INSANITY.{cr. Namuspromised}

INSANITY. {cr. namuspromised}

So so excited for part two of Blackout!!! I will be asleep when it comes out, but at least I have a reason to wake up in the morning now! Can't wait to read and be ruined by the angst 💕💕

hello dear ivi🥺 this is literally so sweet, stoppp,,, i really hope you like pt2 (and its angst) i'm so nervous😭 and i hope you sleep in, sweets!!<33

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dior hoseok you will always be famous cr. namuspromised

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blackout (pt2) | jjk

⇥ pairing: roommate/best friend!jungkook x reader

⇥ genre: best friends to lovers, roommate and college au, angst, fluff, crack, smut

⇥ rating: 18+

⇥ warnings: suddenly there’s angst?, lovesick for your BFF🤒, yearning pining longing all of it, swearing, jealousy, sexual content, like riding, kook with his Big Dick, protected sex, emotions.., spanks, clit slapping, tattoo obsession, a lot of kissing and calling her (his) pretty (girl) :(, dom jk, dorky jokes, ass n tiddie love<3, bit of biting, oral (f. rec.), so much care n attention :(, grinding, teasing, riding, impatient koo being roughhh, did i say kissing🥺, degradation (just once or twice), cum swallowing...; the ending...

⇥ wc: 16.4k

⇥ author’s notes: i don’t even know what to say except i am sorry :) :) this broke me a bit tho, and i already cannot wait for the next update</3 alllsoo, if you haven’t read blackout pt1 yet, i’d strongly advise to do so in order to understand pt2!

⇥ summary: You really didn’t think that the promise of letting your tension out on each other tonight would backfire like this.

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pt1 || pt2 || pt3

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Not yet.

You know as well as Jungkook that it’s not time to leave yet. Which might be the reason why his fingers are still reluctant to back away. Blazing hot wherever they touch you. The flame burns its way right into your veins.

Why are you here again? In his bed, haunted by his scent on every square inch of his sheets; so intense that the fragrance will be imprinted in your memory for the rest of the day. Things happened yesterday, again – but how did you land here in the first place?

Was it yet another excuse to save up money? To use one room’s warm light instead of two’s. Or were you watching something? Most importantly, does it matter?

Because the answer won’t affect your situation. Nothing will, will it? He told you.

All that happened won’t change anything, right? Between us?

Of course not. Except, it changed your every conscious thought of every moment of your days.

Because I’m… I’m sorry if it makes things weird.

He apologized. And you assured he was right with his assumption. That yes, things would remain the same.

This very confirmation of yours makes him continue.

Continue to explore your skin. To jumble up your emotions. To twist and turn every piece of hope you find when he touches you.

Stupidly enough, your headstrong nature falters whenever he so much but looks at you, so you let him do all the cruel, intoxicating things he does to you.

Like now as you wrap your hands around his already crumpled up shirt. Sighing when his palm pushes through the layers separating the warmth of his skin and the flesh of your ass. He brushes along the curve, squeezing the mounds lightly yet enough for you to react.

He lands a gentle peck on your jaw. Then, his hot breath draws an invisible line along your neck, his lips stopping over a vein to press one wet kiss against it. Another content sigh paired with a quiet hum airs out of you.

“We should leave,” you whisper.

You don’t want to. There’s zero desire in you to leave for anything. But at the same time, you want to see how he reacts to your suggestion.

He voices a tiny, low, lazy groan. The sound catapults you back to the first moment of today, sleep broken early when you felt his body shift next to you.

He wasn’t holding you anymore the way he had last night, instead lying on his stomach with his loose fists next to his head. His usually sharp face looked puffy and round, soft cheeks and pouty lips bringing back the school boy you used to know.

Strange how things seem to change so fast when in actuality, years have passed.

“They won’t miss us there… They can just start,” Jungkook argues. “Just a lil bit.”

Both of you usually keep your Fridays lax and unplanned; spontaneity rules the end of the week, class and stress free, not busy until libraries and exams call.

Today, you’re scheduled for a peer group study session. You could rain check the little meet so easily – if mid-terms weren’t sneaking closer faster than you’d like.

He doesn’t care as much about those today. He keeps wanting just a lil bit. But a lil bit is always more than he promises.

Hellbent on luring your thoughts onto a different path, he pinches your cheek between his fingers. He aligns his gaze with you and then asks, “You noticed how eco friendly we’ve been these days?”

Yeah. Gas is expensive these days, so he doesn’t use his car as much as he would before. Your shower time has shortened, saving water, not least of all because you’ve begun jumping into it together.

And of course the thing with electricity.

Candles are pivotal life saviors. But it seems that lazing around, busying wandering fingers with each other’s bodies and eliminating any desire to watch TV plays an insane role in saving your ass, too. Who would’ve thought?

“Because you can never keep your hands off me,” you half joke, half moan out, distracted by the hand under your shirt.

“Hey, if that’s what you want, I can totally back away.” The touch of his fingertips is featherlight on the underside of your tits, but your body responds immediately. “But I don’t think it is.”

At least not when it’s him. If it was someone ordinary towering over you, someone from a different realm than Jeon Jungkook, it might not affect you that hard.

But it is him. Dangerously real, existing at the same time as you, yearning for nobody but you. Unbelievable.

Your breath hitches when he pinches your nipple between two fingers. To him, the only thing worse than actually seeing you naked might be the visible comfort you showcase around him.

Like, by walking around in shorts that reveal part of your ass. Or by cuddling into him fully without a bra on, challenging not only his blurry mind but the little guy downtown, too.

He thinks he melts in your palms like wax, slowly but surely, feeble in your presence. What he doesn’t know is that the wax burns and sticks to your skin, and you’re next to him, constantly and patiently enduring the pain.

But despite the steadiness you portray on the outside, in truth you–

“Of course I don’t,” you tell him, watching his touch retreat to take off the dark red shirt.

The beat of your heart stops when you watch his hourglass figure float above you, the slim waist splitting your soul in half. His shoulders look so pretty, bare like that, golden and strong, much like the melanin chest shimmering in the fall sunlight.

Goosebumps arise when he leans in, lifting you and your shirt softly. He hisses when you fall back onto your back, fascinated by the slight bounce of your tits, and you feel like a fool when you whisper, “It’s just… I am weak for you.”

Settling between your legs, his body descends. His torso touches your perked nipples featherlightly, eyes trained on you and amused when you don’t waste a second to plant your hands on his back.

He either doesn’t take you seriously or is too afraid to take you seriously, because his next words are nothing less than another joke introducing a soft banter. “Only when I’m naked, though.”

But you don’t fall for his teases today. If you can’t straight-forwardly unveil your feelings yet, you will at least hint to them. “That’s not true.”

“Really? But you keep bickering with me.”

His words are airy and light. Like they weigh as much as a dissolving cloud, followed by the equally weightless kiss when he wraps his lips around your nipple. His mouth touches your tits and his tongue draws slow, gentle circles around your sensitive nub.

The hand covered in ink sneaks to your throat. His eyes are closed, his hums deep, fingers absentmindedly settling around your neck without applying any kind of pressure. You don’t know how much of his actions are intentional, but the constant brush of his thumb along your jaw feels like an outrageous strategy to numb your mind.

“Why…” You breathe. You swallow, and you bet he feels it. “Why can’t you keep a c-convo going for just… Two seconds?”

Jungkook laughs as he makes his way down, lightly nibbling and kissing your tits damp. His ministrations are a little more impatient now. A bit faster, littering a dozen smooches above your ribs and to your sides.

“I’ll talk to you later,” he whispers, licking between your breasts. “I’m busy conversing with my girls right now.”

Ridiculous. That he can make you laugh even now.

For some odd reason you can’t fathom, it looks utterly hot how the blanket he draped over himself keeps slipping. Down his firm shoulder blades, revealing his smooth, beautiful skin. His chest feels warm against your body.

Focusing on his hardening bicep proves difficult, considering he still has a hand wrapped around your neck like a scarf. You can barely look down at him as he raises your head, pushing at the underside of your jaw, kissing your crown tattoo.

And just as you’re about to joke about his obsession with your tattoo, he speaks up first.

“We should get matching tattoos one day.”

Your gaze falls from your ceiling back to him when his hand vanishes from your neck, trailing down your collarbones and skimming your mounds. He caresses your stomach as he keeps crawling down, eyes fixated on the royal symbol decorating your skin.

“Where did that come from?” You wonder, but he only shrugs.

“Dunno, I’ve been… Thinking. For some reason I always thought you’re scared of needles, but you know. If you’re not…”

In the chill of the season, you should be freezing in just your underwear, but laying next to Jungkook all night means enjoying the warmth of a heater for free. You only really feel the presence of fall when he curls his digits around your panties, getting rid of them within ten seconds.

Once you’re in his favorite state, fully exposed to his greedy eyes, you dare to respond, taking the moment before the storm. “Because I didn’t wanna get a blood test done like what, a decade ago? Weak deduction, Sherlock.”

“Don’t be a brat with me,” he warns, delivering a soft but effective slap to your clit. You squirm and moan quietly, and he tilts his head. “Or be one. Gives me some room to play.” You whisper a shut up before he answers your question. “But yeah, might be. Also thought you didn’t like tattoos, because you don’t comment much on mine. Like ever.”

“...What?”

“I’ve been literally haunted by yours. Dreamed of it two days ago,” Jungkook tells you, extra dramatic, breathing against your cunt on purpose. You don’t know if he wants you to laugh or beg. “But you don’t seem to care about mine.”

He graces your clit with a two-second french kiss as his hands push your thighs apart, and you call out his name under a shaky breath. His focus doesn’t falter, the red string of the conversation still intact.

“And because you never look at them when I run around sleeveless.”

What, does he do that on purpose? Is that his motif, the reason he owns sleeveless shirts? So you can ogle at him, boost his ego? Or… Or is that just what he’s used to from other girls?

Fuck, are you shattering his ego? He probably thinks you’re not interested at all.

But that’s not quite the truth. No, the reality is that–

“I don’t look at you because I find them so fucking hot,” you confess, managing a full, stutter-free sentence right before he licks a line between your folds.

“Ah. That’s the reason?” Shit, he needs to stop stopping. He can’t leave your limbs twitching just to say yet another dangerous thing. “Fair. Can’t look at you for too long either, and it’s just a tiny, damn crown.”

