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No one ventures into the deep woods because everyone knows what there is to be found, and what is there to find you. In the places of the world where the shadows are deepest, if you walk just a little deeper, the dark gives way to a low light, where the moonbeams bleed into purple and pockets of space emit a strange, flickering glow.
There are a lot of things out in the wood by the borderline, where the realms verge, but Jungkook never takes items that invite the ire of anything terribly dangerous. Plants and flowers and stones, all touched with a tinge of something from the other Realm, enough for no one to dare retrieve themselves, and enough for Jungkook to bring back home with him and sell for a solid chunk of change.
It’s not without consequence. He’s got a discolored scar across his ribs from a rose bush with glowing green flowers, one of which he’d been trying to pick. The thorns from the bush had stuck to him like stickers, almost reached for him as he reached for the flower, and the punctures left him bloody and wincing for a solid two weeks afterwards. His hands are callused, from all the climbing and digging through enchanted foliage, although that he doesn’t really mind. After a couple bad rashes and one very hallucinogenic experience, Jungkook is much better at knowing what to avoid. For how long he’s been exploring the glowing part of the wood, the fact that he’s, overall, just a little roughed up from the experiences, is a feat.
His roommate thinks he’s mad. (“A fairy is going to kill you, then eat you. Or the other way around!”) Jungkook thinks it’s fine. (“Not if I eat it first.”) His roommate rolls his eyes. Jungkook grins as he walks out the door. Because everyone thinks he’s mad. Everyone thinks he shouldn’t venture into the woods.
Jungkook never pays mind to what everyone thinks is best.
He’s not an idiot. While the woods and what’s there isn’t scary to Jungkook, he knows it’s dangerous. He knows there are things that watch him from the shadows.
Knows someone is watching him. On occasion, Jungkook will notice movement, a wave of something glittering, feel a gust of air that smells sweet, almost thick. But whenever he turns, or even calls out, there’s nothing but the weird purple glow of the moon, the silence of the wood the moonbeams touch.
If Jungkook could, he’d be watching too. It’s why he goes back, although he likes the money, needs it, actually, to get by on his own, Jungkook just wants to see what’s behind the sweet-heady fragrance, the shimmering in the darkness.
‧͙⁺˚❀･༓☾ ☽༓･❀˚⁺‧͙
Jungkook is about thirty feet from the ground, near the top of an abnormally large and semi-glowing cherry tree, when the fairy finallyfinally appears. Jungkook’s fingers are outstretched towards some glowing vines, wrapped and flowering around the branch a foot over his head, when a quiet, amused voice comes from his right.
“The flowers you really want are about four trees over.”
Jungkook thinks he’s quick on his feet, but this voice knocks him off balance until there’s nothing but wind and leaves rushing past his ears and for a blinding second, Jungkook thinks he might actually hit a branch wrong, or land on his neck and die, quite anticlimactically.
But it’s only a second before a warm, solid weight catches him around the waist and the heavy push of hot, sweet air as the fairy’s wings keep them aloft.
The moments before his feet touch the ground, dangling in mid-air, is when Jungkook falls in love. Falls in love at first fucking sight, like a terrible fairy tale cliché.
Although, it isn’t just the sight. There’s more to it than that. It’s the way the fairy’s arms feel around his waist, his chest, against Jungkook’s, his breath, breaking across Jungkook’s face—his scent, so sweet it’s almost cloying. The top half of him is almost bare, nothing but a dark, silky robe pulled together at the waist, the tops of it falling off each shoulder and leaving his large, feathered wings free to move.
And there’s the fairy himself, sosoclose. The pitch black of his hair, the unearthly glow in his silver eyes, the pretty angles of his face, so beautiful Jungkook would have thought he wasn’t human based on that alone. There’s the soft little smirk playing at the corner of lips so glossy and red that, if Jungkook hadn’t known better, he would have thought them unnatural.
For a human, like him, it was. But for a fae—
“Careful,” the fairy says, and although they are now on the ground, he keeps his arm tight around Jungkook’s waist, and Jungkook can’t stop staring at him, is sure there is still air rushing past his ears. “A fall like that could have killed a weak little thing like you.”
Jungkook, who hasn’t been called weak or little in quite some time, is thoroughly too brusque when he shoots back, “it would take a lot more than that to hurt me.”
The fairy lets go of Jungkook, who inexplicably wants to step closer but can’t quite feel his legs. The fairy’s eyes glint, black wings spreading from the top-center of his back rustle, pink-tipped edges glinting like blades.
“Sounds interesting,” he hums, and his voice is almost as pretty as he is, all soft and honeyed and raw. “What’s your name, bunny?”
Jungkook licks his lips, feeling a flush shoot through his body. His next response is much softer. “Jungkook.”
“Jungkook,” the fairy echoes back. He looks him up and down, his smile growing at Jungkook’s sudden, wide-eyed silence. “Well. Aren’t you going to ask mine?”
Jungkook takes a small breath. “Are you going to tell it to me?”
“If you ask nicely.”
Jungkook’s hands clench into fists, a prickle of a feeling that isn’t-quite-nerves shoot through him.
There is something about the heaviness of the air, the way the moonlight stains everything a strange color. The exposed expanse of the fae’s shoulders, the smile still playing at his lips as he waits for Jungkook’s response.
Jungkook feels like he’s still falling.
“What’s your name, then?” Jungkook said, and his voice comes out breathless. “If you don’t mind.”
The fae reaches up with a small, delicate hand and taps one black, pointy nail against his red lips. He makes a small noise, like he’s just come to a decision in his head.
Jungkook realizes what he’s feeling is anticipation. Waiting, waiting for what the fae is going to do next, do to him, with him.
(God he’s beautiful.)
“Jimin,” the fairy finally says, wings flexing out. He looks to the left. “My name is Jimin. And the flowers that you really want are about a hundred feet that way.” Jimin’s smile widens. “Would you like me to show you?”
Jungkook knows he isn’t supposed to be here. He knows it’s risky, to keep coming back for magic trinkets, cursed objects, flowers that glow and stones that emanate warmth even on the coldest of nights.
