BUNNYYKOO MASTERLISTS

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[bunnyykoo]

These are some stories I made a list so I can read. THESE ARE NOT MY WORK ALL CREDITS GO TO THE AMAZING AUTHORS! (EDITING!!!!!!)

My recommendations are Jungkook and Taehyung fics!

JUNGKOOK

Roommate AU

Brother Best Friend AU

Friends to lovers AU

Enemies to lovers AU

Friends with Benefits AU

Strangers to lovers AU

Superhero AU

Fantasy AU

Mafia AU

Fake Dating AU

Parent AU

College AU

Exes to lovers AU

Boyfriend AU

MASTERLIST 1

MASTERLIST 2

MASTERLIST 3

MASTERLIST 4:

MASTERLIST 5:

MASTERLIST 6:

TAEHYUNG

[soft-jkdark]

What Happens in Vegas • JJK

Summary: A weekend in las vegas took an unexpected when a drunken bet led Jungkook and you to an Elvis wedding- and forced you both to face the feelings you had kept buried.

Genre: Friends to Lovers • Smut • Accidental Marriage • Fluff

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader (Y|N)

Warnings: 18+ (Mature) • Explicit Sexual Content • Alcohol Consumption • Strong Language • Fluff • Vegas Wedding

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Las Vegas.

You know what they said about it — the city that never sleeps. Every corner had a casino or a wedding chapel. Cheap Elvis impersonators were everywhere. People came here and walked away lighter in the wallet. What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas, right?

Still, you couldn’t help but stare when you finally arrived that night. Las Vegas was exactly how you’d imagined it: enormous neon signs washed the city in waves of red, blue, pink, and gold. Lighted billboards battled for tourists’ attention, like the whole place refused to ever quiet down.

Luxury hotels lined the Strip, and somehow the boys had managed to get you into the most famous one of all — Caesars Palace.

When you stepped out of the taxi in front of Caesars, you literally lost your breath for a second. The hotel loomed like a Roman palace: towering columns, elegant fountains, and grand statues gave the building a majestic air.

Taehyung’s gaze bounced between you and Jungkook, a wide grin spreading across his face, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “This is going to be the best weekend ever!” he shouted. Before anyone could answer, he grabbed his suitcase and barreled into the hotel lobby.

Jimin watched Taehyung, shook his head with a laugh, and called after him, “We’re going to hear about this all weekend.” He snatched up his bag and followed Taehyung into the crowd of hotel guests.

For a moment, you just let the night breeze run through your hair, still stunned by the grandeur around you.

Jungkook broke the silence. “He’s like a kid on Christmas.”

You laughed and glanced at him. “But that’s why we love him.”

“You’re not wrong,” he said.

He kept staring at the hotel like he wanted to drink it in, and the golden lights played across his face. Whenever they caught him, his eyes seemed to glitter.

“So…” Jungkook finally said, turning back to you. “Ready for a weekend of chaos?”

“As long as we don’t wake up with a tiger in the room or accidentally get married, I’m up for anything.”

Jungkook laughed. “We shouldn’t have watched The Hangover before we came.”

After you’d all checked in, you hauled your suitcases upstairs. But just as you were standing in the hotel room, Taehyung suddenly remembered something. “By the way, we only have three rooms.”

Jimin frowned. “But there are four of us.”

“Exactly,” Taehyung said with an innocent smile. “So two of us will have to share.”

A hush fell over the room. “I am not sharing a room,” Jimin declared, folding his arms.

“I need my own room,” your voice cut in. “I swore I’d never share with any of you again—worst night of my life.”

Jimin immediately burst out laughing at the memory. “Oh god, true.”

You sighed. “I remember it too well. Someone snored, someone kept stealing my blanket even though we each had one, and someone had to pee every five minutes.”

“That’s denial,” Taehyung protested.

Jungkook couldn’t hold back a laugh and shook his head. “Okay, listen. Y/N and I will share a room,” he said finally.

You looked at him, and he only grinned. Inside you, the arrangement threw you completely off balance. Just being near Jungkook made your head spin; the thought of spending an entire weekend in the same room with him felt a little dangerous.

“Fine, I’ll agree. But if you snore, I will kick you out,” you warned.

Jungkook smiled. “I could say the same to you.”

About an hour later, you were all getting ready for the night. You weren’t in Las Vegas to stay cooped up in a hotel room.

You took a last look in the mirror. Your outfit was made for Vegas: a deep-red lace corset top under a burgundy leather jacket, paired with a short black skirt. You breathed in and out. You were strangely nervous, though you couldn’t say why—maybe the overwhelming glamour of the Strip, or the fact that you were about to share a room with Jungkook for an entire weekend.

You stepped out of the bathroom and spotted Jungkook at the foot of the bed, scrolling through his phone. The click of your heels made him look up.

For a moment, his gaze traced over you. You could tell he was trying not to stare, his eyes flicking away and then back again. The light caught the plane of his cheek and the slow curve of his mouth, and the ordinary sight of him sitting on the bed hit you harder than it should have. The air between you tightened; your pulse sped, and your breath caught in a way that had nothing to do with the elevator or the walk from the lobby. Every small movement he made—the way he shifted his weight, the casual tuck of his hair behind his ear—seemed amplified. You found it impossibly difficult to look anywhere but at him, and the thought of an entire night in such proximity made your stomach flutter with a heady mix of anticipation and nerves.

He straightened, clearing his throat. “You look good.”

You smiled, your heart too loud in your chest. “Thanks.”

You both forced your eyes away at the same time, each pretending not to notice how difficult that was.

The two of you left the room; Jimin and Taehyung were already waiting in the hallway.

“About time,” Taehyung grumbled. “What took you so long? I want to get going.”

You all took the elevator down to the lobby together. The night was warm, and a soft breeze toyed with your hair. Even at this hour, the Strip was alive—people laughing, music spilling from bars and casinos, a constant hum of energy.

“First stop: a casino,” Taehyung declared. He was the trip planner—every time you went away, he took charge of everything, from logistics to the itinerary.

Less than ten minutes later, you were surrounded by flashing slot machines and crowded gaming tables. Older men lounged at the machines, blowing coins and flirting with the staff.

“That’s rigged,” Taehyung muttered, staring at a slot machine.

Jimin laughed. “You’ve lost five times. I don’t think it’s the machine.”

Jungkook eyed his dwindling stack of chips and sighed. “Gambling isn’t for us.”

“Definitely not,” you agreed, laughing.

“Plan B, then,” Taehyung said, draping his arm over Jimin’s shoulder. “Let’s find a bar.”

Nobody objected. You left the casino and soon slipped into a crowded bar, where loud music and raucous voices spilled out onto the street, pulling you into the night.

Hours flew by with the boys at your side. With them around, you always felt safe, as if nothing could go wrong. Taehyung and Jimin spun story after story—your brothers, in every meaningful way, people you couldn’t imagine life without. They were treasures to you.

You and Jungkook listened, laughing along; it felt like home—drinks kept coming to the table, one after another. Conversations grew louder, laughter more uninhibited. Even the blaring music seemed to smooth into the background.

A waitress approached—timelessly pretty, with a charming smile and long blonde hair that made her eyes light up. “Hey, I’ll be your server for the rest of the night. My colleague finished up.” She kept glancing at Jungkook; it was hard not to notice. You understood why—he had that pull. He drew people in like a magnet.

“Can I get you anything else?” she asked, laying a hand almost casually on his shoulder.

“Sure, thanks,” Jungkook answered politely.

Her attention stayed on him, as if the rest of the world dissolved around them. You knew that look all too well—how everything shrinks to a focal point when someone else becomes the only thing that matters.

You watched in silence while Taehyung and Jimin got lost in their own conversation. A tight, unfamiliar ache spread through your chest—sharp and stupid, like a slap. You had no right to be jealous; Jungkook wasn’t yours. He could flirt with whoever he wanted. Still, what stung most was how comfortably familiar he seemed with her, how effortlessly he gave her one of his smiles. Sometimes you wished that smile belonged only to you.

You tightened your grip around your glass; the tequila burned on the way down. Jimin noticed the change in you—he always did. “You okay?” he asked.

“Of course,” you lied, forcing a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. Inside, the knot twisted tighter.

The waitress slid a paper to Jungkook. “Text me if you want to have fun in Vegas,” she said, pressing what was probably her number into Jungkook’s hand. He tucked the paper into his jacket with a quiet “Thanks,” and she moved on to help other guests.

Your fingers curled so hard around the cocktail that your knuckles went pale. Your jaw clenched. The alcohol made everything sharper; it felt like you might burst.

“Everything okay?” Jungkook asked, his voice close to your ear. You felt his breath against your cheek—warm, casual, dangerously intimate.

“Yeah,” you said, smiling again. Without another word, Jungkook drew your chair nearer and rested his hand on your knee.

That touch sent you reeling. You watched his palm on your leg as if you’d been struck mute—every other thought evaporated. The buzzing in your head quieted into a single, feral focus on him. “If you say so,” he murmured, voice low.

With each round, thoughts blurred, except for the undeniable fact that Jungkook was dangerously near. Laughter grew louder and looser around you—everyone drunk on the moment, even if none of you could remember what had started the jokes.

“I’ve got an idea!” Taehyung grinned, tipping forward over the table. He was drunk, eyes rimmed red and mischievous.

“Oh no,” Jimin groaned, already laughing.

“Since gambling isn’t our thing,” Taehyung said, “let’s make a bet.”

“This never ends well,” Jungkook muttered, his grip on your knee tightening.

“Exactly—that’s why it’ll be fun.” Taehyung’s eyes flicked between you and Jungkook. “I bet you two wouldn’t dare get married in a Vegas chapel tonight.”

For a moment, the bar fell away—the music and chatter dimmed into silence in your mind. Marry? Jungkook?

Jungkook laughed. “No way.”

“See?” Taehyung crowed, pointing at you both. “It'll be so fucking funny.”

“Forget it,” you said, waving him off. “I’m not that drunk.”

But your heart pounded so loud it felt like everyone could hear it. The thought of it made the skin along your spine tingle in a way you couldn’t ignore. You didn’t even dare look at Jungkook, afraid he’d see how much the idea had lodged under your skin.

“Come on,” Jimin pushed, grinning. “It’s just for fun—we’re best friends.”

“No,” you said sharply and gave Jimin a cool look.

“Scared?” Taehyung teased, face alight with prankish glee.

You laughed, nervous and small. “Tae, this is insane.”

“It’s Vegas weddings. They don’t count,” Jimin said.

“Exactly—cowards,” Taehyung mocked.

“We’re not cowards,” Jungkook said immediately.

Your eyes found him almost of their own accord. He was already looking at you; his cheeks were faintly flushed from the alcohol, a crooked smile on his lips. Something in his expression betrayed a flicker of uncertainty beneath the easy front—as if he, too, was grappling with the absurdity of the bet.

“Well? Are you in?” Jimin nudged.

Jungkook shook his head, then met your gaze and held it longer than felt casual. “What do you think?” he asked softly.

You couldn’t tell whether it was the wine or the gravity in his eyes, but something shifted. “Alright,” you heard yourself say.

A grin spread across Jungkook’s face. “Then let’s do it.”

“YES!” Taehyung jumped up, whooping. “Let's go before you change your mind!”

The little chapel was exactly the kitschy cliché you’d expect: white silk flowers trimmed the altar, neon lights flickered along the walls, and standing before you was an Elvis impersonator in a glittering white suit, black pompadour, and oversized sunglasses.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began in an exaggerated baritone, “we are gathered here today...”

Tae and Jimin dissolved into helpless laughter before Elvis could finish the line. You couldn’t help it—you laughed too. Jungkook shook his head with an amused smile beside you.

“I thought this was just a cliché,” Taehyung giggled, clutching Jungkook’s shoulder.

“Apparently not,” Jungkook returned, steadying himself on Taehyung as he hiccupped a laugh.

Elvis cleared his throat theatrically. “When you’re done laughing...”

You all apologized to the officiant. Jimin stepped up to be your witness, Taehyung beamed as Jungkook’s. They’d been scheming to be the ones to stand up there with you from the start.

“Now, the vows,” Elvis announced.

Jungkook turned and took your hand. The laughter fell away; whatever playfulness had ruled the night softened into something honest and quiet. “So,” he began, scratching the back of his neck with a shy glance, “I didn’t plan on getting married tonight. But if I have to marry someone, I’m glad it’s you.”

Each word made your heart trip. You knew it was ridiculous—alcohol and a stupid bet—but his voice cut through the fog nonetheless. The idea that you were the one he’d pick, if only for a joke, landed in your chest with a warmth that had nothing to do with the room.

“You’re funny,” he continued. “Stubborn as hell, and probably the only person who can drive me crazy regularly. That’s why I like having you around.”

Heat rose to your cheeks. Even if you could blame it on the drink, a seed of hope planted itself where you hadn’t expected it.

You inhaled, steadying yourself. “I never thought I’d go to bed married tonight,” you said, smiling.

"But,” you added, softer, “if I had to pick someone to go through this mad story with, it’d be you.”

Jungkook went quiet in a way that made the rest of the chapel hush, too. The careless grin slipped off his face; he looked as if he’d narrowed everything down to just you in that moment. “You make me laugh no matter what,” he said, voice low. “You’re honest, you’re ridiculously funny, and you actually cook. I like having you near me.”

Elvis nodded like a proud priest of kitsch. “Now for the important part.” He turned to Jungkook. “Will you take this beautiful woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Jungkook met your eyes and then smiled. “I will.”

“And will you take this handsome man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I will,” you answered, every syllable sounding real in your ears.

Elvis beamed. “I now pronounce you man and wife.”

At that, Taehyung erupted—jumping and cheering. “They really did it!”

Jimin clapped and laughed beside you. “Wait until Namjoon finds out—he’s going to lose it.”

You stood there with your hands linked, the ridiculousness of it all wrapped in something tender and electric. The vows had been spoken between giggles and neon, but they landed like a promise—messy, unexpected, and entirely yours for the night.

After you left the chapel, the night wasn’t over. Taehyung insisted the wedding had to be celebrated properly, so you hopped between two more bars, laughter and shouting blurring into one long, warm buzz. It wasn’t until well past midnight that you finally made it back to the hotel.

The walk to your rooms felt longer than it had hours before. Jimin and Taehyung’s laughter ricocheted down the corridor until they stopped at their doors, wobbling a little on their feet.

“Good night, newlyweds!” Tae slurred, giving you a thumbs-up.

Jimin fumbled for his doorknob, still grinning. “Tomorrow I want every single detail.”

“You won’t remember any of it anyway,” Jungkook murmured beside you, amusement in his voice.

“Fair point,” Jimin replied and let the door click shut behind him. Tae’s door followed with another muffled sound, and the hallway fell quiet.

You and Jungkook slipped into your room. The door closed with a soft thud, and he leaned his back against it, breathing out a long, tired laugh. “What a night,” he said, running a hand through his hair.

You collapsed onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling. “I still can’t believe we let Tae talk us into this.”

Jungkook held up his left hand and rolled the simple ring between his fingers. “Pretty wild,” he said quietly.

For a moment, you watched the ring on your own hand, the reality of what had happened settling over you like a warm, shocking wave. It had really happened.

Jungkook pushed off the door and climbed into bed beside you. He lay on his back, eyes tracing the patterns of neon light that bled in through the curtains. “You know,” he began softly, voice thick with sleep and something else, “I expected a lot tonight — knowing Tae — but I didn’t expect we’d come back married.”

You laughed, a breathy sound that held equal parts disbelief and something tender. “Me neither.”

You lay there side by side in the hush, the city’s glow painting your faces in red and blue. For a while, neither of you spoke; the room filled with the low hum of Vegas beyond the glass.

After a few slow breaths, Jungkook turned his head to look at you. “Do you regret it?” he asked.

The question was small, but it landed heavily. Despite the alcohol, his eyes were clear, and something like hope trembled there — like your answer might tilt the night one way or another.

You turned to meet him. The silence felt intimate, like the two of you were the only people left in the world. “No,” you said, surprising yourself with the steadiness in your voice. “Strangely… no.”

Relief unfurled across his features, softening him. He smiled — the kind of smile that reached his eyes — and you felt it in your chest. “Good. Me neither.”

Everything settled then. The jokes, the exaggerated bravado, and the dizzy laughter softened into something quieter and real. He reached out, thumb brushing the back of your hand where the ring sat, and the contact sent a little electricity through you. You squeezed his fingers, and he squeezed back, small and sure.

The two of you lay like that, breathing in sync, as the neon outside pulsed and the late-night city life continued oblivious. You felt vulnerable and safe at once — ridiculous and content. Eventually, Jungkook curled closer, his shoulder pressing against yours, and you rested your head near his chest. His heartbeat was steady and warm beneath your ear, and you drifted toward sleep with his arm wrapped lightly around you, the surreal, imperfect promise of the night soft and simple between you.

The silence stretched, comfortable and heavy, until Jungkook shifted beside you. His voice came out rough, barely above a whisper. "We still have a wedding night."

You turned your head, blinking at him in the dim glow of the neon lights. "What?"

He propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at you with dark, steady eyes. The playful exhaustion had faded, replaced by something sharper, more intentional. "You know," he said slowly, his thumb tracing idle circles against your palm, "I've been thinking about fucking you since you came out of the bathroom in that outfit."

Your breath caught. "Jungkook—" you started, but his name came out softer than you intended, almost like permission.

He leaned closer, close enough that you could smell the whiskey on his breath and something else, something uniquely him. "Tell me to stop," he murmured, his mouth hovering near your jaw, "and I will."

But you didn't. The ring on your finger felt suddenly warm, weighted with new meaning, and when his lips finally found yours, it was slow and deliberate—not rushed like the chaos of the night, but deep and searching. His hand slid from yours to your waist, pulling you closer until you were pressed against him, the heat of his skin bleeding through his thin shirt.

"Is this crazy?" you breathed against his mouth.

"Probably," he whispered back, smiling as he kissed you again, hungrier this time. "But we just got married in a Vegas chapel with Elvis as our witness. Crazy seems to be the theme tonight."

You laughed, but it dissolved into a gasp as his hand slipped beneath your shirt, palm warm against your ribs. His touch was careful at first, questioning, but when you arched into him, the restraint snapped. He rolled you beneath him, settling between your legs with a confidence that made your head spin—though whether from the lingering alcohol or him, you couldn't tell anymore.

"Tell me what you want," he said, his voice rough against your throat, his teeth grazing your collarbone.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling his mouth back to yours. "I want you to stop talking," you whispered, "and show me what you've been thinking about all night."

His answering groan vibrated through your chest, and then there was no more talking—just the sound of fabric sliding against skin, the rustle of the sheets.

Jungkook didn't rush. He took his time to take off your shirt, his fingers deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours as each inch of skin was revealed. When he finally pushed the fabric over your head, his breath hitched—just barely, but you caught it.

"Beautiful," he murmured, and the word landed soft and warm against your collarbone. He traced the curve of your breast with the back of his knuckles, teasing, watching your face for every reaction. "You're so beautiful."

He lowered his head, mouth hovering over your nipple, his breath hot and maddening. You arched up, seeking contact, but he pulled back with a faint, wicked smile.

"Easy," he whispered, his hand sliding up to cup your breast, thumb brushing over the sensitive peak.

When he finally took you into his mouth, the heat and wet suction dragged a ragged sound from your throat. He was thorough—circling with his tongue, grazing with his teeth, then soothing with soft lips. He switched sides, lavishing the same attention on your other breast, his hand remaining to roll the abandoned nipple between his fingers, tugging just enough to make you squirm.

"Jungkook—" you gasped, your hands finding his hair, gripping tight.

He hummed against your skin, the vibration traveling straight down your spine. "So responsive," he praised, looking up at you with dark, blown-pupil eyes. "Love how you react to me."

His free hand drifted lower, palm flat against your stomach, then slipped beneath the waistband of your skirt. He paused there, waiting, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your hip.

"Can I?" he asked, though his voice left little room for refusal—more a courtesy than a question, a check-in that made your chest tighten with something tender.

"Yes," you breathed. "Please."

He slid your skirt down your legs, his gaze raking over you with open appreciation that made heat pool in your cheeks. When you were bare before him, he settled between your thighs, spreading you open with gentle hands.

"Look at you," he said, almost to himself, his thumb brushing through your folds, spreading the wetness he found there. "Already so wet for me. Such a good girl."

The praise sent a flutter through your stomach. He kept his thumb circling your clit, light, teasing strokes that built slowly, deliberately. Every time you started to climb toward the edge, he pulled back, easing the pressure, watching you tremble.

"Not yet," he said softly, leaning down to kiss your thigh, your hip, anywhere he could reach. "Let me take my time with you. Want to feel you fall apart."

When he finally pushed a finger inside you, you moaned, your head falling back against the pillow. He moved slowly, curling his finger to find the spot that made your vision blur.

"So tight," he murmured against your skin, adding a second finger, stretching you with patient, scissoring movements. "Taking me so well. You're doing so good, baby."

You were panting now, your hips chasing his hand, desperate for more friction, more pressure. He gave it to you in increments—building you up, backing off, building again. His free hand slid up your body, finding your throat, his fingers wrapping loosely, not squeezing, just holding you there, grounded, his eyes locked on yours with intense focus.

"Want to feel you come on my fingers," he said, his voice low and rough. "But not yet. Not until I taste you."

He withdrew his fingers slowly, drawing a whimper from you, and brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a filthy, deliberate sound that made your thighs clench. Then he settled lower, his shoulders pressing your legs wider, his breath hot against your most sensitive skin.

The first stroke of his tongue was slow, exploratory, dragging from your entrance to your clit with flat, broad pressure. You cried out, your hands flying to the sheets, gripping tight. He did it again, and again, establishing a maddeningly steady rhythm—never quite enough to push you over, always keeping you hovering on the precipice.

He moaned against you, the vibration making you buck, and the sound was wrecked, hungry. "You taste incredible," he mumbled, his tongue circling your clit before dipping lower, fucking into you with pointed, teasing strokes.

He returned to your clit, sucking gently, then harder, alternating pressure while his fingers slid back inside you, curling to stroke your walls. The dual sensation had you trembling, your legs shaking around his shoulders.

"Please," you begged, not even sure what you were asking for—more, less, release, eternity.

He lifted his head, his mouth swollen and wet, his eyes dark with control and desire. "Not yet," he said again, his fingers stilling inside you, his thumb pressing hard against your clit and holding, keeping you right there on the edge, trembling, desperate. "I want you to wait for me. Can you do that? Be good for me?"

You nodded frantically, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the sheer intensity of it, the need coiling tight and hot in your belly.

"Good girl," he whispered, lowering his mouth again, his fingers resuming their slow, torturous rhythm. "My good girl. Let me take care of you."

He paused, his tongue still pressed against you, his fingers buried deep. When he looked up, his eyes were dark, almost black in the dim light, holding something far more deliberate than alcohol-induced impulse.

"You know," he said, his voice rough and vibrating against your sensitive skin, "I wasn't even that drunk tonight." He dragged his tongue slowly up your center, watching your face crumble. "Two whiskeys. That's all." He curled his fingers inside you, making you gasp. "I knew exactly what was happening. At the chapel."

You stared down at him, shock rippling through your pleasure-fogged mind. His mouth was wet, his chin slick, and his gaze was steady—completely, terrifyingly sober.

"I was drunk," you breathed, your voice shaking as he flicked his tongue over your clit again, "but I was still clear-headed enough to know what I was doing."

A slow, devastating smile curved his lips. "Then you knew," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh, "that I've wanted this. Wanted you." His fingers began moving again, purposeful and deep. "For so fucking long."

"Me too," you whispered, the admission breaking something open in your chest. "God, me too, Jungkook."

He groaned, raw and desperate, and surged up your body. His mouth crashed into yours, and you could taste yourself on his lips—salty and intimate and obscene. He tore at his own clothes, shoving his shirt over his head, his pants kicked off in frantic, clumsy movements until he was bare against you, hot and hard and trembling with restraint.

"Turn over," he commanded, his voice dropping an octave, rough with the weight of his confession. "Now."

You scrambled to comply, flipping onto your stomach, and he pulled your hips up with rough hands, positioning you exactly where he wanted. The head of his cock dragged through your folds, gathering your wetness, teasing your entrance until you were pushing back against him, whining with need.

"Please," you begged, your cheek pressed against the mattress, your fingers gripping the sheets. "Jungkook, please—"

He slammed into you in one brutal thrust, bottoming out with a guttural groan that sounded torn from his throat. You cried out, your back arching, your body stretching to accommodate his thickness. He didn't wait for you to adjust. He pulled back and drove in again, harder, setting a punishing rhythm that rocked the bed against the wall.

"Fuck," he gritted out, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise, his hips snapping against yours with wet, filthy sounds. "So fucking tight. So perfect." He leaned over you, his chest pressed to your back, his mouth hot against your ear. "This is what I wanted. What I imagined. You're taking my cock like you were made for it."

You could only moan, your voice breaking with every impact, the pleasure building sharp and overwhelming. He shifted his angle, hitting a spot inside you that made your vision go white out, and you screamed his name, your arms giving out until your shoulders were pressed to the mattress, your ass in the air, completely at his mercy.

He fucked you through it, relentless, his stamina terrifying, his breath coming in harsh pants against your neck. When you finally went limp, trembling and oversensitive, he pulled out with a hiss, his cock slick and throbbing.

"Wall," he growled, already moving, lifting you with hands that barely registered your weight.

He pressed you against the nearest wall before you could process the movement, your back hitting the cool surface as he hoisted you up, your legs wrapping around his waist by instinct. He entered you again in one smooth, brutal thrust, the new angle making you see stars, your head falling back with a cry.

"Look at me," he demanded, his hand wrapping around your throat again, not choking, just holding you there, pinning you in place as he drove up into you with savage, desperate force. "Look at me when you come."

You forced your eyes open, tears streaming down your face from the intensity, from the stretch, from the way he was staring at you like you were the only thing in the world. His hips pistoned upward, each thrust lifting you, your back sliding against the wall with the friction of it.

"Jungkook—" you gasped, feeling the coil tightening again, impossibly, building toward something catastrophic.

"Come with me," he ordered, his voice breaking, his control finally fracturing.

The word shattered you. Your orgasm crashed through you with violent force, your body clamping down on him, your nails raking down his back, your scream swallowed by his mouth as he kissed you messily, desperately. He followed seconds later, burying himself to the hilt with a roar that vibrated through your chest, his hips stuttering, his cock pulsing as he spilled inside you, hot and endless and claiming.

You both slid down the wall, trembling, gasping, tangled together in a heap of limbs and sweat and racing hearts. He stayed inside you, his face buried in your neck, his breath coming in ragged bursts against your skin.

"Fuck," he whispered, his voice wrecked.

You laughed, breathless and delirious, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his shoulder. "Yeah."

The neon lights outside pulsed red and blue across your tangled bodies, the Vegas hotel room suddenly feeling like the only place in the world that had ever mattered.

The aftermath settled over you like warm water—slow, encompassing, impossible to fight. Jungkook didn't pull away. He stayed tangled with you on the floor, his chest rising and falling against your back, his arm heavy and possessive across your waist. The carpet was rough against your shoulder blades, but you couldn't bring yourself to care.

"Come to bed," you mumbled, your voice hoarse, your eyes already drifting shut.

He hummed, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours, but neither of you moved. Not yet. His fingers traced lazy circles on your hip, touch gentling with each pass, until your breathing synced—deep and even, exhaustion finally claiming you both.

He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then your neck, then the shell of your ear. "Stay right here," he whispered, though you were already half-gone, sinking into darkness with the taste of him still on your lips.

You didn't remember him lifting you, but you woke in the bed, the sheets tangled around your legs, the morning light bleeding through the curtains in thin, harsh stripes. For a moment, you lay still, your mind blank, your body aching in places you'd forgotten existed.

Then the memories flooded back—the chapel, the rings, the way he'd looked at you when he said I do.

You turned your head. Jungkook was awake, propped on one elbow, watching you with soft, unguarded eyes. The harsh morning light should have made him look different, should have revealed last night as the mistake your rational mind insisted it must be.

But he just looked like Jungkook. Like home.

"Morning," he said, his voice rough with sleep.

You stared at him, at the ring still on his finger, at the marks you'd left on his shoulder, at the way his free hand had already found yours under the sheets.

"I can't believe this happened," you whispered.

A slow smile curved his lips—not teasing, not performative, just real. "Which part?"

"Any of it." You looked up at the ceiling. "All of it. Us. Here." Your voice caught, and you hated yourself for it, but he just squeezed your hand, waiting. "After all those years, Jungkook. All those years of wanting you and thinking it was hopeless, thinking I'd missed my chance, thinking—"

"I know," he said quietly. "I know."

You turned to face him. "A stupid bet. Taehyung's stupid, ridiculous bet, a chapel in Vegas, and two whiskeys." You laughed. "That's what it took?"

He shifted closer, his forehead coming to rest against yours, his nose brushing your cheek. "I'd have married you sober," he said, simple and devastating. "I'd have married you years ago if I'd had the guts to say so."

Outside, the city was already roaring back to life—horns and footsteps and the endless, chaotic hum of Vegas refusing to sleep. But in the hotel room, with Jungkook's heartbeat steady against your palm and his ring catching the morning light, the noise felt distant.

You'd come to Vegas expecting a story to laugh about later. A wild night, a funny anecdote, another memory of almosts and what-ifs.

Instead, you'd found this.

"So," he said, his thumb brushing over your ring, "annulment? Or..."

He didn't finish. He didn't need to.

You looked at him—the man you'd loved in silence, the man who'd carried you to bed, your best friend who'd become your husband in a room that smelled like whiskey and bad decisions and something that felt frighteningly like forever.

"Or," you said.

His smile could have lit the whole damn city.

[soft-jkdark]

His Greatest Sin • JJK

Summary: Trapped inside her father's mafia empire, Y/N's only constant is the bodyguard sworn to protect her. But one reckless night blurs the line between duty and desire—and some lines can never be uncrossed.

Genre: Mafia AU • Bodyguard AU • Forbidden Romance • Smut

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Warnings: Mafia Violence • Blood • Death • Threats with a Weapon • Possessive Behavior • Strong Language• Explicit Sexual Content (18+), Mature Themes.

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You couldn't remember what life looked like beyond the walls that surrounded your home.

Your father used to tell you they were there to keep you safe. You'd been too young to question him, too innocent to understand what "protection" really meant. As the years passed, you stopped trying to make sense of it. The walls became your reality. The guards, the cameras, the constant surveillance—it was all you'd ever known.

By the time you turned eighteen, your father had officially brought you into the family's business. It wasn't much of a choice.

Being watched every second of the day had become second nature. Someone always wanted to know where you were, who you were with, or when you'd be back. Privacy was a luxury you'd never experienced.

But you always found a way to slip through their fingers.

That was... until Jungkook.

He had entered your life when you were fifteen without warning. No one ever explained where he came from. From that moment on, he stayed by your father's side, becoming his most trusted right-hand man. His loyalty belonged to your father—and your father alone.

Then, two months ago, everything changed.

Your father received a threat. No one knew who had sent it or where it had come from.

Only a single message was enough to put your father on edge. For the first time in your life, you saw fear flicker across his face.

That same day, he gave Jungkook one simple order. "Don't let her out of your sight."

From that moment on, Jungkook became your shadow. Every step you took, he followed. Every door you opened, he was already there. Every attempt to escape ended the same way—with him standing in your path, calm as ever, waiting for you to give up.

Your house no longer felt like a home. It felt like a beautifully decorated prison.

It was well past midnight when your phone buzzed against the nightstand, breaking the silence that had settled over your room. You had been lying awake for hours, staring at the ceiling. Sleep rarely came easily anymore. Every day had become the same—no late-night drives, no spontaneous plans, no freedom. Just your father's men watching your every move, making sure you never stepped too far out of line.

You reached for your phone, and the moment Layla's name appeared on the screen, a smile found its way onto your lips. She was your best friend, the only person your father had ever allowed into his tightly controlled world. Somehow, she had become the one piece of normalcy you still had.

Please... come tonight. Just this once.

Your smile slowly faded as you reread her message.

You wanted to go. God, you missed feeling normal. But sneaking out wasn't nearly as easy as it used to be. Not with Jungkook around.

Ever since your father had assigned him to watch you, escaping had become almost impossible. It was as if he knew your every move before you made it. No matter how carefully you planned, no matter which way you chose, he always seemed to be there.

Still... you had managed to outsmart him a few times before. Maybe you could do it again.

The thought alone sent a rush of excitement through your body. It was reckless, and you knew it. If your father found out, you would never hear the end of it. But for one night, you wanted to make your own choice.

Without giving yourself another second to overthink it, your fingers moved across the screen.

"You know what? I'm coming. Screw it."

You hit send and tossed your phone onto the bed beside you. A grin spread across your face as adrenaline replaced the hesitation that had been weighing on your chest.

Tonight, you refused to let anyone decide where you could go.

Not your father. And certainly not Jungkook.

The moment you stepped inside the club, the heavy bass pulsed through your body, settling deep in your chest. The air was warm, thick with perfume, alcohol, and the unmistakable rush of people who had come to forget the outside world. Red neon lights swept across the crowded dance floor, flickering over laughing faces while music vibrated beneath your feet. Glasses clinked somewhere behind the bar, conversations blurred together, and no one seemed to care about tomorrow.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you weren't the daughter of one of the city's most feared mafia bosses.

You were just... you.

"To your freedom, at least for tonight," Layla cheered, raising a shot glass with a grin.

A genuine smile spread across your face as you clinked your glass against hers. "To freedom."

You tossed the shot back in one go, instantly regretting it as the alcohol burned its way down your throat. You squeezed your eyes shut for a second, coughing quietly while Layla burst into laughter.

"I'll never get used to that," you muttered, fanning your mouth.

Layla watched you with an amused smile before a mischievous glint appeared in her eyes. "I honestly never thought I'd see you without your ridiculously hot bodyguard."

You let out a laugh, looking at her as if she'd completely lost her mind. "Hot?" you repeated. "Are we seriously talking about the same guy?"

"Oh, come on." She nudged your shoulder. "You cannot tell me Jungkook isn't gorgeous."

You rolled your eyes and reached for another shot. "He's annoying."

"But he's hot."

"He's controlling."

"Still hot."

You couldn't help laughing as you shook your head. "You've definitely had too much to drink."

Layla crossed her arms, still smiling. "Don't tell me you've never thought about it."

"No," you answered a little too quickly.

The word left your mouth with confidence, but the thought lingered anyway.

Of course, you'd noticed. Jungkook was undeniably attractive, and pretending otherwise would've been pointless. But every time that thought crossed your mind, you buried it just as quickly. His looks didn't change the fact that he constantly watched you, questioned every move you made, and somehow managed to get on your nerves without even trying.

"So that's your final answer?" Layla teased.

"It is."

"Hm." She smirked, clearly unconvinced.

You grabbed another shot from the bar, downed it before she could tease you again, then slipped your hand into hers with a grin.

"Come on," you laughed, pulling her toward the dance floor. "Let's dance before you start making up more nonsense."

Together, you disappeared into the sea of bodies moving beneath the crimson neon lights. The bass pounded through your chest, so loud it drowned out every lingering thought in your mind. People laughed, shouted lyrics they barely knew, drinks spilled across the floor, and no one seemed to care. For the first time in weeks, you found yourself laughing just as freely. Your head tipped back as Layla pulled you into another dance, both of you singing completely off-key while the alcohol warmed your veins. It blurred the edges of your thoughts, softened the weight you'd been carrying for months, and for a little while, you almost forgot what it felt like to be watched.

"I'm getting us another drink!" Layla called over the music.

Before you could answer, someone stepped in front of you. "Would you like to dance?"

You looked up, finding a man wearing an easy smile as he held out his hand. Dark, slightly messy hair framed his sharp features, and his warm brown eyes met yours. There was something effortless about him—charming, attractive.

A small smile tugged at your lips. "Sure."

Layla glanced between the two of you before smirking. "I'll be at the bar," she teased, disappearing into the crowd with a playful wink.

The stranger guided you a little farther onto the dance floor, leaving enough space between you that you didn't feel trapped. At first, the distance remained, both of you moving awkwardly to the music while exchanging amused smiles whenever you failed to hear what the other was saying.

When the next song started, his hands settled carefully on your waist.

He hesitated, almost as if waiting for you to pull away. You didn't.

Instead, you stepped closer, swaying with him as the rhythm slowed. His touch was gentle, respectful, nothing like the suffocating grip control had always had on your life. A quiet smile spread across your face. To him, you weren't someone's daughter, someone's responsibility, or someone's problem.

You were simply another girl enjoying her night.

Suddenly, a chill crawled up your spine, so sudden it made your body go rigid. The smile on your lips faltered as a familiar knot tightened in your stomach. You'd felt it too many times over the past two months to mistake it for anything else.

Someone was watching you.

Your movements slowed until they came to a complete stop. The stranger looked at you with a puzzled expression, his hands still resting lightly on your waist, but you barely noticed. Your pulse pounded in your ears as your eyes wandered across the crowded dance floor.

Then they found him.

Jungkook.

He stood several feet away, completely motionless. People bumped into his shoulders as they danced past, yet he never reacted. Dressed in an immaculate black suit, he looked less like he belonged in a nightclub.

His eyes were locked on you.

But, they drifted lower, lingering on the man's hands resting against your waist.

A muscle in Jungkook's jaw ticked.

Your mouth suddenly felt dry. Every instinct screamed at you to step away, but your feet refused to move. It was ridiculous—you were on the other side of the room, surrounded by hundreds of people.

Yet somehow...

It still felt as if the two of you were the only ones there.

Jungkook moved through the crowd with slow, unhurried steps. The flashing lights swept across his face, but they couldn't soften the coldness in his expression. There was no anger, no frustration—only that terrifying calm you had learned to fear. It was the same look he wore whenever someone crossed a line they weren't supposed to.

He stopped in front of you, his gaze flickering briefly to the man's hands resting on your waist before meeting your eyes again. "We're leaving."

You forced yourself not to look away, even though your pulse was hammering against your ribs. A humorless laugh escaped your lips as you slowly pulled away from the stranger. "I'm not leaving."

"We are." His tone remained flat. "Now."

You folded your arms over your chest, lifting your chin in defiance. "Can you stop controlling every second of my life? I'm having fun for once."

Jungkook exhaled slowly through his nose, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. "I won't ask again."

"...Then don't." The second the words left your mouth, his hand closed firmly around your wrist.

You sucked in a sharp breath, instinctively trying to pull away, but his grip didn't budge. "Jungkook!" you snapped, struggling against him. "Let me go!"

He ignored every protest as if he couldn't hear you. With one firm tug, he dragged you through the crowd. Your free hand pushing against his arm in a desperate attempt to make him stop.

When the cold night air hit your skin, did he finally let go. You immediately rubbed your sore wrist, glaring at him while trying to steady your breathing. Without saying a word, he opened the passenger door of the black car waiting outside and looked at you with the same unreadable expression. "Get in."

You clenched your jaw so hard it ached. Every part of you wanted to scream at him, to walk away, to prove that he couldn't order you around forever. But deep down, you knew exactly how this would end.

With an angry scoff, you shoved past him, dropped into the passenger seat, and slammed the door hard enough for the entire car to shake. The ride home passed in complete silence. You turned toward the window, your arms folded tightly across your chest as tears of frustration threatened to sting your eyes. Outside, the city lights blurred together, while beside you, Jungkook drove as if nothing had happened—his expression calm, his hands steady on the wheel, as though dragging you out of the club against your will had been nothing more than another task on his list.

The moment the door clicked shut, you ripped your arm from Jungkook's grip, stumbling back as the alcohol in your veins surged with adrenaline.

"Have you lost your goddamn mind?" Your voice cracked. You jabbed a finger toward him, your eyes blazing with rage. "You completely humiliated me in front of everyone."

Jungkook said nothing. He shrugged out of his tailored jacket, the fabric sliding off his broad shoulders. He draped it over the back of a chair and leaned against the doorframe, arms folding across his chest.

"I brought you home," he said, his voice infuriatingly calm. "That's all."

"Bullshit." You spat the word, stepping closer. Your heels clicked against the marble floor, each step punctuating your anger. "You treated me like some petulant toddler. You dragged me out of there like I was property."

"Because you were acting like a child." His gaze never wavered, fixed entirely on you.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms. "I wanted one night, Jungkook. One night with Layla without your shadow hanging over me."

"People are hunting your father," he said, his tone dropping lower. "They wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet in you just to send a message. You're playing games with your life."

"My life?" A bitter laugh escaped your throat. "You don't give a damn about my life. You treat me like a prisoner in a gilded cage."

"Then stop acting like a spoiled brat."

The words hung in the air.

Your breath hitched. "What did you just call me?"

"You heard me." He pushed off from the door, moving toward the armchair. He sat on the edge of the leather seat, his posture deceptively relaxed, but his jaw was tight, a muscle ticking in his cheek. "You're losing your mind."

