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Splash

Part 6

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Mermaid

Warnings: Nudity

Word Count: 6.8k

A/N: It's giving Aquamarine 🤭🌺

Masterlist

The next day, JJ probably looked at the clock at work a thousand times.

After yesterday's scare, he'd tried not to let his mind go there, but he couldn't help but worry about Angel. He tried to focus on work, on cars, on fucking around with his coworkers– on literally anything other than the fear that somebody was out there trying to snatch up his mermaid-girlfriend-who-wasn't-actually-officially-his-girlfriend.

But every time his thoughts wandered, they went right back to her.

What if that guy comes back and she doesn't react quick enough this time?

What if somebody else sees her?

What if she doesn't come back?

#outer banks #obx fanfiction #fluff #mutual pining #jj maybank x mermaid #jj maybank series #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank fluff #mermaid au #outer banks mermaid #jj maybank

@morgwenmicrofic {} prompt: mutual pining {} Vivian x Mithian {}

#bbc merlin #vivmith #moodboard #mutual pining #they're so in love trust me #knew each other for years but never said anything about the tension because they thought it was all in their head until finally #they confront their feelings #vivian x mithian #mithian x vivian #princess mithian #lady vivian #the month of vivmith #my yuri

Writing Blip ~

Gosh, can’t stop writing about the queers

Sedate me would you?

No trigger warnings this time lolz

I watched her. That tilted smile of hers was directed at the other woman standing beside her. Their teeth glinted in the candlelight that lit the room.

I felt my nails digging into my palm. Funny. I hadn’t even noticed I’d clenched my fist.

Their eyes flickered to mine.

Paris.

I felt my breath catch as I turned away from her with a sigh and made my way to the other side of the room. I ran my hands through my hair—a tick I’ve had since I was young, one Paris herself had commented on.

Why was I feeling like this?

It’s not like anything was happening between us. Nothing we’d ever acknowledged.

I found myself in front of a table covered in food. A lavish display of wealth, even though I knew there were people in the towns below who would go to bed hungry. Something I myself had never struggled with.

I felt the urge to turn around. To push my way back through the crowd just to see if Paris was still laughing with that other woman. If their chest still rose and fell with laughter meant for someone else.

I shook my head, pressing a hand to my forehead as though it would force the thoughts back into the dark hole they’d crawled out of.

I’ve dated many women. I’ve flirted with at least half of my court back home. I never gave it a second thought, and yet seeing the smile on their face directed at anyone but me made my chest tighten.

It’s not like Paris isn’t allowed to make other friends. They have other people besides me.

I have other people besides them.

I forced myself away from the table, turning back toward the dance floor that stretched between me and Paris on the other side of the room.

A tap on my shoulder tore me from my thoughts.

An older man stood before me, offering his hand for a dance. He said something. It didn’t matter.

I took it.

A distraction from the turmoil inside me was welcome.

All the years I’d spent practicing dance made it easy to follow the rhythm of the song.

One.

Two.

Three.

Repeat.

Over and over until the song ended or he changed the pattern.

I could tell from his expression that he wanted to say something, but I was too busy trying to catch sight of Paris’s bright red dress through the throng of people.

#writing practice #bad writing #friends to lovers #slow burn #mutual pining #yearning #possesive love #*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟlieakitten's fanfiction

We’re terrible at this goodbye thing, aren’t we?

Our playlists give too much away.

The silence without you is a struggle to bear.

So we’ll let the songs tell each other to stay.

#poetry #parallel and perpendicular lines and whatnot #mutual pining #missed connections #</3

(hopelessly) waiting for your love

by attfna

Summary:

When Shane takes a hard hit on the ice, he wakes up three days later to find his reality has been shattered. But the truth is, it wasn’t reality at all. Just an elaborate set of false memories conjured by a brain injury. 'False memory syndrome' they call it. Shane calls it a nightmare he couldn't have imagined.

Shane doesn’t have amnesia. Instead, he wakes up wanting his boyfriend only to realize his brain concocted a bunch of fake memories of a nine year situationship and Shane has no idea how to live in his actual reality that Ilya hasn’t been a part of. Luckily, Ilya is…curious.

#amnesia au #but not really #angst with a happy ending #getting together #mutual pining #rating: e #wc 1k+#wc 5k+#wc 10k+#wc 20k+#wc 50k+#hollanov fic recs #hollanov #shane x ilya #heated rivalry #shane hollander #ilya rozanov

What Happens in Vegas • JJK

Summary: A weekend in las vegas took an unexpected when a drunken bet led Jungkook and you to an Elvis wedding- and forced you both to face the feelings you had kept buried.