Knows it’s only a matter of time before he gets caught up in something dangerous, something he can’t walk away from.
“Are you enchanting me?” Jungkook says, and he’s barely finished the question before the fae, Jimin, bends over and laughs.
His wings fling up and back, a means to keep Jimin from falling over, Jungkook realizes, with how hard he’s laughing. His smile is so wide his eyes have gone shut. Jungkook crosses his arms, although he very much wants to laugh with him.
“Why,” Jimin finally says, a little breathless from the laughter. He straightens, lets the robe already exposing his upper body fall down a little more. His eyes glint, and he turns a little, stretching out his wings, and Jungkook wants. “Are you enchanted?”
“That’s my question,” Jungkook says, keeping his arms tightly crossed, as if that’ll stop him from saying yesyesyes.
Jimin covers his smiling mouth with the points of his nails, looking almost fond. “We don’t control humans,” Jimin says. His next words carry a weight, a warning. “Don’t need to.”
He taps each sharpened nail, one at a time, against the swell of his lower lip, eyes trained on Jungkook, gauging his reaction.
Jungkook uncrosses his arms. “You’ve been following me for weeks, haven’t you? You’re what’s hiding in the trees every time I look behind me.”
Jimin turns his back to Jungkook at that, but Jungkook thinks it’s more to hide his face than anything. He doesn’t mind the view it gives him of Jimin’s wings, long and shining and gorgeous. “Do you want those flowers, or not, bunny?”
If the danger is what stands before Jungkook, with his sharp eyes and dagger nails, wings now relaxing to the point where the tips brush the grass at their feet, a voice soft and sweet enough to entice even the grizzliest creatures.
Jungkook, really, doesn’t have a chance.
(Doesn’t really want one.)
now
Jungkook doesn’t like clichés. He doesn’t like to label things, sort shit into boxes, put numbers on what can’t be measured, draw lines, categorize, limit himself in any way.
But.
"We’re loveless creatures, you know.”
But he and Jimin are sitting in the cherry tree where they met, and Jimin is talking about love (and how he has none).
“Impossible to love, impossible to be loved.”
He’s saying this, and Jungkook thinks wrong, wrong, wrong.
“Wrong,” he says.
Jimin smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes. His voice is light when he asks, “what makes you so sure?”
Jungkook turns to Jimin. There isn’t any hesitation, although it’s the first time he’s saying it, it’s not news to Jimin, least not this first part. “Because I love you.”
He pauses, the next words balancing on the tip of his tongue. He feels their weight, tastes it, too sweet and sharp to keep in place, and they tumble out of his mouth. “And you love me.”
Jimin stares at Jungkook. The black feathers in his wings ruffle. He looks away, but there is a gleam in his eyes, too wet to pass as their normal, silver sheen.
“You’re confident,” Jimin murmurs. “Can you even tell me ten things you love about me?” His smile twists, but his voice is soft. “Ten things I love about you?”
Jungkook smiles at Jimin, and Jimin’s expression flickers.
“You make it too easy.”
Jungkook doesn’t like clichés.
But.
ten
Jungkook loves the place where their worlds come together.
After their first meeting, a pattern, slowly, slowly develops. Evolves.
At first, Jimin makes Jungkook wait a little bit, before he makes his reappearance. In fact, after Jungkook falls out of the cherry tree, Jimin waits approximately eleven days before properly showing his face again, which doesn’t deter Jungkook. He knows Jimin is going to show again. Knows it won’t be much longer.
He keeps coming back to the cherry tree. He picks at it a little, not enough to cause any real damage, but enough to bring attention to himself he thinks. He’s relieved when Jimin finally drops from the branches and asks, very sweetly, what the fuck Jungkook thinks he is doing, and why does he keep coming to bother Jimin’s cherry tree.
And Jungkook—Jungkook just looks at him for a little while now that he can, glances between the pink tipped edges of Jimin’s wings to the almost-glowing cherry blossoms filling up the branches enough times that Jimin’s eyes begin to darken in impatience.
That’s when Jungkook says, “I was looking for you, and you’ve been here the whole time. Didn’t you want to say hello, after last time?” Jungkook grins at Jimin, without warning, and Jimin’s eyes go wide. “I don’t bite.”
Jimin is still, even his wings are still, despite the cool breeze nipping through the trees. It’s almost as if he isn’t there at all.
Then, all at once, Jimin is inches from Jungkook, and his nails feel very real tracing down Jungkook’s jaw, his breath feels so warm, breaking across Jungkook’s neck, and that’s his nose, pressing against Jungkook’s cheek and Jimin’s wings, tickling over Jungkook’s calves, that’s his sweetlowvoice saying, “but I do,” and Jungkook—
Jungkook tilts his head, only needs to shift it a couple inches, really, before he and Jimin are kissing.
Jungkook thinks dangerous, dangerous. You aren’t supposed to go wandering in the deep forest, aren’t supposed to go so close to the border, aren’t supposed to talk to anything if you should so see it, and you definitely aren’t supposed to go around kissing what you see. There is an eighty percent chance that Jimin might actually eat him, but Jungkook has been able to think of nothing else since he last saw the fairy. Nothing but the black wings closing in around him now, the red shine of Jimin’s mouth, the softsharp lines of his face, and the small percent chance of something good happening, because Jungkook doesn’t like clichés, but something good must come from something so incredibly beautiful.
And Jimin is. He is so, so beautiful.
As desperately as Jungkook wants to continue kissing Jimin, he yanks back on another instinct. Jimin is a fae, has nails sharp enough to cut bone, he’s got fucking wings, silver fucking eyes, and Jungkook has just kissed him.
And wants so desperately to do it again.
It’s like the breath has been sucked right out of him when Jungkook feels small hands against the hard lines of his back pull him closer and Jimin kisses him back.
He isn’t gentle. In fact, Jimin kisses Jungkook so aggressively that a part of him has a feeling Jimin is trying to terrify him, trying to get Jungkook to turn tail and run.
But here’s the thing.
