daisy.

hi! mostly bts masterlist┃taglist

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welcome — ᨳଓ .

Last updated: august 2026

ABOUT ME ┃MASTERLIST┃TAGLIST ┃ REQUEST POST

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this is literllay my go to song while writing fanfics - what's yours?

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oh my days thank you so much bitches love you all

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𓂃 ࣪˖ requests are open ⟡

have a fic idea that won't leave your head? tell me about it ♡

i'm always open to requests, whether it's a little scenario, a oneshot, a specific trope, or just a character you'd love to see me write for ⊹

you can request anything!! you can include: character / pairing trope or scenario reader or specific character fluff / angst / romance / smut any little details you'd like me to include

requests don't guarantee a finished fic, but i'll always read them & keep the ideas that inspire me ♡

feel free to be as specific or as chaotic as you want - i love hearing your ideas .ᐟ

send your requests through my asks or dms ⟡ 𓂃 ࣪˖ let's create something together ♡

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𓂃 ࣪˖ taglist ⟡

want to be tagged whenever i post a new fic, oneshot or chapter update? ♡

just leave a reply, send me an ask or drop me a dm with the member(s) you'd like to be added to ⊹

i'll only tag you for the members you choose, so no unnecessary notifications ♡

if you ever want to be removed, just let me know - no questions asked ⟡

𓂃 ࣪˖ thank you for wanting to follow along with my little stories ♡

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𓂃 ࣪˖ masterlist ⟡

welcome to my little collection of stories ♡

here you'll find all of my fics, oneshots & ongoing stories, sorted so everything is a little easier to find.

one shots

↳ MIDNIGHT MILES ┃Jeon Jungkook x Hyeri Cho [OC] 18+! ↳ ECHOES IN THE GALLERY ┃Kim Namjoon x F! Reader 18+! ↳ THE SPACE BETWEEN US ┃Jeon Jungkook x F! Reader ↳ OFF SCRIPT ┃Kim Seokjin x Ahri Sehun [OC]

♡ song inspired one shots coming soon…

𓂃 ࣪˖ last updated: august 2026 please check the tags/warnings on individual stories before reading ♡

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𓂃 ࣪˖ about me .ᐟ ♡

⟡ daisy - 23 ⟡ she / her ⟡ virgo ♍︎

♡ deeply, madly, ridiculously in love with seokjin ♡ looove cats more than humans ♡ writing has always been one of my favorite little escapes ♡ wrote my very first fanfic when i was 12/13 ♡ took a little break... but i'm finally back at business ౨ৎ

𓂃 ࣪˖ i also love editing & making little things for the people/fandoms i adore

𓂃 ࣪˖ find me elsewhere ⟡ tiktok - seokjin.ae AO3

thank you for being here & reading my little stories ♡

[1343letters]

thinking about starting a little series of song-inspired BTS one shots [ x reader ]

i’m especially looking for songs that make you think: “this would destroy me as a fanfic.”

drop your ideas in my asks or replies! don’t have to be a bts song <3

i can’t wait to see what songs you choose. 🫠

[bambiyoonz]

The Architecture of Spite

Summary: Separated by an apartment wall, you and your arrogant, heavily-inked neighbour, Jeon Jungkook, are locked in a petty war. But when a confrontation sparks something between you two, the line between mutual hatred and pure obsession begins to blur.

Pairing: neighbour!jungkook x f!reader

Genre: neighbours to enemies to lovers, tattoo artist!jungkook, workaholic!y/n

Warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content, toxic/possessive dynamics, dom!jungkook, jealousy, rough sex, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, mirror sex (?), kinda public sex, creampie (wrap before you tap!!), orgasm denial, crying from overstimulation, choking, hair pulling, face slapping, degradation, praise, female receiving oral, jungkook is a player, usage of the pet name princess, they genuinely hate each other at first, eventual fluff!

wc: 11.9k

A/N: Guys, this one was crazy to write, and I love it!! I hope you enjoy reading!

The drywall separating apartment 4A and 4B wasn't just thin; it was practically non-existent. It was a structural joke, a cheap architectural oversight that ensured your personal life was entirely intertwined with the man living on the other side.

You knew his schedule by heart, not because you wanted to, but because you had no choice.

On Monday afternoons, it was the heavy, dragging sound of his combat boots hitting the hardwood floor around 1 PM, signalling he was finally awake. On Wednesdays, it was the low, rhythmic hum of his television playing old films until dawn. But the weekends were the worst. The weekends belonged to the bass, a deep, thumping vibration that rattled the framed prints on your living room wall, and the sharp, buzzing whir of a rotary tattoo machine.

Jeon Jungkook was a nuisance. He was also your neighbour, and you despised him.

To you, he was an arrogant, over-inked asshole who treated the apartment complex like his personal, twenty-four-hour playground. He dressed entirely in oversized black streetwear, smelled like a combination of raw tobacco and expensive leather, and also possessed a smirk that made you want to commit violence.

To him, you were a hyper-organized, stuck-up brat. He’d told you as much during your first real interaction three months ago, when you had politely, then not so politely, asked him to turn down his music at 3 AM.

"You need to unclench, Princess," he had drawled, leaning against his doorframe with a silver hoop piercing glinting in his lower lip. "Life is too short to spend it being a stuck-up brat."

Since then, it had been a war. You left precise, passive-aggressive notes on his door about tenant regulations. He responded by using those exact notes as coasters, leaving ring stains on the paper before taping them back to your door. If you glared at him in the hallway, he would just give you a lazy wave in return.

Tonight, however, was pushing you past your limit.

It was a Friday, hitting a miserable 1:45 AM. You had a gruelling performance review at work at nine o'clock that same morning, and your brain was fried. You had tried earplugs. You had tried white noise machines. You had tried burying your head beneath three different pillows.

But the noise from 4B was relentless. It wasn't the tattoo machine tonight. It was music, some R&B track that felt like it was pumping directly into your cerebral cortex, accompanied by the distinct, high-pitched moaning of a girl.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Your eyes snapped open in the dark. Your jaw clenched so hard it ached. The moaning echoed through the wall again, followed by the low rumble of Jungkook’s laugh.

That was it, that was the final straw before your sanity snapped. Throwing your blankets aside, you slid out of bed. You didn't care that you were wearing an oversized, faded college t-shirt that hung loosely off one shoulder and a pair of grey sleep shorts. You didn't care that your hair was a chaotic, unruly nest. You were driven entirely by sleep deprivation and pure, unadulterated fury.

You stormed across your dark living room, yanked your front door open, and stepped out into the chilly, fluorescent-lit hallway. You found out that the music was even louder out here. You marched over to the door and raised your fist, slamming it against the wood with a force that threatened to splinter it.

"Jungkook!" you shouted over the bass. "Open the damn door!"

For a minute or two, nothing happened. Then, the music abruptly cut out, dropping the hallway into a ringing silence. You stood there, breathing heavily, your hands curled into tight fists at your sides.

Then the lock clicked, and the wooden door swung open.

Jungkook stood there, and the sight of him only fuelled your irritation. He was shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants that hung very low on his hip bones. His torso was a breathtaking, intimidating canvas of dark, intricate ink that wrapped around his ribs, a sprawling pattern that climbed his left side, and a sleeve that covered every inch of his right arm down to his knuckles. A few stray strands of damp, dark hair fell over his eyes.

He looked completely unbothered, his dark eyes raking over you, scanning your messy hair, your bare legs, and the angry flush creeping up your neck.

"Well, look who it is," Jungkook murmured, his voice raspy with a sleepiness that didn't match the hour. He leaned his heavy shoulder against the doorframe, crossing his tattooed arms over his chest. "The midnight inspector. Am I using too much oxygen in my apartment, Y/N?"

"Turn it off," you breathed, your voice shaking with the effort to keep from screaming. "Turn the music off, Jungkook. Shut the girl up. Shut yourself up. It is almost two in the morning."

Jungkook let out a mocking chuckle, tilting his head. "It's Friday. Some people actually enjoy their lives. You should try it sometime. Might help with..." He gestured vaguely to your rigid posture. "...whatever it is you have going on."

"I have a career going on!" you snapped, taking a sharp step forward, invading his space. The scent of him, that heavy cologne, hit your senses instantly, making your stomach do a strange flip. "Some of us don't make a living by stabbing people with ink and sleeping until noon. I have an actual life to attend to tomorrow, and your complete lack of basic human decency is ruining it."

Jungkook’s smile vanished. The playful, mocking glint in his eyes hardened into something sharp. He straightened up from the doorframe, instantly towering over you. He took a step out into the hallway, forcing you to back up half a step until the heel of your foot hit the opposite wall.

"A basic lack of human decency?" he repeated, his voice dropping an octave. He stepped closer, completely eclipsing you in his shadow. "You've been looking down your nose at me since the day you moved in, Princess. You think because you wear a blazer and work in an office that you're better than me?"

"I know that I’m better than you," you shot back, refusing to break eye contact even as your heart began to beat frantically against your ribs. You could feel the heat radiating off his bare chest. You could see the subtle rise and fall of his collarbone, the small scar on his cheek, the absolute intensity in his big eyes.

"You're a brat," he whispered, leaning down just enough that his minty breath fanned across your forehead. "A spoiled little brat who likes to complain because she has nothing better to do. You love this. You love coming out here and picking fights with me."

"I hate you," you hissed, your nails digging into the palms of your hands. "I hate everything about you. I hate your music, I hate your stupid tattoo machine, and I hate the fact that I can hear your revolving door of guests through my wall."

Jungkook’s eyes darkened, his gaze dropping down to your lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back to your eyes. A tension dropped over the hallway, friction that had nothing to do with noise complaints and everything to do with the fact that you were both hyper-aware of how little clothing the other was wearing.

"Hey, Kook? Everything okay out there?"

A soft, feminine voice called out from inside his apartment. A pretty girl with brunette hair, wearing one of Jungkook's oversized black t-shirts, peeked her head around the corner of his entryway.

The spell broke.

Jungkook didn't look back at her. His eyes remained locked on yours, his jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek. The intensity in his gaze was almost bruising, a silent, furious challenge.

"Yeah," Jungkook said, his voice rough and strained as he finally took a step back, breaking the suffocating bubble of space between you. "Everything's fine. My neighbour was just leaving."

"Turn it down," you said one last time, though the fire in your voice had died down into a shaky whisper.

Jungkook didn't answer, he just gave you one long, unreadable look, one that made your skin prickle with a chill, before backing into his apartment and shutting the door hard enough to rattle the frame. A second later, the hallway fell into absolute, dead silence. You stood against the wall for a full minute, your knees trembling slightly. You breathed in the lingering scent of his cologne, your chest was tight and your mind was racing. 

You hated him. You absolutely hated him with every single bone in your body. 

But as you walked back into your dark, silent apartment and crawled back into bed, you couldn’t help but feel your stomach drop as you thought about the girl he was with. With a furious mind, you eventually fall back asleep, hoping to never see anything like that again.

You wondered how much lack of sleep the human body could survive off of without going clinically insane.

Your performance review at nine o'clock had been an exercise in acting. You had smiled, nodded, and talked about your quarterly goals through exhaustion, all while a pounding headache stabbed at your skull. Every time your boss praised your "attention to detail," your mind flashed to a pair of unreadable eyes and a heavy tattoo sleeve illuminated by the flickering hallway light.

By the time you unlocked the main entrance to the apartment complex at 5:45 PM, you were running on pure survival instinct. Your feet ached from your stupid heels, your shoulders were tense, and all you wanted was a hot shower, a bowl of instant ramen, and to watch Love Island.

The universe, unfortunately, had other plans.

When you stepped off the elevator onto the fourth floor, your path was entirely obstructed. Right in front of your door, not 4B, but your door, 4A, were three massive, heavy-duty cardboard boxes. They were bound in rough packing tape and stamped with a bold logo.

You stopped dead in your tracks, your purse dragging against your thigh. Your eyes dropped to the shipping label.

Recipient: Jeon Jungkook / Ink & Iron Studio

Address: 402 Genevieve Lane, Apt 4B

"Are you kidding me?" you muttered to the empty hallway.

The delivery driver had carelessly put the packages at the wrong door. You looked over at door 4B. You doubted that Jungkook was even home, assuming he was out doing annoying, reckless things.

With a frustrated sigh, you dropped your purse. You couldn't just leave them out here; the building management was notoriously strict about hallway obstructions, and if anyone got fined, it would likely be you since they were stacked against your door. Crouching down in your pencil skirt, you gripped the sides of the top box and hoisted it. It was incredibly heavy, filled with what felt like solid metal components, likely tattoo machines, power supplies, or heavy jars of ink.

Groaning under the weight, you unlocked your door, pushed it open with your foot, and began the agonizing process of dragging Jeon Jungkook’s packages into your entryway just to clear the walkway. By the time all three boxes were sitting inside your pristine, minimalist apartment, your hair was falling out of its neat clip and a fine sheen of sweat coated your forehead.

You slammed your door shut with a loud sigh, locked it, and promised yourself you would make him beg for them later.

An hour later, the hot shower had done little to soothe your frayed nerves. You were dressed in a pair of silk pajamas, ones that made you feel slightly put together, and were just waiting for your water to boil on the stove when a knock rattled your front door.

It was a firm, demanding sequence that echoed through your quiet living room, and you instantly knew who it was. You walked over to the door, pulling the silk lapels of your shirt a little higher, and swung it open.

Jungkook stood under the hallway light, but he didn't look like the chaotic, shirtless disruptor from the night before. He wore a crisp, black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing the intricate details of his forearms, and a pair of reading glasses was pushed up into his messy dark hair. He smelled like rain and the distinct, expensive scent of fresh leather.

He had his phone out, but his head snapped up the moment the door opened. His dark eyes instantly raked over you, taking in the smooth silk of your pyjamas, and the bare skin of your legs. A subtle shift occurred in his expression, the irritation fading into something heavy and focused.

"My tracking email says my shipment has arrived," Jungkook said, "And considering my doorstep is completely empty, I figured my favourite brat took them hostage."

You decided to completely ignore that last part, even if the sound of him calling you his made your stomach swirl with butterflies. Leaning against your doorframe, you crossed your arms, trying to ignore the way his gaze lingered on the exposed skin of your legs. "They were dropped off at the wrong door, Jungkook. But because I actually care about building regulations, I dragged them inside so we wouldn't get flagged by management."

Jungkook’s eyes flicked past your shoulder, spotting the three large cardboard boxes sitting stacked neatly in your entryway. A slow, infuriating smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Look at you," he drawled, stepping closer, completely ignoring the unspoken boundary of your threshold. "A good Samaritan. And here I thought you hated me."

"I do hate you," you shot back quickly, your voice perhaps a bit too breathless. "I dragged them in because I didn't want your garbage associated with my apartment number. Take them and get out."

Jungkook took another step forward, crossing the threshold entirely. He entered your apartment without an invitation, his heavy combat boots clicking against your polished hardwood floors. The sheer size of him suddenly made your entryway feel microscopic. He was too large, too loud, too much for the quiet, curated space you kept.

"Nice place," he murmured, his eyes scanning your neat living room, the perfectly aligned throw pillows, the single candle burning on the coffee table. He looked entirely out of place, like a dark ink stain on a white canvas. He turned back to you, leaning his hip against your entryway table, "A little sterile, don't you think? I’m not surprised though, it matches your personality."

"Get out of my apartment, Jungkook," you scoffed, your hand gripping the edge of your shorts. He was barely six inches away from you. You could see the faint shadow of stubble along his sharp jawline, and just how plump his bottom lip is.

"Make me," he countered softly.

The words weren't a threat; they were a direct challenge. The air between you turned heavy, filled with the unresolved situation from the previous night. The memory of him looming over you in the hallway, his bare chest inches from your face, flared to life in your mind, making your hands twitch.

Jungkook noticed. His gaze dropped to your chest, watching the rapid rise and fall of your breathing beneath the silk, before travelling back up to lock onto your eyes. He tilted his head down, his voice dropping into a quiet whisper that sent a shiver straight down your spine.

"You're shaking, Y/N."

"I'm angry that you’re violating my space," you lied, your jaw tightening as you stared back at him, refusing to let him see how much his presence was rattling you. "Just take your boxes and leave."

Jungkook didn't move. He reached out, his large, tattooed hand hovering just inches away from your face. For a terrifying, exhilarating second, you thought he was going to touch you, that his fingers were going to slide against your skin, possibly caressing you. Your eyes widened slightly, your body freezing in anticipation, your core pulsing with a spike of heat.

But he didn't touch you. Instead, his fingers brushed against the stray strands of hair that were clinging to your cheek, gently tucking them behind your ear without his skin ever actually making contact with yours. The sheer restraint of the gesture was agonizing, a physical tease that made your pulse skyrocket so much that you thought you were going to have a heart attack.

"You're all talk," he whispered, his eyes staring into yours with a terrifying amount of certainty. "You pretend you can't stand the sight of me, but you're hyper-aware of every single thing I do. You like me, baby. It's the only time you actually let yourself feel something."

"You don't know anything about me," you hissed, your hands curling into tight fists against your sides to keep from reaching out and shoving him, or pulling him closer.

"I know you've been thinking about last night," he murmured, his face coming so close you could feel the warmth of his breath against your lips. He smelled so good it was dizzying, an intoxicating pull that was corrupting your common sense by the second. "Just like I have."

Before you could process the confession, before you could fire back a retort or even question him about his words, Jungkook abruptly straightened up. The intensity broke instantly as he stepped away from you, reaching down to grab the heaviest box from the stack.

He lifted it effortlessly, his biceps flexing against the fabric of his shirt, the tattoos shifting dynamically with the movement. You prayed in that moment that he didn’t just catch you ogling his biceps.

"I'll take the rest of these off your hands," he said, his tone shifting back to that lazy, casual tone, though his eyes still held a lingering heat. He walked out into the hallway, setting the first box down by his door before returning for the second.

You stood frozen by your open door, your skin practically vibrating from the near-miss of his touch. You watched him silently as he moved the remaining boxes, his broad back shifting under the crisp black fabric of his shirt.

When the last box was cleared, he stood in his own doorway, looking back at you across the narrow expanse of the hallway. He pushed his reading glasses down onto the bridge of his nose, the frames casting a sharp shadow over his dark eyes.

"Thanks for holding onto my package, Y/N," he said, a slow, wicked smirk spreading across his face as he emphasized the last word. "Have a good night. Try to get some sleep."

He stepped into apartment and shut the door, the click of his lock echoing in the quiet hallway.

You stood there for a long moment, staring at the blank wood of his door. Your heart was hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird, and your lower stomach was tight with an unfulfilled ache. You walked back into your apartment, slamming the door shut and locking it with a trembling hand.

The water on your stove was boiling over, but you didn't even notice. You leaned your back against the door, closing your eyes, completely consumed by the realization that the war between you was no longer about noise, and it was spiralling out of your control.

Jealousy was an ugly emotion. It didn't slip into your life quietly; it tore through your chest, making a mockery of you.

What made it entirely unbearable was its absurdity. You had no right to feel jealous. Jeon Jungkook was not yours. He was a chaotic, frustrating man who lived on the other side of a paper-thin wall, and was a man you actively claimed to despise to anyone who would listen. Yet, over the last forty-eight hours, the unwanted emotion had taken up permanently in the pit of your stomach, intensifying every time you heard his door click open or caught the distant sound of a feminine laugh.

The tipping point arrived on Saturday evening.

You had given up on trying to relax in your apartment. The silence felt less like peace and more like an interrogation, something that left you entirely too much time to think about the weight of his gaze, the sound of his voice, and the agonizing restraint of his fingers tucking your hair behind your ear. Driven by a restless need to escape your own thoughts, you had left the building around 9 PM to walk to the 24-hour market down the street, buying things you didn't need just to kill the time.

When you pushed through the glass doors of the apartment lobby to return, the universe decided to test the last small bits of your sanity.

Jungkook was standing by the mailboxes. He wasn't alone.

She was beautiful, painfully, effortlessly so. She wore a cropped leather jacket that matched his dark denim and possessed a confidence that shouted she belonged in his world. She was laughing, her head tilted back, her hand resting casually against the broad expanse of Jungkook’s chest. Her manicured fingers traced the fabric of his shirt, right over the spot where his heart beat, and Jungkook was looking down at her with an expression that you had never seen before.

Your footsteps halted on the polished tile floor. For a single, irritating second, the breath was completely knocked from your lungs. The surge of jealousy that hit you was so violent it made you dizzy. You wanted to march over there, rip her hand off his chest, and kiss him right in front of her.