Genre: Friends to Lovers • Smut • Accidental Marriage • Fluff

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader (Y|N)

Warnings: 18+ (Mature) • Explicit Sexual Content • Alcohol Consumption • Strong Language • Fluff • Vegas Wedding

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Las Vegas.

You know what they said about it — the city that never sleeps. Every corner had a casino or a wedding chapel. Cheap Elvis impersonators were everywhere. People came here and walked away lighter in the wallet. What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas, right?

Still, you couldn’t help but stare when you finally arrived that night. Las Vegas was exactly how you’d imagined it: enormous neon signs washed the city in waves of red, blue, pink, and gold. Lighted billboards battled for tourists’ attention, like the whole place refused to ever quiet down.

Luxury hotels lined the Strip, and somehow the boys had managed to get you into the most famous one of all — Caesars Palace.

When you stepped out of the taxi in front of Caesars, you literally lost your breath for a second. The hotel loomed like a Roman palace: towering columns, elegant fountains, and grand statues gave the building a majestic air.

Taehyung’s gaze bounced between you and Jungkook, a wide grin spreading across his face, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “This is going to be the best weekend ever!” he shouted. Before anyone could answer, he grabbed his suitcase and barreled into the hotel lobby.

Jimin watched Taehyung, shook his head with a laugh, and called after him, “We’re going to hear about this all weekend.” He snatched up his bag and followed Taehyung into the crowd of hotel guests.

For a moment, you just let the night breeze run through your hair, still stunned by the grandeur around you.

Jungkook broke the silence. “He’s like a kid on Christmas.”

You laughed and glanced at him. “But that’s why we love him.”

“You’re not wrong,” he said.

He kept staring at the hotel like he wanted to drink it in, and the golden lights played across his face. Whenever they caught him, his eyes seemed to glitter.

“So…” Jungkook finally said, turning back to you. “Ready for a weekend of chaos?”

“As long as we don’t wake up with a tiger in the room or accidentally get married, I’m up for anything.”

Jungkook laughed. “We shouldn’t have watched The Hangover before we came.”

After you’d all checked in, you hauled your suitcases upstairs. But just as you were standing in the hotel room, Taehyung suddenly remembered something. “By the way, we only have three rooms.”

Jimin frowned. “But there are four of us.”

“Exactly,” Taehyung said with an innocent smile. “So two of us will have to share.”

A hush fell over the room. “I am not sharing a room,” Jimin declared, folding his arms.

“I need my own room,” your voice cut in. “I swore I’d never share with any of you again—worst night of my life.”

Jimin immediately burst out laughing at the memory. “Oh god, true.”

You sighed. “I remember it too well. Someone snored, someone kept stealing my blanket even though we each had one, and someone had to pee every five minutes.”

“That’s denial,” Taehyung protested.

Jungkook couldn’t hold back a laugh and shook his head. “Okay, listen. Y/N and I will share a room,” he said finally.

You looked at him, and he only grinned. Inside you, the arrangement threw you completely off balance. Just being near Jungkook made your head spin; the thought of spending an entire weekend in the same room with him felt a little dangerous.

“Fine, I’ll agree. But if you snore, I will kick you out,” you warned.

Jungkook smiled. “I could say the same to you.”

About an hour later, you were all getting ready for the night. You weren’t in Las Vegas to stay cooped up in a hotel room.

You took a last look in the mirror. Your outfit was made for Vegas: a deep-red lace corset top under a burgundy leather jacket, paired with a short black skirt. You breathed in and out. You were strangely nervous, though you couldn’t say why—maybe the overwhelming glamour of the Strip, or the fact that you were about to share a room with Jungkook for an entire weekend.

You stepped out of the bathroom and spotted Jungkook at the foot of the bed, scrolling through his phone. The click of your heels made him look up.

For a moment, his gaze traced over you. You could tell he was trying not to stare, his eyes flicking away and then back again. The light caught the plane of his cheek and the slow curve of his mouth, and the ordinary sight of him sitting on the bed hit you harder than it should have. The air between you tightened; your pulse sped, and your breath caught in a way that had nothing to do with the elevator or the walk from the lobby. Every small movement he made—the way he shifted his weight, the casual tuck of his hair behind his ear—seemed amplified. You found it impossibly difficult to look anywhere but at him, and the thought of an entire night in such proximity made your stomach flutter with a heady mix of anticipation and nerves.