Jungkook loves it. He loves the sting of his skin breaking between Jimin’s teeth, the hungry growl Jimin emits as he swipes his tongue over the wound, the bruising suck as Jimin pulls Jungkook’s lower lip into his mouth. Jungkook moans into it, into Jimin, feels like he’s falling all over afuckingagain, this time with the weight of Jimin’s wings pressed close around his body, and his lips, his lips, his lips.
Jungkook doesn’t know how long they kiss for, thinks it could as easily be hours as it could be seconds, flushes when he notices how raw and sensitive his mouth is when they finally do pull back, almost at the same time.
Jimin’s eyes are startlingly inhuman, silver and gleaming out at Jungkook from under half lidded eyes.
“Why aren’t you scared?” Jimin asks in a low voice, the smallest of wrinkles pinching between his eyebrows.
“You want me to be?” Jungkook says, instead of his actual thoughts, which are somewhere between the lines of holy shit and fucking kiss me again.
The truth is, he is scared. His heart is pumping so hard he can hear it in his ears, can hardly swallow past the beat of it large and swollen in his throat. Jimin is looking right at Jungkook, lips redder than ever, and his wings are softsoftsoft. He doesn’t answer Jungkook, which is fair, since Jungkook hadn’t really answered him.
Jungkook speaks again first, and his voice comes out surprisingly clear. “If you wanted to kill me, you would have done it ages ago.” A pause. “You wouldn’t have stopped hiding, just to catch me.”
He’s not asking a question, this time.
Jimin steps back from Jungkook, not enough to have to unfurl his wings, but it gives each of them some room to breathe, although Jungkook really just wants to step forward and breathe Jimin in again.
“Just because I helped you with some magic vines doesn’t mean I’m going to do it again,” Jimin finally says. He taps on his lip, a quick, wet click-click, then the filed point is coming down on Jungkook’s mouth. There’s a sharp sting, like Jimin pricked him with a needle. “Doesn’t mean I won’t kill you.”
Jungkook reaches up to touch his lip, pulls his hand away and blinks down at the smear of red on his finger. When he looks back up, Jimin is watching him, something satisfied and set in his gaze, like he already knows what Jungkook is going to do.
His wings begin to relax, falling off Jungkook’s shoulders as Jimin pulls them back towards himself, releases Jungkook from their circle.
“Okay,” Jungkook says, and he closes the distance Jimin put between them, slides his arms around his middle, disturbing the black silk robe tied loosely around Jimin’s frame, and Jungkook presses them closer then they’d even been when Jimin had caught him falling eleven days earlier. “Kill me.”
Jungkook can feel his heart in his throat, feels the blood pumping hard in his veins, electric boomboombooms tingling in his fingertips, steady and strong and sure as Jimin tilts his head at him before leaning down, eyes flashing.
Jimin kisses Jungkook, instead.
Kisses him hard, too, harder than before. Kisses him until the blood is gone and there’s nothing but Jungkook’s mouth and Jimin’s mouth and it’s just them, and Jungkook would wait however long Jimin made him wait, although after they kiss, after this—Jimin doesn’t stay away. Jungkook waits under the cherry blossoms, four, five minutes, maybe, before Jimin is sliding out of the shadows. Sometimes, some nights, he’ll even be waiting for Jungkook, wings rustling impatiently but eyes fond as Jungkook bounds towards him.
Their greetings to each other becomes second nature.
“Hello, bunny,” Jimin murmurs, sometimes from overhead, sometimes against Jungkook’s mouth.
“Hello, beautiful,” Jungkook will say, caught between a mumble and a grin, and Jimin giggles at him, wings ruffling in pleasure, sharpened nails dragging lightly up the center of Jungkook’s back.
So.
Jungkook knows that Jimin loves this place where their worlds come together, because it’s the place where they come together, too.
nine
Jungkook loves Jimin’s wings.
They’re more beautiful, Jungkook thinks, than anything else in the world. And it’s not an exaggeration, it’s not. Maybe, maybe, they wouldn’t be so beautiful, if they weren’t Jimin’s.
But they are. The full length of just one is nearly as tall as Jimin, sprouting strong from the tendons between his shoulder blades, each wing curving prettily past the narrow width of his shoulders and stretching far, far out on either side.
When he’s feeling particularly full of himself, they stay aloft like that, held high and proud. When he’s threatened, or angry, the soft curve straightens into a near straight line. On a normal day, they are held about level with Jimin’s back, feathers ruffling at a light breeze, or a kiss from Jungkook.
They’re even beautiful when he’s not trying, dragging their weight behind Jimin after a long day, or a rough fuck. They never seem to be affected by the outside elements, a strange sort of sheen constantly covering the black feathers, making the pink tipped edges gleam like a blade.
“I didn’t know,” Jungkook tells Jimin one night, “fairies had feathers in their wings. That’s not what they teach us.”
“Since when do you listen to what they teach you?” Jimin teases, one wing curving around to tickle Jungkook’s leg. “Don’t they teach you to not come into the woods at night?”
“Technically, they demand you not do that.” Jungkook reaches for Jimin’s wing, pausing with his fingers just inches from a pink edge. He looks at Jimin. “Can I?”
He asks the first time, and the next few times after that, addicted to the sharpness of their appearance, the softness that is what they really are. It’s like water, but warm, silk, but full, and soon, Jungkook doesn’t need to ask anymore, sometimes just needs to reach out a hand and one of Jimin’s wings will extend towards his touch, like opposite ends of a magnet.
Eventually, when they sleep outdoors, under the flickering shadows of the cherry blossoms, Jimin wordlessly leaves one wing extended in a way where it’s comfortable for Jungkook to lay his head down on the feathers, and fall asleep with the soft warmth of them pillowed under his head, the solid heat of Jimin’s body curled towards his.
On the nights when Jimin wants to press his back against Jungkook’s, they figure out a way to make it work. One wing, the one nearest to the ground, is where Jungkook lays, and the other will drape back over Jungkook, or forward over Jimin’s body. Jungkook likes these nights too, because he gets to look at the purple veins spreading from the place where Jimin’s wings fuse into his back, a web of colors that fades as it stretches towards the edges of Jimin’s shoulder blades, the tops of his shoulders.