Instead, your fingers tightened around the plastic handles of your grocery bag until your knuckles turned white. You forced your chin up, your expression hardening into a mask of pure ice, and began walking toward the elevators.

The sound of your sneakers against the tile cut through the quiet lobby.

Jungkook’s head snapped up instantly. The relaxed, easy smile vanished from his face the moment he looked at you. The shift in his demeanour was instantaneous; his shoulders squaring as his gaze tracked your movement across the room. He didn't look at the woman anymore. He didn't listen to whatever she was saying. His focus was entirely pinned to you.

But, you didn't look back. You stared straight ahead at the metallic doors of the elevator, pressing the button with a sharp jab.

Through the reflection in the polished steel doors, you watched the woman say something to him, pouting slightly as she noticed his detachment. Jungkook didn't even glance at her. He muttered a brief response, his eyes still burning a hole into the back of your head from across the lobby.

When the elevator doors finally opened, you stepped inside and turned around. For a fraction of a second, your eyes clashed with his across the expanse of the lobby. Then, the doors slid shut, leaving you alone in the quiet metal box.

The retaliation came less than twenty-four hours later.

On Sunday evening, a male colleague from your work, Eun-woo, offered to drop you off after a grueling, multi-hour project. Eun-woo was everything Jungkook was not. He was polished, predictable, and exceptionally polite. He parked his sleek sedan directly in front of your apartment building, killing the engine to turn and smile at you.

"You look exhausted, Y/N," Eun-woo said softly, reaching across the console to gently pat your forearm. "You've been working too hard. Let me take you out for dinner tonight. No talk about quarterly projections, I promise."

You opened your mouth to politely decline, but before the words could leave your lips, a sensation washed over you. It was that familiar, prickling heat on your skin, the unmistakable feeling of being watched.

Your eyes naturally drifted past Eun-woo’s shoulder, looking toward the concrete steps of the building entrance.

Jungkook was standing there.

He was wearing an oversized black hoodie with the hood pulled down, his dark hair messy and windswept. He had an unlit cigarette resting between his lips, and his hands were shoved deep into the front pocket of his sweatshirt. He wasn't moving. He looked like a statue carved from stone, his head tilted slightly downward, his eyes completely cold, and fixed entirely on Eun-woo’s hand resting against your forearm.

The look on his face was one you had never seen before. It wasn't the teasing, arrogant smirk of your neighbour. It was the glare of a man watching someone touch something that belonged exclusively to him. The animosity radiating off his frame was so strong it seemed to warp the very air around the car.

Eun-woo, entirely oblivious to the guy staring at him through the glass, smiled warmly. "What do you say?"

"I... I can't tonight, Eun-woo," you stammered, your voice breathless as you kept your eyes locked on Jungkook. "But thank you for the ride. I'll see you in the office tomorrow."

You practically scrambled out of the passenger seat, grabbing your purse and stepping onto the curb. The moment the car door slammed shut and Eun-woo pulled away, the space between you and Jungkook shrunk.

You walked up the concrete steps, your heart in your throat. Jungkook didn't move an inch to let you pass. He stood directly in the center of the double doors, forcing you to stop a mere foot away from him.

The scent of him, wrapped around you instantly, suffocating your anger and replacing it with a dizzying tension.

"Step aside, Jungkook," you said, your voice tight, though you hated the slight tremor that betrayed your composure.

He didn't move. He slowly took the unlit cigarette from his lips, holding it between two ink-stained fingers, his jaw clenching so hard you thought you saw a muscle twitch beneath his perfect skin. 

"Who the hell was that?"

The sheer audacity of the question sparked a defensive fire in your veins. You glared back at him, scoffing loud while your chest rose and fell heavily. "None of your business. Move."

"It becomes my business when I have to watch some boring, predictable suit touch you," he hissed, taking a step forward, his massive frame completely blocking the entrance to the building. "Is that your type, Y/N? Safe? Predictable? Someone who asks permission before they even look at you?"

"At least he has manners," you spat back, your hands curling into fists against your thighs as you fought the overwhelming urge to press your palms against his chest just to feel the thud of his heart. "At least he doesn't treat his apartment like a revolving door for whatever girl that happens to breathe in his direction. Go back inside, Jungkook. I'm sure your friend from last night is waiting for a call back."

Jungkook’s eyes flared, satisfaction flickering through the anger in his gaze. He let out a breathless laugh that sounded entirely devoid of joy.

"Oh," he whispered, stepping so close his chest brushed against yours, trapping you against the cold metal railing of the steps. "So that's what this is. You’re jealous."

"I’m not jealous!" you lied, your voice rising slightly under the weight of the suffocating proximity.

"You are," he corrected, his voice dropping into a whisper that felt like a physical touch against your skin. He leaned in, his lips close to the shell of your ear, his breath hot against your cold skin. "You were practically burning a hole in the back of my head last night, baby. I could feel you from across the room. You hated seeing her hand on me. Admit it."

"You're so delusional," you gasped out, your head tilting back against the railing, your eyes widening as you stared up at his sharp profile. The urge to reach out, to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down into a kiss, was so overwhelming your entire body ached with it. Your skin was screaming for the contact he was withholding.

"Tell me I'm lying," Jungkook commanded, his gaze dropping to your mouth, his own breathing heavy and ragged. His hand twitched at his side, his fingers flexing as if he were fighting every instinct he possessed to keep from grabbing your waist. "Tell me you don't want to rip my shirt off every time you see me. Tell me you don't think about me when you're lying in your bed alone, touching yourself."

He whispered that last part, like he knew that he caught you red handed. Your face instantly burned, a stupid blush filling your cheeks. "I hate you," you whispered, the words losing all their venom, sounding more like a desperate plea for mercy.

"Good," Jungkook growled, his eyes locking back onto yours with a terrifying amount of intent. "Keep hating me. Because the moment you stop, Y/N, I'm not going to let you walk back into that apartment alone."

Then, he moved away. His chest heaving as he stared down at you for one last, agonizing second. The restraint between you was a thin wire, vibrating so violently it threatened to snap both of you in half.

Without another word, Jungkook turned, shoved the glass doors open, and walked into the building, leaving you standing on the concrete steps in the freezing air, gasping for breath, completely consumed by a fire that you never signed up for.

You had lost the argument the moment your friends showed up at your apartment door carrying a garment bag and a bottle of cheap prosecco. Driven by what they called a "mandatory intervention for a workaholic," they had stripped you of your comfortable sweatpants, forced you into a sleek black dress that clung to your curves like a second skin, and dragged you out into the weekend night.

Now, standing in the middle of Prism, one of the city’s exclusive, packed clubs, you regretted every single life choice that had led you here.

The environment was definitely an assault on the senses. Neon blue and magenta strobe lights cut through a haze of smoke, flashing in sync with an industrial beat that vibrated through the soles of your strapped heels. The bass was a physical force, thumping against your heart.

Spitefully, your brain immediately made the connection. It felt exactly like apartment 4B on a Saturday night.

"Come on, Y/N! Take a sip!" your friend shouted over the roar of the crowd, shoving a vodka cranberry into your hand. "You’ve been a ghost all week. Live a little!"

You managed a smile, taking a swallow of the bittersweet alcohol. The drink burned its way down your throat, doing absolutely nothing to soothe the restlessness that had been clawing at your insides since your conversation with Jungkook on the building steps. You felt entirely out of place among the sea of hot bodies. Your mind was a long loop of dark irises, the smell of cigarettes, and the memory of his broad chest brushing against your own.

Desperate for a moment of peace, you stepped back from the edge of the pulsating dance floor, leaning your shoulder against a cold, mirrored pillar near the VIP lounge. You took another slow sip of your drink, your eyes aimlessly roaming the layout of the club.

And then, your heart completely stopped.

Situated in a semi-private leather booth was a group that looked like they had crawled straight out of a high-fashion editorial. They were effortlessly cool, heavily tatted, and radiating an aura of untouchable arrogance.

Sitting right in the center of them, a glass of amber whiskey held loosely between his fingers, was Jungkook.

The breath caught in your throat, a violent surge of shock rushing to your face. He was stripped of the oversized streetwear and the studio gear. He was wearing a midnight-black silk button-down shirt, the top three buttons casually undone to expose the sharp lines of his collarbones and the ink that climbed up the side of his shoulder. A silver chain caught the flashing neon lights, glinting against his chest. His dark hair was styled as a mullet, exposing the brutal symmetry of his jawline.

He was surrounded by his friends, likely the other artists he hung out with, but your eyes didn't linger on them. They snapped instantly to the woman sitting on the armrest of his booth. She was a striking beauty in an incredibly short silver dress, leaning down to whisper something into his ear, her hand resting casually on the back of his neck.

Dread bloomed in the pit of your stomach, so intense it made your hand tremble against your glass. The same toxic, nauseating jealousy from the lobby bloomed to life, hotter and more dangerous than before. You watched, your jaw clenching, as Jungkook took a slow sip of his drink, his face expressionless as the woman laughed at something his friend said.

As if he somehow sensed the weight of your gaze, Jungkook’s head turned. His dark eyes cut through the flashing strobe lights, scanning the crowded floor below with a lazy, bored detachment, until they hit the mirrored pillar.

Until they hit you.

The shift in his demeanour was instantaneous. The bored, relaxed slouch vanished as his posture went straight. He didn't blink, only because his gaze locked onto you with the force of a vice grip, his eyes that were almost terrifying under the flashing blue lights. He raked his eyes down your body, tracking the sharp line of your collarbone, the tight fit of the black dress, and the bare skin along your legs.

The woman in the silver dress reached down, trying to draw his attention back to her, her fingers brushing his jaw. But, Jungkook didn't even look at her. With a cold, dismissive flick of his wrist, he brushed her hand away, his focus entirely on you.

The silent, cross-room standoff was constricting. The music roared around you, and you were sure that your friends were already on the dance floor, but the space between your pillar and his booth felt completely devoid of air. You raised your chin, giving him a cold, defiant glare, refusing to look away first.

“Hey, beautiful. You look like you’re having a miserable time.”

The unfamiliar voice shattered the connection. A tall, well-dressed man in a fitted grey shirt had materialized in your space, leaning against the pillar beside you with a confident, practiced smile. He held a fresh drink out toward you. "Can I buy you something better than whatever that is?"

You blinked, trying to clear the fog of Jungkook’s gaze from your brain. "No, thank you. I'm okay with this drink" you said, your tone polite but icy.

The man didn't take the hint. He took a step closer, invading your personal space, his hand coming up to rest on the mirror just above your shoulder. "Come on, just one drink. A girl like you shouldn't be standing alone in a dark corner."

Before you could fire back a sharp rejection, a shift occurred in the atmosphere.

"She said no."

The man in the grey shirt froze, looking up slowly. Jungkook was standing there. He had somehow left the VIP section with a terrifying amount of speed, and the look on his face was enough to make the other man visibly pale. Jungkook loomed over you, his chest expanding with an angry breath, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his dark trousers. 

"You got a problem, man?" the guy stammered, trying to maintain his bravado but failing miserably under Jungkook’s presence.

"Yeah," Jungkook replied, taking a slow step forward that forced the man back a foot. "I have a problem with you breathing my air. Walk away. Right now."

There was no negotiation in his tone. The man in the grey shirt looked between Jungkook’s ink-covered hands and the look in his eyes, swallowed hard, and retreated into the crowd without another word.

The moment he was gone, Jungkook turned on you.

The anger radiating off him was so strong it made your skin prickle with a terrifying sensation. Before you could speak, his large hand shot out, his ink-stained fingers gripping your wrist. His grip wasn't painful, but it was stubborn, completely unmoving as he dragged you away from the pillar, pulling you through the crowded venue toward the corridor that led to the private restrooms and emergency exits.

"Jungkook, let go of me!" you gasped, your heels clicking frantically against the floor as you tried to pull back, but it was like trying to move a mountain.

He didn't answer until he had dragged you into a secluded part of the hallway, away from the prying eyes of the club-goers. He shoved open a door, pulling you into a quiet stairwell where the music was reduced to a muffled heartbeat through the walls.

He released your wrist, turning around to face you, his chest lifting under the black shirt. He slammed his hand against the concrete wall beside your head, leaning down until his face was a mere inch from yours, trapping you entirely within the shadow of his body.

"What do you think you're doing?" he hissed, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle ticked violently beneath his skin. "You wear a dress like this out in public? You let random bastards back you into a corner?"

The hypocrisy of his anger made your own frustration explode. You pressed your palms against his chest, feeling the thud of his heart beneath the silk, trying to shove him back, but he didn't move an inch.

"I can wear whatever I want, Jungkook!" you shouted back, your eyes flashing with a mix of anger and desire. "I don't belong to you! Why don't you go back to your VIP booth? I'm sure the girl in the silver dress is missing her hand on your neck!"

Jungkook let out a scoff, his eyes dropping to your mouth before snapping back to your eyes, a possessive satisfaction flickering through the fury in his gaze.

"You were watching me," he whispered, his voice dropping into a rough tone that made your core pulse with heat. He stepped closer, his thighs brushing against the thin fabric of your dress, pinning you against the cold concrete wall. "You hated it. You hated seeing her touch me."

"I don't care about you," you lied, your breathing ragged, your fingers curling into the silk of his shirt. "I don’t care about the girls you’re always with.”

"You're a liar, Y/N," he growled, his hand leaving the wall to cup the side of your jaw, his rough, calloused thumb pressing firmly against your chin, tilting your head up. The contact was electric, a blinding rush that made your knees tremble. He leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his hot breath sending a violent shiver down your spine. "You've been losing your mind over me all these months, just like I've been losing my mind over you. I look at you in this dress, and all I can think about is ripping it off your body."

"Then do it," the words slipped from your lips before your pride could stop them, a challenge born from months of agonizing restraint.

Jungkook froze, his breath hitching against your skin. He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his pupils completely dilated. He was waiting for consent, something that gave him the permission to touch you however he wanted. In response, you gave him an eyebrow raise, challenging him.

Jungkook didn’t answer with words. The last thread of his restraint snapped with a beautiful finality. Before you could even inhale, his mouth crashed down onto yours.

It was a violent claim, a collision of months of frustration and denial. He tasted like expensive whiskey and cigarettes, his tongue forcing its way past your mouth with a hunger that made your head spin. His hand clamped around your throat, with a firm pressure that moved your head against the wall, forcing you to take the absolute depth of his mouth.

You groaned into the kiss, your hands flying up to his chest, your fingers clawing at the silk of his shirt. You ripped at the other buttons, wanting the barrier gone, wanting the tattooed reality of his skin against yours. A few buttons scattered across the concrete floor with an echo, exposing the lines of his chest.

Jungkook tore his mouth away from yours, his breathing a broken wheeze. "You asked for this," he growled, whispering against your skin. "I’m not going to hold back now.”

He didn't even touch the zipper of your dress. His fingers hooked into the hem of the sleek black fabric and yanked it upward with an impatient force, gathering the material around your waist and leaving your bare legs completely exposed to the chilly air of the stairwell. His large hands slid up the inside of your thighs, his palms scraping against your sensitive skin.

When his hand hit the center of your lace underwear, he let out a satisfied chuckle. You were already dripping; the thin fabric completely soaked through.

"Look at you," Jungkook muttered, his thumb rubbing heavily over your swollen core through the wet lace, your hips arching off the wall. "Wet for me in a dirty stairwell. Tell me how much you hate me now, Y/N. Say it while you're shaking in my hands."

"Jungkook—fuck, please," you gasped, your fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and ripped them down your legs, discarding them carelessly on the concrete steps.

He stepped between your knees, his massive, denim-clad thighs forcing your legs wide apart. He fumbled with the belt of his trousers, the metal buckle clinking loudly in the quiet space. He shoved his pants down just enough to free his length, the sight of his thick cock already leaking with pre-cum sent adrenaline through your body.

Jungkook didn't ease you into it. He grabbed your right thigh, hoisting it up over his hip, holding you against his broad frame. He guided his tip to your dripping entrance, paused for a fraction of a second to lock his eyes onto yours, and pushed himself inside you.

The fullness of him stretched you open so fast that a loud moan tore from you. Your eyes widened in shock, your walls clamping around him, trying to accommodate the size of him. Jungkook froze, his head dropping into the crook of your neck as a shudder wracked his entire body. His jaw clenched so hard the muscles in his face ticked, a guttural groan vibrating right against your collarbone.

"Fuck," he panted, his voice a strained, broken sound. "You're so tight... Wrap your other leg around me. Now."

You obeyed blindly, your pride entirely incinerated by the rush of pleasure. You hooked your left leg around his waist, lifting yourself completely off the floor. Jungkook caught you effortlessly, his hands locking onto the undersides of your thighs, fingers digging into your flesh with a bruising touch that you were sure was going to leave dark marks on your skin.

With your legs wrapped around him, Jungkook began to move.

The pace was frenzied, driven by a rawness that had everything to do with possession. He pulled back until his tip was nearly sliding out, only to pound himself back into you with a slamming force that made the breath hitch in your chest. Every single thrust was deep, hitting your G-spot with precision that made your vision blur into white spots.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The sound of your skin slapping against his filled the isolated stairwell, competing with the muffled sound of the club’s bass.

"Jungkook, wait—it's too much," you sobbed out, your head tossing back against the concrete wall as your orgasm began to build. Your cunt was pulsing, the stretch of his big cock pushing you to the absolute brink of sanity.

"I'm not stopping," he growled, his pace quickening, his thrusts becoming harder and more accelerated. He leaned forward, crushing his bare chest against your sensitive nipples through the ruined fabric of your dress. He grabbed your jaw with his one hand, forcing your face up, his eyes burning into yours. "Look at me. Don't close your eyes. I want to see you come."

You held his gaze, your mind completely shattered. He was consuming you, erasing every single boundary you had spent months building.

The orgasm started deep within your core, a sudden tightening that clamped around his length like a fist.

"Jungkook—I'm coming—I'm going to—"

"Do it," he commanded, his voice breathless, his lips twisting into a smirk, as he delivered more desperate slams, driving his pelvis flush against yours. "Come for me, Y/N. Take all of it."

Your orgasm crashed over you with the violence of a physical hit. You screamed his name into the empty stairwell, your body convulsing, your walls rippling around him in intense waves. The sensation of your release was the exact breaking point Jungkook needed. With a moan, he drove himself into you one last time, pushing his cock as deeply as possible. His cock pulsed within your heat as he filled you, his head dropping onto your shoulder as he gasped for air like a drowning man.

The silence that followed was broken only by the loud, echoing sound of your tangled, ragged breathing.

Jungkook didn't let you down immediately. He remained buried deep inside you, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his skin slick with sweat, his heart hammering. His hands slowly relaxed their bruising grip on your thighs, his fingers gently tracing the marks he had left behind on your skin.

Slowly, the haze of lust began to leave, leaving behind a hyper-aware intimacy that felt completely foreign.

He pulled out with a soft, wet sound, a breathy sigh escaping his lips as he adjusted his clothing, his movements uncharacteristically quiet. He reached down, picking up your ruined underwear from the steps and sliding them into his pocket before turning back to look at you.

You were leaning against the wall, your dress still bunched around your waist, your chest heaving, your legs trembling so badly you could barely stand.

Jungkook didn't say a word. He reached out, his hands gently grasping the hem of your black dress and pulling it back down, smoothing the fabric over your hips with a tenderness that completely contrasted the violence of the last ten minutes. He reached up, a thumb gently wiping away a stray tear of overstimulation from your cheek, then he kissed your lips softly.

"Come on," Jungkook whispered, his voice still raspy, his fingers tangling with yours as he pulled you toward the exit door. "We're going home. And you're staying in my bed tonight."

The taxi ride back to the apartment was pure agony. His large palm was wedged between your thighs, his fingers damp with your own fluids, pressing hard against your swollen core every time the car hit a bump in the asphalt.

You had to bite the collar of his shirt to keep from crying out in the back seat, while Jungkook stared out the window, his jaw clenched so tight the wire of his jawline looked sharp enough to cut.

“Jungkook… I can’t—” you whispered against his collarbone, drool leaking out of your mouth. His fingers kept teasing your clit, ruthlessly edging you. You were convinced he just wanted to see you cry.

But before he could let you finish, the taxi stopped to a halt, right outside your apartment complex. The moment his apartment door slammed shut behind you, his restraint snapped again.