"You're the one who's lost it," you screamed, closing the distance between you. You didn't even realize you were moving until your palms slammed against his chest, shoving him backward. "You don't know the first thing about me, you arrogant bastard."

He barely moved. Your hands remained flattened against the hard plane of his chest, feeling the rapid thunder of his heartbeat beneath your palms.

"I know you better than you want to admit," he said. His hands gripped the armrests, knuckles whitening as he restrained himself.

"You don't know me," you hissed, shoving him again. "You only know your precious assignment. Your job. I'm just a paycheck to you."

His eyes flashed—something dark and volatile breaking through the surface. "You live in a fortress," he said, leaning forward despite your hands still pressed against him. His face was inches from yours now. "You wear clothes that cost more than most people's rent. You drive cars worth more than houses. Everything you have—everything you are—comes from Daddy's blood money. And yet you stand there, tears in your eyes, playing the victim."

The words sliced through you. You hadn't even realized you were crying until he mentioned it—hot, angry tears spilling down your cheeks, blurring your vision.

"I hate you," you whispered, your voice cracking. You pushed him again. "You're just like him. You're exactly like my father."

The silence that followed was suffocating. Jungkook stared at you, his expression unreadable, his chest rising and falling in sharp, controlled breaths.

"If that's what you believe," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. He stood slowly, forcing you to step back or be overwhelmed by his proximity. You chose to step back, your back hitting the wall as he towered over you.

"Then there's nothing left to say."

"Get out," you breathed, your throat tight.

He turned toward the door, his hand on the handle, when he paused. Without looking back, he said, "Sleep it off. Maybe you'll be reasonable in the morning."

The door clicked shut with a finality that echoed in your chest.

The moment the lock engaged, your gaze landed on the crystal vase perched on your nightstand—an obscene thing, probably worth thousands, a gift from some diplomat your father had entertained. You seized it without thought, your body moving on pure, white-hot instinct, and hurled it at the closed door.

Two weeks had passed since the argument with Jungkook.

In those two weeks, silence had become your weapon.

Whenever he asked you something, he was lucky if he got a simple yes or no. Most of the time, you ignored him completely, acting as though he wasn't standing a few feet away. Every morning, he was still there. Every hallway you walked through, every room you entered, every step you took—he followed.

Tonight, the villa was unusually alive.

One of your father's endless business dinners was underway. Expensive suits filled the hallways, low conversations echoed through the marble corridors, and classical music drifted through the house, almost elegant enough to disguise what these gatherings really were. Deals were being made. Alliances were being tested. Men with blood on their hands smiled over crystal glasses of whiskey as if they were discussing the weather.

The thought alone made your stomach turn.

Ever since you'd walked downstairs in your fitted red dress, you had felt their eyes lingering on you for far too long. Their smiles were polite, but their stares made your skin crawl.

You'd had enough.

The second no one was paying attention, you grabbed your jacket and slipped out through the back entrance. Cool night air brushed against your face, instantly easing the suffocating heat that had been building inside you. You inhaled deeply, letting the silence replace the endless chatter behind you as you wandered down the narrow gravel path leading toward the iron gates. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying the scent of rain while silver moonlight spilled across the gardens.

Somehow, your thoughts drifted back to Jungkook.

You hated that they did.

No matter how hard you tried, you could never figure him out. He spent more time beside you than anyone else. He probably knew your routines, your habits, even your moods better than you did. Yet he remained a stranger. He never spoke about himself. Never laughed. Never got angry. No matter how hard you pushed him, he always hid behind that same unreadable expression.

And somehow... that was exactly what frustrated you.

Because, despite the distance he kept between the two of you, no one else was ever as close as he was.

He was always there. A step behind you. Standing between you and anyone who got too close. His hand was around your wrist whenever danger appeared. His body shielding yours before you even realized you needed protection.

Why did that bother you so much?

..Or maybe the real question was why you couldn't stop thinking about it.

Before you could answer yourself, a rough hand suddenly clamped around your wrist.

Your breath caught in your throat.

A violent force yanked you backward, tearing you out of your thoughts before you had the chance to react.

Your back collided with the unforgiving stone wall, the impact sending a jolt of pain through your spine. The stranger advanced mercilessly, crowding you into the narrow alcove between the manicured hedges that seemed to lean inward like mocking spectators to your terror.

"Let me go!" The words tore from your throat in ragged gasps, your palms pushing uselessly against his chest as you thrashed against his grip.

His fingers only tightened, digging into the soft flesh of your upper arm with sadistic precision. In one fluid motion, he withdrew a blade from the depths of his leather jacket.

The edge pressed against your throat.

Your breath stopped. Every muscle in your body seized as the steel bit into your skin. Your heart hammered against your ribs with such ferocity that you swore you could hear it, a frantic drumbeat echoing in your ears.

"Please," you whispered, the sound barely audible, trembling. "Don't hurt me."

The man studied you for a moment, his head tilting with predatory curiosity. Then his lips curved into something that might have been a smile—if smiles held no warmth, no humanity. "Tell your father time is running out."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You don't need to, sweetheart."

Slowly, he increased the pressure. The blade sank into your flesh—not deep, but enough. Fire erupted along your throat. You felt the warmth before you saw it—thick droplets sliding down your skin, pooling in the hollow of your collarbone, staining the fabric of your dress.

He pushed harder, leaning close enough that you could smell tobacco and something metallic on his breath. His whisper caressed your ear like a lover's secret. "Goodbye."

The gunshot shattered the night.

It was deafening, a thunderclap that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. The grip on your arm slackened instantly. The man's eyes widened—surprise, perhaps, or the dawning realization of mortality—before his body went limp and collapsed forward, dead weight crashing against you.

Blood erupted; it sprayed across your chest, your face, your mouth. You tasted copper and salt.

You stood frozen, trembling violently, but it wasn't fear anymore—it was adrenaline, pure and intoxicating, flooding your system with electric intensity. The corpse slumped at your feet stirred nothing in you that shock hadn't already numbed. You'd seen death before. You'd simply never been this close to joining it.

Footsteps approached.

Jungkook materialized from the shadows, his gun still smoking in his hand, his expression carved from granite. He stopped before you, his gaze sweeping over the scene with tactical precision before settling on your face.

"Y/N?" His voice was different—softer than you'd ever heard it.

With infinite care, he reached out and brushed a blood-matted strand of hair from your cheek. His fingertips lingered against your jaw, his thumb tracing the path of the crimson smear. His eyes dropped to the wound at your throat, before rising to meet yours.

"Are you hurt?"

You couldn't speak. Your throat felt welded shut.

Instead, the adrenaline crested—a tidal wave crashing through your bloodstream, obliterating rational thought. For the first time, the reality of the moment crashed over you: the blade, the pressure, the whispered goodbye. You'd been seconds from oblivion.

Your hands moved of their own accord, fisting into the front of Jungkook's shirt. You pulled him toward you.

And then your mouth was on his.

The kiss tasted of blood and gunpowder and survival, born from the desperate, overwhelming relief of still being alive, of lungs that could still draw breath, of a heart that could still hammer against your ribs. You poured every shattered emotion into it.

Jungkook went rigid beneath your touch.

When you finally broke apart, you stumbled back a step, your fingers instinctively rising to your lips as if you could still feel the kiss lingering there. Your pulse slammed wildly against your ribs, each heartbeat louder than the last. What the hell had you been thinking?

"I..." The word caught in your throat. You couldn't even bring yourself to look at him. "I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I... I shouldn't have done that."

The silence that followed was unbearable. You didn't wait to hear his response.

Turning on your heel, you hurried back toward the villa, your breathing uneven as your heels echoed across the stone path. By the time you reached your room, your hands were trembling. You pushed the door shut behind you with more force than necessary and pressed your back against it, squeezing your eyes closed while running both hands through your hair.

"Damn it..." you muttered under your breath, your chest rising and falling rapidly. "What were you thinking?"

Your thoughts refused to settle. They crashed into one another, replaying the kiss over and over until your cheeks burned with embarrassment.

Then the bedroom door flew open with a deafening bang.

You flinched so hard your heart nearly leapt into your throat.

Jungkook stood in the doorway, his broad shoulders filling the frame. His expression hadn't changed, but somehow that made it worse. His face was unreadable, his eyes dark enough to make the air in the room suddenly feel colder.

He closed the door behind him without taking his eyes off you. "Why?"

You swallowed hard, your gaze dropping to the floor. "I'm sorry," you said again, folding your arms tightly across your chest as though they could shield you from him. "I wasn't thinking."

"No," he replied after a long pause. "You weren't."

Every instinct told you to keep your distance, but he was already walking toward you. Each step seemed louder than the last until your back instinctively retreated.

"You crossed a line."

You frowned, finally looking up at him. "What are you talking about?"

"You have no idea what you've done."

A nervous laugh almost escaped you. "Done?" You kept backing away until the edge of your bed pressed against the back of your legs. "Jungkook, it was just a kiss."

He didn't stop.

Your knees gave out as they hit the mattress, forcing you to sit down. Before you could stand again, he had closed the distance between you. He towered over you, one hand braced against the bed beside your head, leaving you no choice but to look up at him.

"His eyes met yours, dark and impossibly calm.

"You don't understand what that kiss means," he said quietly. "Or the consequences it's going to bring."

"What consequences?" you asked, trying to sound braver than you felt. "I kissed you. It's not like I killed someone."

For the first time that night, something flickered behind his eyes.

His jaw tightened as he leaned down just enough for his voice to reach only you.

"That's exactly why," he said quietly, his gaze never leaving yours, "you should think very carefully before you ever do something like that again."

Your eyes locked onto his. The air between you thickened, charged, and dangerous, and you couldn’t look away even if you’d wanted to. Jungkook watched you for a long moment, half-shadowed by the dim light bleeding through the curtains. Then, with excruciating slowness, he lifted his hand.

His thumb found your mouth.

The touch was feather-light and devastating, grazing the swell of your lower lip. Your pulse hammered under your skin. You sat frozen under his scrutiny, lips parting instinctively against his touch.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he murmured, voice low enough to vibrate through your chest.

Your fingers moved before your mind caught up, wrapping around his wrist. You held him there, keeping his hand against your mouth, eyes lifting to meet his—wide, almost innocent. The contrast between that soft look and the way your nails dug into his skin was sharp.

“Why not?” you whispered. The words brushed against his thumb.

Jungkook’s jaw tightened. A muscle jumped. His gaze dropped to your mouth and darkened until your stomach clenched. You felt the shift in him immediately—the rigid control he’d held since he burst through your door starting to fracture. His free hand came up and gripped your jaw, tilting your face up with a possession that sent a shiver down your spine. His fingers pressed into your cheek just hard enough.

“Because now I know,” he said, thumb still resting against your lip even as his grip tightened, “how you taste.”

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t pull away. Your grip on his wrist shifted; your thumb traced the rapid pulse under his skin. You leaned into his palm, cheek pressing into it, lips brushing feather-light against his thumb.

“Then don’t hold back,” you breathed.

Jungkook’s hand in your hair tightened, fingers threading roughly at the nape of your neck. He leaned down until his body blocked out the room, and all you could see was him. His mouth grazed the shell of your ear.

“If I stop holding back,” he whispered, “I won’t be able to stop. Do you understand that? I won’t stop at a kiss. I won’t stop at touching. I’ll ruin you in ways you can’t even imagine, and I won’t care about the consequences until it’s too late for both of us.”

The words should have terrified you. Instead, something molten and desperate pooled low in your stomach and spread until your skin felt too tight, too hot. Your fingers tightened around his wrist, pulling him closer.

You turned your head. Your cheek brushed his. Your lips found the corner of his jaw.

“Then ruin me,” you said. “I don’t want you to stop. I don’t care about consequences.”

The words barely left your mouth before his hand in your hair yanked your head back hard enough to sting. The gasp that tore out of you wasn’t from pain.

His free hand gripped your waist hard enough to bruise. His mouth crashed against yours with a violence that knocked the breath from your lungs. His teeth sank into your lower lip until you whimpered. His tongue forced past your lips and claimed every corner of your mouth.

You moaned into it. Your hands flew to his shoulders, gripping hard muscle like it was the only thing keeping you from dissolving. He tasted like smoke and something infinitely more dangerous. The cold precision with which he angled your head, the calculated way he bit down on your jaw, then your throat, leaving stinging marks—none of it was soft.

Your back hit the mattress hard enough to force the air from your lungs. Jungkook followed you down. His hands found your wrists and pinned them above your head. His knee pressed between your thighs with deliberate, devastating pressure.

He leaned down, breath against your ear. “You asked for this,” he said. His teeth grazed the shell of your ear with a cruelty that made you writhe. “Don’t expect me to be kind.”

“I don’t want kind,” you gasped. You strained against his hold, not to escape but to feel the strength of it. “I want you.”

His free hand traced down your side with clinical slowness, designed to make you feel every inch of the distance he was closing. When his fingers found the hem of your dress and dragged the fabric up roughly.

“I’m yours.”

The words unlocked something final in him. His grip on your wrists tightened until your fingers went numb. He didn’t kiss you again. He didn’t need to. The way he looked at you—like he’d already devoured you and was simply deciding where to start chewing.

“Mine,” he repeated, and the word sounded like a brand. His hand slid higher, rough palm dragging against your inner thigh until your breath hitched and your back arched. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours.”

He leaned back over you, mouth finding the hollow of your throat, teeth sinking into the tender flesh.

He shifted his grip, dragging your arms down and pinning them at your sides with pressure that felt like iron. He arranged your body beneath him with cold efficiency, eyes cataloging every tremor, every hitch of breath, every involuntary arch of your spine.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

Your eyes snapped open. He hovered over you, weight balanced on one forearm, free hand tracing a path down your sternum with excruciating slowness until he reached the neckline of your dress.

“You don’t get to close your eyes. You don’t get to hide from what you asked for.”

His fingers hooked under the fabric and pulled it down until your breasts were exposed to the cool air. Your nipples tightened instantly. He looked, gaze raking over you with a detachment that should have humiliated you and only made the heat between your thighs burn hotter.

“Beautiful,” he murmured. Your back arched. A whimper escaped.

He noticed. His eyes narrowed. His thumb finally brushed your nipple, flicking the sensitive bud with casual cruelty that sent lightning down your spine.

“You like that. Being told what you are. Being told you belong to me.”

“Yes,” you gasped. Your hips rolled helplessly as he toyed with you—circling, then pinching hard. The sharp spike of pain made you cry out. “Please—”

“Please, what?” He pinched again, rolling the flesh between his fingers until you were writhing. “Use your words. Tell me what you want, or you get nothing.”

“Touch me,” you begged, voice breaking. “Please, Jungkook, I need you to touch me—”

“Where?” His hand abandoned your breast, trailing down your stomach with torturous slowness. Fingers dipped beneath the waistband of your underwear but went no further, simply resting there. “Here? Is this where you want me?”

You nodded frantically, hips bucking. He didn’t move. He held your gaze.

“Say it properly,” he said, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Tell me exactly what you want, or I’ll leave you like this.”

The threat should have terrified you. Instead, it finished what he’d started.

“I want your fingers inside me,” you whispered, cheeks burning. “I want you to fuck me with your hand until I can’t remember my own name. Please, Jungkook—”

He moved.

His hand slid lower. Two fingers pushed inside you in one smooth, merciless thrust. You cried out, back arching off the bed, a keening sound tearing from your throat that you didn’t recognize.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “You’re so wet for me. Look at you, taking my fingers like a good girl."

The praise washed over you. Your walls fluttered around him. His eyes darkened as he began to move—curling to hit that perfect spot until stars burst behind your eyelids. But he kept the pace agonizingly slow, calculated to drive you mad, to bring you to the edge and never let you fall.

“Jungkook,” you whimpered, hips chasing his hand. He pressed his free hand against your hip and held you still. “Please, I need—”

“What do you need?” He crooked his fingers against that spot, and you saw white. “This?”

“Yes—please, let me come—”

“No.”

He withdrew completely, leaving you empty and aching and on the verge of tears. You cried out. He simply held your gaze, brought his fingers to his mouth, and sucked them clean.

“You don’t come until I say you can,” he said, voice steady. “You take what I give you, and you beg for more. That’s the only rule. Do you understand?”

You nodded, tears pricking. “I understand. I’m sorry. I’ll be good—”

“I know you will.” He moved down your body, hands gripping your thighs and spreading them wide. “Because you want to be good for me, don’t you? You want to be my good girl.”

“Yes,” you breathed. The term sent a fresh wave of heat through you.

“Then prove it.” He lowered his head. His breath ghosted over your most sensitive flesh. “Don’t look away. Watch me while I eat you.”

The first swipe of his tongue was devastating—a long, slow drag from your entrance to your clit that made your entire body jerk. He didn’t pause. He didn’t tease. He settled in and found a rhythm that was merciless and perfect, circling your clit with varying pressure until you were suspended in agonizing pleasure with nowhere to go.

Your hands flew to his hair. He reached up, grabbed your wrists, and pinned them to your stomach with one hand while the other slid under your hips, lifting you to his mouth. The new angle made everything sharper. His tongue worked you with near-cruel precision until you were sobbing his name, legs trembling violently on either side of his head.

“Please,” you begged, voice broken. “Please, Jungkook, I can’t—I need—please let me come, I’ll do anything—”

He hummed against you. The vibration sent shockwaves through your core. You spiraled toward the edge with terrifying speed. Just as your muscles began to tighten, he pulled back, gave one final cruel flick to your oversensitive clit, and sat back on his heels.

His hand moved between your legs. Fingers found your clit and pressed down with exactly the right pressure as his mouth descended on your breast and his teeth closed around your nipple, biting hard.

The orgasm crashed through you like a tidal wave. Every muscle seized. Your back arched off the bed. Your scream tore through the room. He didn’t stop. His fingers kept circling, his mouth kept working.

When you finally collapsed, gasping and trembling, he released your nipple with a final gentle lick. His hand slowed but didn’t leave, tracing lazy patterns through the oversensitivity until you whimpered.

“Beautiful,” he whispered against your sweat-damp skin, pressing kisses to your sternum, your throat, your jaw. “So beautiful when you come for me. So perfect. My good girl.”

You felt him shift, positioning himself between your thighs. When you opened your eyes, he was looking down at you with an expression that was no longer cold—burning with a hunger that promised this was only the beginning.

“Again,” he commanded, voice rough with his own need. “We’re not done. You’re going to come for me again and again until you forget there was ever a world outside this room.”

He didn’t give you time to recover. Before the last waves had faded, he was hauling you up, stripping the remaining clothes from your body with rough efficiency. Fabric tore. Cool air hit your overheated skin. Then you were naked while he remained fully clothed, the contrast sending a fresh spike of arousal through your spent body.

“I want to see you ride me.”

He settled back against the headboard. You scrambled to obey, limbs weak but driven by need that overrode exhaustion. Your fingers fumbled with his belt and zipper. When you finally freed him, he was hard and heavy in your palm. You positioned yourself above him, hands braced on his shoulders, and slowly lowered yourself onto his length.

The stretch was exquisite—a burn that bordered on pain as he filled you. Your head fell back on a moan that seemed to come from your soul. He was thicker than his fingers, and the sensation of being utterly claimed made your walls flutter around him.

“Fuck,” he hissed, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. “So tight. So fucking perfect. Move.”

You rose until only the tip remained, then sank back down with a roll of your hips that made you both groan. You found a rhythm—slow and deep at first, grinding down to feel every inch—but the pleasure was too intense. Soon, you were bouncing on him with abandon, breasts swaying, nails digging into his shoulders as you chased the building pressure.

“Look at you,” he growled, gaze fixed on where you were joined. “Taking me so well. Such a greedy little thing. You love this, don’t you? Love being full of me.”

“Yes,” you gasped. “Yes, I love it—please—”

He surged up without warning, arms banding around your waist, and flipped you both. He pinned you beneath him and began to thrust. Each stroke hit that spot that made you see stars. The bedframe shook.

“Not yet,” he snarled against your ear. “You don’t come until I say."

He pulled out abruptly, leaving you empty and aching, then dragged you off the bed by the wrist. You stumbled after him until you reached the leather armchair in the corner—the same one he’d sat in when he’d called you a spoiled brat.

“Here,” he said, sitting and pulling you toward him. “Ride me here."

You straddled him again, knees sinking into the cool leather, and lowered yourself onto him with a moan that echoed in the quiet room. He hit places that made your vision blur. You moved—rolling your hips in tight circles, rising and falling with desperation that bordered on madness, hands gripping the back of the chair for leverage.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, voice rough, hands roaming your body with possessive hunger—cupping your breasts, pinching your nipples, gripping your ass to guide your movements. “Fuck yourself on me. Take what you need. Show me how desperate you are.”

You lost yourself in it—the slap of skin, the wet sounds of your bodies. You climbed again, muscles tightening around him as the orgasm built with nowhere to go.

“Please,” you sobbed, movements becoming frantic. “Please, Jungkook, I can’t—I need to come—”

He gripped your hips and stilled you, holding you impaled on him while you whimpered and squirmed. “I want to see you when you come.”

He lifted you off him and set you on your feet. Your legs buckled. He held you upright and guided you toward the full-length mirror against the far wall. You saw yourself in the glass—flushed, disheveled, lips swollen, eyes wild with need—and behind you, Jungkook, trousers open, expression dark and completely focused on you.

“Hands on the glass,” he ordered, turning you to face the mirror and pressing your palms against the cool surface. “Don’t look away. Watch yourself while I fuck you. Watch what you look like when you’re being ruined.”

He kicked your feet apart and entered you from behind in one smooth thrust that filled you to the hilt. You cried out, forehead pressing against the mirror. He didn’t give you time to adjust. He began to move, hips snapping against yours with a force that drove you forward against the glass.

“Look,” he commanded, fist in your hair, pulling your head back so you had to meet your own gaze. “Look at yourself.”

You forced your eyes open. The sight undid something in you—your face contorted with pleasure, mouth open on silent screams, body taking his punishing thrusts without resistance. His free hand slid around to find your clit, circling with rough, demanding pressure.

“Please,” you begged, voice barely audible, eyes locked on his reflection. “Please, I can’t—I’m going to—”

“Come,” he ordered, his own control finally shattering, thrusts becoming erratic. “Come for me now."

Your orgasm crashed through you with devastating force. Your walls clamped down on him in rhythmic pulses that seemed to go on forever. Your scream echoed. You felt him follow—thrust deep and stay there, body going rigid as he spilled inside you with a groan torn from somewhere deep, grip bruising, forehead falling against your shoulder as you both trembled through the aftershocks.

You collapsed against the mirror, palms sliding down the glass, legs giving out. He caught you, arms banding around your waist, holding you upright even as he remained buried inside you.

Jungkook stayed inside you for long moments, forehead pressed to the curve of your shoulder, breath uneven against your skin. You could feel his heart hammering against your back, matching your own. For one stolen second, his arms tightened around your waist with something that almost felt like tenderness.

Then he withdrew.

You watched in the mirror as he stepped back. His expression shuttered closed like a door being slammed. He didn’t look at you as he fastened his trousers.

“Jungkook—” you started, your hand reaching for him.

“Don’t.”

You flinched. He finally met your eyes in the reflection, and what you saw there made your stomach twist. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, exhaled slowly, and when he spoke again, his voice was lower, controlled.

“This can’t happen again.”

Your arms crossed over your chest. “What?”

“You heard me.” He looked at you directly now, jaw tight. “This was a mistake. One I allowed because I lost control."

“A mistake?” The word tasted like ash. You took a step toward him, legs trembling, body still humming. “You can’t seriously—after what just happened, you can’t stand there and tell me that meant nothing.”

“It meant exactly what it was,” he said, voice hardening, that familiar edge of cruelty creeping back in. “A moment of weakness. I shouldn’t have touched you. I shouldn’t have kissed you. I sure as hell shouldn’t have fucked you. I work for your father.”

The words cut through your protest like a blade. He stepped closer—close enough that you could see the tension in every line of his body.

“I am employed by him. Paid by him. I swore an oath to protect you, not to corrupt you. He trusts me with your life, and I just betrayed that trust in the most unforgivable way possible.”

“He doesn’t own me,” you said, voice rising.

“He owns my loyalty. I owe him everything. My life. My allegiance. And tonight I betrayed that. I took something that wasn’t mine to take, and I enjoyed it, and God help me I want to do it again—but I won’t.” He reached out. His hand hovered near your face before he forced it back down into a fist. “I can’t.”

He was choosing your father. Choosing loyalty over the electricity that had crackled between you from the moment you met.

“So that’s it? You touch me like that and then you just—what? Go back to being my father’s obedient dog? Pretend this never happened?”

Something flickered in his eyes—pain, or regret so deep it looked like agony. He reached out again, and this time he didn’t stop himself.

“I have to,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, rough and scraped thin. “For both our sakes. Your father isn’t a man who forgives betrayal. If he knew what I did tonight, he wouldn’t just fire me. He’d destroy me. And he wouldn’t stop there.” His hand dropped. His expression hardened back into the cold professional mask you knew too well. “I can’t protect you if I’m dead. And I can’t be near you without wanting things I have no right to want.”

He stepped back, putting distance between you that felt like miles.

“Get dressed,” he said, turning toward the door, back straight, shoulders rigid with the effort of control. “I’ll be outside. And tomorrow we go back to how things were. You are the job. I am the protection. Nothing more.”

You stood there as he reached for the door handle. He paused, hand on the knob. “ I’m sorry I touched you."

Then he was gone. The door clicked shut behind him with a finality that echoed in your chest like a gunshot.

You sank to the floor, back against the mirror that had witnessed your undoing, and wrapped your arms around yourself. He had walked away—choosing loyalty over you, duty over desire.

[vankoya]

Something in the Water.

Genre | Camping / Friends to Lovers AU.

Pairing | Jeon Jeongguk / Feminine Reader.

Words | 25,836 words.

Conspectus | Sleeping in is a foreign concept to Kim Taehyung and his awkward, mismatched gang of pals. This is made all the more apparent when they rock up at ___’s doorstep at the ass crack of dawn, as if it is a natural time for any college student to be awake. 

But when she is informed that it was the youngest of their group who insisted she join them on their spontaneous camping trip, she is suddenly not as reluctant to play along than when she was first awakened by her enigma of a best friend, slamming his fist against her front door.

Warnings | Loads of swearing young adults. Terrible jokes that made my eyes bleed and would one hundred and ten percent make Kim Seokjin proud. A lot of banter. Relatively slow build to tent sex. No, not literally having sex with a tent, just inside– I’ll stop.

Keep reading

[ggukiesncream]

private lessons - jjk

genre: slow-burn smut / strangers to lovers

pairing: businessman!jungkook x tutor!freader

word count: 13.8k

synopsis: jeongguk, such a meticulous and disciplined businessman, has to learn spanish in six weeks before he's relocated to spain. he's always two steps ahead, yet none of his organization tools could've prepared him for the feelings he developed towards his tutor.

warnings: occasional cursing, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, fingering, clit rubbing, cunnilingus, creampie, nipple play, bilingual [eng/spa] dirty talk (very fun to write), praising, jeongguk is a yearner!!!!!!!

my first post! please let me know what you think of it. i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i did writing it. :)

The watch on Jeongguk’s wrist read half past five as he exited his workplace. He reached for the black umbrella in his bag as soon as the cold drizzle touched his skin. It was typical for him to stay an hour or two past his work hours, making the following day easier on himself; today, however, was the exception.

Being summoned by his higher-up had never felt as nerve-wracking as it did today. There were rumors and whispers of an alleged promotion — the kind that, under normal circumstances, wouldn’t have disrupted his strict and already impeccable routine. He wanted to believe this time wasn’t any different. Nonetheless, whoever got this promotion would be stationed in Barcelona, Spain. That single fact turned an otherwise unappealing opportunity into something he wanted badly.

Born and raised in Seoul, where he’d studied international business and spent the past six years working as an assistant director of international partnerships at a well-known global trading firm, Jeongguk had built a life that looked, on paper, exactly like what he was supposed to want. He was bored of it. Bored of the mundane, the repetitive, the predictable. Applying for the promotion had been impulsive, almost out of character, and he was certain it was a long shot. Still, he found himself working harder than ever, as if devotion now could make up for the doubt underneath it.

“Congratulations, Jeon.” Said the older man sitting across from Jeongguk, separated by a black marble desk. The highest in the food chain, as far as regional bosses go. “The position is yours. Six weeks until your flight to Barcelona departs.”

Flat and emotionless. His delivery strangely helped Jeongguk’s anxiety, which skyrocketed once he sat down before his boss. Somehow, he could not believe he was chosen, even though he was the best out of the bunch. He wasn’t particularly driven by passion or love for his craft, but he was disciplined, and most of his coworkers lacked this indispensable virtue. 

“Fuck.” Jeongguk whispered to himself, staring at his wet shoes. “I can’t speak Spanish.”

The same wet shoes were quickly dropped by the entrance as Jeongguk practically ran to his home office. “Spanish… tutors… near me.” He muttered while simultaneously typing on his computer.

Jeongguk’s decision to apply for this promotion wasn’t reckless solely because it would require moving halfway across the globe, but also because he barely spoke the language his new home would require him to speak. This concern never crossed his mind before because he was naturally skilled at communicating with others and rarely needed to step outside his comfort zone when it came to foreign languages. A talented business major through and through, Jeongguk already knew three languages — Japanese, Mandarin, and English — in addition to his mother tongue. He mediated countless meetings for company branches across East Asia, to the point that he assumed the unofficial position of spokesperson whenever any of these languages were expected. He never needed to learn Spanish; now it seems as if his life depends on it.

As Jeongguk scrolled through the first tutoring website he found, he felt a level of anxiety that practically blinded him. He didn’t realize until that exact instant… He was moving to Barcelona. Away from comfort, from his predictable routine, and from everything that was familiar. As he reached the seventh page of tutor profiles, his eyes landed on one that made him pause.

It was the only profile without a profile picture or a tutor description. You only wrote your name and the languages you spoke, one of which was Spanish. You thought adding a professional headshot and highlighting your experience and skills seemed too pretentious, considering you saw tutoring as a hobby, a hobby that provided you with a few extra coins. That may be why you've only had four students in the eight months your profile has been up on the website. Jeongguk could see that those four students were satisfied with their experiences, judging by the remarkable five-star rating next to your nonexistent profile picture.

Jeongguk laughed at himself, acknowledging that it would be a terrible idea not to go with the tutor with the most experience and reviews. Again, it seemed as if his life depended on learning Spanish in six weeks. However… There was something exhilarating about taking risks— the last one had gotten him a promotion and a life in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. After a life filled with monotony, he was ready to be reckless.

You were startled by the sudden notification on your phone, more so after seeing it was a request for your tutoring services. “Okay, Jeongguk wants to learn Spanish,” you mentioned out loud while reading his message. “Fun!”

You were different from other tutors. Specifically, you preferred doing your tutoring sessions in person. In a coffee shop, at a library, or sometimes in a park. You believed that face-to-face learning triumphed over online lessons because understanding the nuances behind certain words and phrases was easier if your students could clearly perceive your gestures, something that may be complicated if you were relying on your choppy wi-fi. However, you couldn’t deny that this preference may be strange to some of your potential students due to the lack of identifiable information in your profile.

Jeongguk was one of those students. He saw your request as if the universe was giving him one last chance to change his mind, return to the first page, and book a lesson with the highest-rated tutor. He, once again, decided to ignore his logical inner voice and quickly accepted your wish to meet in a local coffee shop. Who knows? He might find the best coffee he’s ever tasted there if things keep going how they are.

Sitting down in the nearest booth with his caramel macchiato, Jeongguk was fidgeting to calm his nerves. His mind drifted into a spiral of doubt. All he knew about you was your name and that you knew Spanish. That was all he needed to know; still, he kept his expectations low, focusing his mind on the tough task of learning a new language instead. His mind continued drifting until his thoughts were interrupted by a harmonious voice.

“You’re Jeongguk, right?” You approached him, recognizing his face from his profile picture. “It is so nice to meet you.” You introduced yourself and immediately sat down in the open seat across from him once he nodded to your question.

He repeated your name to himself, taking in your looks and thanking every higher power that you were not some weird scammer. “I look forward to learning from you.” 

Indeed, you were rather beautiful. It took him some time to adjust to actually focusing on your melodious voice instead of your drawing eyes. Your smile was blinding, and you seemed so carefree and pleasant, which was the opposite of what he had frequently observed while working in such a ruthless environment. Similarly, you had never seen someone like Jeongguk before. He wasn’t just handsome; he looked like a fallen angel lost on Earth, with the kind of face and body that would inspire artists from the Renaissance. It sounds hyperbolic, but you genuinely started trembling when he confirmed he was the person you were looking for. His profile picture must have been outdated, you thought, because he now had a lip ring that flawlessly accentuated his rosy lips. By the looks of his attire — clean, monochromatic, and professional —, he seemed important. You wondered why he chose you out of so many potential tutors. You were so used to teaching college students and youngsters looking for helpful phrases to use during overseas trips. This was sure to be a teaching experience unlike any you had before.

“So,” You began, digging your thoughts deeper into your subconscious. “Tell me a bit about yourself. Why do you want to learn Spanish?”

“Well, I recently got a promotion.” You briefly clapped at his news. “Thank you. The only thing is that I’ll need to relocate to Spain. In six weeks.” His expression suddenly shifted. “And, as you can probably gather from my request for your services, I don’t know how to speak Spanish.”

“That’s not too bad, six weeks is plenty of time.” You scoffed, noticing that Jeongguk seemed stressed. Six weeks was definitely not enough time, but admitting this wouldn’t make it easier on either of you.

Your reassuring words made Jeongguk feel at ease.

“Let’s start with the basics, then.” You took a few items out of the backpack you were carrying. “Tell me what you’ve done today so far. In Spanish, of course.”

Jeongguk laughed until he saw you kept a serious expression. “Oh… I guess we have different definitions of basics.” 

"Basics for me just means figuring out where you're actually starting from," you said, softening it when you saw the color drain from his face. "Everyone's basics look different. So humor me." You slid a vocabulary book across the table. "Tell me about your morning. In Spanish."

He blinked. "All of it?"

"However much you can manage. Doesn't have to be pretty."

He opened his mouth, and nothing came out. Not even a stumble— just silence, and the particular stillness of a man realizing he had absolutely nothing to draw from. You watched the composure that had gotten him through a promotion interview start to slip, replaced by something closer to genuine alarm, and it caught you off guard how quickly you wanted to walk it back for him.

"Okay," you said, gentler. "Let's try something smaller. Just tell me what you're drinking." You nodded at his cup.

"Café," he said, cautious, like it might be a trap.

"Good. Now put a sentence around it. 'Estoy tomando café.'" I’m drinking coffee.

"Estoy… tomando café." He repeated the phrase slowly, testing its shape in his mouth, and something in his shoulders eased when it came out right. "That's it?"

"That's it. You just said your first sentence."

He looked, for a second, genuinely pleased with himself. The kind of small, unguarded pride that didn't match the composed man you sat down across from ten minutes ago. It made you smile, watching that shift. "Okay. What else can I say?"

"Depends. What do you actually want to be able to say?"

"Anything. Everything. I have six weeks and apparently zero foundation to work with." He said it lightly, but there were real nerves beneath the surface, and you found yourself softening your approach without realizing it.

"Six weeks is tight, but it's workable if we're smart about it," you said. Then, because it felt wrong to let the reassurance sit there unchallenged, you added, "Honestly, tight is generous. It's going to be a lot of repetition and probably some frustration. I'd rather tell you that now than have you find out in week three."

He considered that, turning his cup slowly on the table. "I appreciate the honesty."

"I figured you'd prefer brutal honesty rather than a nicer version."

"I do." A small, surprised smile. "Most people give me the nice version."

"I'm not most people."

"Clearly." He said it like an observation, not a line, and something about the plainness of it sat warmer than a joke would have. His eyes lingered on yours longer than your heart could handle. "Alright. Teach me something else. Something I'll actually use."

You started him on simple present tense—estoy, tengo, quiero—building sentence by sentence off things actually in front of him: his coffee, the rain outside, the fact that he was nervous, which he refused to say out loud in his native language, let alone Spanish, until you needled him into it. He was quick, quicker than most students you'd had, picking up patterns after hearing them once and testing the edges of what he could say instead of just repeating what you gave him. It made sense when you learned that he was already proficient in a few languages. Holding this fact, you intentionally tried to increase the difficulty level. By the time you'd worked through a dozen sentences, he'd stopped bracing before he spoke.

"You're better at this than you think," you told him, and meant it.

"I had a good teacher rip the training wheels off in the first five minutes. Bit unconventional, but it worked."

"Don't get used to gentle. That was a warm-up."

"That was gentle?" He asked with genuine concern.

"Compared to what's coming? Extremely." You closed the notebook halfway, marking your place.

By the time the coffee shop's lights dimmed for closing, you'd gone through two rounds of conjugations, one increasingly ridiculous argument about whether "tú" or "usted" was the correct way to address your own boss, and a solid ten minutes where Jeongguk insisted he'd already mastered "estoy" and kept trying to bolt it onto everything, including things that didn't need a verb at all.

"Estoy Jeongguk," he tried, testing it.

"That's not how it works."

"Estoy... very confident that it does."

"It does not. You don't 'estoy' a name, you just say the name."

"You're telling me I can't improvise."

"I'm telling you that you tried to conjugate your own identity, and I need you to sit with that for a second."

"See, when you put it like that, it sounds insane."

"It was insane in real time, too." You laughed louder than you meant to. "Same time in two days?"

“Can’t wait to learn more from you.” Your heart skipped a beat seeing his smile as he waved goodbye to you.

On your next lesson, something was different. Same booth, similar monochromatic outfit, but he had a notebook of his own this time— not the one you'd given him, a different one, small and battered, already half full of handwriting.

"What's that?" You pointed to the notebook.

"Homework." He said it like a confession. "I looked up some things after our lesson. I wanted to see if I could get further on my own before you decided I was a lost cause."

"I don't decide people are lost causes."

"You did call me insane after I butchered the conjugation of ‘estoy.’"

"That was a joke, not a professional assessment." You reached for the notebook before he could stop you, flipping through it, and found — of course you did — that it was organized by category, verb tenses on one page, useful phrases on another, a small section labeled simply MISTAKES with three entries under it, each one crossed out with a correction written beside it in tidier handwriting than the original.

"You made yourself a mistake log." You were impressed, and your face showed it when you turned to look at a seemingly embarrassed Jeongguk.

"I like tracking things I've gotten wrong so I don't get them wrong twice."

"That's either extremely disciplined or deeply unwell."

"I like to think of it as a diversified skill set." He took the notebook back before you could read further, a little more self-conscious than his tone let on, and you found the sudden shyness almost more interesting than the notebook itself, because up until now, he hadn't shown you a single thing he wasn't fully in control of.

"Show me the mistakes," you said.

"Absolutely not."

"Jeongguk." This time, you finally sat down, your face inching closer to his.

"They're embarrassing."

"That's exactly why I want to see them."

He caved, eventually, sliding the notebook back across with the reluctance of a man handing over evidence at trial. You went through his mistakes: a gender agreement error, a mixed-up preterite, and a phrase he'd apparently misheard from a YouTube video and written down completely wrong. You corrected each one without laughing, though it cost you some effort, especially on the third, which you couldn’t even pretend you understood.

"This isn't even a real sentence," you said. "This means 'the elephant regrets nothing.'"

"I thought it meant 'no worries.'"

"It does not mean 'no worries.'" You both laughed at how ridiculous this mistranslation was.

"Well, now I know that. That's what the log is for."

You couldn't help it. You laughed again, and he looked so pleased with himself for causing it that you had to look back down at the notebook just to stop him from seeing exactly how pleased that made you in return. The rest of the lesson went quickly after that, buoyed by whatever he'd built on his own, and by the time you packed up, he'd added a fourth mistake to the log, this one made in real time, in front of you, without flinching.

"Progress," you said, nodding at it.

"Diversified skill set," he said again, and this time you both laughed.

He pulled out his phone to add your next session to his calendar, and you found yourself glancing over without quite meaning to—color-coded blocks stacked neatly across the week, each one labeled with a precision that bordered on excessive. Although you were the teacher, you thought there were many things you could learn from Jeongguk. So calculated, so thorough. So coordinated, so organized. It made you curious.

You gathered your things a few minutes later, the usual routine — notebook zipped away, pen capped, mental checklist for next time — except tonight you caught yourself lingering over it, in no particular hurry to leave the booth. It wasn't something you let yourself examine too closely on the walk to your car. However, you noticed, distantly, that you'd already started looking forward to the mistakes he'd bring you next time, and that this was not, strictly speaking, a normal thing to look forward to about a client.

For your third meeting, he was late for the first time, which felt so out of character that you almost texted to check on him before he came jogging in, tie slightly crooked, apologizing before he'd even sat down.

