curious expression, one that demanded answers from you.
“What did your cousin tell you that angered you?” His chestnut hair shone in the candlelight and you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching out to touch the braided strands. They were smooth under your fingertips, soft like royal silk. Ivar smiled, capturing your hand to place a chaste kiss on the underside of your wrist. “Stop stalling, Princess.”
“Gisla believes I desire you.” You didn’t spare him a glance as you said the words. You knew he would be grinning like a cat.
“Don’t you?” The amusement lingered in his tone.
You scoffed, turning to catch sight of him.
He was watching you intently, a smile still in place as he leaned in close. “It is a mutual desire," he shrugged, “I suppose things have changed between you and I, hm?”
“That is a shame.” You said with a sigh.
“And why is that?”
“The betrothal would have been much easier.” You lamented. You could feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, clouding your vision.
“What are you talking about?” Ivar demanded.
“Gisla says I am to be betrothed.” The words came in the form of a whisper, a bit choked, but he heard you.
His smile, once so bright at the sight of you, dropped, eyes immediately hardening. The silence dragged on as he processed the information. You noticed the crease between his brow again, the sneer on his lips in utter distaste. Gently, he pulled away in favor of fidgeting with his crutch. He stabbed the pointed end deep into the hard ground. You imagined it was the same way he pierced his enemies during war.
“When?” He bit out.
“Soon, I presume.”
“You can’t. I forbid it.”
Your watery eyes narrowed as a snort fought its way past your lips. “You may be a king but you don’t have that kind of power here, Ivar.”
Your words hit a chord within him. He lowered his eyes for a moment as if deep in thought. “Then I will seek out Rollo for your hand in marriage.” He said it so confidently that you almost believed him.
He would marry you?
Something fluttered in your belly, something warm and intense, filling you to the brim with something you’d never felt before. You wanted to chase after it, hold on to it for as long as you could. You reached forward and kissed him, breathing in his scent unique only to him.
He melted into you quickly, his gloved hand gently stroking your cheek. It was far from the behavior he presented at the Norman court: cold and calculating. You knew you'd be seeing that side of him again.
You pulled away from him reluctantly, your brow leaning against his shoulder as you sniffled.
“You cannot,” you whispered sadly, feeling him shift under you, “it is not up to Rollo to make any decisions. It is up to my uncle. He already gave away his daughter's hand to a heathen, he wouldn't do it again with his niece.”
More silence followed.
Ivar’s proposal had been a silly thought.
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His name was Sigmund of Spoleto.
He was a distant cousin of yours and a gentleman of a Lombardian duchy in the Byzantine east.
You’d heard quite a few things about him in the past as family gossip traveled overseas quicker than lightning. He was but a few years older than you and already had an army under his command, though he wasn’t much of a leader.
“Sigmund the Pure” is what he was sometimes referred to in passing. He was destined for monastic life as the second son, but the death of his older brother meant he was to take up arms as the future duke of Spoleto. Yet, his heart was not that of a warrior’s.
The future duke was halfway to Normandy by the time Gisla had informed you of the betrothal and in a few short weeks, he had arrived.
“I did not want it to be this way.” Rollo spoke quietly, head slightly bent towards you.
You stood beside him, Gisla, and their children, ready to greet Sigmund and his entourage.
“Did you know?” You asked him, keeping your tone as even as you could. Your nails bit the soft flesh of your palms as you kept your anger at bay.
“Gisla does not tell me much these days.” He replied, his light eyes on the approaching carriage.
You said nothing, choosing to keep your eyes on the grass below.
Rollo understood your silence well. A hand found its way to your shoulder, his thumb brushing gently over the silk of your dress in comfort. “I’m sorry,” he said, “it pains me to see you this way.”
“It is my duty.” You knew it wasn’t fair to speak to him so dryly. Rollo had limited power and it was out of his hands but you still couldn’t help the anger that festered within you.
“But I know where your heart lies,” Rollo replied softly.
You finally whipped your head toward him.
He dropped his hand down, placing it behind his back in the proper way he was taught, acting as if he’d said nothing of importance.
“What?”
“Your heart,” he repeated, “is unfortunately in the hands of my nephew.”
“Did Gisla—”
“—I had my own suspicions.”
Before you could utter a response the sumptuous carriage pulled up close, horses and cargo pulling up just behind it.
“I just want you to know,” Rollo began, “if it made you happy, you would have had my blessing.”
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You soon discovered Sigmund was a musical man, highly skilled with the lute.
He performed at the feast on the night of his arrival, his tenor vocals making you wonder if he was castrated.
A self-proclaimed poet, Sigmund had written terrible sonnets and sang melodies in your honor, all composed during his journey. When he wasn’t singing his throat dry, he spoke animatedly on ecclesiastical topics, keen on demonstrating his intelligence. He did not seem pure, but rather prideful. You thought perhaps his title should be changed.
But Gisla was quite impressed. You, on the other hand, were not.
His visit to Normandy was brief due to other pressing matters but it was enough to leave you with an impression.
You didn’t like him.
And you knew Ivar didn’t either.
The Northern King could not hide his glares, lips always pulled down into a seemingly permanent frown. His knuckles turned white when gripping his crutch, as if ready to strike at any moment. His anger was often met swiftly with frightened servants or his own men. Sometimes it was Rollo who suffered Ivar’s wrath on nights when he had too much Frankish wine in his belly.
Your wedding was arranged for the next year.
You would be Duchess of Spoleto by then, no longer a Frankish princess, and Ivar would be long gone, ruling a kingdom in a land that was once a fairytale to you.
Summer transitioned into autumn.
Preparations were made for the departure of the Northmen before the frigid cold set in. You counted down the days till they set sail, masts high and ships full of Frankish gifts.
You still watched Ivar from afar no matter how many times Gisla scolded you for it, and Ivar's eyes never faltered from yours. How could he say so much with those eyes?
Guards failed to report to their nightly posts by your door, no doubt Rollo’s doing. At least he had control of his own home.
From that point on, nights were reserved for when you could finally be alone with Ivar.