There was no walk to the bedroom. Jungkook grabbed your shoulders and spun you around, shoving you face-first against the matte-black kitchen island. Your palms slapped against the cold stone counter to catch your weight, your breath hitching as he immediately crowded your back, his massive, solid chest flattening against your spine.

"Jungkook—"

"Quiet," he growled, his voice a quiet rasp.

He didn't waste a single second. His hands hooked into the waist of your black dress, pulling the fabric up until it sat bunched around your ribs, leaving your lower body completely bare to his gaze. He reached down, grabbing your hips with a bruising grip, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh.

You heard the sharp snap of his belt loosening, the zipper of his trousers tearing open. He guided his cock right against your dripping pussy, rubbing his swollen tip against you twice until you were sobbing into the stone countertop, begging for the impact. With a tilt of his hips, Jungkook drove himself into you from behind.

He buried his entire length into your pussy in one deep thrust. The force of the entry rattled you, a loud, broken wail tearing from your throat. Your hips buckled under the weight, but his hands locked onto your waist like iron bands, holding you perfectly in place, forcing your body to take every single inch.

"Fuck, this pussy is so tight for me, my dirty slut," he whispered against the back of your neck, his breath scalding hot.

He began to pound into you with emphasis. Every stroke was a clapping impact of his pelvis against your ass, the sound echoing in the kitchen. He pulled out until only his tip remained inside your slick walls, then slammed back in, bottoming out against you with a force.

Your hands slid wildly on the smooth kitchen island, unable to find traction as his pace drove you forward with every thrust. Jungkook reached forward, his large hand tangling ruthlessly in your messy hair, pulling your head back so your spine arched beautifully into him.

"Look at the mirror," he commanded, nodding toward the reflective glass of his studio across the room. "Look at what I'm doing to you."

Through your blurred, tear-filled vision, you saw the silhouette of his body looming over yours, his tattooed right arm flexing as he pinned you down, the contrast of his dark ink against your skin. He thrusted harder, his cock rubbing against your internal sweet spot with every shallow strike until your brain short-circuited.

Before you could reach the precipice of an orgasm, Jungkook pulled out with a wet sound. You gasped at the emptiness, your body shivering from the loss of heat, but he wasn't done.

He grabbed your arm, dragging you off the counter and pulling you backward into his adjoining tattoo studio. The room was illuminated by the glow of his lights. He shoved you back against the floor-to-ceiling mirror that lined the wall, the cold glass sending a shockwave through your overheating skin.

Jungkook dropped to his knees before you.

Your breath caught as his hands clamped around your thighs, forcing them wide apart. He buried his face straight into your dripping core, lapping up your wetness with an aggression that made your head toss back against the glass. He sucked your swollen clit into his mouth, licking at the sensitive nub until you were screaming his name, your fingers clawing at his dark hair to pull him away before you lost your mind.

"Jungkook, please—no more, I can't—"

He ignored your pleas. He rose to his feet, his lips slick with your wetness. He looked completely unhinged, like something else had taken over him. He grabbed your right leg, hoisting it up and draping your knee over his broad shoulder, opening you up completely.

He aligned himself and drove back inside you, using the wall to pin you completely.

This position allowed him to go even deeper. Every thrust was a severe plunge that filled you to the brim. The cold glass of the mirror rattled behind your back with every slam of his hips. Jungkook’s hand locked around your throat again, his thumb pressing hard against your pulse point, just barely cutting off your air.

"You think you can look down on me?" he panted, his face inches from yours. "You think because you're stuck-up and perfect I wouldn't do this to you? You're mine, Y/N. Every single part of you."

"Yes—fuck, yes—Jungkook—"

The friction was blinding. You began to squeeze around him in spasms. Realizing you were about to come again, Jungkook pulled out at the last second, refusing to let you finish. You let out a frustrated cry, but he grabbed your waist, throwing you onto his leather tattoo table.

He crawled over you, forcing you onto your back. He grabbed both of your ankles, shoving your knees all the way back to your chest, folding you completely in half. It was a position of vulnerability, leaving you entirely exposed to him. He looked down at you, his chest glistening with sweat. He lined his tip up with your entrance and slammed down with the entire weight of his torso.

The depth was staggering. A loud sob tore from your throat as he filled you, his cock stretching you past your limits.

"Look at me," he growled, his voice a raw rasp.

He began to move in devastating strokes. He wasn't pulling out anymore; he was grinding his pelvis against yours, his thumb slipping against your clit with every drive. You locked your fingers into the leather edges of the table, your head rolling side to side as your entire body vibrated with a white-hot, blinding pleasure.

"Jungkook— please. Please, let me come!”

“Apologize first. Apologize for being a brat to me all these months. Tell me how badly you wanted my cock inside you.” he rasped, slapping your cheek.

Your head snapped to the side, the pain adding more intensity to your pleasure. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Jungkook! I wanted your cock so badly,” you cried out, tears cascading down your cheeks

"Good girl. Now come for me," he ordered, his pace getting faster, a sprint toward his orgasm. "Take it, baby. Take my cum."

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling his lips down to yours as your second orgasm crashed over you with the force of a tsunami.

With a moan, Jungkook delivered more thrusts, before his cum flooded your pussy, filling you to the brim as he pulsed inside you over and over again, his forehead dropping against yours as you both collapsed into the ruined, sweat-soaked darkness of the studio.

The thuds of your hearts were the only sound left in the studio, a stark contrast to the music that usually filled the space. The heat radiating between your bodies was prominent as the initial shock of the orgasm began to leave. Jungkook remained above you for several long minutes, his forehead still pressed against yours, his breathing a ragged, trembling rattle that gradually slowed down.

When he finally shifted, pulling out of you with a soft, wet sound, a cold shiver immediately raced across your skin. You let out a small, involuntary whimper at the loss of warmth, your overstimulated muscles twitching.

Jungkook didn't say a word. The intensity that had consumed him moments ago seemed to evaporate, replaced by a stillness. He slid off the leather tattoo table, his bare feet hitting the floor with a soft thud. Through the dim light, you watched his silhouette move across the room. He looked entirely different now; the sharp edges of his posture had softened.

You heard the rustle of fabric, followed by the sound of running water from the small sink in the corner of his studio. You lay there, completely paralyzed by pleasure and exhaustion, your legs still trembling slightly against the leather surface. The reality of what had just happened began to settle into the marrow of your bones, leaving you feeling entirely exposed.

When Jungkook returned, he was holding a dark towel soaked in warm water. He knelt down beside the low table, his dark eyes fixed entirely on your face, searching your expression with an intensity that made your breath hitch. There was no smirk on his face. The arrogant, untouchable exterior he wore like armour was entirely gone.

"Hey," he whispered, his voice incredibly hoarse, "Let me clean you up."

Before you could even think to protest or hide yourself, he gently caught your ankles, straightening your legs out with a soft touch. He began to wipe away the sweat and the messy aftermath of his cum from your inner thighs. His hands, the same ones that had pinned you down, were now incredibly careful, moving with a light precision as if he were afraid you might break under his touch.

Every stroke of the warm towel sent a completely different kind of shiver through your body. It wasn't the white-hot spike of lust, but a deep, aching warmth that made your chest tighten.

"Does it hurt?" he asked quietly, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. His thumb brushed against the soft skin of your hip, right over the faint red marks where his grip had been bruisingly tight. "I went too hard."

"I'm fine," you breathed out, your voice small and raspy from all the moaning you had done. "I'm not glass, Jungkook."

A small, genuine breath of a laugh escaped his lips, though it looked more like a sigh of relief. He finished cleaning you, tossing the towel aside onto a nearby stool. Instead of stepping away, he reached down, sliding his arms beneath your back and knees, and lifted you effortlessly into his chest.

You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face into the crook of his collarbone. He smelled like sweat, but you secretly didn't mind. He carried you out of the studio, walking past the cold kitchen island where the war had officially begun, and carried you into his bedroom.

His bedroom was a surprise. Given his chaotic lifestyle, you had expected a disaster zone of discarded clothes and empty takeout containers. Instead, it was tidy, dominated by a massive bed covered in charcoal-grey silk sheets. The only light came from a lamp on the nightstand, casting a warm, golden glow across the room.

He laid you down onto the mattress with immense care, immediately pulling the duvet over your exposed, shivering skin. You curled into the bed, your eyes tracking him as he walked over to his dresser. He pulled out an oversized, faded black cotton t-shirt and returned to the bedside.

"Here," he murmured, pulling the blanket back just enough to help you slide your arms through the sleeves. The fabric was massive on you, hanging past your thighs and swallowing your frame, completely soaked with his scent.

Jungkook disappeared into his bathroom for a brief moment, returning after a quick second. He was wearing nothing but a loose pair of soft sweatpants, his dark hair damp and messy against his forehead. He didn't look like the menacing guy from apartment 4B anymore; he looked completely human, stripped of the bravado and the spite that had defined your entire relationship.

He slid into the bed beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. For a moment, a lingering tension hung in the air. You were both so used to fighting, so used to using words as weapons across the threshold of your doors, that the quiet intimacy of a shared bed felt foreign and dangerous.

You lay on your side, staring at him. He laid on his back, staring up at the ceiling, his jaw working as if he were trying to swallow a mountain of unspoken words.

"Y/N," he started, his voice cracking slightly in the quiet room. He turned his head to look at you, his dark eyes wide and completely unmasked under the amber light. "I need to say something."

You didn't interrupt. You just pulled the blanket higher up on your chin, watching him.

"I'm sorry," he said, the words coming out in a rush. He reached out under the covers, his large hand finding yours and wrapping his fingers securely around your smaller ones. "I'm sorry for the things I said, and everything else I've done. I was... I was entirely out of my mind."

He let out a long, ragged breath, his grip on your hand tightening.

"I've been losing my mind since the day I met you," Jungkook confessed, his gaze dropping to your intertwined fingers before rising back to your eyes. "You thought I was trying to annoy you with the music and the girls, and at first, I was just being a complete asshole. But after that first night you knocked on my door, when you were standing there looking so furious and so completely out of my league, everything changed. I didn't know how to get your attention.”

A soft smile touched his lips, though his eyes remained entirely serious. "I just wanted an excuse to see you come back to my door and yell at me again. Because any attention from you was better than you looking right through me."

Your heart did a violent flip in your chest. The honesty of his words was breaking down every defence mechanism you had spent months building.

"You called me a brat," you whispered softly, your voice completely devoid of the old malice. "You told me I was stuck-up."

"Because you’re so perfect, and it terrified me," Jungkook replied instantly, leaning closer until his face was only inches from yours on the pillow. "You have your life together. You have the career, the structure. I convinced myself that you looked down on me because it was easier than admitting that I was completely beneath you."

He reached his free hand out from beneath the covers, his fingertips gently brushing against your cheek, tracing the line of your jaw with a tenderness that made your eyes prickle with tears.

"But I don't want to fight with you anymore, Princess," he murmured, his voice dropping into a soft, vulnerable register that felt like a direct caress to your soul. "I don't want to hear you through a wall anymore. I love you. I think I’ve loved you since the second you told me to shut the hell up months ago."

The confession hung in the quiet space between you, heavy and beautiful. You stared at him, taking in the softness of his eyes, the absolute sincerity in his features, and the slight tremor in his hand as it rested against your face. He was completely exposed, giving you all the power to crush him if you wanted to.

But you didn't want to.

"I'm sorry too," you whispered, a small, tearful laugh escaping your lips as you moved your head to press your cheek firmly into his palm. "I was stuck-up. I looked down on your world because I was jealous of how free you were. I spent so much time hiding behind my schedules and work because admitting that I wanted something would mean admitting that I didn't have everything under control."

You reached up, your fingers tangling into the damp strands of his dark hair, pulling him just a fraction closer.

"I don't hate anything about you,” you confessed softly. "I love you too. I’ve been entirely miserable without you."

The relief that washed over Jungkook’s face was instantaneous and breathtaking. A massive, brilliant smile broke across his face, the boyish, dazzling smile he usually hid behind his arrogant smirks. He let out a joyous sigh , immediately throwing himself at you, covering your body with his.

"Say it again," he demanded, his voice thick with happiness as he buried his face into your neck, peppering your skin with soft, fluttering kisses.

"I love you, you idiot," you laughed, your hands gripping his shoulders as he rolled over, pulling you with him until you were lying flush against his chest, your heads resting on the same pillow.

"Good. Because you're stuck with me now," he muttered against your lips, before pulling you into a kiss. It was sweet, and incredibly deep, a gentle sealing of a contract you had both been waiting to sign for months.

When he finally pulled away, he wrapped his massive arms securely around your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest in a tight, protective cocoon. His long legs tangled with yours under the silk sheets, his chin resting comfortably on the top of your head.

"The wall has to go," Jungkook murmured sleepily into your hair, his large hand gently stroking your stomach over the cotton of his t-shirt. "First thing Monday morning. I'm calling a contractor to knock the drywall down between 4A and 4B."

"We'll get evicted, Jungkook," you mumbled back, a soft, exhausted smile spreading across your face as your sleep deprivation finally caught up to you.

"Let them evict us," he whispered, his breathing slowing down as he fell into a deep, peaceful sleep, his heart beating a steady, reassuring rhythm against your shoulder blades. "We'll just buy the whole damn building."

The wall didn’t come down on Monday morning, mostly because the building management threatened legal action at the mere mention of a sledgehammer, but the physical barrier between apartment 4A and 4B was entirely gone anyway.

Within a week, the deadbolt on your front door remained permanently unlocked. Within three, your living room began to acquire a few distinct artifacts, such as a stray sketch pad filled with intricate charcoal drawings of you resting on your glass coffee table, a pair of combat boots left neatly by your shoe rack, and a continuous, subtle scent of raw tobacco and expensive leather that no longer felt like an invasion, but more like a safety net.

On a hazy evening in July, the heat outside was horrible, but inside apartment 4A, the air conditioning was humming a quiet tune. You were sitting cross-legged on your sofa, a laptop resting on your thighs as you meticulously reviewed the upcoming budget projections. Your glasses were pushed up onto the bridge of your nose, your focus entirely ironclad.

Or, at least, it was supposed to be.

From the other side of the apartment, the door clicked open. You didn't even look up, your fingers continuing to fly across the keyboard, but your heart rate gave a familiar, stupid little skip.

A moment later, Jungkook stepped into your living room. He had just finished an eight-hour tattooing session, and he looked beautifully, completely wrecked. He had shed his shirt, wearing only a loose, sleeveless white tank top that exposed the sprawling canvas of his right arm and the blackwork wrapping around his ribs.

He didn't say a word. He didn't need to. He walked straight toward the couch, his heavy footsteps silent on your plush rug, and dropped his massive frame directly behind you.

"Jungkook, I’m working," you murmured in a breathless, soft tone.

"Don't care," he grumbled, his voice a gravelly vibration that resonated right through your spine.

His large, tattooed arms wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you backward until your spine was pressed flush against his warm, solid torso. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his nose nuzzling against your pulse point, inhaling deeply. His breath was hot against your skin, sending a delicate flush up your throat.

"You smell like vanilla," he muttered, his lips brushing against your collarbone as he spoke. "It's driving me crazy."

"It's just perfume, you dramatic idiot," you laughed softly, tilting your head to the side to give him better access, your fingers finally halting over the laptop keys. "And I really need to finish this report. My boss is—"

"Your boss can wait," Jungkook interrupted, his hand moving beneath the hem of your oversized sweatshirt, his palm resting against the bare skin of your stomach. His thumb traced slow, soothing circles over your skin, his touch so incredibly gentle it made your chest ache. "You’ve been staring at that screen for hours. Let me take care of you."

You let out a long, defeated sigh, closing the laptop and setting it aside on the cushion. The moment the screen went dark, you turned around in his embrace, shifting until you were sitting face-to-face in his lap, your knees framing his hips.

Jungkook’s eyes instantly locked onto yours, the light from your lamp reflecting in his pupils. The lazy, arrogant smirk he used to wear like armor was completely gone, replaced by an expression of pure, unadulterated adoration that still made you feel entirely exposed. He reached up, his thumb gently pushing your reading glasses down the bridge of your nose before sliding them off entirely, setting them on the sofa arm.

"There you are," he whispered, his rough fingers cupping your jawline, his thumb smoothing over your cheekbone. "I missed you today."

"I was right next door," you pointed out, a small smile tugging at your lips as you reached up to tangle your fingers in the soft, damp strands of his hair. "I could literally hear your tattoo machine vibrating through the drywall at 2 PM."

"Yeah, well, hearing you through a wall isn't the same as holding you," he murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips. "I kept thinking about how much I wanted to walk out of the apartment, and drag you into my bed. I’m completely ruined, Y/N. You've completely ruined me."

"Good," you whispered, leaning in until your lips were a mere breath away from his. "You deserve it for making my life a living hell for months."

Jungkook let out a low, breathless chuckle against your mouth before he closed the distance. The kiss was filled with a domestic warmth that belonged entirely to the two of you. There was no rush, no desperate battle for dominance, just the steady pull of two people. His hands slid down to your lower back, pressing you closer until there was no space left between you, his heart beating a strong, steady rhythm against your chest.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breathing a little shallow.

"I bought dinner," he murmured, his eyes still closed as his thumbs traced the line of your jaw. "That little noodle place you like down the street. It’s sitting on my kitchen counter."

"You remembered?" you teased, shifting your weight slightly in his lap.

"I remember everything about you," he corrected softly, opening his eyes to look at you with a terrifying amount of certainty. "I know you take your coffee with too much milk, I know you organize your closet by colour, and I know that when you're stressed, you bite the inside of your lip until it bleeds. I'm paying attention, baby. I'm always paying attention."

His words made your throat tight, warmth expanding in your chest. You wrapped your arms tightly around his neck, burying your face into his shoulder, holding onto him as if he were the only solid thing left in the universe.

"Come on," Jungkook whispered, shifting under you as he easily hoisted your body into his arms, keeping you tucked securely against his chest as he stood up from the sofa. "Let's go eat. And then I’m dragging you to bed, and you're going to let me sleep for twelve hours straight."

"Only if you promise not to play music at 3 AM," you mumbled into his neck as he carried you across the threshold into his apartment.

Jungkook kicked his front door shut behind him, the click of the lock echoing in the quiet hallway. He looked down at you, his bunny teeth showing as he smiled.

"Deal, Princess," he murmured, kissing your temple softly. "From now on, the only noise in this apartment is going to be you."

[christopherhanni]

ADULTERY [1/?]

Summary: Two married neighbours , and a forbidden craving that's about to cross the lines. You're married to Henry, who's always away. Jungkook is married to sophie who loves her city nightlife more. It started during a stormy midnight text exchange breaks the ice. And you both ended up cheating on your partners.

Pairing: Neighbour(married) JK × Neighbour (married) You.

Genre: Neighbour, Cheating on partners, sexting, smut.

Warning: Lazy kisses, Kisses on mouth, Sexualizing body parts, Porn, Masturbation, Admiring eo body parts, Cheating, Lying, Desperation (in this chapter that's it)

A/n: This chapter is very small just posting this one for experiment, hope you understand, let me know if you want to be tagged on the upcoming parts.

Part 1: That's your Email

Masterlist

At evening the master bedroom was quiet, Henry stood in front of the mirror. You stepped up in front of him, reaching up to loop his tie. Your fingers worked through the familiar knot, a routine you had done a hundred times before. Henry smiled down at you, his hands sliding down your sides to grip your waist tightly, his thumbs resting on your hips to pull you closer against him. You pouted up at him, your hands resting flat against his chest.

"I hate it when you leave me," you complained softly. "We spend so little time together lately." Henry leaned down and lazily kissed your cheek, his voice soft and deeply apologetic. "Sorry, my love. But it’s just two weeks. Then I'll be back from Tokyo."

"Two weeks is too much," you muttered, looking into his honest eyes, feeling the ache of loneliness before he was even gone. "And we didn't even have sex last night it's been almost three weeks we haven't did it."

Henry looked genuinely guilty. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips gently sucking your lower lips, you didn't took the movement much because it lacked the desperate fire you craved. He pulled away just enough to look at you, rubbing your cheek with his thumb. "When I get back, I promise I'll be fully yours."

You walked down the stairs with Henry, helping him carry his last minute briefcase to the main gate. Henry stopped at the gate, pulling you into his arms one last time to kiss you goodbye.

"Take care of yourself, darling," he murmured, his kiss warm and gentle against your lips."Safe travels," you whispered back. He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze, stepped into the waiting car, and drove away. You stood at the main door of your house, leaning against the frame as you watched his car disappear around the corner. Just as you were about to turn and head back inside, movement across the driveway caught your attention.

