you've been staring at your night-owl of a boyfriend for ten minutes now, hoping your digging stares might wake him up. you still have a while before you need to leave for work, and you like spending a fraction of your mornings with him. only today...
head propped up, you watch him cling to the blanket, lips a gap apart and rosy cheeks so painfully round. his breathing is quiet and rhythmic. two of your fingers sneak to the blanket under his arm, tugging a little until he stirs.
"mmmhbabe—?" is all he mutters, palm reaching out and tapping on the mattress.
even in his drowsy state, you know he's wondering when and why you escaped his embrace during the night, because you usually wake up in his grip. his personal anchor.
you lean into him until his digits brush your arm, and reflexively, half asleep, he pulls you into a bear hug. your head on his chest; his hands on your back.
and immediately, he's gone again — you let him. even like this, it feels like a morning well spent. time killed listening as his breathing turns into soft snoring. not how jimin once, as a joke, predicted it might sound. but gentle, not obnoxious, only interrupted by smacks of his lips. resembling the crackling of the candle flames he sometimes enjoys lighting up and listening to.
you breathe a sigh of relief. that's okay, you think. that's just how things need to be.
Cmi!jk, your eherm *physical* relationship from when you started your fwb has been described as “animalistic”. Now that you guys are in love, what’s it like now? More gentle, soft making love or a balance of both? 😌
your eyelids are shut, your expression peaceful. when jungkook started trailing his touch along your clavicles and up your neck ten minutes ago, you were still sighing and humming in delight. but now that he's caressing your jaw, tracing your lines and curves, you've become entirely quiet.
slumbering away, letting warm fingertips draw patterns on your bare, glowing skin. jungkook thinks you're prettiest like this. natural and content, so gorgeous that it truly hurts sometimes. how did he get so lucky?
the picture of where are you now and of where you used to be is nearly impossible to grasp. over a year ago, your mid-sex conversations consisted of lewd praises, cocky teases and otherwise unintelligible sounds. moans reverberating off walls, intimacy of the most animalistic nature.
barely any kisses; lips lingering on hot skin.
even now, neither of you ever suppresses the hunger. both a writhing mess, thirsting. but… he sees so much more of you now. your moles. your smile. how your eyebrows furrow when he kisses your neck. and how soft and vulnerable you sound sometimes. how you call his name… like you've forgotten every other word in existence.
he still feels the graze of your fingers along his back. how you hold onto him, pull him closer. how you steal kisses and mix your unfading desire with all that your heart contains. all the things he says to you; and all the things you say to him.
want no one but you.
stay with me, my love.
i'm so lucky to be yours.
as jungkook's movements along your shoulder stop, your eyes start to open again. you sigh again, one more crease between your eyebrows before you slowly, surely look at him. a smile comes into view when you notice him staring; and as he basks in the beam, leaning into you with a clump in his throat, all his feeble voice allows him to say is–
"wait. can i take this one?" you interrupt, a twinkle in your eyes he can't say no to.
besides, he wants to know what you'd say – so he nods. you turn back in your seat, rambling straight away, "he's an acts of service kind of person, so he comes back with new stuff a lot. primarily decoration and things to make life here more comfortable for me. little does he know that i already feel warm as long as he's here."
"oh. angel…"
"it's true." you shift a little, seeking his fingers. "he likes to bring home flowers and fairy lights and lava lamps for the desk, so i'm more motivated to work on my books. and cooks for me, since he says i forget to eat when i work or write."
you sigh, and jungkook listens with his eyes on his lap, not-so-secretly blushing. "that summarises it well, i think. he's the encouraging and nurturing kind of boyfriend. cares a lot and doesn't ask for anything back. also listens, and lets me cry, never rude just to be funny, and i'm not counting some silly bickering! some guys tend to be rude 'cause they think it makes them cool, you know?"
"babe…" jungkook finally speaks, wrapping his digits around your hand, squeezing. "you really think of me that way?"
you confirm without hesitation, "i'm just scratching the surface, though."
maybe you're right.
thinking about it, he probably yet has to unleash all that being so hopelessly in love with you conjures. he can barely look at you – it fills his vulnerable heart to the brim. it might burst.
so he only lifts your palm to his cheek, smiling through his words as he responds, "i've only scratched the surface, too."
Cmi jk, have you thought of how you want to propose to your future wife?
"i… she's barely brought all her stuff from the house yet, and you–" he blinks, listening as the question evolves. then, breathing a laugh, kinda shy, he hums. "ah. in theory, you say? uhm…"
he folds his fingers, dozing off. deep in thought, he almost doesn't notice the smile spreading on his face. the fantasy wets his waterline. this is one hell of an emotional game.
"i can't tell you what i'd do. not with certainty. you know why?" he shifts in his chair. "because i'd plan every detail to perfection. thinking about it for a few seconds doesn't suffice, because she deserves far more than that."
he sighs, eyes foggy with fondness, "but i promise you. i'd make everyone cry."