He straightened, clearing his throat. “You look good.”

You smiled, your heart too loud in your chest. “Thanks.”

You both forced your eyes away at the same time, each pretending not to notice how difficult that was.

The two of you left the room; Jimin and Taehyung were already waiting in the hallway.

“About time,” Taehyung grumbled. “What took you so long? I want to get going.”

You all took the elevator down to the lobby together. The night was warm, and a soft breeze toyed with your hair. Even at this hour, the Strip was alive—people laughing, music spilling from bars and casinos, a constant hum of energy.

“First stop: a casino,” Taehyung declared. He was the trip planner—every time you went away, he took charge of everything, from logistics to the itinerary.

Less than ten minutes later, you were surrounded by flashing slot machines and crowded gaming tables. Older men lounged at the machines, blowing coins and flirting with the staff.

“That’s rigged,” Taehyung muttered, staring at a slot machine.

Jimin laughed. “You’ve lost five times. I don’t think it’s the machine.”

Jungkook eyed his dwindling stack of chips and sighed. “Gambling isn’t for us.”

“Definitely not,” you agreed, laughing.

“Plan B, then,” Taehyung said, draping his arm over Jimin’s shoulder. “Let’s find a bar.”

Nobody objected. You left the casino and soon slipped into a crowded bar, where loud music and raucous voices spilled out onto the street, pulling you into the night.

Hours flew by with the boys at your side. With them around, you always felt safe, as if nothing could go wrong. Taehyung and Jimin spun story after story—your brothers, in every meaningful way, people you couldn’t imagine life without. They were treasures to you.

You and Jungkook listened, laughing along; it felt like home—drinks kept coming to the table, one after another. Conversations grew louder, laughter more uninhibited. Even the blaring music seemed to smooth into the background.

A waitress approached—timelessly pretty, with a charming smile and long blonde hair that made her eyes light up. “Hey, I’ll be your server for the rest of the night. My colleague finished up.” She kept glancing at Jungkook; it was hard not to notice. You understood why—he had that pull. He drew people in like a magnet.

“Can I get you anything else?” she asked, laying a hand almost casually on his shoulder.

“Sure, thanks,” Jungkook answered politely.

Her attention stayed on him, as if the rest of the world dissolved around them. You knew that look all too well—how everything shrinks to a focal point when someone else becomes the only thing that matters.

You watched in silence while Taehyung and Jimin got lost in their own conversation. A tight, unfamiliar ache spread through your chest—sharp and stupid, like a slap. You had no right to be jealous; Jungkook wasn’t yours. He could flirt with whoever he wanted. Still, what stung most was how comfortably familiar he seemed with her, how effortlessly he gave her one of his smiles. Sometimes you wished that smile belonged only to you.

You tightened your grip around your glass; the tequila burned on the way down. Jimin noticed the change in you—he always did. “You okay?” he asked.

“Of course,” you lied, forcing a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. Inside, the knot twisted tighter.

The waitress slid a paper to Jungkook. “Text me if you want to have fun in Vegas,” she said, pressing what was probably her number into Jungkook’s hand. He tucked the paper into his jacket with a quiet “Thanks,” and she moved on to help other guests.

Your fingers curled so hard around the cocktail that your knuckles went pale. Your jaw clenched. The alcohol made everything sharper; it felt like you might burst.

“Everything okay?” Jungkook asked, his voice close to your ear. You felt his breath against your cheek—warm, casual, dangerously intimate.

“Yeah,” you said, smiling again. Without another word, Jungkook drew your chair nearer and rested his hand on your knee.

That touch sent you reeling. You watched his palm on your leg as if you’d been struck mute—every other thought evaporated. The buzzing in your head quieted into a single, feral focus on him. “If you say so,” he murmured, voice low.

With each round, thoughts blurred, except for the undeniable fact that Jungkook was dangerously near. Laughter grew louder and looser around you—everyone drunk on the moment, even if none of you could remember what had started the jokes.

“I’ve got an idea!” Taehyung grinned, tipping forward over the table. He was drunk, eyes rimmed red and mischievous.

“Oh no,” Jimin groaned, already laughing.

“Since gambling isn’t our thing,” Taehyung said, “let’s make a bet.”