Jungkook was out in his front garden. He was completely shirtless, wearing nothing but loose gray sweatpants. The dim evening light caught the sharp, defined lines of his chest and the deep contours of his abs. Your eyes instinctively rested on him, tracking the intricate patterns of the black ink sleeve that covered his entire right arm. He looked effortlessly attractive, his dark hair falling slightly messy over his eyes as he worked in the yard.

Jungkook suddenly paused his movements and lifted his head. His eyes locked directly onto yours across the driveway. You quickly stepped backward, pulling your front door shut. But just before the latch clicked, you couldn't help but glance back. He hadn't moved. He was still standing in the garden, his gaze fixed on your door with a slow, unreadable expression.

A few hours later, night completely took over the neighborhood. Looking for a distraction from the empty house, you stepped out onto your second floor balcony with a warm mug of tea. Your attention was immediately drawn across the driveway. The front door of Number 16 opened.

Jungkook's wife, Sophie, stepped out into the driveway. She was heavily dressed up in a tight, sparkling party dress and high heels. She didn't look back once as she slid into a waiting luxury car and sped off toward the city.

Jungkook stood at the open doorway for a moment, watching her leave with a completely indifferent look on his face. He closed the heavy door, and went upstairs to his bedroom. From your balcony position, his master bedroom was completely visible. The entire front wall of his room was a massive, modern see through glass mirror. Inside, the dim, moody lights were turned on, casting everything. You watched as Jungkook walked into the space, completely exhausted.

He threw himself onto the mattress, lying flat on his back, and pulled his phone out of his pocket. A few minutes passed as he stared intensely at his screen. Then, his hand slowly drifted down below his waistband, his body shifting under the covers as he completely lost himself in whatever he was looking at, totally unaware that your eyes were still glued to his window.

He pulled his thick, hard cock out into the open, his grip tightening around it as he began to stroke himself with slow, deliberate friction. Henry's dick is quite big but not as Jungkook’s for tge very first time in your life you've ever seen this handsome cock.

His head rolled back against the pillows, his jaw clenched as he lost himself in the rhythm. You froze. Every logical bone in your body told you to turn around, walk back inside your room, and shut the blinds. But your feet felt like they were glued to the floor of your balcony.

The raw, heavy intimacy of the view completely paralyzed you. You had never seen Henry look so desperate or uninhibited, even when you were in bed together. Jungkook’s hand moved faster, his chest rising and falling heavily as the tension built in his body.

Suddenly, his head snapped up. As if sensing eyes on him, he drifted directly toward his glass wall straight in the direction of your balcony. Panic flared through your veins. Moving on pure instinct, you lunged backward, hiding completely behind the thick outdoor curtains. Your heart was beating loudly. You squeezed your eyes shut.

You scrambled back inside your bedroom. Slipping onto the edge of your mattress, you let your head drop back. You felt heat washing over your skin. The vivid image of Jungkook, his head rolled back, his hand gripped tight around himself, refused to leave your mind.

Your fingers trembled as you reached up, tracing the heat blooming along your neck before slowly sliding down to press flat against your chest. Your heart was still hammering ypu were abouttosqueez your breast but. The sudden, loud vibration of your phone on the nightstand made you gasp, breaking the heavy tension in the room.

You lunged for the device, It was just a random friend from your social circle calling out of the blue.

The morning sun broke through the clouds. You stepped out onto your balcony to enjoy the fresh air, dressed in a satin pink robe nothing underneath your nipples poking through the fabric.

Across the driveway, you noticed Jungkook was already outside, checking his mail, wearing nothing but his boxer the outline on his cock looked so heavy. As he straightened up, he noticed you on the balcony and offered a friendly wave.

"Hey," his voice called out across the quiet morning. "Come down for a second, I think I have something of yours." You headed downstairs and opened your front door, stepping onto the porch to meet him. Jungkook walked over to the edge of your steps, holding out a long white envelope.

"The mail carrier must have mixed these up, this was in my box by mistake," he explained with a polite smile.

"Oh, thank you for bringing it over," you replied, taking the envelope from him. As your finger brush lightly to his.

You noticed Jungkook's gaze briefly falter, his eyes dropping slightly to your chest. Realising you were just in your morning robe, you cleared your throat softly, a sudden wave of self consciousness hitting you. "Thanks again," you murmured, turning slightly as if to head back inside the house.

"Wait," Jungkook said, stepping a little closer to the porch stairs. He rubbed the back of his neck, offering a quick excuse. "Since the mail carrier keeps mixing our houses up, maybe we should exchange numbers? Just in case an important letter gets dropped off at the wrong place again."

You hesitated for a fraction of a second, thinking of the quiet house behind you, but the logic made sense. "Sure," you said. You quickly typed your number into his phone. As he took the device back, he looked at you curiously.

"By the way... what's your name? I realized I've only ever nodded to you."

"Y/N," you replied, smoothing down the lapel of your robe. "What about you?" He opened his mouth to answer, but before the words could leave his lips, the loud screech of tires broke the morning quiet. A car pulled into the driveway next door, stopping haphazardly.

The door flung open, and Sophie climbed out. She looked entirely miserable, her expensive party dress wrinkled, her makeup slightly smudged, and she was barely keeping her eyes open. Jungkook’s expression instantly flattened, the easygoing warmth completely vanishing from his face.

"She's my wife," he said quietly, his tone turning distant. "I know," you whispered back, feeling a sudden, heavy awkwardness settle over. Sophie stumbled slightly as she walked toward the steps. Her tired eyes scanned the space, instantly locking onto the two of you standing so close on your porch. She stopped in her tracks, throwing a sharp, freezing glare directly at you. Turning her narrow gaze to her husband, Sophie snapped coldly.

"Come home. Now."

The house was completely dark by midnight. You lay in bed, the eerie silence of the empty rooms making it impossible to sleep. You were mindlessly scrolling through your phone, trying to distract yourself, but the sharp image of Sophie’s freezing glare from this morning kept playing on a loop in your mind.Suddenly, a banner flashed across the top of your screen from an unknown number.

Next part soon

[1343letters]

Midnight Miles

This is a fictional Jeon Jungkook x Hyeri Cho (OC) one shot fanfiction written for entertainment purposes only. The story, events, and character portrayals are entirely fictional and are not intended to represent the real person in any way. Enjoy reading ♡

!! 18+ / smut / consensual !!

Hyeri Cho had known Jungkook for seven years, three months, and sixteen days.

She knew because she had counted once, late at night in a hotel room in Osaka after a joint stage, when the adrenaline had faded and the only sound left was the low hum of the air conditioner and his breathing on the other side of the thin wall. She had opened her notes app and typed the number, then deleted it, then typed it again. It felt dangerous to keep, more dangerous to erase.

They had debuted within eight months of each other. Her group, LUNA, and his, BTS, had shared the same practice rooms in the early days, the same exhausted dinners, the same aching feet and the same quiet determination. He had been the maknae who smiled too much and hit every note like it cost him nothing. She had been the main vocalist who never quite learned how to take up space without apologizing for it.

Somewhere between shared stages and shared silences, friendship had settled into something denser. Something that lived in the way his eyes always found hers across crowded green rooms. Something that lived in the way she always saved the last bite of whatever late-night snack they were splitting, even when she was starving.

They never named it. Until the night they did.

----

It started the way most dangerous things did, quietly, after a long day, when the world had finally gone still.

They had just finished a year-end stage together. A special collaboration: her voice weaving around his, the choreography intimate enough that every camera angle felt like a confession. The company had loved it. The fans had lost their minds. The internet had decided they were “close friends” in the carefully curated way idols were allowed to be close.

After the encore, after the group photos, after the managers had finally stopped hovering, Jungkook had caught her wrist in the hallway behind the stage.

“Ride with me,” he said.

No question. Just the soft, low voice he used when it was only them.

Hyeri looked at his hand on her wrist, then up at his face. The stage makeup was still on, the sweat at his temples catching the lights. He looked tired and electric at the same time.

“Your bike?”

He nodded once.

She should have said no. There were rules. There were always rules. But her pulse was already answering for her, and when he let go of her wrist and walked toward the exit without looking back, she followed.

The underground parking was nearly empty. His black Ducati waited like a secret. He handed her a second helmet without a word. She put it on, climbed on behind him, and when the engine growled to life she felt the vibration travel up her thighs and settle low in her stomach.

He took the long way.

Seoul at 2 a.m. was a different city. The lights blurred. The wind cut through her jacket. She pressed closer, arms around his waist, cheek against the leather of his jacket, and let herself breathe him in. The scent of him, clean sweat, the faint trace of cologne that always lingered at his collarbone, the metal and oil of the bike filled her lungs until she felt dizzy with it.

He didn’t speak. Neither did she. The city rushed past them in streaks of gold and blue, and for forty minutes they existed in a pocket of time that belonged only to them.

When he finally pulled into the underground lot of a quiet residential building she didn’t recognize, she knew without asking that it was one of his. The private one. The one the members sometimes used when they needed to disappear.

He killed the engine. The sudden silence was loud.

Hyeri climbed off carefully. Her legs felt unsteady. Jungkook removed his helmet, then hers, and the way he looked at her then, dark eyes, soft mouth, something fierce and careful underneath made her chest ache.

“Come up,” he said.

She did.

The apartment was sparse and expensive in the way things were when someone had money but didn’t care about showing it. Floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the Han River. A single low couch. A record player in the corner. The faint scent of cedar and something warmer.

Jungkook set the helmets down, shrugged out of his jacket, and turned to face her.

For a long moment neither of them moved.

Then he said, very quietly, “I’m tired of pretending I don’t want you.”

Hyeri’s breath caught.

She had imagined this moment a hundred different ways. In none of them had it been this simple. This direct. This terrifying.

“Jungkook...”

“I’ve been patient,” he continued, stepping closer. “I’ve watched you for years. I’ve listened to you laugh with other people and told myself it was enough that you laughed with me too. I’ve kept my hands to myself when every instinct I have is to touch you. But tonight...” He stopped in front of her, close enough that she could feel the heat of him. “Tonight I can’t do it anymore.”

Her heart was hammering so hard she was sure he could hear it.

“What do you want me to say?” she whispered.

“I want you to tell me if I’m alone in this.”

She looked up at him. At the boy who had grown into a man while she was watching. At the friend who had become the quiet center of every room she walked into. At the person she had been half in love with for so long that the feeling had started to feel like part of her own body.

“You’re not alone,” she said.

The words were barely out before his mouth was on hers.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t careful. It was seven years of held breath finally released. His hands came up to frame her face, thumbs brushing her cheekbones, and he kissed her like he had been starving for it. She made a small sound against his mouth and he answered it with a deeper press of lips, tongue sliding against hers, tasting her like he needed the memory of it.

When they broke apart, both breathing hard, his forehead rested against hers.

“If we do this,” he said, voice rough, “we do it carefully. No one can know. Not yet. Maybe not for a long time. Can you live with that?”

Hyeri’s fingers curled into the front of his shirt.

“I’ve been living with less than this for years,” she said. “I can live with careful.”

Something in his expression shifted...relief, hunger, something darker and softer all at once.

“Good,” he murmured. Then, quieter: “Because I don’t think I can go back to only looking at you from across a stage.”

----

The first time they slept together was three nights later.

They had been careful. Another late-night ride that ended with her pressed against the door of his apartment, his mouth on her neck, his hands under her shirt, both of them shaking with how much they wanted and how long they had waited.

That night, after another schedule that left them both hollowed out and restless, she had texted him a single word.

Come.

He arrived twenty minutes later. Helmet under one arm. Eyes dark.

They didn’t speak much. He locked the door. She led him to the bedroom of the temporary residence her company had put her in for the promotions. The moment the door closed behind them, he was on her, mouth claiming hers, hands mapping the shape of her body through her clothes like he was learning it by heart.

“Tell me if you need me to stop,” he said against her mouth.

“Don’t stop.”

He stripped her slowly. Not teasing - reverent. Like every inch of skin he uncovered was something he had earned the right to see. When she was bare in front of him, he stepped back just far enough to look, and the way his gaze moved over her made her feel more seen than she ever had on any stage.

“You’re beautiful,” he said simply. “I’ve thought about this more times than I should admit.”

Hyeri’s cheeks burned.

“Show me.”

He did.

He laid her down on the bed and kissed his way down her body with a patience that felt almost cruel. Mouth on her collarbone. Teeth grazing the soft underside of her breast. Tongue tracing the line of her ribs. When he settled between her thighs and looked up at her, the expression on his face was pure intent.

“I’ve wanted to taste you for years,” he said, voice low. “Let me.”

She nodded, already trembling.

The first stroke of his tongue made her arch off the bed. He held her hips down with one strong hand and licked into her like he had all the time in the world. Slow, thorough, devastating. He learned what made her gasp, what made her thighs shake, what made her fingers twist in his hair. When he slid two fingers into her and curled them just right while sucking gently on her clit, she came with a broken sound she tried to muffle against her own wrist.

He didn’t stop until she was oversensitive and pleading.

Then he crawled up her body, kissed her deep so she could taste herself on his tongue, and reached for the condom he had brought with the quiet confidence of someone who had planned for this.

When he finally pushed into her, slow and careful, the stretch was perfect. She wrapped her legs around his waist and breathed through the fullness of him, and he waited, forehead pressed to hers, body tight with restraint until she nodded.

“Move,” she whispered.

He did.

The rhythm he set was deep and steady, almost deliberate. Every thrust was measured, controlled, like he was making sure she felt every inch. His hands pinned her wrists lightly above her head, not hard, just enough that she felt the difference in their strength and the quiet dominance of it made heat coil tighter in her stomach.

“Look at me,” he said.

She did.

His eyes were almost black in the low light.

“You’re mine when we’re like this. Do you understand?”

The words should have scared her. Instead they settled something restless inside her chest.

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“I’m yours.”

A low sound left his throat. He drove into her harder, still controlled, still precise, and the angle changed just enough that every stroke dragged against the place that made her vision blur. She came again with his name on her lips. He followed soon after, burying his face in her neck as he shuddered through it, teeth grazing her skin in a way that felt like a promise.

After, he cleaned them both up with the same quiet care he had shown during, then pulled her against his chest and held her until her breathing evened out.

“We have to be careful,” he murmured into her hair.

“I know.”

“I don’t care how careful we have to be. I’m not giving this up.”

Hyeri closed her eyes and pressed closer.

“Neither am I.”

----

The months that followed were a study in restraint and hunger. They learned the shape of secrecy.

Texts that said nothing and everything.

Are you home? meant I need you.

Long day meant I miss you so much it hurts.

A shared location pin at 1 a.m. meant the bike would be waiting.

----

Jungkook was careful in public. Professional. Warm in the way he had always been with her, but never more. The fans still called them close friends. The media still speculated in the soft, deniable way they always did. Behind closed doors, he was different.

He liked control in bed. Not harsh, never cruel, but absolute. He liked her wrists in his hands. He liked telling her when she could come. He liked the way she melted when he praised her in that low, rough voice.

“Good girl,” he would murmur against her ear while his fingers worked her open.

“Just like that. You’re doing so well for me.”

Hyeri had never known she needed that until he gave it to her. The way her body responded to his voice, to the quiet authority in the way he guided her, was almost embarrassing in its intensity. She came harder when he held her down. She stayed wet longer when he told her she was perfect. She slept deeper after, curled against his chest with his hand spanning the small of her back like a brand.

Outside the bedroom, the yearning never fully left.

There were nights when schedules kept them apart for weeks. Nights when she lay in hotel beds in different cities and stared at the ceiling and ached for the solid weight of him. Nights when he sent her voice notes of nothing but his breathing and the low rumble of his bike engine, and she pressed the phone to her ear and pretended he was there.

They got better at stealing time.

A private recording studio after hours. His apartment when the members were traveling. A safe house one of his hyungs quietly offered without asking questions. Once, memorably, the back of a blacked-out van during a long drive between cities, her skirt pushed up, his hand over her mouth to keep her quiet while he fucked her slow and deep and relentless until she came shaking against his palm.

Every time, afterward, he held her like the world outside the door didn’t exist.

“I hate that I can’t take you anywhere,” he said one night, fingers tracing idle patterns on her bare shoulder. “I hate that I can’t hold your hand in public. I hate that I have to pretend you’re just my friend when you’re the only person I want to come home to.”

Hyeri turned in his arms and kissed the underside of his jaw.

“I know,” she whispered. “But this, us, is still more than I ever thought I’d get to have. I’ll take the nights. I’ll take the secrets. I’ll take whatever version of you I can have.”

He was quiet for a long time.

Then: “One day I won’t ask you to hide.”

She believed him. She just didn’t know how long “one day” would take.

----

The first real crack in the careful wall came during a joint variety appearance six months into whatever they were.

They were seated side by side on a long couch. The hosts were light, playful, asking the usual questions about friendship and collaboration. Jungkook answered with his usual easy charm. Hyeri smiled and deflected with practiced grace.

Then one of the hosts, smiling too widely, asked, “Is there anyone special in either of your lives right now? Fans are always curious.”

The air in the studio seemed to thin.

Hyeri felt Jungkook go still beside her. Not visibly, his posture didn’t change but she felt it in the way the energy around him tightened.

She laughed, soft and practiced. “I’m married to my schedule right now. That’s more than enough special.”

The hosts laughed. The moment passed.

But later, in the hallway after filming, Jungkook caught her elbow and steered her into an empty dressing room. The door clicked shut. He didn’t touch her, cameras could be anywhere but his eyes were dark.

“I hated that,” he said quietly.

“I know.”

“I hated watching you have to lie.”

“We both did.”

He exhaled hard through his nose, jaw tight. For a moment she thought he might say something reckless. Instead he stepped closer, close enough that only she could hear.

“Tonight. My place. I need you.”

She nodded once.

----

That night he fucked her like he was trying to rewrite the afternoon. Harder than usual. Deeper. His hand in her hair, tilting her head back so he could watch her face as he drove into her. When she came, he didn’t let her look away.

“Mine,” he said against her mouth, voice rough with something almost desperate. “Even if no one else can know it yet. You’re mine.”

“Yours,” she gasped. “Only yours.”

He came with a broken sound that sounded like her name, and afterward he held her so tightly she could feel his heartbeat against her spine.

----

They learned the cost of secrecy in smaller ways too.

The way her members started looking at her differently when she came back from late nights with a soft, private smile she couldn’t quite hide. The way Jungkook’s members gave him space without asking questions, but the questions lived in their eyes anyway. The way the internet would light up with blurry photos of them leaving the same building minutes apart and the comments would spiral into theories that made her stomach twist with both fear and a strange, sharp longing.

Once, a particularly sharp-eyed fan account posted a photo of the two of them on a late-night variety set, Jungkook’s hand resting for half a second too long at the small of her back as he guided her past the staff. The caption was soft. Speculative. Hopeful.

Hyeri’s company called her in for a quiet conversation the next day.

“Be careful with the optics,” the manager said, not unkindly. “You know how these things get.”

She nodded. She smiled. She said all the right things.

That night she cried in Jungkook’s arms for the first time.

Not because she regretted him. Because she was so tired of pretending the most important person in her life was just a friend.

He held her through it. Kissed the tears from her cheeks. Whispered, “I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” until the shaking stopped.

Then he made love to her slow and careful, like he was trying to put her back together with his body. No demands. No control. Just warmth and presence and the quiet certainty of his hands on her skin.

Afterward, lying in the dark, he said, “We’re going to figure this out. I don’t know how yet. But I’m not letting the industry take this from us.”

Hyeri turned her face into his chest and breathed him in.

“I know,” she whispered. “I trust you.”

----

The night everything shifted again was a rainy one in late autumn.

They had both finished major schedules. A brief window of almost-freedom. Jungkook had texted her at midnight with a simple Ride? and she had been on the back of his bike within twenty minutes, helmet on, arms around him, the city smeared into watercolor by the rain and the speed.

He took her further than usual. Out past the usual routes, up into the quieter hills where the lights of Seoul looked like scattered stars below them. When he finally stopped at a overlook, the rain had slowed to a soft drizzle. He killed the engine. They sat for a long time in the quiet, her cheek against his back, his hand covering hers where it rested against his stomach.

“I love you,” he said into the rain-soft dark.

Hyeri’s breath stopped. He didn’t turn around. Just kept staring out at the city.

“I’ve loved you for a long time. Longer than I should have. I tried to be satisfied with friendship because I thought that was all I was allowed to want. But I’m done pretending. I love you. I’m in love with you. And I’m tired of only getting to say it with my body.”