He’s lying. Because once he starts staring, he can’t avert his eyes anymore. Never.

“What tattoo… Would you want us to get?”

Gripping your thighs, he places your legs on his shoulders, the very place you haven’t stopped eyeing since he took off his shirt. Maybe he knows.

His palm rubs your leg tenderly, then wanders to your pelvis to tap on it in thought as he says, “A little heart with my initials right over your chest. No one except me and you would know who it’s about.”

Or everyone might know.

Not that you go around presenting your boobs to the world, but in theory, all your friends and family members would realize immediately. It’d be no surprise to them – doesn’t change that his suggestion knocks the breath out of your lungs, though.

As if he knows.

“Fuck you,” is the first thing your mind conjures, too careful to admit that his name is already tattooed all over your body. He just can’t see it.

His throaty laugh falls between you, but it subsides soon when he’s done waiting. He pushes his tongue into your entrance immediately, starting to shove it in and back repeatedly in the most pleasant yet mind boggling tempo. Mind boggling less because he’s fast; more because of the opposite.

Only Jungkook knows how to tear you apart while remaining ever so gentle.

But today, your patience runs as thin as his. You see his eagerness when he salivates a little too much around your cunt, digging his nails deep into your legs. Then recognize it when he lifts his head sooner than usual, trying to make sure you’re feeling okay as he always does.

But you take the moment to lift your body, even though his grip attempts to fight you, pulling at your legs to bring you down flat on your back. You shake your head, placing your hands on his face and pulling him up.

“No,” you mumble when his body sneaks back up, his face right above yours.

“What’s wrong?” He asks. Worry and slight guilt–whatever the reason for it might be–are apparent in his eyes.

“Nothing,” you tell him. Or at least you think it’s nothing. You’re trying really hard to ignore the ache in your lower belly, yearning for his closeness, too restless for any kind of foreplay, no matter how attentive. “I just want you. Now…”

Care – you see it when he swallows, wet, glossy lips parting. Thick eyebrows furrow in insecurity, and he brings his hand behind your ear, into your hair. “Do you… Do you feel okay?”

It’s his version of asking whether you’re ready. Loosely translates to, “Have I done enough, do you want more?”

You wonder whether he always looks at girls like that. Like he worries about them. Like they’re the center of his focus, not just in the most intimate of moments, but throughout the day.

Because that’s what you’re seeing in his eyes right now.

This is so bad.

“I do,” you say, nodding. “If I don’t, we can stop.”

“Of course. Yeah, I promise.”

You smile at him, your cheeks glowing. There’s so much joy in your eyes that you can literally feel it, and you hope it makes his heart combust the way yours does when he beams at you.

Pushing at his chest, you change the position, lifting your body to force him onto his back. He obliges quietly, never looking away from you. Still sporting his shorts, you watch the bulge strain the fabric and decide to end his and his clothes’ misery.

With his shorts and underwear landing close to where your panties already reside, you observe the slight twitch of his rock hard cock. Drooling, you lick your lower lip, straddling him with a careful hand on his balls.

“Where’s the condom?” You ask.

Now that you’re the one towering over him, delight fills every single fiber of your body. His chest falls and rises somewhat fast, fingers cautiously gliding along the curve of your ass.

It takes him a moment to register your question, hooded eyes lost. But then he blinks, nodding toward the bedside cabinet. You know exactly where his condoms are, but you fucking love how the soothing calmness in your voice hypnotizes him every… Damn… Time.

You shift up the bed, letting your soaked pussy fall on his hardening balls. Purposely, you rub against his delicate parts, allowing yourself to feel the hardness of his cock as you stretch toward the cabinet. You open the drawer slowly, a hand engulfing his length to rub lightly.

“The fuck is this you’re doing?” Jungkook asks through a soft snicker, landing a painless but echoing slap to your ass.

“Getting the condom?”

Your innocent eyes are deceiving. He almost falls for the purity in them before your smirk breaks the illusion.

“Bitch–” He jokes, shaking his head. “Alright. Just you wait.”

“Phew. What a scary guy.”

The clench of his jaw that accompanies his lopsided smile is enough of a warning. But he can’t scare you off – you love a good challenge and you know what it always leads to. You’d be stupid to not want your pussy battered by him.

“Are those new?” You ask once you’ve taken out a package.

“Mhm,” he confirms. “Extra lubricated.”

“But still XL or whatever the box said.”

“Well…”

The tone of his voice is proud. And honestly, he should be; no matter how much you love to tease him, the skills that pound you into the mattress every time are no damn joke.

You stop him mid sentence when you wrap your fingers around his cock firmer, pumping him slowly until his eyes roll into the back of his head. The grip on your waist weakens as you rip the foil of the condom with your teeth, still rubbing your pussy against his balls.

“Stop,” he murmurs, and you listen immediately, though not without a satisfied smile. “You gotta s-stop these things if you want me to still fuck you, babe… Can’t do this every time…”

Wouldn’t be the first time he came in your fist. You wouldn’t be opposed to it much either, but today, you don’t have much time to bask in his reactions and then wait through the refractory period.

“Sorry,” you say, and he laughs with his eyes still closed.

He looks so gentle. So frail, ready to succumb to you if you just let him. Unfortunately, you like drowning in and under him just as much.

Fiddling with the condom, you pull it over his cock, still plagued by imaginary pictures of him fucking you raw. Perhaps one day.

You shift back, lean in and bring your lips close to the tip of his shaft, gathering spit to land a blob of it on his dick. You use your fingers to spread it along the truly lubricated condom, and once he’s smacked your ass again, keenness in his action, you finally laugh and align your ready pussy.

“What’s going on with us today?” You ask, breathing between the syllables as you let yourself fall. He doesn’t have an answer ready – instead, he shakes his head again.

You let his cock penetrate your walls bit by bit. A grimace spreads on your face when he fills you to the brink, thick and big enough to surprise you every single time. It will take you a long time to get used to this – you hope things don’t stop before you can.

“Are you okay?” Jungkook asks, lifting his arm to touch the side of your neck. “Hurts?”

“No, just… Feels new every time, you know?”

It burns for a moment as you let him pierce through you, adjusting to how he feels inside you. You balance your weight by placing your hands on his chest, and he grabs your wrists as his eyes observe your expressions.

Your eyebrows nearly kiss as you sink further, bottoming out. You move your hips, catching your breath. He looks down to where your bodies collide in a burning hot fire, and tries to manage at least one full sentence.

“How’re we gonna act later like… Like I can actually ever keep my hands off you?”

“You could just… Not?” You suggest, fully aware that’s not going to happen.

In truth, you don’t want to think much about how his friends know nothing about the hushed affair that’s been going on for weeks. Not because Jungkook’s embarrassed of you, but because you guys aren’t official, and he cares neither about rumors nor about unnecessary teases.

He doesn’t need to tell you that for you to know.

You do wonder, too, how the afternoon will play out. It’s just a stupid study group, so nothing much can go wrong. Despite your teeny tiny awkwardness among people you barely know, you don’t think keeping your touches for yourself will be a bigger challenge than your academic readings.

“Ohhh, fuck, I’m gonna– collect all the tension,” he tells you when you lift your hips and fall back onto his cock. “And let it out tonight, ‘k?”

“I’ll be mad if you don’t, Jeon.”

His member glides into you with such ease that it’s almost embarrassing. You just know that sex has never felt this way to you, and you know that he knows.

Your reactions aren’t something you can feign.

You make sure to drop your ass against his legs with a delicious slap – his obsession with your ass, or your body at that, is nothing he jokes about anymore. So when his hands land back on their favorite place, squeezing the flesh of your mounds, you’re not surprised.

“Pumpkin,” he lovingly whispers, even though his words suggest the ultimate opposite. “Can you go faster?”

“Faster?”

You brush your fingers along his chest, thumb painting a circle around his nipple. Then, you brush your touch down his abs, feeling the warmth of your skin before you lift your fingers to bring them to your tits.

Digging your knees into the mattress, you adjust your position, making yourself comfortable before you increase your pace. Hands keep your tits in place as you tease his eyes with relentless nipples pinches, darting out your tongue to the corner of your lips as you begin bouncing up and down.

“Ohhh, babe, y’know exactly what you’re do-ng to me, fuck.”

The broken sentence of his shatters your insides. The ambiguity of it, the tone he says it in, the rigid breathing that accompanies it. You want to keep it replaying in your mind over and over, never hearing anything else ever again.

“Jungkook–” You call out over the wet, sinful sound of your sex.

You move your body up high and down deep, forward and backward. His nails scar your ass as he helps your ministrations. You wish you could see the image of your pussy fucking on his slick cock just once. Perhaps, if he’s ever up to it, you might throw in the idea of a mirror or something…

The moan of his name forces his hands from your butt to the small of your back, suddenly pushing you down to his face that you grip immediately. His temple is glistening in a sheen of sweat under your thumb, and your movements slow down as you attach your lips to his.

But he doesn’t allow a pause as he wraps his arms around your body tight, holding you in place as his hips start snapping against yours hard. Loud. Pounding you into oblivion.

You nearly shriek into his mouth, lips parted as your tongues still touch. His head lifts just a little in an attempt to prolong the kiss, but the way he drills you doesn’t allow you the focus needed to meet his lips again.

So he parts from your mouth, letting your eyes roll back. Engulfs you in a kinda-embrace as you stifle your mewls against his shoulder. But he’s having none of it, shrugging to make your face emerge, forcing you to let every single sound into the open.

Your breath hitches, your eyes damp and your sounds desperate.

“Hey,” he mumbles next to your ear, digits in your hair. Then, he’s pulling your head up to look at you, realizing your chin is quivering a little. “Are we good? Too much?”

“No, I– oh my God…” You draw your lips closer to his, breathing against them. His jaw rests in your hand, sharp and cutting. “No. I’m okay.”

There’s something pleasant about the tears you hold back when overwhelmed. The fact that you keep going for him, endlessly hungry for each of his touches… That you let him do anything he wants to do to you.

Testing the waters–boosting his ego–he relaxes his movements. Much, as he understands, to your demise.

“What are you doing?!” You exclaim, frustration transparent in your craving voice.

“What am I doing?” 

Fuck, he’s turned back cocky. You hate him. And you hate that this is absolutely not true.