"Sorry. The meeting with the Barcelona branch ran long. They've started wanting updates every other day now.” He plopped himself down on the seat next to you. “I can't tell if that means they're excited or if they think I'm going to back out."

"Breathe. No need to apologize." The sudden proximity took you aback. He didn’t seem to mind how close he sat.

"I am breathing."

"You're breathing like you just ran here."

"I did just run here." He said as he let out a deep sigh, dragging a hand through his hair, and for the first time since you'd met him, the composure actually cracked all the way. "Sorry. I know I'm paying you to teach me, not to see me having a small breakdown in a coffee shop."

"You're allowed a small breakdown.” You reassured him. “This is a lot, what you're doing."

"Is it? Everyone at work keeps calling it exciting."

"It can be exciting and a lot. Those aren't mutually exclusive." You slid your own coffee toward him, only half-joking. "Drink that. You look like you need it more than I do."

He took it, and something in his shoulders came down half an inch. "Thank you."

"For the coffee or the pep talk?"

"Both. Neither. I don't know." He exhaled, finally looking like himself again, if a slightly more unguarded version of himself. "Can we just do something easy today? I don't think I have the bandwidth for you tearing apart my subjunctive."

"We can do easy." You considered him for a second, something softening in you that you didn't examine too closely. "Tell me about Barcelona. Not the job. Just— what do you actually know about the city? What are you looking forward to, if anything?"

It was meant as a distraction, a simple way of easing him back into speaking without the pressure of being right. He answered slowly, actually thinking about it, and what came out surprised you both. Something about wanting to walk somewhere without a schedule attached to it, about not remembering the last time he'd done something just because he wanted to and not because it was useful. He’s searched online for places to visit once he arrives. He looked excited, for once. You listened and didn't correct a single verb the whole time he talked, even when he got things wrong, because it didn't feel like it was your place to interrupt.

"That's the first real thing you've told me about yourself," you said, once he'd trailed off, a little embarrassed at how much he'd said.

"Is it terrible?" He looked self-conscious.

"Not at all, it's just very you. Apparently, even the stuff you want is efficient. You want to do unstructured activities, but you're already planning how you'll do them."

He laughed and didn't put any distance back between you, the way you half expected him to once the moment passed. If anything, he'd settled in closer over the course of the conversation, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him against your arm, and something eased between you that hadn't been there minutes before. The particular ease of two people who'd stopped performing for each other and stopped minding how little space was left between them.

In your next session, the coffee shop was particularly loud. A birthday party three tables over, someone's badly-timed acoustic guitar rendition of a song you both silently agreed was better left unplayed, and halfway through trying to explain the subjunctive over the noise, Jeongguk finally set his pen down.

"I can't hear myself think, let alone conjugate."

"Welcome to public spaces." You smiled. It was becoming hard for you, too.

"I'm serious. Is this shop usually this lively?" Jeongguk felt a headache coming on, so used to his completely silent office.

"Lately, yeah. New owner started doing live music nights, I think."

He considered something for a second, turning his cup, the same slightly-too-careful expression he got right before he said something he'd clearly been sitting on. "Would it be easier somewhere quieter? My place isn't far. I don't mind hosting, if that's okay with you."

You studied him for a beat too long, long enough that he visibly wondered if he'd overstepped, opening his mouth like he might take it back —before you shrugged, keeping your voice light even though something in your chest had gone very still. "Quieter's better for listening comprehension anyway. Send me the address."

Your mind started racing as you parked in front of his apartment. There was no power imbalance besides the clear teacher-student dynamic you were desperately trying to maintain. Regardless, it felt strange crossing this boundary with a client, as if you were doing something you knew was wrong. You were unsure why you felt this way… It wasn’t as if you were about to do something you weren’t supposed to. Right? 

You shook the thought off before it could finish forming, grabbed your bag, walked up to his door, and knocked. Whatever this feeling was, it could wait until after the lesson, or so you told yourself, right up until he opened the door.

His apartment was exactly what you expected from someone who color-coded his calendar: clean lines, nothing out of place, a bookshelf organized by height instead of subject. You almost laughed when you saw it.

"What?" he asked, catching your expression.

"Nothing. It's very... you."

"Is that an insult?"

"Depends on how the rest of the lesson goes."

"Ominous." He toed off his shoes at the door with the practiced neatness of a man who'd never once left them scattered. "Coffee?"

"Only if it's better than the shop's."

"It's way better than the shop's." He quickly scoffed.

"That's exactly what someone with worse coffee would say." A chuckle escaped your lips. You enjoyed teasing him this way.

He made it anyway and set the cup in front of you with the particular smugness of someone certain he'd win the argument once you tasted it. You didn't give him the satisfaction of admitting he was right, though the small, betraying sound you made after the first sip probably gave you away.

"I heard that," he said.

"You heard nothing."

"I heard a sound of defeat. I’ll claim the victory this time.” Still so smug, it was nice to see him being silly after your previous lesson.

You settled at his dining table, Jeongguk quickly sitting in the chair next to yours. The lesson went the way previous lessons had gone: efficient at first, then slower, then punctuated by tangents that had nothing to do with grammar. He asked about your other students, clearly fishing to find out if any of them got the same treatment he did.

"So," he said, entirely too casual for someone trying to be subtle about it, spinning his pen between two fingers instead of using it. "Your other students. Do they get this, too?"

"Get what?" Your face and voice conveyed confusion, but you knew exactly what he meant.

"This." He gestured between you, slow, deliberate, like he already knew the answer and just wanted to hear you say it. "The banter. The constant teasing. How observant you are of every little detail about me."

"That's a very specific thing to accuse me of." You maintained eye contact, believing it was exactly what he wanted from you. 

"Is it wrong?"

"Why does it matter to you?"

"It doesn't. I'm just curious." He wasn't backing down, still watching you with that same deliberate patience, like he had all the time in the world for you to answer. "So. Do they?"

"No." You held his eyes when you said it, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking away first. "Everyone else just writes down what I say and follows my directions. You're the only one who argues back."

"So I'm special." His smile couldn’t get any wider.

"You're a pain in my ass, is what you are."

"That wasn't a no."

You scoffed at that, and he knew it, watching you with the particular arrogance of a man who'd gotten exactly the answer he wanted the entire time. "It also wasn't a yes."

"You're smiling."

"I'm not."

"You are. Very small. Very poorly hidden." He leaned back, pleased with himself in a way that should’ve been unbearable and somehow wasn't. "For the record, I like being the only one."

You went back to the lesson after that, or tried to. Still, you kept catching it, the thing you'd apparently been noticing without quite naming it until now: how he squared his shoulders every time you corrected him, like the mistake itself was a personal failure rather than just a wrong verb ending, how he'd repeat a corrected phrase three or four times under his breath until it was flawless, not satisfied until it was. How rattled he'd looked, days ago, defeated over not being able to form a complete sentence in a language he did not know— not embarrassed exactly, more like a man encountering a gap in himself he hadn't accounted for.

That was something worth asking about. "Can I ask you something?"

"Depends what it is." He kept writing things down in his notebook. You assumed he was correcting another of his mistakes.

"Why are you so bad at accepting help?" You said it lightly, half a joke, expecting a joke back, but he actually seemed to consider it, setting his pen down instead of deflecting.

"I don't know. I'm good at things I've already decided to be good at. I don't really do the part where I'm bad at something in front of someone." He reached for his cup, not quite meeting your eyes. "This is a lot of being bad at something. In front of someone."

"You're not bad at it." And you truly meant it. He was one hundred percent more invested than any other student you’ve taught.

"I was barely able to say a simple sentence two weeks ago." Jeongguk raised his eyebrows, perceiving your words as ironic.

"And now you're arguing with me about verb tenses like it's a personal insult. That's basically fluent."

"Very generous benchmark." He shrugged.

"I'm a generous person." You weren't, particularly, not with anyone else, and you both seemed to spot that fact at the same time. He didn't have a good answer for that, covering the silence by pretending to be very focused on his verb chart, jaw doing something complicated that wasn't actually about grammar at all. You decided to interrupt whatever he was doing. "You're stalling."

"I'm concentrating."

"You've been staring at 'poder' for two minutes. It's not that deep."

"It's a philosophically rich verb."

"It means 'can,’ Jeongguk."

"Exactly. Can I, can I not— very existential." He was grinning when he looked up, clearly pleased with himself, and you threw your pen cap at him for it. He caught it with a look of pride in his eyes.

"Teach me something useful," he said, halfway through his second cup, spinning the pen cap between his fingers like a trophy. "Not textbook stuff. Something people actually say."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Flirting.” Your eyes slightly widened at his request. “Isn't that useful? I'm moving to a city full of people I don't know how to talk to."

"And this is a professional request, right?"

"Extremely professional."

"Uh huh." You raised an eyebrow, but there was something under his tone — half joke, half something else entirely — that made you set your pen down instead of picking up the textbook again. Two could play at this game. "Fine. Repeat after me.” You looked him dead in the eye and said, with perfect, theatrical seriousness: “¿Tienes un mapa? Porque me perdí en tus ojos."

He repeated it, slow and careful, actually trying to get the pronunciation right before he asked, "What does that even mean?"

"'Do you have a map? Because I got lost in your eyes.'"

There was a beat of silence, and then he put his face in his hands. "That's the worst thing I've ever said in any language."

"It's a classic."

"It's criminal. Have you used it before?"

"Nope, it's objectively one of the worst pickup lines in existence, which is exactly why I'm teaching it to you."

"So you're setting me up to fail."

"I'm setting you up to make someone laugh so hard they fall for you. There's a strategy here." As the words came out of your mouth, you knew they sounded insincere. For some reason, the thought of Jeongguk flirting with a random girl annoyed you.

"A strategy," he repeated, deadpan, and then broke, laughing for real, dragging a hand down his face like he couldn't believe he'd actually said it out loud. You were laughing too, at the sheer commitment he'd put into something so deeply stupid, and for a second, neither of you managed to stop. "Okay," he said, once he'd recovered, still grinning. "Give me a real one. Something I could actually use."

You considered him for a second. Flushed from laughing, pen cap in his hand, looking at you like you were the only thing worth paying attention to in the room, and the next phrase came out quieter than you meant it to.

"Me encantas."

"What's that one?"

"It means I’m into you. I’m crazy about you, actually." You said it lightly, like it was still part of the lesson, but something in your voice gave you away, and you watched him catch it.

"Say it again." Something in him shifted; his eyes became even darker as he moved closer to you.

"Jeongguk—"

"Say it again."

You did, slower this time, without the joke to hide behind.

“Me encantas.” He repeated it back to you like he meant it, because he did, you both did. 

The words were the same, but the delivery was different—quieter, more deliberate, aimed at you rather than at a hypothetical stranger at a bar in Barcelona. Jeongguk felt the difference in his spine, a warm pressure spreading downward. The pen cap he'd been spinning clattered to the table, forgotten, as your faces came closer.

Jeongguk closed the gap between you by kissing your lips like a starved man. One of his hands held the back of your neck, attempting to bring you even closer, as if that was possible. His tongue explored yours relentlessly, bringing out breathless moans from you. Jeongguk felt blessed to hear you fall apart thanks to him. You felt his lip ring against your bottom lip when he bit it. It made you lose your composure. Your hands approached him, tugging his hair and pulling him away from you to take a breath. Although you were both breathing heavily, Jeongguk was far from done. He pecked your face, trailing kisses along your cheek and down your neck, where he stayed and left a few wet kisses.

“That feels so fucking good, Jeongguk.” You pushed your legs together and began grinding the seat, the sensation in your core intensified by Jeongguk’s neck kisses and grunts near your ear.

“Cursing, teach? That’s unacceptable.” He teased you, but you could only worry about how empty you felt without his lips on your skin. You were blinded by the pleasure you felt; you could barely discern what was appropriate from what wasn’t.

You sat on his lap, your legs straddling his, and he instinctively held onto your hips, smiling at how desperate you looked already. “What can I say? I think you bring out a different side in me that no other student sees.” He smiled, lips redder and lip ring shinier than before, and the increasing pulse in your crotch became painful. This time, you kissed him. Your hands found his hair again, and you loved how soft it was. 

Jeongguk didn’t think having you on top of him was enough. His fingers explored every inch of you they could reach. He rubbed your back, your exposed thighs, until he reached your ass and lingered there, holding onto both cheeks and taking control of you, forcing you to grind against him. You could feel how hard he was getting, and the pleasure created by the friction between your bodies was overwhelming. 

“Eres hermosa,” Jeongguk whispered as your lips abandoned his. You are beautiful.

You stared at him, impressed. You hadn’t taught him that; he’d done his homework. Those words reached a deep point inside you. Your head fell back, and your hips moved faster, the feeling of his hardened cock even more intense against your clothed clit. Jeongguk felt on top of the world, knowing that he had this effect on you. His lips found your neck once more, bridging the distance between you while his hips matched the rhythm of yours.

Before you could completely surrender yourself to the wave of pleasure that washed over you, the grating sound of a phone notification disrupted your rhythm, bringing you back to reality when you almost felt as if you were floating. You and Jeongguk shared a look, welcoming an awkward tension that was not there before. Behind you and towards the dining table, you realized it was your phone that cockblocked you. Reaching for it, your best friend’s name flashed on the screen. 

“Fuck, I completely forgot about it.” Still straddling Jeongguk, you covered your face in embarrassment. You made plans with her a while ago, way before Jeongguk was a regular part of your schedule. If only you were as organized as he was, you would have realized that you double-booked yourself. 

"Everything okay?" His hands were still resting at your waist, not pulling away, not pushing either, just steady, like he was giving you room to think without making you feel like you had to move yet. He didn’t want you to move away. His voice had dropped back into something calmer than it had been minutes ago, though his chest was still rising at the same speed it had been the past few minutes.

"I have to go. My friend, she’s waiting for me. I lost track of time, no— I forgot that I was supposed to meet her today." You sounded anxious.

"Don't." He interrupted you before you'd even finished getting up, quiet, almost surprised at himself for saying it at all. He didn't let go of your waist right away, thumb still resting against your hip like he wasn't ready to stop touching you yet. "Not yet. Just— give me a second before you go."

You stilled, half off his lap, caught by the shift in his voice. "Jeongguk—"

"I keep a color-coded calendar because if I don't plan something, it doesn't happen. That's not a joke, that's just how I've lived for the past few years. I decide what I want, I build a system for getting it, I execute." He wasn't looking at you now, focused instead on some point over your shoulder, as if it was easier to speak if he wasn't looking directly at you. "I didn't plan for this. These feelings. I don't know what to do with something I didn't see coming."

Now he did look at you, and whatever composure he'd been holding onto slipped the rest of the way. "I've had a mistake log for our lessons because I hate not knowing how to do something in front of you. That's how much I dislike disappointing you. And now you're about to walk out that door, and I have no idea what I'm supposed to do with how much I don't want you to."

You hadn't expected that. The specificity of it, no metaphor to hide behind, just him handing you the actual, unflattering shape of what he'd been carrying around this whole time. Something in your chest gave way at the honesty of it, some last piece of the distance you'd been keeping without quite admitting you were keeping it.

"I rescheduled a client for you last week." You said it like a confession, too. Quiet, meeting his gaze. You hadn’t noticed he was clenching his jaw until now.  "Someone whom I’ve been teaching every single week for a year. I told him I had a conflict… I just wanted to see you sooner."

"You didn't tell me that."

"I wasn't going to. It's not exactly professional." A short, unsteady laugh, nothing like your usual sharpness. "I just didn't want to go a whole week without seeing you, and I didn't know what to do with that, so I lied to a client instead of admitting it."

He didn't say anything right away. Just reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, slow, like he wanted an excuse to keep touching you a second longer.

"Good," he said finally, quietly. "I'm glad it wasn't just me."

Neither of you said anything after that; nothing was left that felt safe to say out loud. So you did the only thing that felt true instead: you kissed him again, slow, nothing like the urgency from an hour ago, just the quiet certainty that you weren't done with this, with him. Not even close, even if you weren't ready to admit how not close yet. When you finally pulled back, his forehead stayed pressed to yours for a second longer, like neither of you wanted to be the one to end it.

"Go," he murmured, though he didn't let go of your hand until the very last second. "Before I actually get on my knees and start begging you to stay."

You didn't remember the walk to your car. You remembered the door closing behind you, and the cold air hitting your face, and standing there for a full minute before your legs remembered how to move. Something in you needed a second to catch up with what had just happened before it would let you drive.

Two days passed before your next lesson, and they passed strangely. The kind of strange where every hour felt both too long and somehow already over before you'd noticed it happening. You went out with your best friend that night as you'd promised, sat across from her at the same bar you always went to, and heard maybe half of what she said. She was mid-story about a coworker's disastrous drama, and you were nodding at what you hoped were the right moments while your phone sat face-up on the table between you, screen dark, willfully unread.

"You're doing the thing," she said, snapping her fingers in front of your face.

"What thing?"

"The thing where you're here, but you're not here." She narrowed her eyes at you over her drink. "You've checked that phone four times in the last ten minutes, and it hasn't even buzzed."

"I have not."

"You have. Who is he?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

She didn't push it, which was somehow worse, because it meant she already knew there was someone, and was simply choosing to let you sit in the discomfort of being caught. You picked up your phone under the pretense of checking the time and found nothing waiting for you. No message, no missed call, nothing. You put it back down, feeling unreasonably disappointed by the absence of something you hadn't even told him to send.

You weren't usually like this. You'd always been the easy-breezy one, the friend who didn't lose sleep over a guy, who could go months without thinking twice about someone she'd kissed once and moved on from without much ceremony. Whatever this was, this counting down the two days until your next lesson like it was a deadline instead of a Tuesday, was new and a little embarrassing. You weren't sure yet whether you minded.

You mostly failed at that. You caught yourself rereading his one text from that night things got heated — made it home safe? sent a couple of hours after you'd left, casual on the surface, nothing underneath it you could point to and call proof of anything. You caught yourself, twice, standing in front of your closet trying to decide what to wear to your next lesson, before catching your own reflection in the mirror and feeling genuinely ridiculous about it. You'd worn the same three sweaters to previous lessons without a second thought, and now, apparently, that no longer applied. 

By the time the second day rolled into evening, you'd stopped pretending to yourself that the anticipation was about anything other than him.

He opened the door differently this time. No pressed shirt, no perfectly squared-off notebook waiting on the table, none of the rehearsed composure he usually greeted you with, the kind that made him look like he was walking into a client meeting rather than a Spanish lesson. Just him, in a soft gray t-shirt instead of his usual monochromatic uniform, hair slightly less deliberate than usual, lip ring catching the hallway light when he tilted his head. He looked, unmistakably, like he'd spent the last two days thinking about the same thing you had and hadn't landed on what to do with it either.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi."

Neither of you moved for a second. The air between you was thick with everything that hadn't been finished, everything that had been sitting, unresolved, for two days that had felt considerably longer than two days. Two days of half-read texts and half-worn outfits and half-listened-to best friends, and you suspected, watching the careful way he was holding himself in the doorway, that his version of the last two days hadn't looked all that different from yours.

"I didn't set anything up," he said finally, glancing back over his shoulder at the bare kitchen table. No cards, no notebook. "Didn't see the point in it."

"No flashcards? No mistake log?"

"I've been distracted." His voice had dropped, quieter than the joke deserved, and there was nothing careful about the way he was looking at you now. None of the calculated thoroughness he brought to everything else in his life, the thoroughness you'd watched him wear like armor since the day you met him. "You have that effect on me, apparently. Turns out it's hard to plan a grammar lesson when you can't stop thinking about the last one."

"That's very unlike you. Being unprepared."

"I know." He didn't sound bothered by it. If anything, he sounded almost relieved, as if being unprepared for once, in front of you specifically, was closer to a relief than a failure. "I figured we both already know where we left off."

"Do we?"

"I think so." He stepped back to let you in, close enough as you passed him that you felt the warmth of him even without touching, and something about the restraint of it made the two days of waiting feel almost unbearable. Both of you very deliberately did not close that last inch, not yet. 

The door clicked shut behind you, and the sound of it—that small, final latch—sent something electric down your spine. Neither of you moved for a breath. The air in his apartment felt different tonight, charged with everything that had been simmering since you walked out two days ago with his taste still on your lips.

"Two days is a long time," he said, voice low, not quite steady.

"You have no idea."

"I think I do." Jeongguk reached for you, fingers sliding along your jaw, tipping your face up toward his. The pad of his thumb traced your bottom lip, slow, almost reverent, like he was memorizing the shape of it. "I kept thinking about how you sound when I kiss your neck. Couldn't focus on a single fucking thing at work."

His voice dropped lower, rougher, as his thumb slid down to your chin, tilting your head just enough to expose the column of your throat. "I kept replaying that little noise you made, the one right before you pulled me back in. The one that told me you didn't actually want to leave." You felt the heat of his breath against your skin before his lips followed, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the spot just below your ear. "I sat through a three-hour meeting with the Barcelona team, and all I could think about was this." His teeth grazed your pulse point, featherlight, deliberate. "The way you feel in my hands. How you said my name like it meant something."

His hand slid from your jaw to the nape of your neck, fingers threading through your hair, tugging just enough to make your breath hitch. "I don't get distracted. I don't let myself get distracted. But you—" He exhaled against your skin, a sound that was half laugh, half surrender. "You're in my head. All the time.” His lips brushed your earlobe, his voice a low rasp.

"Show me what you were thinking about."

The words left your mouth before you'd fully decided to say them, and you watched the effect they had on him in real time—the way his pupils blew wide, the way his breath caught and held for half a beat too long. His thumb, still resting on your hip, pressed harder, a reflexive response he probably didn't even notice.

"I was thinking about this," he said, voice rough, and his hand slid from your hip down to the inside of your thigh, fingers tracing the seam of your jeans with deliberate slowness. "About how you felt in my lap. About the way your hips moved when I kissed your neck." His fingers curled, pressing against you through the denim, not quite touching where you wanted him most. "I was thinking about how you taste. I kept wondering if it would be as good as I remembered, or if I'd built it up in my head." His hand moved higher, cupping you through your jeans, palm applying just enough pressure to make your breath stutter. "And then I spent the rest of the night wondering if I'd ever get to find out."

"You're finding out now."

"Barely." He pressed harder, and you felt it everywhere, a dull, aching pulse that made you rock into his hand. "I want more. I want to memorize every sound you make, every way your body moves when I touch you."

His fingers found the button of your jeans, flicking it open with practiced ease, the zipper lowering with a sound that seemed too loud in the quiet of the room. "I thought about this part too." He slid his hand inside, palm flat against your underwear, the heat of him searing through the thin cotton. "About getting you out of these clothes and taking my time." His fingers traced the edge of your panties, teasing, never quite slipping beneath. "About how you'd look spread out on my bed, telling me exactly where to touch you."

"I can show you instead."

"No." His voice was firm, but there was a tremor underneath it. "Quiero oírte." I want to hear you. He shifted his weight, pressing his hips harder against yours as he closed the space between your body and the nearest wall, so you could feel exactly how much control this was costing him. "I don’t want you to hold back when I make you cum." He brought his mouth to your ear, breath hot and uneven. His teeth grazed your earlobe before he pulled back just enough to look at you, dark eyes searching yours. "That’ll be today’s lesson. I want to practice my Spanish while I make you feel good. I've been repeating phrases in my head all day, trying to figure out how to say the things I want to do to you. Now I want to see how you fall apart when I say them to you.”

The challenge in his voice sent a fresh wave of heat through you. He was trembling with the effort of holding back, but he was waiting, giving you space to meet him there, to play his game. His thumb traced your hip bone in slow, patient circles, and the corner of his mouth lifted when he saw the answer forming on your lips.

His mouth found yours before the words came out, hungry and impatient in a way that made your knees weaken. You could taste the lingering notes of the coffee he'd been drinking while he waited for you, bitter and warm and so distinctly him that your fingers curled into the soft cotton of his t-shirt, pulling him closer, needing more.

"Bedroom," you managed against his lips. "Ahora." Now.

He carried you through the apartment with a confidence that hadn't been there two weeks ago, each step deliberate, like he'd memorized the distance between the door and his bedroom and knew exactly how many seconds he had left to savor the weight of you in his arms. His grip tightened as he shouldered the bedroom door open, and the look he gave you—dark, hungry, certain—made your breath catch in your throat.

Jeongguk carefully laid you in his bed, and you pulled him down with you. He caught himself on his forearms, caging you beneath him, and for a moment he just looked at you—really looked, the way he'd been doing since the first lesson, like you were a problem he was determined to solve.

"Say something else," you said, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw. His skin was warm, slightly rough with the shadow of stubble he'd missed shaving. "En español." In Spanish.

"Eres lo más bonito que he visto." His voice had gone rough, the words deliberate and careful. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

"Good pronunciation." You deflected, pretending that his words didn’t form knots in your stomach.

"I have a good teacher." His hips pressed into yours, and you felt exactly how much he meant it. "Now you. Tell me something. Anything."

"Quiero sentirte dentro de mí." I want to feel you inside me. Your eyes never left his.

The sound of pure ecstasy he made vibrated against your throat as his mouth found your neck again. His hips rolled against yours, slow and deliberate, and the friction of denim against denim was nowhere near enough.

"Otra vez," he breathed against your skin. Again.

"Quiero sentirte dentro de mí."

“Fuck.” His hands slipped under your sweater, palms sliding up your stomach, your ribs, stopping just below your breasts. "I've thought about this. About you. About the sounds you'd make when I finally got my hands on you."

"Show me."

He sat back on his heels, pulling you up with him just enough to work your sweater over your head. His fingers traced the edge of your bra, following the line of lace with the same careful attention he'd given his verb charts. "You're shaking. Good." He unhooked your bra with one hand, practiced, confident, and let it fall away. You made a mental note to ask about that particular skill later. "I want you to remember this. Every second of it. I want you to think about it the next time you're supposed to be teaching me and can't focus because all you can remember is how my mouth felt on your skin."

He lowered his head, lips closing around one nipple, and your back arched off the mattress. His tongue worked in slow circles, the metal of his lip ring cool against the sensitive skin, and when his teeth grazed the peak, a sound escaped your throat that you didn't recognize.

"Like that. Make that sound again." He murmured against your breast.

He moved to the other nipple, giving it the same attention, and this time, when you moaned, his hips bucked against the mattress. His free hand slid down your stomach, fingers dipping below the waistband of your open jeans, and when they found the wetness already soaking through your panties, he swore under his breath in a language you hadn't taught him.

"You’re this wet from just my mouth on your neck?" His fingers traced the outline of you through the damp cotton, teasing, never quite pressing where you needed him. "Or did you think about this last night, too? Did you touch yourself thinking about what I'd do to you?"

"No." You reached for him, fingers hooking into his belt loops, pulling his hips back down against yours. "I wanted to wait for you."

"Fuck." The word came out almost pained. Capturing your mouth again, he kissed you deep and desperately while his fingers finally pushed your panties aside and found you bare and slick and ready. "All this for me?"

"Solo para ti." Only for you.

One finger slid inside you, then two, and your hips rose to meet him without conscious thought. He moved them slowly, deliberately, watching your face with the focus he usually reserved for his mistake log.

"Look at me," he said, and when your eyes met his, he curled his fingers forward, finding the spot that made your vision blur. 

"There. Don't stop."

"Wasn't planning to." His thumb found your clit, drawing tight circles that matched the rhythm of his fingers, and the dual sensation sent you hurtling toward the edge faster than you'd ever gotten there with anyone else. Your hands fisted in his sheets, your hips moving against his hand in a rhythm you couldn't control.

"Jeongguk—"

"I know." His voice was raw. "I can feel it."

When the trembling finally subsided, he withdrew his fingers slowly, bringing them to his mouth without breaking eye contact. He licked them clean, one by one, and the sight of it sent another pulse of heat through your already oversensitive body.

"Sabes mejor de lo que imaginaba." You taste better than I imagined.

"Your Spanish is getting better."

"I had motivation to practice." He lowered himself over you again, and this time, you felt the full length of him pressed against your thigh, still trapped behind his jeans. "But I'm not done yet. There's a phrase I need to try."

"What phrase?"

He didn't answer with words. His mouth found the hollow of your throat instead, then lower—collarbone, sternum, the soft curve of your belly. Each kiss came slower than the last, deliberate and unhurried, as he'd already calculated exactly how long he wanted to spend on every inch of skin between your neck and where he was headed.

"Jeongguk." Your voice came out thinner than you meant it to. "You said there was a phrase."

"There is." His breath fanned hot against your navel. "But I want to earn it first."

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your jeans, tugging them down past your hips, your thighs, your ankles. Your panties followed. The cool air hit your bare skin, and you shivered. Not from cold, but from the way he was looking at you. That same careful, cataloging attention he'd given his vocabulary lists. Only now the subject was you, spread out beneath him, still trembling from what his fingers had done minutes ago.

"You're staring."

"I'm learning." He settled between your thighs, his shoulders pushing them apart, his stubble grazing the sensitive skin on the inside of your knee. "Every part of you. Every reaction. I want to know what gets you to make that sound again."

His lips brushed the crease where thigh met hip. Not a kiss—barely a suggestion of one. Your hips jerked toward his mouth without permission.

"Just like that." His words hummed against your skin, sending shivers throughout your body.

"What are you learning exactly?"

"How you taste." His tongue traced a line along your inner thigh, stopping just short of where you needed him. "How you respond to pressure. How long I can tease you before you start begging me."

“I won’t beg.”

"Not yet." He said it with absolute certainty, the same tone he'd used when he'd insisted he'd master the subjunctive before his flight to Barcelona. Then his mouth moved higher, and higher still, until his breath was right there—warm and wet and maddeningly close—and then he stopped. "The phrase," his lips brushing against you as he spoke. "I looked this one up. Wanted to get it right."

"Tell me."

"Quiero saborear cada parte de ti." I want to taste every part of you.

"That's—"

His tongue flattened against your clit before you could finish the sentence.

The sound that came out of you wasn't a word. It wasn't even close. Your hand flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands, and he groaned against you like he'd been waiting for exactly that reaction. The vibration traveled straight through you, sparking along nerves still raw from your first orgasm.

"Where did you learn that one?"

"I've been doing my homework." His tongue dipped lower, tracing your opening, and your grip on his hair tightened. "Dulce." Sweet. He licked again, slower. "Suave." Soft. A third time, deeper, his lip ring cold against your heat. "Mojada." Wet. "Dime cómo se dice." Tell me how to say it. He lifted his head, chin glistening, dark eyes finding yours across the plane of your stomach. "I want to describe you. Every taste. But I need the vocabulary."

Your breath caught. He was serious. Beneath the hunger, beneath the way his hands gripped your thighs hard enough to bruise, he was still your student—still that same meticulous man who learned languages by memorizing patterns until they became instinct.

"Dulce," you managed. "You said dulce already. Sweet."

"Dulce." He lowered his mouth again, tongue working in slow circles. "What else?"

“Salado. Salty.” Talking became harder, your words coming out between gasps.

"Salado." He tasted you again, lapping at the slick gathering between your thighs. "Both. Dulce y salado. Like caramel with sea salt."

"Poetic."

"I've been reading Spanish poetry." His tongue circled your clit, slow and precise, and the deliberate pressure made your back arch off the mattress. "The Romantics. Bécquer. Neruda. I wanted to know how to talk about you without sounding like a textbook."

"Most students just learn how to order coffee."

"I thought you knew I’m not like most students."

His mouth sealed around your clit and sucked, hard, and coherent thought dissolved. The room narrowed to the hot slide of his tongue, the wet sounds he was making, the steady pressure of his hands holding your thighs open. He worked you with the same relentless focus he'd brought to verb conjugations. Patient, methodical, adjusting his approach based on your reactions.

"Amargo," you gasped, when he slowed down to kitten licks. “Bitter.”

"Where?" He sounded genuinely curious, pausing mid-lick.

"The edge. When I'm close, it tastes different. Sharper."

"Enséñame." Show me. His voice had gone rough. "Let me taste the difference."

Two fingers slid inside you, curling forward against that spot he'd found minutes ago, and his mouth returned to your clit with renewed intensity. The dual rhythm—fingers pressing, tongue circling—built something seismic in your lower belly, a pressure that made your thighs shake against his shoulders.

"More," you heard yourself say. "Ahí, justo ahí." There, right there.

He repeated the motion exactly, the same pressure, the same angle, his tongue working you in tight spirals. His eyes were glued to yours, seeking your approval.

"Sí. No pares." Don't stop.

"No voy a parar." His words vibrated against you. I'm not going to stop. "I need you to cum in my mouth." 

The command undid you. That, or the way his fingers pressed deeper, or the way his lip ring caught against your clit with every stroke of his tongue. It didn't matter. The orgasm crashed through you in pulses, each one wrenched out by the steady rhythm of his mouth, and he didn't stop—didn't slow down, didn't pull back—just kept licking and sucking and groaning against you like he was the one falling apart.

"Amargo," he breathed, pulling back only when your hips stopped bucking. His lips were swollen, his chin wet, his eyes nearly black with want. "You were right. Sharper. More intense." He licked his lips. "I like it."

"Come here." Your arms reached for him, shaking as you still felt your heartbeat in your throat.

He crawled up your body, and you tasted yourself on his tongue when he kissed you. Dulce, salado, amargo, all of it mixed. His length pressed against your thigh, still trapped behind denim, and you felt the damp spot where he'd been leaking through the fabric.

"Your turn," you said, reaching for his belt. "Quiero enseñarte otra cosa." I want to teach you something else.

His breath hitched. "What?"

"How you sound when you let go. En cualquier idioma." In any language. Your fingers worked his belt open. "Whatever comes out."

"Prometo que voy a estudiar," I promise I'll study. His hips jerked into your hand as you freed him, hot and thick and already slick at the tip. "Every word. Every sound. I'll write it all down in my mistake log."

"Don't." You guided him between your thighs, lining him up where you were still wet and open from his mouth. "Some things you don't correct."

His breath caught when you guided him against you, the head of his cock pressing into wet heat. For a moment, he just stayed there, forehead dropping to yours, lips parted around a word that wouldn't come.

“Wait.” He pulled back, and the loss of contact made you whimper before you could stop yourself. "Condom. I need—"

"No."

His jaw tightened. The lip ring caught the lamplight as he processed the word, turned it over, and examined it from every angle like one of his vocabulary lists.

"No?" Confusion flickered across his face, then something hungrier. "But—"

"Quiero sentirte." I want to feel you. Your fingers curled around the back of his neck, pulling him down until his mouth hovered inches from yours. "All of you. Nothing between us."

He swallowed hard. "Are you sure?"

"I've never been more sure of anything." Your thumb traced the sharp edge of his jaw. "I'm on birth control. And I haven't been with anyone in months. You?"

"Not since before the promotion." His voice had gone hoarse. "Not since I started wanting you." He said it plainly, like a fact he'd stopped trying to argue with, and the simplicity of it hit harder than any elaborate confession could have.

"Then what are you waiting for?"

He searched your face for any change in your expression, that careful scanning look, like he was checking for any sign of hesitation. Whatever he found must have satisfied him because he exhaled and something in him shifted. Surrender. Relief. The particular recklessness of a man who'd spent his life planning everything and was finally letting himself want something unplanned.

"You're going to ruin me." He said it like a fact, as if he'd already accepted the outcome. "I'm going to feel you, and I'm never going to be able to think about anything else."

"Good."

He pushed inside you in one slow stroke.

The stretch stole your breath. No barrier, just him, hot and bare and somehow more than you'd imagined despite spending weeks imagining exactly this. Your nails bit into his shoulders through his t-shirt, and he groaned, a sound dragged from somewhere deep in his chest.

"Fuck." He stilled, buried to the hilt, every muscle in his body trembling with the effort of holding back. He pressed his forehead to yours, breathing ragged, voice frayed at the edges. "Tell me what you want me to do to you now that I'm inside you. I want to hear you say the dirty things you're thinking while you can feel exactly how much I want you."

You felt him pulse inside you, a reminder that he was still holding on by a thread, and the power of that, the control you had over a man who controlled everything, sent a fresh wave of heat through your already oversensitized body. Your hips rolled experimentally, just a fraction of an inch, and the sound he made in response was worth more than any confession.

"You want to hear me talk?" Your voice came out lower than you intended, rougher. "Fine. I want you to move. Slow at first. I want to feel every inch of you dragging against me while I watch your face. I want to see the exact moment you stop thinking about Barcelona and start thinking about nothing except how good I feel."

His breath stuttered. His hips twitched, a reflexive forward press that made you both gasp, and you smiled against his mouth.

"I want you to learn a new word tonight. Despacio. Slow. Because I'm going to make you take your time. I'm going to make you feel every second of this, every heartbeat, every breath, until you can't remember what it felt like to want me from a distance."

Jeongguk's hands found your hips, grip tightening like he needed something to anchor himself. "That's—" He swallowed hard. "That's a lot of instructions."

"You asked for them." Your fingers slid into his hair, tugging gently at the roots. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No." The word came out desperate, immediate, and he seemed to realize how much he'd given away because he pressed his forehead to yours again, hiding. "No. Keep going. Please."

"Then here's your next lesson." You shifted beneath him, adjusting the angle just slightly, and the way his eyes rolled back was its own reward. "When I tell you así,” Like this, “you don't change a thing. You keep the same rhythm, the same depth, the same pressure. You let me feel exactly what you're giving me until I tell you otherwise."

His nod was jerky, barely controlled.

You tightened around him deliberately, watching his pupils blow wide. "Now show me how well you follow instructions."

He shuddered at the command, his hips stuttering as if your words alone could break his rhythm. But Jeongguk was nothing if not disciplined. Even now, even with his cock buried bare inside you and his mind swimming in the haze of desire, he found the control to slow down. His next thrust was measured, deliberate, the kind of precise movement that spoke of a man who had spent his life learning to obey instructions perfectly.

The slow drag of him against your walls was almost unbearable. Somehow too much and not enough all at once. Every nerve ending was alight, hyperaware of every inch of him, every ridge and pulse. He was watching you with an intensity that bordered on reverence, memorizing every micro-expression that crossed your face, learning what made you gasp versus what made you moan.

"Sí," you managed, the word coming out as a breathless sigh. "Just like that. No faster. No deeper. Just—" Your voice caught as he hit a particularly sensitive spot. "—así."

He repeated the same stroke, same angle, same depth, and the precision of it, the way he'd already learned what you liked, sent a shiver through you that had nothing to do with temperature. His thumb, still resting against your clit, began to move in matching circles, slow and steady, synced to the rhythm of his hips.

"You're so wet," he observed, his voice carrying a note of wonder. "I can feel it. Every time I push in, there's more. Is that because of me? Because of what I'm doing?"

"Don't fish for compliments while you're inside me."

A smug smile crossed his face, but he didn't stop. Didn't speed up. Didn't change a thing. Just kept that maddening, perfect rhythm, dragging moans from your throat with every slow, deliberate stroke. His free hand found yours, fingers intertwining, pinning your palm to the mattress beside your head.

"Tell me if I'm doing it right." The vulnerability in his voice cut through the stillness of pleasure. "I need to know. I need to hear you say it."

"You're—fuck, Jeongguk—you're doing it right." The words came out broken, punctuated by a gasp as he hit that spot again. "Don’t change anything. Así."

He groaned at the Spanish, at the confirmation that he was following your instructions correctly. His hips maintained their rhythm, but his thumb pressed harder, circles growing tighter, and you could feel the trembling in his thighs. The effort it took for him to hold back, to stay controlled, to give you exactly what you'd asked for, even as every fiber of his being wanted to take more.

"You’re so obedient. I love it," you whispered, and the sound he made in response—a desperate, wrecked noise that seemed to come from somewhere primal—told you everything you needed to know about how much those words affected him. Being under your spell, completely surrendered inside you.

His hips jerked involuntarily, a short, sharp thrust that made you both gasp. "Don't." Another slow thrust, deeper this time, his lip ring glinting as he smiled. "Don't tease me right now. I'm barely holding on."

He maintained that pace: long, deep strokes that filled you, the drag of him bare against your walls sending sparks up your spine with every movement. No rush. No urgency. Just the steady rhythm of his hips and the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress.

"Eres perfecta." The words fell from his lips like he'd been holding them in for weeks. You're perfect. "Perfecta. Tan apretada. Tan caliente." So tight. So hot.

"Harder." Your legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, pulling him deeper. But instead of speaking, you arched into him, a wordless demand. His answer was a low growl against your throat as his hips snapped forward, harder this time, stealing the breath from your lungs. The slightly slow, measured pace shattered; he drove into you with a desperation that rattled the headboard against the wall, each thrust a conversation you no longer needed words for. His mouth found yours, swallowing every broken sound you made as he took what you'd offered, and gave back twice as much.