Jungkook loves those moments, just as much as he loves the moments when they’re not sleeping, where he’s on his knees with his wrist tied behind him (oh god he loves that sofuckingmuch). Sometimes Jungkook is wearing the blindfold, sometimes the long, silky bunny ears, sometimes a gag— and sometimes it’s nothing, he’s not even tied up, but he kneels and is still as Jimin slowly circles him, dragging his feathers down the tremble of his back, a soft brush across his nipples, his voice, gentle, saying, “straighten up” and when Jungkook does, the wingtip flicks over his cock, hard and flushed against Jungkook’s stomach.
“Feels nice?” Jimin asks.
“Feels so good,” Jungkook says, if there’s nothing in his mouth. “You’re amazing, you’re amazing.”
“Am I?” Jimin murmurs. He pauses behind Jungkook, wings tickling across his throat, more dragging down his bare back.
“Please, please please, Jimin,” Jungkook begs. “You are, just look at you, fuck—?” He stops, abruptly, when feathertips drag over his mouth, tickling the flushed skin. Jungkook keeps his lips parted, eyelashes fluttering rapidly when Jimin continues to brush across the skin.
“Look at you,” Jimin breathes. “You—you want this so badly, don’t you?”
Helpless, Jungkook nods. “I love it. I love it.”
Jimin preens, feathers ruffling. When he responds, he’s behind Jungkook again, and his voice is so quiet he almost misses it, but doesn’t.
“Me too, bunny.”
eight
Jungkook loves being tied up.
Jimin, for all his filthy talk, the rough way he twists his fingers in Jungkook’s hair and pulls, the glittering, sharpened points of his nails scraping the base of his neck, always uses the softest silk to wrap around the delicate skin of Jungkook’s wrists, to secure them behind his back. He ties it tight (and Jungkook loves, god he loves that), but cloth is soft against his skin.
(When they’re done, Jimin’s lips don’t drag over bruises, but red, indented skin, flushed from the pressure of the bind.)
“Tighter,” Jungkook still whispers when Jimin is securing the knot, because he still likes if there’s marks, likes running his fingers over them during the day, when he’s home, when he’s at school, when he’s at work, when he’s away from Jimin.
Jungkook looks over his shoulder, and the pink edges of Jimin’s wings tickle his cheek. The material pulls a little more on his wrist, and Jungkook returns Jimin’s smirk with one of his own.
“Is it one of those days, bunny?” Jimin coos. His wings arch back behind him and push downwards, lifting him from his crouch until he’s back on his feet, looking down at Jungkook. “Want it to hurt, a little?”
Jimin waits, wings dark and relaxing behind him as he watches Jungkook test the binding, silver eyes glittering in the twilight when Jungkook shuffles forward as best he can on his knees, blinking up through his lashes.
“More than a little.”
Jimin’s wings seem to shiver, and his eyes darken.
Jungkook presses on. “Wanna bleed. Wanna cry, Jimin.”
“Stop talking,” Jimin says with a sharp grin, “and maybe we can arrange that. Okay, bunny?”
Jungkook breathes hard through his nose and nods, keeping his eyes on Jimin.
“What do you want tonight?” Jimin says, letting his hand settle on the top of Jungkook’s head. Jungkook can feel his nails lightly scraping over his scalp and has to hold in another shiver. “Want my tongue? My fingers?” He tugs, still teasing, still lightly, on Jungkook’s hair. “Want my cock?”
Quickly, Jungkook nods again.
Jimin’s hands drag down the side of his face, and Jungkook opens his mouth when Jimin’s fingernails catch on his lip, shuddering when he tastes blood on his tongue.
“Delicate,” Jimin says softly, almost like he’s talking to himself. He pushes his finger inside Jungkook’s mouth, smiling down at him when Jungkook immediately sucks. “Want my cock here?”
Jungkook keeps sucking, keeps his eyes on Jimin, but he shakes his head slowly, back and forth.
Jimin pulls his fingers out, roughly pats Jungkook’s cheek with the back of his hand when Jungkook goes to chase after them. “Stay, bunny.”
“Jimi—”
Jimin yanks Jungkook’s head back by the hair so roughly he cuts Jungkook off mid-word, and he’s left gasping up at the glowing cherry blossoms, unable to do a damn thing, wrists tied behind him, cock hard against his stomach. Jimin bends towards him, back straight, wings spread, so graceful and so fucking beautiful that Jungkook can’t help himself. “Jimin.”
“Stop whining,” Jimin giggles, tugging harder on Jungkook’s hair. “Or I’ll sit up in the branches and just look at you. Doesn’t sound so bad for me.”
“Please,” Jungkook gasps, straining against Jimin’s grip, knowing Jimin will let go if Jungkook wants him to, knowing that he won’t because Jungkook adores it.
“All right,” Jimin murmurs. His grip in Jungkook’s hair stays tight, painful, and Jungkook gasps again. “Take it out.”
Jungkook’s eyes flicker to Jimin’s, and his hands twitch, straining against the binding.
“Take it out, bunny,” Jimin urges him, wings flaring up for a moment, and Jungkook properly whines now, shoulders aching and back straining as he scrabbles clumsily behind him, trying to find a grip on the plug he’d worked in before coming. His fingers slip on the lube smeared on the rounded edge, and he curses, yelping when Jimin lightly smacks him on the jaw.
“Having trouble?” Jimin teases. He pulls on Jungkook’s hair more, forcing him to arch his back, bringing his hands closer to the plug. “There you go, s’right there. You just gotta take it out. Then you can have what you want.”
Just as Jungkook fingers find a grip, Jimin kisses him.
Unfair Jungkook thinks as Jimin kisses over the small wound on his lip, coaxes Jungkook’s tongue out of his mouth to suck on. His fingers slip over the edge of the plug, and he squeezes them into fists when Jimin flicks his tongue over Jungkook’s. Fuck.
“I guess you don’t want it that badly,” Jimin says against his mouth.
Jungkook hisses, stretching his back again, panting when Jimin grins down and watches him struggle to find another grip. His fingers slip and slide and actually push the plug a little deeper. He twitches and Jimin hums, giving his hair another tug.
“C’mon. C’mon, sweet.”
Jungkook can feel precum beading at the head of his cock, feels hot and flushed from the effort of straining against the binds, the way all the movement has the plug pressing against his walls. When he finally, finally gets a hold of the plug and begins to pull, he wants to sob in relief.
“You pull it out any faster, you’re gonna hurt yourself,” Jimin whispers into his ear.
“Want you,” is Jungkook’s reply.
Jimin’s wings flap, and there’s a sweet-warm rush of air and suddenly Jimin’s behind Jungkook, soothing a hand over his straining fingers until Jungkook lets them fall away, lets Jimin take over.
He only teases a little, fucks the plug back into Jungkook a couple times before slowlyslowly pulling it out, dropping it on top of Jungkook’s clothes crumpled by the base of the cherry tree.
“Still want it to hurt?” Jimin whispers into his neck.
Jungkook nods, desperately because yesyesyes.
His cry is loud, when Jimin fucks into him, keeping Jungkook upright with one hand on his shoulder, the other in his hair. His body achessogood, and his mouth is hanging open, spit pooling under his tongue as Jimin fucks harder, uses his wings to do so, swings them back to better snap his hips forward, and Jungkook can do nothing but take it, loves it, loves the slap of their flesh coming together, the silk sliding against his wrists, the sharp tug on the roots of his hair, the way Jimin’s nails dig into his skin, breaking it, just like Jungkook loves (and Jimin does too).
“Look how pretty you bleed,” Jimin whispers. His wings flap backwards again, his cock fucks Jungkook deep, and Jungkook sobs, feels spit dribble out of the corner of his mouth as Jimin does it again, and again, and again.
“I—” Jungkook tries, crying out when Jimin scrapes his nails down from his shoulder down over his back, fingers wrapping around one forearm.
“That’s it,” Jimin says, breathless, moving faster, moving harder, and when he lets go of Jungkook’s hair, uses the hand to hold Jungkook up by the other arm to tug him back onto his cock, Jungkook comes with a shout, choking just to catch his breath past the build up of saliva in his mouth, moaningmoaningmoaning when Jimin comes with a feral sound, lips coming down to kiss over the red scratches on his back, tongue licking at the beading red.
He continues to kiss Jungkook as he unties him, kisses his back clean, kisses the tears from his cheeks, kisses the irritated skin of his wrists, and Jimin wraps Jungkook in the warmth of his wings and kisses him and kisses him and kisses him. Jungkook’s lower back aches deliciously, his muscles are sore and stiff, but Jimin is so gentle it doesn’t even hurt, red mouth still dragging over Jungkook’s wrists, running the undone silk up and down his shivering back.
“Jungkook,” Jimin whispers against his skin. “Jungkook, Jungkook.”
He says Jungkook’s name a lot, in these moments, like it’s all he can say, all he knows to say.
So Jungkook just mumbles back, voice hoarse, eyelids heavy, “I know. I know.”
seven
Jungkook loves to look pretty for Jimin.
There are lots of ways to do this. Sometimes, Jimin will tie a collar around his neck, let his black, shimmering nails drag underneath the strip of fabric as he admires, whispers hotly against Jungkook’s jaw “mine” just before he pulls away. Other times, Jungkook will sit and wait under the blossoms of the cherry tree in nothing but lace— Jimin’s favorites are the lighter ones, pastel pinks and blues and purples that hug his ass and do nothing to cover how hard he always gets, before Jimin has even arrived. Just from waiting there, in their spot, knowing what is going to happen the moment the sun touches the far horizon.
“Did you walk across town like that?” Jimin asks when the rays stretch orange across the sky, and Jungkook looks up, sees Jimin sitting in the tree. His black wings are always, initially, a stark contrast to the cherry blossoms filling up the branches, but the pink glimmering at the edges make him look like a work of art, that belongs, but so perfectly he’s unreal, untouchable.
Except he’s not.
Jungkook gets to touch him. And be touched by him.
Jungkook is already breathing heavy when Jimin gracefully drops to the ground, wings flinging out from his shoulder blades to slow the fall, and when he reaches into the inside of his robe, always dark, always flowing, always falling away from his shoulders leaving him uninhibited, Jungkook feels something hot lick through his blood.
“Well? Did you?” Jimin says, stopping in front of Jungkook, hand still tucked inside his robe.
Jungkook wets his lips and lightly taps on his overcoat crumpled under his knees, long and dark, though nothing nearly as elegant as what Jimin always wears.
“Just that?” Jimin says, grinning because he knows.
It’s not long before Jimin pulls out what he’d been hiding, dangling the pink, silky headband from his fingertips. Jungkook stares at the way his nails, always so black but still shimmering, like he’d dragged them through galaxies and come away with planets stuck in the keratin, nearly pinch a hole through one of the lengths of cloth.
“Oh, bunny,” Jimin purrs, tying a small, gentle knot at the base of Jungkook’s neck and sifting the band over the top of his head, fixing his hair so it nearly covers the strip and all that’s visible are the two, long pink rabbit ears falling over the strands of his hair.
Jungkook knows, Jimin loves when he looks pretty like this.
six
Jungkook loves when Jimin takes him into his Realm.
“Stay close,” he whispers, wings held high behind him in a clear warning. “You take a step too far, bunny, and you’ll get eaten up.” Jimin’s wings curl briefly around Jungkook as they walk, the ground glowing with each of Jungkook’s steps. “And not the way you like.”
Jungkook stays close, because there’s no reason not to, has a feeling, in fact, that Jimin is more dangerous than over half of what they see. And Jungkook loves to take it in. The ground trembles and ripples like water around every one of Jungkook’s footfalls, but it’s solid, and overhead is nothing but fog, thick and roiling, blocking out most of the light, so thickly Jungkook can’t tell if it’s the moon, or the sun, or something else.
Everything is tinted red.
“Why don’t you have footprints?” Jungkook asks, looking behind him at the ultraviolet purple fading in his wake, the complete absence of such behind Jimin.
“I’m a predator, bunny,” is Jimin’s response, pulling Jungkook even closer to nose up his neck and into his hair as the glowing foliage around them begin to lessen, give way to houses and structures built out of trees and dirt, the sky overhead still nothing but a roiling red cloud. “Can’t be so obvious.”