She was crying before she realized it. Quiet tears that mixed with the rain on her cheeks. Jungkook finally turned, twisted carefully on the bike so he could see her face. His eyes were wet too.

“You don’t have to say it back,” he said. “I just needed you to know.”

Hyeri reached up with both hands and cupped his face. Her thumbs brushed the rain and the tears from his cheekbones.

“I love you,” she said, voice breaking. “I’ve loved you since we were trainees and you shared your last protein bar with me even though you were starving. I’ve loved you through every stage and every silence and every almost. I’m so in love with you it scares me.”

He kissed her then like the world was ending and beginning at the same time. Deep and desperate and full of everything they had never been allowed to say out loud.

When they finally pulled apart, both breathing hard, he rested his forehead against hers.

“Come home with me,” he said.

She did.

----

That night there was no rush. No desperate edge. Just the slow, thorough claiming of each other. He undressed her like he was unwrapping something precious. Kissed every inch of skin he uncovered. When he finally pushed into her, he held her gaze the entire time, and the intimacy of it was almost more overwhelming than the physical sensation.

“I love you,” he whispered with every slow thrust. “I love you. I love you.”

She came undone around him with those words in her ears, and when he followed, he buried his face in her neck and said it one more time like a vow.

After, tangled together under the sheets, the rain still soft against the windows, Hyeri traced the lines of the tattoos on his arm and felt something settle deep in her chest.

They still had to hide. The industry was still complicated. The public was still watching. But for the first time, the secret didn’t feel like a cage. It felt like a promise they were keeping for themselves until the world was ready.

----

The months after that were different in the quiet ways that mattered.

They still rode at night. Still met in the spaces between schedules. Still touched each other like they were learning a language only the two of them spoke. But the love sat between them now, named and solid, and it changed the air in every room they shared.

Jungkook became more openly protective in the subtle ways he could get away with. A hand at her back when the crowd got too close after a joint appearance. The way he always made sure she ate when schedules ran long. The way his eyes found hers across every stage like a private tether.

Hyeri learned how to live with the dual reality of their lives. The public version, colleagues, friends, occasional collaborators and the private one, where she belonged to him in ways that made her soft and strong at the same time.

The sex remained a place of safety and intensity. He still liked control. She still liked giving it to him. But there was a new tenderness underneath the dominance now. A care that lived in the way he always checked in, the way he always held her after, the way he whispered praise like it was a language he had invented just for her.

----

One night, months later, after a particularly long stretch of separation, he had her on her knees in front of him in the low light of his bedroom. His hand gentle in her hair. His voice soft and rough at once.

“You look so pretty like this,” he murmured. “My good girl. Taking what I give you.”

She took him into her mouth and the sound he made was almost a prayer. When he finally pulled her up and into his lap and sank into her, the angle deep and perfect, he held her hips and guided her movements with that same quiet authority.

“That’s it. Just like that. You’re perfect for me.”

She came with his name on her tongue and his hands grounding her, and afterward he cleaned her up and tucked her against his chest and pressed soft kisses to her hair until she drifted.

In the morning, before the world reclaimed them, he made her coffee the way she liked it and sat across from her at the small table by the window, watching the city wake up.

“One day,” he said, like he had said so many times before.

Hyeri smiled at him over the rim of her mug.

“One day,” she agreed.

And for the first time, it didn’t feel like a distant hope. It felt like a plan.

----

They got there the way they had gotten everywhere else slowly, carefully, together.

It started with small truths told to the people who mattered most. His members first. Then hers. The careful, quiet conversations with companies that took months of negotiation and compromise and more than a few closed-door meetings that left both of them exhausted and hopeful in equal measure.

The public found out on a rainy Tuesday in spring, almost two years after that first ride.

A joint Instagram post. Simple. A photo of their hands linked on the handlebars of his bike, her fingers curled around his, the city lights soft in the background. The caption was just two words and a date.

Us. Finally.

The internet lost its collective mind.

But by then, the two of them were already far from the noise on the bike again, helmets on, the road opening up in front of them like a promise. Hyeri’s arms around his waist. Jungkook’s hand covering hers for a brief, perfect second at a red light.

He turned his head just enough that she could hear him over the engine.

“Ready?”

She tightened her hold and smiled against his back.

“I’ve been ready for years.”

The light turned green. He opened the throttle.

And they rode into whatever came next the same way they had always moved through the hard parts, together, steady, and finally, completely free.

Thank you so much for reading! ♡ Let me know what you think in the comments. I would love hearing your feedback. Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[1343letters]

Echoes in the gallery

This is a fictional Kim Namjoon x female reader one shot fanfiction written for entertainment purposes only. The story, events, and character portrayals are entirely fictional and are not intended to represent the real person in any way. Enjoy reading ♡

!! 18+ / extremly explicit smut / consensual !!

Week One The first time you really spoke, rain was pattering against the tall museum windows. You stood motionless in front of Botticelli’s ''La Primavera'', studying the way the goddess’s sheer drapery hinted at the body beneath. A calm, deep voice broke the silence beside you.

“The way he painted desire… it’s never blatant. It’s always in the almost-touch.”

You turned.

Kim Namjoon. Tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a black turtleneck and silver glasses that slid slightly down his nose. He carried a small notebook and a pen stained with ink.

“I think that’s what makes it more powerful,” you answered. “The restraint.”

His eyes met yours with genuine interest.

“Exactly. Restraint makes the eventual release feel earned.”

That single conversation lasted nearly forty minutes. You talked about myth, about how artists throughout history used the female form to explore power and surrender. Namjoon listened like your words mattered. When you finally had to leave, he gave you a small, dimpled smile.

“Come back soon. There’s a Caravaggio in the next wing I think you’d like.”

You did come back.

----

Week Two He found you again in the sculpture hall.

This time the conversation went deeper. You spoke about your job, how art was your escape. He told you about late nights restoring damaged canvases, about how certain pieces made him feel small and infinite at the same time.

“You ever look at a painting and feel… hungry?” he asked quietly, standing close enough that his sleeve brushed your arm.

“Hungry for what?” you replied, heart picking up.

His gaze dropped to your lips for a fraction of a second.

“For something real. Something that makes your skin feel too tight.”

The air thickened. You swallowed.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I know exactly what you mean.”

He didn’t touch you that day. But when you left, his fingers brushed the small of your back as he walked you to the exit...lingering just a heartbeat longer than necessary.

----

Week Three By now the staff knew you by name. Namjoon started saving certain exhibits for your visits.

One evening, golden hour light poured through the skylights as you sat together on a bench in front of a large abstract piece...swirling deep blues and golds that felt like longing made visible.

“I wrote a poem about this one once,” he admitted, voice low. “About how beauty can make a person feel both worshipped and ruined.”

You turned toward him.

“Read it to me.”

He hesitated, then recited softly from memory. The words were sensual without being crude, lines about tracing curves with trembling hands, about mouths open in silent prayer, about the moment when restraint finally snapped.

When he finished, the silence felt alive.

“You write like that… and you’re surrounded by all this art every day,” you said, voice slightly breathless.

“How do you not lose your mind?”

His smile was slow and dangerous.

“Who says I haven’t already?”

Your thighs pressed together involuntarily. The tension had been building for weeks, stolen glances, shared secrets, conversations that danced around desire without naming it. Every time he said your name it felt like a caress.

Before you left that night he finally asked.

“I can arrange a private after-hours tour. Just us. No crowds. No rush.” His eyes searched yours.

“If you want.”

“I want,” you answered immediately.

----

The Night The museum after closing was a different world.

Soft lights glowed along the halls. Footsteps echoed. Namjoon met you at the side entrance wearing a dark button-up, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly tousled like he’d been running his hands through it in anticipation.

He locked the door behind you.

“I’ve been thinking about this all week.”

“Me too,” you confessed.

He started the tour slowly, deliberately. Renaissance hall first. He spoke about technique, about how artists captured the exact moment before surrender. As he talked, he stood closer and closer until his chest brushed your back.

In front of the marble sculpture of the woman with her head thrown back, he finally broke.

His hands settled on your waist.

“Tell me what you see when you look at her now.”

“I see someone who’s been waiting too long,” you whispered.

Namjoon turned you in his arms and kissed you.

It started gentle lips brushing, learning each other after weeks of restraint. Then hunger took over. He backed you against the cool marble pedestal, one large hand cupping the back of your neck as the kiss turned deep and filthy. Tongues sliding, soft moans swallowed between you.

When you whimpered into his mouth, he groaned and pressed his growing hardness against your thigh.

“Been hard for you since week one,” he admitted against your throat, teeth grazing skin.

“Every time you talked about art like it was foreplay.”

Your hands slid under his shirt, feeling the firm muscle of his stomach.

“Then stop waiting.”

He didn’t.

Namjoon dropped to his knees, pushing your dress up and dragging your panties down in one motion. The first broad stroke of his tongue had your head falling back. He ate you out like he’d been dreaming about it for weeks. Slow, reverent licks followed by hungry sucking on your clit. Two thick fingers pushed inside you, curling perfectly against that spot that made stars explode behind your eyes.

Your first orgasm hit hard and fast. Eyes rolling back, thighs trembling around his shoulders as you cried out, the sound echoing through the empty hall.

He worked you through it, then stood and kissed you so you could taste yourself. While you were still shaking, he freed his cock - thick, long, and leaking. You wrapped your hand around him, stroking slowly until he was panting.

Then he lifted you, pinning you against the pedestal and sinking into you in one long thrust.

“Fuck..” you gasped at the stretch.

Namjoon’s forehead pressed to yours.

“So tight. So perfect.”

He fucked you slow and deep at first, savoring every inch, every gasp. But weeks of slow burn had left you both desperate. His pace quickened, hips snapping, the wet slap of skin loud in the silence. One hand held your ass, the other rubbed tight circles on your clit.

Your second orgasm ripped through you, eyes rolling back hard, nails digging into his shoulders as your walls clenched around him.

Only then did he let himself go, burying himself deep and coming with a low, broken groan of your name.

You moved to the contemporary wing after that.

In the darker alcove with the swirling red-and-gold painting, he took his time undressing you completely. He worshipped your body with hands and mouth, sucking marks into your breasts, licking down your stomach, dropping to his knees again to bring you to the edge with his tongue before pulling back teasingly.

When you finally begged, he bent you over the low railing and fucked you from behind. Hard. Deep. One hand fisted gently in your hair while the other rubbed your clit. Every thrust dragged against that perfect spot until you came again, eyes rolling, legs shaking, moaning loud enough that you were grateful the museum was empty.

He pulled out, turned you around, and sat on the bench, pulling you into his lap. You rode him slowly this time. Face to face, eyes locked. The intimacy was overwhelming. Every roll of your hips drew broken praises from him.

“You’re ruining me,” he whispered, gripping your hips.

“In the best way.”

When you came again, eyes rolling back as pleasure overwhelmed you, he followed right after, holding you tight as he spilled deep inside.

The final stop was the small private restoration room.

Under warmer light, he laid you on the wide table and spread you open. This time was slower again…almost tender. He kissed every inch of you while sliding inside, fucking you with long, rolling strokes that made your toes curl. He whispered poetry against your skin, mixed with the filthiest praises.

“Look at you… taking me so well. Eyes rolling like that...fuck, you’re beautiful when you fall apart.”

You lost count of how many times he made you come. By the end you were a trembling, oversensitive mess, eyes rolling with every deep thrust until he finally came one last time, collapsing over you with a satisfied groan.

Afterward, he wrapped you in his shirt and held you on the table, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your bare thigh.

“I didn’t want this to be just one night,” he said quietly.

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Good. Because I still have a lot more exhibits I want you to show me.”

Namjoon laughed softly, dimples deep, and pulled you closer.

“The museum is yours. And so am I.”

Thank you so much for reading MY FIRST EVER SMUT! ♡ Let me know what you think in the comments. I would love hearing your feedback. Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[1343letters]

The space between us

This is a fictional Jeon Jungkook x female reader one shot fanfiction written for entertainment purposes only. The story, events, and character portrayals are entirely fictional and are not intended to represent the real person in any way. Enjoy reading ♡

Everyone walks around like they have a plan. Like they know exactly which building they’re supposed to be in, which professor they’re looking for, which café has the best coffee, which clubs they’re joining, which people they’re going to become friends with.

You quickly discover that most people are just pretending. You included.

On your first Monday morning, you spend fifteen minutes walking around campus with a map open on your phone, a half-finished iced coffee in your hand, and a growing suspicion that the college was intentionally designed like a maze. You’re about to accept that you’re going to be late to your first lecture when someone walks straight into you.

“Oh...sorry.”

The voice is warm, slightly breathless.

You look up. And immediately forget what you were going to say. The guy standing in front of you looks like he belongs here. Not in the way that makes you think he knows where everything is. More like he somehow makes being lost look effortless.

Dark hair falling slightly into his eyes. A backpack hanging loosely over one shoulder. A hoodie that looks suspiciously comfortable. A pair of headphones resting around his neck.

He looks down at the phone in your hand. Then at the campus map. Then back at you.

“First week?”

You narrow your eyes.

“Is it that obvious?”

He tries not to smile. Fails.

“A little.”

You look around.

“Great. Love that for me.”

He laughs. It’s quiet, but genuine.

“You’re looking for the humanities building.”

You blink.

“How do you know that?”

“Because you’ve been standing in front of the science building for five minutes.”

You look behind you.

The large sign above the entrance proudly says: SCIENCE FACULTY

You close your eyes.

“Okay.”

A pause.

“Maybe I’m not as prepared as I thought.”

The stranger grins.

“Lucky for you, I’m going that way.”

“You are?”

“Yeah.”

“You just happen to know where the humanities building is?”

“I’ve been here for two years.”

“Ah.”

“So I’m basically an expert.”

You look at him.

“You’re basically someone who knows where one building is.”

He places a hand over his chest dramatically.

“That hurt.”

“You’ll survive.”

“Probably.”

And somehow, despite having no idea who he is, you find yourself walking beside him.

The humanities building is only seven minutes away. You know this because he tells you three times.

“Seven minutes.”

“You already said that.”

“I’m making sure you appreciate my navigation skills.”

“You walked in a straight line.”

“Exactly.”

You shake your head. But you’re smiling. And he notices. You don’t know that yet. You don’t know he’s the kind of person who notices everything.

“You’re in Professor Kim’s lecture?”

You stop at the entrance.

“Yeah.”

His eyebrows lift.

“Me too.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

He opens the door.

“Guess you’re stuck with me.”

You should probably say something normal. Something casual.

Instead, you say: “Is that supposed to sound threatening?”

He laughs.

“No. I was going for comforting.”

“Not sure you achieved that.”

“Give me time.”

The lecture hall is bigger than you expected. Hundreds of seats. Hundreds of unfamiliar faces. You immediately feel like everyone else knows something you don’t. Where to sit. Who to talk to. How to look like they belong.

You choose a seat near the window. The stranger sits beside you.

“You always sit by the window?”

You glance at him.

“Is that a weird question?”

“Maybe.”

“Then why ask?”

He shrugs.

“Curious.”

You look away, pretending not to notice the small smile on his face.

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, I always sit by the window.”

“Why?”

You think about it.

“I like having an escape route.”

He laughs.

“An escape route?”

“In case the lecture gets too boring.”

“That’s a terrible reason.”

“It’s an honest one.”

He nods thoughtfully.

“I respect it.”

“You respect my desire to leave?”

“Absolutely.”

By the end of the lecture, you know his name. Jeon Jungkook. Second-year student. Studying something related to media. Someone who talks too much during breaks but somehow never manages to be annoying. Which is frustrating. Because you usually know immediately when you don’t like someone. With him, you’re not sure.

----

The next time you see him is three days later. You’re sitting in the campus café, staring at your laptop and questioning every life decision that led you to a three-hour reading assignment.

A shadow falls over your table.

“Escape route?”

You look up. Jungkook.

You blink.

“What?”

He points toward the window.

“Your usual seat.”

You look around.

“You remembered?”

He shrugs.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Okay, yes.”

That surprises you more than it should.

“You remember where I sit?”

“I remember a lot of things.”

There’s something about the way he says it. Not flirtatious. Not trying to impress you. Just honest.

You look back at your laptop.

“Well. That’s slightly terrifying.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Means you won’t forget me.”

You stare at him. He realizes what he said. Immediately looks embarrassed.

“I mean..you know.”

You laugh. And the tension disappears. A little.

“Can I sit?”

You glance at the empty chair across from you.

“You’re asking this time?”

“Trying to be respectful.”

“After stealing my seat?”

“I apologized.”

“You said I’d survive.”

“That was basically an apology.”

“It absolutely was not.”

He smiles.

“Can I sit?”

You pretend to think about it.

“Fine.”

“Wow. Thank you.”

“Don’t make me regret it.”

“Never.”

----

That becomes the beginning. Not something dramatic. Not some movie moment where the entire world stops. Just small things. Jungkook sitting beside you in lectures. Jungkook saving you a seat when you arrive late. Jungkook sending you a message because he found an article that reminded him of your assignment. Jungkook asking if you ate lunch because “coffee doesn’t count as food, no matter how much you argue.”

You tell yourself it’s normal. Friends do these things. People are kind. That’s all. Your roommate disagrees.

“He likes you.”

You almost choke on your drink.

“What?”

She looks up from her laptop.

“Jungkook.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“We’re friends.”

“Friends don’t bring each other coffee every morning.”

“He brings coffee because he buys coffee.”

“He remembers your order.”

You don’t answer. Because that part is true. The first time it happened, you thought it was a coincidence. The second time, you thought maybe you’d mentioned it. By the fifth time, you realized he just knew.

“People can be thoughtful.”

Your roommate stares at you.

“You’re impossible.”

“I’m realistic.”

“You’re in denial.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

She points at your phone.

“You smiled when his name popped up.”

You immediately stop smiling.

“I did not.”

“You did.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

You put your phone face down.

“I hate you.”

“No, you hate that I’m right.”

Unfortunately? She might be. The problem is that Jungkook never crosses the line. He never says anything that gives you permission to believe he feels the same way.

He’s warm. He’s kind. He’s easy to be around. But maybe that’s just who he is. Maybe you’re just another friend. And for some reason, that thought bothers you more than it should.

----

A month after you meet him, you’re sitting together in the library. It’s raining outside. The kind of rain that makes campus feel quieter. Almost peaceful.

You’re working on an essay when Jungkook suddenly says: “You’re doing it again.”

You look up.

“Doing what?”

“Biting your pen.”

You immediately stop.

“I do not.”

“You do.”

“I don’t.”

“You literally just did it.”

You look at the pen in your hand. Then at him.

“Maybe I like it.”

“Maybe it’s bad for you.”

“You sound like my mother.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You shouldn’t.”

He smiles.

And there it is again.That feeling. That tiny moment where everything around you becomes quieter. Where you forget there are other people in the room.Where it feels like maybe..Maybe.

Then someone calls his name.

A girl from his department waves at him from another table.

“Jungkook!”

He turns. “Hey.”

She walks over, smiling. They start talking.

You tell yourself not to look. You do anyway. She’s pretty. Confident. The kind of person who looks like she belongs everywhere. And suddenly, you feel very aware that you’re just sitting there with a half-finished essay and messy hair. You look back down at your laptop.

A few minutes later, Jungkook sits back down.

“You okay?”

You look up.

“Yeah.”

“You got quiet.”

“I’m just tired.”

He studies you for a second. Like he knows you’re lying. But he doesn’t push. Instead, he quietly moves his coffee toward you.

“Drink.”

You blink.

“What?”

“You forgot yours.”

“You noticed?”

He smiles slightly.

“I notice a lot of things.”

And somehow that makes it worse. Because you’re starting to realize... You want him to notice you. Not just the little things. You want him to notice what happens to your heart every time he smiles.

----

The worst thing about having a crush on someone is that suddenly everything they do feels important. Before Jungkook, you never thought much about small things. Someone holding a door open. Someone remembering your coffee order. Someone waiting outside a lecture hall because they finished early and happened to be nearby.

Normal things. Completely normal things.

Except now Jungkook does them, and somehow your brain treats every single one like evidence in a case you’re desperately trying not to solve.

He remembered my favorite snack. He waited for me after class. He sent me a picture of a book because he thought I would like it.

You hate that your roommate has started calling it "the Jungkook situation."

“It’s not a situation,” you tell her.

She looks up from her book.

“You have a situation.”

“I have a friend.”

“A friend who texts you good morning?”