His thrusts faltered, rhythm slipping as he lost himself in the sensation. You watched it happen, watched the careful composure crack further with every stroke, watched his eyes go dark and unfocused, watched his mouth shape words he couldn't quite voice. His teeth grazed your pulse point, and the sharpness of it, pleasure edged with just enough pain, made your inner walls clench around him. He shuddered, a full-body tremor that you felt everywhere.

He lifted his head, eyes finding yours. "Do that again."

"What?"

"Squeeze me like that again." His thrusts were harder, deeper, hitting a spot that made your vision blur. His rhythm didn't break. If anything, it grew more deliberate, each stroke aimed with the precision of a man who'd spent weeks learning exactly where to find what he was looking for. "Again. Otra vez. I need to feel it again."

The demand in his voice, rough and frayed, sent a fresh pulse of heat through you. You tightened around him deliberately, a slow clench that started at the base and rolled upward, and watched his composure fracture in real time. His jaw went slack. His hips stuttered. A sound escaped him, low and wrecked, that didn't sound like it belonged to the businessman who organized his bookshelf by height.

He let out a sound that was half laugh, half groan, and pulled back just enough to look at you. His pupils had swallowed most of his irises, leaving only a thin ring of dark brown around the black. "You're going to kill me. You know that, right? I'm going to die inside you, and I'm going to thank you for it."

His hips began to move again, slower this time, each thrust a deliberate drag against every sensitive nerve you had. The sensitivity from your previous orgasm made every stroke feel sharper, more electric, like he was relearning your body all over again. His hand slid from your hip to your thigh, hooking your leg higher over his waist, opening you further. The new angle made him hit deeper, and you felt it everywhere. A sharp, maddening hit of pleasure that made your toes curl and your back arch off the mattress.

His voice was low, almost reverent. "Your cunt is still so tight. You’re clenching around me, taking me so well." His thrusts got deeper, letting you feel the fullness of him. "Is that normal? Or is that just—me? Just what I do to you?"

“It’s you. Just with you.” You felt your face getting hotter, feeling exposed not only because you were naked.

A shudder ran through him at your admission, and he pulled out almost entirely before sliding back in with excruciating slowness. The drag of him against your oversensitive walls made you gasp, your hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. He watched your face with that same intense focus, taking all of you in.

"Good." He repeated the motion—slow withdrawal, slower reentry—and the deliberate pace was almost more overwhelming than the frantic rhythm from before. "Because I want to remember this. Every detail. The way you look right now. The sounds you make. The way your body welcomes me every time I push back in." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I'm going to think about this non-stop. When I'm alone. When I'm supposed to be focusing on meetings. I'm going to close my eyes and remember exactly how you feel around me, and I'm not going to be able to think about anything else."

His rhythm shifted, growing slightly faster, the shallow strokes targeting a spot that made your vision blur at the edges. His thumb found your clit again, pressing in tight circles that matched his thrusts, and you could feel another orgasm building; slower this time, deeper, gathering in your core like a wave about to break.

"Así," you moaned, the word barely making it past your lips. "Así. Please don't change a thing."

He didn't. He kept that same rhythm, that same depth, that same relentless pace, his thumb finding your clit in matching circles. And when you clenched around him again—involuntary this time, pulled from you by the sheer overwhelming pleasure of his cock inside you—he groaned your name like a prayer, like he'd been saying it in his head for weeks and was only now allowed to let it out loud.

His pace quickened, the slow, deliberate strokes giving way to something more urgent. The wet sound of him moving inside you, no barrier between your bodies, filled the room alongside your broken moans.

"I’m close." You said, barely a whisper.

He felt it. Of course he did. His cock could feel every shift deep inside you.

His hips snapped forward, a sharper thrust that made you cry out. "Every word. Every sound. Every lesson. I've been taking notes on you since the day we met."

"You’re obsessed."

“Yes." No denial. No deflection. Just the word, hot against your throat, as his rhythm faltered and rebuilt itself. "Estoy obsesionado contigo. Con esto." I’m obsessed with you. With this. "Con la manera en que dices mi nombre." With the way you say my name.

"Jeongguk."

"Así." Like that. His voice had gone ragged. "Otra vez." Again.

"Jeongguk—"

The orgasm hit without warning, ripped out of you by his name on your tongue and his cock buried bare inside you and the relentless pressure of his thumb. Your vision whited out. Your body clenched around him in waves, each pulse drawing a broken sound from his throat. The pleasure crested, ebbed, crested again. When you finally surfaced, he was still buried inside you, still hard, still trembling.

"You didn't—"

"I wanted to feel it." He said it like a confession. "All of it. Every second. The way you—" His voice broke. "I've never felt anything like that. Someone cumming around me. Bare. Like this."

"Cum inside me." You said it for him, watching his eyes go wide and dark. "Déjate ir dentro de mí." Let yourself go inside me.

"Fuck." His composure was completely shattered. No more careful student, no more meticulous planner. Just him, raw and desperate, hips snapping forward in a rhythm that had nothing to do with patience and everything to do with need.

The permission in your voice, quiet, steady, utterly certain, was the final thread holding him together, and it snapped. His hips drove forward once, twice, a third time, each thrust shorter and more desperate than the last, chasing a release he'd been holding at bay since the moment he first touched you.

Your name tore out of him, ragged and broken, as his rhythm shattered entirely. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, his breath hot and uneven against your skin, and you felt the exact moment he lost control. The way his whole body tensed, the way his fingers dug into your hips hard enough to bruise, the way a drowned whimper came out of him.

He came undone inside you. You felt it in pulses, hot and deep and endless, each wave drawing a shudder from his frame, each pulse pulling a broken sound from his throat. His hips kept moving through it, involuntary now, grinding against you like he couldn't bear to stop, like he needed to feel every last second of this before it ended.

You tightened around him, and he gasped, his whole body jerking as a sharp sting of pleasure rolled through him. His teeth grazed your shoulder, not quite biting, grounding himself against the overwhelming sensation of being so completely undone.

When he finally stilled, he was trembling. Not the fine tremor of exertion, but something deeper. A full-body shake that spoke of a man who had given everything he had and was still trying to find his way back to himself. His breathing was uneven, his face still pressed into the curve of your neck like he couldn't bear to lift his head and face what had just happened.

He stayed there for a long moment, buried inside you, his lips pressed against your pulse point like he was memorizing the rhythm of your heartbeat. When he finally spoke, his voice was wrecked. Hoarse and raw and honest in a way he'd never let himself be before.

"Me encantas." The words came out broken, barely a whisper, pressed into your skin like a secret he'd been carrying too long. "Me encantas tanto que no sé qué hacer." I'm so crazy about you that I don't know what to do.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, and there was no armor left. Just him, flushed and spent and vulnerable, his lip ring glinting in the low light as he searched your face for something—reassurance, maybe, or permission to keep feeling what he was feeling.

You opened your mouth to answer him, and nothing came out.

It struck you as almost funny, in some distant part of your brain that was still capable of finding things funny in such a serious moment. You, who'd spent weeks handing him the exact right words for every occasion, who'd built entire lessons out of teaching him how to say the things he couldn't say on his own, and now here you were, wordless, in every language you knew. Nothing in your vocabulary felt big enough. Nothing felt like it wouldn't shrink the second it left your mouth.

So you didn't try. You reached up instead and pressed your palm flat against his chest, right over the place where his heart was still going too fast to be anything but honest, and held it there like you could say it that way instead. Like touch might succeed where every word you knew had just failed you. He went still under your hand, watching you with something that looked almost like relief, like he understood exactly what you were doing and didn't need the words either, not really, not when this was so much louder.

You leaned in and kissed him instead and felt him exhale against your mouth like he'd been holding his breath since the words left him. When you finally pulled back, your forehead resting against his, you found your voice again, small and unsteady and entirely true.

"I don't know what to do with it either," you whispered. Not a lesson. Just the truth, handed back to him in the only language you had left.

His arms tightened around you, and for a long moment neither of you said anything else. Because for the first time since that coffee shop, there was nothing left that needed saying out loud.

You left before he woke up, convincing yourself to do so. Somewhere between his front door and your car, the relocation in a few weeks stopped feeling like something happening to him and started feeling like something happening to you, too. You didn't examine that thought too closely. You just opened your phone and searched flights to Barcelona instead, and didn't ask yourself why.

[amethyst-ardor]

tattooed like a vow

pairings: undergroundboxer!jk × baker!reader

content: obsession, mild angst, slow-burn, smut.

w/c: 25k (~100 mins)

~

as soon as you flipped the bakery sign to closed, the warmth from the ovens started fading from the walls. midnight clung to the windows in dark distorted reflections, the quiet of the shop settling deep into your bones. you were wiping the last traces of powdered sugar off the counter when the bell above the door rang.

the sharp sound startled you. your heart instantly hammering against your ribs—a knee-jerk reflex your body still carried from a childhood spent waiting for the next blow to fall.

you looked up, eyes wide and glassy under the dim light, to see the regular. a tall shadow dressed in black with a heavy hoodie pulled over his head. usually, he came to just buy two cinnamon rolls. exactly two. but tonight, his stare was piercing. his footsteps growing louder and louder as he cut through the empty space toward the counter. curiosity stirred beneath your panic, but the sheer size of him kept you frozen.

“h-hi.” your voice stuttered, small and trembling. “h-how can i help you?”

“don’t be afraid.” he pulled the hoodie back, exposing dark hair and eyes so intense you were certain he could hear your pulse racing. “it’s me. i’m just here to order.”

“o-oh. we’re closed right now. b-but i could quickly make somethi—”

“just wanted to order forty cinnamon rolls for tomorrow night. have them delivered here.” he slid a piece of crumpled paper across the clean counter, followed by a thick heavy bundle of cash. “this is more than enough to cover.”

you looked from the money to his face, completely shocked. this bakery wasn’t popular. it was minimal space, minimal treats, a quiet corner of the world where the same few people only knew about. nobody did pre-orders. nobody asked for delivery. forty items in twenty-four hours felt impossible for your hands alone.

“not a word to anyone,” he warned. his voice firm, grounding you in the reality of the thick stack of bills.

“o-okay. i can—” you gulped, “—can do this. what time would you like for me—”

“same time as now would be good.” the reply was instant and sharp, clearly wanting to get this over with.

you gave him a small, hesitant nod. a slight smirk touched his lips. he knew he had you. your vulnerability was entirely to his advantage and he didn’t hesitate to use it. he turned on his heel, walking back toward the door with that same heavy stride.

“remember, not a word, sweetheart.” he said, pausing halfway out the open door. he turned his face back toward you, a wicked little wink accompanying the index finger he pressed to his lips to gesture a ‘shh’.

then, the door clicked shut, leaving you alone within the silent four walls.

the next morning, the bell above the door didn’t stop ringing. juggling the front counter for customers while rushing back to the ovens had you constantly on your feet, moving in a dizzying rhythm. you weren’t usually fond of the bitter taste of coffee, but today, you relied entirely on the cheap caffeine boost to keep your hands moving.

by the time the closing hours arrived, the shop finally emptied out, leaving you alone in the quiet kitchen to finish the final touches.

as you carefully packed the warm golden  pastries into large boxes, a rare spark of pride flared in your chest. you had done it all on your own and right on time. your life had never been particularly interesting or eventful, but this order had given you a challenge to meet. you smiled down at the neat rows of rolls, clapping your flour-dusted hands together in a silent celebration.

~

the walk to the unknown address felt endless. midnight had turned the streets quiet, the cold in the air made your skin prickle. you had never liked walking alone at night, but following a crumpled piece of paper to a place you had never heard of was an entirely different kind of cold. a sharp sigh of relief escaped your lips when you finally reached the destination.

the regular was already there leaning against a rusted pipe by the entrance, tapping away on his phone. seeing him brought a strange sudden wave of comfort—proof that you hadn’t been lured out here for nothing.

at the sound of your delicate footsteps, he looked up and that same confident smirk spread across his face. “knew you’d come through, sweetheart.”

you offered a polite nod, handing over the two heavy boxes. he grunted under the weight, lifting the lid of one to inhale the rich sweet scent of yeast and cinnamon. a satisfied chuckle rumbled in his chest. “atta girl. no icing on the rolls, just how we like ’em.”

“y-yeah,” you murmured, giving a small breathy laugh. “i-i made sure everything was exact.”

“thanks. my boy loves your hands.”

the words caught you off guard. his boy? you blinked, confusion written plainly across your face. but before you could ask what he meant, he reached into his pocket and handed you another small wad of bills.

“for your troubles. go home, sweetheart. and remember what i said?”

“n-not a word,” you whispered, your eyes growing wide.

he didn’t reply, only offering a sharp before gesturing with his head for you to turn back toward the safety of the main road.

he expected you to leave. you knew you should have. but as you watched him disappear through the heavy doors of the building, your feet stayed glued to the pavement. the structure was a massive decaying two-story brick warehouse, completely covered in layers of jagged graffiti. what caught your attention though, were the names. dozens of male names were scrawled across the brick and every single one of them had a thick dark line carved right through the center. crossed out. eliminated.

driven by a sudden unexplainable urge to pique your curiosity, you pushed through the heavy exterior doors. the deeper you walked into the decaying concrete labyrinth, the more the silence began to fracture. a low vibrating hum echoed through the floorboards. cheering. screaming. a muffled chaotic roar that grew sharper as you passed a steep flight of stairs leading into the basement. you took a breath, stepped down the stairwell, and pushed open the final set of double doors.

the reality of the room hit you like a physical blow. before you could even think about turning back, the sheer mass of the crowd swallowed you whole. the underground hall was far too small for the hundreds of people packed inside, forcing bodies to shove and slam against one another in a frantic wave. within seconds, you were swept away from the exit.

panic flared, suffocating your lungs until you finally managed to press your back against a solid concrete wall. trapped between the solid stone and a wall of strangers, you finally took in your surroundings.

the air reeked of stale beer, sweat, and cheap tobacco. overhead, flickering fluorescent lights casted jarring shadows across the room, accompanied by the deafening pulse of heavy bass that made your teeth rattle. the sensory overload was dizzying. and suddenly, the music cut out entirely.

the sudden silence lasted for a fraction of a second before the room erupted into a deafening noise of whistles and pounding chants. bright spotlight beams swung toward the center of the hall, illuminating a massive chain-link cage stained with sweat and old darkened blood. a rough voice echoed over the cracking speakers, vibrating right through the concrete against your spine.

“ALRIGHT, YOU FILTHY BASTARDS! ARE WE READY?!”

your heart stopped. an underground boxing match.

the announcer’s voice bled into the frenzy of the crowd, introducing the first fighter—a name you couldn’t even make out over the roaring audience. but when the announcer turned to the opposite corner, the noise doubled, vibrating the very foundations of the building. “—AND IN THE OTHER CORNER…”

the crowd didn’t even let him finish the name. they already knew who was coming.

shaken by the sheer volume, you instantly pressed your small hands over your ears, your knees trembling as the crowd went completely feral. the air in the room shifted, growing heavier, thicker, charged with a terrifying kind of reverence.

then, he walked out.

he moved with a slow, lethal grace, walking as if he owned the ring, the crowd, and every lungful of air in the room. he was tall, his right arm entirely covered in solid dark ink that stretched up to his shoulder. his chest was bare, exposing a powerful physique marked by a few healing scars. he turned in a slow circle, absorbing the worship of the room, his jaw tight with a dangerous arrogance. he struck his own chest with a heavy fist, a brief dismissive display of power that sent the audience into a renewed madness.

as he always did before a fight, his dark eyes began to scan the room, looking at how people were disgustingly loud just at mere presence of him, his ego higher than the Burj Khalifa. until his gaze hit the back wall.

the contrast was instantaneous. amidst a sea of sweating, screaming, violent faces, there you were—a fragile wide-eyed girl pressed hard against the concrete, looking like a lost lamb trapped in a den of wolves.

his entire posture locked.

the roaring crowd, the flashing lights, the opponent waiting in the center of the ring—everything seemed to dull into background noise. his dark piercing eyes anchored onto yours, tracking the visible tremor in your frame. something violent and possessive gripped him by the throat, a sudden primal need to pull you out of that crowd and claim you as his own. a slow lethal smirk touched his lips, his eyes never leaving yours as he blindly raised his gloves, ready to tear into the man across from him.

the fight dragged on for nearly two hours. by the time the underground hall finally began to empty, your breath was shallow, your entire frame still trembling. you could feel the tight, uncomfortable pull of dried tears on your cheeks. the match had been far too violent to look at; you had kept your eyes squeezed shut the entire time, but covering your ears hadn’t been enough to block out the reality of what was happening.

you hadn’t known it, but the brutality in the ring had reached a gruesome new level tonight solely because he was throwing every strike for an audience of one. between rounds, his eyes had repeatedly searched the dark perimeter for your fragile silhouette, only to find you small, frozen, and hiding from the sight of him. he had found it almost amusing. endearing, even.

the moment the last of the spectators drifted toward the exit, you moved, desperate to escape. your body was operating purely on fight-or-flight instincts, driving you up the concrete stairs and out into the crisp midnight air.

you collapsed against the exterior brick wall to catch your breath, panting heavily. your legs felt like lead; there was no way you could walk home in this state, not this late. pulling out your phone, you did something you never did—you called a taxi. usually, the steep fare was a luxury you couldn’t afford, but the heavy bundle of cash your regular had handed you earlier made the expense a necessity.

five minutes later, the headlights of a sedan cut through the dark. you practically threw yourself into the backseat, hurriedly murmuring your address to the driver. the man gave a quiet nod, shifting the car into drive and letting it roll forward. you were halfway through buckling your seatbelt when the brakes slammed. the sudden jerk caught you off guard, followed immediately by three heavy knocks against the driver’s side window.

you froze, peering between the front seats as the driver rolled down the glass. standing under the dim streetlamp was the boxer. he was still flushed from the ring, sweat glistening on his forehead, his knuckles raw and split. without a word, he flicked a hundred-dollar bill through the window, dropping it carelessly onto the console.

“keep the change,” he bartered, his voice a low gravelly rasp..

the driver didn’t hesitate. he rolled the window up and pressed the gas, leaving the curb behind.

your head snapped toward the side window. you stared through the glass and he stared right back, his dark gaze heavier and more consuming than before. he brought a cigarette to his lips as the car pulled away, his head turned slowly, tracking you, refusing to break eye contact for even a fraction of a second.

right before the shadows swallowed him, a predatory smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. he knew he had terrified you. he knew he was a monster from a world you didn’t belong to. but as he watched the taillights of your taxi disappear into the night, the tight ugly coil of possessiveness in his chest only wrapped tighter around his heart. you were a soft pretty thing, a stark contrast to the filth he lived in—and jungkook knew, with an absolute and terrifying certainty, that he was never going to let you go.

~

three days had passed, and he completely occupied your mind. you had received your share of smirks from men before, but his had been different. no matter how desperately you tried to focus on the rhythm of the bakery, those dark eyes and bruised knuckles remained burned into the back of your thoughts.

and jungkook? he had only grown more restless by the day. whenever a memory of your fragile figure crossed his mind, a rare smile tugged at his lips—though never when anyone was looking. there had never been anything in his brutal life worth smiling about, but the mere thought of you made his chest tighten. you didn’t belong in his world, and that exact contrast had started a fire he had no intention of putting out.

“fuck’s wrong with you?” the rough voice of his trainer broke the silence of the studio, snapping jungkook out of his thoughts.

“nothing,” he snapped back coldly, irritated that the daydream had been cut short.

“yeah, bullshit. match’s in two weeks and you’re completely out of it. snap back.”

“tell me something i don’t know.”

“is it her? the girl that night?” his trainer scoffed, a knowing smirk forming on his face as he watched his champion. “saw you lookin’ at her. those rolls you love so much, that’s her baking.”

jungkook’s posture immediately locked. “what’s her name.”

“ahh, she’s my sweetheart,” the older man teased, intentionally pushing his buttons to see how deep the hook went. “sweetest little thing.”

jungkook tensed, his knuckles whitening as he barely stopped himself from grabbing his trainer by the collar. “don’t call her that.”

his trainer smirked, “there he is.”

he raised his hands in a mocking surrender, though his eyes stayed sharp. “look, i don’t know her name. i just call her that, you know me. i even told her to go home. but i need you on your game, kid. you’re too distracted and you’re as good as dead if you don’t focus. get up and fight.”

jungkook didn’t offer a reply, only throwing a bitter glare at the man before turning back to the heavy bag.

the studio filled with the rhythmic sounds of strikes. jungkook channeled the sudden surge of possessive anger into the leather, each punch hitting harder than the last. 

mine. a violent left hook. mine. a heavy kick. mine. he threw his entire weight into the bag, his chest heaving as the shadow of any other man looking at you fueled his strength.

across the room, the trainer watched him through the wall mirror while taking a drink of water. he had never seen jungkook fight like a maniac driven by passion rather than discipline. in their line of work, attachment was a liability. and with the quarter-finals just two weeks away, the obsession was a dangerous wild card.

when the session finally ended, jungkook stood under the steaming water of the locker room showers, letting the heat wash over his strained muscles. he closed his eyes and the image of your face instantly brought a foreign sense of peace to his chaotic mind, one that quickly bled into a heavy aching heat low in his pelvis as his body hardened at the mere thought of your softness. the sheer intensity of wanting you was a dizzying rush—sweeter and far more lethal than any vice he had ever touched before. you were quickly becoming his favorite addiction.

after drying off, he pulled on a clean black long-sleeve, his usual woody cologne cutting through the damp air of the locker room. he slung his backpack over his shoulder and moved toward the exit. a man like him didn’t pursue something unless he intended to make it permanently his. he pulled his helmet on, snapping the visor down over his eyes. the engine of his motorcycle roared to life as he tore out into the street, turning away from his apartment and heading straight toward the quiet corner of the city.

~

the bakery had long gone quiet by the time you finished cleaning the last tray. only the faint hum of the refrigerator and the ticking of the wall clock kept you company. you let out a tired sigh, wiping your hands on your apron as you scanned the small shop one last time.

oven off. register closed. back door locked. 

after finally convincing yourself that everything was in place, you stepped out and locked the front door behind you. the cold night air immediately kissed your skin. adjusting the strap of your bag, you locked your gaze onto the pavement. 

you barely made it five steps… “thanks for coming.”

you jumped, a violent lurch of adrenaline spiking in your chest. you spun around, bracing for a threat, only to freeze when you saw the tall figure leaning against the brick wall with a sly smirk on his lips.

as the panic began to leave your body, your shoulders dropped, your breath catching in the chilly air and condensing into a small cloud between you. jungkook watched it fade, completely mesmerized. he felt a sudden, absurd urge to trap that little cloud of breath in his palms—just to have proof that he could possess a piece of you.

you couldn’t bring yourself to speak, let alone digest the fact that the boxer was in front of you and thanking you for showing up the other night. you simply watched him step away from the wall as he closed the distance. he looked dangerous, yet there was a deep unreadable fondness in his gaze that kept you pinned to the spot. up close, the clean, sweet scent of cinnamon and vanilla drifted off your skin, hitting his senses so heavily his thoughts instantly turned dark. he wanted to taste it.

he let out a low grunt to ground himself. “been thinking about you.”

the confession hit you harder than it should have. your stomach tightened under his stare, your heart hammering against your ribs, but your instincts weren’t telling you to run. and you knew you should run from a man like him.

“y-you’re scaring me,” you managed to whisper.

his smirk only grew. “all the more reason to walk you home.”

before you could even process the words, he took a few steps ahead, turning back to look at you over his shoulder. “you coming?”

silence settled between you as you fell into step beside him. the only sound in the empty streets was the crisp crunch of your shoes against the gravel. jungkook walked with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his shoulders relaxed despite the possessive storm brewing underneath his skin. every nerve in his body screamed at him to reach out—to take your hand, to touch your sleeve, to feel the small of your back. but he restrained himself. he didn’t want to startle his little lamb.

beside him, your arms were crossed tightly over your chest. you wanted to break the heavy quiet, your mouth opening and closing as you searched for anything to say, but your mind was too overwhelmed to find the words. jungkook noticed your hesitation immediately. amused by your internal conflict, he kept his pace steady, patiently waiting for you to collect yourself.

“y-you didn’t have to do this,” you finally muttered.

he kept his eyes on the road ahead. “i know.”

you swallowed hard, fidgeting with your fingers. “y-you always… w-walk people home?”

jungkook paused for half a step, cutting his eyes down to you. “just you.”

the weight of his words landed heavily in your chest. the silence returned, but as you took the final turn toward your apartment building, the suffocating tension had shifted into something almost comfortable.

your steps slowed unconsciously as the old building came into view. dim hallway lights flickered weakly behind the grime-stained windows, and the paint peeled along the exterior walls from years of neglect. suddenly, a sharp prickle of embarrassment crept up your spine. you became acutely aware of the cracked concrete stairs, the rusted railings, and the terrible lighting.

you turned to face him, forcing a small breath past your lips. “u-umm… th-thank you for walking me.”

his gaze shifted from the decaying building to settle on your face. inside his pockets, his hands balled into tight, hard fists, his short nails biting into his palms to keep from reaching for you. his dark eyebrows furrowed slightly.

“get inside,” he commanded, his voice firm, low, and rough around the edges.

your lips parted slightly at the quiet intensity of his tone. you gave him a smallhesitant nod, turning toward the entrance. you didn’t have to look back to know he wouldn’t move an inch until you were safely behind locked doors.

the familiar silence of your rented studio welcomed you back instantly. your shoulders finally dropped as you leaned against the door, your eyes wandering across the small space. the mattress resting on the floor. the dim lamp near the wall. the neatly folded clothes tucked inside your duffel bag in the corner. the worn stuffed bunny sitting near your pillow exactly where you had left it this morning. everything looked the same. so why did you feel so different?

the cold night air felt sharper now that you were gone. jungkook walked down the empty street alone, his black boots scraping softly against the pavement as he made his way toward his bike. no one looking at him now would have guessed the chaotic mess sitting underneath his ribs.

he could have brought the bike closer. he could have offered you a ride, too. but jungkook understood that too much, too soon, would only send a girl like you running. so he had walked beside you instead. matched your pace. and fuck, he’d do it again.

his jaw tightened slightly as your apartment building flashed through his mind. those cracked stairs. the rusted railings. that dim hallway light flickering like it could die any second. something ugly twisted quietly in his chest. it wasn't disgust; it was a raw heavy wave of concern. his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, remembering how embarrassed you had looked while thanking him, as if you expected him to judge you. ridiculous.

that one had nearly fucked him up the most. it had taken everything in him not to snatch you up right then, carry you somewhere safe, and shut out the rest of this fucked-up world for good. but he hadn’t. because before he could save you, he had other plans...

~

“what the fuck was that?”

jungkook took a long drag from a water bottle entirely unfazed. “still won.”

“you call that winning?” the trainer snapped, throwing a bloodied towel onto jungkook’s lap. “everything i taught you, and you threw it out the window over what? a girl? you dropped your guard three times tonight. keep fighting like that and your brains will be painted all over the fucking ring before you can even think about her again.”

jungkook’s eyes went pitch-black, his jaw rolling. “leave her out of this.”

“that’s the problem—you can’t.” the room went dead silent. heavy. dangerous. jungkook didn't argue, because deep down, he knew the bastard was right.

“you’ve seen pretty girls before,” the trainer muttered quietly.

“not one i wanted to keep."

~

it was a little past midnight when your stomach started rumbling. a single slice of toast and a fried egg hadn’t been enough to sustain you. for the past hour, you had been tossing and turning, the cold from the floor beneath your mattress creeping into your backside. the silence of the tiny room only amplified the noise of your hunger until you finally decided enough was enough.

throwing your blanket aside, you swapped your pajama shorts for black sweatpants and pulled an oversized pink hoodie over your torso. you grabbed your small backpack, carefully counting the few crumpled bills between your fingers to mentally budget your expenses before stepping out. a few bucks was all you could afford. then again, it was all you ever could afford.

the walk was chilly, but the moment you stepped inside the 24-hour convenience store, the blast of heated air made your shoulders instantly relax. you slowly wandered toward the snack aisle under the soft fluorescent lights, completely oblivious to your surroundings.

but jungkook was already there. standing near the drinks section where he had been debating between a beer and a banana milk, looking to decompress after his brutal match. then you walked in, and the rest of the store simply ceased to exist. his dark eyes followed your figure. you looked utterly exhausted.

unaware of his gaze, you dragged your tired eyes over the shelves. cookies, instant noodles, chips—everything looked delicious. your fingers reached for a packet of chocolate biscuits, but a glance at the price tag made you quietly place it back. you picked up another snack, compared the numbers, and returned that one too.

watching from a distance, jungkook felt something unpleasantly tight twist in his chest. the way your eyebrows furrowed as you mentally calculated every single cent broke something inside him. when you finally settled on a small packet of crackers and a single snack bar, looking conflicted over whether you should even spend the money on both, he pushed himself off the refrigerator door.

the cashier barely looked up as you placed your items on the counter. you reached into your hoodie pocket, anxiously smoothing out the crumpled bills to count them one last time. right as you were about to hand the money over—THUD

your shoulders jumped as a handful of extra snack bars and drinks suddenly dropped onto the counter right beside your items. your wide eyes darted sideways, your panic instantly melting into shock when you recognized him.

he stood there clad entirely in black, his hair slightly damp and his knuckles raw and bruised. his dark eyes flicked down to the crumpled bills in your hand before sliding over to the cashier.

“she’s with me,” he commanded.

your lips parted. “n-no, you don’t have to—”

“she’s with me,” he cut you off, his tone simple, firm, and entirely unarguable.

you stood there awkwardly clutching your backpack straps while the cashier quickly scanned everything. jungkook looked completely unbothered, as if paying for your late-night cravings was the most natural thing in the world.

when the two of you stepped back outside, the cold air hit your face. you held the plastic bag close to your chest, watching him shove his hands deep into his pockets.

“you always go out this late?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly.

you glanced down shyly. “o-only when i can’t sleep.”

jungkook hummed softly, his eyes shifting toward a sleek black motorcycle parked near the curb. jungkook walked over to the bike and lifted his helmet from the seat, holding it out to you patiently. “c’mon.”

your fingers tightened around the plastic bag. “...w-where?”

“home,” he said naturally, “i’ll take you.”

the ride back was quiet. jungkook didn’t drive fast. the motorcycle barely growled beneath you, moving smooth and steady through the empty streets. you kept your distance, your hands lightly gripping the sides of the seat behind you, but jungkook could feel every tiny shift of your weight. he knew you were still nervous, and it only made the protective coil in his chest tighten.

within minutes, he pulled over near the curb of your apartment building, shutting off the engine. you stayed seated for a moment, carefully lifting the helmet off your head and smoothing down your messy hair. behind you, jungkook’s eyes drifted to your backpack. moving entirely on instinct, his large hand quietly unzipped the main compartment. he slipped his own snacks, the extra chocolate bar, and the banana milk inside before zipping it shut. he stepped back right as you turned around to face him.

“th-thank you for the snacks,” you said softly, handing him the helmet.

a heavy silence settling between you. you looked down at your shoes, fidgeting with your backpack strap, swallowing hard twice before you finally forced the words out.

“i-i’m y/n.”

jungkook just stared at you. his expression didn’t change, but inside, his chest shifted violently. you were letting him in. it was a tiny careful step, but you were giving him your name.

“y/n,” he repeated quietly, testing the weight of it on his tongue, memorizing the sound.

you gave a small nod, taking a step toward your building. “i-i’ll see you around... jungkook.”

that did it. out of all the roaring feral voices in that underground crowd, you had remembered his name. as he watched you disappear up the cracked concrete steps, jungkook exhaled a rough breathless laugh into the dark.

he was completely and utterly fucked.

~

you entered the bakery through the back door before dawn, your keys jingling softly in the quiet. one by one, the overhead fluorescent lights flickered to life as the ovens slowly warmed for the day ahead. the shop smelled exactly as it always did—warm sugar, cinnamon, and butter. but something felt entirely different.

curious, you stepped out from the kitchen toward the front counter. your movements stalled the moment your eyes landed on the glass surface.

banana milk. snack bars.

your heart stopped for a beat longer than it should have. he was here?

you stared at them for a long moment before quietly moving the banana milk into the refrigerator behind the counter, completely unaware of the small smile forming on your face.

the next morning, it happened again. banana milk and snack bars. then the morning after that. each day brought a different variety of treats, but the banana milk remained a constant. by the third morning, you stopped questioning how he was getting inside the bakery.

a few days later, around midday, the bell above the front door rang. you looked up to find a delivery man holding a brown paper bag, checking his phone.

“delivery for y/n,” he said.

you blinked. “i-i didn’t order anything.”

the man shrugged. “tall dude in black told me to send it here.”

he set the bag on the counter and left. you stepped closer, warmth radiating faintly through the paper. inside was a sealed container of hot soup and neatly packed rice, still steaming enough to create condensation on the lid. buried beneath the containers was a small scrap of paper.

‘eat’

your throat tightened for reasons you couldn’t fully understand.

as the days bled together, the surprises transformed into a comfortingly predictable rhythm. banana milk appeared in the mornings, sometimes paired by snacks, other times paired with a hot lunch. your mind found solace in the routine, and for the first time in months, your stomach wasn’t constantly rumbling.

until today. today, the counter was completely bare. unease settled over you. you spent the afternoon feeling strangely restless, growing quietly annoyed each time the door rang only for it to be a mere customer. you kept glancing toward the counter, checking the clock, expecting something you had no right to expect.

when the final light was switched off, you stepped outside and locked the door. you rested your forehead against the cool glass, letting out a long exhale to collect yourself. you were confused, tired, and a sudden sting pricked behind your eyes. had he forgotten? was that the end of it?

shaking your head at your own ridiculous reaction, you turned to begin the walk home. you paused after your very first step.

resting right on the concrete ledge by the door was a small bundle of flowers. three white daffodils, their stems bound carefully with a soft blue ribbon. a small white card rested between the petals. you pulled it free, your fingers trembling slightly as you read the script: 

‘6 pm tomorrow. dont make me wait.’

your heart hammered against your ribs. your lips curved into a smile before you could even think to stop it. 

knew i’d see him around. 

you lifted the bouquet to your face, breathing in the sweet honey-like scent, your steps suddenly feeling infinitely lighter as you skipped down the street.

meanwhile, jungkook stood hidden in the shadows of a far alleyway, a cigarette resting between his fingers. he watched your entire transition from the edge of tears to skipping down the pavement.

he knew it was twisted, but he fed off the sight of you being this affected by him. he liked knowing he could shift your emotions with a single gesture, the sheer power of it sending a heavy demanding throb of heat low in his pelvis as he hardened under his pants. he liked that you had started looking for him the exact same way he had been hunting for you since the night in the ring. smoke curled past his lips as the darkness swallowed your figure. a slow smirk pulled at his mouth.

yeah, you will.

~

you woke up the next morning and headed out to run a few errands. 

at the drugstore, you moved slowly through the aisles, picking up small things that made you feel like you were allowed to exist a little more gently. you wanted to feel pretty—though, you were already more than beautiful to begin with.

you picked out a mascara, a blush, a pink lip gloss, and a simple body spray scented with fresh pear, lily, and jasmine. you paid with a gift card you had been saving for something special, realizing that ‘special’ had recently started looking a lot like dark eyes and banana milk.

the rest of the day passed quietly in anticipation. later, you showered and got ready, keeping your makeup natural and careful. opening your duffel bag, you pulled out the one outfit you kept for when things mattered: a baby pink button-down cardigan paired with a cream flared skirt that stopped just above your knees. you tied your hair half up, finishing the look with clean socks and sneakers.

knock, knock, knock. you opened the door.

clad in dark cargos, a muted grey shirt beneath a black leather jacket, a silver chain rested against his collarbone. he smirked the moment his eyes landed on you, watching as you scanned his entire being.

“hello to you too.”

you blinked, caught off guard, before shaking your head. “h-how did you know my door?” you asked softly, eyes wide and unguarded.

“knocked on every one,” he said simply.

you hesitated. something about the way he said it made it sound less like a joke and more like something he expected you to accept without question. “o-oh,” you murmured, not fully believing him, but not rejecting it either.

jungkook didn’t explain further. he just looked at you quietly, taking in details he didn’t want to forget. then, after a deliberate pause, he muttered, “shall we?”

you nodded lightly and stepped out with him, locking the door behind you. it was then that his gaze shifted, landing directly on your hair. half tied up—with the soft blue ribbon woven through it. his smirk returned, slower and deeply restrained. you really didn’t know what you were doing to him.

outside the building, you walked toward his bike. conveniently, jungkook had two helmets now. you didn’t know that just yesterday, he had gone out of his way to buy a second one just for you, nor did he plan on admitting it anytime soon.

he held it out toward you and you took it carefully, slipping it on, and climbed onto the seat behind him. you hesitated for only a second before your arms slowly wrapped around his waist. fuck. his heart nearly punched through his ribs.

“hold on tighter,” he said lowly, revving the engine twice before pulling away from the curb.

the ride was smooth and steady, the city lights stretching around you in blurred streaks. you still didn’t know where he was taking you, but strangely you trusted him enough not to ask.

eventually, the bike slowed in front of a small restaurant tucked quietly between dimly lit buildings. you climbed off, removing the helmet to quickly fix your hair and smooth down your skirt. jungkook stepped beside you, and naturally—as if he’d done it a hundred times before—his hand found the small of your back. warm, firm, and grounding, guiding you toward the entrance. your eyes lifted toward the sign hanging on the glass. CLOSED.

“j-jungkook…” you murmured softly. “i-it’s closed.”

“don’t worry,” he replied easily, pulling the door open. “owner knows me.” then, with a brief glance down at you, “after you.”

you stepped into the quiet restaurant, the only real light glowing from a private corner deeper inside. suddenly, an older man emerged from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel.

“so,” the older man said with a grin, stopping at the sight of you. “you’re the girl that made me close early today, huh?”

actual panic flashed across your face. the man burst out laughing almost immediately. “relax, darlin’ i’m kiddin’. you two go ahead and sit down, i’ll be over in a minute.”

jungkook quietly pulled your chair out for you before taking the seat across the table, his sharp eyes never really leaving you.

it was quiet for a few moments before you finally spoke. “y-you eat here often?”

“nope.”

“o-oh… then how does the owner know you?”

“beat up his nephew once.”

you stared at him.

“kidding.”

your shoulders loosened instantly, and jungkook fought back a smirk at how easy you were to read.

the owner returned with steaming plates of warm soup, grilled meat, rice, and side dishes. everything tasted amazing, the warmth softening something deep inside your chest. you became so focused on eating that you failed to notice how intensely jungkook was watching you. there was something deeply satisfying about seeing you eat properly, a warmth of protectiveness spreading heavily through his chest.

after thanking the owner, jungkook paid quietly in cash, and the two of you stepped back out into the cool spring night.

“ice cream?” he asked.

you blinked once before nodding almost immediately.

jungkook ordered for both of you without even asking what flavor you wanted: two scoops of chocolate. the truth was, he somehow already knew. you both sat together on a bench outside the shop, shoulders lightly touching while the cold night air drifted around you.

“h-how much do i owe you?”

jungkook turned toward you so fast it startled you, disbelief and annoyance flashing across his face. “you shittin’ me?”

your shoulders instinctively curled inward at the sudden verbal sting. “i-i’m sorry,” you murmured quietly. “i-i don’t know what i’m supposed to do.”

he sighed heavily through his nose, looking away into the street. “just sit there and look pretty,” he muttered, taking another bite of his ice cream. “...and eat your ice cream.”

the ride home was calm and peaceful. soon, the two of you stood in front of your apartment door while you searched through your bag for your keys. the lock turned with a soft click, and you turned back to face him.

“th-thank you… for tonight,” you said softly. “a-and for the snacks. the food too. y-you’re very kind.”

jungkook nearly scoffed. kind. if only you knew the thoughts he carried about you. still, he shrugged. “had to feed you somehow.”

you smiled at him—not nervous, shy, or uncertain, but warm and genuine. and fuck if that didn’t do something violent to his chest.

but then, his eyes drifted past your shoulder, into your apartment. suddenly, everything inside him tightened. the mattress on the floor, the duffel bag in the corner, the dim lamp, and the daffodils sitting carefully inside a plastic cup of water. you didn’t look like someone living in a home; you looked like someone trying very hard to survive. anger twisted quietly inside him. how the fuck was he supposed to live normally knowing this was what you came home to every night?

your sleepy, gentle voice interrupted his spiraling thoughts. “g-goodnight, jungkook.”

his eyes flickered once more past your shoulder, landing on the pink bunny resting against your pillow. his gaze softened before he could stop it. slowly, he lifted his large, tattooed hand, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“night, bunny.”