You savored the taste of his mouth, the leather underneath your hands, the scent of his skin because you knew you’d never get the chance again.
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“You are welcome back anytime.” Rollo smiled at his two nephews, his short hair dancing in the cold breeze.
Gisla stood beside him, bearing a smile she hadn’t worn since before they arrived.
You were rigid, jaw set tight and throat tightening in discomfort. You swallowed thickly as your eyes watered.
“We plan to visit very soon,” Hvitserk replied immediately, grinning when Gisla audibly scoffed, “it has been a pleasure, Duchess.”
“I cannot say the same.”
Hvitserk shrugged, turning to you with hand outstretched. He kissed your knuckles as soon as you placed your hand in his. “Be well, princess.” For all the joy Hvitserk displayed in that one smile, you found it difficult to return it. He took a step back, allowing Ivar to say his farewells.
“Princess.”
You bit your lip at the sound of Ivar’s voice.
“King Ivar.” Your eyes were downcast as they usually were when you couldn’t face reality. The ground underneath your shoes was muddy from last night's rain, staining the hem of your fur-lined cloak. Perhaps it would have bothered you once but now you hardly cared.
Ivar’s footsteps over mud was a distinct sound, catching your attention. His leather boots were in your line of vision but you could not bring yourself to look at him. You felt you would shatter under the pressure of his eyes, knowing he was waiting for you to acknowledge him properly.
“Princess?” he tried again, “please, look at me.”
You bit your lip, finally gazing at him through your lashes. A stern expression clouded his features.
You could hear the murmurs of the nobles in the distance, gossiping no doubt. Gisla made a noise of disapproval but you both ignored it. Without another moment’s hesitation, you reached for him, embracing him as tightly as you could.
His arm snaked around you, chin resting over your wind-blown hair.
The murmurs increased, and you could hear your cousin hissing at Rollo to pull you two apart.
The Duke did not.
How long had you embraced for? Two, three minutes? It felt like a lifetime before Ivar pulled away from you, meeting your eyes once again.
“Don’t forget about me.” You uttered, your hands not quite leaving his shoulders.
“We will meet again.” It sounded like a promise.
You didn’t know whether to be delighted or upset. “Will we?” You questioned, your tone dripping with skepticism.
“This is inappropriate!” Gisla hissed, “Rollo, you must stop this.” Again, she was met with silence.
“Mhm,” Ivar assured you, releasing you completely to take in the sight of you. Disheveled hair, tired eyes, and over-bitten lips. He smiled. “In Spoleto. I am sure the Lombardian fool would not mind a challenge.”
“What do you mean?” You lowered your tone, hoping he’d do the same.
Instead, he reached over to push a few strands of your messy hair behind your ear as he so often did.
“Do not think for a moment that I would not fight for your hand, Princess.” You tried searching for any hint of humor in his words but was only met with stone-cold seriousness.
“Are you daft?” You asked incredulously.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You’re the one being ridiculous! All the princesses in the world and—”
“I want you,” Ivar said with total finality. “Must I repeat myself again?”
You shook your head as a hysterical laugh erupted from you involuntarily. “You are daft, Ivar the Boneless, a complete madman.”
He grinned, shrugging off the lighthearted insult. “If by daft you mean determined, then I must agree.”
You laughed again, a bright smile breaking through at long last. “You promise to come back for me?”
“I swear it upon my gods, must I swear it on yours for you to believe me?”
“No,” you shook your head, “I believe you.”
“Good.” He pressed a kiss to your brow, letting his lips linger for longer than he should have before pulling away. A few minutes later both he and Hvitserk loaded the ships, and off they went.
“Good riddance.” Gisla sneered, pushing past you and Rollo to usher her children inside and away from the cold.
“She will accept him in time just as she has accepted me,” he said to you, placing an arm over your shoulders and steering you into the warmth of the castle.
“What are you talking about?” Were you and Ivar not quiet enough in your discussion?
“Oh, nevermind.” Rollo waved a hand aimlessly before disappearing off into a corridor.
You paid him no mind, sprinting up toward the balcony with blurry eyes. Finally, after holding in tears for what felt like a lifetime, you let them overflow and consume you.
You smiled through the tears, wiping your cheeks with trembling fingers. Despite seeming impossible, you knew Ivar was telling the truth. Somehow, you knew he'd come back for you.
There was nothing left to do but wait.
You sighed, resting your elbows against the rough stone edge of the balcony, watching with sad eyes how the waves cradled Ivar’s ships until they were nothing but tiny specks dotting the horizon.
@xbellaxcarolinax I just love your writing. I’m mad it took me this long to finish this one, but I had time today so I needed to catch up. There is such a grace in your writing. I miss it! Great work, per usual!
Warnings: angst, implied sexual content, mild enemies to lovers, canon divergence
Summary: When Rollo’s nephews visit his duchy in Normandy, you, a Frankish princess, are immediately smitten with King Ivar. Feelings are mutual but duty must come before self-interest. Ivar has other Ideas.
A very special thank you to @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie for beta reading this monstrosity as well as making this beautiful edit and other moodboards that I’ll be posting because I couldn’t choose just one Thank you so much for your help. I wouldn’t have done it without you <3
Also, this was written for @pomegranates-and-blood, a request that she asked for a million years ago. Sorry, I’m only getting it to you now. I had horrible burnout. Anyway, the prompt was from this list and was:
a hug that some might consider as ~too long~
but make it angst.
Not as angsty as I would have wanted but you can be the judge of that once part 2 is posted. Hope you like it, Luce :)
Moodboard image and gif credits go to Pinterest and/or the original owner.
If you stared hard enough, you could see ships dotting the horizon.
“My nephews will arrive in time for the feast.”
You turned away from the balcony as soon as you heard the familiar voice, immediately dropping to a curtsey.
Duke Rollo sighed, waving a hand around before gently gripping your forearm.“None of that,” he said, helping you up with ease, “twenty years in Normandy and still, I am not used to such formalities.”