“This never ends well,” Jungkook muttered, his grip on your knee tightening.

“Exactly—that’s why it’ll be fun.” Taehyung’s eyes flicked between you and Jungkook. “I bet you two wouldn’t dare get married in a Vegas chapel tonight.”

For a moment, the bar fell away—the music and chatter dimmed into silence in your mind. Marry? Jungkook?

Jungkook laughed. “No way.”

“See?” Taehyung crowed, pointing at you both. “It'll be so fucking funny.”

“Forget it,” you said, waving him off. “I’m not that drunk.”

But your heart pounded so loud it felt like everyone could hear it. The thought of it made the skin along your spine tingle in a way you couldn’t ignore. You didn’t even dare look at Jungkook, afraid he’d see how much the idea had lodged under your skin.

“Come on,” Jimin pushed, grinning. “It’s just for fun—we’re best friends.”

“No,” you said sharply and gave Jimin a cool look.

“Scared?” Taehyung teased, face alight with prankish glee.

You laughed, nervous and small. “Tae, this is insane.”

“It’s Vegas weddings. They don’t count,” Jimin said.

“Exactly—cowards,” Taehyung mocked.

“We’re not cowards,” Jungkook said immediately.

Your eyes found him almost of their own accord. He was already looking at you; his cheeks were faintly flushed from the alcohol, a crooked smile on his lips. Something in his expression betrayed a flicker of uncertainty beneath the easy front—as if he, too, was grappling with the absurdity of the bet.

“Well? Are you in?” Jimin nudged.

Jungkook shook his head, then met your gaze and held it longer than felt casual. “What do you think?” he asked softly.

You couldn’t tell whether it was the wine or the gravity in his eyes, but something shifted. “Alright,” you heard yourself say.

A grin spread across Jungkook’s face. “Then let’s do it.”

“YES!” Taehyung jumped up, whooping. “Let's go before you change your mind!”

The little chapel was exactly the kitschy cliché you’d expect: white silk flowers trimmed the altar, neon lights flickered along the walls, and standing before you was an Elvis impersonator in a glittering white suit, black pompadour, and oversized sunglasses.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began in an exaggerated baritone, “we are gathered here today...”

Tae and Jimin dissolved into helpless laughter before Elvis could finish the line. You couldn’t help it—you laughed too. Jungkook shook his head with an amused smile beside you.

“I thought this was just a cliché,” Taehyung giggled, clutching Jungkook’s shoulder.

“Apparently not,” Jungkook returned, steadying himself on Taehyung as he hiccupped a laugh.

Elvis cleared his throat theatrically. “When you’re done laughing...”

You all apologized to the officiant. Jimin stepped up to be your witness, Taehyung beamed as Jungkook’s. They’d been scheming to be the ones to stand up there with you from the start.

“Now, the vows,” Elvis announced.

Jungkook turned and took your hand. The laughter fell away; whatever playfulness had ruled the night softened into something honest and quiet. “So,” he began, scratching the back of his neck with a shy glance, “I didn’t plan on getting married tonight. But if I have to marry someone, I’m glad it’s you.”

Each word made your heart trip. You knew it was ridiculous—alcohol and a stupid bet—but his voice cut through the fog nonetheless. The idea that you were the one he’d pick, if only for a joke, landed in your chest with a warmth that had nothing to do with the room.

“You’re funny,” he continued. “Stubborn as hell, and probably the only person who can drive me crazy regularly. That’s why I like having you around.”

Heat rose to your cheeks. Even if you could blame it on the drink, a seed of hope planted itself where you hadn’t expected it.

You inhaled, steadying yourself. “I never thought I’d go to bed married tonight,” you said, smiling.

"But,” you added, softer, “if I had to pick someone to go through this mad story with, it’d be you.”

Jungkook went quiet in a way that made the rest of the chapel hush, too. The careless grin slipped off his face; he looked as if he’d narrowed everything down to just you in that moment. “You make me laugh no matter what,” he said, voice low. “You’re honest, you’re ridiculously funny, and you actually cook. I like having you near me.”

Elvis nodded like a proud priest of kitsch. “Now for the important part.” He turned to Jungkook. “Will you take this beautiful woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Jungkook met your eyes and then smiled. “I will.”

“And will you take this handsome man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I will,” you answered, every syllable sounding real in your ears.

Elvis beamed. “I now pronounce you man and wife.”

At that, Taehyung erupted—jumping and cheering. “They really did it!”

Jimin clapped and laughed beside you. “Wait until Namjoon finds out—he’s going to lose it.”

You stood there with your hands linked, the ridiculousness of it all wrapped in something tender and electric. The vows had been spoken between giggles and neon, but they landed like a promise—messy, unexpected, and entirely yours for the night.

After you left the chapel, the night wasn’t over. Taehyung insisted the wedding had to be celebrated properly, so you hopped between two more bars, laughter and shouting blurring into one long, warm buzz. It wasn’t until well past midnight that you finally made it back to the hotel.

The walk to your rooms felt longer than it had hours before. Jimin and Taehyung’s laughter ricocheted down the corridor until they stopped at their doors, wobbling a little on their feet.

“Good night, newlyweds!” Tae slurred, giving you a thumbs-up.

Jimin fumbled for his doorknob, still grinning. “Tomorrow I want every single detail.”

“You won’t remember any of it anyway,” Jungkook murmured beside you, amusement in his voice.

“Fair point,” Jimin replied and let the door click shut behind him. Tae’s door followed with another muffled sound, and the hallway fell quiet.

You and Jungkook slipped into your room. The door closed with a soft thud, and he leaned his back against it, breathing out a long, tired laugh. “What a night,” he said, running a hand through his hair.

You collapsed onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling. “I still can’t believe we let Tae talk us into this.”

Jungkook held up his left hand and rolled the simple ring between his fingers. “Pretty wild,” he said quietly.

For a moment, you watched the ring on your own hand, the reality of what had happened settling over you like a warm, shocking wave. It had really happened.

Jungkook pushed off the door and climbed into bed beside you. He lay on his back, eyes tracing the patterns of neon light that bled in through the curtains. “You know,” he began softly, voice thick with sleep and something else, “I expected a lot tonight — knowing Tae — but I didn’t expect we’d come back married.”

You laughed, a breathy sound that held equal parts disbelief and something tender. “Me neither.”

You lay there side by side in the hush, the city’s glow painting your faces in red and blue. For a while, neither of you spoke; the room filled with the low hum of Vegas beyond the glass.

After a few slow breaths, Jungkook turned his head to look at you. “Do you regret it?” he asked.

The question was small, but it landed heavily. Despite the alcohol, his eyes were clear, and something like hope trembled there — like your answer might tilt the night one way or another.

You turned to meet him. The silence felt intimate, like the two of you were the only people left in the world. “No,” you said, surprising yourself with the steadiness in your voice. “Strangely… no.”

Relief unfurled across his features, softening him. He smiled — the kind of smile that reached his eyes — and you felt it in your chest. “Good. Me neither.”

Everything settled then. The jokes, the exaggerated bravado, and the dizzy laughter softened into something quieter and real. He reached out, thumb brushing the back of your hand where the ring sat, and the contact sent a little electricity through you. You squeezed his fingers, and he squeezed back, small and sure.

The two of you lay like that, breathing in sync, as the neon outside pulsed and the late-night city life continued oblivious. You felt vulnerable and safe at once — ridiculous and content. Eventually, Jungkook curled closer, his shoulder pressing against yours, and you rested your head near his chest. His heartbeat was steady and warm beneath your ear, and you drifted toward sleep with his arm wrapped lightly around you, the surreal, imperfect promise of the night soft and simple between you.

The silence stretched, comfortable and heavy, until Jungkook shifted beside you. His voice came out rough, barely above a whisper. "We still have a wedding night."

You turned your head, blinking at him in the dim glow of the neon lights. "What?"

He propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at you with dark, steady eyes. The playful exhaustion had faded, replaced by something sharper, more intentional. "You know," he said slowly, his thumb tracing idle circles against your palm, "I've been thinking about fucking you since you came out of the bathroom in that outfit."

Your breath caught. "Jungkook—" you started, but his name came out softer than you intended, almost like permission.

He leaned closer, close enough that you could smell the whiskey on his breath and something else, something uniquely him. "Tell me to stop," he murmured, his mouth hovering near your jaw, "and I will."

But you didn't. The ring on your finger felt suddenly warm, weighted with new meaning, and when his lips finally found yours, it was slow and deliberate—not rushed like the chaos of the night, but deep and searching. His hand slid from yours to your waist, pulling you closer until you were pressed against him, the heat of his skin bleeding through his thin shirt.

"Is this crazy?" you breathed against his mouth.

"Probably," he whispered back, smiling as he kissed you again, hungrier this time. "But we just got married in a Vegas chapel with Elvis as our witness. Crazy seems to be the theme tonight."

You laughed, but it dissolved into a gasp as his hand slipped beneath your shirt, palm warm against your ribs. His touch was careful at first, questioning, but when you arched into him, the restraint snapped. He rolled you beneath him, settling between your legs with a confidence that made your head spin—though whether from the lingering alcohol or him, you couldn't tell anymore.

"Tell me what you want," he said, his voice rough against your throat, his teeth grazing your collarbone.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling his mouth back to yours. "I want you to stop talking," you whispered, "and show me what you've been thinking about all night."

His answering groan vibrated through your chest, and then there was no more talking—just the sound of fabric sliding against skin, the rustle of the sheets.

Jungkook didn't rush. He took his time to take off your shirt, his fingers deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours as each inch of skin was revealed. When he finally pushed the fabric over your head, his breath hitched—just barely, but you caught it.

"Beautiful," he murmured, and the word landed soft and warm against your collarbone. He traced the curve of your breast with the back of his knuckles, teasing, watching your face for every reaction. "You're so beautiful."

He lowered his head, mouth hovering over your nipple, his breath hot and maddening. You arched up, seeking contact, but he pulled back with a faint, wicked smile.

"Easy," he whispered, his hand sliding up to cup your breast, thumb brushing over the sensitive peak.

When he finally took you into his mouth, the heat and wet suction dragged a ragged sound from your throat. He was thorough—circling with his tongue, grazing with his teeth, then soothing with soft lips. He switched sides, lavishing the same attention on your other breast, his hand remaining to roll the abandoned nipple between his fingers, tugging just enough to make you squirm.

"Jungkook—" you gasped, your hands finding his hair, gripping tight.

He hummed against your skin, the vibration traveling straight down your spine. "So responsive," he praised, looking up at you with dark, blown-pupil eyes. "Love how you react to me."

His free hand drifted lower, palm flat against your stomach, then slipped beneath the waistband of your skirt. He paused there, waiting, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your hip.

"Can I?" he asked, though his voice left little room for refusal—more a courtesy than a question, a check-in that made your chest tighten with something tender.

"Yes," you breathed. "Please."

He slid your skirt down your legs, his gaze raking over you with open appreciation that made heat pool in your cheeks. When you were bare before him, he settled between your thighs, spreading you open with gentle hands.

"Look at you," he said, almost to himself, his thumb brushing through your folds, spreading the wetness he found there. "Already so wet for me. Such a good girl."

The praise sent a flutter through your stomach. He kept his thumb circling your clit, light, teasing strokes that built slowly, deliberately. Every time you started to climb toward the edge, he pulled back, easing the pressure, watching you tremble.

"Not yet," he said softly, leaning down to kiss your thigh, your hip, anywhere he could reach. "Let me take my time with you. Want to feel you fall apart."

When he finally pushed a finger inside you, you moaned, your head falling back against the pillow. He moved slowly, curling his finger to find the spot that made your vision blur.

"So tight," he murmured against your skin, adding a second finger, stretching you with patient, scissoring movements. "Taking me so well. You're doing so good, baby."

You were panting now, your hips chasing his hand, desperate for more friction, more pressure. He gave it to you in increments—building you up, backing off, building again. His free hand slid up your body, finding your throat, his fingers wrapping loosely, not squeezing, just holding you there, grounded, his eyes locked on yours with intense focus.

"Want to feel you come on my fingers," he said, his voice low and rough. "But not yet. Not until I taste you."

He withdrew his fingers slowly, drawing a whimper from you, and brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a filthy, deliberate sound that made your thighs clench. Then he settled lower, his shoulders pressing your legs wider, his breath hot against your most sensitive skin.

The first stroke of his tongue was slow, exploratory, dragging from your entrance to your clit with flat, broad pressure. You cried out, your hands flying to the sheets, gripping tight. He did it again, and again, establishing a maddeningly steady rhythm—never quite enough to push you over, always keeping you hovering on the precipice.

He moaned against you, the vibration making you buck, and the sound was wrecked, hungry. "You taste incredible," he mumbled, his tongue circling your clit before dipping lower, fucking into you with pointed, teasing strokes.

He returned to your clit, sucking gently, then harder, alternating pressure while his fingers slid back inside you, curling to stroke your walls. The dual sensation had you trembling, your legs shaking around his shoulders.

"Please," you begged, not even sure what you were asking for—more, less, release, eternity.

He lifted his head, his mouth swollen and wet, his eyes dark with control and desire. "Not yet," he said again, his fingers stilling inside you, his thumb pressing hard against your clit and holding, keeping you right there on the edge, trembling, desperate. "I want you to wait for me. Can you do that? Be good for me?"

You nodded frantically, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the sheer intensity of it, the need coiling tight and hot in your belly.

"Good girl," he whispered, lowering his mouth again, his fingers resuming their slow, torturous rhythm. "My good girl. Let me take care of you."

He paused, his tongue still pressed against you, his fingers buried deep. When he looked up, his eyes were dark, almost black in the dim light, holding something far more deliberate than alcohol-induced impulse.

"You know," he said, his voice rough and vibrating against your sensitive skin, "I wasn't even that drunk tonight." He dragged his tongue slowly up your center, watching your face crumble. "Two whiskeys. That's all." He curled his fingers inside you, making you gasp. "I knew exactly what was happening. At the chapel."

You stared down at him, shock rippling through your pleasure-fogged mind. His mouth was wet, his chin slick, and his gaze was steady—completely, terrifyingly sober.

"I was drunk," you breathed, your voice shaking as he flicked his tongue over your clit again, "but I was still clear-headed enough to know what I was doing."

A slow, devastating smile curved his lips. "Then you knew," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh, "that I've wanted this. Wanted you." His fingers began moving again, purposeful and deep. "For so fucking long."

"Me too," you whispered, the admission breaking something open in your chest. "God, me too, Jungkook."

He groaned, raw and desperate, and surged up your body. His mouth crashed into yours, and you could taste yourself on his lips—salty and intimate and obscene. He tore at his own clothes, shoving his shirt over his head, his pants kicked off in frantic, clumsy movements until he was bare against you, hot and hard and trembling with restraint.

"Turn over," he commanded, his voice dropping an octave, rough with the weight of his confession. "Now."

You scrambled to comply, flipping onto your stomach, and he pulled your hips up with rough hands, positioning you exactly where he wanted. The head of his cock dragged through your folds, gathering your wetness, teasing your entrance until you were pushing back against him, whining with need.

"Please," you begged, your cheek pressed against the mattress, your fingers gripping the sheets. "Jungkook, please—"

He slammed into you in one brutal thrust, bottoming out with a guttural groan that sounded torn from his throat. You cried out, your back arching, your body stretching to accommodate his thickness. He didn't wait for you to adjust. He pulled back and drove in again, harder, setting a punishing rhythm that rocked the bed against the wall.

"Fuck," he gritted out, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise, his hips snapping against yours with wet, filthy sounds. "So fucking tight. So perfect." He leaned over you, his chest pressed to your back, his mouth hot against your ear. "This is what I wanted. What I imagined. You're taking my cock like you were made for it."

You could only moan, your voice breaking with every impact, the pleasure building sharp and overwhelming. He shifted his angle, hitting a spot inside you that made your vision go white out, and you screamed his name, your arms giving out until your shoulders were pressed to the mattress, your ass in the air, completely at his mercy.

He fucked you through it, relentless, his stamina terrifying, his breath coming in harsh pants against your neck. When you finally went limp, trembling and oversensitive, he pulled out with a hiss, his cock slick and throbbing.

"Wall," he growled, already moving, lifting you with hands that barely registered your weight.

He pressed you against the nearest wall before you could process the movement, your back hitting the cool surface as he hoisted you up, your legs wrapping around his waist by instinct. He entered you again in one smooth, brutal thrust, the new angle making you see stars, your head falling back with a cry.

"Look at me," he demanded, his hand wrapping around your throat again, not choking, just holding you there, pinning you in place as he drove up into you with savage, desperate force. "Look at me when you come."

You forced your eyes open, tears streaming down your face from the intensity, from the stretch, from the way he was staring at you like you were the only thing in the world. His hips pistoned upward, each thrust lifting you, your back sliding against the wall with the friction of it.

"Jungkook—" you gasped, feeling the coil tightening again, impossibly, building toward something catastrophic.

"Come with me," he ordered, his voice breaking, his control finally fracturing.

The word shattered you. Your orgasm crashed through you with violent force, your body clamping down on him, your nails raking down his back, your scream swallowed by his mouth as he kissed you messily, desperately. He followed seconds later, burying himself to the hilt with a roar that vibrated through your chest, his hips stuttering, his cock pulsing as he spilled inside you, hot and endless and claiming.