~

you stepped into the bakery with that familiar warmth hitting your face. you went about your business as usual—setting things up, preparing dough, and arranging pastries inside the display case—when the sudden buzz of your phone disrupted you.

unknown: have a good day

you froze, blinking in a brief flash of panic.

unknown: hope last night didnt scare u

phew. you mentally let out a breath, your fingers hovering nervously over the keyboard. typing, deleting, and typing again, you finally sent:

you: hi jungkook

unknown: took u long enough

you: how did you get my number?

unknown: got it

you: from where?

unknown: somewhere

you physically frowned at the screen.

you: jungkook please

unknown: bunny please

heat slowly crept into your face, causing you to look around the empty bakery for absolutely no reason. after a long pause, you typed back:

you: last night didn’t scare me

the dots bounced, disappeared, and bounced again.

jungkook: good

by the time the bakery finally emptied for the evening, you finished wiping down the last table and switched off the lights. you grabbed your bag stepped outside.

there was a sleek familiar black motorcycle parked by the curb. leaning against it was jungkook, arms crossed over his chest, his head lowered toward his phone. seeing him there instantly made the exhaustion of the day feel lighter.

his eyes lifted, meeting yours. “done?”

you blinked. “y-you didn’t tell me you were coming.”

he slowly pushed himself off the bike, “don’t need to.”

as the days passed, you slowly started getting used to him in tiny pieces. morning text messages, expected rides home, and the habit of checking your phone the second it buzzed—it all felt dangerously normal.

jungkook: bunny 

you: hello :) 

jungkook: u eat yet

you: i had some bread 

jungkook: thats not food 

you: then what is it?

seen. five minutes passed, then ten. you frowned at your screen, wondering if you had annoyed him.

knock, knock. you walked to your apartment door and opened it to find a delivery driver holding a container of hot food, already paid for. you immediately grabbed your phone.

you: thank you for the food!! 

jungkook: np 

you: what? 

jungkook: no problem 

you: oh :D

a few evenings later, you were in the middle of closing up—wiping counters and stacking trays. then your phone lit up.

not even a minute later, the bell above the bakery door rang. you looked up to find him standing in the doorway, clad in a dark hoodie with his hands in his pockets.

“j-jungkook,” you gulped. “w-what are you doing here?”

“bored.”

“o-oh. w-well i’m just cleaning up, i doubt you’ll—”

“then don’t doubt.”

you hesitated, then nodded quickly. “o-okay, you can sit here. i won’t be too long.”

you shuffled around the kitchen nervously, entirely aware of his eyes following you religiously.

“why baking?” he suddenly asked.

you paused mid-wipe, taking a quiet breath. “i-it’s all i know. ‘m good at it. makes me happy.”

he nodded once, letting a beat pass before you eventually posed your question. “a-and you? w-why boxing?”

“it’s all i know. i’m good at it.” mirroring your words with a small smirk.

“b-but does it make you happy?”

he scoffed lightly. “no.”

you looked at him properly now. “w-what makes you happy?”

jungkook leaned back in his chair, his gaze boring into your soul. he knew the exact answer to that, but he was caught off guard that you were bold enough to ask that to a man like him. silly girl, you didn’t know what you were getting into. his smirk returned as he gave you the next best answer. “banana milk.”

after that night, his presence became permanent. sometimes he’d wait for you at closing; other times his bike was already idling outside your building before dawn. even late-night convenience store runs became routine.

until one evening, while you were putting away mixing bowls, jungkook suddenly spoke from behind you.

“taking you out tomorrow.”

“t-tomorrow?” you turned around, blinking. 

“you don’t work tomorrow.”

“t-taking me out?”

jungkook scoffed quietly. “who else am i talking to?”

~

knock knock knock. you hurried to the door, smoothing down your skirt before throwing the lock. there he was, one hand tucked in his pocket, the other casually holding his helmet. his dark eyes dragged slowly from your face to your outfit before returning to meet your gaze.

“y-you’re staring,” you murmured, your cheeks warming.

“mhm.”

you looked away first, and jungkook smirked faintly, holding out the extra helmet. “c’mon.”

the ride felt different tonight. the city grew brighter the farther he drove, neon signs glowing against the dark streets until you finally arrived at the night market. your eyes widened at the colorful lights, the sea of crowds, and the delicious aroma of grilled meats and sugar blending into the cool air.

“stay close,” jungkook said simply, stepping into the crowd.

for the first few minutes, you kept getting distracted by little trinket stands and cute keychains. your attention drifted for one second too long, and a sudden wave of people passed between you.

your steps faltered. “j-jungk—”

a firm hand suddenly wrapped securely around your wrist.

“eek—!” you stumbled forward, landing right back against his side.

jungkook barely even looked back, his grip firm, warm, and entirely protective. “told you to stay close.”

“...s-sorry.”

he glanced down at you briefly. then, slowly, his grip loosened, his fingers sliding downward until his palm settled firmly against yours. just holding your hand so naturally as if letting go wasn’t an option. you didn’t want him to let go either.

a few minutes later, you were seated at a small open eating area. jungkook pulled his chair right next to yours and rested one arm over the back of your seat.

“i-it’s really good,” you said, taking another bite of a meat skewer.

jungkook glanced at you. “yeah?”

you nodded quickly, devouring the food with a satisfied hum. you noticed he had barely touched his own plate, his eyes completely fixed on you instead...

~

one night, it felt too still. your room was dark except for the faint streetlight glowing through the window. your mind wouldn’t settle, tossing and turning until your thumb finally hovered nervously over your screen.

you: you up?

jungkook: ye

jungkook: whats up

you: can’t sleep :( hungry

the three dots appeared, disappeared, and appeared again.

jungkook: be down in 10

you sat up quickly, staring at the empty room and then back at the phone. he was actually coming…

you sat next to jungkook at a small table by the convenience store window, instant ramen steaming between you both. he ate like he always did—totally unbothered—while you kept blowing on your noodles longer than necessary. when you finished, he tossed the cups into the bin, and you followed him out into the cool night air.

at some point during the walk, your shoulders brushed slightly. when you reached the crossing, the red pedestrian light glowed faintly ahead. cars passed in soft streaks of sound. and then—jungkook’s hand found yours.

your breath paused slightly. his grip was firm and steady, entirely unhesitant. you looked down at your hands for half a second. then, slowly, your fingers shifted, lacing between his. 

jungkook went completely still. not physically, but something in his brain absolutely short-circuited. his jaw tightened for a second like his body had stopped cooperating, but he kept his eyes anchored strictly forward at the crossing light.

the stairs echoed softly under your steps, your fingers still intertwined. when you finally reached your floor, the contact broke naturally as you fumbled through your bag for your keys, your hand feeling strangely cold without his hand.

you unlocked the door and turned toward him, a warm genuine smile breaking across your face. jungkook stared at you, his gaze lingering a little longer than usual.

“th-thank you, jungkook.”

“…yeah,” he said quietly.

you nodded once, turning to go inside. but halfway through the door, you paused. turning back quickly, you stepped forward and pressed a quick soft kiss to his cheek.

before he could react, you hurried inside. “g-goodnight!”

jungkook stood there in the silent hallway, his hand slowly lifting to the spot on his cheek. it was still warm. he stared at the wood for a long moment before letting out a quiet exhale through his nose. “…tch.”

things had gotten bad lately—bad in the sense that he saw you almost every day now. it had all slipped into place so naturally that neither of you questioned the rhythm of the texts filling your days:

you: drive safe 

jungkook: always do

you: today a customer said my pastries were pretty!! 

jungkook: not just ur pastries

but one evening felt strangely off because jungkook wasn’t there. your phone buzzed while you were wiping down the bakery counters.

jungkook: cant pick u up tonight. got something to do 

jungkook: paid for ur cab. dont want u walking alone 

jungkook: text me when u get home

you: okay :( be safe

the cab ride home felt lonely. unlocking your apartment door, you slipped your shoes off and turned on the lamp beside your mattress. then you paused.

sitting against your pillow was a brand-new, soft blue bunny. your old pink bunny rested right beside it like it had always belonged there. slowly, you picked it up, finding a small note slipped beneath it:

‘sleep with it’

a helplessly soft smile spread across your face. you pulled the plush toy against your chest and fell backward onto your mattress, completely unaware that miles away, jungkook was staring at his phone for the fifth time in ten minutes, waiting for your confirmation text.

the next day, your phone buzzed while you were busy with cookie cutters.

jungkook: we going out tomorrow 

you: okay :) where? 

jungkook: trust

the arcade had exhausted you in the best way possible. jungkook had spent half the night acting unimpressed while aggressively beating you at air hockey twice, followed by a quiet dinner where your legs brushed beneath the table.

and now, the city sat far beneath you, tiny lights blinking softly as the night air drifted across the hilltop overlook. jungkook leaned back against the railing while you stood beside him, staring out with wide eyes.

“p-pretty,” you whispered.

he looked at you instead. “mhm.”

“w-when i was little,” you started quietly, your hair moving in the wind, “i used to think clouds were solid. i thought if i climbed high enough, maybe i could sit on them. i-it’s stupid, right?”

“nah.” he shrugged once. “sounds like something you’d think. you got a soft brain.”

you gasped quietly. “i-i do not!”

“you think a piece of bread counts as a meal. hamster logic.”

“i-i thought i’m a bunny?” you huffed, your shoulder bumping lightly against his arm.

jungkook looked down at the contact, his expression softening before he could stop it. 

“you always think like that?” he asked after a while. “like the world’s softer than it is.”

you looked down at your sleeves. “i-i think i just want it to be.”

silence fell, and jungkook’s jaw shifted. somehow, hearing that from you hurt in a place he didn’t have words for. without saying anything, he quietly stepped closer, narrowing the space between you. he noticed your hands disappearing into your oversized sleeves again.

as you rubbed your cold hands together, he reached over, took your wrist, and pulled your hand directly into the warm pocket of his hoodie, right beside his own.

“world’s not soft,” he said quietly, still staring out at the city lights. “people leave. things get shitty. things change. but…” he turned, looking you dead in the eyes with no teasing, no smirk, completely bare. “i’d keep you anyway.”

“h-huh?” you gulped, “w-why?” 

he actually looked offended. “what do you think?”

the silence became incredibly heavy. before you could spiral into another thought, jungkook’s large hand lifted, his fingers gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. his hand lingered on your cheek before carefully cupping your face. he leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss right against your forehead. his eyes closed as he breathed quietly against your hair, offering a sense of certainty that was utterly terrifying. this felt real.

jungkook pulled back, his voice low. “let’s go.”

the ride home was quiet as his words replayed like a warning in your head. keep you.

why would he say something like that so easily? like keeping someone had ever been simple.

the walk upstairs felt slower, your hand resting in his even as your palm grew warm and slightly sweaty from anxiety. jungkook noticed it but remained silent. once you reached your door, you pulled away to grab your keys.

“th-thank you for tonight,” you said, offering a smaller smile.

before he could analyze it, you leaned up quickly, pressing another familiar kiss to his cheek, but you pulled away too fast, avoiding his eyes. “g-goodnight, jungkook.”

the door closed.

jungkook stood in the hall, his expression unreadable as his hand slid into his hoodie pocket. something felt off—subtle, but there. he exhaled through his nose and headed downstairs, assuming you were just tired, though the ride home felt strangely heavy.

inside, sleep wouldn’t come. you lay on your mattress, clutching the blue bunny tightly against your chest as tears burned your eyes. 

people didn’t stay. eventually, they always got tired of your softness, your overthinking, and your constant need for reassurance. a man like jungkook was everything your brain should have warned you about—too intense, too dangerous. yet he made you feel safe, and that was the scariest part of all. your heart was wanting something permanent, but you knew jungkook deserved someone confident and exciting. not you.

your grip tightened around the plush fur as a single thought echoed in the dark: if you let yourself fall any deeper, you weren’t sure you’d survive him leaving too.

~

the change didn’t happen all at once, that was the worst part. it happened slowly, in pieces small enough that jungkook almost convinced himself he was imagining them. 

replies started taking longer—minutes, hours. sometimes you’d type, stop, and then send something painfully short anyway.

jungkook: bunny 

you: yes? 

jungkook: whats wrong 

you: nothing :)

the smiley face bothered him more than if you’d said nothing at all. 

and then came the excuses. “you don’t have to.” “i’m okay.” “i can walk home tonight.” every sentence sounded gentle, but jungkook heard the expanding distance underneath them. he noticed how your smiles ended quicker, how your eyes dropped, and how your hands stayed hidden deeper inside your sleeves.

even the food—you started refusing. “not hungry,” you’d softly say, despite him knowing damn well you hadn’t eaten all day.

but the bakery irritated him the most. whenever he arrived to pick you up, the lights were already off. chairs stacked. door locked. too fucking early. 

standing outside one evening staring at the dark windows, he pulled his phone out.

jungkook: where r u 

you: home already :) left early cuz i was tired

jungkook stared at the message, his jaw tight. tired wasn’t the problem. he just didn’t understand why you suddenly kept slipping further away while standing right in front of him. also, he fucking hated that smiley face.

the sharp sound of gloves colliding echoed through the studio. jungkook ducked beneath a punch, landing one clean against his trainer’s side.

“again.”

“damn,” the older man breathed with a laugh, adjusting his stance. “at least let me age gracefully.”

jungkook rolled his shoulders, sweat clinging to his collar, his breathing steady despite the intensity. the semi-finals were less than two weeks away. usually, he became meaner and harder to deal with around this time. but lately, something had shifted.

“so,” the trainer started casually, circling him. “how’d the date go?”

jungkook threw another punch. blocked. then another. “good.”

the trainer blinked. that was already more information than usual. “yeah?”

“mhm.” a silence stretched between the sounds of gloves and footwork before jungkook spoke again on his own. “…somethin’s off though.”

that made the trainer pause for real. jungkook never talked first. ever. “off how?”

jungkook clicked his tongue quietly, leaning back against the ropes. “she’s pullin’ away. texts slower now. stopped lookin’ at me as much.” his jaw tightened. “closed the bakery early yesterday. knew i was gonna pick her up too.”

there was no mockery or detached amusement in his voice. just raw frustration and confusion.

“you ask her what’s wrong?”

“you think she’d tell me?” jungkook scoffed lightly, grabbing his water bottle. “nah. she gets in her head.”

“people do that, you know,” the older man said, peeling tape off his hand. “pull away. when things start mattering too much. girls like her? soft ones.”

jungkook looked away first. “she’s not soft.”

the trainer almost laughed. “right. and i’m twenty-five. she gets scared, kid. of losing things.”

and suddenly, jungkook remembered: people come and go.

the trainer tossed a towel onto his shoulder. “you’ve spent your whole life fighting for things. fighting people. fighting problems. fighting yourself. try staying still for once. just be patient. she’ll come around eventually.”

jungkook stared at the floor, his jaw flexing. he wanted to argue, but instead he only nodded. “yeah.”

it didn’t sound convincing, not even to himself. his gloves hung loose at his sides, his attention entirely gone from the gym.

for the first few days, jungkook actually listened. he stopped showing up at the bakery, stopped texting first every few hours, and stopped checking if you had eaten. he gave you space because his trainer said to stay still.

and for a while, it worked. training took over his days again. his body responded perfectly—sharp movements, clean hits, controlled breathing. but slowly, something started feeling entirely wrong. your texts had gotten way quieter. almost gone.

jungkook: eat yet?

jungkook: bunny 

jungkook: yn? 

jungkook: everything okay? 

jungkook: why arent u answering me

the next morning, jungkook told himself he was overthinking. he told himself that while pulling on his hoodie, grabbing his keys, and starting his bike. there had to be an explanation. maybe your phone died, or maybe you were sick.

but the bakery bell never rang when he pushed the door, because the door didn’t budge. jungkook stared, his hand frozen around the handle. a paper sign was taped against the glass:  PERMANENTLY CLOSED.

his stomach dropped to the ground. permanently closed? his eyes narrowed. no, that didn’t make sense. you would’ve told him. his hand went for his phone—nothing. no texts, no messages.

ten minutes later, he was at the convenience store, his eyes scanning the aisles. no sign of you. no familiar cardigan. no shy eyes peeking around shelves. he walked straight toward the cashier, who recognized him instantly. jungkook swallowed. “hey. you seen my girl?”

oops. the words slipped out naturally—my girl—but it was too late to take them back now.

the cashier frowned, shaking his head. “no.”

something ugly twisted in jungkook’s chest. he walked out and looked everywhere. the grocery store, the laundromat, the small street where he’d dropped you off to buy hair ribbons, the pharmacy. every place your eyes had ever lit up. nothing.

hours passed, the sun lowering and painting orange across the streets while his bike rolled through roads he’d already checked twice. his chest felt tight, a dangerous surge of panic setting in because the same thought kept replaying: you didn’t tell him.

the motorcycle engine barely had time to die before jungkook was already sprinting up the stairs of your building, his heart hammering against his ribs. he reached your door and knocked.  he knocked for what felt like minutes only to have no one answering. 

a nearby door creaked open and an older woman peeked out. “you looking for the bakery girl?”

jungkook turned so quickly it startled her. “yeah.”

she stared at him for a moment. “sweet thing. left a few days ago.”

everything inside him went dead still. “where?”

the woman frowned apologetically. “didn't say.”

jungkook stared at your door. the same door he’d walked you to almost every night, where you'd smiled at him and kissed his cheek. and now, there was nothing.

~

miles away, the small hotel room felt even quieter tonight. you sat curled against the headboard with your blanket pulled around you, staring down at your phone.

27 missed calls. 32 messages.

your thumb slowly moved across the keyboard.

you: i’m okay

you stared at it, delete. then, your fingers moved again.

you: i’m sorry

you looked at it for a little longer this time, delete.

you: i miss you

your breath caught. because that one hurt, it felt too honest and too real. your thumb hovered over send. you stared, then squeezed your eyes shut. delete. delete.

the words vanished instantly like they’d never existed at all. slowly, you dropped the phone beside you before burying your face into your bunnies.

you were tired. tired of thinking, tired of crying, tired of missing him. because every time you tried convincing yourself that leaving had been the right choice, your heart kept hitting back with: then why does it hurt this much?

the next afternoon, you sat quietly at a bus stop with your duffel bag resting beside your feet.

three days. three whole days. that was enough. enough crying, enough hiding, enough pretending that running away had magically fixed anything.

you stared down at your shoes absentmindedly while waiting, not really paying attention to anything around you. until two guys sitting a few seats away suddenly started talking loudly between themselves. you weren’t trying to listen. not really, but then—

“can’t wait for tonight.”

“...semi-finals gonna be crazy.”

“...heard that beast jungkook’s fighting too.”

your head lifted before you could stop yourself. jungkook. the name alone felt massive, vibrating in your chest. you had spent the last three days trying so hard to erase it and here it was, echoing in the open air. you stared ahead quietly still listening.

“…guy’s insane.”

“…heard nobody wants to fight him.”

your fingers tightened slowly around the strap of your bag. semi-finals? tonight? what if he gets hurt?

your eyes widened slightly. no. why would that even matter? the internal wall you had built over the last three days completely crumbling under the weight of a single thought. i just wanna see. just once. just to make sure he’s okay. that’s all. right?

your fingers tightened around the strap of your bag until your knuckles went white. then, slowly, you stepped on the bus.

~

you entered your apartment feeling tired and drained. for a moment, you simply stood there in the quiet stillness. after three days away, everything looked exactly the same, and yet nothing felt the same anymore. you felt like you had finally gotten your life together, only to lose it all within a matter of days: the bakery, your routine, your sense of direction, and somehow him too.

you took a shower, changed into a pair of jeans and a black shirt, and slipped on a black cap before heading back out. thoughts of jungkook filled your mind to the brim. you kept telling yourself you had to distance yourself to protect your own heart, but your actions completely disagreed.

less than an hour later, you found yourself making your way toward the abandoned building where the semi-finals were being held. this was the place where you first met him, where your life had slowly started changing, and where it all began. your stomach twisted, and you almost turned around… but your feet kept moving anyway.

you squeezed your way through the chaotic crowd, apologizing quietly as you reached your familiar corner near the back of the hall. music blasted from old speakers, neon lights flickered overhead, and the smell of alcohol and sweat lingered heavily in the air. scanning the room, you noticed far more people tonight than during your previous visit. every corner was packed with anticipation.

“ARE YOU READY?!” the announcer’s voice exploded through the speakers, and the crowd erupted, making the floor shake beneath your feet. “MEET YOUR CHAMPIONS!”

the audience welcomed each fighter with roars but nothing compared to what happened next. the announcer’s grin widened, his voice rising dramatically. “AND FINALLY! THE STRONGEST! THE WILDEST! THE BEAST! THE FEARED! JEON JUNGKOOOOOK!”

jungkook stepped out from the tunnel into the blinding lights. usually, he would have fed off the noise, the adrenaline, and the crowd’s obsession. but tonight, it felt distant, like he was hearing it from underwater. he walked toward the ring with a blank expression, eyes fixed forward. his mind wasn’t here; it hadn’t been here for days.

the first semi-final match ended within minutes, but you barely paid attention. your eyes kept drifting toward the opposite side of the hall where jungkook stood near the ropes, arms crossed and head lowered. something about him felt wrong. he looked deeply tired and it bothered you immensely.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!” the announcer stepped forward again, and your stomach immediately tightened. the second semi-final. jungkook.

the bell rang and the fight began. at first, everything looked normal. jungkook moved effortlessly with sharp footwork and fast combinations, keeping you gripping the edge of the barrier, unable to look away. his opponent stumbled backward after a heavy hit, and the crowd exploded.

then, everything changed too fast. his opponent suddenly stepped forward, catching one opening with a massive swing. CRACK.

your breath stopped. jungkook’s head snapped sideways from the impact and he hit the floor. a collective massive groan ripped through the crowd. you had never seen him get knocked down before.

jungkook slowly pushed himself up and the referee continued the match. but something was severely wrong. his punches were slower, his reactions delayed, and his movements lacked their usual precision. his opponent noticed immediately and took brutal advantage.

your stomach twisted painfully with every hit as the crowd’s excitement turned into sheer confusion. jungkook kept forcing himself forward, but a kick landed against his ribs followed by a punch to his jaw. everything felt entirely distant to him.

outside the ring, his trainer’s face had gone pale. watching minutes pass as jungkook absorbed severe punishment. his head simply wasn’t here, and it was getting him hurt badly. after nearly five whole minutes, the trainer couldn’t take it anymore. “fuck this.”

without hesitation, he grabbed the towel and threw it.

the crowd erupted into a mix of boos, shouts, and confusion as the referee stepped between the fighters. the match was over. jungkook barely reacted, remaining on one knee, breathing heavily with blood running from the corner of his lip. the trainer climbed into the ring immediately.

the older man’s chest tightened. slowly, he hooked an arm beneath jungkook’s shoulders and pulled him up. together they made their way out of the ring toward the back. jungkook’s eyes remained fixed on the floor, completely unaware that somewhere within that same crowd, you were staring at him with tears already rolling down your face.

“hey, hey, kid. look at me.” his trainer crouched down in front of him, one hand tapping his cheek to keep his attention. the noise of the crowd sounded distant now, muffled, like it belonged to another world.

“had to throw in the towel, you were getting knocked out.” his brows furrowed with concern. “what happened out there?”

jungkook blinked once, twice. the bright lights overhead burned his eyes and his throat tightened. before he could stop it, his eyes turned red. tears gathered, then fell.

“i don’t know.” his voice cracked, small and broken, nothing like the fighter everyone feared. “i don't know what i did.”

the trainer’s chest tightened. right now, he didn’t see the champion or the beast; he saw the same angry teenager he’d picked up from the streets years ago and trained to survive. but right now, jungkook didn’t need a trainer—he needed someone to catch him before he completely fell apart.

“take a breath.” the older man handed him a water bottle. “here.”

jungkook’s hands trembled slightly as he took a few gulps, letting out a shaky breath. but the ache in his chest remained.

“i don’t know where she is.” his voice came out quieter this time, like he was talking more to himself than anyone else. “what did i do?”

trainer continued to listen—

“i tried giving her space. i stopped texting.” his eyes squeezed shut. “then i texted.” a bitter, pathetic laugh escaped him. “then i couldn’t stop texting. she won’t answer me. the bakery’s gone. she’s gone.”

a long silence passed, and then finally, his voice broke completely into uncontrollable sobs. “i miss her. you said she’d come around!”

the trainer let the moment sit, long enough for jungkook to breathe and for the tears to slow. then he leaned forward slightly.

“son, listen to me.” the older man’s voice remained steady and calm. “you love. you lose. you get hurt. that’s life. people break your heart. they leave. sometimes they come back. sometimes they don’t. you don’t get to decide any of that.” the older man reached over and squeezed the back of jungkook’s neck once, a familiar gesture since he was a teenager.

jungkook swallowed hard as the trainer continued. “you think you're the first idiot to fall in love?” 

a weak laugh escaped jungkook despite everything, that showed a bit of progress.

“kid, you’re gonna get your heart broken a hundred different ways in this life. but if you’re lucky... you’ll find a few people worth the risk.”

a long silence passed before jungkook finally answered, “yeah.” it sounded weak but for now that was enough.

the crowd outside was still roaring, restless and wondering what had happened. the older man looked down at jungkook for a moment. “are you ready to get back out there... or are you done for tonight? either answer’s fine. you got nothin’ to prove to me. not anymore.”

that hit harder than any punch tonight. for years, everything had been about proving he was strong enough to survive.

“what if i lose?” jungkook finally whispered out loud.

“kid, if that girl can make you cry... some guy in boxing gloves ain’t the problem.”

despite the swollen jaw, the tears, and the ache in his chest, a tiny laugh escaped jungkook. the trainer smiled, seeing his kid instead of just the champion. he held out a hand.

“so. what's it gonna be?” the trainer’s hand pulled him to his feet. jungkook rolled his stiff shoulders, the bruises and emotional ache still very much present, but he felt lighter.

the crowd erupted into chaos as he stepped back toward the ring, their confusion quickly turning into absolute excitement. 

jungkook climbed through the ropes. this time, he felt completely present for the first time all night. across from him, his opponent smirked, confident that victory was already theirs. jungkook simply stared back, expressionless and calm. he closed his eyes briefly, taking one final breath. and then—a quiet, soft, familiar voice whispered in the back of his mind.

‘come on.’

his eyes snapped open immediately. even though it was impossible, even though it made no sense, he knew. 

meanwhile, somewhere within the crowd, your fingers tightened against your palm. the moment you had seen him return, something inside you had finally unclenched. the relief was immediate and overwhelming; he was okay. 

you watched him step into position, watched him stand across from his opponent, watched him close his eyes, and without even realizing it—you whispered beneath your breath: ‘come on’ so quietly that not even the person standing beside you could have heard. a hope, a prayer, a plea.

the whistle blew. referee immediately stepped between them, counting one, two, three, while the crowd screamed louder with every number. your heart pounded because suddenly—it was over. the announcer nearly shouted himself hoarse: “YOUR WINNER JEON JUNGKOOK!!”

the crowd went wild but relief settled so heavily inside you that the noise faded out. adjusting your cap, you stepped backward and slipped toward the exit. seeing him was enough, and if you stayed, you knew you’d never be able to leave.

in the ring, the referee raised jungkook’s arm, but his eyes swept the arena and froze. a black cap, a familiar frame—it was you. he knew it in his chest before his brain could even process it.

yanking his arm free from the confused referee, jungkook leaped over the ropes and tore through the crowd. after weeks of searching and fearing the worst, there was no way in hell he was letting you disappear again.

~

the cold night air hit your face as you ran fast and blind through the streets, tears blurring your vision. overwhelmed by jungkook, the blood, and the terrifying way he’d fallen, you kept running until your feet finally slowed at the bakery.

it was dark, empty, and stripped of all its warmth. seeing your sanctuary—the first thing that had ever been yours after foster care—completely hollowed out broke you. sinking onto the cold concrete steps, you buried your face in your knees and sobbed, exhausted from losing everything and missing him so deeply it hurt.

back at the arena, jungkook shoved through the crowd like a man possessed. throwing on a shirt backstage, he bolted into the night before his trainer could say anything, sprinting through the streets on pure instinct toward the one place he knew you’d go.

when he turned the corner and saw you curled up on the bakery steps, his chest heaved with violent relief. you were real, alive, and right there. steadying his breath, he began walking toward you.

“there you are.”

you looked up to find him standing there. his tone mean and angry. his expression was blank, his chest rose and fell heavily like he’d been running for miles. 

“j-jungkook…”

for a while, neither of you said anything. he just stared down at you, brows furrowed, breathing uneven, like he was trying to decide whether to yell at you or pull you into his arms.

“so you’re alive, huh.” his jaw tightened. “was startin’ to think you got buried somewhere.”

you flinched slightly at the bitterness in his voice, only now realizing that your impulsive trip out of town hadn’t just hurt you—it had wrecked him too.

“i-i was out of town,” you replied quietly.

“no. fucking. shit.” he laughed once, dry and disbelieving, dragging a hand through his damp hair. “i texted you, called you. you didn’t answer so i drove by here only to find out it’s been permanently closed.” his eyes flickered toward the dark bakery behind you, then back to you. “went all around town asking about you. went by your apartment and found out from some neighbor you left.”

your chest tightened. “i-i just needed to go away. just for a while, i—”

“yeah?” he cut in. “leave a fucking note next time, y/n.”

your breath hitched. because until now, you hadn’t understood—all this time, while you were drowning in your own thoughts, he’d been drowning too, looking for you, panicking, hurting. and somehow, that made the guilt feel even heavier.

“i-i’m sorry,” your fingers tightened against your sleeves. “i-i’m really sorry…”

“yeah, i bet.” he scoffed, pacing once before turning back to you. “what were you thinking? why the fuck would you do that to me?”

you flinched.

“i mean—i closed a fucking restaurant for you.” he gestured wildly, “took you on dates.”

your head lifted at that. dates. oh. so that’s what they were. jungkook noticed the look on your face immediately and it only made him more irritated. 

“yeah. dates.” his voice dropped, mocking, like he couldn’t believe this was news to you. “drove you around. walked you home. made sure you actually ate something solid instead of surviving off a stupid fucking piece of bread.”

your lips parted. “i-i thought…” you hesitated, swallowing. “y-you were just being kind.”

“kind?!” he stared at you like you’d lost your mind. “you think i did all that ‘cause i’m kind?” he stepped closer. “if you knew what goes on in my head—” he stopped himself, jaw flexing, then shook his head. “we’d have problems, y/n. serious fucking problems.”

he continued, “you know, i couldn’t sleep. couldn’t rest. got me losing my fights and shit. you disappeared on me and suddenly showed up tonight like you didn’t just fuck me up.”

you shook your head, tears falling harder now. “y-you don’t understand. y-you make it sound so easy.”

his brows furrowed. “what’s easy?”

“th-this.” you gestured between you both. “w-whatever this is.” your breathing stuttered. “y-you say things like that and i—” you stopped, looking away because saying it felt too dangerous.

jungkook’s voice lowered. “and you what?”

“i-i start believing it.”

“believing what?” his voice came out lower now, rougher. “that i wanted you? that’s what scared you?” his brows furrowed, not mocking, but hurt. “me wanting you scared you that bad?”

you shook your head quickly. “n-no—it’s not that—”

“then what?”

you closed your eyes before finally admitting, “th-that you’d leave!” you sighed while looking at him, really looking at him. “i-i’m not easy. people leave. they put me in one family to the next all because i wasn’t good enough. i’m never good enough. and i can’t be who you want me to be.”

“you think i’m like them? you think i’m gonna get bored and leave you?” your silence cracked something in him and he shook his head slightly. “i know what happened before… but don’t you ever put me in the same sentence as people who left you.”

“y-you might change your mind one day. you’ll get bored of me. i-i know it.”

“oh, enough with your bullshit, y/n. you really think this ends with me walking away from you?”

you swallowed hard. “yes.”

the word came out shaky—daring, even. and that was it. something in him snapped and he didn’t argue anymore, didn’t try to convince you with words. he stepped forward and grabbed your wrist. 

“j-jungkook—” you barely got his name out before he pulled you up, and dragged you with him. like he’d already made up his mind that if you wouldn’t believe him with words, he’d show you a reason to believe. “j-jungkook! where are we going?”

his jaw was tight, eyes forward, like if he looked at you right now he’d say something worse, or maybe something too honest. the city blurred past you both until eventually the familiar outline of the abandoned building came into view.

your breath caught. “j-jungkook, please, y-you’re scaring me”

the building was quieter now. most of the crowd had gone, with only remnants remaining—discarded bottles, sweat, blood, cigarette ash. he stopped at the wall, and then finally, he let go. your wrist fell limp at your side as you looked up. 

jungkook turned and pointed at the wall. the names—rows of them, crossed out, some newer, all men, all marked. you stared, recognition flickering, remembering seeing them the first night back when none of this meant anything.

his chest rose and fell heavily. “read them.”

you frowned. “j-jungkook—”

“read.”

his voice was sharp, so you did, going one by one through twenty-something names and more, all crossed out.

“w-what is this?”

his eyes stayed on the wall. “every guy i’ve beaten in this building.”

he stepped closer beside you, close enough to feel the heat still radiating off him. “every one of them stepped into that ring thinking they’d break me. but they didn’t.” 

he pointed at the names. his finger dragged lower to the newest one, the one from tonight. “all crossed out. see that?”

you swallowed.

he stepped closer. “none of them could do it.” his jaw tightened. “none of them could hurt me.” his eyes darkened. then—

“but you?” his voice dropped, low and deadly quiet. “you fucked me up worse than every name on that wall. and that’s just this wall.”

the words hit like a punch, leaving you staring at him, frozen.

“no fists.” he tapped his chest. “just this.” another step. “you disappeared and i stopped sleeping.” another. “stopped thinking.” another. “got my ass beat tonight because my head’s been stuck on you.”

your eyes filled again.

“you keep saying i’ll leave.” jungkook shook his head, disbelieving. “look at me.”

you did.

“look at what i am.” he spread his arms slightly, blood still dried at his knuckles. “this is what i do.” his eyes burned into yours. “this is where i belong… and i still chose you.”

his breathing slowed, but his voice didn’t soften.

“so don’t stand there and tell me what i should or shouldn’t want.” a pause, his eyes flicking over your face. “if i want you—” he stepped into your space, close enough your breaths tangled, “that’s my fucking choice.”

he dragged a hand over his face and shook his head once, like he couldn’t believe he even had to explain this. “god, y/n…” his voice dropped, rough and tired. “you have no idea what you do to me. i wait outside your bakery like an idiot. i drive across town at two in the morning because you’re hungry. you make me check my phone every five fucking minutes.”

your eyes watered.

jungkook stepped closer, slower this time. “you make me wanna slow down.” his voice dropped lower. “you make me feel calm. and angry. and insane. you make me care… and i don’t care about shit.”

your tears fell harder, because now it wasn’t vague anymore—it was real, specific, undeniable.

jungkook swallowed hard, “so don’t stand there and tell me this is easy. because i feel things i’ve spent my life avoiding.”

and there it was: truth. your lips parted, tears clinging to your lashes as you stared at him like you wanted to believe every word.

“p-people don’t feel like that about me. y-you’re just caught up in it. the fighting. the adrenaline. y-you don’t mean it.”

that did it. jungkook turned angry, disbelieving, then shook his head. his hand grabbed the hem of his shirt, lifting it. 

“then what the fuck is this y/n?!”

there, right against his right ribcage: ink.  y/n.

jungkook’s finger jabbed at it, “adrenaline? a phase? bored?”

your eyes widened and your entire body went still, because this—this wasn’t temporary. this wasn’t kindness, this wasn’t confusion… this was permanence. and suddenly, everything he’d been saying became terrifyingly real.

“j-jungkook…” your eyes stayed locked on the ink. your name. your name on him, permanent. your breath stuttered. “w-what did you do?”

his laugh came out sharp and disbelieving. “what does it look like?”

“j-jungkook!” your voice cracked. “th-that’s permanent!”

“yeah.” his answer came too fast, too certain.

“th-this is forever!”

jungkook stepped closer. “good. i’m not interested in temporary.” he took another step. “you think i put your name on me because i’m planning to walk away?”

you shook your head, overwhelmed. “y-you don’t know what you’re asking for.” you swallowed hard. “i-i don’t know how to be what you need.”

that one made him go still, really still. his voice softened just enough. “i just need you.”

your lips trembled. “i-i can’t.” you shook your head, tears falling faster now. “i-i can’t do this. y-you don’t understand what it feels like. i-i spent my whole life being left behind. passed around like i was nothing. never enough for anyone to stay.”

jungkook swallowed.

you looked at him, really looked at him, and that made it harder because he was everything—everything you ever wanted. “a-and then i met you. you made everything feel… warm.” your hand pressed against your chest like it hurt. “safe.” another tear slipped. “a-and i hate that.”

his brows pulled together, not angry, but wounded.

“b-because now i know what it feels like.” your voice dropped to almost a whisper. “a-and i can’t survive losing this.”

jungkook took a slow careful breath, like he was choosing his last words wisely. “y/n… i’m serious about you.”

you said nothing, just cried.

he stepped closer one last time. “i’m here. i want you.”

nothing. your eyes stayed on the ground, your silence killing him. then—his voice dropped lower, “…do you even want me?”

that one broke everything, because he sounded vulnerable now. his eyes searched for yours, begging quietly, desperately, but your gaze stayed on the ground. you couldn’t answer, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, only cry.

and after a while, jungkook nodded once, slowly, like he understood, or thought he did. he swallowed hard. “okay… i’m sorry.”

your breath caught. his voice was empty now, flat. “forget this happened.” he looked away, wiped at his mouth. “i’ll take you home.”

then he turned and started walking. one step, two, three.

your head lifted in panic—real panic—because this was it. your mouth opened, but nothing came out as your chest tightened. 

say something! say something before he gets farther, before it’s over.

you closed your eyes and confessed: “i do!”

jungkook stopped.

your tears fell harder as you forced it out, shaking and broken. “i do want you.”

slowly, he turned back around, his eyes landing on you immediately, “what did you just say?”

your breath hitched and you wiped your face quickly, but the tears didn’t stop. “i said… i want you.”

he stayed silent, not convinced, not yet. “say it again.”

your heart stuttered, but you stepped forward anyway, like something inside you finally stopped running. “i want you.” your voice cracked. “i want you, jungkook.”

your hands lifted before you even realized, pressing against his chest like you needed to hold onto something real. “i want you! i want you, i want you!” your voice broke fully now, tears spilling hard. “i want you, i want you—please—” you looked up at him now, completely undone. “i want you, jungkook.”

his name fell out like a plea. your fingers clenched into his shirt. “please believe me.”

jungkook looked down at you, and for the first time he didn’t look angry, didn’t look dominant, didn’t look sure. his voice came out quieter, controlled, careful. “swear it.”

your lips trembled, and then you broke: “i swear.” your face almost touched his chest as you shook your head. “i swear, jungkook. i swear, i swear—” your voice collapsed into itself. “i’m so sorry.”

his eyes flickered just slightly.

“i’m so sorry i hurt you.” your fingers tightened around his shirt like you were afraid he’d disappear if you let go. “please… please don’t leave me.”

yet jungkook didn’t move, didn’t reach for you, didn’t pull you closer. he just stood there like he was holding himself together by force alone, his eyes stayed locked on yours, unblinking. then, quietly: “explain your actions.”

you blinked through tears, gathering yourself together before giving him an explanation that was well overdue. “i didn’t just leave because of you.”

he stayed still, listening.

“a few days ago… the bakery owner came by. he never comes. like… ever. he told me he was closing it, just like that. he gave me some money. said it was a ‘thank you’ for working there and i used it to get out of town.” a pause, your fingers trembling against him. “that was the first thing.” you exhaled shakily. 

“second thing, after our third date…” you hesitated.

jungkook’s eyes narrowed slightly.

you forced yourself to continue. “when you said you’d keep me anyway… it scared me.” you shook your head quickly. “not because i didn’t want it. but because i’ve never done this before. i’ve never been someone’s… anything like this. i don’t know how to be a girlfriend. i just—i don’t know what i’m supposed to do.”

your hands clung tighter to him like he was the only thing keeping you upright.

“and i kept thinking…maybe you just… don’t know me enough yet. maybe if you did, you’d realize you deserve someone different.”

he remained silent.

“the bakery was all i had. it was the only thing that stayed… and then you happened. you kept showing up, taking care of me. it felt good. too good. and soon,” you swallowed as his eyes moved back to you. “i realized… i was in love with you.”

your confession came out mindlessly, hitting him a million times harder than ever. jungkook took a breath like he needed it to stay standing. his eyes stayed on you, and for a long moment he didn’t speak.

then, “…you’re unbelievable.”

your chest tightened immediately.

