𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 .
Professor × Student.
"ɴᴏ ᴏɴᴇ ᴄᴀɴ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀᴢᴀʀᴀ, ɴᴏᴛ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ." He said to me, making me gulp.
"Answer me butterfly", His eyes turned dark.
"𝗬𝗲-𝘆𝗲𝘀" I stuttered.
"Good girl, you should...
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Jeon Jungkook
I woke up to the soft light of dawn filtering through the curtains, casting a warm, golden hue across the room. For a moment, I stayed still, just feeling the calm of the morning before my senses slowly awakened. Then, I became aware of her—the steady rise and fall of her chest against mine, her head nestled in the crook of my arm.
I smiled seeing her.
The way her hair spilled across the pillow, a few strands brushing against my bare skin, sent a quiet, contented warmth through me. Her face, relaxed in sleep, looked peaceful, far removed from the intensity she carried with her when she was awake. I felt the weight of her arm draped over my waist, her fingers gently brushing over my bare torso.
I shifted slightly, careful not to wake her, but just enough to study her features. Her lashes fanned out against her cheek. It struck me how rare this moment was—just us, without the world demanding something from us, without the weight of past mistakes or the uncertainty of the future.
For so long, I had imagined this—waking up with her by my side, feeling her close, like we’d somehow found our way back to each other despite everything. But in the quiet of this moment, it didn’t feel like doing anything. Just staying here and holding was everything. It felt like home.
I tightened my arm around her, drawing her closer, savouring the feel of her against me.
As I lay there, I noticed her wrist resting near my chest, her arm loosely draped over me. My eyes traced the delicate lines of the tattoo she had there, just below the pulse point. It was small, elegant—a design that always reminds me how sincerely she was in me.
The butterfly — the butterfly, she didn't think twice before getting inked just because I called her butterfly.
Carefully, I lifted my hand and brushed my fingers over the tattoo, feeling the slight difference in the texture of her skin. The movement was light, barely a touch, but enough to connect me to her in a way words couldn’t.
I traced the pattern with my fingertips, remembering the first time I had noticed it, immediately after she got it. I remember applying ointment to help her healing . It seemed like an extension of her strength, yet also of her vulnerability.
Her skin felt warm beneath my touch, the ink soft and familiar. She stirred slightly, her fingers flexing against my side, but she didn’t wake. Instead, her body relaxed even more, as if my touch reassured her, anchoring her in the quiet peace of the morning.
I brushed a strand of hair away from her face. She hummed in sleep feeling my sleep. I know she is a light sleeper, and my touches will probably disturb her, but I couldn't help but touch her. She stirred in sleep again, but she didn't wake. Instead, she snuggled closer, her warmth spreading through me like the early rays of sunlight creeping across the bed.