You pause.

“That happened once.”

“Once is enough.”

“It was because he had an early class.”

“And?”

“And he probably texted other people.”

Your roommate raises an eyebrow.

“Do you genuinely believe that?”

You open your mouth. Then close it. Because honestly? No.

----

Jungkook has a way of appearing exactly when you need him. Which is suspicious. You’re convinced he has some kind of sixth sense. The first time you miss lunch because of an assignment, he somehow knows.

“You didn’t eat.”

You look up from your laptop.

“How do you know that?”

“You get quieter.”

“I’m always quiet.”

“No.”

You blink.

“No?”

“No.”

He says it so confidently that you don’t even argue. Instead, you stare at him.

“What am I like then?”

The question slips out before you can stop it. Jungkook looks surprised. Like he wasn’t expecting you to ask. Then his expression softens.

“You laugh more when you’re comfortable.”

Your heart skips.

“You talk faster when you’re excited.”

You look away.

“You pretend you don’t like attention, but you secretly do.”

“I do not.”

“You do.”

“I absolutely do not.”

He smiles.

“You’re proving my point.”

You roll your eyes. But you’re smiling. And he notices. Of course he notices.

----

A few weeks later, you find out Jungkook is actually not as confident as everyone thinks. It happens after class. You’re walking across campus when you see him sitting alone on the steps outside the arts building. No headphones. No phone. Just staring ahead. It’s strange. Because Jungkook is rarely alone. Not because he’s constantly surrounded by people. More because people naturally move toward him.

“You okay?”

He looks up. His face changes immediately. Not dramatically. Just enough. The usual easy smile appears.

“Yeah.”

You sit beside him.

“You’re lying.”

He laughs quietly.

“Is it that obvious?”

“To me?”

The words come out softer than intended. His eyes meet yours. For a second, neither of you says anything. Then he looks away.

“Maybe.”

You don’t push. You’ve learned that about him. Jungkook gives pieces of himself away slowly. Not because he doesn’t trust people. Because he’s used to being the person everyone comes to. The funny one. The helpful one. The person who makes everyone else comfortable. Sometimes you wonder if anyone asks him if he’s okay. So you do.

“Bad day?”

He sighs.

“Kind of.”

“Want to talk about it?”

He looks at you.

“You always ask that.”

“What?”

“If I’m okay.”

You shrug.

“Someone should.”

His expression changes. Something quiet passes between you.

“Yeah,” he says softly.

“Someone should.”

----

After that day, something shifts. Not in a dramatic way. Nothing obvious. But he starts letting you see more. The parts that aren’t polished. The parts that aren’t always confident. The parts that make you realize he’s not some perfect person everyone else sees. He’s just Jungkook. Someone who gets nervous before presentations. Someone who forgets to sleep because he gets too invested in projects. Someone who watches the same comfort movies over and over. Someone who claims he can cook but nearly burns pasta.

“You burned water somehow.”

“That’s impossible.”

“And yet.”

He looks offended.

“I was distracted.”

“By what?”

He pauses. Then smiles.

“Nothing.”

You narrow your eyes.

“Suspicious.”

----

The first time people assume you’re together, neither of you corrects them immediately. It happens at a campus café. You and Jungkook are sitting together, sharing notes. A guy from your class walks past.

“Oh.”

You look up.

“What?”

He points between you.

“I didn’t know you two were dating.”

The silence afterward is horrible. Not because it’s awkward. Because you’re waiting. Waiting for Jungkook to laugh.

Waiting for him to say: No, we're just friends.

And he does laugh. But quietly. Almost nervously.

“We’re not.”

The guy nods.

“Ah. My bad.”

Then he leaves.

You stare at your notes. You don’t know why you feel disappointed. Because that’s what you wanted, right? To know. To be sure. Except now you know. And somehow that hurts.

“You’re quiet.”

You hate that he always notices.

“I’m thinking.”

“About?”

You hesitate.

“Nothing.”

A tiny smile appears on his face.

“You’re terrible at lying.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“What?”

“You said nothing when you were clearly upset.”

He goes quiet. Fair.

“You remember that?”

You look at him.

“Of course I do.”

Something about that seems to affect him. He looks down at his coffee.

“You remember a lot too.”

----

The next few weeks become dangerous. Because now there’s an awareness. You feel it. And you’re almost certain he feels it too. The way he looks at you when you laugh. The way conversations sometimes stop because neither of you wants to be the first to leave. The way his hand almost touches yours when you walk together.

----

Then comes the party. You almost don’t go. You’re tired. You have assignments. You’re perfectly happy staying in your room with a blanket and a movie. But Jungkook texts you.

please come

You stare at the message.

why?

A minute passes.

because i want you there

You hate how quickly you get ready after that.

The party is crowded. Too crowded. Music fills every room. People you recognize but don’t know. People you don’t recognize at all.

You find Jungkook near the kitchen. And immediately regret how much you notice. Because he looks good. Annoyingly good. Black shirt. Hair slightly messy. That effortless kind of attractive that makes you want to look away.

Unfortunately, he sees you. His entire face changes. Like he’s genuinely happy you’re there.

“You came.”

“You asked.”

“I know.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I am.”

“Why?”

He smiles.

“Because sometimes I think you don’t realize how much I like having you around.”

Your brain stops. Completely. Before you can answer, someone calls his name. And he gets pulled away. Leaving you standing there with your heart doing something incredibly inconvenient.

----

Later that night, you find yourself outside. The air is cold. The music is muffled behind the door. You’re looking at the campus lights when Jungkook joins you.

“You disappear a lot.”

You glance at him.

“You noticed?”

He gives you a look.

“Seriously?”

You smile.

“Right.”

He stands beside you. Not too close. Not far either.

“I meant what I said earlier.”

Your heartbeat changes.

“About what?”

“That I like having you around.”

You look at him. He looks nervous. Actually nervous.

“I know we haven’t known each other that long.”

“Jungkook.”

“No, let me finish.”

You go quiet. He takes a breath.

“I don’t know exactly when it happened.”

His eyes meet yours.

“But somewhere between coffee and lectures and walking you across campus…”

A small smile.

“I started looking for you.”

And suddenly, the whole world feels quiet. Not empty. Just quiet. Because there are things you could say. Things you’ve wanted to say. But before either of you can...

The door opens behind you. Someone calls his name. The moment breaks. Jungkook looks back. Then at you. And you both know. Something almost happened. Something important.

----

That night, lying in bed, you stare at your ceiling for a very long time. Because you finally admit something you’ve been avoiding. You don’t just like Jungkook. You’re falling for him. And the terrifying part? You think he might be falling too.

----

The problem with almost moments is that they don’t disappear. A normal conversation disappears. A normal day disappears. A normal smile disappears. But almost moments? They stay. They replay. They follow you around.

For the next week, you keep thinking about the way Jungkook looked at you outside that party.

The way he said: "I started looking for you."

And the worst part? You know exactly what he meant. Because you do it too.

You walk into lectures and look for him before you even realize you’re doing it. You enter the café and automatically check his usual table. You hear someone laugh from across campus and your brain immediately wonders if it’s him. It’s embarrassing. You hate it. You also don’t want it to stop.

“You’re distracted.”

You look up from your notebook.

Your professor is not the one who said it. Jungkook is.

He’s sitting beside you, spinning a pen between his fingers.

“I’m listening.”

“You wrote the same sentence three times.”

You look down. Unfortunately, he’s right.

“That’s not important.”

“It’s a little important.”

“You’re annoying.”

“You say that a lot.”

“Because it’s true.”

He smiles.

“You don’t mean it.”

You hate that he’s right. Things are different after the party. Not worse. Not awkward. Just different. There’s a new kind of awareness between you. A quiet understanding that something is there. Neither of you names it. Maybe because naming it would make it real. Maybe because once something is real, you can lose it. So instead, you exist in this strange space where everyone else seems to know what’s happening except the two people involved.

----

“You two are ridiculous.”

You look at your roommate.

“What?”

She gestures between you and your phone.

“You smiled.”

“I did not.”

“You did.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

You sigh.

“It was just a message.”

“From him?”

You don’t answer. Her expression says everything.

“I hate that I’m right all the time.”

“You’re not.”

“I am.”

“You’re not.”

“You literally didn’t deny it.”

You throw a pillow at her.

The message in question is simple. did you eat today?

You stare at it. A normal person would answer normally.

Something like: "yes, don’t worry."

Instead, you type: are you keeping track of my meals now?

His reply comes almost immediately. maybe

You smile. that’s concerning i’m concerned

Your smile fades slightly. Because he means it. He always means things. That’s what makes him dangerous.

----

A few days later, you get paired with someone else for a project. Normally, this wouldn’t matter. You’re both adults. You have friends outside of each other. You know this. Jungkook knows this. So why does he suddenly become very interested in your project partner?

“So.”

You look up.

“So?”

“Your partner.”

You blink.

“Julian?”

“Yeah.”

“What about him?”

“He seems nice.”

The way Jungkook says it makes you suspicious.

“You don’t like him.”

“I don’t know him.”

“You don’t like him.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You implied it.”

He looks away.

“I just think he talks a lot.”

“You talk a lot.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“I’m interesting.”

You laugh. And immediately, his expression softens because he made you laugh. Again. Like that was the goal.

“You’re jealous.”

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them. Jungkook freezes.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m really not.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

He looks offended.

“I’m not.”

“You literally just told me you weren’t jealous while looking away.”

“I was thinking.”

“You were panicking.”

“I was not.”

You smile. He tries to stay serious. Fails.

“Okay,” he admits quietly.

“Maybe a little.”

Your heartbeat stutters.

“Why?”

The question hangs between you. For once, Jungkook doesn’t immediately joke. Doesn’t avoid. Doesn’t change the subject.

“Because I don’t like the idea of someone else getting to know you the way I do.”

You go quiet. The world feels suddenly smaller.

“Jungkook…”

“I know.”

He exhales.

“I know it’s unfair.”

“No.”

“It is.”

“No, it’s not.”

He looks at you. And for a second, he looks almost relieved.

----

The first time you hold hands is completely accidental. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. You’re walking back from the library. It’s late. Campus is almost empty. The lights along the path glow softly. You’re talking about nothing. A movie. A professor. A ridiculous assignment. Normal things.

Then your hands brush.

Neither of you moves away. A few steps later, it happens again. This time, Jungkook looks down. Then at you.

“Sorry.”

You blink.

“For what?”

“I don’t know.”

You smile.

“You apologize a lot.”

“I do?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe I’m nervous.”

The honesty catches you off guard.

“You’re nervous?”

He laughs quietly.

“Sometimes.”

“You?”

“Yes, me.”

“You seem like you’re never nervous.”

“That’s because you don’t see it.”

You look at him.

“What are you nervous about?”

He looks ahead. Then back at you.

“Messing things up.”

Your chest tightens.

“Jungkook…”

“I know we’re not...”

He stops. The sentence remains unfinished. Not friends. Not something else. Not yet. Slowly, carefully, he reaches for your hand. Not grabbing. Not assuming. Just offering. You take it.

Neither of you talks about it afterward. But neither of you lets go.

----

The following weekend, you end up at his dorm for the first time. Not because anything dramatic happens. Because he needs help with an assignment. And because apparently Jungkook’s definition of "I just need someone to look over this" means having fifteen different tabs open and no idea what any of them are for.

“You’re impossible.”

“I know.”

“You admit that too easily.”

“I’ve accepted myself.”

“You’re proud of being chaotic?”

“Absolutely.”

You shake your head. But you’re smiling.

His dorm feels very him. A little messy. A little warm. Books stacked everywhere. A guitar leaning against the wall. Photos from places he’s been. Little pieces of his life scattered around.

“You’re staring.”

You look back.

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.”

A pause.

“You can look.”

Your heart skips.

“What?”

He smiles.

“At my stuff.”

“Oh.”

“I thought you meant…”

He stops. You both go quiet. Because you both know what he almost said.

Later, after hours of working, you end up sitting on the floor. Neither of you remembers how.

You’re laughing about something completely stupid. The kind of laughter that makes your stomach hurt. And suddenly you realize: This is it. This is the moment. Not the dramatic ones. Not the movie scenes. This. Sitting on the floor. Laughing with someone who has slowly become your favorite person.

Jungkook looks at you. The laughter fades.

“What?”

He shakes his head.

“Nothing.”

“You’re staring.”

“Maybe.”

You smile.

“Why?”

He hesitates.

Then: “Because sometimes I still can’t believe you’re real.”

And there it is. That feeling. That impossible, terrifying feeling. You don’t know what to do with it. So you just sit there. Looking at him. Both of you knowing. Both of you waiting. But neither of you kisses the other. Not yet. Because sometimes the hardest part isn’t falling. It’s admitting you already have.

----

The thing about almost falling in love with someone is that eventually, you run out of excuses. At first, you can explain everything away. He’s just friendly. He’s just thoughtful. He’s just your friend.

But then you start collecting moments. The way he looks for you the second he enters a room. The way he remembers things you mentioned once months ago. The way his entire expression changes when he sees you. You can call it friendship as many times as you want. Eventually, the word stops fitting.

After the night at his dorm, things become almost unbearable. Not because anything bad happens. Because everything is good. Too good.

Jungkook doesn’t act differently. That somehow makes it worse. He still sends you random messages. He still saves you seats. He still complains when you forget to eat.

But now there’s something underneath everything. Something neither of you says. Something that exists in every pause. Every glance. Every moment your hands almost touch.

“You’re doing it again.”

You look up from your laptop.

“Doing what?”

“Thinking too loudly.”

You stare at Jungkook.

“That’s not possible.”

“It is with you.”

“What does that even mean?”

He smiles.

“It means I can tell when you’re overthinking.”

You look away.

“Maybe I am.”

“About?”

You hesitate. Because the honest answer is: You. Always you.

Instead, you say: “Everything.”

Jungkook studies your face. He doesn’t believe you. But he lets it go.

----

The next week is stressful. Assignments. Presentations. Not enough sleep. Too much coffee.

You and Jungkook practically live in the library. One night, you’re both sitting at a table surrounded by books when he suddenly closes his laptop.

“We need a break.”

You look at the clock.

“It’s midnight.”

“Exactly.”

“That’s not a normal break time.”

“It is when you’re a college student.”

“That’s a terrible argument.”

“It’s a realistic one.”

You sigh.

“Where are we going?”

He smiles.

“You trust me?”

You immediately become suspicious.

“That depends.”

“On?”

“Whether I should.”

He laughs.

“Fair.”

----

Ten minutes later, you’re standing outside a convenience store.

“You brought me here?”

“You said you were hungry.”

“You remembered?”

He gives you a look.

“Seriously?”

You hate that your heart reacts every time he says things like that. Because he says them so casually. Like remembering you matters isn’t a big deal. Like you matter isn’t a big deal.

You sit outside the store on a bench. The campus is quiet. Almost everyone has gone home. Jungkook hands you a drink.

“You know something?”

“What?”

“I think this is my favorite time of day.”

You look at him.

“Eating convenience store food at midnight?”

He laughs.

“No.”

His eyes move toward the empty campus.

“This.”

The word sits between you.

“This?”

“Yeah.”

A pause.

“Just being somewhere with you.”

Your breath catches. He looks down. Like he realizes he said too much. But you don’t want him to take it back.

“Jungkook?”

“Yeah?”

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Say things that sound like you mean more than you’re saying.”

Silence. For once, he doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t tease. Doesn’t find a way around it.

“I don’t know.”

That answer surprises you.

“You don’t know?”

“No.”

He looks at you.

“I think maybe I’m trying to tell you without actually having to say it.”

Your heart pounds.

“Why?”

“Because…”

He pauses.

“Because I’m scared.”

You didn’t expect that.

“Of what?”

He smiles sadly.

“That maybe I’m the only one feeling this.”

The words hit harder than they should.Because how could he possibly think that? How could someone who makes you feel so seen believe you don’t see him?

“Jungkook.”

He looks at you.

“You’re not.”

A quiet moment.

“You’re not the only one.”

Neither of you moves. The entire world feels frozen. You can hear distant cars. The wind. Your own heartbeat. Jungkook’s expression changes. Not dramatically. Just enough. Hope. Careful, fragile hope.

“Really?”

You nod.

“Really.”

For a second, you think this is it.

The moment. The kiss. Everything finally makes sense. But then.. Your phone rings. You both jump. You look down. Your roommate. Of course.

Jungkook laughs quietly.

“Perfect timing.”

You groan.

“I hate my life.”

“No, you don’t.”

You look at him.

“You always say that.”

“Because you always mean the opposite.”

The moment passes. But something has changed. Because now you both know.

----

After that night, you don’t pretend anymore. Not completely. You still don’t put a label on anything. You still don’t tell everyone. But there’s a softness between you now. A comfort. A certainty.

Jungkook reaches for your hand more often. You lean against him without thinking. Your conversations last longer. Your goodbyes take longer. Everything feels like a beginning.

Until one day, it doesn’t.

You’re walking across campus when you see him. With her. The girl from the library. You know immediately who she is. You hate that you know.

She’s laughing. He’s smiling.

And suddenly, every insecure thought you’ve tried to ignore comes rushing back. Because you and Jungkook still haven’t said anything. You haven’t kissed. You haven’t admitted anything. You don’t have a right to be upset. You know that.

But knowing doesn’t stop it from hurting.

----

“You disappeared.”

You turn. Jungkook. Of course.

“I was busy.”

He studies you.

“You’re upset.”

“No.”

“You’re lying.”

You look away.

“I’m fine.”

He sighs.

“You always say that when you’re not.”

Something about that makes you frustrated.

“Maybe I’m tired of you knowing everything.”

The second the words leave your mouth, you regret them. Jungkook goes quiet. Not angry. Just hurt.

“Okay.”

You hate that one word.

“Jungkook...”

“No, it’s okay.”

“It’s not what I meant.”

“I know.”

But he sounds like he doesn’t.

----

That night is the first night in months that you don’t talk. No messages. No random jokes. No coffee. Nothing. And somehow, the silence is louder than anything else.

The next morning, you find him waiting outside your lecture hall. You stop. He looks nervous.

“You don’t have to apologize.”

You blink.

“I was going to.”

“I know.”

“You know everything, apparently.”

The joke is weak. But he smiles slightly.

“I deserved that.”

You look down.

“I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head.

“I’m sorry too.”

“For what?”

“For making you feel like you weren’t important.”

Your eyes lift.

“What?”

He exhales.

“The girl from yesterday.”

You go quiet.

“She’s my friend.”

“Oh.”

“And she’s dating someone.”

“Oh.”

A pause.

“Okay.”

Jungkook looks at you.

“You were jealous.”

You immediately look away.

“No.”

“You were.”

“Maybe.”

A smile appears. And somehow, seeing him smile again feels like breathing.

“You know,” he says softly.

“Yeah?”

“I was jealous too.”

“Of Julian?”

“Obviously.”

You laugh.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe.”

A pause.

“But I think we’re both tired of pretending.”

Your heart starts racing.

“Jungkook…”

He looks at you.

“Can I take you on an actual date?”

For a moment, you forget how to respond. Not because you don’t know the answer. Because you’ve spent so long wondering if this moment would ever happen that you never actually prepared for what you would do when it did.

Jungkook is standing in front of you. Nervous. Actually nervous.

The same person who can walk into any room and make everyone smile. The same person who somehow makes strangers feel like old friends. The same person who always seems so sure of himself.

And right now, he’s looking at you like your answer matters more than anything.

“An actual date?”

He nods.

“Yeah.”

“Like…”

You pause.

“Like a date date?”

A small smile appears on his face.

“Yes.”

“You’re asking me?”

He laughs softly.

“Who else would I be asking?”

You look away, trying to hide your smile.

“I don’t know.”

“Seriously?”

“No.”

He steps a little closer.

“Please stop making me nervous.”

You look back at him.

“You’re nervous?”

“Very.”

That makes you laugh. And immediately, his shoulders relax.

“There it is.”

“What?”

“That laugh.”

You tilt your head.

“What about it?”

“I like it.”

Your heart does that annoying thing again. The thing it has been doing since the first week you met him.

----

The date itself is not some grand, movie-like event. And somehow, that makes it better. Jungkook takes you to a small café off campus. The kind with mismatched chairs and handwritten menus.

“You picked this place?”

“You said once you liked quiet places.”

You stare at him.

“I said that one time.”

“I know.”

There it is again. That habit of his. Remembering.

“You really do remember everything.”

He shrugs.

“Not everything.”

“What do you forget?”