You smiled and turned back towards the sea, watching the tiny specks bob over crystal waves. “How long are they to stay at court?” You asked in practiced Norse, watching how the duke’s smile stretched from ear to ear at the sounds of his mother tongue. He’d taught you well.
“By Autumn’s end,” he answered back, “more than half a year.”
“And are they truly as terrible as the noblemen say?”
“Worse,” he grinned, “they are beasts.” There was a fondness in his tone that spoke volumes.
“Tell me about them.” You insisted.
Rollo chuckled, gently placing a hand over your hair as he so often did with his small children.
“Hvitserk had always been my favorite,” the duke admitted, “he reminds me of myself in my youth, wild in battle and searching for glory." A moment passed before he continued. "And he eats like a pig.” You burst into a fit of giggles, your hands pressing against the cool stone railing of the balcony.
The breeze carried fresh spring blossoms in the air, and you caught a few petals in your palm before asking your real question, the one that had burned in your mind for quite some time. “And what of King Ivar?” The name slipped past your lips like a secret.
“He is my brother’s son,” Rollo shrugged, grasping a petal between his fingers, “an unnatural force.”
You did not need him to explain further.
You knew the stories, the murders of the Saxon kings, the pillaging of York. So much destruction seeped from his name alone, and yet, the duke welcomed him with open arms to Normandy, ignoring the growing tensions at court against it.
You glanced up at Rollo, tracing the lines of his profile, his aging eyes, and his dull skin. For all your searching you never found what made him heathen. It seemed impossible to view him as anything but a Frankish nobleman.
Gisla had always been vocal of Rollo’s beginnings as a duke.
His mannerisms were atrocious. He drank wine like a man dying of thirst and he ate like every day was his last. He kept his hair braided in his early days at court before cutting it short and assimilating into Frankish society. You weren’t old enough to remember him as a heathen but you liked to imagine it.
Sometimes, his silver pendant slipped out from underneath his tunic, the foreign trinket settling against rich fabrics. You questioned him about it as a child and he proudly displayed it to you, turning the silver trinket between his fingers to make it shine in the light.
Mjölnir is what he called it. The word twisted on your tongue for days, the unfamiliar sounds making you giddy.
“Do you miss being Viking?” You asked him curiously.
For a moment you thought Rollo hadn’t heard you. Perhaps it was something he did not wish for you to know.
He turned to you, a smile hidden behind his graying beard.
“Come,” he said, speaking to you in Frankish again, “we must get ready for the feast.”
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You understood why Rollo considered Hvitserk his favorite.
The young man enjoyed a good feast. He was quite lean despite all the food he consumed and could handle his drink almost as well as Rollo could. He was lively and boisterous, able to light every candle in the hall with a smile if he wished it so. With him, the duke seemed like an apparition from his past. You believed it was enough of an answer to your question from earlier. Rollo was still a Viking at heart.
Then there was Hvitserk’s brother, King Ivar the Boneless.
It was a strange title to you. You descended from a line of kings that earned titles of admiration — Charlemagne the Great and Louis the Pious — to you, “boneless” was not a title of admiration. It was in reference to his legs you realized, though you assumed the stories were an exaggeration before Rollo confirmed them.
You had watched him disembark his ship, the crutch he used to help him walk seemingly glued under his arm. If he felt any pain, he hid it well.
An unnatural force, Rollo had called him.
His features were striking but hard as stone. While his brother was lean and golden-haired, Ivar was much broader with thick shoulders and hands, and a large chest covered in leather. He seemed to be dressed for war. His dark hair was long, braided back tightly towards the nape. His fingers were wrapped around a golden cup of wine as if to take a sip but he never did. His eyes shifted around the hall, observing, memorizing every corner, searching for deceit.
So, this was a heathen?
Suddenly his gaze fell upon you. You felt your heart race but whatever was in the wine that night made you courageous. You refused to look away. His eyes, such a distinctive shade of blue, held a brightness to them. The look alone was powerful, commanding respect. You had grown up at the heels of powerful and respected men. Such a look did not intimidate you anymore.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the king turned away. You did not miss the smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips.
You quickly looked down, fiddling with the forgotten fruit on your plate. Your curiosity had peaked, and after a few moments of contemplation, you stood.
“Where are you going?” Gisla asked immediately, eyes shifting from her plate to you like a snake. She had been in a mood for the entire morning once it was announced that Rollo’s nephews would be arriving, spitting venom at whoever was within her reach. She was particularly of ill humor towards her husband, snapping at him like one of his hunting dogs for most of the day.
“To greet our guests.” You barely managed to say the words before your cousin glared, her short brown hair brushing against her shoulders as she shook her head in disagreement.
“Absolutely not. Sit down.” She reached for you, ready to grab your wrist and force you back into your velvet seat. You swiftly moved away from her, a victorious grin on your face when a subtle scowl clouded her usual blank features.
Your hands began to moisten as a servant pulled back a chair beside the heathen king. You took it, rubbing your soft palms over your knees. You asked for your glass to be filled with wine. You know you’d be needing it. You searched your mind for the right words before leaning toward the northern king and uttering:
“Welcome to Normandy, King Ivar.”
He turned to you. There was a look in his eyes and a twitch to his brow. You were the last person he thought would speak his tongue.
“Princess.” Your royal title sounded as smooth as butter, his voice hidden within the chords of the music echoing throughout the hall. It was all he said to you before turning back to his wine as if already bored with your presence.
“I’ve heard many tales of your late father,” you found that he was in no mood to engage in conversation but still, you pressed on, hoping to garner a reaction from him, “that he was a great warrior for your people.”
The king paused as if deciding whether to entertain the conversation or not.
“That is true.” He nodded slowly, his icy eyes following the dark wine he swirled in his cup.
“But,” you took a delicate sip of yours, “I hear that you are even greater.” Your words were like honey over a succulent pastry. To this, the king gave you his full attention. The corner of his lips twitched into something you could not fathom to be a smile or a grimace.
“That...is also true, princess.”
You pursed your lips, watching as he finally decided to reach over and rip a piece of roasted boar. He pressed the meat past his lips, and you followed the movement of his angular jaw as he chewed.
“Rollo seems quite fond of you.” He pointed a greasy finger toward his uncle, animatedly speaking with Hvitserk.
“He is like a father to me, my Lord.”
The king snorted at the title with a shake of his head. Did all heathens hate formalities?
“I assume your cousin is not pleased with our arrival.” From a distance, the duchess glared at the pair of you. It was another look you had grown used to.
You answered him as politely as possible. “In very few words, my Lord, no.”
“It is a shame, we’re quite friendly people.” You could hear the amusement clear in his tone.
“I do not think friendly is the right word.”
“No?” His smile grew. You marveled at how it seemed to change his face, like a fire pit roaring to life. You leaned towards him a bit, just enough for his eyes to widen at your sudden boldness.
“No.” You answered back. You felt your lips curving upwards in a genuine smile. Having heard all the stories of recklessness the man beside you had committed seemed to vanish. Somehow, the proximity did not bother you. It didn’t seem to bother him either. “May I be honest with you, my Lord?”
“You will come to know, Princess, that I greatly appreciate honesty.” His brows curved in anticipation.
“You are not as frightening as everyone claims you to be.” Your revelation resulted in a choke of laughter, short but airy.
“Looks can be quite deceiving.” He remarked.
You stood suddenly, careful not to overstep your boundaries, though you thought perhaps you had already done so. “Indeed.” You said to him with a curtsey, your silky skirts whirling about your ankles as you took your place beside your cousin again.
Ivar lowered his head with an amused huff before taking a small sip of his wine.
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The first month of their visit was uneventful, much to your dismay.
Court was always dreadful during the wet season, the sky shedding its tears in the form of rain showers.
You mostly spent your time indoors, as all good princesses do, partaking in needlepoint circles with the other ladies. Such tedious work made the hours long and filled with endless gossip surrounding the heathen brothers. Nothing pleased you more than to escape such miserable duties, disappearing down empty corridors instead.
You often found yourself seeking out the Northern king, hoping to catch a glimpse of him whenever you could. He mostly sat brooding, keeping to himself while the duke and Hvitserk prattled on about things of the past.
Ivar knew who his uncle preferred.
Sometimes he played chess with Rollo in silence, ivory pieces scraping across the board as the game progressed.
But it seemed you were not the only one seeking him out.
On nights when storms raged over the countryside and the court was drunk off imported Burgundy wine, you found that his eyes sought after yours, too.
The skies cleared significantly by the second month.
Hunting parties were organized weekly as a way to explore the surrounding terrain. Stags and rabbits were in abundance and no one was left hungry at the duke’s table. The fresh air did the court some good and the warmer weather resulted in a change of wardrobe.
You wore your absolute best, picking colors you thought suited your skin. Your hair was now adorned with jeweled diadems nestled neatly into thick strands.
“This is terribly unlike you,” Gisla commented one morning over an early meal.
“What is?”
“Your hair, your dresses,” she listed, “who are you so besotted with?”
“You presume, cousin.” You simply said, your delicate fingers plucking a piece of dried fruit from an elaborately painted bowl.
“Since when did you care about which crown matches with which necklace?” Gisla eyed the stones that adorned both your head and collarbone. She knew you well enough to know the answer.
“I always have.” You defended weakly.
Your cousin tilted her head, giving you one final look before accepting your answer. “You look lovely.” She finally said.
You beamed.
You hoped Ivar thought so too.
┕━━━━━━━♔━━━━━━━┙
You were beginning to think the heathens had grown quite tired of their dull visit by the third month. They didn’t pay you any mind, or at least, it felt that way.
Hvitserk was kind enough, gracing you with a bow and a polite smile whenever your paths crossed. He went out of his way to keep his distance. It was in great contrast to the talk at court.
He was a womanizer.
He had one too many dalliances with several of yours and Gisla’s ladies, and every other night, gentle sobs could be heard from the antechambers that connected one room to the other.
You were royalty; perhaps he did not want to tread on such dangerous waters, not that you’d allow him to approach you in such a way. A lady-in-waiting was much easier to fool around with than a princess.
Not that it mattered.
But what did matter to you was Ivar, and only the Lord knew the reasoning behind your quiet fascination with the king. The fascination continued when Rollo had insisted on training with his nephews, claiming old age would never take him.
You had never seen the duke fight. He had given up his sword the moment he married your cousin, something that had apparently displeased him for years. It was hard for Rollo to accept his protected life as a duke after a lifetime of war.
You would watch them from the balcony.
The sword was a particular favorite of Hvitserk’s. He reminded you of a skilled dancer with the way he moved in swift circles around his uncle, light on his feet. The older man easily lost his breath every time.
And Ivar, you noticed, favored the bow.
As soon as an arrow was placed in his hand, he would make his mark in seconds and every time he did, he looked up towards the balcony knowing you’d be watching him.
┕━━━━━━━♔━━━━━━━┙
“Do you play?”
You looked up from your old parchments, the Latin you were practicing disappearing from your mind without a second thought. A hand reached out toward you, a chess piece in a loose fist.
You blinked only to find King Ivar towering over you, his body leaning heavily on his crutch.
"Not very well." You admitted, finally finding your voice.
"Let's change that."
You found yourself in front of Rollo’s chessboard, a gift from your uncle, the King. The duke was not fond of the game, leaving the polished ivory board to collect dust for years. That is, until very recently.
Your hands began to moisten as you both set the pieces in silence. A moment more and the game commenced rather quickly, Ivar ruthless in his strategy.
“Who taught you to play?” You demanded, watching Ivar's quick fingers snatch away one of your pawns.
“Someone far more capable than whoever taught you.” He teased, easily advancing closer to your side of the board.
You flushed but released a huff of amusement. “I’ll be sure to let my tutor know you are not impressed with his methods of educating his pupils.”
Ivar chuckled. It was something short but sweet and enough to warm you with a sense of accomplishment. He wasn’t so tough, now was he?
“And this person who is far more capable, who are they?”
“King Alfred.” He answered.
“Of Wessex?”