“Slowing down, you–”

He doesn’t let you finish your sentence, only shaking his head as he teases, “You’re needier today, aren’t you?”

Your energy is slowly dwindling. That the day has just started, already rendering you exhausted is unbelievable to you. Dropping your head again, you press your cheek against the pillow next to his face. Moaning as he fucks you gently; throbbing cock meeting a pulsating pussy, and he’s far from done with you.

He kisses the tip of your nose as you hold onto his hair, and tell him, “I’m not needier than you.”

“Bullshit…”

Both your words are whispers. You don’t think either of you realizes what exactly you’re saying, because the penetration down below robs your sanity.

“You started all this…” You argue. “Even though– we need to leave.”

“It’s not my fault.” His voice is so tender. His hand on your back so delicate, and he keeps kissing your shoulder, your arm, your hair. The filth in his statements is clear, but he mutters them like love confessions. “Your damn shirt was so thin it was basically see-through… Can’t flash your… Your nipples and don’t expect me to…”

“And h-here I thought you were an ass guy,” you joke, and he lets out a breathy laugh. Your own snicker dies as he connects your hips; the curved cock digs in just right. “Like that, Kook…”

“That was before you and your tits.”

You voice a sweet, quiet gasp, the way you always do when you’re close. But that can’t be the end – he doesn’t want this to end. Something snaps him out of a trance, stopping his movements altogether.

“Get on your back,” he suddenly orders, a hand at the back of your neck. You flinch when a sudden slap lands semi-hard on your already probably scarred ass.

You’re not sure what shifted in the air, and though he’s robbed you of your orgasm one too many times this morning alone, you don’t argue. With a slight, telling whine, you draw a deep breath, doing as told as you find yourself staring at the ceiling.

It’s a strange feeling, losing the fullness, feeling this emptiness. It’s like the lack of his touch leaves your soul aching for reprieve, too.

The mattress creaks as he shifts into position. Strong hands wander up your thigh and to your waist, pulling your body down and your head away from the bed’s headboard.

He fists his cock, knees drawing closer and parting your legs. Bringing the tip close to your entrance, he slides it up and down your slit. Just once, he dips in for the briefest moment, watching you hold your breath, but then pulls out again.

Rubs the rubber against your clit. Then taps the solidly hard shaft against it, setting your nerves on scorching hot fire, and when you don’t expect it for another minute or two, his entire dick pushes into you in one fell swoop.

“Holy sh– that was so unfair,” you cry out, immediately grabbing onto his arms, their hands at each side of your body.

He throws his hair out of his face, freeing his forehead. Then, he leans in low, his kiss an inch out of your reach. You chase his lips, but he backs away, smirking before his thrusts wipe the jokester-expression out of his face.

It feels so ridiculously heavenly, you can barely breathe. You cup his face in your hands, greedy for his mouth, but instead you shut your eyes. Pressing your lips together to withhold your possibly awkward sounds.

Which exhausts the man above you once more.

A hand travels to the back of your head, grabbing a patch of your hair. You gasp at the sudden pull, lifting your head with his movement and opening your blurry eyes. And what you see is irritation between furrowed eyebrows, a clenched jaw and a sweat droplet trailing down the side of his face.

“Stop muffling your sounds,” he hisses, gritting his teeth. You don’t know whether it’s annoyance or the feeling of your contracting cunt that’s keeping him on the edge like this. “How many times do I need to tell you that?”

A pound follows as punishment and you whine the way he wants you to. You throw your head to the side, choking up when he lets your hair go and wraps his fingers around your neck. “I’m sorry, Kook–”

“Lemme hear, 'k?” He whispers the last word, another hard plunge making you cry out. “I don’t care about neighbors or whatever.”

He pushes in balls deep, remains there for a moment. Circles his hips and then fuels your craze.

“Do you– d’you like me like that?” He groans. “Want me to be pissed like that?” Biting your lower lip, he watches the unfaltering pleasure in your eyes… Godfuckingdamn, you’re so pretty to him. “‘Cuz you’re fucking drenching my dick like a proper slut.”

His theory proves true when you squirm in his grip, agitated and out of your mind. “Jungkook, please…”

“Please what?”

You move your head to the side, letting your hand fall to press your fist against your mouth. “I’m cumm–”

“Look at me,” he interrupts. His voice is so close to your ear, intimidatingly hot. “Look at me first, Pumpkin, goddamn–”

“Jungkook…”

When your misty gazes meet, your eyes are wetter than before. Melting into a puddle, his eyebrows relax, and when he finally, finally, presses a kiss onto your lips, pelvis rubbing against your clit, you let go in waves.

Both of you are panting with failing lungs, and you feel your unshed tears water your eyelashes when you slam your eyes close. The orgasm shakes up your body, numbing the legs wrapped around his waist.

“My baby…” He whispers, pushing a thumb between your lips to open your mouth. Your stagnant breathing is like a symphony to his ears.

You call his name again, quieter this time. Sounding so fucking adorable, no matter the amount of indecency your moans carry.

“God, you’re cute,” Jungkook says, connecting your foreheads. Closing his eyes, he inhales through his nose. “Are you okay?”

“I feel good,” you assure. “I feel amazing with you.”

“I’m glad.”

“Thank you…” You wrap him in a hug, pulling his burning chest against your body. “For caring.”

“Don’t think I care for anyone… More.” All you can do is nod, even though every voice in your head is screaming. “Beautiful little girl.”

You’re not so little anymore. But to him, you’ll always be the curious, wide-eyed kid he befriended many years ago. The barely-there age difference doesn’t matter to him, because you’ve always been his little Pumpkin, and for him, this might not even change at eighty.

He captures his lower lip between his teeth, and tiny dimples appear on his cheeks. You run your thumb along them, feeling them relax, smiling when he does.

“You’re so pretty, you know?”

The very first time you were hot. This time, you’re pretty. Maybe you’re imagining the change in sentiment – it’s all your hoping, optimistic self can hold onto.

But then his fingers brush back your hair just to proceed to hold your face… His eyes are too loving to not assume the most promising outcome. Somehow, this is too much to endure after all.

“Don’t look at me like that…” You beg, immediately regretting when he lifts his eyebrows.

“Huh?”

Like you feel the same as I do.

“Like your heart’s melting for me.”

You don’t think it’s the answer he expected. Because the orbs in his hooded eyes expand, certainly more affectionate and starry than before. “It might be,” is all he says.

It’s way too much… You need a distraction before you spiral. And when it arrives in the form of his unsteady shakes and gasped breathing, you take the opportunity by its throat. “Can you…”

He chuckles, his mask cracking. He knows what you’ll say.

“Can you cum in my mouth?”

Jungkook clicks his tongue, cock still deep between your recovering walls. It twitches inside you, your cunt aching as you wind down from your high. He holds you like a fragile glass doll, his words painfully soft. “Will you ever let me cum inside you?”

Because in all those weeks this shit has been going on, you don’t think you’ve permitted him such a thing a single time. But…

“When you allow yourself to fuck me without that… That rubber bullshit. I wanna–” You hold tight when he delivers another sharp thrust. “I wanna feel you cum.”

His expressions change again. When he speaks again, he sounds only half genuine. “Maybe one day.”

And then, he’s already pulling out, pushing down your body by your chest when you attempt to lift up. Bringing a hand to the back of your neck, he pulls up your head a little, tugging off the condom to throw it to the side, and cages your head in between his knees.

“Open up,” he commands, cock in his hand knocking at your lower lip.

You take him in until you gag, still surprised at the sheer size, and then hollow your cheeks as he begins his ending movements. It doesn’t take him long anyway. The built up tension, the hardness of his balls, the staggering motions and the pace he sets to deepthroat your mouth don’t stall the orgasm.

Hot ropes of his seed shoot into the back of your throat. You gag again, eyes watering, and swallow every little bit he held back this morning. His fingers brush your cheeks as he drains himself out, and he only notices the chaos on the bed and in your hair when he pulls out at last.

He looks down at you, moving his face close to peck your head; and when you realize the further delay in today’s plans, you lift your arms and plead, “Clean me up?”

The smile he graces you with is vibrant and soft. Doting as he pulls you up and his thumb wipes at your lips.

“Let’s do some more for the environment and shit.” He nods toward the door. “Shower.”

–

The study session isn’t necessarily something you looked forward to this week. The members of the tiny circle are basically strangers to you, familiar faces that you can’t assign personality traits to yet.

It’s odd how disconnected you feel from them, considering that Jin and Taehyung are Jungkook’s newest yet closest pals. Jin is already a victim of his master’s degree, nose-deep and drowning, but Taehyung has sworn to organize postgrad semesters together with Jungkook, despite the uncertainty of what subjects they’ll be choosing.

The dark and vast world of college frightens them.

At least Jungkook knows that it’ll be something vastly different from the stuff you deal with now – sociology has some deeply scarring classes in its curriculum, so you can’t blame him.

Once you’ve freshened up and gotten over the lingering ache between your legs, you hold onto the emotional support Jungkook’s bicep delivers. Multiple times, you attempt to suggest changing the location, sitting in a corner of the library or a beloved café.

You tell him you haven’t been feeling your best these days, taken over by academic worries, and that you’re afraid that, on top of everything, you might embarrass yourself in front of the strangers that his friends are. On top of all the distress (though you never tell him he’s part of it).

But Jungkook waves your ideas off immediately, loyal to the plans he made, reassuring. “I promise it’s helpful. Those guys are smart, they know how to motivate.” He shrugs. “Studying with them helped me, so I think it’ll be good for you, too.”

Not that you’re not absolutely fine with studying on your own, sitting at your desk in the faint, warm light of your lamp. But you suppose trying out new things won’t kill you.

You realize that he wasn’t playing when you arrive. Jin and Taehyung are kind, and in some sense, incredibly bold, open and loud, too. Taehyung a bit less, much like Jungkook, while Jin’s personality compliments your roommate’s perfectly, like the Yin to his Yang.

No wonder he can never stop talking about the man.

Sitting on the bench-table-combination at campus in the still shining sun, you look around. The leaves are slowly floating down from trees in spirals, indicating the start of a new season when the sky doesn’t. It’s a pleasant day to spend some time outside – you might enjoy it after all.

“And you’re… Basically just here to help us out? Like, to tutor us?” You ask curiously, leaning forward to meet Jin’s eyes.