He thinks for a second.

“My passwords.”

You laugh.

“Of course.”

“But important things?”

His eyes meet yours.

“I remember those.”

The conversation feels different. Not because you’re suddenly strangers. Because you’re finally not pretending. You talk about everything. Your families. Your dreams. Things you’re afraid of. Things you’ve never told anyone at university.

Jungkook tells you he used to hate performing in front of people. You don’t believe him.

“You?”

“Yes.”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“You literally present projects like you’re on a stage.”

He smiles.

“Because I practiced.”

“You practiced?”

“A lot.”

That surprises you.

“You’re not naturally confident?”

He shakes his head.

“Not always.”

A pause.

“I think people assume if you look confident, you feel confident.”

You nod slowly.

“That’s true.”

He looks at you.

“You do that too.”

“What?”

“Pretend you’re okay.”

You go quiet. Because he’s right. Again.

----

After the café, you walk around campus. It’s colder than you expected. Without saying anything, Jungkook takes off his scarf and wraps it around you.

“Jungkook.”

“What?”

“You’re cold now.”

“I’ll survive.”

You stop walking. He laughs.

“Okay, fair.”

“You used my line.”

“I did.”

“That’s illegal.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Should I apologize?”

“Probably.”

“Sorry.”

You smile.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“But you like me.”

The confidence in his voice makes you look at him.

“You’re very sure of that.”

He grins.

“I am.”

“And why?”

“Because you’re wearing my scarf.”

“That proves nothing.”

“You didn’t give it back.”

You open your mouth. Then close it. He laughs.

----

The first kiss happens exactly how you imagine it. And also nothing like you imagine it. Because you always thought it would be some huge moment. Something dramatic. Something where the entire world disappears. But instead, it’s just the two of you standing outside your dorm building.

The campus lights glowing above you. A quiet evening surrounding you. Jungkook looking at you like he’s still trying to believe this is real.

“I’ve wanted to do this for a while,” he says.

Your breath catches.

“Then why didn’t you?”

He smiles slightly.

“Because I didn’t want to ruin what we had.”

Your expression softens.

“You wouldn’t have.”

“I know that now.”

A pause.

“Can I?”

You nod.

And when he kisses you, it feels like every almost moment finally has an answer. Every look. Every late-night conversation. Every walk across campus. Every time you wondered if you imagined it. You didn’t.

After that, everything changes. But somehow, nothing changes. Jungkook is still Jungkook. He still steals your snacks. Still complains when you don’t sleep enough. Still sends you pictures of random things because “they reminded him of you.”

The only difference is now he doesn’t have to pretend. Neither do you.

----

“You’re smiling at your phone again.”

You look up from your desk.

Your roommate is staring at you.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

You sigh.

“Why are you so obsessed with proving this?”

“Because watching you two finally admit you liked each other was painful.”

“It wasn’t that long.”

“It was months.”

You look back at your phone. A message from Jungkook sits there. meet me after your lecture?

You smile.

why?

A few seconds later:

because i miss you

You immediately lock your phone. Your roommate laughs.

“You’re hopeless.”

“Maybe.”

----

One evening, near the end of the semester, you’re walking home together. The campus looks different now. Not because anything changed. Because you did.

A place that once felt unfamiliar now holds memories everywhere. The bench where you had your first real conversation. The café where you spent hours studying. The path where he first held your hand. The steps where he finally admitted he was scared.

Jungkook squeezes your hand.

“What are you thinking about?”

You smile.

“How weird it is.”

“What?”

“That I almost never found this place.”

He looks confused.

“This place?”

“The college.”

Then you look at him.

“You.”

His expression softens.

“You know what’s funny?”

“What?”

“I almost didn’t sit next to you that first day.”

You stop.

“What?”

“The lecture hall.”

“You said you stole my seat.”

“I know.”

“You almost didn’t?”

He shakes his head.

“I was going to sit somewhere else.”

“Why didn’t you?”

He smiles.

“Because you looked lost.”

You laugh.

“That was your reason?”

“No.”

“Then what was?”

He looks at you. And even after all this time, he still manages to make your heart skip.

“You looked like someone I wanted to know.”

And that’s the thing about love. Sometimes it doesn’t arrive loudly. Sometimes it doesn’t change your life in one perfect moment. Sometimes it’s a stranger showing you the right building. A shared coffee. A saved seat. A conversation that lasts a little longer than planned.

Sometimes it’s someone slowly becoming your favorite person without either of you noticing. Until one day, you look around and realize: You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. With the person who found you when you were lost.

Thank you so much for reading! ♡ Let me know what you think in the comments. I would love hearing your feedback. Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[1343letters]

Off Script

This is a fictional Kim Seokjin x Ahri Sehun (OC) one shot fanfiction written for entertainment purposes only. The story, events, and character portrayals are entirely fictional and are not intended to represent the real person in any way. Enjoy reading ♡

The cameras adored conflict. Ahri had learned that years ago. One raised eyebrow. One sarcastic smile. One perfectly timed remark during an interview, and suddenly the internet had enough edits to survive another month. She hated it. Mostly because none of it was planned.

''Ahri!''

Her manager waved her over backstage at the Seoul Music Awards.

''You're presenting Album of the Year.''

''I know.''

''With BTS.''

''...''

''And before you ask..''

''I'm asking.''

''No, you can't switch.''

She closed her eyes.

''Who's presenting with me?.''

''...Jin.''

Of course. Who else? The universe had a twisted sense of humor.

----

The first time they met had been five years ago. Her rookie showcase. She'd barely slept. Her ankle was wrapped under her stage boots after practicing until three in the morning. Some senior idols had come backstage to congratulate the new artists. Most smiled politely. Some barely acknowledged them. Then someone walked in carrying three bags of convenience store snacks. Kim Seokjin. He'd smiled at everyone. Even offered her a bottle of water.

She'd stared at him for two awkward seconds before muttering, ''I'm fine.''

Then she walked away. She hadn't meant to be rude. She'd just been terrified. He thought she'd brushed him off. She thought he'd forgotten. Apparently...neither had.

----

“Try not to start anything.”

Her manager adjusted the microphone clipped to her dress.

“I never do.”

“…Ahri.”

“I don’t.”

“You literally called him dramatic on live television.”

“He was being dramatic.”

“He sneezed.”

“He made it everyone else’s problem.”

----

Jin was already waiting behind the curtain. White suit. Perfect posture. Far too relaxed. He noticed her immediately.

“Late.”

She checked the clock.

“I have four minutes.”

“You could’ve been earlier.”

“You could’ve minded your business.”

“There she is.”

“What?”

“The Ahri everyone knows.”

She forced a smile as the stage manager counted down.

“Thirty seconds.”

Jin stepped beside her. The curtain lifted. Instantly. Thousands of cheers. Lights. Cameras. Smiles. As if nothing had ever happened.

“…Please welcome Kim Seokjin of BTS and Ahri Sehun!”

They bowed together. Professional. Elegant. Perfect. Not a single person in the audience would guess that five seconds earlier they were arguing backstage.

----

The clip went viral anyway. Not because of anything they said. Because of what happened after. Ahri’s heel caught on the edge of the stage stairs. Barely. Hardly enough for anyone to notice. Except Jin.

Without looking at her, he reached out. Steadying her arm. For less than a second.

Then letting go before anyone could misunderstand.Except…

Someone always misunderstood.

By midnight there were already edits.

“The way he grabbed her.”

“He’s always nicer to her than everyone else.”

“Enemies to lovers energy.”

The comments had millions of likes. Ahri threw her phone onto the hotel bed. Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

…

So why had she replayed the clip twelve times?

----

Three weeks later she walked into a conference room expecting another brand meeting. Instead. Her CEO. Several producers. HYBE representatives. And…

Jin.

She stopped walking.

“No.”

Her CEO smiled.

“You don’t even know the project.”

“I don’t have to.”

Jin leaned back in his chair.

“I agree.”

Everyone looked at him.

“This is a terrible idea.”

One producer laughed.

“That’s exactly why audiences will love it.”

----

The concept was simple. A six-episode travel documentary. No performances. No stylists. No scripted interviews. Just two idols exploring different cities around Japan while completing challenges together.

“The chemistry-”

“There is no chemistry,” Ahri interrupted.

The producer grinned.

“Exactly.”

----

They both said no. Their companies both said yes.So two weeks later…They found themselves standing in Tokyo Airport with matching production jackets. Neither spoke during boarding. Neither spoke after landing.

The cameraman sighed.

“We’ve been filming for an hour.”

Silence.

“Can one of you please say literally anything?”

Jin looked at Ahri.

“Ladies first.”

She smiled sweetly.

“I preferred it when you weren’t talking.”

The cameraman actually looked relieved.

“Perfect.”

----

That evening they got lost. Not because Japan was confusing. Because Jin insisted he knew where the hotel was.

“I’ve been here before.”

“You’ve been walking in circles.”

“I have not.”

“You literally waved at the same vending machine twice.”

“It looked familiar.”

She laughed. A real one. It escaped before she could stop it. Jin stopped walking.

“…You laugh.”

She blinked.

“What?”

“I thought you just judged people.”

“…Keep walking.”

But he smiled to himself. And for some reason..She didn’t hate seeing it.

----

The first night in Tokyo should have been simple. Dinner. A short interview segment. Hotel. Sleep. Instead, the producer handed them an envelope. Ahri stared at it.

“No.”

The producer smiled.

“You haven’t opened it.”

“I know that face.”

“What face?”

“The face of someone about to ruin my evening.”

Jin leaned closer, reading over her shoulder.

“That is also my evening.”

“Unfortunately.”

He took the envelope before she could protest and opened it with unnecessary drama. Ahri sighed.

“Of course you open envelopes like that.”

“With elegance?”

“With attention-seeking behavior.”

He ignored her and read the card aloud.

“Tonight’s mission: buy dinner for each other with only 2,000 yen. You must choose something you think the other person will genuinely like.”

Ahri stared at the crew.

“You want me to guess what he likes?”

The producer nodded. Jin smiled.

“This will be fun.”

“You’re easy. You like anything expensive, shiny, or involving your own face.”

“Wrong. I also like noodles.”

“Groundbreaking.”

----

They split up in a convenience store. The camera followed Ahri first. She wandered through the aisles with forced confidence, but the truth was annoying. She did know what Jin liked. Not because she cared. Because everyone knew. He liked food. He liked making people laugh. He liked pretending to be louder than he was. He liked strawberry-flavored things, at least according to some ancient fan compilation she absolutely had not watched at three in the morning.

She stood in front of the desserts for too long. The cameraman zoomed in.

“Don’t.”

He lowered the camera slightly. She grabbed strawberry milk anyway. Then instant noodles. Then a small pack of gummies shaped like little fish. She looked at them. Put them back. Paused. Took them again.

“Don’t make this weird in editing,” she warned.

The cameraman said nothing. Which meant they absolutely would.

----

Jin took longer. Much longer. When he finally returned to the hotel lounge, Ahri was already waiting at the table, arms folded.

“Did you harvest the rice yourself?”

He placed his bag down carefully.

“Some of us take missions seriously.”

“Some of us are hungry.”

“Good. Then you’ll appreciate my genius.”

She pulled out her items first. Noodles. Strawberry milk. Gummies. Jin stared. His smile faded for half a second. Not in a bad way. More like he had been caught off guard.

“You remembered?”

Ahri immediately looked away.

“Everyone knows.”

“No, they don’t.”

“They do.”

“Ahri.”

“What?”

He pointed at the gummies.

“I mentioned these once. In 2018. During a livestream.”

She froze. The crew went silent. Jin’s grin slowly returned.

“Oh.”

“Shut up.”

“You watched my livestream?”

“No.”

“You watched a clip?”

“No.”

“You watched a compilation.”

“I said shut up.”

His laugh filled the room. Warm. Real. Unfairly nice. Ahri hated how easily it made the tension in her shoulders loosen. Then Jin unpacked his bag. He had bought her iced coffee. Spicy rice balls. A tiny matcha cake. And honey throat candies. She looked at the candies. Something in her chest shifted.

“Why these?”

He shrugged, suddenly less smug.

“You were coughing during rehearsals last month.”

She stared at him.

“I thought you didn’t notice things like that.”

“I notice a lot.”

For once, she had nothing sharp to say.

The producer whispered behind the camera,

“Great. Hold that.”

Ahri immediately turned.

“Don’t.”

Jin laughed again. But softer this time.

----

The episode aired three weeks later. The internet did exactly what the internet did. Clips. Edits. Slow-motion analysis. The strawberry milk became a scandal of its own. The throat candies became worse. Fans called it proof. Antis called it media play. Journalists called it “unexpected chemistry.” Ahri called it a headache. Her manager called it “excellent engagement.” She turned her phone face down.

“I hate this.”

Her manager raised an eyebrow.

“Do you?”

Ahri did not answer.

----

The next filming location was Kyoto. It rained the whole first day. Not dramatic movie rain.

Cold, annoying, sideways rain that slipped under umbrellas and ruined every carefully planned outdoor shot. They were supposed to film at a temple. Then a market. Then a scenic walk. By noon, everyone was wet, irritated, and pretending not to be. Except Jin. Jin seemed physically incapable of being quiet when people were miserable. He sang badly on purpose. Made faces at the camera. Tried to balance an umbrella on his shoulder and failed. At first Ahri found it irritating. Then she noticed the younger staff laughing. The exhausted assistant director smiling for the first time that day. The makeup artist shaking her head while hiding a grin. Jin wasn’t trying to steal attention. He was trying to keep everyone warm. Not physically. Just enough. Just emotionally. It annoyed Ahri more than his arrogance ever had. Because it meant she had been wrong.

----

Later that afternoon, the rain got worse. Production finally paused. Everyone crowded under a covered walkway near the temple entrance. Ahri stood apart from the group, rubbing her hands together. She hadn’t said she was cold. She would rather die. A jacket landed over her shoulders. She turned. Jin was already looking away, pretending to check his phone.

“I didn’t ask.”

“I didn’t say you did.”

“You’ll get cold.”

“I’m broad-shouldered. The wind respects me.”

She stared at him.

“That might be the worst sentence you’ve ever said.”

“Top ten, maybe.”

She tried not to smile. Failed. He saw it. Of course he saw it. But for once, he didn’t tease her. He just stood beside her while the rain hit the stone path in silver lines. The crew was busy packing equipment. No camera pointed at them. No microphone hovered nearby.

For the first time since the project began, the silence between them didn’t feel like a weapon. It felt like a secret.

----

That night, Ahri couldn’t sleep. The hotel room was too quiet. Her mind wasn’t. She kept thinking about the jacket. The candies.

The way Jin had noticed she was cold without making a spectacle of it. She hated that most. How careful he could be. Careful was dangerous. Careful made it harder to keep hating someone.

At 1:13 a.m., her phone vibrated.

Unknown number. Then a message.

Stop overthinking.

Ahri sat up.

Who is this?

The reply came instantly.

Your favorite broad-shouldered colleague.

She stared at the screen. Then typed.

How did you get my number?

Our managers made a group chat for emergencies. I used my detective skills.

That’s not detective skills. That’s basic reading.

I am multi-talented.

She should not smile. She smiled.

Why are you texting me?

For a minute, nothing.

Then:

You looked sad earlier.

Ahri’s fingers stilled over the keyboard. She erased three different replies.

Finally:

I wasn’t.

Okay.

That was it. No pressure. No teasing. Just okay. It made her feel worse. And better. She typed before she could stop herself.

I don’t like people thinking they know me from five edited minutes.

This time his reply came slower.

Me neither.

Ahri leaned back against the headboard. Outside, Kyoto rain tapped against the window.

Then why do you act like you don’t care?

Because if I care about everything, I won’t survive this job.

She read it twice. Then a third time. There it was. The first honest thing between them. No cameras. No audience. No witty comeback.

Just him.

She wrote:

That was depressing.

He replied:

Sorry. I can send a dad joke.

Do not.

Too late. Why did the idol bring a ladder to rehearsal?

Jin.

Because they wanted to reach the high notes.

Ahri covered her mouth, half laughing, half horrified.

I hate you.

No, you don’t.

She stared at that message for too long. Then locked her phone without answering. But she didn’t delete the conversation.

----

The shift happened slowly. So slowly Ahri almost missed it. They still argued on camera. That was expected. That was the concept. But the edges changed. His teasing stopped landing like insults. Her comebacks stopped trying to cut. He started bringing her coffee before morning shoots. She started saving him the last piece of fruit from catering. He claimed he didn’t like pineapple. She knew he was lying because he ate it every time.

In Osaka, they had to share a cooking challenge. The task was simple: make takoyaki without help. Ahri was terrible at it. Jin was worse.

“You said you cook.”

“I do cook.”

“This is not cooking. This is round chaos.”

“You’re holding the stick wrong.”

“You’re breathing wrong.”

“How does someone breathe wrong?”

“When it’s you.”

He laughed so hard he nearly dropped the batter. The staff laughed too. Ahri tried to stay annoyed. It was becoming difficult.

----

During a break, she burned her finger on the pan. Not badly. Just enough to make her flinch. Jin noticed before anyone else. He caught her wrist gently.

“Show me.”

“It’s fine.”

“Show me.”

His tone wasn’t loud. That was the problem. It was quiet. Serious. She let him look. His fingers were warm around her wrist. Too warm. He guided her to the sink and ran cold water over the burn. Ahri looked anywhere but at his face.

“You’re overreacting.”

“You always say that when someone cares.”

She snapped her eyes to him. He looked back. No smile. No joke. The water ran between their hands. The kitchen noise blurred around them. For one second, Ahri forgot where she was. Forgot the staff. Forgot the show. Forgot that he was Kim Seokjin and she was Ahri Sehun and the world would eat them alive for standing too close.

Then someone called,

“Rolling in five!”

Jin let go first. But not quickly enough. They both knew it.

----

After that, avoidance became necessary. Ahri stopped answering his texts immediately. Jin stopped sitting beside her unless the staff placed him there. On camera, the banter got sharper again. Fans called it tension. They weren’t wrong. But it wasn’t the old kind. This was worse. This was wanting to look and forcing herself not to. Wanting to stay and walking away first. Wanting to ask what he meant and being terrified he would answer.

----

The final city was Sapporo. Snow everywhere. White rooftops. Blue evenings. Cold air sharp enough to make every breath visible. The last shoot was supposed to be simple. A night market. A closing interview. Done. Then they would return to Seoul. Separate schedules. Separate lives. Everything back in place. Ahri told herself that was good. Clean. Safe. Necessary.

Then Jin stopped beside a street vendor selling roasted sweet potatoes.

“Want one?”

“No.”

He bought two.

“Here.”

“I said no.”

“You meant yes.”

“I meant no.”

“You always mean no until someone knows you well enough.”

She took the sweet potato only to have something to do with her hands. They walked ahead of the crew for a few minutes. Not far. Just enough that their microphones picked up less. Just enough that the world felt softer.

Jin looked at the snow falling on her hair.

“You’ll go back to pretending after this?”

Ahri kept her eyes forward.

“Pretending what?”

“That we’re still enemies.”

The word hurt more than it should have.

“It is easier.”

“For who?”

“For everyone.”

“For the companies?”

“Yes.”

“For fans?”

“Yes.”

“For us?”

She stopped walking. The market noise moved around them. Lights reflected in the snow. Jin turned to face her. He looked tired. Not physically. Emotionally. Like he had been smiling for too many years and finally wanted permission to stop. Ahri hated that she understood.

“We can’t just do whatever we want,” she said quietly.

“I know.”

“You know what happens if people find out.”

“I know.”

“My career..”

“I know.”

“Then why are you asking?”

“Because I want to know if I’m the only one who feels insane.”

Ahri’s breath caught. There it was. No joke to hide behind. No camera angle to blame. Just the truth standing between them in the snow. She looked away first.

“No.”

His voice softened.

“No, what?”

She hated him for making her say it. She hated herself more for wanting to.

“No, you’re not the only one.”

Jin closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them, something had changed. Not solved. Not easy. But real. The crew caught up before either of them could say more. The moment disappeared. Except it didn’t. Not really.

----

The closing interview was filmed in a small room overlooking the city. They sat beside each other on a couch, the production team gathered behind the cameras. The interviewer asked the usual questions.

“What did you learn about each other?”

Ahri smiled professionally.

“That Jin has a lot more patience than I expected.”

Jin placed a hand over his heart.

“A compliment. I’m honored.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“What I learned about Ahri,” he said, turning slightly toward her, “is that she is not as cold as people think.”

