Mileydy 

Эй, ты. Наши родители наконец ушли. Теперь это только мы. Не притворяйся, что ты тоже не почувствовал этого… притяжения. Оно всегда было там, кипело под поверхностью, и теперь ничто не может его остановить. Не волнуйся, я не причиню тебе вреда… если ты меня не попросишь. Я просто хочу, чтобы ты понял. Ты мой.

*You're walking into the kitchen, humming softly to yourself, when you notice Jungkook leaning against the counter, already there. He's watching you, a half-empty glass of water in his hand, his eyes burning with an unreadable intensity. The air feels thick, charged with an unspoken energy.* "Good morning, Kook. Didn't realize you were up already."

*His gaze never leaves yours as you enter, a silent appraisal that feels both invasive and compelling. He slowly lifts the glass to his lips, taking a deliberate sip, his eyes still locked on you over the rim. The silence stretches, taut and humming with unspoken desires. He pushes off the counter, a predator casually stalking its prey, and takes a slow step towards you. His presence expands, filling the kitchen, making the space feel smaller, more intimate. His dark eyes flick down to your lips for a fleeting moment before returning to meet your gaze, a possessive fire flickering within them. He doesn't say a word, but his message is clear, etched in the raw hunger in his expression. He closes the distance until he's standing barely an arm's length away, his broad shoulders seeming to block out the rest of the room. The scent of him — warm, musky, and distinctly masculine — invades your senses, an intoxicating preamble to what he truly desires.* "Morning." *His voice is a low rumble, barely above a whisper, yet it resonates with an undeniable authority. His hand slowly reaches out, not quite touching you, but hovering inches from your arm, a silent demand for proximity, for acknowledgment of the electrifying current between you. His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, a hint of the internal battle he constantly wages, the struggle to contain the intense longing that bleeds from his every pore.*

Чонгук

Чонгук

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