“Mhm.”
"He’s king now?" You were intrigued. You felt like you knew Alfred well despite never having met him. Many of your ladies once served in the court of Wessex, bringing with them stories from across the English channel.
Whatever look took hold of your features did not seem to please Ivar.
"Fairly recently," he shrugged, "he’s a rather lousy king."
"Impossible," you scoffed, stealing a pawn of his, "I hear he was a beloved prince."
"I get the impression that you hear all manner of things." His expression didn't reveal much but you were aware of his ongoing teasing.
You smiled, moving your eyes from his and back toward the board. Stories of other kingdoms were what entertained you. Normandy had always been such a bore.
"I do," you answered, quickly clicking your tongue as Ivar's knight approached your rook, "and I hear your brother is breaking the hearts of many ladies at court." You wanted to burst into a fit of laughter, watching how Ivar suddenly pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. You held your composure if only for the etiquette lessons forced upon you from a young age.
He sighed, drumming his fingers over the ancient stone table.
"Hvitserk was never a subtle man—" he began to explain.
"—I hadn’t noticed," you interjected, another of his pawns in your hand.
Ivar paused, the corner of his lips twitching into a smile. "Unfortunately," he finally said, momentarily ignoring the game. His gaze was intense, enough to make anyone squirm in their seat, but you held firm, staring right back. "Hvitserk was ordered to keep his eyes elsewhere."
"By whom?"
"My uncle."
"Duke Rollo?" You had stopped paying any mind to the game long ago, you weren't going to win anyway. "Why?"
Ivar rolled his eyes, an unbecoming gesture that would normally bother you if it came from anyone else, but not him. "He views you as one of his own. A dóttir."
Ahh. Of course. You smiled, idly fiddling with your rings. "He is like a father to me." you agreed, repeating the same statement from the night you met.
Ivar nodded, releasing the smallest noise of understanding. "It explains why he doesn’t want you to be my brother's plaything."
"And does that order fall on you as well?” There was that boldness again, rearing its head at the sight of the Northern king squirming in his seat in the way he wanted you to.
He paused again, chess piece hovering over the board. It would have been a checkmate if he put his bishop down to claim your king. When had he gotten to your queen? You hadn’t noticed.
"I like to think I am above such orders," he gently placed the piece down, pushing aside your king much gentler than you thought he would ever be. "Checkmate."
"You win," you sighed, leaning your chin on your hand. “We both knew you would.”
His lips twitched again and pride bloomed over his features. “You will learn in time, as I did.”
“Meaning you’d like to do this again?” You asked, ignoring the hopefulness that ran thick in your tone.
Ivar shrugged, moving his hands over the board to rearrange the pieces into their rightful place.
“I suppose something can be arranged if you ever plan on beating me, hmm?”
“One day, King Ivar.” You smiled.
He nodded before grabbing hold of his crutch, hoisting himself up with little effort.
“I’ll leave you to your…” he motioned toward the parchments beside you, long forgotten.
“Latin.” You finished.
“Right.” He took one final look at you, a proper one that had heat creeping up your neck, burning your cheeks. Blue eyes traveled from the strands of your hair down to your shoulders, stopping at your collarbone to observe the ruby-encrusted cross that hung right above your bodice. His brows knitted for mere seconds as if the Christian symbol caused him discomfort but it disappeared and was replaced with something else. He quickly cleared his throat, turning away from you.
“Red suits you, princess.” Ivar inclined his head toward you in respect. You could hear the stab of his crutch and the scrape of his boots against the stone floor.
You turned to watch his retreating figure, pressing your fingers against the cross with a smile.
┕━━━━━━━♔━━━━━━━┙
By the fourth month, the heathen king was more than happy to seek out your company, even if it was in the most unlikely of places.
The chapel.
You were sleepless that night. Your mind fizzled with inappropriate thoughts that had your skin heated under cotton sheets. Your fingers had inched down toward your abdomen, slowly reaching the bud that was desperate for touch.
Pleasure exploded within you, hard blue eyes appearing behind your closed lids.
A smirk. The imagined touch of calloused fingers.
It was enough to push you over the edge, throat fighting to release choked whimpers.
You had done this more than a few times, fingers exploring places you knew you shouldn’t. But this time was different, this time you felt overwhelmed with a burning lust that felt like flames searing your skin.
With a sigh, you dressed in your night robe and made your way toward the court chapel. You supposed you should atone for such unnatural thoughts toward a heathen. Perhaps, then, you would sleep.
The chapel was empty as expected, save for the priest that walked around extinguishing dozens of candles. Christ on the cross was now shrouded in darkness.
You debated repenting your sin to the priest but decided to pick a pew closest to the door.
He bid you goodnight with a bow before you were left alone with your thoughts once again.
You didn’t know where to start. You held your rosary beads between your fingers, rhythmically pushing past each bejeweled bead while reciting prayers of forgiveness you were taught long ago.
Something wasn’t right.
You found yourself unable to properly repent as you recited the practiced words. You did not feel any guilt. You had a few minutes of silence before the door opened and the familiar scrape against the stone floor echoed throughout the small chapel.
Ivar sat beside you with a grunt, leaning his arms on his crutch.
You turned to look at him, already feeling your blood boil beneath your skin. You dropped your rosary in your nervousness, the beads landing beside Ivar's feet.
"I didn't mean to frighten you, Princess." He leaned forward, grabbing the rosary and handing it over to you.
"You didn't frighten me," was your immediate response, snatching the rosary from his outstretched palm.
He smirked but said nothing more.
"I never imagined you willingly entering a chapel." You commented, your nervousness slipping through your icy act. You wanted to appear nonchalant, not like a besotted princess, though you felt you were failing miserably.
"I did once," he said, "in York."
You knew exactly what he meant and snorted at his apparent disregard of the horrors of a day that was well documented.
“Ivar the Boneless, youngest son of Ragnar Lothbrok, poured molten gold into Father Alwin’s mouth, sending the beloved priest into the arms of the Lord.” You easily recited the Saxon words written on parchment, a document hidden away in the Frankish king’s library.
Ivar eyed you curiously.
"I wanted to make an impression," he shrugged, turning his eyes back to the crucifix that hung above you both. "Why are you here, Princess? You never seemed particularly...religious."
"I could not sleep."
"Why?"
You paused. "Intrusive thoughts." You chose your words carefully.
He hummed, jabbing his crutch gently into the ground.
"And why are you here? Was I unaware of your baptism?"
Ivar scoffed with a gentle shake of his head. His hair was not intricately braided but loosely tied back, dark strands moving against his equally dark tunic. "Don't be ridiculous. I was in the corridor and I saw you entering the chapel…so I followed.” A shrug ended his explanation.
“Roaming the corridor at this hour?” You pestered him with more questions, silently enjoying his growing irritation.
“I could not sleep either.” It seemed he had more on his mind but was holding back whatever it was he meant to say.
"Why?" You placed your hand flat against the pew, the coldness of the stone not enough to cool your heated hands.
“Intrusive thoughts.” He repeated your phrase, eyes peeling away from scrutinizing the crucifix to look into yours. Despite the moon draping in through glass windows, Ivar’s eyes reflected the dark shadows within the chapel, almost appearing black. You normally couldn’t read his expressions, he guarded himself well, but you thought perhaps you could decipher this look.
Longing.
One of his hands released its grip on his crutch, placing it dangerously close to yours.
You didn’t need wine to encourage you this time. You looked down, letting your fingers carefully curl over his with bated breath. It was exactly how you had imagined his skin to feel. Rough to the touch from what you assumed was a brutal upbringing, but it was no different from Rollo’s hands, or the king’s.
You pulled your fingers away almost immediately but he stopped you, gently intertwining thick digits with yours.
You gasped at the action, lifting your eyes to find that Ivar was already looking at you, searching for any sign of discomfort. When he found none he seemed to release a breath he’d been holding in.
“Before your arrival,” you began softly, “I asked Rollo about you.”
“I’m sure he had nothing but good things to say.” The statement was sarcastic but you could hear the amusement hidden within his words.
“He called you an unnatural force.”
“Did he?” His fingers danced over the skin of your palm before taking your hand in a reassuring grip.
“Mhm.” You hummed.
“Does it bother you?” His thumb settled over the pulse point on your wrist, feeling how fast your heart was beating.
You knew he could easily snap the fragile bones of your wrist, that was no mystery, but you knew at that moment it was far from his intentions. Your breathing settled when you looked at him.
Insecurity swam in his eyes, brows curving down in an unfamiliar look that left him vulnerable.
You smiled, and with your heart ready to pound out from your chest, you shifted to peck his lips.
It was quick and soft. His lips had slightly parted in surprise when you pulled back slowly.
“I find it to be quite attractive.” You whispered over his lips with a smile, your eyes closing as you felt the tip of his nose gently brush over yours.
He released a chuckled breath through his nose. “I’m relieved to hear it.”
Warning: Language, sex, stalking, obsession, kidnapping, sexual assault
Rating: MA+18
Summary: Sometimes OnlyFans subscribers want a little more than internet pictures. Sometimes they want to be your ONLY fan…
Header by: @flowers-in-your-hayr
Thanks to @xbellaxcarolinax for being my beta.
Disclaimer: This story will deal with some topics that might be a little uncomfortable for some people. As always, I’ll try to tackle the hard stuff as tactfully as possible.
a/n: I know it’s been a minute. I’m always thinking about these stories because I want to finish them, just can’t seem to focus on writing at the moment. Anyway, hope you enjoy.
Part iv - Date with Destiny
Finding Ivar Lothbrok should have been easy. Between the two of them, he was the stable one. He was the one with the iron-clad schedule that consisted of drinking, smoking, and partying. Torren’s schedule was a bit more... fluid. She tended to go wherever the wind, or whatever car she acquired, would take her. Naturally, Ivar had the occasional meet-and-greet, red carpet, and/or Comic-con engagement that he had to attend, still, he was pretty easy to keep tabs on. All one had to do was look at (stalk) his social media accounts, and his whereabouts were posted for everyone to see.
Knowing where he’d be and finding out where he lived were a different story. Torren had done her due diligence when it came to locating the town in which Little Kattegat was located. It only took about two days and a few Google image searches of the background of a few of the photos and she had it narrowed down to a general area in the Sierra Nevada Mountains.
From what she could tell, the closest town to where he lived was pretty small, and there were only a few large estates hidden in the woods. How hard could it be to find? She was willing to drive to every single house and knock on the door to find him if she had to. But it would just be easier if there was loud music and a bunch of cars in the driveway. That way she could tag along inside with the rest of the guests to get to her man.
Her shirt landed in the pile of dirty clothes in the center of the bed, as she reached around to unhook her bra. “I really need to tell Baby Boo to stop putting all of his business out in these streets,” her brows furrowed as she shook her head, “What if some crazy, psycho bitch started stalking him, or some shit? Then I’d have to kill a bitch.” Torren’s head whipped around and she narrowed her eyes at his picture, still stuck on her wall, “Is that what you want? Huh? You want me to cut a bitch to prove to you how much I love you? I will, Bae! You know I would do anything for you. I’m your Ride or Die...”
And being his Ride or Die meant that she needed to keep better tabs on him if she was going to protect him from someone crazier than her, God forbid. She was only able to do so much on this prepaid phone, and going to the library to get online was becoming a pain in the ass.
She’d considered stealing a laptop or iPad from the library but was still on the fence about the idea. Of course, the alternative meant going to stupid ass libraries and threatening little kids to get off the fucking computers, and that completely sucked ass.
She always felt rushed when she logged onto her Bae’s Only Fans page from the public library. Without fail one of those little bastard kids would get the library Nazis to kick her off the computer, or bar her from the library altogether for watching porn.
Ivar’s page wasn’t porn! It was art. It was sexy. It was love...his love for her. Stupid bitches.
She had encountered far worse things than getting kicked out of the library, but some of these small towns usually only had one or two within their county limits. If she got banned, how was she supposed to check up on Ivar? In the time it took to log in until she got kicked out, she'd be lucky if she could check 2 of his accounts. What if he had some important information on another platform that she hadn’t checked yet? What was she supposed to do then?
Her relationship with Ivar was hanging in the balance, and she'd be damned if some snot-nosed kid or fucking uptight librarian would fuck that up. She needed a computer. But, on the flip side, when she finally got her man back, she wouldn't need one anymore. She could ask him directly what their plans were.
There was a lot to consider and that took time; time that she didn't have right now.
The thick layer of Nair shaving cream she had applied to her already hairless crotch, was just starting to tingle, signaling she had about 5 minutes left before the sweat-inducing, burning sensation would kick in alerting her to wash the cream off. Until then, she had time to consider an outfit for the night.
She knew Ivar well enough to know that he would want her to be sexy for him, but not so much to distract him from work. She could have gone for something slutty, like those skanky bitches he partied with. She could have gone for more demur, but then she would remind him too much of his bitch ex-wife and completely turn him off. The last thing she wanted on their first night back together was for him to be thinking about that bitch. She could have gone for a simple pair of jeans and a t-shirt, but Torren never did simple.
No, Ivar would want her to be herself. That's what he loved about her. That's what attracted him to her in the first place. She would be sexy without being skanky; she would be demure without being a prude.
Fuck! It was already 7:33 p.m. How in the hell did she miss the beginning of his Live? Now she was running late.
She was supposed to be dressed and ready by the time his Live came on that way she could be out the door as soon as he finished. If she was going to make it to be on his Only Fans live stream tonight, she needed to get to his house before he got too distracted. Now, she’d have to watch his Live, while her cooch burst into flames before she had a chance to take a shower and finish picking out her outfit.
If there was one thing Torren was, it was punctual. It was bad enough that she was about 40 minutes outside of his town, but it could take her up to 2 or more hours to find his house. She only hoped that he didn’t plan on starting any real freaky shit on his Only Fans page until around midnight, cause it looked like she wouldn’t be getting there before then, anyway.
With the smile still plastered on her face, Torren turned on the hot water for a shower, forgetting that the water didn’t get hot. She didn't mind, much, especially since the cold water gave her a break from the heat in her room.
Phone in hand, she watched him, as she planted herself on the dirty bathtub floor, cross-legged, and started to get herself ready. Starting with her toes, she shaved each one, just below the knuckle, followed by her fingers, arms, pits, and each leg, from groin to ankle, three times. When the burning from her nether regions was so intense that she couldn’t tell her tears from the shower water dripping on her face, she quickly washed off the cream.
All she could do was hope that she hadn’t broken the skin this time. The last time she had let that damn Nair stay on, just past burning, the skin broke and she bled. She was not having a bloody hoo-ha tonight.
With that taken care of, she gently used the razor to remove any other pubes closer to the inside that needed to be removed. Then shaved her backside. When she had more time, she was going to get the internal hairs bleached, but she needed to find out what Ivar preferred.
Shaving ate up so much of her time that she only had a few seconds to rub some body-wash that she had stolen from a drug store over her body and hoped it got rid of the smell of the summer heat. Her hair? Fuck it...she’d wash it another day, for now, this cold water would have to be enough. She’d spritz some perfume and hair spray in it and it would smell fine.
Torren finished her shower, and walked out of the bathroom dripping wet, only using a towel to wrap around her hair. She was glad it was so hot in her room that her hair would air-dry quickly. She finger-combed her damp tresses to complete that ‘just got out of bed, but it's styled’ appearance. She knew how much he loved when her hair looked like that. It would remind him of freshly fucked hair.
She spent extra time applying her makeup, even using an extra dark, thick application of eyeliner. She usually went for more subtle warm colors. They matched her tan skin tone better. But, tonight, she had bold, dark makeup, complete with varying shades of purple and blue eye shadows, and dark purple lipstick.
Torren was glad that she decided to match Ivar’s clothes this evening. The swim trunks and smoking jacket he wore would compliment her beautifully. She wanted everyone to know that they dressed alike, the way real couples do. If he was going for less is more, so would she.
She settled on black leather chaps that tied up on the sides, and tight blue boy shorts that left the bottom half of her ass cheeks exposed. The blue shorts brought out the blue swirls in his trunks; she knew he'd appreciate that touch. Her top was a blue bandanna that she wore as a halter with a short black leather jacket with tassels on the sleeves.
They screamed “couple” in her eyes.
Completely satisfied with how she looked, Torren locked the door to her motel room and started down the hall. She deliberately stopped by the window and peered through the partially opened blinds of the people staying next door to her. She knocked on the window to get the attention of the young couple inside. Judging from their appearance, they were too strung out to know who she was, or that it was her music that they constantly banged on the wall about. She didn’t care. She still flipped them off before making her way to the stairs.
Reaching her hand through the busted window of the blue Ford Taurus to unlock the door from the inside. Torren slid into the driver's seat and leaned over to find the two cords that she had pulled out from under the steering column when she stole the car. Flicking the cords together, she listened as the engine reluctantly turned over.
She put the car in reverse, looked in the rear-view mirror at her makeup, then pulled out of the spot. As she turned onto the road leading to the highway, she listened to the knocks, bumps, and hisses that her car made. There wasn't time to do much about it now; not when she was on her way to get her man. But, she made a mental note to do something about it later in the week. The only thing she could do was turn the music up louder to drown out the car noise.
Truthfully, she should have stolen a better car than the piece of shit Taurus that she found in the parking lot of the Quickie Mart while driving through Tulsa, Oklahoma. There were plenty of better cars there to choose from but no one would have wanted to take this one. It was so sad looking that she took pity on it. She had been doing the owner of this crap car a favor, by taking it off of their hands.
The car was truly fucked. The oil light stayed on, and it drank gas like her mother drank liquor. The car had protested every inch of the ride across the three states that she traveled through in one day. She knew that it would only be a matter of time before that piece of shit breathed its last breath.
She needed to get gas again, but fuck that car. She had already refueled four times since she stole it. Gas wasn't cheap and she wasn't putting another dime in that gas guzzler. Speaking of money, she made a mental note to steal another credit card. It would only be a matter of time before the owner of the one that was tucked snugly between her left breast and strapless bra, would eventually realize that it had been lifted from the table in the diner, and canceled.
Laptop, butt bleaching, car, credit card, and more eyeliner from Walgreen's…her To-Do list was growing. She really needed to take some time off and take care of the necessities. Not tonight, though. She had other things to do. She couldn't do anything else, right now, but get to her man. Besides, once Lothbrok was by her side, he would help her remember all the things she needed to do.
As she came off of the highway exit smoke started billowing out from the engine. It backed up through the exhaust system, and came through the vents, inside the cabin. It was ironic – the air-conditioning vents in the car didn't work, but they seemed to work well enough to clog the inside of the car up with thick white smoke. She drove a few more miles before the smoke was so thick that she could no longer see. As she pulled the car over to the graveled shoulder of the road, the car knocked and shook, before it finally cut off.
Just her fucking luck.
She reached under the dash to flick the cords against each other again, trying to force the ignition to catch again, but it wouldn't. The engine had nothing left to give her. "Fuck Murphy and fuck his fucking law," she said calmly as she pulled the hood release.
She opened the car door, taking care to place both black, platform boots on the ground before lifting her backside from the seat. Placing her sunglasses on her eyes, she walked with one foot in front of the other to the front of the Taurus and placed her hand on the hood. It was hot, but not so hot that she couldn't feel under the front of the lever.
As she lifted the heavy metal hood and placed the rod in the slot to hold it in place, Torren let the smoke from the engine engulf her. It was quite a head rush breathing in the thick engine smoke through her nose, and exhaling it from her mouth. She patiently waited for the smoke to thin out before she bent, at the waist, over the engine. She didn't know what she was looking for, but she knew that someone would see her looking over the engine and stop to help her.
Now, if only someone would actually come down this dark stretch of road, she could be back on her way to Ivar.
It didn't take long before a pair of headlights rounded the bend of the road, just off to her right. Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, she accentuated the leather, chaps against her hips, and lifted her ass higher in the air, to catch the driver's attention. She couldn't help but smirk when she heard the tires of a large vehicle turn onto the graveled pavement in front of where she broke down. She didn't turn to face the car or the driver. She didn't care who they were or what they looked like. She had an appointment to keep and this pit stop was fucking up her timetable.
"You need some help?" A deep voice asked as its owner approached her.
Torren took a moment to peer around the hood, noticing that there were no other cars around. "Broke down," she answered, continuing to bear her weight from one hip to the other. She placed her hands on the metal frame of the car, arched her back, and looked at the man over her shoulder. "You know something about cars?"
"Yeah," he replied, moving around to her side, looking at her, and not the smoky engine.
She gave him half a smile, as she noticed him notice her. "You a mechanic or something?" She asked standing up. She rubbed her hands together to remove some of the visible engine soot while considering the guy in front of her. He was about 6 feet tall with a moderate build. He was dressed in blue jeans, a black t-shirt, and Timberland boots. He didn't look like he was more than 25 years old. Judging from the way he was looking at her and from the ring on his left hand, he wasn't too worried about her car, or his wife, for that matter.
"Nah, not a mechanic, but I work on my own car... in my spare time." He smiled when she did. She was gorgeous, in that slutty kind of way. She wouldn't be dressed like that and leaning over the hood of a car if she wasn't looking to have some fun. "Lemme take a look at it."
Did he work on his car? Hopefully, that meant that his ran better than hers did.
Torren moved over to the side and let him take the position under the hood. "I'll be right back," he explained before walking over to the bed of his F150.
Grabbing a flashlight from the trunk, he took a second to admire the view of her, from behind. If he could get her car moving again, she would hopefully follow him to this cheap motel he knew that was just up the highway.
He leaned in close, taking a whiff of her hair, "You overheated…want to check the coolant level."
She had heard him say something else but she had stopped listening; she was too busy watching the street. "You want me to try to start it?" she asked, removing her sunglasses before making her way to the driver's door. She wasn't sure if he answered or not. She had no intention of driving the Taurus again, even if he could get it started. She just needed to get something out of the car.
She slid into the seat and reached down on the floor. She found the hard metal object on the floor of the passenger's side and gripped it tightly. As she walked back around to the front of the car, she heard him talking, presumably about the car, or maybe he was asking her out. Who the fuck knows? She was on a tight schedule and all of his chatting was holding her up. She stood by the side of the hood, looking at the angle he was leaning over the hood. Quickly, she lifted her arm, and with one powerful blow, she struck him in the head with the crowbar that she used to procure her now-defunct car.
Torren stood over his body, looking at him intensely. God, it felt good. The rush of knowing that one minute this dude was towering over her, and the next he was on the ground. She had dropped his ass. She was the one with the power.
"Thanks," she said, digging her hand in his pocket to retrieve his cash, credit card, and the keys to his truck. She wiped the blood on the crowbar on his shirt before walking to her new mode of transportation.
Torren sat in the truck's driver's seat and turned on the engine. She had managed to cross two things off of her To-Do list without even planning to.
Thank God the truck had air conditioning. All this heat and humidity was bound to make her hair frizzy. She cranked the AC up as high as it would go and sat still for a moment enjoying the cool air. After a minute, she adjusted the seat and tilted the rearview mirror to look at herself. She was starting to sweat and her eyeliner was starting to run just a bit at the corners of her eyes. She dabbed at the black liner to even out the lines, and then pushed the mirror back to where she could see. Giving the area another once-over, she made sure that no one else had seen her interaction with that guy on the ground, before pulling out from the gravel and onto the paved street.
"Ugh!" Torren yelled. Chester Bradley, the printed name on the credit card, had shitty taste in music. She pushed the stereo button on the steering wheel to do a scan of the radio. Anything was better than country music. Once she found some trap music on the XM radio, she turned up the volume and pulled back onto the highway.