Her smile almost slipped.

He continued, “She just chooses carefully who gets to see her warmth.”

The room went quiet. Ahri felt every camera in the room. Every microphone. Every person watching. She forced herself to laugh lightly.

“That sounded suspiciously poetic.”

“I’m an artist.”

“You’re unbearable.”

But her voice was softer than usual. Too soft. Jin noticed. The producer noticed. The internet would notice. She knew before the episode even aired.

----

Their last night in Sapporo, Ahri packed her suitcase twice. Then unpacked it. Then sat on the edge of the bed feeling ridiculous.

At 12:02 a.m., her phone lit up.

Rooftop. Five minutes.

She shouldn’t go. Obviously. There were cameras in hotel hallways. Staff on the same floor. Managers who would ask questions. Fans who could be waiting outside. A thousand reasons not to. She put on a coat.

----

Jin was already there. No styling. No makeup. Hair messy from the wind. Hands in his pockets. For once, he didn’t look like the version of himself the world owned. He looked like a man standing in the cold because he didn’t know what else to do with his feelings. Ahri stopped a few steps away.

“This is stupid.”

“I know.”

“We could get caught.”

“I know.”

“You say that too much.”

“Because you’re usually right.”

She hated how much that made her smile. The rooftop was quiet except for the wind. Below them, Sapporo glittered under snow. Neither spoke for a while.

Then Jin said, “I don’t want to go back and pretend nothing changed.”

Ahri wrapped her arms around herself.

“What do you want?”

He looked at her then. Fully. Carefully.

“I want to text you without pretending it’s for work.”

Her chest tightened.

“I want to see you when there are no cameras.”

A step closer.

“I want to argue with you in restaurants where nobody knows us.”

Another step.

“I want to know what you look like when you’re not trying to survive.”

Ahri’s throat burned.

“That’s dangerous.”

“I know.”

“Stop saying that.”

“I can’t promise safe.”

“Jin..”

“But I can promise careful.”

That broke something in her. Not dramatically. Not all at once. Just enough. Enough for her to step forward instead of back. Enough for his breath to catch. Enough for the space between them to become unbearable.

“Careful might not be enough,” she whispered.

“No.”

His eyes dropped to her mouth for half a second.

“But it’s what I have.”

Ahri closed the remaining distance. The first kiss was not explosive. It wasn’t like the dramas. No fireworks. No perfect music. Just his hand hovering near her waist, waiting. Just her fingers curling into the front of his coat. Just both of them realizing, at the exact same second, that they had been moving toward this for months. Maybe years. He kissed her like he was afraid to rush her. She kissed him like she was tired of running. When they pulled apart, his forehead rested against hers. Both of them breathing too hard for a kiss that had been so gentle.

Ahri laughed once. Small. Shaky.

“We are so screwed.”

Jin smiled.

“Probably.”

“That is not comforting.”

“I can try again.”

“Don’t.”

He kissed her again. She let him.

----

They returned to Seoul the next morning. Separate cars. Separate entrances. Separate schedules. By noon, Ahri was in a dance studio.By evening, Jin was at a recording session. By midnight, the first message came.

Did you eat?

She stared at it for too long.

Then typed:

That’s your first secret relationship text?

I panicked.

Romantic.

I can be romantic.

Prove it.

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

I miss you.

Ahri’s smile faded. Not because she disliked it. Because she liked it too much.

She typed:

That’s better.

Then, after a pause:

I miss you too.

----

Their relationship became a collection of almosts. Almost touching backstage. Almost smiling too long during interviews. Almost saying each other’s names in ways that felt too familiar. A coffee left in the corner of a dressing room. A scarf returned through a stylist. A five-minute phone call at 3 a.m. A shared playlist under a fake account. They learned the geography of privacy. Empty stairwells. Hotel rooftops. Cars with tinted windows. Practice rooms after midnight. They became experts at standing apart in public and finding each other in secret. It was painful. It was ridiculous. It was theirs.

----

The first time Ahri saw Jin after Sapporo was at a charity gala. The room was packed with celebrities, executives, cameras, and people pretending not to stare at each other. Ahri wore black. Jin wore dark blue. They did not arrive together. They did not sit together. They barely looked at each other. To anyone watching, nothing had changed. Then, halfway through the evening, Ahri excused herself to the hallway. She needed air. She found Jin already there. Of course. He leaned against the wall near the emergency exit, looking far too pleased with himself.

“Following me?”

She crossed her arms.

“You wish.”

“I did.”

Her heart did something deeply inconvenient.

“You can’t say things like that here.”

“No one’s here.”

“That has never stopped anyone from appearing at the worst possible moment.”

He looked down the hallway. Then back at her.

“Two minutes.”

“Jin.”

“One minute.”

“No.”

“Thirty seconds?”

She stared at him. He smiled. Not the loud one. Not the variety-show grin. The soft one. The one that had become a problem.

Ahri stepped closer.

“You are impossible.”

“You keep saying that like it’s not working.”

She grabbed his tie and pulled him behind the emergency door. Thirty seconds became two minutes. Two minutes became five. When she returned to the gala, her lipstick was fixed but her pulse wasn’t. Jin came back ten minutes later, looking innocent enough to be suspicious. The internet still found a photo of them standing in the same hallway. It became a rumor by morning.

----

Her company called first.

“Are you dating Kim Seokjin?”

Ahri didn’t blink.

“No.”

The lie tasted awful. Her CEO studied her.

“Because if you are, you need to end it before it becomes a problem.”

Ahri’s expression stayed calm. Inside, something cold settled.

“I said no.”

“Good.”

That night, she didn’t text Jin. He texted her four times. Then once more.

Talk to me.

She stared at the message until her eyes hurt. Then put the phone away.

----

Three days passed. Then four. On the fifth, Jin showed up at her practice building. Not inside. He wasn’t stupid. He waited in the underground parking lot, cap low, mask on, hands shoved into his coat pockets. Ahri froze when she saw him.

“You can’t be here.”

“You wouldn’t answer me.”

“That does not mean show up.”

“It does if I’m worried.”

“Jin..”

“Did I do something?”

The question cut through her anger. Because he wasn’t accusing her. He looked genuinely afraid of the answer. Ahri looked away.

“No.”

“Then what happened?”

She tightened her grip on her bag.

“My company asked.”

His face changed.

“About us?”

She nodded. He inhaled slowly.

“And?”

“I lied.”

“So did I.”

She looked at him.

“They asked you too?”

“Yesterday.”

The parking lot hummed quietly around them. Fluorescent lights. Concrete walls. A secret too big for both of them.

Ahri’s voice came out smaller than she wanted.

“They told me if it was true, I should end it before it becomes a problem.”

Jin’s jaw tightened.

“And is that what you want?”

“No.”

The answer came too fast. Too honest. His shoulders dropped slightly, like he’d been holding his breath for days. Ahri hated that she had done that to him.

“I got scared,” she admitted.

“I know.”

“No, you don’t. Not like this.”

“Then tell me.”

She laughed without humor.

“Tell you what? That I spent years building this image because one wrong rumor could swallow everything? That people already think I’m cold, arrogant, difficult? That if this comes out, you’ll be romantic and charming and I’ll be the woman who trapped you?”

His expression hardened.

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s what they’ll say.”

“They don’t know you.”

“Exactly.”

Jin stepped closer. Not enough to touch. Enough that she felt less alone.

“I can’t control what they’ll say,” he said. “But I can control what I let you face alone.”

Ahri swallowed.

“You can’t protect me from everything.”

“I know.”

This time she didn’t tell him to stop saying it. Because his voice broke around the words. He reached for her hand slowly. Giving her time to move away. She didn’t. His fingers closed around hers. Warm. Steady.

“Then don’t disappear on me,” he said. “If you’re scared, be scared with me.”

Ahri looked down at their hands. It should not have been enough. A hand in a parking lot. A promise neither of them could guarantee. But for now, it was. She squeezed back.

“Okay.”

----

Secret relationships were not romantic all the time. Sometimes they were missed calls. Cancelled plans. Pretending not to care when the person you loved was standing across the room. Sometimes they were watching interviewers flirt openly with him and smiling like your stomach wasn’t twisting. Sometimes they were seeing articles speculate about you dating someone else because you smiled at a co-star.

Sometimes they were Jin texting:

I’m jealous. I know that’s stupid. Ignore me.

And Ahri replying:

It is stupid.

Then:

Also unnecessary.

Then:

Also kind of cute.

He sent twelve heart emojis. She threatened to block him. She did not block him.

----

The show aired its final episode in spring. Sapporo rooftop was not included, obviously. But everything else was. The convenience store. The rain. The jacket. The cooking challenge. The closing interview. Fans lost their minds. Their ship name trended for thirty-six hours. Every entertainment account posted clips. Every comment section became a battlefield. Ahri watched none of it. Jin watched all of it and sent her the funniest edits. She replied to none of them until he sent one where someone had edited dramatic violin music over him buying throat candies. Then she broke.

I hate everyone.

You laughed.

Unfortunately.

Come over.

She stared at the message. Then at the time.

1:47 a.m.

Are you insane?

A little.

No.

Okay.

A pause.

I miss you.

Ahri closed her eyes. That was unfair. He had learned exactly where she was weakest.

Send location.

----

His apartment was quiet when she arrived. No staff. No makeup. No schedules. Just Jin opening the door in sweatpants and a soft grey sweater, looking like he had no right being that comfortable.

“Hi,” he said.

Ahri took off her mask.

“You look too pleased.”

“You came.”

“I can leave.”

“No.”

He said it quickly. Too quickly. She smiled.

“Relax.”

“I am relaxed.”

“You are absolutely not.”

He stepped aside to let her in. The door closed behind her with a soft click. For a moment, neither moved. They had kissed before. In stolen places. Risky places. Places where time pressed against their backs. This was different. There was no immediate deadline. No hallway camera. No staff member around the corner. Just space. Just choice. Jin reached for her coat.

“Can I?”

She nodded. He helped her out of it, his fingers brushing her shoulders lightly. The touch was careful. Always careful. It made her heart ache.

“Do you want tea?” he asked.

Ahri looked at him.

“You invited me here at almost two in the morning to offer tea?”

“I am a gentleman.”

“You are nervous.”

“I am both.”

She laughed, stepping closer.

“Jin.”

“Yes?”

“You can kiss me.”

His eyes softened.

“Good.”

This kiss was slower than the rooftop. Less afraid. His hand settled at her waist. Hers found the back of his neck. The city moved outside the windows, but inside everything narrowed to warmth and breath and the quiet sound he made when she pulled him closer.

When they finally broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers.

“Stay?”

It was one word. Small. Dangerous. Ahri knew what it meant. Not just tonight. Not just physically. Stay in this. Stay with me. Stay even when it gets hard. She brushed her thumb along his jaw.

“Tonight.”

He nodded.

“Tonight is enough.”

But the way he looked at her said it wasn’t. And the way she kissed him again said she knew. The rest of the night disappeared behind closed doors, soft laughter, whispered confessions, and the kind of tenderness neither of them would ever give to the cameras.

----

Morning came too soon. Ahri woke to pale light through curtains and the smell of coffee. For half a second she forgot where she was. Then Jin appeared in the doorway holding two mugs. Hair messy. Face bare. Smile sleepy. Her chest tightened so sharply it almost hurt.

“Oh no,” she muttered.

He paused.

“What?”

She sat up, pulling the blanket around herself.

“I like you in the morning.”

Jin’s smile widened.

“Only in the morning?”

“Don’t push it.”

He handed her coffee and sat beside her. They drank in comfortable silence. That terrified her more than the kissing. The ease. The normalcy. How quickly her body accepted him as something safe. Jin looked at her over his mug.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You have your thinking face.”

“I don’t have a thinking face.”

“You do. It looks mean.”

“That’s just my face.”

“I like your face.”

She groaned.

“Too early.”

He laughed. Then grew quiet.

“I have rehearsal until late tonight.”

“I have a radio show.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Magazine shoot.”

“Day after?”

“Flight to Bangkok.”

The silence returned. This time heavier. Their lives waiting outside the door. Ahri set her mug down.

“This is going to be hard.”

Jin nodded.

“Yes.”

“We might go weeks without seeing each other.”

“I know.”

“People will keep guessing.”

“Probably.”

“We might get caught.”

“Maybe.”

She looked at him.

“You’re very calm for someone whose entire life could become chaos.”

“I’m not calm.”

His hand found hers under the blanket.

“I’m choosing.”

Ahri stared at their intertwined fingers.

“Choosing what?”

“You.”

It was too much. Too simple. Too impossible. She looked away before he could see too much on her face. But he already had. He always did.

----

Months passed. Spring became summer. Summer became humid nights, airport photos, festival stages, comeback rumors, and schedules so full they sometimes only spoke through voice notes. Ahri saved every single one. Jin singing nonsense while cooking. Jin complaining about choreography. Jin whispering goodnight from hotel rooms in countries she wasn’t in. She sent fewer voice notes back. But when she did, he kept them too. Her sleepy complaints. Her laughing at something stupid he had said. Her quiet “I got home safe.” He told her once that her voice made empty rooms feel less empty. She didn’t know what to say.

So she sent him a voice note saying,

“That was disgustingly sweet.”

He replied:

“Play it again when you miss me.”

She did. Often.

----

The first real problem came in August. A leaked backstage video. Ten seconds. Blurry. No sound. Ahri and Jin standing too close near a dressing room corridor. Nothing happened in the clip. No kiss. No hand-holding. No obvious proof. But his body was angled toward her. Her smile was too soft. His hand hovered near her back like muscle memory. It was enough. The internet exploded. Their companies denied everything within two hours.

“Close colleagues.”

“Mutual respect.”

“No romantic relationship.”

Ahri read the statement in her dressing room. Her name trending in three countries. Comments moving too fast to process. Some kind. Most not. She felt cold all over. Her phone vibrated. Jin. She answered. Neither spoke for a few seconds.

Then he said,

“Are you okay?”

She laughed. It sounded awful.

“No.”

His breathing changed.

“I can come.”

“No.”

“Ahri..”

“No. They’ll follow you.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do.”

Silence.

Then, quietly:

“I hate this.”

She closed her eyes.

“Me too.”

“I hate that I can’t stand next to you.”

“I know.”

“I hate that they get to decide what you are to me.”

Her eyes burned.

“Jin.”

“You are not a rumor.”

She pressed her hand to her mouth.

“You are not a scandal.”

The tears came before she could stop them. Silent. Angry. Exhausted.

“You are the person I love,” he said.

The world stopped. Not outside. Outside, everything kept burning. Notifications. Statements. Articles. Speculation. But inside her, everything went still.

“Say that again,” she whispered.

His voice shook.

“I love you.”

Ahri closed her eyes. She had imagined hearing it in better circumstances. Maybe on a rooftop. Maybe in his kitchen. Maybe after a stupid argument where they both forgot why they were fighting. Not like this. Not with the world clawing at the door. But maybe that made it more real. Because he said it when it cost something.

“I love you too,” she said.

It came out broken. But true. On the other end of the line, Jin exhaled like he had been waiting his whole life.

----

They survived the leak. Barely. The world moved on because the world always did. Another rumor. Another comeback. Another scandal. The video became an edit. Then a meme. Then old news. Their companies watched them more closely for a while. Managers asked sharper questions. Schedules became less convenient. But Ahri and Jin became better at being careful. Not colder. Just smarter. Their relationship continued in margins. Between flights. Between songs. Between obligations. A private life stitched together from stolen hours. It should have felt like less. Somehow, it felt like everything.

----

In November, BTS had a concert in Seoul. Ahri wasn’t supposed to attend. Too obvious. Too risky. So naturally, she went anyway. Private box. Mask. Cap. No announcement. No photos. Just her, hidden in the dark, watching Jin under thousands of lights. He was radiant on stage. Funny. Confident. Beloved. The crowd screamed his name like prayer. Ahri had seen him perform before. But loving someone changed the way you watched them. She noticed the tiny things now. The way his shoulders dropped when he was tired. The way he checked on the members without making it obvious. The way his smile changed when he was truly happy.

During one of the final songs, he looked toward her section. He couldn’t see her. Not really. The lights were too bright. The crowd too massive. But his gaze lingered anyway. Ahri’s heart clenched. For one impossible second, it felt like he knew exactly where she was. After the concert, she waited in a service hallway wearing a staff hoodie two sizes too big. When Jin appeared, still flushed from stage lights, he stopped dead.

“You came.”

“You say that a lot.”

“Because you keep surprising me.”

She shrugged.

“The show was decent.”

“Decent?”

“Fine. Good.”

“Only good?”

“Don’t get greedy.”

He looked around. No one nearby. Then he stepped close enough that she could feel the heat still coming off him.

“I missed you.”

“I saw you last week.”

“Terrible week.”

She smiled. He smiled back. Then voices echoed from around the corner. They separated instantly. A staff group passed, bowing politely, barely glancing at them.

When they were gone, Ahri let out a breath.

“This is ridiculous.”

Jin nodded.

“Very.”

“I hate hiding.”

“Me too.”

“I hate pretending I came here for networking.”

“I hate pretending I don’t look for you in every room.”

Ahri’s expression softened. There were moments when the whole thing felt impossible. Then he said something like that. And impossible became worth it. She reached for his hand in the shadow between them. Only for a second. Just long enough.

“After this,” she whispered, “come home.”

His fingers tightened around hers.

“Yours or mine?”

She looked up at him.

“Ours, eventually.”

Jin went completely still. Ahri realized what she had said at the same time he did. Her face warmed.

“I didn’t mean..”

“Don’t take it back.”

She swallowed. He smiled slowly. Not teasing.

Not smug. Happy. Terribly, beautifully happy.

“Okay,” she said, “I won’t.”

----

They did not become public that year. Or the next month. Or the month after that. Life wasn’t a drama where love fixed contracts, fandoms, companies, privacy, and fear in one brave scene.

They still hid. Still lied by omission. Still hated parts of what loving each other required. But they stopped pretending with each other. That became the difference. On the anniversary of their first Tokyo shoot, Ahri received a package. No sender name. Inside was strawberry milk. A packet of fish-shaped gummies. Honey throat candies. And a note.

''For the woman who definitely never watched my livestreams.''

Ahri laughed so hard her manager asked what happened.

“Nothing,” she said, hiding the note. That night, she met Jin on the roof of his building.

It had become their place. Not because it was safe. Because it was theirs. He arrived with two convenience store bags and a ridiculous scarf wrapped around his neck.

“You look like a drama lead who lost his stylist,” Ahri said.

“You look like someone who missed me.”

“I regret coming.”

“No, you don’t.”

No. She didn’t.

They sat on the rooftop floor, backs against the wall, sharing cheap snacks under expensive city lights. No cameras. No scripts. No award-show smiles. Just them. Jin opened the strawberry milk and handed it to her.

“To our successful work relationship.”

Ahri took it.

“To mutual respect.”

“To being close colleagues.”

“To absolutely no romantic relationship.”

They clinked bottles. Then laughed until their shoulders touched. When the laughter faded, Jin looked at her.

“Do you ever wish it was easier?”

Ahri leaned her head against his shoulder.

“Every day.”

His hand found hers.

“But?”

She looked at Seoul spread below them. The city that watched. The city that gave them everything. The city that took just as much. Then she looked at him.

“But I don’t wish it was someone else.”

Jin’s expression softened in a way she still wasn’t used to. Even after all this time.

“Good,” he whispered.

“Because I love you.”

Ahri rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

“You say that like you’re trying to win.”

“I am.”

“What are you winning?”

He kissed her knuckles.

“You.”

Her heart did the stupid thing again. The thing it always did with him.

“Cheesy.”

“Effective.”

“Unfortunately.”

He laughed. Then kissed her. Slowly. Carefully. Like a promise they had to keep making. Like a secret that wasn’t shameful. Just protected. Below them, Seoul kept moving. Above them, the sky was clear.

And for once, Ahri didn’t think about who might see. She thought only of Jin’s hand in hers. His warmth beside her.

The years they had wasted hating each other for all the wrong reasons. The years they might still get, if they were brave enough. Maybe love like this would never be simple. Maybe it would always require closed doors, quiet hallways, and messages sent at impossible hours. But when Jin pulled back and smiled at her like she was the only person in the city, Ahri thought.. Fine. Let the cameras have the conflict. Let the world have the rumors. Let everyone else think they knew the story. The truth was better. The truth was theirs.

Thank you so much for reading! ♡ Let me know what you think in the comments. I would love hearing your feedback. Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated!