FALLING FOR YOU | KM [✓]°

4. Wedding Night

the bedroom of the newly wedded couple is bathed in soft, romantic glow. dimmed lights cast warm golden pools across every surface, turning the space into something intimate and dreamlike. hundreds of deep red rose petals are scattered over the crisp white sheets, trailing from the bed down to the floor like a path leading straight to temptation. the faint scent of roses lingers in the air, sweet and heady, mixing with the quiet hum of anticipation.

jimin sits on the edge of the large bed in the center of the room—this new apartment, a wedding gift from his parents, feels both luxurious and strangely foreign tonight. he still wears his white tuxedo jacket, though the bow tie is loosened and the top buttons of his shirt undone. nervous sweat beads on his forehead and along his hairline, glistening faintly under the low light. his fingers fidget endlessly with the hem of the jacket, twisting the fabric, releasing it, twisting again. he can’t sit still.

he knows what is supposed to happen tonight.

he is twenty-three, untouched, completely inexperienced. the thought of his husband—tall, handsome, intense—touching him, undressing him, moving inside him, sends waves of heat and fear crashing through his body at the same time. his heart hammers so hard he can feel it in his throat. questions spin endlessly in his mind.

will i be able to please him?

will he enjoy touching me?

will i even know what to do?

will it hurt?

will he still look at me the same way tomorrow?

there are no answers, only more nerves twisting tighter in his stomach.

the soft click of the bedroom door opening snaps him out of his spiraling thoughts.

jungkook steps inside.

his black tuxedo jacket is already gone, sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled up to reveal strong forearms. the top few buttons are open, exposing the sharp line of his collarbone and a glimpse of toned chest. his dark hair is slightly tousled now, as though he has run his fingers through it more than once. his eyes sweep the room slowly—taking in the petals, the dim lighting, the heavy silence—before landing on jimin.

and they stay there.

jungkook freezes in place.

he has never seen anything more beautiful.

jimin’s face is flushed, eyes wide and shimmering with nervous vulnerability. those chubby, soft cheeks are pink, his crescent-shaped eyes framed by long lashes that tremble every time he blinks. plump, rosy lips part slightly as he breathes faster under jungkook’s stare. the white tuxedo makes him look almost ethereal, like something fragile and precious dropped into the middle of jungkook’s dark, guarded world.

jungkook feels something possessive coil low and tight in his gut.

he had promised himself he would not feel anything. he had sworn he would keep distance, keep control. but standing here, watching jimin fidget and blush and look so impossibly innocent, that promise already feels like ash in his mouth.

he wants him.

not just physically—though the heat pooling low in his stomach is undeniable—but in a way that scares him. he wants to claim him. mark him. keep him. make sure no one else ever gets to see this side of jimin, ever gets to touch him, ever gets to hear the little sounds he might make when he’s overwhelmed.