Jungkook laughs at that, notices how a fae walking across the path whirls at the sound of his voice, translucent wings fluttering and sparkling behind him as he takes them in, eyes settling on Jungkook.
Jimin notices too, and his grin is wicked, not the wicked that teases and plays, but threatens and knows. In the red light, his teeth look strange, almost sharp, and the pupil nearly fills out the silver of his eyes.
The other fae is quick to walk away, wings tucked close to his back.
“You’re obvious,” Jungkook tells Jimin, and Jimin giggles at him, smiling when Jungkook takes the lead, because he knows where Jimin lives.
It’s something else Jungkook knows Jimin loves.
five
Jungkook also loves when Jimin comes to him.
Jimin doesn’t need Jungkook to guide him, so sometimes, when Jungkook is leaving class, or work, Jimin is there to meet him.
He blends in, where it’s necessary. He forces his wings into tight, dark leather (although he won’t tell Jungkook what kind whenever he asks), and although it’s strange to see him with his shoulders covered, it’s nice, sometimes, to walk hand in hand down the city streets. He wears sunglasses, although the sun is never out when he visits, and more often than not, he just laughs and says “no where” when people ask where he gets his contacts from, and he’s so charming, so sweet, that no one thinks anything of it.
Usually, Jimin comes at night. He smiles at Jungkook’s roommate when he’s the one to answer the door, tugging on the leather jacket as he sweeps inside. He doesn’t ever complain about having to nearly crush his wings to keep the length of them covered, hushes Jungkook when he fusses over the tendons when they’re alone.
“Everyone knows there are fairies,” Jungkook mumbles, trying not to focus too deeply on the rippling under the leatherback of the jacket, knows how much it hurts Jimin to fold his wings so tightly. Often, when they’re planning to not stay in for long, Jimin keeps the jacket on, so he only has to do it once, although he never says that is why. “You should just stop with the jacket. We don’t hide what I am when I visit.”
Jimin smiles at him. “A human in close quarters is amusing. A fairy would…” Jimin taps one daggered nail against his fat lower lip, leaning heavily towards Jungkook as he does. “Cause a panic.”
“Wouldn’t,” Jungkook says as Jimin climbs over him, pressing Jungkook back into the mattress. “Why would you cause a panic?”
He’s taunting, and they both know it. Jimin’s eyes glint, and Jungkook can hear the rustle of his wings against the leather.
“Dunno,” Jimin says, now dragging his nail up the quivering skin of Jungkook’s neck. “Why do humans stay indoors on moonless nights? Mm? Scared of being—” Jimin scrapes his nail just under the jut of Jungkook’s lower lip, smiling when Jungkook’s breath catches and he cants his hip upward. “—eaten up?”
“You wouldn’t,” Jungkook says, humming when Jimin leans down and slots their lips together. “Jimin.”
“I would,” Jimin mumbles, sucking Jungkook’s lip into his mouth, pinching it between his teeth, hard enough to make Jungkook moan. “Wanna eat you right up, bunny.”
“Okay,” Jungkook breathes, “okay.”
Jimin’s smile widens, and Jungkook aches with want. “Turn around.”
Jungkook forgets they were going somewhere, thinks they can be late, or reschedule, then decides it really doesn’t fucking matter when Jimin spreads him open and drags his tongue up across his hole, digs his nails hard enough into Jungkook’s skin to leave red crescent moon marks and draw blood in a couple spots, whispers against his rim, “always taste so good, bunny.”
It’s Jimin’s mouth, a combination of what he does with it (tongue’s so long and wet and deep) and what comes out of it (pretty little thing, taste so good, could live off you forever) that has Jungkook coming with a loud whine. He shivers with Jimin’s fingers pumping the last of his orgasm out of him, moans when Jimin pushed them cum-covered into his mouth.
Jungkook sits back on his calves, holding Jimin’s hand close by the wrist as he licks his fingers clean, hissing when Jimin pulls away before he’s barely finished, just to kiss him.
“Taste so good,” Jimin sighs. He grins against Jungkook’s shining mouth, leaning back again, shaking his head when Jungkook reaches for him. “Ah, ah. Didn’t you make plans?”
Jungkook wipes the back of his hand across his mouth. “You started it.”
“And I finished it, too,” Jimin hums. He delicately wipes saliva from the corner of his mouth before pecking Jungkook, surprisingly chaste, on the lips. “Let’s go. Please? You said you would show me what mini-golf is.”
“Don’t you wanna stay here?” Jungkook mumbles. “We can order in.” His gaze lingers on Jimin’s shoulder, the narrow curve of leather draped over them. “You can take that off.”
Jimin is quiet for a beat, eyelashes fluttering as he blinks, thoughtful. “I like seeing your world, though, bunny. Wanna see as much of it as I can.”
“You can come out and see it whenever you want.”
Jimin smiles, softly. “That’s the world. Not yours.” Jimin cups Jungkook’s chin between his palm, nails tickling at Jungkook’s jawline. “Not what I…”
Jungkook knows, although Jimin doesn’t say it.
four
Jungkook really loves when they talk.
“I didn’t think I would ever...” Jimin sighs, toes dipping into the silver river, face glimmering strangely from the open blue flame Jungkook is poking at.
Jungkook stops moving, even as Jimin lets his robe slip from his frame, sliding into the water, silver splashes over his collarbones, drowning the black feathers of his wings.
“Would ever what?”
Jimin submerges himself completely for a moment, and when he breaks back through the surface, straightening until the water comes to his waist and there’s just streams of silver dripping down over his skin. His hair is gleaming. His wings are completely coated.
Jungkook is breathless, every time.
“Have this,” Jimin says, lips glistening from the river. He blinks silver out of his lashes. “Have you.”
Jungkook doesn’t say anything, just watches, and he waits.
Jimin slowly turns in a circle, talking as he does. Jungkook stares at the dimples in his back, the deep shadows his wings cast over them, but listens, attentively, to what Jimin is saying.
