a succubi's problems - jjk x bts

chapter seven

Someone's touching his hair, is the first thing Jeongguk realises the next morning. Before he's even really awake or even opened his eyes yet, he can feel the fingers running through his fringe, pushing the strands gently off his forehead and tucking the long ends behind his ear.

Jeongguks eyelashes flutter, but he doesn't open them yet. Giving himself time to fully wake up before he does that — and also because he's sure once he does the fingers combing through his hair will stop, and he doesn't want that, not yet. It's nice, to just lie there in his bed with a hand ever so softly brushing through his hair, it's a nice way to wake up. With the mellow warmth on his face he knows is from the early morning sun peaking in through his curtains, and the deft body heat coming from either side of him that he now remembers is because of taehyung and Jimin. It's the best way to wake up, really.

"I'm worried about him,"

Okay, maybe not the best way to wake up, Jeongguk corrects.

"Me too," taehyung agrees, and Jeongguk realises that the hand still pushing his fringe off his face is the hand of taehyungs, couldn't be anyone else. Too big and fingers feeling too long against this scalp. "I've never seen him act like how he did yesterday — it scared me,"

Jeongguk doesn't want this conversation to continue. So he smacks his lips, groaning like he's just come out from a very deep sleep (honestly, he had) and turns to his side to snuggle even closer to taehyung than he was already, pushing his face into what he assumes to be taehyungs clothed chest. It was hard and soft, in equal amounts, warmth beating through Jeongguks forehead and he swears he hears taehyungs heartbeat pick up, just for a second. Jeongguk tries not to dwell on it.

Jimin coos behind him, an arm snaking around Jeongguks waist and a face pressing into the back of his neck. Jeongguk relishes in the hot puff of air making the hair on his nape stand on end, before he's moving his face up and gently fluttering his eyes open against the skin of taehyungs throat.

"That tickles, kookie," taehyung mutters, and Jeongguk open and closes his eyes a couple more times just to be a dick, making taehyung giggles and push him back. "Asshole,"

Jeongguk smiles a sleep, morning dew kind of smile, rolling back onto his back and moving a fist up to rub at his eyes. "What times'it?"

"Seven, I think. We'll have to get up soon," Jimin replies, rubbing a small hand up and down Jeongguks chest to wake him up further, and Jeongguk tries to pretend like the butterflies in his stomach aren't there. But they are. They never leave.

Jeongguk nods, dropping his eyes closed again. He can't help but sigh in content when taehyungs fingers go back to threading through his hair, pushing the messy strands off of his forehead from where they'd fallen back into place again. He wants to push up into the hand, groan, ask taehyung to tug a little harder — but restrains himself. Always restrains himself. Can't do anything but.

"Is that yoongis sweater?" Jimin suddenly asks, tugging at the hem of Jeongguks sweater (not really his, but semantics) under the duvet. "When'd you put that on?"

"Last night," Jeongguk replies, voice a little less groggy now that he'd woken up a bit more. "Was in the kitchen and yoongi came out too, gave it to me,"

"Why were you in the kitchen?" Taehyung asks, tugging out a knot from Jeongguks hair that makes Jeongguk nudge his head closer to him without realising.

"Couldn't sleep," Jeongguk admits.

Jimin hums. "You could've woken us, gguk. We wouldn't have minded,"

"I know," Jeongguk says, breathing in heavily and then opening his eyes again. "We should probably get up,"

They don't say anything more as Jeongguk groans, stretching his arms above his head and sitting up. The duvet falls to his legs and Jeongguk immediately feels the cold bite at where the blanket now wasn't. He wants to crawl back into bed, fall back against his pillow and pull his black duvet over his face so it blocks out any and all signs of daylight from outside. He wants to pretend he's in a cocoon of comfort, of warmth, to hide from everything and anything — but can't. Knows he has practice, and he won't miss it. Knows he has recording today too, can't miss that. Even though every nerve and bone and sinew in him screams for him to return back to bed and never get up again, he pushes past it and throws his legs over the side, standing up instead.