“you really think all of that…” he gestured slightly between you both. “…was you failing at something? you think i did all of that for someone i didn’t choose?”

jungkook stared at you like he was trying to make you see it. “you need to understand something,” his eyes softening just slightly. “i don’t do things halfway. if i show up, it’s because i want to.” his hands reached to touch your waist. “if i stay, it’s because i choose to.”

your tears fell again, quietly now, not frantic, just overflowing.

he exhaled, shaky this time, like it was finally getting to him too. “and you?” his eyes searched yours. “…you think you were just convenient to me?”

he shook his head once, small, hurt. “don’t do that. don’t remove yourself from this when i’m already here.”

his voice cracked slightly, “you said you’re in love with me… so stop acting like i’m not already in it with you.”

and that did it. jungkook’s last words hung in the air like something final, and then you broke.  your hands grabbed at his shirt like you were afraid the ground would open up again. “i’m sorry—i’m sorry, i’m sorry—” the words tumbled out faster than your breath could follow. “i didn’t mean it like that, i didn’t mean to leave, i didn’t mean to hurt you—”

your voice cracked completely; you couldn’t even finish sentences anymore, just broken pieces of apology. his arms came around you steady and firm, like he’d been waiting for you to fall apart into him this whole time. your forehead pressed against him as your body shook.

his head lowered slowly until his face pressed near your neck. he breathed in, trying to ground himself in you. one hand slid up to the back of your head, fingers threading gently into your hair, cradling you there. his thumb moved in small, absent circles against your scalp, and his voice came out lower now, with no anger left in it, only something shaken. “shhh… shhh… it’s okay. i’ve got you. you’re here now, that’s all i care about.”

your hands clenched into his shirt as if that was the only thing keeping you real, and jungkook just stayed there, holding you through it. you both stayed there for a long while, relieved to finally be in each other’s embrace after all that tension and chaos. your breathing finally slowed, and the shaking turned into quiet hiccups instead of full sobs. 

when you finally pulled back, your hands were still lightly gripping his shirt like you didn’t fully trust space yet. your eyes were puffy, red, but clearer as you looked at him like you were trying to memorize the fact he was still here.

“…from the bottom of my heart,” you whispered, voice still fragile, “i am sorry.”

jungkook didn’t hesitate. his thumb came up immediately, brushing across your cheek, wiping away what was left of your tears. “i forgive you.”

then he leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. you let out a small shaky breath as a sad smile tugged at your lips. you hugged him again, then pulled back just enough to press a quick kiss to his cheek. 

“let’s get out of here.” jungkook tilted his head slightly. “come on. we’ll go home.”

you blinked at him, then quickly shook your head. “no—no…” you swallowed. “…i wanna go home with you.”

that made something in his expression soften again, almost amused, almost relieved. “wasn’t planning on going home alone, baby.”

your cheeks flushed instantly and you looked away like that helped. he took your hand instead, turning it over in his grip before pressing a slow kiss to the back of it, then started walking with you side by side. 

“we’ll stop by your place and grab your things.”

you nodded quickly, your voice smaller but calmer now. “okay…”

and just as you were about to fully relax into the moment—his grip tightened slightly around your hand. 

“and y/n…” you looked up at him. he didn’t look at you immediately, just kept walking. “…don’t ever fucking do that again.”

you packed just enough for a few nights—some clothes, your charger, toothbrush, and of course your two bunnies stuffed carefully into the bag.

the ride to his place was exciting and nerve-racking at the same time. your arms stayed locked around his waist the entire time, holding him tighter than you ever had before, your face pressed lightly into the fabric of his jacket. and jungkook didn’t miss it—his hand occasionally came down to cover yours, pressing your fingers flush against his stomach just to ground you.

when the bike finally rumbled to a stop in front of his apartment building, your eyes lifted. it was nice. really nice. clean, quiet, modern. nothing extravagant, but far from what you were used to.

you followed him into the lobby and into the elevator, watching the numbers climb in silence. then came a long, dimly lit hallway, stopping in front of a door near the end. he unlocked it, pushed it open, and stepped aside to let you go first. he came in after you, flicking the main lights on. and immediately—you froze.

“wow.”

it slipped out before you could filter it. jungkook glanced at you, then at his apartment, then back at you, a shoulder shrugging slightly. “it’s just an apartment.”

but to you, it wasn’t. it was warm. clean. big. the floors were polished dark wood, the couch looked plush and absurdly expensive, and a massive flat-screen sat against the main wall. wide windows stretched across the far side, the glowing city lights spilling across the room. it felt stable and safe. “make yourself at home.”

you looked back at him and nodded slowly, stepping deeper inside. you walked carefully, observing every small detail—the warm dimming light over the kitchen island, a pair of framed fight gloves hanging near a bookshelf, the comforting quiet of the space.

jungkook stayed where he was for a moment, and it hit him all over again. the girl he’d been losing his mind over—the girl he’d bled over, cried over, fought over—was here in his apartment. staying the night with him.

he tapped away on his phone, ordering something warm, filling, and heavy. after locking his screen, he found you standing by the massive window, looking out at the sprawling city below. 

jungkook walked up behind you, and when his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you gently back against his chest, your breath caught—but only for a second. then you melted, letting your full weight lean into him. his chin rested lightly near your shoulder, his broad chest radiating a deep, steadying warmth through your back.

your eyes stayed on the glowing grid below. “it’s pretty from up here.”

jungkook hummed, his grip tightening around you just a fraction. “yeah.” a beat passed, his voice dropping lower, rough against your ear. “got a better view right here though.”

your heart skipped a violent beat. a shy small smile tugged at your mouth, and you turned slowly within his hold until you were facing him. silence stretched between you where you just looked at each other. your gaze dropped from his eyes to his lips, and back up to his eyes again. your breath softened, your own lips pressing together unconsciously.

jungkook noticed. his eyes searched yours one last time, silent and asking, waiting for any sign of hesitation. and when you didn’t pull back, he leaned down. your eyes fluttered shut, and then—his lips touched yours.

everything stopped. all the running, all the fear, all the noise in your head—gone. jungkook’s hand slid up from your waist to the side of your face, his broad palm cupping your cheek, holding you there like he was terrified you’d slip through his fingers.

when he pulled back just a millimeter and kissed you again, you didn’t hesitate. you kissed him back.

his breath hitched against your mouth. the sweet compliant way you yielded to him snapped something inside his chest that had been coiled tight for months. his hand on your cheek slid down to wrap firmly around the back of your neck, his fingers tangling into your hair and tilting your head back.

the kiss shifted instantly—losing its cautious edge, growing dirtier, hungrier, heavier.

jungkook’s other arm hauled you flush against him by your waist, lifting you slightly so your toes were barely scraping the floor. he dragged his mouth across yours with an intense possessive friction, his tongue parting your lips to claim you completely. a soft, helpless gasp escaped your throat, and jungkook swallowed the sound whole, deepening the kiss until your head spun.

without breaking the kiss, he hooked your legs around him and walked to his sofa where he sat you on top of him. he pressed into you, anchoring you against his meaty thighs. his hands were everywhere—gripping your waist hard enough to leave faint pressure marks, sliding up your ribs, flattening against your back to pull your chest flush against his.

the taste of him overwhelmed you. you pulled him closer, trying your best to match his pace, it was your first kiss after all. 

a low, raspy groan vibrated deep in jungkook’s throat when you accidentally arched your hips and grinded onto him—a sound so raw and undone it sent a wave of liquid heat straight to your stomach. his mouth left yours to drag down your jawline, his teeth nipping lightly at the sensitive skin right under your ear before sucking a harsh, bruising mark into your neck.

you gasped, your fingers tightening in his hair. “jungkook—”

he came back up, capturing your mouth in a wet, heavy kiss that cut off your words entirely. his hips pressed firmly down against yours, leaving absolutely no doubt about what you were doing to him, the hard line of his body pressing ruthlessly against your core. it was heavy, suffocating, and addicting.

when he finally tore his mouth away, both of you were gasping for air, chest heaving against chest. his forehead dropped heavily against yours, his eyes dark, blown out, and completely feral as he stared down at you.

“fuck,” he rasped, his voice wrecked, completely ruined by the sheer effort of holding himself back.

a tiny, breathless laugh bubbled up from your chest. “you kissed me.”

his mouth twitched, a dangerous heat still flickering in his eyes. “yeah. been wanting to do that.”

your cheeks burned hot, but this time, you didn't look away. you stayed right there, trapped against him, letting him see every bit of the effect he had on you.

jungkook growled softly, bringing his mouth back down on yours with zero caution left. it was hard, messy, and commanding. his hands gripped your hips, lifting you slightly to adjust you on him, his chest crushing yours while his tongue worked over yours with a possessive, filthy intensity that made your mind go completely blank. you clung to him like a lifeline, dizzy from the heavy touch of him, completely lost in the way he claimed every breath out of your lungs.

ding-dong. the chime of the doorbell echoed sharply through the quiet apartment.

jungkook froze mid-kiss, his forehead resting against yours. he stared up at the ceiling, closed his eyes, and let out a dry, disbelieving laugh.

“…saved by dinner.”

you laughed—a real, bright, breathless sound that bubbled right out of your chest. jungkook looked down at you, his softened expression melting into pure quiet devotion as he watched you smile.

dinner was nothing fancy. just takeout spread across his sleek kitchen counter. jungkook kept putting food onto your plate every time he noticed you slowing down, and you kept eating it, this time without him having to argue, press, or tease you into taking another bite.

when you were finally done, he gathered the plastic containers, tossed them in the trash, and wiped his hands on a napkin before glancing back at you. “you can use the shower.”

you hesitated, your fingers twisting together nervously in your lap. “can… can i borrow one of your shirts?”

his eyes flickered, “to sleep?”

you nodded, swallowing hard.

his jaw shifted, a muscle flexing in his cheek. “yeah.” he cleared his throat, looking away toward the hallway to catch his breath. “top drawer.”

you disappeared into the bathroom after that, shutting the door quietly behind you.

jungkook sat on the edge of his bed, scrolling through his phone—or pretending to. his mind kept circling back to you. here. in his place. wearing his clothes. wanting him. it was fucking with him bad. when the bathroom door opened with a soft click, he looked up, and forgot how to breathe.

your hair was still damp, sticking slightly to the nape of your neck. your skin was clean, bare, and glowing soft under the hall light. his shirt hung ridiculously loose on your small frame, the shoulders drooping and the sleeves falling past your elbows. too big, too perfect. you stopped right in your tracks, staring at him as he sat frozen on the mattress. “what’s wrong?”

jungkook blinked once, forced his eyes up. “nothin’.”

your brows narrowed in suspicion. “what are you thinking?”

he looked you up and down once—slowly, deliberately, dragging his eyes over the bare skin of your legs before bringing his gaze back up to your face. “nothin’ safe.”

your eyes widened in shock. “jungkook!”

he laughed, low and easy, the tension breaking as he finally pushed himself off the bed and walked toward you. when he reached you, his heavy hands slid briefly over your waist before he leaned down, his mouth brushing right near your temple. “wait for me in bed.”

his lips pressed firmly against your forehead, lingering there for a long beat. he inhaled softly—taking in the scent of his own soap, warm and sweet on your skin. fuck. he pulled away and walked into the bathroom before he could do something stupid.

the shower didn’t help. if anything, it made it ten times worse, because all he could picture was you lying under his sheets, waiting for him.

when he finally came out—grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips, hair damp, skin radiating heat from the water—you were already there. tucked under his heavy comforter, sitting quietly with the sheets pulled up to your chest.

his chest tightened violently at the sight. then his eyes moved around the room, searching the nightstands and the floor. “where’re your bunnies?”

you looked up at him, then shook your head softly. “not tonight… i just want you.”

a small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. he walked over and climbed into bed beside you, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. then, his arm slid heavy around your waist, pulling you flush into his side like pure instinct. your head rested naturally against his bare chest, his heartbeat slow, deep, and steady beneath your cheek.

your arms tightened around his waist, pulling yourself as close to him as physically possible. jungkook kissed the top of your head before you both drifted into your slumber.

when you woke up, the room was warm and quiet. sunlight spilled through the gap in the heavy curtains, painting pale, glowing lines across the dark sheets.

you stretched a little, your body still heavy with sleep. the slight movement stirred him. you tilted your head up. his hair was messy, sticking up in soft tufts. his eyes were still closed, his mouth slightly parted, long lashes resting against his skin. something about seeing him like this—so unguarded, so entirely yours—made a soft smile touch your lips.

“good morning.”

jungkook’s hand moved lazily into your hair, his broad fingers brushing over your scalp without him even opening his eyes. “mmm.”

you giggled softly at the sound. “sleep well?”

his voice came out deep, rough, and heavy with sleep. “best fuckin’ sleep ever.”

that made you laugh, a sweet sound in the quiet room. “me too.”

neither of you in any rush to move or start the day. your fingers wandered absently over the bare skin of his side, trailing lightly over his ribs—until they landed right on the texture of the ink. your name.

you traced the letters carefully, feeling every line. jungkook’s eyes opened at the touch, his dark gaze dropping to watch your fingers move over his side.

your voice came barely above a whisper, “did it hurt?”

“mhm...” he looked down at your face, his thumb stroking the soft skin of your waist. “but not as much as you leaving.”

your chest tightened immediately. your fingers stilled on his ribs and a wave of guilt flickered across your face so fast he caught it instantly.

jungkook frowned—he didn’t like that look on you. not anymore. his hand came up, his fingers cupping your jaw and tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to look at him.

“hey,” his voice was low and firm. “i already forgave you.”

you swallowed hard. “i know, but—”

“no.”

before you could finish the thought, he pulled you closer, tugging you higher until your chest was pressed against his. still half asleep, still radiating heat. he rested his chin right on top of your head.

“you’re here, that’s all i wanted.”

for a little while longer, neither of you moved. just stayed there, tangled up in each other, like the morning had nowhere else to be and the rest of the world could wait.

the rest of the day passed quietly, like both of you were still adjusting to the beautiful reality of it all. you stayed in. neither of you had the energy to go anywhere after everything that had happened, so jungkook threw on some random action movie that neither of you paid attention to. 

you sat curled into his side on the couch while takeout containers piled up on the coffee table. sometimes he’d absentmindedly feed you pieces of his food when he noticed you staring; sometimes you’d steal his drink right out of his hand. just small domestic moments that felt a little strange at first, but completely right.

the next two days passed like this… slow mornings,  late breakfasts, shared showers—separate ones for now. tv playing softly in the background while jungkook trained lightly in the living room, doing push-ups and stretching while you sat nearby watching some baking show. more takeout, more after-dinner walks, more laughter. and sometimes, more kissing…

little things at first: quick kisses in the kitchen, sleepy kisses in bed before your eyes could fully open, lingering ones on the couch. but sometimes, they got heavier. hungrier.

like the one where you sat right in his lap, your hands tangled in his dark hair while jungkook kissed you like he was trying very hard not to lose his mind. his grip on your waist tightened until your hips were crushed flush against his and your breath caught sharply against his mouth. 

once, you even felt so confident you lifted your shirt to reveal yourself in your lacy bra while grinding on his hard and hungry cock. and for a second, he almost forgot himself. but he pulled away suddenly, his forehead thudding against yours as his chest heaved, breathing hard and ragged.

“fuck.” jungkook squeezed his eyes shut, his jaw flexing tight. “gimme five minutes.”

before you could even ask, he stood up, setting you gently on the cushion, and disappeared down the hall into the bathroom. a second later, the sharp hiss of the shower turned on—ice cold.

you stared after him, then slowly smiled to yourself, hiding your face in your hands. because even now—even when he wanted more, when his whole body was burning for you, he still stopped. somehow, knowing that he wouldn’t let himself takeover if you weren’t ready, made your heart fall even harder.

by the third night, the apartment was quiet except for the low muffled sounds of the tv screen—some loud violent movie jungkook had put on.

you weren’t really watching it. jungkook sat beside you, legs spread comfortably, one arm stretched across the back of the couch while he sipped on his banana milk, eyes completely glued to the screen.

you looked at him for a moment, then quietly: “koo…”

his brows twitched. a small, low hum left him. “hmm?” eyes still on the screen.

your fingers played nervously with the hem of his oversized shirt you were still wearing. “i should probably go back tomorrow.”

that got his attention immediately. his eyes moved off the screen. he grabbed the remote, paused the movie, set his drink down on the table, and turned fully toward you, his gaze intent.

“okay… sure.”

you swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. “i still have about a week left before they renew my lease.”

he stayed quiet, watching and listening. 

your hands twisted together in your lap. “but i was thinking of canceling it.”

jungkook stared, his brain processing the words. “where’re you gonna go?”

your voice came out smaller this time, but completely honest. “home. here.” your eyes searched his, suddenly hit with a wave of uncertainty. “with you?”

jungkook’s expression softened immediately, looking at you like there was no world where this was even a question in his mind. “i’d love nothing more than that.”

your breath caught. “really?”

“you’re really askin’ me if i want you here?” a small breath of pure disbelief left him. “i was tryna figure out how to get you to stay.” 

that made you laugh—a small, breathless sound of relief. you threw your arms around his neck. jungkook caught you easily, his strong arms hooking under your thighs and pulling you straight into his lap, holding you there as you were his entire world.

“thank you,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his skin.

“don’t thank me.” he rubbed your back slowly, his large palm tracing soothing circles against your spine. “you stay here… with me.” jungkook leaned down and kissed you. for the first time in your entire life as you held onto him, you finally felt like you were home.

~

the next morning after breakfast, jungkook called a cab; because despite everything, his bike wasn’t exactly ideal for moving… not that there was much to move anyway. 

when you got back to your apartment, it took less than twenty minutes to pack up. your toiletries, clothes, cooking book, bedsheet, blanket, and the pillow tucked under your arm. your winter boots tied together by their laces and thrown into a plastic bag. that was it. everything you owned in the world.

when it was finally time to leave, you stood by the door for a long moment, looking back around the empty space. the apartment was small, cold, half-broken. the walls were chipped, the sink leaked constantly, and the heater barely worked in the dead of winter. but somehow, you had made it yours. after the bakery, this place had become your second sanctuary. the place you came back to every night. the place where you’d cried, read, slept, survived. it wasn’t much. but it had held you when you had nothing else.

your fingers brushed the cool wood of the doorframe once as you gave a silent goodbye. you took one deep breath, turned away, and walked out into the hall, starting a new life with the man who had chosen you long before realized you had been chosen.

sooner or later, jungkook had to go back to the studio; his trainer had been blowing up his phone for days. when he finally walked into the gym, the older man looked him up and down from the ring.

the trainer crossed his arms, stepping out between the ropes. “where the hell’ve you been?”

jungkook grabbed his hand wraps, unrolling them calmly. “with her.”

the trainer blinked, then a slow smirk spread across his face. “yeah?”

jungkook shrugged like it was nothing, wrapping his knuckles with practiced ease. “we’re together.”

that alone almost made the man laugh, but then jungkook added without looking up: “she moved in.”

that shut him up instantly. for a full second, the gym was silent.

“…damn,” the trainer finally shook his head, whistling under his breath. “you move fast.”

jungkook smirked, pulling the wrap tight around his wrist. “she moves slow. balances out.”

the trainer laughed, shaking his head. “you dog.”

the days quickly found their own rhythm. jungkook trained, and you stayed. after what felt like years, you finally rested. no rushing, no constantly trying to survive the next hour. you slept in, cleaned up his place, and slowly figured out where everything went. and eventually, you started cooking. simple things at first, then baking, using his modern kitchen like it had always belonged to you.

most mornings, he’d leave early for the studio, leaving you to wake up in his oversized bed alone with his side of the mattress still warm. sometimes he’d leave a stack of cash by the kitchen counter for groceries or whatever else you needed.it was his way of taking care of you.

some days, you’d take walks on your own, wandering through nearby streets, discovering little local shops, and buying small things you needed—a few new clothes, socks, hair ties, basic things you hadn’t bought for yourself in a very long time. it felt nice. it felt normal.

late afternoon sunlight spilled lazily across the living room floor while soft music played somewhere in the background. the warm, sweet smell of cinnamon still lingered in the air from the batch of rolls you’d baked that morning.

jungkook came home later than usual. he looked exhausted—his shoulders sore, his dark hair sticking damply to his forehead, and a fresh bruise blooming right beneath his collarbone.

he dropped his heavy gym bag by the entryway, kicked off his shoes, and before he even had time to look around, you were already walking toward him.

“hey.” your smile was small, sleepy, and comfortable—the kind of look that only belonged to home.

he barely managed to mumble a quiet greeting before your hands found his face, checking him over instinctively. your thumb brushed over the broken skin carefully.

“you okay?”

he nodded once, heavy-lidded. “mhm.”

“hurt?”

“nah.”

you gave him a sharp, knowing look. “liar.”

his mouth twitched. “a little.”

you sighed dramatically, then stood up on your toes, pressing your lips to the corner of the bruise on his neck, as if that small gesture could somehow fix the damage.

“better?”

jungkook looked down at you, his dark eyes softening completely. “yeah.”

you smiled, and turned back toward the kitchen. “dinner’s almost ready.”

he didn’t move. he just stood by the front door, watching you. his kitchen, your kitchen now. his apartment, your home too.

you looked over your shoulder, catching his gaze. “koo?”

“come here.” his voice came quiet.

“but the food…” you frowned playfully. 

“baby.”

that tone—deep, low and unyielding, had you weak in the knees. you smiled to yourself and turned down the flame and walked back over, stopping right in front of him. “what’s up, koo?”

his hands found your waist automatically, pulling you flush against him until your bodies touched. 

“i’ve been thinking…” his gaze softened as he looked at you, his thumb tracing slow circles against your waist. “about what would've happened if you never came back.”

“what?” your smile faded slightly.

he swallowed. “what if you didn’t want me?”

“koo…” your heart tightened.

he squeezed your hand gently when you reached for it, “i was scared. i kept thinkin’ maybe i was the only one who’d decided this was forever.”

you intertwined your fingers with his.

“then you came back. and every morning since then, i wake up, and you’re there. i come home, and you’re there. i open the fridge, and you baked somethin’.”

a small laugh escaped you. he lifted your intertwined hands pressing a slow kiss against your knuckles, his gaze never leaving yours.

“i don't really know when it happened,” he murmured. “but all i know is i don’t remember what life felt like before you… and i don’t wanna.”

your eyes shimmered as he brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb lingering against your cheek.

“i love you.”

your eyes filled completely, a tiny laugh escaping between your tears. “i love you too,” your voice came out barely above a whisper. “…i love you too, koo.”

jungkook closed his eyes for a second, as though he’d finally released a breath he’d been holding for far too long. then he smiled, not the cocky smirk, not the teasing grin. the real one. the rare smile almost nobody else ever got to see. he kissed you slowly, deeply, pressing his mouth against yours like there was nowhere else in the world he’d rather be.

and somewhere behind you in the kitchen, something began to smell faintly burnt. you pulled away first, eyes widening. “uh oh… the stew.”

you both looked toward the kitchen, then at each other, before bursting into laughter—because somehow, almost burning dinner felt like the absolute smallest problem either of you had ever had.

~

weeks turned into a full month, and you eventually started visiting the studio. sometimes you brought him lunch, sometimes fresh pastries, and sometimes you came just because you wanted to see him. 

at first, you stayed in the far corner. but without even realizing it, you started stepping directly into his world. you weren’t scared anymore, just watching, learning and understanding. because loving him meant seeing all of him, even the raw bruised edges. 

and always, between rounds, his eyes would find you. without fail.

something about that gaze locked onto you across the gym made your chest swell with warmth. even in the middle of all that chaos and exertion, he still looked for you.

the trainer noticed it too, tossing his head back with a loud groan. “oi, lover boy. stop starin’ at your girl and hit the damn bag.”

you laughed softly from the bench. jungkook didn’t—he just narrowed his eyes at the older man and threw a brutal combination into the leather.

one afternoon at the studio, while you sat beside the trainer handing him a fresh cinnamon roll, the man said it casually:

“final’s in two weeks.”

your eyes lifted sharply. jungkook was inside the ring, hitting the heavy bag harder, faster, the dull thuds echoing off the high ceiling. your fingers tightened slightly around the plastic tupperware in your lap.

you stayed quiet, watching the muscles in his back flex with every strike, finally understanding what was coming—and what it could cost him.

later that night, dinner was simple—grilled beef with rice and veggies you’d prepared while jungkook sat at the counter, quietly watching you move around the kitchen. after you both ate and cleaned up the dishes, he disappeared toward the back of the apartment.

when you came out of the shower later, your hair damp and skin warm, the apartment felt strangely empty. then you noticed the balcony door cracked open just a few inches.

jungkook stood outside in the cool night air, leaning his heavy forearms against the metal railing. one hand held a burning cigarette, a thin trail of gray smoke drifting past his jaw. 

you stared at his silhouette for a second, then slid the glass door open and stepped out. the cool breeze hit your bare legs immediately.

jungkook glanced over his shoulder, his dark eyes softening instantly at the sight of you standing there—fresh out of the shower, wearing another one of his oversized shirts. his gaze lingering for a beat before he looked back out at the skyline.

you stepped right beside him, leaning your elbows on the railing, matching his posture, watching the city together. after a long moment: “you nervous?”

jungkook let out a low breath through his nose, half amused, half caught. “that obvious?”

you looked down at the cigarette between his fingers.

he followed your gaze, his jaw working. “don’t usually do this unless somethin’s on my mind.”

you nodded softly.

then: “two weeks,” he murmured. “winner takes all.”

“and if you lose?”

“i don’t.”

it wasn’t arrogance. just a cold absolute fact. you understood that about him now.

still, you looked down at his bruised knuckles resting against the metal bar, the fading yellow marks on his forearms, the hidden scars on his ribs and jaw. your chest tightened painfully.

“i’ll be there. for the finals. for all of it.”

something shifted deep in his eyes at those words—a powerful flare of emotion. he looked away again, taking one last long drag before crushing the cigarette out in the metal tray.

“don’t like you seeing me like that,” he muttered softly.

you frowned slightly. “like what?”

his voice lowered to a dark rumble. “bleeding.”

“i don’t like it either.”your expression softened completely. you stepped closer, closing the distance between you, and rested your head lightly against his shoulder. “but i know it’s part of you, and i’m here anyway.”

that right there—if it were possible right now, he’d have you wifed up and safely settled into his life. but there were still things he needed to put right first. and so, he leaned down and pressed his lips firmly against your forehead, lingering there for a long heavy beat.

you wrinkled your nose slightly. “koo...”

he blinked, pulling back just an inch. “what?”

you looked up at him, “go shower.”

his brows furrowed in disbelief. “why?”

you gave him a sharp look. “you stink.”

jungkook scoffed under his breath, a low laugh vibrating in his chest as he shook his head, following you back inside the warm apartment. “you’re lucky i like you.”

you looked over your shoulder with a subtle smirk. “you’re lucky i let you.”

that made him stop dead in his tracks for a second, just staring at your retreating back. then a slow, dangerous smirk spread across his lips.

you rolled your eyes playfully and walked ahead into the bedroom. jungkook watched you disappear down the dark hallway before dragging a hand over his face, a low groan escaping his throat.

fuck. you were getting way too comfortable. and that only made him want you a hundred times more.

a few minutes later, the bathroom door opened, steam followed him out into the bedroom while you sat on the edge of the bed absentmindedly brushing through your hair. your eyes lifted, and immediately dropped.

jungkook stood there in nothing but sweatpants. hair damp, water still trailing down his neck, over the cut line of his collarbone, and down the broad expanse of his chest.

you swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry.

“what?” he asked, rubbing a towel through his damp hair, his dark eyes tracking you carefully.

“nothing.”

“liar.” his mouth twitched into a knowing smirk. he stopped right in front of you where you sat on the edge, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his skin. “you keep lookin’ at me like that.”

your breath caught in your throat. “like what?”

he leaned down slightly, bringing his face closer, “like you want somethin’.”

your hands slowly came up, resting against his stomach. his abs flexed tight beneath your palms. you slid your fingers higher, lightly tracing over the dark ink on his ribs. his broad hand found your waist, slid right beneath the hem of his shirt, resting flush against your bare skin. your body leaned into his touch without a second of hesitation. jungkook exhaled a heavy breath, his head dropping slightly as if he’d been holding himself together by a thread all night.

“you’re makin’ it real hard to be good,” he rasped, his thumb stroking the soft curve of your hip.

you smiled a little— shy but laced with a sudden confidence. “who said you had to be?”

that—that made him freeze completely. his eyes darkened, searching your face intently, stripping away every joke and tease, to make sure. 

“y/n.” his voice dropped into a rough warning, thick with a question he barely dared to ask out loud.

you answered by reaching up and pulling him down by his neck.

and this time, when his mouth hit yours, it felt entirely different. slower, deeper, heavy with a hunger that had been simmering beneath the surface for weeks. the kiss turned messy, breathless, and urgent in seconds. jungkook followed you without a drop of resistance as you backed up onto the bed, his hands roaming over your waist, your hips, the small of your back, gripping you firmly like he was trying to hold onto all of you at once.

your fingers tangled tight into his damp hair, tugging softly, earning a deep, low groan that vibrated straight from his chest into your mouth.

his kisses dragged down your jawline, pressing hot and needy against the sensitive spot beneath your ear, down the column of your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. your breathing turned shallow and uneven, your hands finding the hem of the shirt again.

slowly, you lifted it up over your head and tossed it aside. and jungkook stopped moving completely.

he pushed himself up on his forearms, his dark eyes dragging over your bare torso—no bra. nothing between his gaze and your skin. the heavy strain beneath the low waist of his sweatpants was impossible to miss now, his cock hard and entirely flushed with heat.

“baby...” his voice came out so rough, so deep, it sounded like it physically hurt him to speak.

your heart pounded against your ribs like a trapped bird, but you didn’t pull away. you didn’t cover yourself. “i want you.”

those three words nearly snapped the last thread of his restraint. you felt the violent shudder that ran through his whole frame. but still—he held himself back. because it was you. because this wasn’t just physical; it mattered too much.

“you sure?”

“yes.” you nodded, tears of sheer emotion pricking at the corners of your eyes from how overwhelming the weight of his devotion felt. your hand reached up, cupping his jaw, steady and soft against his stubble. “i love you. i want this.”

jungkook let out a ragged groan, dropping his forehead against yours for a long second, his eyes shut tight as he squeezed his muscles to keep from rushing. then his mouth found yours again—harder, hungrier, desperate.

“you got any idea what you do to me?” his words fell against your lips between bruising kisses. 

“how you make me feel?” another kiss, deeper, pulling a soft gasp from your throat. 

“you’re so fucking beautiful.” his breath was shaking now. “been tryin’ so fucking hard to be patient with you… tryin’ not to lose my mind every time you sit in my lap.”

you let out a breathy, weak laugh against his mouth, but he pulled back just enough to look at you, his large hands coming up to cradle your face.

“you know i love you, right?”

you nodded, your thumbs stroking his knuckles.

he lifted your hand and pressed a slow, reverent kiss to the back of it, his dark eyes locked onto yours. “love you so fucking much.” he rested his forehead back against yours, his voice dropping into a rough whisper. “if we do this… there’s no turnin’ back. you’re mine.”

“good,” you whispered against his lips. “i don’t want to turn back.”

that was all he needed to hear.

he stripped you out of your panties and his sweatpants, tossing them off the edge of the bed until there was nothing left between you but skin, heat, and raw anticipation. he hovered over you, shifting his weight so he didn’t crush you, his eyes never once leaving your face as his broad body covered yours.

he leaned down and caught your boob in his mouth. kissing, licking and sucking your meaty flesh had him drunk dazed as he couldn’t help but take his right hand and started pumping his cock at the mere taste of you. you were so fucking delicious.

the room started filling with your soft moans as he continued to trail his mouth down to your belly, stopping right above your heat. he lifted his head, a quiet gesture of permission to allow him to continue further. and when you nodded, he hooked the back of your knees over his shoulders, pressing light kisses over the lips before spreading you wide and devouring your pussy like it was the best fucking thing ever. 

the feeling of his tongue sliding against your clit only made you louder and louder as he ate you out like a man starved. you arched your hips up, a plea for wanting more as you struggled to maintain the absolute pleasure he was already giving. and when you reached your high, jungkook made sure not to waste a single drop of your slick. oh boy, was he in for a treat.

he pulled away and came back and kissed you passionately, residue of your slick slipping past his tongue and into your mouth. 

jungkook couldn’t wait any longer at this point. sliding his hands down your outer thighs, he lifted your legs to rest over his hips. he aligned himself against you, the hot pre-cum from the head of his length pressing directly against your core. he paused right there, his muscles trembling with the effort of holding back, his knuckles white where he braced himself on the mattress beside your head.

“look at me,” he commanded softly, his voice thick and dark. “i’ll go slow, my love.”

you looked up, your eyes wide and shining, your hands gripping his biceps. he pushed forward—slowly, deliberately, sinking into your tight warmth inch by excruciating inch. you let out a sharp gasp, your back arching off the bed as the intense fullness filled you completely. he was big and meaty—the sheer size of him felt overwhelming for your virgin pussy. but that soon turned into something beyond what any words could describe.

jungkook froze instantly, his jaw working hard, his throat bobbing as he swallowed down a groan. he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your collarbone, holding completely still to let your body stretch and adjust to him. “fuck… you okay? tell me if it’s too much.”

“no,” you whimpered, your fingers digging into the muscle of his shoulders, pulling him down harder against you. “no, koo… it’s not too much. it feels… s-so good.”

at your words, a low, primal sound tore from his chest. he lifted his head, his dark eyes gleaming with raw, possessive heat. he began to move—a slow deep pull all the way out before driving back in, full and unhurried. every thrust was heavy, deliberate, and thick with restraint, setting a rhythm that made your head tilt back against the pillow. soft shattered gasps escaping your lips.

“that’s it, baby” he muttered, his thumb reaching down to stroke over your sensitive center as he rocked his hips against yours, hitting that sweet, deep spot inside you over and over. “fuck fuck fuck, baby, you feel so fucking good.”

the sensation was overwhelming—the friction of his bare skin, the heavy weight of him pinning you down, the dark, rhythmic thud of his hips matching the frantic beat of your heart. you wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, dragging him as deep into you as he could go.

“you’re so fucking beautiful. so mine. so wet and tight for me.” jungkook’s restraint broke. the pace shifted from slow and worshipful to hard rolling thrusts, his breath coming in heavy ragged hitches. “give it all to me, baby. just like that.”

the headboard thudded rhythmically against the wall, the sound of your skin meeting his filling the quiet room alongside your breathless cries. “ohh fuck you’re squeezing me. trynna drive me nuts, bunny?”

“koo, baby, wait—” you gasped out, your hands clutching at his back, your inner muscles coiling tight, shuddering violently around him.

“don’t wait,” he growled against your mouth, catching your lower lip between his teeth as he drove into you harder, faster, meeting every squeeze of your body. “let go. be a good girl and cum for koo.”

the tension snapped inside you like a pulled wire. your body convulsed around him, a loud cry breaking from your throat as waves of intense pleasure crashed over you, rippling through your core.

sensing your release, jungkook let out a harsh guttural groan. he buried himself deep into you one last time, his hips locking tight against yours as he spilled inside you, his whole body tensing hard before he collapsed forward, burying his face in your hair.

for a long time, the only sound in the room was your heavy labored breathing.

jungkook didn’t pull out immediately. he stayed right there, heavy and warm over you, his broad hand stroke down your side, keeping you pinned close to his heart. slowly, he shifted his weight to the side, pulling you with him so you were curled flush against his chest, your legs still tangled together beneath the sheets.

his lips pressed against your forehead, lingering there for a long, quiet minute while his heartbeat steadying beneath your cheek.

“you’re mine,” he murmured into your damp hair, his voice low, possessive, and completely satisfied. “i love you so much.”

you smiled softly into his bare chest, “i love you too, koo.”

~

jungkook woke first.

and for a second, he just lay there, staring at you. your hair was a messy halo across his pillow, your face completely relaxed, still sleeping deeply with your head resting right over his heart. his broad arm was wrapped heavily around your waist, holding you flush against his side like it had stayed anchored there all night.

and then—a stupid helpless grin spread across his face. wide. shameless. completely unraveled.

because fuck, you were here, in his bed, after last night. he leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to the crown of your head, unable to help himself.

that stirred you awake. you shifted slightly, let out a tiny sleepy hum, and blinked up at him through heavy lashes. soft, gorgeous, completely his.

“morning,” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep.

his grin only got worse. “morning.”

you squinted at him, noticing the ridiculously bright look on his face. “why are you smiling like that?”

he scoffed, a quiet rumble in his chest. “can’t smile now?”

you narrowed your eyes playfully. “not like that. you look smug.”

he leaned down, catching your lips in a slow, lazy kiss. then another. and another.

“slept good?” he murmured against your mouth.

you smiled into the kiss, your hands sliding up his chest to trail over his shoulders. “mhm.”

he brushed a stray strand of hair back from your forehead, his dark eyes melting with affection. “good.”

you kissed him again. then again. and again. until the lazy morning kisses naturally shifted—getting slower, deeper, hotter. jungkook’s large hand slid down over the curve of your waist, his fingers digging gently into your bare skin as he pulled you closer, preparing to roll you under him.

but before he could, you shifted.

with a smooth, sudden confidence that caught him completely off guard, you swung one leg over his hips and rolled on top of him.

suddenly, you were straddling his waist, sitting bare-skinned over his lap, looking down at him.

jungkook froze completely. his breath hitched in his throat, his hands stalling on your thighs as he blinked up at you.

“what’re you doing?”

you smiled—sweet, soft, and dangerously bold. “how ’bout round two, koo?”

for a full heavy second, he just stared at you. his dark eyes wide like his brain had completely short-circuited.

then he let out a low disbelieving laugh, his hands instantly gripping your hips with a firm possessive strength.

“baby,” he muttered, his voice dropping an octave into a rough, husky growl as he looked up at you like you were trying to kill him. his thumbs pressed deep into your skin, feeling the heat of your core resting directly over the heavy, rapidly hardening length rising between his thighs. “you keep this up and i’m never lettin’ you outta this bed.”

your cheeks warmed instantly at his tone, but you didn't back down. instead, you leaned forward, rolling your hips subtly against his, grinding yourself down against him until a guttural groan tore from his throat.

jungkook shook his head, a dangerous grin breaking across his lips. “cute in the morning and evil too.”

he didn’t wait another second. his hands surged up to wrap around your waist, hauling you down violently into another kiss. 

he flipped you easily onto your back, taking control, his thick thigh sliding between yours to force your legs wide open. there was no slow buildup this time; the air in the room turned thick with heat and slick friction within seconds. jungkook guided his hard length straight back into your wet sensitive core with one heavy thrust that pinned your shoulders to the mattress and tore a breathless scream from your lips.

he worked over you with a raw morning urgency—his skin slick with sweat, his hips driving deep and rhythmic, his mouth leaving dark, possessive marks down your throat and breasts while your fingernails dug deep into the muscles of his back. when the shattering wave of your climax hit, jungkook drove into you three more brutal helpless times before spilling deep inside you with a ragged groan, collapsing over your trembling body and holding you tight against his chest while the rest of the morning disappeared completely behind locked doors.

~

the next two weeks passed faster than either of you expected.

life settled into a rhythmic, steady pattern. jungkook trained harder than ever—earlier mornings, later nights, his focus sharpening into something terrifyingly absolute as the finals drew closer.

every session at the studio lasted longer than the last. more rounds. more drills. more dark bruises blooming across his ribcage. more ice packs resting on his swollen knuckles at night. his trainer didn’t go easy on him. he never had.

while he fought and bled in the gym—you quietly built a life around him. 

you kept his apartment warm, grounded, and welcoming. the kitchen was always stocked, his laundry folded neatly and put away. sometimes he’d come home late, exhausted to his bones, to find a hot dinner already waiting on the counter. 

sometimes just you—curled up on the couch in one of his oversized t-shirts, reading one of your books in the quiet glow of the lamp.

those became his favorite evenings. he’d drop his heavy gym bag by the door, walk over without a word, and bury his face in the crook of your neck for five full minutes just to recharge.

there were days you visited the studio, bringing lunch, fresh coffee, whatnot. 

other days—you disappeared for a few hours on your own, wandering the city streets and coming back with a small paper bag tucked securely under your arm.

when jungkook asked where you’d been, you’d simply smile, soft and mysterious. “just out.”

he didn’t press. he trusted you entirely. if you wanted him to know, you’d tell him in your own time. and that was more than enough for him.

some nights, jungkook would crash onto the bed and fall asleep before his head even fully hit the pillow, his body completely spent. other nights, he’d sit on the balcony late into the dark hours, a cigarette smoldering between his fingers while you sat beside him, resting your head quietly against his shoulder.

~

the morning of the finals arrived before either of you felt fully ready. jungkook sat at the kitchen counter in a plain black hoodie, his hands wrapped in clean tape, barely touching the breakfast you’d set out for him. his mind was already miles away, inside the ring, pacing back and forth behind his intense eyes.

you noticed his lack of appetite. you said nothing, simply reaching over to place a warm cup of tea beside his hand.

he noticed that too. he looked up from the counter, his dark gaze locking onto yours, taking in your calm unwavering face. and somehow, in the quiet stillness of that cold morning, that made him love you even more.

the arena was louder than usual. even backstage, the crowd echoed through the thick concrete walls—every cheer, every whistle, every chant vibrating right beneath your feet. 

jungkook stood quietly in the corner of the locker room, hands already wrapped tight in white tape, eyes closed, breathing slow and steady. he wasn’t nervous, just preparing. 

you walked over carefully, your shoes making no sound against the tiles, not wanting to interrupt whatever sacred ritual this was. he heard your footsteps anyway, his eyes opening immediately and softening the second they landed on you.