“You know what we can do, that humans don’t really know about?” He hums. “We can see the worst thing that a human will ever do. Like, if you’re three years old, but you’re going to murder fifty people when you’re twenty-six. We see. We know. All of the human deaths, at a fae’s hand—it’s usually the older, more traditional fae, but the deaths are justified—” Jimin pauses at that word, lips twisting wryly “—because it prevents something much worse from happening.”
Jungkook keeps his eyes on the muscles rippling around Jimin’s waist as he turns, doesn’t say anything. Jimin continues, voice a little softer, almost husky.
“’Course, there’s the,” a pause, a dry laugh, “argument of fate not being set in stone, it’s all dependent on people’s choices, blah blah blah, it’s all really tedious after a while, and lots of the youngers ones just don’t give a damn.” Jimin pauses, dips his fingertips in the silver and drags his nails through it. “Regardless, I never see good. But then. There was you. Out of nowhere.” Jimin exhales. “So, yeah I. I never thought I’d have you, Jungkook.”
Jungkook finally looks up at Jimin, and Jimin huffs, looking almost shy as he smiles, eyes glinting silver as the water.
Jimin raises his wings higher, and slowly, the silver river water begins to fall off the feathers. “We don’t have relationships, or families.” Jimin stretches his wings a bit more. “Don’t need them, don’t really—it’s like…we’re just born from different parts of nature. I crawled out from a half-burnt cherry tree, you know?” Jimin’s eyes gleam when they settle on the blue open flame in front of Jungkook, and he shakes a little of the river water off. “Make sure you keep an eye on that, bunny. It’s so easy to ruin things here.”
Jungkook catches his gaze, holds it.
“You’re the farthest thing from ruined I’ve ever seen.”
Jimin’s smile is crooked. “You don’t get out much, Jungkookie.”
But Jungkook does. And he knows.
three
(There isn’t a delicate way to put this one.)
Jungkook loves Jimin’s cock.
It’s ironic. Jungkook was never the guy to think a cock was pretty, per se. Didn’t mean he didn’t like them, he just, never spent much time looking, would rather have one inside him or have his hands around his own, but.
Jungkook loves Jimin’s pretty fucking cock.
He loves touching it, feeling it against his own, getting fucked by it, and, more than anything, loves to choke on it. Loves feeling his eyes tear up with Jimin’s hands in Jungkook’s hair and his dick down Jungkook’s throat. Loves running his lips over the shaft, blinking through his tears to see the spit-covered skin, and holy fuck he’s got the prettiest cock Jungkook’s ever seen.
Well.
Maybe it isn’t fair, to compare the rest of the world (or at least, his six or eight one-night stands) to someone as otherworldly as Jimin, with his ice-silver eyes, ink-black hair, shimmering pointed nails, and shivering, shining feathers sprouting from between his shoulder blades.
Sometimes, when Jimin’s comes, with his cock deep in Jungkook’s throat and Jungkook moaning and sniffling around it as he hugs Jimin around the backs of his thighs, his wings stretch, but forward rather than to the side, so they partially hover over Jungkook, almost covering him. And when he comes, when he moans, they rustle, sparkling waves of something fine and glittering falling from the feathers.
“Haven’t you ever heard of fairy dust?” Jimin grins against Jungkook’s mouth a couple minutes later when Jungkook runs his hand over his shoulder and pulls it away with his palm glimmering. The skin the dust has touched tingles and burns, like someone’s held an open flame close to the skin.
Jungkook looks at Jimin, eyes open and wanting.
Jimin licks into Jungkook’s mouth, then, kisses him until Jungkook is pressed back against the bark of the cherry tree, grinding his hips up against the firm skin of Jimin’s thigh, until Jimin is giggling into his mouth, “want it again, bunny? Like how my wings make you feel?”
Jungkook moans and arches against him.
Jimin’s voice is low, teasing. “Want my cock in your mouth again?”
Jungkook suckles on him until he’s hard again, lets Jimin fuck his mouth until he can’t see straight, eyelashes clumped with tears and gagging on every other forward thrust, but sobbing when Jimin tries to pull back and clutching the fairy tighter around the legs to keep him close.
And Jungkook knows that Jimin—
Jimin loves that. Loves that Jungkook takes him deep, eagerly, deep enough to the point that Jungkook can’t quite breathe, but still doesn’t let go, because he loves it (and he does).
Jimin fucking loves that, and Jungkook fucking knows it.
two
Jungkook loves when Jimin kisses him.
(They kiss a lot.)
Jimin’s lips seem to get redder, the more they kiss, shinier, like he’s applying a gloss every time they break apart to breathe. He’s obviously not, is quick to dive back into kissing Jungkook all the harder, moaning open-mouthed when Jungkook curves his fingers over the purple lines in Jimin’s back where the base of his wings are, the length of them stretching then relaxing as Jungkook strokes over the veins.
Jimin, for all he is, makes the softest noises when they kiss. Quiet, throaty little hums as he sucks on Jungkook’s lip, lets Jungkook lick behind his teeth, kisses him solidly on the mouth and lets their tongues tangle together.
“Always taste so nice,” Jimin murmurs against Jungkook’s mouth, kissing him and kissing him and kissing him.
Jimin kisses Jungkook so much. In greeting, in the middle of Jungkook telling a story, before they go to sleep, in the middle of Jungkook sobbing and begging to be fucked harder—Jimin likes dip forward and kiss Jungkook before they continue.
And when they start, Jungkook never wants to stop, because Jimin’s mouth is always so softsoftsweet. And the longer they kiss, the sweeter he tastes, although when he tells Jimin this once, Jimin just laughs at him.
“No one’s ever called me sweet before,” Jimin murmurs into Jungkook’s neck, rolling his hips down against Jungkook’s. “You’re sweet, mm? You’re the sweet one. Jungkook, bunny.”
Jungkook feels drunk, off how good Jimin feels, wings draped around them, bare thighs sliding against his, lips puckering and sliding and pressing on Jungkook’s.
“You,” Jungkook whispers into Jimin’s mouth, fingers digging into his hips, moaning when Jimin’s eyes flash darkly, Jungkook’s lower still lip caught between his teeth. “You, you, Jimin, it’s you—” he’s babbling, words coming out muffled, hips rolling up desperately against Jimin’s.