“More like,” he begins, laughing. He looks at you through the dark, permed hair covering half his eyes. “Reminiscing about a time when stuff was easier. Doing a master’s in sociology sucks.” Scrunching his nose, he lifts his shoulders, folding his arms in front of his chest. “But helping out people in need feels great too, I guess.”

You’re not people in need, but you’ll let him have it. His own humor pleases him, fills him with satisfaction. He doesn’t care if anyone around him bursts into laughter at his jokes – he’s happy with himself, and you’re no one to interrupt his joy.

“But if you need help with statistics, you can ask me,” he then adds, and Taehyung shakes his head next to him.

“I’m the expert for that, thank you very much,” Jungkook says, nudging your elbow from the side, because you are a math ace, too.

Your focus is well balanced today, shifting from conversations to studying, from stupid jokes to trying to understand the academic papers’ content. But whenever his touches collide with yours, you tense.

It’s probably something about his warmth. About how his fingers comfort you even when the occasional wind tickles your skin cold.

And he’s touchy.

Not in a lewd sense, but proving your theory that he can’t keep his hands to himself anyway. He likes to feel you under his fingertips. Enjoys how you take a breath when the back of his hand accidentally–or not?–hits your knee or thigh under the table.

“We’re talking way too much,” you scold half an hour later. “We won’t internalize anything like that.”

“And then those two will complain about being hungry and we’ll have to leave anyways,” Taehyung agrees, nodding affirmatively.

“No!” Seokjin defends. “I brought ridged chips. And trail mix. I also–”

“You say that everytime–”

Jungkook sighs next to you, scribbling something onto the papers he printed out. The side view of his face is intriguing and dashing – his whole appearance keeps distracting you when it really shouldn’t.

But are you to blame?

He’s wearing this serene, brown and season-fitting houndstooth coat of his. The gentle wind is blowing the tresses into his face. Lower lip jutted out, the faded scar you’ve kissed a dozen times – integral parts of him.

Perhaps sociology really is hard enough for him to blend out his surroundings. But once your eyes flicker between his mouth, the hand holding the pen and the boys too often, he finally lifts his stare to yours. He catches you red handed, though he doesn’t seem surprised at all. Instead, he raises his lips to a smile, blinking slowly.

Looks at you the same way he did this morning; as though no one exists around him.

You know that everyone is fading in your periphery.

Lost in thought, he parts his lips, breathing in as if to say something. The sunlit side of his face soaks in the last bit of today’s warmth before the clouds cover the star whole, and you immediately shiver when the cool gust blows.

Whatever sneaks to the front of his mind crawls back again, though. Because compared to the fall, the upcoming conversation feels more freezing, and the melting gems in Jungkook’s eyes can’t save you from the discomfort.

“Hey, just so you know,” Taehyung’s voice, deep and promising, breaks your moment. “We invited Hayun, but she’s late for some reason. I thought we could surprise you, actua–”

Pause.

Hayun. 

The harmless two-syllable-name, mentioned almost casually, causes a brief error in your brain.

She, as opposed to Jin or Taehyung, is someone you’ve heard and seen of plenty. No matter how many moans Jungkook has coaxed out of numerous women–how many he’s drawn out of you–Hayun has always been off limits.

Why?

Because he’s had an everlasting crush on her since the second year of college. You thought it subsided, thought that over time, he forgot about her or whatever her persona consists of. There were doubts, like when he saw her on campus – when he stopped for a moment to look before continuing as though nothing happened.

But… Still?

If anything’s an indication for the still present longing, then it’s his friend’s statement. Because they haven’t been friends for long – for them to know about Hayun means that he spoke about her pretty recently.

Hayun doesn’t even play hard to get or anything; in truth, she’s open and friendly, you know this much. But he’s always hesitated to approach her, and you don’t know why. Maybe because real emotions require real effort.

Which doesn’t support your overbearing thoughts. Or the fact that you were an easy hook up on a manually induced blackout-night. Not requiring actual effort.

No. That’s just your interpretation. Stop it.

Swallowing, you relicabricate your thoughts and focus on his reaction.

Usually–meaning ages ago when it happened last–he becomes a nervous mess when someone mentions her name. Starts cursing, licking his dry, plush lips, frustrated when his friends don’t warn him before trying to set him up with her. Until now, their strategies never worked anyway.

Today, things feel different. Not just the way Taehyung’s smirk seems to foreshadow something you hope won’t come true. But even Jungkook’s response, physical at first.

He tenses like you do. You feel it, his shoulders against yours, but most of all see it from the side of your eye. His back has straightened, and you notice that he’s looking at you, like he’s gauging your reaction.

But you play it off – don’t look up from your papers, suddenly immersed again and gripping the cold banana shake in front of you that you paid way too much for. You navigate the straw to your lips silently, shallowly sipping as you listen.

“Really?” Jungkook finally asks.

“Yeah, thought you might like it,” Taehyung answers; you hear the proud smile in his words more than you see it. Jin is just as focused on their conversation, not noticing your dropping mood.

“It’s been pretty long since I saw her,” Jungkook says. “I don’t even know what she’s been up to.”

“You can ask her. Cuz,” Jin waits, then speaks louder. “Speaking of the devil!”

Your heart hammers in your throat, right above your vocal cords, when you look up.

She’s sporting a fall dress, dark red and knee length, black stockings underneath and fingers wrapped around her bag. Half of her healthy mane falls over her shoulder, tucked behind her ears. She looks vibrant and gorgeous; you shrink in your seat.

Jungkook’s expressions still don’t light up as much as you anticipated; a slight solace in this somewhat frigid moment. But what he does do is keep his eyes fixated on her. Like you.

“Who was talking about me?” She asks with a squint of her eyes. She takes a seat next to Taehyung, across Jungkook. Looking into the round, she smiles and says, “Hi.”

You wonder how they came to invite her before you realize that she seems kind of close to the other two boys. “Who’s ever not talking about you?” Jin asks, one proof for the familiarity.

“Shut up, Jin,” she answers; another piece of evidence.

“Where were you?”

“Ahhh, just,” she rubs under her eye, looking worn out. “Had some issues at the student’s office. One of the boys I tutor never pays me on time, so I withdrew from the tutor’s program.”

“And what’s with the office?” Jungkook asks, leaning forward the way you did before for Jin.

She looks at him like she’s just noticing him here. But her gaze isn’t nonchalant or bored; her pupils glitter, like they’re delighted he’s talking to her. “They wouldn’t let me, because I promised to be of help for at least half a year and whatever, and I’ve been here for uh… Just five months.”

She rolls her eyes in annoyance, pausing. Taehyung furrows his eyebrows, a disbelieving grimace on his handsome face. “Seriously?”

“Yup, can you fucking believe this? But no worries, I solved it. Told them I don’t have any time anymore, and that it’d be their fault if I failed my classes.” She presses her lips into a thin line, nodding before she speaks on. “Well, they said they’ll see what they can do.”

“Aren’t you intimidating,” Jin remarks.

Hayun shrugs her shoulders in pride, taking out the books you recognize. Statistics of course, Jungkook’s field of expertise. She skims through the pages, some highlighted and filled with notes, others vastly empty. Under the table, she crosses her legs, and when you feel Jungkook flinch next to you again, she apologizes timidly for hitting his shin.

“It’s okay,” he mumbles back with a gentle smile; all of a sudden, she looks shy, brushing back her dark hair.

Jungkook struggles a bit with his focus from that moment on, seemingly done for today. When you look at him, he doesn’t seem like he can concentrate, staring at a word for way too long – you’re anxious to ask what he was thinking about once she’s gone, even though you can imagine why the focus dwindled.

It’s okay. It’s you he goes home with, isn’t he? You whose legs he buried his head between this morning.

You despise those selfish, unhealthy thoughts. Women should be empowering each other, not be envious; but you can’t help the sting in your chest. You hate it, hate it, hate it.

“C’mon,” Taehyung exclaims when Jin starts humming a melody. Apparently noticing as well as you that Jungkook hasn’t moved a paragraph. “Try as hard as y’all do when you calculate angles for soccer and shit.”

Right. They’re always there for soccer training, too.

“You guys still do that?” Hayun sounds excited when she shoots the question, planting a hand on Taehyung’s arm, covered by a beige sweater.

“Of course, yeah,” he answers.

“Woah? Then tell me when you go again.” Ah fuck. You’re not liking this. “I’ll make sure to cheer you on.”

Of course. You honestly didn’t even know she’s been there before at all.

Breaking out of his silent bubble, Jungkook wiggles his pen between his fingers and says, “That’s sweet of you. We’ll gladly have you there.” To boost his ego, you think. He likes it when girls scream from him. He averts his gaze to look at her book, using the moment efficiently. “Are you stuck on statistics?”

There it goes…

“Yeah,” she looks down; her curtain bangs graze her cheeks in such a sickeningly gorgeous way. “I guess so.”

But then–

Jungkook, surprisingly, takes an entirely different route from what you expected, his elbow tapping against yours and his head nodding toward you. “Oh, she’s pretty good a–”

Not that Jin cares, though. Unwarrantedly wingman-ing.

“Jungkook aces every exam on that. He could help you and get his focus back.” His voice is taunting, but you know his intentions aren’t to mock Jungkook… The opposite.

She looks at Jungkook and says, “If you don’t mind?”

Jungkook’s slightly forlorn puppy eyes flit to you innocently, and you calm your expressions, lifting your eyebrows in question. As if to say, Hm? What’s up?

So he tells her that no, of course he doesn’t mind. Stands and leaves your side, rounding the table and ordering Jin to give up his seat for a moment so Taehyung and Hayun can scoot over. By the time he’s seated himself next to her, you can barely think.

They start their thing immediately and keep leaning in as the explanations progress. Your thoughts race, entirely forgetting that it was you he was kissing in utter fervency just hours ago.

Whenever they look up to speak to each other, their faces are too fucking close. At one point, you think they’re zeroing in on each others’ lips, but then continue to tackle the mathematical problem at hand.

Jin next to you can’t distract you enough, even though his conversations are, as you come to understand, more flirting than talking, directed at you. “Anything you need help with?”

“I think I’m okay so far,” you lie, talking over the heartbeat drumming in your ears. But when he insists, pouting, you take a deep breath and give in. “Alright. This bit.”

You point to a random task, and he exclaims a delighted vocal. Without hesitation, he dives into what you already know; when he looks at you, you think that he is definitely looking at your lips.