“hey,” he murmured. 

you smiled up at him, whispering, “i won’t keep you.” 

he stepped closer automatically, like his body always found yours now, no matter where you were in a room. 

“i’m gonna be out there.” you smiled, soft and sure. you reached up, placing both hands gently against his face, and pressed one soft kiss right against his lips—brief and warm. “i’ll be rootin’ for ya.” 

“you better,” he teased, a faint smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth. you squeezed his hand once, letting the warmth linger, then turned and walked toward the arena entrance without looking back. 

the moment the door closed behind you, someone spoke from the shadows of the hallway. “done bein’ cute?” 

jungkook snorted, not even bothering to turn around. “shut up.” 

his trainer walked over, broad arms folded over his chest, looking him up and down with critical eyes. “you ready?” 

jungkook nodded. “yeah.” 

the older man stood beside him quietly for a long moment, staring toward the dark entrance to the tunnel. then— “remember what i taught you?” 

jungkook answered without hesitation. “hands up. move my feet. don’t chase. breathe.” 

his trainer nodded slowly. “and?” 

jungkook smirked, his eyes hardening into steel. “…kick his ass.” 

“there it is.”

they both laughed, cutting through the thick tension in the room. then the trainer stepped closer and placed a heavy hand on jungkook’s shoulder. 

“you’ve worked hard for tonight. you don’t owe anybody anything. not me. not them.” he nodded toward the roaring crowd echoing outside. “you go out there… and you remind yourself who the hell you are.” 

jungkook swallowed once, his throat working hard. “yes, sir.” the older man smiled—a real one, rare and unshielded. 

“i’m proud of you, kid.”

that landed harder than any punch ever had in his entire career. jungkook looked away for a second, jaw clenching as he tried not to let the weight of it show. then he threw an arm over the trainer’s broad shoulder, pulling him closer until their foreheads bumped together—the exact way they’d done before every important fight for years. before sponsors, before championships, before any of this. just coach and kid. 

the trainer closed his eyes for a second. “all the best, kid.” jungkook nodded against him. “see you after.”

then, the venue speakers exploded. 

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN…” the arena erupted into violent sound. “AND IN THE BLUE CORNER…” 

jungkook rolled his shoulders once, cracking his neck, adjusting his gloves. his trainer gave him one last sharp slap on the back. “go.” 

“JEEEEOOONNNN JUNGKOOOOOOOK!” the tunnel lights burst blinding white, the roar became deafening, and jungkook walked forward into the light.

the finals were brutal, messy, bloody—everything jungkook had trained for, everything he had left in him laid raw out on the canvas. round after round, the arena shook with every hit, every dodge, every heavy fall. his body took damage—sharp cuts opening, blood dripping onto his chest, sweat stinging his eyes. so did the other guy. 

but jungkook endured, like he always did, moving like a storm. and in the end, he stood in the center of the ring, hand raised high by the referee, victorious, breathing hard, chest heaving, bleeding, and entirely alive.

by the time everything settled, the crowd had thinned into quiet trickles, the overwhelming noise finally dying behind the heavy concrete walls. 

the trainer walked beside you both toward the back exit. everything felt lighter now, like a crushing weight had finally lifted off all three of your shoulders. 

the trainer stopped first, looked at jungkook, then at you, a small proud smile tugging at his mouth. he pulled jungkook into a rough brief hug, patting his back twice hard enough to echo. “golden boy.” 

jungkook laughed tiredly, wiping at his swollen eye. “yeah, yeah.” 

then the trainer turned to you, pulling you into a warm hug too. “take care, sweetheart.” 

you smiled against his shoulder. “always.” 

with a nod, he turned and walked off into the night, leaving just the two of you.

jungkook and you walked toward his motorcycle in comfortable silence. you reached the bike first, swinging your leg over smoothly, adjusting yourself into the back seat before pulling the dark helmet over your head. jungkook came around from behind, one hand dragging through his damp messy hair as he reached for his own gear.

but then— he stopped completely. when you had leaned forward to settle onto the seat, your shirt had lifted just slightly, your jeans dipping low from the movement. and there, on your right lower back, was dark ink against tender skin—still red, still raw and healing. his hand lifted instinctively in the air, then froze, afraid to touch it, to hurt you. and suddenly, the small paper bag, the two afternoons you’d disappeared, the careful subtle way you’d been moving around the apartment for the past two days—it all crashed into his brain at once. 

carved into your skin, 

jungkook.

~

—thank you so much for reading; this is my first ever writing! sorry if it’s too long, hope you still enjoyed it! ✿

[ohhowjooniewept]

holy. fucking. shit.

i’ve just found my new favourite writer like don’t even fucking play with me rn, i’m chewing at the walls of my cage someone let me out

idk who i want more & the smut … guys seriously i’m ovulating this is a problem

AND THAT FUCKING ENDING 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

i’m so enamoured 😫

[kookied]

REPORTING FOR DUTY | 01

── Your older brother asks his best friend, who's also his bodyguard, to take care of you while he's away on business. 

enemies to lovers. bodyguard!jk ── 18+. action. romance. rich families au. forced proximity. slow burn. profanity. physical touch. alcohol consumption. kim taehyung as reader’s older brother. oc!peter (reader's best friend).

status.  ongoing

chapter length. 4.6k

memos. The bodyguard!jk agenda has been on my mind for MONTHS, and I’m so excited to finally share this with you!! I divided the first chapter into two (both will be introductions to the series), so they'll be shorter than future chapters. Anyway, thank you so so much for all of the anticipation for this series; I hope you like it! Let me know your thoughts after reading! <3

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[Comment on series masterlist to be added to taglist!]

Chapter 01.  Brother’s Best Friend 

"Again." You exhale and tap the bottom of the glass against the countertop before watching liquid pour into it again. The liquid comes to a dripping stop at the lip of the bottle and only fills up a quarter of the glass in front of you. "Oh, come on. Give me a little more." You whine at the petty refill the bartender gave you.

"I think you've had enough already." He twirls the bottle so that the rest of the drink flows back down the neck of the bottle. He wiggles his brows up and down, and the right corner of his lip curls up. "I'm only giving you one more round because I feel bad for you."

"So you pity me?"

The bartender turns his back to you to set the bottle back in the space on the shelf. He spins back around empty-handed and leans his right forearm on the countertop at a ninety-degree angle from his torso. His upper body leans forward, closing the distance between you two. "Hardly. Not unless I want to be pitied too."

You lift the glass off the countertop and take a sip of the liquid courage and swallow it slowly. You lower the glass back down as you speak and meet his eyes. "Is your girlfriend ignoring your calls too?"

His right fingers fold in toward the center of his palm, and the veins on his right forearm twitch as his fingers ball into a firm fist. His chest rises up and down as he inhales, then exhales deeply. He breaks eye contact with you, and his eyes focus on the glass that you had just set down. "No, she, uh, she cheated on me."

"Ha, you're worse off than me." You chuckle while picking up the glass again and slowly rotating it in your left hand. The liquid in the glass twirls as it moves, and you watch it swirl around the bottom.

You hear your phone buzz against the countertop and the screen lights up to show an incoming text message. You exhale softly and tilt your phone toward you to read the preview of the notification. The preview isn't enough to get a reaction out of you, so you set the glass in your left hand back down to unlock your phone and read the entire message. Not even five seconds later, you react to the text with a scoff.

"What? What's wrong?" The bartender blinks while his eyes are on you.

"It's my boyfriend, or my ex-boyfriend actually." You keep your eyes on the phone screen in front of you. "He—" You chuckle softly, dumbfounded at how the text message reads to you. "He said that he wants to break up. He also thanked me for everything over the past three years." You pause before looking up from your phone at the man in front of you. "He makes it sound like I did him a favor by dating him."

The bartender takes a breath before thinking about what to say to you. He knows whatever he says won't put you in a better mood, but he tries nonetheless, "That asshole isn't worth it. Just forget about him and move on."

"That doesn't help." You blink twice at him.

"That's all I've got, sorry." He shrugs and grabs a rag from underneath the bar to wipe the countertop down. "I gotta close up, so get out."

You gasp in response, "You're kicking out your best friend, Peter? How rude."

"You still have to pay." He glances up at you while rubbing the rag on the surface in circular motions. He sees you pout in response to being patronized and chuckles. "I'll drop you off on my way home." He offers to make up for asking you to pay.

"And that's why you're my best friend, Peter." You rest your face in the palms of your hands with your forearms anchored on the countertop below you by your elbows.

6:00 AM

"Wake up."

You groan in your sleep at the sound of your brother's nagging. Pulling the comforter up over your head, you ignore his wake-up call and try to fall back asleep.

"Come on, wake up." Your brother repeats himself and folds over your comforter so that your head is exposed.

"What?" You whine and finally open your eyes. Slightly lifting your head, you read the time on the alarm clock sitting on your night table. You exhale and make eye contact with your brother, who stares down at you impatiently. "It's six o'clock in the morning, Taehyung."

"I heard you got dumped last night."

"Are you keeping tabs on me?" Your voice is hoarse as your sleepy eyes remain on your brother.

"Peter told me." Taehyung checks his watch before continuing his thought. "So, I'm going to have Jeongguk take care of you."

You sit up on the bed after hearing your brother's last statement. Shaking your head, you squint. "Wait, you lost me. Why do I need to be babysat after a breakup?"

"You're not being babysat." Taehyung exhales, "I'm going to Europe on business. And now that you don't have a boyfriend anymore, I don't feel safe leaving you here alone."

"Why don't you feel safe? I'm 27 years old. I can take care of myself." You reassure your older brother that you are all grown up and more than capable of living on your own now.

"Just trust me." Taehyung insists and checks his watch once more. "Shit, I'm late." He's about to walk out of your bedroom, but you stop him by practically lunging out of bed and grabbing his arm from behind.

"I take it back! I need my older brother here! You can't leave me with Jeongguk!" You whine, not wanting to be left in the hands of Jeon Jeongguk.

"Relax. He holds a 10th-degree black belt in Taekwondo and a 10th Dan in Judo." He turns his head to the right and emphasizes that Jeongguk is trained to protect you from any danger or harm.

"That's exactly why you can't leave. He scares me." You mumble the last part and pout.

"He's not going to hurt you. You're in good hands." He laughs while slowly sliding your hand off his arm. "I have to go now. I can't miss my flight." Taehyung ruffles your hair and rushes out of your bedroom toward the front door of the apartment you share with him. "I'll text you when I get there, and Jeongguk will be here in two hours!"

"Wait! Taehyung!" You rush out behind him, but he's halfway out the door already.

"Bye!" Your brother's voice fades as he disappears behind the door.

You stand still with your hands at your sides and stare at the door. "Whatever, I'm going back to sleep." You speak through a yawn and drag your feet back into your bed to get more shut-eye.

8:00 AM

You're woken up for the second time this morning, and this time it's by the annoying tune of your doorbell. You whine and squeeze your eyelids further together to avoid waking up. The rhythmic tone sounds again from the living room, which forces your eyes open. You turn your head to look at the alarm clock as you did two hours ago. It's exactly 8 o'clock, right when Jeongguk was supposed to show up. "Why does he have to be so punctual? Couldn't he have been late? Or not shown up at all?"

The doorbell rings for the third time.

"Go away. I don't need a babysitter." You pull the covers over your head in frustration as you complain. Then, there's silence. You lie completely still under the comforter and blink. "Did he leave?" You mumble to yourself just before you hear beeping coming from the front door. "Wait a— He's not coming in, is—" You rush out of bed and stop just outside your bedroom. "He?" You breathe out to finish your thought and stare at your brother's best friend standing a few feet away from you with his back to the door. "You can't just come in like that!"

"Mr. Kim told me to unlock the door with the passcode if no one came to the door after three rings." Jungkook bows his head slightly while standing still like a statue. "I'm sorry, miss."

You scoff at how formal he sounds. "You don't have to be formal with me, Jeongguk. We've known each other basically for our whole lives."

"Mr. Kim asked me to take care of you on his behalf. He asked me to guarantee your safety and provide you with anything you need while he's away." Jeongguk doesn't move from where he's standing and briefs you on his duties in a monotonous voice.

You chuckle, "You sound like my brother's paying you to take care of me."

"He is," Jeongguk answers right away with a straight face.

"He's paying—" You breathe through your words, not finishing your sentence at how dumbfounded you are. "He's really paying you?" You raise your eyebrows and fold your arms across your chest.

"Yes, and very handsomely, might I add." He confirms without hesitation. "Mr. Kim asked if I could take care of you and said that he'd compensate me for it. So, I told him that I'd take the job."

"Wow, I didn't peg you to be all about money. You've changed."

"I've always been this way, miss." Jeongguk reminds you.

You don't know what to say to that, so you just exhale and tell him to come in with your right hand. "Fine, whatever you say. At least drop the formality and speak casually with me. It's weird being called 'miss'."

He follows your instruction and takes one step inside the apartment. "No, it's okay. I'm more comfortable addressing you that way."

"I don't think that we're compatible." You motion with your hand again. "If you're going to come in, take more than one step. You've been here before."

"Yes, but that was when Mr. Kim was also here. You're here alone right now, and it's never been just the two of us."

You raise your brows. "So, what? You're uncomfortable being here with just me?"

"No, but you might be. So, I'll keep my distance."

Shaking your head, you walk up to him and tug on his left jacket sleeve, pulling him inside. "I'm not." You pause while bringing him into the living room and guiding him to the armchair next to the sofa. "I'll bring you some coffee."

Jeongguk sighs as he watches you turn your back on him. He stands next to the armchair to take off his coat and folds the right shoulder of the piece of outerwear over the left before hanging it neatly over the back of the chair. Clearing his throat over the sound of brewing coffee, Jeongguk sits down in the seat and leans his upper body forward. He rests his forearms on his lap, folding his hands together, and keeps his focus on them until he sees a mug of coffee on the table in front of him. "Thank you," he whispers while separating his hands to reach for the mug and take a sip of coffee.

"Seriously, you don't have to be so tense. Just think of this as hanging with your best friend's little sister." You sit down on the sofa next to Jeongguk with your left leg folded underneath your right, which rests over your left ankle. You reach for the cushion that slouches on your right while watching Jeongguk sit quietly in the chair, like he's a stranger. You hug the cushion against your chest and laugh softly to fill the awkward silence. "Say something."

"The coffee's good." He mumbles, though it sounds more like he's talking to himself rather than to you. Jeongguk goes back to staying silent and doing only what he was told to do.

"That's it?" You raise an eyebrow while looking at the right side of his face, hoping for a little more than that. "Wow." You chuckle while shaking your head left and right.

"My job is to follow you around, not make small talk." Jeongguk turns his head to the right to make eye contact with you.

You blink twice at him before continuing the conversation. "Wait, you're going to follow me around from behind as you do with my brother?" You pause. "Even to my class in two hours?"

"Well, that is in my job description. I did promise Mr. Kim to keep you safe all hours of the day." He still wears a straight face.

You let out another chuckle. "No thanks. You can tell Taehyung that you saw me and that I'm okay. I'll call you if I need anything, okay?" You unfold your left leg from underneath your right one to stand up.

Jeongguk follows and stands up from the armchair. "I can't do that, miss."

You sigh and just let him have his way. "Fine. Let's go."

9:30 AM

You walk on campus with Jeongguk towering over you from behind, surveilling for any potential danger. Everyone who passes you from both directions reacts to the bodyguard working behind you. Both guys and girls arch their brows at the situation.

Embarrassed by all the reactions people are giving, you come to an abrupt stop, which makes Jeongguk's feet skid to a stop behind you. "Jeongguk." You turn around to face him, but he avoids eye contact with you and stands with his head slightly angled down so as not to look you in the eye. "If you're going to follow me around, at least walk alongside me. Having you hovering behind me like that makes me uncomfortable, and people are looking at us weird." You whisper the end of your sentence so as not to let other people hear it.

"I'm supposed to be behind you at all times. That is the best way for me to watch out for you." He continues to speak in a monotonous manner.

You exhale deeply in frustration. "Are you going to keep speaking in that tone?"

"Yes." He says in that same tone.

"And you're going to keep hovering behind me?" You ask, even though you know the answer to that question.

"Yes." He looks down at you with blank eyes.

You throw your head back and groan, "Whatever. I'm going to class." Without caring what he has to say, you turn around and walk ahead of him.

11:30 AM

"Oh, geez! You scared me!" Your feet come to an abrupt stop, and your body slightly leans back at the sight of the necktie on the man standing in your way. You strengthen the grip of your right fist on the tote bag strap over your right shoulder. "Have you been standing here for the past hour and a half?" You lift your head back and let your eyes find his.

"Yes." He answers.

"That goddamn 'yes'." You exhale through your words, "Are you a robot? Do you answer my brother like that when he talks to you?"

"Yes." He repeats that one-syllable answer.

"Oh my—" You exhale sharply.

"I'm sorry." He bows his head, then lifts it back up straight to keep looking down at you.

"No, I didn't say that to—" You cut yourself off as you stare at Jeongguk, who doesn't seem one bit bothered. "Never mind."

"Am I frustrating you?" He asks that like it isn't obvious.

"No, not really." You reply sarcastically and walk ahead of him.

Jeongguk follows behind you. "You can be honest with me, miss." He permits you to openly speak your mind.

"Fine." You spin around to face him. "I'm annoyed, okay? It's bad enough that my ex-boyfriend dumped me. Now I have to be babysat because my brother doesn't trust that I can last on my own for however long he's gone." You pause before continuing your thoughts, "And you are frustrating me, Jeongguk. First, you show up unannounced. Then, you keep following me. I know it's only been three hours, but it's bothersome. It's like someone's watching me." You exhale and vent some more, "And your tone. Can't you do something about it? I get that you're used to being stoic and that's what your job requires, but it's really frustrating for the person you're talking to."

"Are you feeling better now?" Jeongguk keeps speaking in that same tone, with his eyes on you.

It's like talking to a wall. "You are—" You breathe, "Impossible." Your head turns away from him as you look into the distance. "I have to go to my next class." You turn around to continue your way down the hallway

"I'll go with you." Jeongguk takes a step forward to walk with you.

You immediately stop and turn back around to face him again. "You can go wait in the car, Jeongguk. I'll meet you there when I'm done."

"It's my—" Jeongguk starts, but you cut him off.

"Don't say that it's your job. My brother might be paying you, but he's not here right now. I won't tell him that you left me alone for ninety minutes, so go wait in the car." You raise your eyebrows at him, waiting for an answer from him.

"Alright. I'll be in the car, miss." He listens to you without objection and bows his head slightly before walking away from you.

You exhale softly as you stare at the backside of the tall man walking away in the opposite direction. "Finally."

"Wassup, girl?" Peter swings his left arm over your shoulder and stands on your right, looking at Jeongguk's backside with you. "Who's that?"

"My brother's bodyguard. Taehyung's away on business and asked his bodyguard to babysit me while he's gone. I just found out this morning, and his bodyguard has been with me since eight o'clock." You fill Peter in.

"I didn't know your brother had a bodyguard." Peter nods his head before glancing at your furrowed brows.

"That's him, and he's extremely frustrating. He's so stuffy and inflexible. He speaks in this monotonous manner and uses the same one-word answer for everything like he's a robot."

"Are you close with him?" Peter wants to know more about your history with Jeongguk, judging from how you describe him in such detail.

"He and Taehyung are best friends. Our families know each other, so we all grew up together. He was a little inflexible back then too." You glance at Peter, who seems intrigued by that part of your childhood. "I forgot. I never told you about that."

"Yeah, you miraculously hid that from me after we met when you transferred to our high school." Peter feels left out, like knowing that part of your childhood would've changed anything.

"I never really got to see him since my family moved. I think he's more inflexible now than he was when we were younger." You shake your head before meeting your best friend's eyes. "Let's go. We're gonna be late for class."

Peter's left arm is still relaxed over your shoulder as you two walk to your next class.

1:00 PM

"Buy me lunch." You inform Jeongguk of your hunger cues and demand lunch while climbing into the right side of the back seat of his SUV.

"What would you like to eat?" He looks at you through the rearview mirror as you buckle your seat belt.

"Should we get pizza?" Peter asks you while jumping into the other side of the back seat.

You nod at Peter, and then meet Jeongguk's eyes in the rearview mirror. "Buy us pizza, Jeongguk."

"Who is he, miss?" Jeongguk asks about the stranger in the back seat sitting next to you.

"This is Peter. We've been best friends since high school." You introduce Jeongguk to your best friend, then turn your head to your left to do the same to Peter. "Peter, that's Jeongguk. My brother's best friend and bodyguard."

"Hi, nice to meet you." Peter's eyes meet Jeongguk's through the mirror as he raises his right hand to greet Jeongguk.

"It's nice to meet you." Jeongguk continues to use that monotonous and formal voice. He glances at you again through the mirror. "I will buy you pizza, miss. But first, everyone must have their seat belt on." He talks to Peter while keeping his eyes on you.

"Sorry." You hear Peter whisper before he buckles his seat belt.

Jeongguk nods at the clicking sound and starts the car to drive to the pizza place downtown.

"Why does he call you miss? And why is he so formal?" Peter leans to his right and whispers to you.

"I don't know. He says he's more comfortable calling me that." You whisper back, slightly shrugging your shoulders.

2:00 PM

"Thanks for lunch, Jeongguk." You talk to Jeongguk while swinging your tote bag over the back of the sofa in your living room. Peter follows in behind you and drops his backpack on the floor next to your bedroom.

Jeongguk shuts the front door and walks into your apartment. He notices Peter's backpack slouching on the floor. "Is he staying here?"

"Yeah. We have a project to do. We're going to work on it in my room." You tell Jeongguk, who's standing a few feet away from you. You turn to your right and file through your tote bag to take out your laptop, a thin spiral notebook, and your pencil case. "Let's go in." You walk past Peter into your bedroom.

Peter lifts his backpack again and follows you inside, closing the door behind him.

Jeongguk is now alone in the living room and stares at the closed bedroom door. He exhales softly and takes his eyes off the door. He walks up to the back of the sofa and fixes the position of your tote bag resting against the cushions. His eyes find their way back to your bedroom door, and he marches up to it.

The back of his right hand lightly knocks on the painted piece of wood, to which he hears you respond with, "Come in." He opens the door and is met with your curious eyes.

"Do you need something, Jeongguk?" Your voice slightly softens mindlessly, as if you're talking to your brother.

"You should work with your door open." Jeongguk swings the door completely open so that the bottom left corner of the inside of the door hits the doorstop attached to the wall behind it.

"Why? Just leave it closed." You blink, not seeing the problem with having the door closed while you and Peter work.

"I need to keep an eye on you. That's what I was told to do." Jeongguk reminds you again that he's here on behalf of your older brother.

"Why? Do you think something's going to happen if we're behind closed doors?" You laugh, glancing at Peter, who wiggles his eyebrows at you.

"Yes." He bluntly answers.

You scoff, "You don't have to worry, Jeongguk. Nothing will happen. You trust me, right?" You raise your eyebrows at the man in the suit, who stiffly stands in front of the open door.

"I trust you, miss." He blinks before speaking again, "But again, I can't do my job if I don't know what's going on. I promised Mr. Kim that I'd keep you safe."

"Jeongguk." You whine, "I am safe. I'm in my own house, and you're here. Am I wrong about any of that?"

"No." Jeongguk shakes his head.

"Just trust me." You raise your eyebrows. "Okay?"

"Okay, miss." He gives in, grabbing the knob and pulling the door towards him as he backs out of your bedroom through the doorway, then closes it again. Jeongguk holds onto the door handle for a second before letting go.

He walks away from the door while taking off his coat, folding one side over the other and carefully hanging it over the armchair in the living room as he did this morning. He then takes his phone out of his suit jacket and sets it down on the coffee table. He hangs the suit jacket over the armchair on top of his coat in the same way. Moving over to the sofa, he loosens his necktie before unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves and rolling them up. After taking a seat in the middle of the sofa, Jeongguk reaches over for his cell phone and wakes up the screen in the process. A soft smile curls on his face as he affectionately stares at the little girl on his lockscreen before swiping up to unlock his phone. After he checks that he has no new messages, he sets his phone back down on the table and exhales deeply.

"Wow, talk about overprotective." Peter chuckles while stretching his arms out in front of him.

"I know. He's a bit—" You don't know how to describe Jeongguk anymore.

"A bit? Try a lot." Peter adjusts his position on your bed, glancing at his laptop sitting next to him on top of the comforter. "When did you say your brother's coming back?"

"I don't know. He's probably not going to be back for a while. The company's launching the brand in Europe, so it's going to take a few months, at least." You scribble in your notebook while talking.

"Well, at least when your brother comes back, you won't need to deal with that guy anymore." Peter grabs his laptop and rests it on his lap.

You sigh, "Yeah. It's just a matter of how long I'm stuck with Jeongguk."

6:00 PM

"Do you have any ramen? I'm hungry." Peter yawns and asks about food since he last ate four and a half hours ago.

"I should. Let me go see." You answer while typing the last few words of your sentence on your laptop. You inhale, then exhale deeply as you take your hands off of your laptop and spin around in your desk chair to get up. Once you open your bedroom door, you see Jeongguk lying down on the sofa. Oh, right. He's still here. "He's still here." Your eyes meet Peter's as you verbalize your thought about the bodyguard that hasn't left to keep an eye on things.

"What's he doing?" Peter furrows his brows.

"He's on the sofa. He's sleeping, I think." You whisper, not wanting to wake Jeongguk up. The door creaks as you open it further. You then take slow steps toward the sofa.

Jeongguk is lying on his back with his legs stretched out along the entire length of the piece of furniture, and his right ankle is crossed over his left. His arms are folded across his chest, and his eyes are closed. His chest slowly rises up and down as he's sound asleep.

You approach him and kneel down next to the sofa in front of him. You notice that his necktie is slightly loose and the very top button of his white dress shirt is undone. "Now that he's lying down like this, he's more like a person." Your eyes then find the tattoos on his right forearm as they're exposed from when he rolled up his sleeves earlier. "Since when does he have tattoos?" You mumble to yourself, scanning the drawings inked on his skin. You then look back at his face, examining his features.

Maybe you were staring too long, or maybe he felt your presence. About two minutes later, Jeongguk's eyelids open, and his eyes meet yours, which widen slightly at the sudden eye contact. His pupils stay locked onto yours as the two of you stare at each other without saying a word.

© kookied 2026. All rights reserved. All content shared on this page is my own, original work. The above story and characters are fictitious. Any real people mentioned are solely used for visualization. 

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[ohhowjooniewept]

spiderman jungkook x y/n

22k>

fluffy & smutty - unedited

—

there were many things you had learned to live without. family was the first.

not in the tragic way people assumed when they first found out, with their faces falling and voices softening as though the very mention of the loneliness that you no doubt were going through had to be handled in a delicate manner. it was always followed up with a note of confusion whenever you’d murmur something about it being a personal choice, finished off with an air of dismissal.

no one knew the lengths you had gone through just to survive them, to survive the abuse - the constant thump of anxiety in your chest wasn’t sustainable, not when you knew it would kill you. leaving had been the easiest thing you had ever done, and yet staying gone had been the hardest.

you had grown accustomed to it a long time ago, now, and had essentially learned that grief eventually became less of an open wound and more of an extra organ tucked tightly within your ribs.

you had no one. nothing.

you wondered what it might have felt like to have someone merely think of you, or even wait for you. perhaps that was the strangest thing about loneliness - you weren’t even sure what the taste of a warm home was like outside of yourself. it was half morbid curiosity, and the other a despairing wonder you knew would surely hurt you more.

there was nobody checking the clock when your shift ran impossibly late, nobody sending increasingly irritated messages demanding to know whether you’d eaten, nobody calling when the weather had turned for the worse to make sure you’d remember to pack an umbrella.

you simply existed, quietly. you made sure to keep yourself small and invisible, and for the most part, you were strangely good at it.

new york was perhaps the easiest place in the world to be left alone without ever actually being by yourself - millions of people tacked tightly, bodies always brushing against one another on pavements and shoulders knocking each other on the subway. there was an art of living here, an understanding, that everyone was fucking lonely.

it felt less lonely to do it together.

your apartment wasn’t much either. a single studio space tucked five floors high on a street that somehow managed to remain nosy no matter the hour, with temperamental heating, a kitchen barely large enough for one person to navigate and a large bedroom window you’d often sit outside on, your feet resting on the old, metal fire escape located just there.

all sorts of people lived in your apartment, knowing there were five or more floors above, with some murmuring that the top floor was quite lavish indeed. you often listened away in the elevator, overlooked, never noticed by the people chattering away as you became one with the walls, tote bag heavy on your shoulder, big eyes fluttering over at them.

most people, however, were not jeon jungkook.

the tall, muscular bachelor who lived on the very penthouse floor that was so often spoke about.

you didn’t know what he did, no one did, but you assumed it was something to do with the sciences considering all of the papers he would always be carrying whenever you’d pass him.

you didn’t really know much about him whatsoever - only that he was young, and terribly handsome. so unfairly beautiful that it had your fingers clutching your bag a little tighter whenever he’d be in your presence, heartbeat picking up embarrassingly so.

for some reason, you were always in the elevator at the same time as he was.

“morning.” he’d gently whisper to you, quiet and soft, in the elevator, paired with a little grin that had you matching it on your face as you murmured the same greeting back.

you’d immediately become fascinated with the illuminated numbers on the wall, cheeks flushing a deep red that you hoped he wouldn’t notice - pathetic. you had never even spoken for longer than a minute, and yet your heart was doing somersaults at the sight of him.

once, he had even helped you with your groceries. it was a rare day off, your shoulders hurting, as you carried your brown bags of groceries through the city, finally meeting your apartment foyer only to have them all break apart, your fruit falling out of your arms immediately.

the apples scattered, all whilst you let out a sound akin to a whimper, feeling your shoulders utterly slump at the sight. you could feel the humiliation rising as you began to crouch down, and though no one was there to watch you, you could feel your eyes sting wet in embarrassment.

“got you.” you had heard, your eyebrows pulling in confusion as you looked up.

your gaze was met by none other than jungkook himself, arms already filling up as he managed to grab a hold of a big majority of your groceries, picking up the apples one by one with utter ease before giving you a small grin.

“you okay?” he had murmured as you also helped, your cheeks bright pink.

“yeah, i’m sorry.”

“why are you apologising?” he had tilted his head at you.

you didn’t know what to say. didn’t know how to answer him. that, alone, added to the humiliation in your chest.

without even letting you ponder, he whispered a gentle come on, before leading you to the elevator, all the way up to your floor. you struggled to look away from the way his arms bulged, his muscles on show as he held your groceries with utter ease, tattoos lining up his arm as though it was natural. you were half in awe, other in bashful attraction.

you remembered how large he looked in your hallway, how intensely he stood in your kitchen as he placed your things away for you despite your dismissal. he was sweet personified, despite his intimidating look, and for that, you cursed him. the swirl in your stomach just looking at him had forever been altered by the knowledge he really was as warm as he would always be in the elevator.

“thank you, jungkook.” you had whispered by the end of it.

you, unfortunately, had been completely oblivious to the way his hands shook at the mere sound of it.

oh, how clueless you were, so shallow in your thinking to assume that jeon jungkook wasn’t head over heels in love with you, his sweet, angelic girl.

he couldn’t fucking breathe around you, always swallowing up your scent whenever he was beside you as though it was a gift, greedy in his nature, always wanting to take, take, take. his dna had been altered years ago, arachnid senses creating an animalistic nature to him that only seemed to heighten whenever he was around you - his brain screaming; yelling even, that you were his, all his.

his hearing had always been excessively sensitive, always doing his best to listen in whilst he sat in his own apartment. he could hear neighbours moving around in their homes, no matter the floor, no matter the distance, so used to being inside their minds that he could distinguish them by breath alone. it was yours he was most fixated on.

couldn’t help himself from recognising yours first.

and he certainly couldn’t help the strange little warmth that gathered inside of his heart every single time the elevator doors opened up, revealing you stood outside, waiting to get in.

pretty. sleepy. coffee in both hands. always offering him that shy, little smile.

“morning.”

“hi.”

that was enough. it had to be.

because jungkook had learned very early on that wanting something and being allowed to have it were two completely separate things.

you were so soft, so gentle, that the thought of him getting his hands on you were enough to have his dna spike. he wanted you more than he had ever wanted anything in his entire life, and he wasn’t an idiot - he could hear your heart. could hear the way it would beat so much faster around him, or the sound of your blood rushing to your cheeks, the way your eyes would sneakily stare at his biceps. you wanted him too, and that killed him. it killed him to know you could be his so easily and yet he wasn’t allowed.

you deserved somebody normal. somebody that wasn’t fucking spiderman.

he had lost everyone too. his uncle ben, his aunt may. had let go of all his friends because he knew it was only a matter of time until they were used against him, and that just wasn’t something he could live with. the thought of you, so warm, so small and quiet, targeted by people who’s only existence was based on evil itself, simply because you were his was enough to kill him.

you deserved boring. you deserved someone who was mundane.

somebody who’s nights didn’t consist of bloody knuckles and healing on the bedroom floor, or somebody who could promise you dinner and arrive with certainty at the correct time. someone’s who’s enemies wouldn’t destroy you by discovering what you meant to him.

jungkook knew what happened to the people he loved, and he had lost far too much for you to become one of them.

and so, you remained the beautiful girl that lived downstairs that had him chained, lock and key, with your mere presence. destined to constantly breathe your scent in as you stood by him, bodies barely brushing together, interacting in small beats each morning in the elevator only to be left a mess.

fuck.

—

the bookstore closed at eleven.

you typically left at eleven ten, but tonight, an older couple had come in asking for recommendations 2 minutes before closing, and you couldn’t bring yourself to turn them away. you hadn’t minded, not that you ever did, but by the time you helped them choose something, and wrapped it in the brown paper whilst they searched for exact change in their wallets, the clutch mounted above the register read eleven fourty. 

you cringed a little, knowing that meant your walk home would be significantly different. 

you completed the final checks alone, flicking off all the smaller lights and finishing up your cleaning before you stepped outside, locking the door behind you.

the city was quieter than usual - not that you’d ever really seen it this late in this area.

you breathed out slowly. it took you fifteen minutes to get home, and you knew the route well enough that you could do it blindfolded.

left at the pharmacy, straight for three streets and then across the twenty-four-hour laundromat. most of the shops closed at the same time as your walk home, but considering how late you were done, you knew it would certainly be silent.

your apartment wasn’t particularly safe, nor was the neighbourhood surrounding it, but the rent was expensive and you had survived far worse places than this - it also helped knowing you lived in close distance to your crush, a thought that felt oddly sweet whenever you’d think about it.

you knew the rules.

key between your fingers, phone charged, headphones inside your ears but not loud enough that you couldn’t hear the world around you - don’t stare, don’t stop, don’t engage. if someone scared you, go somewhere busy. if someone followed you, don’t lead them home.

you were repeating the mantra in your head, calming your racing heart, only for it to come to a stop as you began hearing someone behind you.

“hey.”

you heard him immediately. your eyes remained forward.

“hey, sweetheart.”

you flinched a little, fingers curling around the strap of your tote as you continued to walk. two separate voices.

“you deaf?” one laughed, making your shoulders raise further as you realised there were three.

your stomach sank.

you noticed them vaguely when you had left your workplace - three men stood outside the corner shop at the end of the street, smoking, one leaning against the brick wall whilst the others spoke loudly enough that you’d crossed the street without consciously deciding to. you had hoped that would have been enough to protect you, but it was clear that it hadn’t been.

“damn she’s rude.”

your heartbeat had begun changing, beating so loudly that it was all you could hear. they were laughing at you, enjoying the way you were trying to get in hurrier motions all whilst their footsteps got louder.

you swallowed, unable to look at them, hoping they’d get bored. men like this typically did when you refused to acknowledge them. you kept telling yourself that you’d be home soon, and that with another few streets, they’d disappear and leave you alone, that they’d find something else to be interested by.

“nice skirt.”

your hands began to shake.

“where are you going?”

every step you took to bring you there faster only resulted in them walking faster too. the fear in your mind and chest didn’t arrive dramatically, but instead built upon itself, climbing harshly through your throat until it had your eyes watering. 

your hand disappeared inside your coat pocket and closed around your phone, making your fingers still for a moment - who could you even call? the question appeared before you had given yourself a chance to unlock it. 

your co-worker was already underground, your manager living a whole fourty minutes away. you didn’t have friends, still too new to an area you were unfamiliar with, and you certainly didn’t have family. no mother whos number you could press without thinking, no father that would rush out the door to protect his little girl. no brother, no sister, no cousins or aunts, uncles and grandparents. nobody sitting inside your apartment wondering why you hadn;t turned your key in the lock yet.

you had spent years telling yourself that there was a sort of freedom in being alone, only to feel the danger of it in real time. 

your apartment building appeared at the far end of the street and for a moment, you could feel your heart leap, before it sank deep inside your stomach. 

you couldn’t go home. how could you go home?

if they watched you enter, they’d know where you lived. they’d know that the only home with a stable fire escape by the massive window belonged to you, an easy way to access you whenever they liked - the thought had a sob climbing up your throat. you’d never be able to sleep properly again.

so, you walked past the final turn. away from home.

tears were slipping down your face, not that you even noticed, the fear practically gripping you by your very soul.

“aw,” the voices were closer, and closer. “she’s crying.”

your lips trembled, shakily wiping your face as you took in your surroundings. shops, closed. no one was on the streets this late, no one was stupid enough - it was this hour of night where the evil liked to play, and you were seeing it first-hand for yourself.

you kept turning, going into another street, and then another, realising that they were enjoying the chase more than anything. you wanted to call 911, but even you knew they wouldn’t help you, especially not fast enough. you were alone with a bunch of men who didn’t bother to pretend, didn’t bother to hide their very intention, laughing each time you increased your pace.

a gust of wind had your skirt rising a little, only to have it followed by a loud whistle, a small whine of genuine fear releasing from under your breath.

you could feel it begin to paralyse your mind, and without thinking, you turned once more, heading straight into the nearest street despite not being familiar with the route. your entire body stopped when you realised you had settled yourself into a dead end. 

just as you had come to a stop, so did the footsteps behind you.

slowly, you turned, hands shaking by your chest as you made eye contact with three separate men - one smiled, hardly friendly, whilst the others looked you up and down with a slight snarl.

“please..” you whispered, internally shuddering at how desperate you sounded whilst backing away. 

“we just wanna talk, that’s all.”

“i don’t want to.”

“that’s rude of you, sweets.” one of them smirked, stepping closer. “been trying to talk to you for ten minutes.”

“yeah, you think you’re better than us?” the other scoffed, approaching you openly.

“i just wanna go home. i won’t tell anyone.” you whimpered back, the flood of tears dripping from your face only increasing in volume which only seems to egg them on.

you ended up closing your eyes, just as the one on the end lunged for you, hand gripping your wrist in what could only be described as painful, yanking you forward until you had fallen onto your knees. you could feel the soreness on your legs, scraping them against the hard ground, leaving you a whimpering mess.

the man reached again, just as your eyes squeezed tighter.

before he could initiate any further contact, the sound of something whipping through the air flooded your ears, a small thud just in front of you that had you looking up slowly. before you could even register anything, the harsh hold on your wrist was lifted, and the man in front had completely disappeared.

you yelped as you heard him scream, yanked into the air and his body slamming into the brick wall just a few metres away, thick, white webbing wrapping around his chest and legs so tightly, it rendered him immobile.

you scuttered back almost immediately, eyes shooting up to finally see what had happened.

a figure of red and blue landed in front of you in a low crouch, figure rising slowly. broad shoulders began to obscure your view of the other men entirely, with a single black spider stretching across his back.

oh, you knew that suit. you knew it just as well as any other resident of the city, your eyes blinking in utter disbelief.

“you know, when someone’s crossing the street to get away from you.” his head tilted at the other two men, who had fallen, inching away with wide eyes. “and they’re crying, and begging you to stop.. at what point does your brain go, yeah, she definitely wants me to keep following?”

“fuck off!” one managed to shout at him, though it was laced with genuine fear.