"hey, kookie," you call, taking one earbud out; you lift your phone from afar. he can barely see what you're showing him. "do you like those fairy lights?" your hand drops again when you see his changed, gentle expression. "what's up?"
he shakes his head slowly, flashing a sweet beam, "nothing, babe. get the fanciest lights. so you still love them a couple years later. okay?"
Cmi jk and oc! Was there a time when you guys woke up and decide it to be a lazy day? Like fck work im going to spend it cuddling the loml
Jungkook, side-eyeing you: "Ah… you hit a spot. Seriously! Namjoon threatened to fire me last week because I was late for the third time in two weeks. He was just joking, but…"
You, eyes wide, pointing to yourself: "It's not my fault! He koala-wraps himself around me and…" Zoning out thinking about the wet kisses to your neck and the drowsy, hoarse whispers to your ear. "He's got no self-control and I'm lucky work isn't too far."
Jungkook: "Okay. Won't do it anymore unless it's the weekend, 'kay? Nothing to do then. Prepare for me and the Blankie to trap you."
You, only half registering that he's using the name you bestowed upon his blanket, whispering: "Wait… Dowayoutsto–"
Jungkook: "What did you say?"
You, clearing your throat: "I said I don't want you to stop. Please keep being late at work."
Jungkook, shoulders shaking as he laughs; tilting his head: "God… Munchkin."
Cmi jungkook - what do you think of oc’s office style? Do you look at her and like “she’s so hot! I cant believe she’s my gf hebsjdhsjs”
😂
Jungkook: "You say that as if it's not a constant thought, no matter what she wears or doesn't wear."
Jungkook: "But… there's something about the way she comes home and… like, imagine it with me, okay? She walks in, right? Blazer over her arm, putting down the purse, opening one of her blouse's buttons. Pushes her hair out of her eyes, sighs. Looks at me with a smile that screams joy and relief. No, fuck, you're right. I can't believe this woman is my girlfriend."
Jungkook: "You might not remember, but y'all broke me with this question once. And now my brain's short-circuiting again."
Jungkook: "Mmh… It's a little warmer here on our trip and in my hometown, and she's been wearing short dresses since the summer, and… that does make me choose ass for now? But don't take my word for it! It could change tomorrow! She's just so…"
OC, patting his shoulder: "I'll let you drool onto your shirt this once. It's fine, baby."
a brief drabble of jk seeing oc in the exhibition or what he thinks when she did not stay the night :( from his pov please
fic: colour me in
pairing: jungkook x reader
warnings: overthinking, heartbreak, hope, simping lol, lovesickness, a bit of nervousness, implied tears, soft sweet koo, a cmi9 spoiler :')
wc: 1.5k LOL
a/n: tysm for the request, i know one or two people wanted that one, so that was a great opportunity to explore koo's mind :') this is unedited, i apologise!! might come back to edit it later. anyways, love you, i hope you like it, lmk what you think mwah!! <3
ask my characters/request a (brief) drabble <3
–
The second day of the showcase and it's already ending again.
And once again, you're nowhere to be seen. It sucks.
He wishes he could calm that raging storm in his stomach; that stressful feeling, mixed with hope you might show up eventually.
But as he glances around, all he sees is a crowd of visitors and fellow artists. They look so happy; the smiles might etch themselves onto their faces forever once this is all over.
From afar, Jungkook waves towards them, faking a brave face. It's annoying how his eyes keep wandering to the entrance of the room, manifesting a glimpse of you.
New guests make his heart skip a beat, and it keeps sinking when it's not you.
That is, until it is.
Some of the people chatting with him finish their inquiries. He sends them off with a nod, following their steps for a moment. Only for his gaze to drift through the room again. And then–
The odd emptiness morphs into gut-wrenching breathlessness. He sucks in a breath when you stand among the dozen faces, looking around.
And you're not a haunting illusion this time. The way you shift your weight to the other leg, heaving your chest in the same nervousness, eyebrows slightly furrowed as you seek him out – no matter how much he's memorised you, he can't make up these tiny details.
You're here.
And now you're looking at him. Directly. Blinking.
As you approach him, time starts moving slower. Thoughts of whatever you shared. Hope for tonight to proceed well. Fear of what you might think of his artistic accomplishments.
He doesn't dare to blink. Doesn't even flinch when you say, "Hi."
He responds, "You came."
"I… almost didn't."
"…I'm glad you did."
Your words are piercing, and his heart in tiny pieces. They pound to a certain, rapid beat, like water drops on drums.
But he doesn't show any of the weakness he feels when you keep talking. Or when you detect his paintings. The speechlessness and the tender gratitude, the pain in your eyes when you understand what he's created.
The moments pass and the uncertainty between the two of you grows, but Jungkook doesn't want this night to end. And when you eventually suggest to take him home, he feels a strange combination of anxiety and relief.
Unfathomable.
–
Small spaces usually didn't bother either of you, because they were the temptation that closed the gap between your bodies.
Like, when he was trapped under the sheets with you, magnetically drawn to you. Arms around you like a safe swim ring, and your breathing against his chest.
Tonight is a little different.
The urge to make you stop the car and to reach to the driver's seat is overwhelming. So he focuses his attention on the outside. Listens as you converse with him.
He appreciates the care, but he'd rather skip to the inevitable talk than to speak about his lack of a transportation vehicle.
The wait toys with him. The tension is palpable. It won't fade; only increases when you finally dive into your emotions. Asking about the showcase and the pain.
Grows and grows when you halt near his place, getting out of the car when you shouldn't need to.
Because aren't you leaving in a moment?
No.
Instead, you pull out a silver object, wrapped neatly. He knows what it might be, and somehow, it already hurts. The intention behind it… that's what aches.
Though the uneasy yearning doesn't end when he opens it, setting eyes on an apparent notebook and his name written in the middle of it, golden and elegant.
Inside, he finds a message
To fill these pages with every curve and contour you desire, and to colour them in. Like you do with me. Happy Birthday, Kookie.
The goddamn hurt won't stop. His breath hitches. He rereads the words, mouths them, relaxing his muscles and slowing down his heartbeat.
It's not working. And his eyes are watering. God, he doesn't think he's ever seen a soul filled with such tenderness before. A heart of cloudy texture; breaking apart every now and then, but soft and light and dreamy and so incredibly vulnerable.
You're looking at him like you're holding yourself together. And he figures he must be mirroring that very expression.
"So… You like it?" you ask.
Does he like it? The fact that you combined his dreams and the affection you hold into one small object? Your feelings for each other aren't materialistic, but if they were, he'd stuff them all into these pages.
He answers, "Yeah. Yeah, I do."
“I’m glad. Happy Birthday, Kook.”
Can he let you go again? He doesn't know. Or he does. But he fears your answer. But he still needs to try, right?
And he does. With all his courage, he does.
When he finds himself close to your body a minute later. Face in his grip, apologies on his tongue, hurt in your pupils – lit by the streetlights.
"I crave your comfort," you tell him. Your words are overwhelming. "I hate that I've grown to crave you."
If you knew. If you knew about the sleepless nights and the damp cheeks. The curled up body, tucked in blankets and the summer's heat, but still cold without you next to him.
If you knew. He should tell you.
"What do I do to make it right?" he asks.
But what you answer breaks his heart anew.
"You open up. You tell me how you feel. What you feel." Your chin is quivering; he wants to hold it, wants to calm your sorrows. "You stop keeping secrets from me and tell me what's wrong."
"I have never opened up with anyone as much as with you."
And he means it. All you know are pieces of him; the most hidden one only ever got out to witnesses or when things became unbearable. Like with Nara. Or Tae.
His fingers rest on your cheek, and you wonder, "Why have you never before? To anyone else?"
He's scared. God, he's scared you'd leave him. This is ridiculous. His worries and his faults and all the mistakes he's made. So damn ridiculous.
Shouldn't be keeping you away from him.
"Can you tell me?" you question again. He wishes you didn't – because he wants you to know, but it's not fucking coming out…
And he can't keep hurting you.
"I can't," he admits.
"Why not?"
"Because it hurts."
It always will, won't it?
And maybe he could endure it if it didn't drag you down in the process. Because he sees as your face falls, frustration spreading across it as you start giving up.
He sees that you're waving the white flag, even when he begs for you to stay, to endure this until he can open up. He sees your desperation when you don't answer and he finally walks away and he hates it.
Head fallen and intense dejection expanding in his chest, slow steps carry him across the street. Tonight will be filled with more hours without solace.
But then he hears your voice again.
"That night at the frat party… last year," you start. He halts in his steps, moving to face you. "We were dumb to treat it like nothing. You kissed me back then, too. You kissed me like you didn't want me to leave."
He blinks at you. The frat party.
Maybe he didn't just kiss you like he didn't want you to leave. Maybe it'd feel the same if he kissed you now, too.
And he fucking wants to. He wants the distance gone. Craves that same warmth, enveloped in you, breath against breath, lips against lips.
He doesn't know what to answer. The hundred thoughts confuse him. But among those, one of them is the most prominent, in bold and capitalised letters, surfacing in high speed.
And perhaps he should hold onto it; so he wraps a mental rope around it, pulling it close and whispers, "Angel…"
Steps back to you, closer until you're barely breathing, "Stay the night."
–
It's okay, he thinks.
That he expected so much. That he thought you'd agree. That he painted a picture of you stepping in here again, sitting on the same couch, crying the same tears as him until you fell into his arms.
But none of it will happen tonight, will it? You won't come back. He saw you driving away…
It's okay.
You're right. You probably need time to think; his attack on you was sudden. The change in mind and the pleas to stay. Only half of him thought you would, really – so it's alright.
But that doesn't mean that his chest won't heave once he closes the door and enters the empty apartment. Or that he won't shower with a certain numbness in his heart, trudging to the bed with a bitter ache in his body.
It doesn't mean that, despite the sliver of hope, he won't yearn and pine and crave and long until his eyes are rimmed red, worse than before.
–
okay :') if you happen to read this, come and let me know what you think, i'd appreciate it super much!! bc lol holy that took like 2h? and i am sad. thank you for the request, love. hope it was alright 🥺<3