“You know, you should join our study group more often. You’re fun,” Jin interrupts in the middle of his explanation, and you smile.

“I’m barely talking.”

“But,” he argues, his voice so sweet you almost let him distract you. “When you do, you’re great.”

How motivating that at least one of them thinks you’re worth the attention. Not semi-popular, pretty and outdated crushes, but you. Even if Jin’s intention might potentially not go farther than wanting to unzip your pants.

“Thank you,” you tell him with a laugh.

For a second, your eyes brush over Hayun and Jungkook, allowing an ephemeral, barely there peek. And in this very second, you catch him looking fleetingly; he blinks, then smiles, and eventually looks away.

A moment later, she laughs about an epiphany, finally understanding the concept in her textbook, and he grants her a delighted grin. It shatters your heart, but you keep yourself whole on the outside.

Because when he was naked over you today, suffocating you in his arms and synchronizing his moans with yours, he was looking at you like that, too.

You take another deep breath.

Jin starts saying something. You ready your shrinking brain to concentrate on just his voice, but when the split study session gets interrupted by vibrations of a phone, all ears perk up.

Heads lift – Hayun’s notification tone is loud. Taehyung slams a large hand against the table, suddenly enthusiastic. “Ha! Take out five bucks for the no-phone-jar!”

The frozen environment comes to life when Jin and Jungkook chuckle. Even your own mouth lifts to a soft smile, somehow a little, little bit endeared by Hayun’s confusion. 

“The what now?” She asks; Taehyung is ready to explain.

“Whoever’s phone chimes first has to pay up. We’re just friends with each other, so there was no way we’d lose. But you…”

“I didn’t even know about this.” She looks into the round, desperate eyes seeking help, but you stare back, grinning in apology. “Also, five bucks are a fuckton, shut up.”

Taehyung clicks his tongue as if he’s admonishing her, but she’s already too busy to notice. She glances at her phone, tapping a few times, and mumbles something.

You put your arms up on the table, on top of your readings and exercises and ask, “What’s wrong?”

She groans in annoyance, rolling her eyes at the device. “I was supposed to go to the library to return some books, but I rushed over here instead. So I couldn’t go, but today’s the deadline.”

“Oh, then go!” Jin encourages. You hate to nod along, eager to watch her walk away as if it could change anything or make today’s happenings undone. “It’s okay, we’ll be here.”

“Nah, it’s okay. I’ll pay the fee for today, it’s fine.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you push. “You still have like 45 minutes. Just go and get it done!”

She looks to and fro, taking in the calm expressions of the men and you. “I don’t really wanna leave or go alone, though.”

And ever the wingmen, Jin and Taehyung add their two cents. “Jungkook can go with you. He’s done for today anyways, and we’re,” Jin points between Taehyung, himself and you, “just warming up.”

A ridiculous excuse if you’ve ever heard one. And anyway, you couldn’t be done with today more than you already are. You sigh.

Jungkook is hesitant at first, but her pure gaze is an absolutely convincing enabler. Puppy eyes look into his puppy eyes, and she assures, “It’s okay. Just if you want to.”

Your chest burns green. You hate the boys for not shutting up. Hate yourself for feeling what you feel. Watching a roommate, a childhood friend, walk away shouldn’t hurt or turn your heart into a bleeding mess.

The dull ache is agonizing and holds a hint of teenage drama. The pain that comes when freshly in love, experiencing a crack in those purple, golden, pink and vibrant feelings. When the light of the world dims a little.

Just this time, you’re adults, trapped at the same place, the same apartment. You’re stuck with him; in fact, you have been since he talked to you first so many years ago. There’s no easy way out of this.

But then you think that drowning in overthinking is unsolicited. They have just stood up, nodded kindly, left like ten seconds ago. There’s nothing behind their actions, but you’re still holding onto the easiest outcome, hoping you’ll realize tonight that your worries were for nothing after all.

But what upsets you the most is that this hurt is and was inevitable anyway. One day, your fling will break; one day, your feelings might numb you. One day, he might move on and fall for someone who’s not you, sleep with someone who’s not you eventually.

And then you’ll feel the same things that you do right now – what if today is just the damn beginning, a quiet warning?

If you’re turning a molehill into a mountain already, what about everything that will happen?

Another deep breath. Harder now that he’s not in front of you. What have you gotten yourself into?

The library is around five minutes from here, so they might be back in fifteen. No biggie, nothing happens in that time. You keep studying, trying to digress, but still a tense mess. Ten minutes pass, then fifteen, then twenty.

Forty-five minutes later, the library should technically be closed already.

And an hour later, they’re still not back.

“Damn,” Jin whispers, finally exhausted enough to not drill your head with explanations anymore. “He must’ve scored.”

For the love of God. You like him and Taehyung, but you really cannot fuck with their remarks anymore. You’re tired.

Secretly, you send a message, but Jungkook doesn’t respond. He’s a bad texter in general, but he always texts you back immediately. Another five minutes later, you sigh. “I’m getting worried.”

“It’s nothing,” Taehyung, however, promises. But he calls him anyway – no response. “I guess we should just be happy for them.”

Jin agrees with a hum, proud of his young friend until he notices your visible stiffness. “Are you okay?” He puts a hand on your shoulder, waking you up a little.

“Yeah.”

“Wanna stop studying? If you want, we can go to a café and I’ll buy you something nice.”

You know it’s an invitation to a date, so you decline. Even though it’s exactly what you proposed to Jungkook hours ago. Along with your suggestion to go to a library. Just what he’s doing right now – supposedly, even after closing time… Even though he promised he wouldn’t leave you alone with people you barely know.

Unfortunately, you’re not the most social person. Not exactly shy, but you have your introverted sides, even if you don’t show them to loved ones. Meeting new people can be stressful, and you were just lucky that Jin and Taehyung turned out to be pleasant to a certain degree.

That’s why… He promised…

Anger and irritation mix with your dull mood, and you look at a random spot on the table. You apologize to Jin and add, “I’m sorry, it’s just… Jungkook promised we’d go home together.”

Jin and Taehyung wait. Look at each other. A silent conversation unfolds before Taehyung leans in and puts a hand on yours. “Are you guys doing okay?”

You and Jungkook? Are you?

“I don’t know,” you tell him with a shrug.

“What’s going on?”

You blow a raspberry, shaking your head in response. I don’t know, your gesture says again. You think they understand without you talking much, because Jin hums in the next moment.

“I’m sorry…” Again, he looks at Taehyung, and you glance between them. Both their eyes are apologetic. “We didn’t know. If we had…”

What then? They’d made Jungkook fall in love with you?

When not even you could?

“It’s okay. It’s whatever, actually,” you say, feigning calmness. “Emotions and physical intimacy don’t always have to align, right?”

For a second, confusion befalls their faces before they get it. The thing Jungkook didn’t tell them about the two of you yet – the ridiculous affair going on for weeks now.

“Right…” Taehyung mutters.

“Thank you, though. For studying with me and all.”

You take a stand. Gather your things. Wish them a pleasant weekend and tell them you hope you’ll see them again soon. It’s a lie, because they’ll keep seeing you as the girl who’s in love with her best friend, and you don’t need pity.

And anyway. Why care when Jungkook is apparently doing more than okay?

Keeping his hands off you wasn’t so hard after all.

–

Tiptoeing through the darkness has become a habit of yours.

You can’t recall if it’s thanks to your late night moans, the utter lack and need of light; light is a waste of energy and money when you’re wrapped in the arms of a man you keep falling for harder. 

Right now, you don’t need the brightness either; your curtains are shut. It feels a little redundant and doesn’t quite match the silent back and forth rocking of your heart. It’s like darkness makes you think better – and in all honesty, maybe you shouldn’t be thinking or overthinking at all, but your mind is a masochist as much as your body.

You guess tonight the cause of the missing light is not his hypnotizing touch. Or his words, dipped in honey and molten caramel.

Hours later, and he’s still not home. The faint brightness of the sky still guides you through your living room, but soon, you’ll have to adjust to the darkness when the sun goes down – and he will still not be back.

You look over to the door, still slightly ajar and unmoving, as it was when you entered the living room this late afternoon.

Your knuckles pale as you curl your fingers to tight fists, and when your nails dig into your palms too painfully, you release your skin and grab your phone from under your thigh. Even though it’s still too warm for October, the thin blanket – that for once does not carry his scent – provides a bit of comfort. You pull it closer to your chin.

Ringing a few times, someone picks up with a suspicious hint in their voice. You want to mock, the way you always do, but bickering is definitely not your number one priority tonight.

“Hey,” you greet. “Am I disturbing you?”

Your sister uh-uhs; her yawn reveals her constant love for her bedroom. She’s a homebody as much as you used to be before you started drafting “Things I Need to Do Before I Die/Turn 30” bucket lists.

Then again, her fatigue might be well justified, considering that she’s already married, managing a house and an incredibly sweet infant. Everything is quiet in the background, though, so right now must be one of those glorious, peaceful moments she always yearns for.

“You’re not,” she says. “But this is a little unusual. You don’t call that much anymore, and definitely not that randomly.”

“That hurts.”

She laughs and then sighs, opting for her first ice-breaking question. Ever-constant since you were kids, “Have you eaten yet?”

“Yeah. A little.”

“Doesn’t sound like that’s enough.”

“Uh, yeah, I’ll get more later.”

A brief silence follows, and then you ask, “So, how’s everything going?”

It’s an awkward question – not necessarily part of a standard conversation between the two of you. You usually have random topics to tackle, but today, the drop of your heart and her obvious wariness don’t seem to set the mood for a sisterly chat.

“I go shopping for the little one way too much,” she admits. “Bought her a dress and an apron today. I think she likes the dress, because she won’t let me take it off, but she hates the apron.”

“You spend money on stuff she won’t care about in two days–”

“Yeah, isn’t it funny? Babies are exhausting.”

“She’s sleeping in her dress tonight?”

“Oh, she’s not sleeping. God, wouldn’t that be such a nice concept?” She laughs, and you can imagine the soft way she shakes her head, eyes rolling back with a gentle smile. You miss her a lot right now. “No, she’s downstairs and watching Winx Club with her Dad.”

You blow a raspberry, containing your sudden giggle before it ebbs down. “He’s watching Winx Club with her?”

“She loves it. And apparently, so does he.”

The dim giggle that somehow gets stuck in your throat indicates more than you want to allow. You think she notices, but you are grateful when she doesn’t address it… directly. Her answer does seem a bit telling to you still.

“Where’s Jungkook? You guys didn’t go out today?”

The mention of his name hurts less than the familiarity she says it with. It makes you realize once again how large his role has become in your life throughout the decades. How he’s grown not only to your best friend, but to someone your people know and appreciate.

They undoubtedly view him as not only a part of your everyday life, but part of you as a whole, too. The familiarity reminds you of summer days, of drowsy afternoons after school when he’d come and visit, scavenge your kitchen like it was his second home.

Your house where you’d both get scolded together, where his childish giggles would echo even after he left. Those ear to ear grins would be reserved for you – he was too shy and too introverted to flash them in front of the overbearing, overwhelming class.

“I think he’s out with friends,” you mumble back, and your voice fails you in just the way you wanted to avoid.

Your childhood feels like a different reality to you. When you’d still fiddle with cassettes and video cameras. Something about the nostalgic bitterness hurts.

You breathe in deeply, and your sister’s voice drops. “Aren’t you bored?”

“No…”

No, you’re not. You’re too busy thinking.

She sighs again and calls your name, firmly, as she did when you lied about your first failed exam. Or when you sprained your ankle after she warned you to not overdo skateboarding.

“Is everything alright?” She finally wants to know, and you think you feel your body drop to your basement.

“Yeah.”

“What is it?”

No point in lying again. If anyone, she might understand your stupid, dumb, totally high-school-ish lovesickness. She’s seen your lowest lows – another one won’t scare her off.

So you’re point blank.

“I think I’m falling in love with him.”

You don’t need to say a name. No syllable of his existence is necessary to make your confession burn everything inside your body. Saying it out loud pains you in an entirely new way – makes it so incredibly clear how deeply rooted your affection is, and how his isn’t.

In all honesty, you imagine it’s not really a surprise to her. But she doesn’t ridicule you or sing-song how she knew; instead, she hums. “What happened?”

“So much,” you say, holding back your chokes. “A lot happened. Like, things that shouldn’t happen between friends, you know? Or, like… Things that shouldn’t classify us as friends anymore.”

“Okay…” She waits, and you use the moment to draw another breath, swallowing hard. A fist presses against a spot under your chest. “Do you wanna tell him, baby?”

“I don’t know,” you confess, biting into your cheek. “I don’t know if I can.”

“But. You do realize that he adores y–”

“That’s not the problem!” You interrupt. “He’s shown me more than enough of that…”

His touches, his eyes, his words – they were more than enough to show that he cares. You’re an anchor for him, an important other half that he grew used to until you became a firm molecule of himself. Kind of belonging to him the way best friends of an eternity do.

Your sister waits for you to continue – there’s no question she can ask that you won’t answer yourself in a minute, she knows. And as you know that she knows, you speak on. “We went to a study group today, his crush joined, he left with her and he hasn’t come back since.”

So annoying that your thoughts have to fall off your tongue in the form of actual words. So annoying.

“We’ve been sleeping together for weeks–”

“Hey,” she interrupts when your voice grows louder, a little more frantic. “What’s the deal between you? Did he ever say he wants to stay friends? Or is it just you two struggling with communication?”

“He kind of said he doesn’t want anything between us to change, and he… He looked scared when he said it.”

There’s an urge in you to defend yourself, and to talk him down to feel better about yourself. But as soon as you feel the desire, you feel regret, too – because you never tried, right?

You never denied his answer, never told him that intimacy with him meant everything to you. That you still think of the way his breath fell hot against your wet shoulder under your equally hot shower.

“That’s a standard move after the adrenaline ebbs down.”

Your sister’s argument is followed by an odd echo, and you press your phone closer to your ears, shutting your eyes to hold onto the hope. “What does that mean?”

“Well… It’s like. He sleeps with you, perhaps has some hidden feelings for you, too, but then realizes he needs to say some fucked up shit like that, so you don’t mentally run away the next morning.” She rambles down the possibility faster than your mind can comprehend. “He wants to preserve the emotional connection in your relationship. Breaking it would suck.”

Does what she’s saying make any sense? You’re not sure, because it sounds too far from anything that could actually be in your platonically established relationship with him.

“I’m not saying I’m absolutely right,” she immediately argues, urgency in her voice. “But he seems easy to talk to, and I don’t think a conversation would cause too much harm.”

A conversation? No fucking way.

“You know, that’s what everyone says, and then one gets rejected and the friendship breaks and like, I can’t really afford moving out and–” Your ear sighs in relief when the rough press of your device vanishes, and you look at the time and three notifications; none relating to him. “He hasn’t even called or anything. And he promised we’d come home together.”

“But he even calls you when he’s drunk somewhere.”

“Yeah… Yeah, that’s my point.”

“No. I mean, he calls you every single time. Not doing it once doesn’t mean much when he’s done it every other time he wasn’t home, or surrounded by a hundred other people who’d keep him busy.”

She’d know.

She was there once, weeks ago, visiting you when she witnessed Jungkook’s endless yabbering; it didn’t die down until he cut the line to call a cab. The TV show you’d prepared for your and your sister’s night together went down the drain, because drunk-as-all-hell-Jungkook needed all the care his best friend could provide.

She didn’t mind – she watched from the sidelines, endeared by the ever blossoming friendship that held him and you together.

You think that was the ultimate shift that threw you off the cliff’s edge, when you’d realized for the very first time what you truly felt for him. The conversation on the phone. The moment he arrived back home. The smile and everything that happened before the night ended.

You remember.

Showered and provided with food, you tucked the drowsy man in; he was conscious enough to ask, “What did I say when I called?”

Yeah. You remember. And you don’t think you’ll ever forget, even though you knew even back then he wasn’t going to remember the next day.

“You just called to say that–” You smiled, and your eyes dropped to where his fingers wrapped around your palm loosely, holding you with more fondness tonight than usual. “That…”

You leaned in, brushing his hair back and clearing the path to his ear. He smiled and backed away an inch when your breath tickled his skin, and you whispered a minute worth of a summary before you straightened your back again.

“I said all that?” He asked, perplexed, barely believing he was capable of more than endless banter.

“You did…”

“Okay. I meant it then. I can feel that I meant it for sure,” he blabbered, nodding as his eyelids sunk. He tightened his grip around your hand, thankful that you were talking him to sleep, and brought your knuckles to his cheek. Addressing your older sibling, he spoke, “Dunno if she can hear me, but tell her she has the best baby-sister-pumpkin-brat ever.”

A peculiar night. A stark contrast to today.

You snap out of the fleeting, blissful memory when your sister’s soothing voice breaks through to you, prodding again. “And you remember what he said when he went skiing with some of his other friends years ago? When he called?”

God, that was ages ago. You didn’t live together back then.

“That he should’ve taken me with him,” you recall.

That your stupid pumpkin hugs are warmer than the stupid fireplace.

“And his first outing alone after you moved in together? His cousin’s karaoke party.”

You hesitate. “That he was leaving earlier and bringing me some snacks from there.”

“And why did he do that again?”

“Because he knew I hadn’t eaten yet.”

It’s an interview. One that brings back the ache of lost days, when you didn’t know what he was providing for you to cherish before it was over. You wish he’d just at least send a message now.

Something about his lasting absence mixes your sadness with light anger. Anger toward him, but mostly toward yourself for falling so deep.

Your sister doesn’t back down; in fact, she sounds like she’s warming up, scouring through the pages of a mental notebook that lists every of your and his core moments. “What about the time be–”

“I got it…” You tell her with the click of a tongue, though you can’t hide the slight chuckle that interrupts your burning irritation.

“Yeah,” she says firmly. “He could’ve been wetting his dick somewhere, but he ran home to you, because it’s you he cares about the most.”

“He did get his dick wet a few times.” Ugh. There it is again, the unwarranted fury that you’re sure you’ll carry to the moment he comes back home. “Brought home girls other times, too.”

“Aren’t those the times you’d be asleep and wake up to missed calls from him?”

Shit. Okay.

She’s definitely keeping tabs on your relationship with him, documenting everything for a moment like this, when she’d be able to conveniently rattle down all arguments as to why he might be irrevocably in love with you. Big question mark.

Reminiscing about the moments she mentions, you curse at the dependence he’s developed toward you. Swearing at the way you’ve gotten used to him. If you hadn’t – if you’d listened to your friends’ vehement prophecies that you’d fall for him one day – you might not have found yourself in this very situation.

Maybe it’s a flaw the both of you sport. To rely on each other too much; to showcase utter independence and strength unless the topic and affection shift to each other.

And maybe it’s even a flaw to let your sister’s words get to you; to let the tender sparks of hope light your veins along your body. Up to your neck and your jaw where his lips have been carving his name for weeks now.

Hope and vexation keep clashing – forming an explosion that’s followed by another round of silence.

–

Once your sister bids you goodbye, the silence continues until Jungkook arrives at your place way after dinner time.

Only today, you ate alone, feeding the hunger and thirst that the overthinking caused. You don’t think he’s eaten yet. His lazy, slow steps and sunken face reveal that much – he always looks exhausted like that when he’s starving.

But instead of making a beeline to the kitchen, he lets his backpack fall near the living room door, immediately stepping to where you lay on the couch. He takes a seat at your feet with a quiet groan, placing a hand on your shin with a sigh.

“What?” You ask, decoding his stare as a hidden question.

“Jin and Tae gave me an earful.”

Oh. Shit. What if they…

“What did they say?” You ask, keeping your voice steady. As unbothered as you can muster. You want to find out about your potentially common feelings, but you can’t break right away.

He deserves to see you pissed.

His head drops and he rubs his forehead and eyes in fatigue. “Just that I should’ve brought you home. And I guess they’re right, so–”

“It’s okay,” you say with a laugh. One that you can’t help but let out with a slight mock. “I know where we live. I hope you enjoyed yourself, though.”

The biggest idiot in the world could probably tell that you don’t mean anything you’re saying. So rightfully, Jungkook looks taken aback, blinking. “What’s going on? Even those two seemed kinda pissed.”

Ironic. Wasn’t it them setting Jungkook and Hayun up in the first place?

You choose to withhold your answer, and he tries again as he calls your name. “Hey.”

Nothing.

“I’m trying to talk to you,” he prods again. “What’s up, Pumpkin?”

Even if you decided to speak up now, there’s hesitation in the back of your mind. One that doesn’t allow you just yet to lay your feelings open. If he’s this clueless, you might just embarrass yourself.

And you’re in absolutely no mood to explain yourself. You can’t burst into tears again – and anyway, as someone who promised to stay by your side, he should probably figure it out himself.

You choose silence.

When none of his attempts succeed, he looks to the dark screen of the TV. He sucks his lip in between his teeth, thinking about something you can’t figure out. And when nothing pops up, he gives up with yet another sigh, stands to trudge to his room and shuts the door behind him.

You guess he’s just changing, because two minutes later, he walks out in pajamas. Another shirt you crumpled up a few days ago; it reminds you of a lewd and coarse night. The memory isn’t as euphoric anymore.

Languidly, sparing you just a brief look, he walks past you and to the kitchen. You listen as the fridge opens and dishes clatter. Hear the sounds of the microwave, the way he downs two glasses of tap water.

All this time, you’re tense. You can barely focus on what your book contains, the letters in it blurry. You let his evening preparations fade into background noise, and only snap out of your reverie when you hear him ask, “Do you want some, too?”

He’s standing in the middle of the room, his favorite bowl in his hands. You guess his meal consists of rice or some improvised dish, because the scent doesn’t remind you of your own dinner. He knows you’re fond of his spontaneous cooking skills… But tonight, you can’t find the strength to say yes to his presence.

“No. Thank you.”

“Have you eaten?”

He shifts, standing around awkwardly. When you nod, he does, too. “Okay. Good.”

And then he’s gone again.

After that, he doesn’t speak a word to you all night. You don’t bother to approach him either, sulking and drowning in your stupid misery. From afar, you hear the sounds of his laptop keyboard and of some paper, and you assume he’s using the rest of the day to study more instead of going out again.

Probably not feeling it, either.

You think you manage a chapter or two, somehow skimming through the pages until you realize that you’re not enjoying the book. You close the novel, dropping it onto the table and yourself further down the couch.

Before you know it, you’ve dozed off – before you know it, you feel a soothing blanket fall over you. Soft like snow. You open your eyes and see a figure hover above you, leaning in carefully, and you nuzzle into the warm, sweet scent of the blanket.

It’s his, not yours. And he’s standing there, in the nearly full darkness. There’s a flickering golden shimmer in the room – he’s lit the Jasmine scented candle on the coffee table, calming you in your sleep when you worry too much.

He backs away slowly when you move, whispering although there’s no one else in this apartment to disturb. “I was gonna wake you up to get you to your room, but…” You can’t focus much yet, but you know he’s pausing to swallow. “You seemed fast asleep, so…”

“I don’t think I was. Just in a half-half state… But thank you,” you tell him so quietly he can barely hear.

You wait. Looking around, but your eyes can’t focus on the digital clock. “What time is it?”

“Almost two in the morning.”

“Why’re you awake?”

You’re still too drowsy to realize what his silhouette is doing, but you imagine he has his hands in the pockets of his joggers. Shrugging. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Studying?”

“No.” He hesitates and hums. “I mean, yeah, I tried earlier, but I couldn’t really memorize anything. So I tried to sleep.”

The constant repetition of trying is concerning. Jungkook falls asleep quickly – the rare nights he turned and tossed were ones that occurred during deeply troubled times.

“What’s up?” You ask.

“Nothing. I guess I wasn’t tired enough.”

His voice moves from above you to next to you. Closer as he sits down on the couch again, dry sounds of hands rubbing mixing with your question. “But you don’t seem okay, so… What’s up?”

Jungkook doesn’t speak for what feels like several minutes, even though not more than ten seconds could have passed. He keeps on rubbing his hands, breathing out. You adjust to the darkness a little, your vision clearer.

You shift to sit up a little, tired of the steady darkness. You see his pout, the very slight sadness and insecurity in his eyes, averting your gaze soon enough.

“You’re mad at me,” he mumbles.

Of course he knows. He always does.

“I’m–”

“Don’t deny it, though, please,” he interrupts. “I know you well enough.”

He nods slowly, sucking in his lower lip again. Still not looking at you, he fidgets with his fingers. He cracks one of his tatted digits, but stops when he remembers how much you hate the sound.

“Okay. I won’t,” you tell him, leaning back again. “I’m mad at you, but…” You close your eyes. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“But we always talk. That’s our thing.”

There are a lot of things you consider your thing. A myriad of gestures you believed yours: Secret habits, silent routines or deeply rooted care showing in big and small things.

The bottled up emotions you’ve been suppressing since teenagehood catch up with you, and suddenly, you’re burning inside. Regretting what you say the moment it slips out. “Not abandoning each other for a hook up is our thing, too. Or was at least.”

Cue, bambi eyes. Confusion laced, squinting, head tilting. “What?”

“You know what I mean…”

Or maybe he doesn’t. Given the fact that he was gone for hours, you thought it’d be obvious – and still, it takes him a scratch of his ears and a defeated sigh from you until he shakes his head. “It’s about Hayun, isn’t it?”

Is it such a hard thing to figure out?

You know this man. You’re sure he understood his mistake the moment he came back to the study table, devoid of you, and found his friends barking at him. He must be pretending, and you don’t understand why – perhaps because it’s easier to brush issues aside instead of explaining them.

“Jungkook…”

Your voice comes out more desperate than you intended; and his words of defense fall out of him more piqued than you expected. Maybe he had the same talk with Jin and Taehyung. Can still not grasp why this conversation of mutual annoyance is even happening.

“No, I–” He stops your sentence, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t get it.”

For a second, you’re not sure what to say. Because you’re confused. There was guilt in his eyes when he came home, when he tried to speak to you, and when he sat down a minute ago. Now, there’s exasperation.

As if he feels bad that he hurt you somehow, but can simultaneously not figure out what catastrophic misdeed he did.

You think briefly, and then respond, “Me neither. It’s a stupid thing to be hung up on.” Which is true. You don’t own him; you don’t claim him, there should be no expectations. But. “But I just– still wish you’d kept your promise.”

“What promise?”

“You were supposed to stay, because I barely know these two.”

Your cheeks are heating up, the blanket suddenly too warm. You make an attempt to calm your tone, blinking, because he doesn’t deserve the harshness you brought upon yourself. You continue quieter.

“And yeah, I said I know where we live, but you were supposed to come home with me.”

Acting like you’re the heartbroken girlfriend who waded home through the rain, entirely without her deceiving, immoral boyfriend on her side is wrong. So much is wrong about this situation, and you hate how much it lacks actual logic. Or sense.

Jungkook’s back straightens, broad shoulders lifting a little as he delivers more fiery arguments. “You were talking to them just fine. And you wouldn’t stop looking at Jin anyways, so what’s the problem?”

So he noticed? The apparent flirting between his friend and you. Did it bother him?

“It would’ve just been nice if you hadn’t let yourself distract so easily,” you say, unable to stop the fight from emerging. You’re caught in the same hot fire as him and it will leave nothing but guilt and regret once it burns out. “I know you like sleeping with pretty girls, but… This was the first time you left for one.”

“This has nothing to do with me sleeping with people.”

“I just–” He voices a silent nah in between, mumbles something else, and it irritates the hell out of you. “Listen, I just don’t want to be another fling among so many, I’m your best friend!”

No. No, this is not going as planned. The both of you have always been too chill with each other to be trapped in angry moods and words. This isn’t normal between you…

“What the fuck. That doesn’t make any sense, you’re just pulling this out of your ass now!” Jungkook snaps, his laugh intimidating. “I haven’t– this is…”

In his irritation, he struggles with words. Sounds unsure somehow, like he wants to be angry, but like you caught some of the truth still. Like he can’t deny that you’re another hook up he’ll forget about one day.

So you ask, “Do you insist on protection with me, because you’ve been sleeping with other girls, too?”

You must admit that it’s a brave question. It only dawns on you a moment later that the answer might crush you. But instead he shakes his head firmly. “No. No, that’s not it. And you’d know if it was.”

That’s not it, but something is. The conversation is jumping back and forth too much, but you’ve grown courageous and let out the thoughts that have been haunting you for days.

“But you have a reason.”

He must. For the insecurity in his eyes when you claim you’re on the pill. Or when he brushes off your suggestions to slide in bare fast.

But to your chagrin, he dodges your question and says something else instead. “I don’t know what you think happened today, but it didn’t go this far.”

“Not this far?”

“No, seriously stop–”

“But something did happen? Did you kiss or–” You stop talking when he rubs his face with his hands, groaning into them. When he tangles the fingers of both hands and presses them against his mouth, you see the growing anger in his usually gentle eyes. “I actually… I don’t need to know.”

He swallows, still looking at you with hooded eyes. Waiting for something, presumably to calm down, and then he clicks his tongue and speaks again. “Is it really just about sex? Or whatever the hell you’re thinking of.”

There’s something about the calmness in his voice that changes the atmosphere. Not necessarily because the volume of the conversation has dropped so low all of a sudden.

Maybe it’s the fact that he’s still sitting here, trying to solve a problem when he could easily run off to his room and leave you heartbroken in the darkness. That he’s trying to keep himself composed, ready to talk things out.

So you take a deep breath, too. You rewind to the afternoon, replay the moments, feeling again what hit you hours ago. And then, you give the convo another try.

“No… I wish it was. It’s about how humiliated I felt today. About how you just dropped me after I told you how shitty I was feeling these days.”

Humiliating that even your friends know about my feelings for you now while you left with another girl, you almost say.

It’s not a tactic to guilt-trip him. It’s one genuine reason for your mood, along with all the others that you cannot blame him for. In fact, you’ve been feeling shitty because the ambiguity of your relationship is fucking with you – and that’s not entirely his fault.

That you wanted to soothe those worries with his presence was always destined to be your doom anyway.

But his actions still didn’t feel good…

“It’s not like you or me or us to do such a thing to each other. So on top of all the stress, it just hurt, Jungkook.”

The room goes quiet. Lit in dim hues, the expression on his face falls and the pout returns, eyes bigger now. He looks down to the hands that dropped to his lap, and you think he swallows.

“I’m sorry,” is what he then murmurs.

“It’s… It’s fine.”

“No. It really isn’t.”

Despite your disappointment, you feel a sting somewhere deep in your heart. There’s something about Jungkook’s guilt that is sharply painful.

Because he usually isn’t one to hurt people. He’s sweet and gentle, a pure soul despite his occasionally crude or teasing remarks. Caring and soft – so you guess, him realizing he made a mistake hits hard, not only him, but you, too.

When you start pulling your legs in slowly, he uses the movement to lift the blanket off your feet. He pushes your legs away slightly, but enough to force you to fold them, putting yourself in a proper sitting position until you’re facing the TV.

Shifting closer, he drapes the blanket over his body, surprising you when he stretches out an arm to sneak it behind you. You understand that he’s trying to hug you when it’s too late, and still stubborn and sad, you attempt to resist his touch.

His fingers press into your shoulders, hands gently pushing your resistant digits off his chest. Overwhelmed by feelings, you don’t realize the dampness in your eyes until you sniffle, stop fighting and hear him ask, “May I?” He wraps his digits around yours, hidden under the blanket. “Please.”

Another sniff. Your fingers are entwined. He leads your palm and arm along his tummy and chest, making you wrap your limb around his torso until you’re in a half hug. Pulls you close until your ear rests against his heartbeat; the hand on your shoulder wanders to your waist.

He embraces you tight, and when he speaks again, you laugh. “Hug me harder.”

Because it’s something he does and says every single time you feel down. Joking around, forcing you to almost asphyxiate him until he’s playfully groaning. It’s an effective remedy for you, and it belongs to you. To him… To the both of you.

A gesture so tender is bound to tie your throat. The tears don’t quite escape, but your voice is shaky. Suddenly, the expected guilt washes over you. You were mean to your best friend as much as he was to you, even if unintentionally. And knowing this hurts.

“I’m sorry… I hate letting stuff out on you, and I– I know it’s not okay now, but it will be later, and I shouldn’t hav–”

Words tumble out of you like a waterfall, despite the cracks in your voice, but Jungkook squeezes your body once and shuts you up with a shhh. “You’re not allowed to apologize, Pumpkin. I was a douchebag, and honestly, it’d even be okay if you wanted to punch me.”

He leans back, looking down to your nose and eyelashes. And when you stare back, he lifts his jaw, tilting his head. “Here. Do it, I deserve it.”

“No,” you tell him with a chuckle, pushing his face farther away.

His laughter vibrates against your face when you place your cheek on his chest again. He feels warm, comforting; like the man you love, but also like your best friend. You want to wrap your legs around him and melt into him. Cry a tear or two.

And he makes it worse.

“You know I adore you, right? That you mean the world to me,” he says.

He doesn’t mean it the way you want him to. But he means it nevertheless.

“Yeah,” you confirm. “I do.”

“I wouldn’t hurt you on purpose. You know I wouldn’t, I mean you… You’re my girl, you know?” Another dim jab directly to your chest. You sigh. “I don’t fucking know what I’d do without you. Those fights, they feel… Crappy.”

“I know.” You shrug your shoulders. “You’re just… We’re just idiots sometimes.”

“Yeah. And I was the biggest jerk today, and I’m sorry. Okay, Pumpkin?” He taps against your waist, then puts the same hand on your arm and rubs it gently. “I’ll do anything to prove it, too. Get a pumpkin tattoo for you.”

No matter how much your affection for him hurts, it makes you smile along with his words, too. You bury your face in his cotton shirt, resisting to kiss the spot over his heart. “You don’t need to.”

He imitates your sigh, and his shoulders drop, like he’s giving into the sudden peace that followed the storm. Your body doesn’t succumb to said peace or exhaustion, your muscles still tense – until his lazy lips roam your hair. Breathing against your scalp, coming down to kiss your temple.

His touch lingers there, a gesture to show tender affection, now that the harsh words have subsided. And still, your mind wanders from his adoration for you back to the loneliness of tonight. You lift your face and turn it, watching the flicker of the candle.

“Do you still have a crush on her?” You then ask.

To your relief, he doesn’t act or stay oblivious to what you’re referring to, and for a moment you think it’d be better if he did. If he was caught up in the moment with you enough to blend out any other hers.

Instead, he throws a question back. “Why are you asking that?”

“I’m just… curious.”

Behind your back, you feel him shrug. He procrastinates as if the answer is hidden somewhere in the depths of his brain. And your assumption proves right, because, “I don’t know. I think she’s attractive, but–”

His tone is hesitant. You don’t think he necessarily minds the topic, but that might be because it doesn’t evoke in him as much as you imagined. Even if he did share a kiss or whatever with her, his but suggests that he doesn’t dwell in thoughts about her.

“But I don’t think it was ever a full blown crush. It’s whatever, you know?” He responds.

“What’s a… A full blown crush to you?”

“Like. A sense of devotion,” he tells you. You might be imagining it, but you think his arm tightens around you. “It feels a bit like a virus. Takes over most of your thoughts, keeps you occupied…”

A pause, as though he’s speaking from his heart; collecting his emotions. His words sound real.

“This almost unbearable feeling of yearning that hurts a little.”

Jungkook always told you he likes the yearning. The subtle heartbreak and the bittersweet experience that love brings. Despite his jokester personality, Jungkook hides a big pink cloud behind his chest, and it’s filled with daydreams. Romanticizes the world a bit.

“And I don’t feel any of that with her,” he adds, breathing out the sentence softly.

“So…”

“I don't care about her that much if that’s what you mean. I don’t have super bad butterflies in my tummy or want to spend every second with her.” Which is what your pining consists of, you realize. “And… I know I sucked today, but I wouldn’t… I dunno, prefer being with her than with you or any other good friend on any other day.”

Apart from whatever happened today, you guess he’s not wrong. The conversation with your sister proved this much – he prefers being with you, like he preferred your presence instead of a campus party’s buzz.

You look up at him. He’s done talking, and you’re done asking about Hayun. It’s quiet, his eyes dropping; he’s close to you and your stare continues wordlessly. You actually think your eyes are saying a lot already – looking at him drives you crazy, and you can only hide so much.

But despite your silence, he realizes that you’re keeping something veiled; so he nods slowly, as if to encourage you to speak your mind. And you, led by his gentle gaze, take the chance in a moment of courage.

“Can you kiss me?”

You don’t think he expected it. But he doesn’t sound taken aback, yet gives back a question with a hum. “Hm?”

“I…” You swallow, blinking. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I want that right now, but I do.” It makes no sense whatsoever; he might even catch the sentiments in your eyes. But still. “Kiss me.”

He keeps looking at you. If he’s feeling proud of his effect on you, he doesn’t show it – instead, he looks somehow pained. The ache doesn’t only hide in his eyes, but then manifests in the tips of his fingers, brushing back your hair.

Silently, he lets the warmth of his palm rest on your heated cheek. His thumb wipes under your eyes, catching invisible tears, his focus on your lips.

And then, he leans in slowly and locks his mouth with yours. The touch electrifies you and freezes the blood in your veins. You’re mesmerized and confused about how perfectly his mouth fits yours, like two parts of one heart.

He kisses you delicately, tilts his head, then breaks the kiss to angle his face to the other side. His arm holds you close and wrapped in him, his hand flat between your shoulder blades. The fingers of his other hand settle under your ear, pushing you back unconsciously until you’re lying on the couch.

Despite the mixing of senses and touches, you still perceive all of his actions, and he only wipes that sanity away when his tongue catches yours.

When you gasp into his mouth, he grips your thigh, settling between your legs. You let your fingers sneak under his shirt, touching his warm back, and now it’s his turn to sigh and let go. To drift back to look at you for a moment, breathing not as steady anymore.

He searches for something in your eyes; you focus on the yellow-orange light on his face.

Funny how the lack of light caused the crack in your relationship in the first place; funny how the darkness seems to expand in your heart every time you remember he’s not yours.

Even if it feels like it right now.

His erratic exhales calm down once he draws a deep breath. You interpret the shaky inhale the way you want to – that it means he’s asking himself whether you’re real. This time, it looks like he’s feeling the same, but he doesn’t say it. He doesn’t say anything.

Only comes back to kiss you again, parting your lips, hands on your cheeks and in your hair. For the first time, you think he tastes different, but you don’t care. You let him kiss you; you let him touch you; you let him hug you close once he’s done, bringing your hand to his face to peck your knuckles.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers one last time, and when he goes entirely still, you think he knows. About every single thing in your heart.

The bitter truth?

You’re too selfish to ask if you’re right. Would rather lie here in silence, watch his reflection in the blank screen of the TV, eyes open as he watches you, too.

Another bitter truth:

If he lifted his head to press his lips against yours once more, bringing in further hurt, you’d let him again. Even if it doesn’t exceed physical lust for him; even if you can still smell an unknown perfume on him, extending the pain.

–

pt1 || pt2 || pt3 masterlist

–

author’s notes: !!! what do we think, do we like it?! i was so nervous about posting this tbh, so i rlly rlly hope you guys enjoyed it! please do let me know what you think and support it, it means alot!!

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blackout | jjk

⇥ pairing: roommate!jungkook x reader

⇥ genre: best friends to lovers, roommate and college au, fluff, crack, smut

⇥ rating: 18+

⇥ warnings: swearing, he’s just a bit of a fuckboy, bickering, swooning over/thirsting for jk (🤷‍♀️), a manually induced fake blackout? dunno those 2 are odd k, they play uno, a lot of spending time in the darkness, kook has no chill, teasing, consent, dirty talk, fingering, cmnf for a while, sexual tension, oral (both receiving), shower sex, choking, hair pulling, reader cries a bit, jk likes to praise, dry humping?, pussy and tits slapping rip (and some ass ig), making out🙄, manhandling, jk loves her tits and ass and plays with them (a lot), he’s sweet but cocky too, protected sex, dom + big dick kook

⇥ wc: 14.3k

⇥ author’snotes: this is a repost from my old blog!! i may repent for my sins. also i do not know why this is so long, i thought it would be 10k rip please i apologize. anyways, i really hope you like it!! i’m very stoked to find out what you think😶‍🌫️

⇥ summary: Utility bills shooting up like this should be an international crime. Luckily, Jungkook has the perfect idea(s) to save up money and make your night sinfully unforgettable.

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The hardness of the bench is tiring out your ass.

Keep reading

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I love him so much 🥺

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