You both slid down the wall, trembling, gasping, tangled together in a heap of limbs and sweat and racing hearts. He stayed inside you, his face buried in your neck, his breath coming in ragged bursts against your skin.

"Fuck," he whispered, his voice wrecked.

You laughed, breathless and delirious, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his shoulder. "Yeah."

The neon lights outside pulsed red and blue across your tangled bodies, the Vegas hotel room suddenly feeling like the only place in the world that had ever mattered.

The aftermath settled over you like warm water—slow, encompassing, impossible to fight. Jungkook didn't pull away. He stayed tangled with you on the floor, his chest rising and falling against your back, his arm heavy and possessive across your waist. The carpet was rough against your shoulder blades, but you couldn't bring yourself to care.

"Come to bed," you mumbled, your voice hoarse, your eyes already drifting shut.

He hummed, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours, but neither of you moved. Not yet. His fingers traced lazy circles on your hip, touch gentling with each pass, until your breathing synced—deep and even, exhaustion finally claiming you both.

He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then your neck, then the shell of your ear. "Stay right here," he whispered, though you were already half-gone, sinking into darkness with the taste of him still on your lips.

You didn't remember him lifting you, but you woke in the bed, the sheets tangled around your legs, the morning light bleeding through the curtains in thin, harsh stripes. For a moment, you lay still, your mind blank, your body aching in places you'd forgotten existed.

Then the memories flooded back—the chapel, the rings, the way he'd looked at you when he said I do.

You turned your head. Jungkook was awake, propped on one elbow, watching you with soft, unguarded eyes. The harsh morning light should have made him look different, should have revealed last night as the mistake your rational mind insisted it must be.

But he just looked like Jungkook. Like home.

"Morning," he said, his voice rough with sleep.

You stared at him, at the ring still on his finger, at the marks you'd left on his shoulder, at the way his free hand had already found yours under the sheets.

"I can't believe this happened," you whispered.

A slow smile curved his lips—not teasing, not performative, just real. "Which part?"

"Any of it." You looked up at the ceiling. "All of it. Us. Here." Your voice caught, and you hated yourself for it, but he just squeezed your hand, waiting. "After all those years, Jungkook. All those years of wanting you and thinking it was hopeless, thinking I'd missed my chance, thinking—"

"I know," he said quietly. "I know."

You turned to face him. "A stupid bet. Taehyung's stupid, ridiculous bet, a chapel in Vegas, and two whiskeys." You laughed. "That's what it took?"

He shifted closer, his forehead coming to rest against yours, his nose brushing your cheek. "I'd have married you sober," he said, simple and devastating. "I'd have married you years ago if I'd had the guts to say so."

Outside, the city was already roaring back to life—horns and footsteps and the endless, chaotic hum of Vegas refusing to sleep. But in the hotel room, with Jungkook's heartbeat steady against your palm and his ring catching the morning light, the noise felt distant.

You'd come to Vegas expecting a story to laugh about later. A wild night, a funny anecdote, another memory of almosts and what-ifs.

Instead, you'd found this.

"So," he said, his thumb brushing over your ring, "annulment? Or..."

He didn't finish. He didn't need to.

You looked at him—the man you'd loved in silence, the man who'd carried you to bed, your best friend who'd become your husband in a room that smelled like whiskey and bad decisions and something that felt frighteningly like forever.

"Or," you said.

His smile could have lit the whole damn city.

Splash

Part 5

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Mermaid

Warnings: Excessive kissing, inferred boners

Word Count: 3k

A/N: Sorry for the wait! I have most of the next part written. It was supposed to be part of this one but I felt like it became wayy too long. The next part'll hopefully be posted by late Thursday and will be way more fun🩷🌺

Masterlist

There was a while where JJ felt so numb that he had forgotten what it was like to be excited about tomorrow.

But suddenly, he was more than excited. And he wasn't just looking forward to tomorrow. He didn't even want the days to end.

All because of her.

He couldn't wait to see what Angel would say, or try to say next.

Couldn't wait to see her try new things or to make her smile and laugh. Couldn't wait to be looked at like he actually mattered, even though it was strange because nobody had ever looked at him the way she did... and the fact that that that someone looking at him was an absolutely gorgeous girl who also really liked to kiss him?

Yeah. Life was definately worth living again.