“Quiet, bunny, quiet,” Jimin says, secures a grip in Jungkook’s hair and pulling him back, just out of reach of Jimin’s mouth. His lips curve when Jungkook whines. “What is it? You want me? Think I taste nice?”
“Jimin,” Jungkook groans. “Please, yes, please.”
And Jimin loves it too, so he never stops kissing Jungkook for very long.
one
Jungkook loves when Jimin sits in his lap.
Some nights, it’s just them talking, mouths moving against each other, Jimin’s eyes icy and half lidded as Jungkook lazily presses Jimin’s lower lip between his own. His wings curve around them, like a blanket, and Jungkook kisses Jimin a little deeper.
Some nights, Jungkook still has Jimin’s cum dripping around his mouth, jaw aching from how long he’d had Jimin in his mouth, but Jimin kisses him regardless. Jimin moans husky and rough when the tip of Jungkook’s cock pushes past his rim, and sinks down until he’s fully seated on Jungkook’s lap, just like they both adore.
Jimin likes to use his wings to help him balance, help him bounce, and some nights it's all Jungkook can do to not fall apart in seconds, biting down on his tongue until he tastes copper, just to stop himself from coming. Jimin’s lips curve as he watches him bite back his whines, eyes bright and intent, always, always on Jungkook.
“How do I measure up, bunny,” Jimin whispers into Jungkook’s ear as he tightens around him, “to your human toys?”
It isn’t a fair question, or one that Jimin doesn’t already know the answer to. No one, and nothing measures up to Jimin, no one feels so good, looks so beautiful, and Jimin knows this.
But Jimin also knows that there isn’t another human like Jungkook. A human that bold enough to venture into the deep wood, by the borderline. A human that can reduce a creature like Jimin into a shuddering, whimpering mess.
Jungkook likes the nights when he’s doing the fucking too, when he gets to see the muscles work in Jimin’s back as he bends and takes Jungkook deep, over and over and over again, watch how his wings tense and then relax on each thrust.
“Jungkook,” he whispers, then whines. “Jungkook, you’re so good to me.”
And Jungkook fucks him harder because for Jimin, good isn’t enough, not nearly enough, and Jungkook wants to be more for him, more than anything Jimin’s ever known.
Because here, in the deepest, darkest part of the wood, where there is a rift between their worlds causing the light from the moon to shine purple and make the air taste different, electric, where the only other glow comes from the creatures that wander amongst the dark, here, Jungkook sees the beauty in the shadows.
In Jimin. When he’s flat on his back with Jimin on top of him, wings spread with fairy dust falling around them in glittering waves, silver eyes bright and glowing, Jungkook knows there is nothing more beautiful in any world—his or Jimin’s. None of the fairy tales Jungkook knows come close to describing the beauty of the fae astride his thighs, wings outstretched and skin shimmering in the purple light of the moon.
Jimin, in his lap, just like they both love.
‧͙⁺˚❀･༓☾ ☽༓･❀˚⁺‧͙
Jimin’s conviction of being loveless, Jungkook thinks, doesn’t have so much to do with fae being incapable of love, and more to do with no one really knowing what love is. Not until it’s dragging over your heart, gentle but burning, impossible to ignore, impossible to not feel.
It’s been quiet for a while now, nothing but the occasional breeze sifting through the glowing cherry blossoms. In its branches, Jimin is still. Jungkook beside him, waits.
“Jungkook,” Jimin finally says, and when Jungkook turns to look, Jimin cups his face in one hand, leans close into his space, and kisses him.
Jimin kisses Jungkook under the cherry tree, in the branches of his tree, the one that grows from a seedling of the half-burnt husk Jimin had been born from, a seed that he’d brought from his Realm to see if it could thrive so far from home.
(It’s such a beautiful tree now.)
Jimin kisses Jungkook in its branches, so softly Jungkook actually opens his eyes, gasping shallowly when he sees Jimin has opened his too, and then, they are simply looking at each other. Jimin’s right wing shifts, stretches behind Jungkook’s back, curls around his shoulders.
“It’s okay,” Jungkook says with a gentle smile.
Jimin’s expression shifts, pinches for a beat, like he’s trying to hold something in, hold himself together, and Jungkook presses closer, feels his thigh slip on the branch, but Jimin steadies him, eyes shining when Jungkook says, “I can give you ten more reasons, and ten more after that, and a dozen more after that. I love you. And you—”
“Love,” Jimin interrupts, cupping Jungkook’s chin with his palm.
Jungkook’s smile grows. “Yes?”
Jimin actually tsks, although it sounds like he’s covering up a laugh. “Love,” he says again, but almost to himself, slowly, softly, like he’s tasting the word on his tongue.
“Yes,” Jungkook whispers back. Yes, I’m here.
Jimin looks up at the sky through the blossoms. His wings shifting is the only warning Jungkook has before Jimin hops off the branch they’d been sitting on, the wind from their weight buffeting against Jungkook as Jimin turns to face him, bobbing in the air.
“Maybe you didn’t know before,” Jungkook says as Jimin pushes himself a little closer. There’s little falls of fairy dust coming from his wings as he works them to keep himself in the air, knee bumping Jungkook’s.
“Know what?” Jimin asks.
Jungkook’s smile is confident. “Love. But you know me.”
Jimin’s eyes flicker over Jungkook’s. “I know you.”
Jungkook braces him on the branch just in time for Jimin to crowd him on top of it, thighs straddling Jungkook’s lap, wings curling around him completely so the only thing keeping them balanced is Jungkook’s hands on the bark, his abdominals contracting as he pushes back forward against Jimin.
Jimin shivers. His wings around Jungkook do too, and they pull away again, although Jungkook can feel the tell-tale burn of fairy dust on his skin, sees it glittering in his peripheral.
“You love me,” he says, looking up at Jimin with big eyes.
Jimin cups Jungkook’s face with his hands. His eyes glow.
“I love you,” he says, he whispers, he breathes, he loves.
‧͙⁺˚❀ ☾ ☽ ❀˚⁺‧͙