“right,” the stranger laughed a little. “that’s what i expected you to say.”

he stepped forward, into the moonlight, the streetlights glinting against his suit to confirm he truly was the only person that could save you in a situation like this.

spiderman.

before you could think any further, he shot additional webs at the two left near you, forcing them onto the wall in precarious positions that no doubt was not comfortable, almost doing it in a way that felt comical.

everyone knew spiderman’s moral code of conduct - never kill, never purposefully injure. he simply aided in getting the bad guys into the hands of the police, and he prided himself on being composed, always going out of his way to disarm and suspend to make sure everyone would be safe. those were the rules he had created for himself, to ensure he wouldn’t go too far considering his strengths well surpassed that of the normal man - too much strength, his speed unmatched. it would always be an unfair fight.

jungkook rolled his shoulders, his suit so perfectly moulded to him that it looked like a second skin. this was a pretty easy situation, a bunch of sleazy men that he had gotten rid of quickly, with the authorities already alerted through his ingrained system.

turning around to finally face you, you watched as his goggles widened, indicating the size of his eyes at the mere sight of you.

that coat. cream and slightly too big for your frame - he’d recognise it anywhere. recognised it from the millionth times he’d stan beside you in the elevator, so desperate to brush his fingers against your own but fighting the urge in hopes it would protect you.

and yet, here you were, flooded in tears, on the floor.

his stomach dropped, a small chanting of no echoing in his mind and his eyes moved upwards, examining your face to confirm his worst nightmare.

you.

his angel girl. his sweet, sweet neighbour with the large eyes and cute pout, always muttering a shy hello.

his girl.

jungkook could feel something heavy in his throat as he stepped back just slightly, fingers tingling and body aching at the mere prospect of breaking each and every limb on the bodies of the men that had targeted you - his fucking girl. his. all his.

you were so small in that moment, knees to your chest with tears streaming down your face, clutching your bag in front of you as though it provided a sense of protection from the men now dangling above. you couldn’t believe spiderman was in front of you, in all of his glory, muscles defined against his suit and mask concealing his identity perfectly - and yet, you watched the way his goggles moved in perfect unison to his eyes, widening and squinting, narrowing and sharpening.

the sound of your heartbeat was enough to have his brain swirl, heavy and loaded as he began approaching you, all whilst your breath hitched, too large eyes reaching his through his mask in half fear and other relief. he wanted to cradle you, hide you away, make sure no one could ever touch you again all whilst his mind practically screamed at him.

he had stayed away. he had been good and done the right thing, not approaching you and making sure you couldn’t get too close despite smelling the very attraction radiating off of you. he wasn’t sure he had ever wanted anything more in his life and yet, he had placed you first, and for what?

for the haunting realisation that the world was fucked and out to get you regardless?

it swam in his bloodstream, the anger, the confusion and rage, as he finally crouched in front of you.

“hey,” he whispered, so gentle, a juxtaposition to what he had just done. “it’s okay.”

in response, you could only whimper, body shaking rapidly in front of him. it was cold out, and the air was only getting more and more chilled.

“look at me.”

at that, you met his gaze, leaking eyes only crying harder at the prospect of safety in front of you.

“did they do that?” he asked you, goggles flicking downwards.

you felt so overwhelmed, too confused to register his words, only making him repeat them even softer to you, your eyes trailing downwards do see the harsh markings around your wrist from where you had been grabbed earlier. you were always so quick to bruise, but the horrible red and soon to be blue sheen on your skin was a mere confirmation that all of this was real.

“h-he grabbed me.” you finally managed to speak through your cries.

jungkook nearly whined at the sound of you so upset, so afraid - it was enough to make a man like him angry, a dangerous thing given his abilities. he visibly shook in front of you, and your brain couldn’t register why, especially given the nature of his job. surely he had seen worse, done worse, and yet here he was, crouched in front of you, fingers gently grazing over the bruise as though this was the worst thing on earth.

“which one?”

your brows knitted together. “huh?”

“which one touched you?” he repeated, a little firm this time.

something in his voice frightened you, a confusing conclusion as your eyes unconsciously moved past him, making eye contact with one of the sleazy men before returning to his.

jungkook had followed your gaze, confirming his suspicions.

“fuck.” he whispered, breathing audibly changing. “need you to do something f’me, okay?”

the slight slur in his words had your shoulders raising as you sniffled through your tears, nodding lightly.

“need you to close your eyes for me. you’ll do that for me, won’t you?”

you shifted in confusion, uncertain as your fingers curled around your bag again. “why?”

“don’t want you to see what i’m gonna do next.”

your lips parted. “s-spiderman.”

his attention immediately returned to you, pulled out of his murderous haze just slightly as though your voice had pulled him from his rage, soothed it enough to bring him back to reality. that was..new.

“you’re safe now, okay?” he promised you, stepping closer to you until his knees were touching your bag, your faces unusually close. “nothings gonna happen to you, but i need you to close your eyes for me.”

another tear rolled down your eyes as you nodded faintly, lips quivering a little just as his hands turned into fists, no doubt desperate to cradle you and comfort you the way you deserved.

immediately, your eyelids fluttered closed, lashes wet and coated in tears as he watched you pull up your hands as an afterthought, hiding your eyes from underneath. his heart clenched at the sight of you so trusting of him, his ego inflating for the first time in his entire life at the knowledge his girl, his sweet, sweet girl knew she was in safe hands without even knowing it was him.

something dangerously similar to devotion swirled in his mind just as he turned around, facing the three men in front of him.

you had done exactly as he asked, hands clenching around your face as you made sure to instil the darkest environment around you, plunged into nothingness whilst the horrible sounds of pleads and bones breaking filtered through the air. you winced uncontrollably, enough for him to notice no doubt, all whilst he flew in the air, causing him to take the men out of earshot so he really could do whatever he wanted.

by the time he was done, he knew he had gone too far. he knew he had gone against every inch of his moral code, his suit bloodied and rage at an all time high - the arachnid dna was polluting his mind and body, but he truly couldn’t help it. his girl. they had touched his sweet, sweet girl.

he dropped from the high building, webbing through the sky until he dropped right in front of you, and took a few measured steps closer. you were still curled against the wall, legs packed so tightly against your body as your hands completely covered your face, still crying, still whimpering.

“hey,” he softly whispered, approaching you like you were a fawn. “it’s me.”

your fingers trembled over your eyes just as he crouched down right in front of you.

“it’s all over.” he assured you again.

“..can i look?”

his heart broke at the sound of you asking permission.

“yeah, baby. you can look.”

the endearment escaped him before he could even ponder over his words, but it was exactly what your brain needed as your hands slowly lowered from your face.

your eyes were swollen from your tears, face blotchy, makeup ruined. he couldn’t help but stare at you, breath taken away, despite the situation.

he watched a you peered behind him, assessing the situation not because you didn’t trust what he was telling you, but to have it confirmed in your own mind. only then did your hands fully drop, sniffling away as he got closer and closer, almost cooing at you, hands pushing your hair out of your face as though he wasn’t covered in blood. you noticed, but you couldn’t bring yourself to ask, your body too exhausted from the adrenaline that was slowly dissipating.

“are they gonna follow me?” your bottom lip trembled.

he shook his head immediately, body a little too close to yours but it only provided the very comfort you actually needed.

“no, don’t worry about them. they’re never gonna come near you again.”

you nodded, another few tears falling as you let out a little breath of relief.

“promise?”

“promise you.”

he watched you as your brain slowly caught up to you, his eyes trailing over the way your knees had slowly began bleeding, scraped from the fall leaving your skin broken, wrist looking similar with its hellish bruise. the knowledge that another man had held you so tightly as a means to hurt you was enough to have him rolling his shoulders back, jaw aching with the thought of going back and truly ending their lives.

something ugly was pulling at his chest.

“you’re hurt.”

you looked up properly, sniffling. “hm?”

“hm.” he repeated, hand darting out to properly push your hair behind your ear. “your knees hurt?”

“oh it’s..it’s fine. hurts a little.” you admitted, eyes darting all over his mask.

the anonymity of it all only had you wanting more, the sudden thirst for truth unfortunately pulling at your chest. you weren’t special in that regard, knowing that most people that met spiderman were intrigued by him, his almost charismatic nature enough to have people urging for more, wanting nothing but to have the truth of who he is. you were ashamed to say you felt it too, that familiar pull that people talked about online. you were just like them.

he nodded at you, blowing gently against your knees to give them some reprieve from the pain, dulled by the material covering his mouth and yet it reminded you that he was real. a real human behind material.

“come here.”

you blinked. “what?”

he began to stand, head tilting back for a moment, shoulders rolling once more before he stretched out his hand. large with long digits, so much bigger than your own, and you immediately took it without even thinking, body already knowing him as safety defined as you stood.

your knees buckled almost immediately.

before you could even fall, he grabbed you with a single arm, swooping you up with ease.

“o-oh.”

“easy.” he murmured, face awfully close to your own as he pulled you up, your feet no longer on the ground as he held you safely.

you could feel him so entirely. hard muscle and warmth, bicep curling around you in a way that had you feeling engulfed as you were pressed against a chest that seemed to go on forever. you couldn’t fathom him being so much bigger than you, but oh, how good it felt. your hands immediately met on his pecs, breath shaking, tears finally drying up.

it felt strange.

being held by him, it felt familiar and comfortable, which was alarming considering he was a complete stranger to you, and you found yourself curling close to him openly. you swore you could feel his breath hitch.

in response, he wrapped his other arm around you, pushing you up further into his arms so you’d be held a little more comfortably.

“gonna take you home, okay?” he whispered gently against you, too sweet for a man that had just displayed a level of violence that went above human.

your eyes flickered to the end of the alley, shuddering in his arms as you remembered how you got here in the first place.

“i can walk.” you murmured quietly, though that was the last thing you wanted to do.

“no.” his voice was firm. “not letting you walk home after that.”

you swallowed.

“kinda need to walk to get home.”

the lighthearted nature of what left your mouth had a small laugh leaving his lips, enough to have you forming a shaking grin yourself, the silliness of the circumstance sort of easing you both as you curled deeper into his arms. he could feel the anxiety lessen in your body, feeling it deep within his own and it only made his arm tighten around you as he prepared the webs in his other.

“how do you think i get around?” he laughed a little at you.

“wait..no way.”

“yeah.”

“what, like on instagram? like, seriously?”

“am i going viral on there?” he hummed back, genuinely curious whilst you stared at him with open eyes and an open mouth.

you simply stared at him, agape.

“gonna need you to hold on tight f’me, okay?” he suddenly moved your hands away from his chest and guided them up, around his neck instead. “you ready?”

“wait!” you squeaked almost immediately, clinging to him. “what if you drop me?”

“i won’t drop you.”

“no, but what if you do?”

“then i’d catch you.”

you swore you could see him grinning through the mask, his goggles giving him a sort of mischervious look.

“that isn’t reassuring!” you huffed.

“i promise. i’m really good at swinging, but you gotta hang real tight.”

before you could even say anything else, he shot a web out at the nearest building and yanked both of your bodies up, holding you as though you quite literally weighed nothing. the shriek that left your lips echoed into the night, your arms clinging to his neck in a death grip.

you could even register when he had started a new web and when one ended, swinging through the air with a practised ease that you know you’d be thinking about later. for now, you were scrambling against him, clinging to his arms in overwhelming adrenaline.

“oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.” you chanted in his ear through inhales of breath, the wind whipping through your air as you pressed your cheek against his through the mask.

he couldn’t help the laugh, or the smile that was pulling on his lips. his girl, in his arms, all whilst he swung through new york to take her home. it was a sort of exhilaration he couldn’t replicate, and now that he’d had a taste, he couldn’t fathom ever having anything else. oh, he had crossed the line in so many ways in the span of a few minutes and he didn’t give a fuck. he had no intention of ever stopping.

another web fired. you shrieked again, hiding your face against his cheek, closing your eyes as you breathed directly into his mask, feeling him even more intimately than before.

it wasn’t long until he had landed outside your building, shooting his final web that had your bodies moving up and finishing up on the old fire escape. he noticed you were still tucked against him, no doubt the adrenaline blinding your vision and thoughts, unaware you were both stationary.

fuck, you were so cute.

he slid through your open window, finally standing in the middle of your tiny apartment, his arm tight around you, but his other hand coming up to gently brush against the back of your hair.

“hey.”

you simply made a noise of pure fright back at him. he couldn’t help the laugh that followed.

“you’re safe. we’re home.”

“huh? promise?” you mumbled out, eyes shooting open to look around you.

immediately, your arms slowly lessened in grip once you realised you really were stood in front of your bed. the familiar warmth of your lamps that you had forgot to turn off again, and the pink of your duvet and plushies that all sat in a row. embarrassingly enough, your spiderman toy that you often snuggled with sat bang in the middle, no doubt noticed by the real thing as you slid out of his grip, humiliated that you had all but thrown yourself on him for a moment there.

confusion quickly replaced the feeling of adrenaline and fear as you looked around openly before meeting his gaze, body still inappropriately pressed against his despite the fact there really wasn’t any reason to be.

“this is my apartment.” you whispered up at him.

he didn’t respond, fingers curling into your skirt just slightly.

your brows furrowed as you looked at him. “how did..you know where i live?”

again, his only response was silence as he gently placed his arms on your waist, looking down at you. underneath the suit, his heart was beating a million miles per hour, almost desperate to tell you how deeply he knew you, how he sat in his own apartment a few floors up listening to your very breath and footsteps just to ease his mind. how could he explain that every time you stood by him in the elevator, it provided just the right amount of motivation to get him through his vigilante actions?

your fingers were curled into him, right where his stomach sat, nails digging into his hard rock abs through heavy material as your eyes met.

the confusion, the way you were looking at him, the way your eyebrows furrowed - you were driving him insane.

you swore you could see him visibly falter.

“you should lock your window.” he whispered, instead of responding down to you, skirt beginning to bunch in his hands.

you hated how much you liked the feel of it.

“..w-what?”

“fire escape right outside. easy access.” he grunted a little, voice husky. “you need to keep it closed, and locked.”

you nodded, throat tight, eyes blinking up at him.

before you could open up your eyes properly, or offer a rebuttal, he finally took a step back. the loss of warmth was beyond jarring as you watched him part from your smaller frame, letting go of your skirt so it could hide the skin he had revealed, watching as your hands slipped from his own body as a result.

looking at him, blood seeping through his suit, shoulders so much wider in person; you couldn’t help but feel your mouth water. was it fucked up to feel attracted to someone you couldn’t even see? even you recognised how insane that was and yet your hands itched to go back to the position you were just in.

he turned, making his way to the window, no doubt to leave, only to be stopped by your loud whimper as you rushed over to him, grabbing him by his arm.

“wait!” you had exclaimed.

you watched him look down, staring at your smaller hand on his much larger bicep, before looking at your face, head slightly tilted.

“thank you.” you whispered, eyes large.

jungkook stilled.

the sincerity behind your voice felt heavy both in his mind and body, as he turned his head to face you, despite being ready to leave. he hated the way you said it - as though you felt like it wasn’t enough to properly describe what you meant and yet there was no equivalent in the language you shared. you owed him nothing. he wanted to scream that at you.

instead, he settled. “you don’t have to thank me for anything.”

“i do. i don’t..i don’t know what would have happened if you weren’t there.”

your hand remained on his arm, curling into the material again.

if only you could see the way his jaw clenched at your words, moving from the window frame to properly turn to you once more, height completely engulfing yours as you tilted your head to meet his gaze.

“don’t say that shit.”

“but..”

“no.” his voice was firm. “you’re here, and you’re safe. don’t think like that.”

you stared at him for a moment, nibbling away at your lips as you eventually nodded, understanding.

you couldn’t help but lower your eyes down, down, down.

before you could overthink your next actions, your hands raised gently, slowly even, as you reached for his mask, fingers gently brazing the end of his neck where the edge of his suit connected to the mask hiding his face.

immediately, jungkook reacted out of pure instinct, hands grabbing your own. his grip wasn’t harsh by any means, as though his body recognised you as something entirely different, merely holding too gently given what you were doing. both of you froze for a moment before you snapped back into what you were going to do.

you couldn’t breathe, and yet he was worse, as you gently began to pull his mask up. slowly, it raised to reveal his neck, milky and golden all at once, his adam’s apple coming into view, allowing you to watch his throat visibly gulp. you pushed it further to reveal his chin and jaw, hardened as he clenched it, feeling your fingers on bare skin. it wasn’t until you revealed his lips, mask now tucked right underneath his nose that you pulled your hands back down to his chest.

your breath mingled with his own, bodies managing to become so intimately close once more, as you took a brave step forward, your hands flat against his pecs.

leaning forward, you gently pressed your lips against his cheek, catching the corner of his mouth in the process.

his hands were on your body, harsh and firm, grabbing onto your back and stomach in a way that showed your effect on him in real time.

you pulled back, lips grazing down to his jaw, finishing against his neck before your fingers pulled his mask back down, a silent thank you that managed to convey exactly how you felt whilst still offering yourself the piece of him you desperately needed in that moment. selfish, even you could recognise that, but with the way he was holding you, you knew he wanted you just as much.

spiderman was affected by you.

you.

you couldn’t understand it. you were no one to him. nobody, not someone anyone really knew and yet he was a mess beneath your body, his inhales and exhales enough to drive your mind into overload.

“goodnight.” you whispered to him in finality, just as he dropped his forehead to touch yours.

he openly nuzzled your nose, your top in his deathly grip as he allowed himself this one prize. the feel of you, so pliant against him, knowing you wanted him just the way he wanted you really was a reward.

alas, he was spiderman in that moment. not jungkook.

the thought nearly killed him as he stepped back finally, gulping visibly as his shaking hands opened the window a little wider.

“lock the window.”

“i will.”

“promise me.”

you grinned a little. that was your line.

“i promise.”

with that, you watched him step out; a web immediately transporting his larger frame away from you in what felt like utter seconds all whilst you found yourself collapsing onto your bed with widened eyes, unable to comprehend what had just happened in the span of half an hour.

what the actual fuck.

— 

you woke up thinking about spiderman.

you felt ridiculous, having dreamt about him the entire night, only to wake up with him lingering both in your mind and against your lips. you found yourself grabbing your spiderman plush only to push it into your face, squeaking loudly over the thought of the night before. your wrist still ached, a hideous purple bruise curving around it as a harsh reminder of what had happened less than twelve hours ago, and yet the only thing you could properly recollect was the way your body had pressed against his so intimately.

his mouth.

fuck.

kissing his cheek, capturing the corner of his lips in a way that felt like you were strangely claiming your own stake on him was wild to say the least.

from waking up, brushing your teeth and showering - it was all you could think about.

it was humiliating considering you didn’t even kiss him properly, merely lifting his mask as though you had any right, a stranger at that, sealing a thank you straight into his skin. it was both mortifying and thrilling, your stomach doing loops whenever you recollected the moment, the reminder of how he had held you so tightly, gripping your clothes in a way that rendered you completely pliant.

by the time you were dressed, you had finally had a talk with yourself, convincing yourself that you needed to behave normally. it wasn’t like you’d see him again anyway, and life eventually had to go back to the mundane whether you wanted it to or not.

it was your day off, with the sun shining bright outside despite the winter chill in the air, lingerthing through the skyhigh buildings throughout the city. you weren’t sure what you wanted to do today, but it was imperative you left your apartment in hopes to get some fresh air, deciding that it was best to actually have your brain thinking elsewhere.

you knew there was a bakery that sat a twenty minute walk away that sold pastries you had been eyeing for weeks. that felt like a good enough justification to you.

grabbing your coat, you checked your window twice to make sure it was locked before heading to the elevator.

the doors opened immediately upon pressing the button.

“morning.”

your heart dropped rapidly right into your stomach as you made eye contact with the one person you had been pondering on for far longer than spiderman.

jungkook.

it was comical, really, how you had spent your entire night and morning pondering over one man only to be met with the ridiculously attractive man you were completely obsessed with. the fresh feeling of humiliation waved over you all again.

he looked so good it genuinely hurt, dressed casually for once in dark joggers and an oversized sweatshirt, hair slightly damp from the shower he had just had. his glasses were low on his nose, papers tucked under one hand and his phone in the other - he managed to look expensive and important all at once, despite his casual wear.

his eyes moved over you. up and down, openly, as though he was finally allowing himself the opportunity to indulge after last night’s events.

you, who was unaware of the situation you were in, where the two men you were thinking of were actually one, found yourself flushing as you shuffled beside him, murmuring a soft hi before tucking your hair behind your ear.

“what happened?”

you blinked for a second, turning your head to look up at him. your brain tickled in recognition, having looked up the same way last night.

“hm?”

he shoved his phone into his pocket just as his eyes narrowed, his papers still tucked under his arm before his hand darted out and reached for you. his fingers curled gently around your wrist, lifting it up. he stared at the bruising, so much darker than what it had been last night now that it had time to properly settle.

you watched his jaw tighten, a flush of anger flipping through his gaze.

“oh.” you flushed a little, forgetting it had been so visible. “i just..i fell.”

his eyes lifted slowly to yours as though he didn’t believe you whatsoever. you had never quite noticed how intense he looked.

“someone grab you when you fell?”

your heart skipped at the slight harshness in his tone, as though he knew more than he was leading on. it confused you enough to tilt your head at him in response, your lips parting as though you weren’t sure what to say.

“looks like you were grabbed.” he clarified.

he looked down at your wrist, just as you did the same, thumb hovering over evident markings that looked awfully similar to finger marks.

“oh.” you flushed pink. of course. you felt stupid for a moment. “yeah..um..”

your hesitation didn’t go unnoticed by him, his body turning to face you properly all whilst he held your wrist.

a sick part of him wanted you to confirm it. to ask for his help. not spiderman’s, but jungkook’s. so he could stand here and be the man you exactly needed. he couldn’t reveal his identity to you, not until he was sure you actually wanted him in the exact way he wanted you - it wasn’t fair on either of you.

your cheeks burned further, unsure as to how you were supposed to explain such a situation.

he noticed, of course.

“you okay?” his tone became soft, so intensely gentle that you too found yourself turning to face him, eyes wide.

“i’m okay.” you assured, cheeks still pink. “something um, happened last night but it’s all good now. i promise.”

you watched as he clenched his jaw. somewhere in the back of your mind, you recognised the notion to be familiar, too familiar, and yet you couldn’t quite connect the dots. he looked upset, angry even, as though he was recollecting something.

and oh, how he was. the sound of your knees hitting concrete, hearing you cry in his arms in utter fear after being assaulted all whilst he listened to your heartbeat echo through his head. he hadn’t been able to sleep all night, chasing coffees just to keep him awake so he could ponder on it longer, the rush of it only adding to the adrenaline of it all.

your lips. fuck, your lips.

so soft against his cheek, gliding down so gently to his jaw, ending against his neck, right on his pulse.

it was all he could think about as his head rested against his pillow, listening carefully to hear your soft puffs of air leaving your mouth as you slept - it relaxed him, made his heart rest whilst his mind raced.

now, you were stood in front of him, with your hand in his hand, so pretty and sweet. he wanted to kiss you, but he also wanted to lock you inside your apartment so no one could ever hurt you again.

he gently let go of your hand, watching as you returned to focusing on the numbers on the side panel, cheeks too pink to be anything other than utterly shy. he was obsessed with how adorable you looked, tucking your hair behind your ear, pretending you weren’t as affected as you actually appeared to be.

he couldn’t stop looking at you.

not when the memory of your frame packed so tightly against his body was all he could think about when he peered down.

“you working today?” he murmured, almost desperate for your attention.

you glanced over, surprised by his question. “oh, um, no. not today.”

“no?”

you shook your head, smiling shyly. “it’s my day off.”

“what’re you doing?”

you couldnt help yourself, nibbling away at your lip to stop your smile growing a little. he had always been kind to you, going out of his way to help you with your groceries and hold doors open for you but your conversations rarely extended beyond pleasantries and whatever small interaction the situation allowed for. this felt different, as though he was making a conscious decision to speak to you when he had been somewhat reserved before.

it excited you.

“uh..” you adjusted your tote. “there’s this bakery i’ve had my eye on for a while, and i don’t know. i thought it’d be nice to go get something.”

“where?”

you told him, voice soft.

his eyebrows knitted together. “that’s far.”

you laughed. “it’s only twenty five minutes.”

“fair.” he nodded, expression neutral.

he tried to pretend like the prospect of you walking alone mere hours after what had happened last night wasn't enough to throw his nervous system into fight or flight. if he had it his way, you’d be in his apartment, kept away from anything from the outside world just so he could ensure you’d be safe but alas, even he had enough comprehension to recognise that was hardly humane.

the elevator chimed, rendering the conversation over and the disappointmernt on his face was clear - it was enough to have you biting down your smile further.

you stepped out first, shoving the bag further on your shoulder. “have a good day!”

“you too.” he gently murmured, giving you a small smile back just as the doors closed again.

you didn’t realise that the only reason he had gotten in was to be around you, to just have your scent engulf him in the same way it had done last night. he needed to check in on you, to make sure you were still engaging with your normal routine in case whatever had happened had fucked with you too much.

what he hadn’t expected was to feel a longing for you so severe, he was going upstairs to collect his suit.

-

you had only been walking for three minutes when you started noticing the barely there whipping sounds in the air - far enough to be the wind and yet close enough to start to feel repetitive.

you assumed it was all in your head as you turned to the left, unconsciously walking past the same alleyway you had been cornered in last night. you didn’t recognise it, especially considering you usually didn’t come this way, and now that it was daylight, it all looked so much more different.

what you did notice, however, as you walked past was the police tape sectioning it off alongside the police force actually within the area. your brain didn’t compute the fact that they were there no doubt due to the three men that had been stuck against the wall all night thanks to spiderman, nor because of the sheer brutality he had shown them. you had been purposefully sheltered from it all.

instead, you found yourself looking up to the sky, watching the top of the building beside you in curiosity to see where that odd sound was coming from.

nothing.

strange.

you continued walking.

as you crossed the road, the light flashing green, you heard it again, much louder this time as though it had been closer, causing you to gasp a little, looking up again despite being on a busy street.

just as you reached the other side, your confusions were finally given relief as you noticed a flicker of blue and red. the smallest flash of something your mind couldn’t even comprehend.

your heart jumped in your chest at the possibility, the realisation.

instead of focusing on it, you continued to walk, entering a less busy street which meant you could flick your eyes up each time you heard a swoosh, only to be met with fragments of the same colours, confirming your hypothesis in real time.

spiderman was following you.

you couldn’t help the smile that began to form, a small giggle escaping you.

you pushed ahead, face no longer looking up so you wouldn’t reveal the fact you had figured it out, but the feelings in your body were unfathomable. you felt giddy with glee, shy and excited, your mind constantly repeating the same fact over and over and over and over and over until you were growing pink in the cheeks.

spiderman felt something too.

why else would he be doing this?

sure he had a moral duty to the citizens of new york, but this was beyond that and even you could recognise it. you weren’t in any danger, not at all - you were merely walking the streets to go to a bakery and yet here he was, flinging from building to building in hopes of getting your attention.

you decided to test your theory.

once, by stepping into the florist on your left, heading in, aimlessly smelling the flowers and chatting up a storm longer than ten minutes to which you noticed the same suit perched on a building, no doubt thinking he was out of view. by the time you had left, he was back to swinging.

by the time you reached the bakery, you were trying your hardest not to be overrun by excited giggles, despite the pain in both your wrist and knees.

the little bell over the door chimed as you walked in, warmth engulfing you whilst the scent of sugar in the air soothed any lasting stress in your body from the night before. you took your time, pondering over which baked goods to take home, truly savouring the experience.

you ended up leaving with a little bag of different things to try, feeling on top of the moon which felt like a juxtaposition to what had happened to you hours ago.

tucking it to your chest, you looked up again excitedly only to realise he wasn’t there. you frowned a little, eyes peering to the buildings around you and still nothing.

perhaps he had gone.

the embarrassment in your body at the mere prospect of feeling disappointed was enough to have your cheeks heating as you began the journey home, muttering something to yourself over behaving normally. he was obviously on a patrol of the area, or doing something that actually warranted his attention - he didn’t know you. it was ridiculous to assume it was you he was following around.

before you could wallow up in self shame, the familiar whip of webs being formed had you gasping a little, looking up immediately only to find spiderman sat on the edge of a building, feet dangling.

you were openly looking at him, eye contact heavy, as he tilted his head at you, goggles indicating he was grinning at you. at that, you felt all of your overthinking thoughts dissipate, replaced with the reality that yes, spiderman absolutely was following you.

you smiled up at him, looking away once you realised your heartbeat was beating a little too fast before actually going home.

the sound of webs followed you all the way back.

-

by the time nightfall came, you were settled on your bed, movie on the tv, dressed in the prettiest pyjamas you owned. flimsy, sure, but sweet silky pink shorts paired with a matching camisole that left little to the imagination, all whilst your favourite romcom filled the space.

you wanted to unwind, what with your hair up in a bun of sorts, nails freshly painted and face mask just completed.

the city was quiet tonight, which was rare. the traffic was good for once and the laughter of the residents around you sat a little louder than usual, but the usual buzz that forced everyone to compete and never rest seemed to be missing, as though everyone needed today to recharge just like you. it felt oddly peaceful, reassuring even, to know everyone had decided to take a breath with you.

outside, jeon jungkook was perched on the opposite building, simply staring at you.

he knew it wasn’t right, knew he was being ridiculous and overbearing but he hadn’t been able to move for the past hour and a half. he had done everything he needed, fought the criminals and handed them to the nypd with ease, even practicing his look of confusion when they asked about the utter violence that had happened the night before. he had worked and worked and worked and worked and now, he found himself sat, watching his girl unwind as though he was unwinding with you.

you with your green face mask, that you had promptly washed off and the look of concentration as you painted your nails, your tongue slightly poking out of your mouth. he had never been so enamoured by someone before.

he knew that last night had changed the way his brain thought.

for months, years even, he had promised himself to be as objective as possible - he couldn’t get close to anyone, for their sake and never his own. he couldn’t be selfish, he couldn’t place his wants above what needed to happen for the safety of the people around him. no friends, no family and certainly no lovers and yet, you.

you, his angel girl, who he had wanted nothing more than to speak to, indulging slightly in the elevator even though it made his heart clench each time. you, his sweet girl, who had been attacked even though he had done every single thing right.

it was the realisation that no matter what he did, violence would still exist. anger and rage would still be here, and you would still be a potential target - it made no sense for him to stay away when without him, it was simply louder.

and so, jungkook indulged. he indulged in what he could do by sitting here and watching you, allowing his heart to fall deeper in love with you despite having done everything to fight it. he didn’t want to stop what felt so natural to him, not anymore.

he wanted you.

you were safe here, under his watchful eye. that was how he rationalised it anyway, despite knowing you were home, your window locked just like promised, flauntering around in the tiniest pyjamas he had ever seen.

fuck. the mere sight of you had him sporting a bulge, something he was thankful was kept hidden from you, but he couldn’t help but stare and stare and stare. you were beyond beautiful, but it was something about you now, soft and unfiltered, that had his teeth gnawing. he wanted to have a piece of you, if not all, and keep you to himself.

he wanted so much.

jungkook watched as you stood up, humming a little to yourself, audible from his position due to his hearing, going over to your kitchen. he watched you pour water into your kettle, preparing your mug and tea bag, the domesticity of the situation enough to have his heart beating even faster than usual.

you nibbled against your lip as you waited for the water to warm before finally picking it up, pouring it straight into your cup.

lost in your thoughts, your hand shook slightly, causing a little bit of it to pour elsewhere which wouldn’t have been a big deal hadn’t a splash of it jumped at your hand.

you yelped, startling back whilst your poor finger protested. thankfully, it was only a few droplets but the sting was enough to bring you back to reality.

outside, jungkook was already moving, practically jumping off of the building within seconds as he webbed into the air, throwing another to land onto your fire escape. his heart was slamming against his chest, breath caught somewhere behind his ribs as he watched you up close, eyebrows pulling together all due to a small noise that had escaped your mouth.

his hearing sharpened immediately.

your heartbeat, slowly soothing. your breathing, shocked but steady, and then running water, with your fingers sat beneath it, cooling your skin.

you were fine.

he kept chanting it in his head as his own heartbeat relaxed, hands no longer about to break the window in order to get to you, causing him to step back just slightly. in doing so, his foot scraped against a pebble, causing a small sound that wouldn’t have been noticeable had you not already been on high alert due to the slight stinging pain.

your head turned immediately, eyebrows furrowing as you looked over.

the apartment fell strangely quiet, a false pretense considering you know that you had just heard movement. turning the water off and dabbing your hand dry, you turned towards the window, head tilted.

“hello?”

nothing.

you felt slightly foolish as you approached, opening the curtains and window to again, be met with absolutely nothing. you peered over the buildings around you, looking left and right only to have your suspicious rejected - there was nothing, no one, around you.

just as you were about to turn away, something caught your attention.

a small remnant of web was plastered at the corner of your window. small enough to go unnoticed and yet you knew this was fresh, as though it had just been planted accidentally without thought

the smile that formed on your lips was slight and yet you couldn’t fight it even if you tried, a small shake of your head following as your fingers darted out to touch it. it was oddly adhesive, but not sticky, smooth against your fingers and so, so delicate. it confused you and intrigued you all at the time knowing how strong the substance actually was.

“you’re terrible at cleaning up after yourself.” you murmured out loud, in a sort of dry tone, despite the smile on your face.

your fingers rubbed over the web almost intimately, and jungkook willed his bulge to go away desperately but it was hard when the scene in front of him almost felt erotic. you were touching a part of him, a piece that most weren’t privy to whatsoever, so gently. so delicately as though it was precious.

your eyes fluttered over where you had been burned, just slightly, realising that he had probably heard you yelp in shock. your smile only grew at the thought of him watching you, despite it being so deeply unethical.

“i’m okay, spidey. just a little shock.” you hummed as you retreated your hand, standing up again to gently close it.

the nickname settled deep inside his chest as he blinked from underneath his mask, hanging from the side of the building in ease. he felt his entire body sink slowly at the mere thought of you giving him a nickname, one as playful as that too - it fucked with him. fuck, fuck, fuck.

he couldn’t help himself. god, he knew he shouldn’t and yet he watched you walk away, and the thought unnerved him making him drop down immediately, silent as ever in his actions and gently tap on the window.

you stopped dead.

it was your turn for your heartbeat to hasten.

slowly, already smiling shyly, you turned around only to be met with the sight of spiderman hung upside down, one hand keeping him up with his web from up above and the other slowly waving at you. it was as though gravity had no presence in his life, what with his body suspended in the air so casually.

“hey.” he merely said, as though it was normal.

“..hi.”

you sounded so breathless.

“you alright?”

you really couldn’t help the smile on your face. “mhm. just told you that.”

his head tilted. “yeah, suppose you did. guess i just wanted to hear it again.”

you laughed a little, approaching the window again, properly moving your curtains so you could see him properly, although the window remained closed.

“you’re in the air.”

“technically,” he corrected, with a wag of his finger. “i’m hanging.”

you narrowed your eyes at him.

“you’ve been following me.”

his lenses narrowed after widening momentarily, an almost sheepish nature to him now.

“oh..was i that obvious?”

you gave him a look. “you literally stood outside a florist for like, ten minutes.”

“maybe i just really like flowers?” he tried, only resulting in your giggles.

“you don’t.”

“you can’t prove that.” he hummed back playfully.

“i bet you hate flowers.”

“we’re in slanderous territory.”

“think i’ll tell everyone that spiderman hates flowers.” you hummed back, just as you began opening the window.

“spiderman’s never said that.”

“he didn’t have to. i get it from his vibe.”

at that, it was his turn to laugh, eyes closing momentarily. it felt so good to just converse with you, and be silly with one another as though this was all completely normal - as if he wasn’t hanging upside down in front of you.

“you’ve been smiley all day.” he murmured gently, as you leaned closer towards him, resting against the window frame.

your faces were awfully close.

“have i?” you hummed. “mhm.” he responded.

“does that mean you’ve been watching me all day?”

“maybe.”

“that’s a little creepy.” you teased, tilting your head.

“yeah?”

“maybe a lot creepy.”

“fair. think i’ll do it again tomorrow, though.”

there wasn’t even an ounce of shame in his voice, as he spoke confidently to you as though the subject matter was completely normal. you couldn’t help the bright smile that was beginning to form.

jungkook watched as you took a seat on the window frame, curling a little closer to him so you could properly face him whilst speaking.

“you’re very confident.” you commented with an intrigued hum, continuing to tilt your head.

“not usually.”

“no?”

“not around you.”

your mind faltered at that. you had only met him twice and yet the way he said that indicated something completely other. you didn’t let it show on your face, but you could feel your thoughts begin to merge, trying to rationalise what he meant.

“really?” you pushed.

“you make me nervous.” his honesty felt like a shock to the system.

“spiderman gets nervous?”

“around you? terrified.”

at that, you were a giggling mess, fingers up to your mouth.

“you’re lying.”

“swear.”

“you literally jump off of buildings and fight bad guys.” you said through a giggle, and you could of sworn you felt a hint of a smile through his mask too. “that literally makes no sense.”

instead of responding, he adjusted himself. he still hung upside down, but now, he was so much closer to you, and you were also pulling yourself forward, hands in front of you as you leaned into him. his free hand tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, fingers grazing against your cheek and jaw.

“heights are easy, but..” he murmured. quiet. “you..you’re different.”

“you’re lying.” you repeated, slightly leaning back.

you watched as he leaned forward immediately, stealing your space as though he couldn’t bare having distance between you.

“promise you.”

“hm, i don’t know.” you hummed. “you’ve literally fought like..aliens, but i’m the thing that scares you?”

“..yeah.”

you both laughed. he sounded pathetic. you loved it.

you searched his mask, so desperate to know who he was underneath it all. would his eyebrows pull together the way you imagined them to, or would he smile the same way he had managed to make you do so in the entirety of your time together.

“why?” you softly asked him, almost breathless.

“i don’t know.”

“now you’re actually lying.”

he laughed. “..i’m just trying not to sound weird.”

“try harder.”

you were both a giggling mess, your head tilting forward momentarily, causing your foreheads to brush against each other.

“okay. but you’re gonna think i’m strange.”

“i already think you’re strange, spidey.”

the smile on jungkook’s lips stretched until he was laughing quietly under his breath with a slight shake to his head. his sweet girl - you were cheeky too. he liked it.

the silence that settled between you was soft, hardly awkward as you recognised he was clearly in two minds about something. you couldn’t fight the shaking feeling of familiarity, that something about him felt normal to you, as though you had long become accustomed to him. you couldn’t put your finger on it.

your eyes wandered lower as the memory of yesterday slowly came crashing back down on you. your lips against his skin, so faintly you swore it felt like you hadn’t done it all. the feel of fabric against your fingers, so unlike anything you had imagined it to feel like - sturdier, silkier, softer. even now, staring at him, you longed to do it again.

your cheeks grew pink.

“what?” he quietly questioned as you naturally edged closer.

you hadn’t realised you were openly staring at him.

“oh, nothing.”

“liar.”

that made you smile.

“i’ve just been wondering..i don’t know.”

“wondering about what?” his voice grew softer, encouraging you.

you hesitated for a moment, all whilst he watched you. “just been wondering what you look like.”

he stilled. you could sense it, the way his heart had stopped for a moment, so much so that his body no longer swayed despite the chilly wind commanding him to do so. instead of pushing you away, however, he merely tilted his head at you - comical due to his upside down position.

“yeah?”

you nodded. “only a little.”

“just a little?” he teased, causing you to laugh.

“okay, maybe a bit more than a little.”

his breathing grew a little harsher. “that’s dangerous information to tell a guy like me.”

“why?” you pushed.

“because..now i’m thinking about it too.”

he watched you bite down into your bottom lip, your large eyes peering over the mask, itching to touch his skin with your own hands. your heart was beating so hard it bordered on painful and the butterflies in your stomach had quickly transformed into stomping elephants.

“thinking about what?”

“what it’d be like if..” he whispered, goggles closing shut for a moment. “nevermind.”

“no.”

“yes.”

you giggled. “you can’t just start a sentence like that, and then finish it with nevermind. that’s silly.”

“watch me.”

“spidey.”

he grunted a little, visibly affected by your words. “that’s cheating?”

you continued your giggles. “what, how?”

“you keep calling me that.”

“oh, sorry. do you not like it?”

“fucking love it.” he scoffed at you, with a cheeky shake of his head. you covered your mouth, getting flustered as you laughed.

the smile genuinely refused to leave your face, feeling intensely comfortable with the superhero in front of you. you were perched on your window will, practically bare in front of him as the cold chill had your nipples hardening against your flimsy camisole, your tiny little shorts doing nothing to provide any semblance of warmth and yet being around him seemed to provide all the heat you needed.

it was like his body was a sauna, emitting warmth so strongly you couldn’t help but inch forward, closer and closer and closer until you were just as close as you had been yesterday.

before you could think, before you could change your mind or ponder your actions, your fingers darted out once more. you pulled his mask down, fingers grazing the sweet spots of his neck, purposely going over his pulse to which you nearly gasped at how erratic his heart was beating. he truly was nervous.

down, down, down until the mask uncovered his mouth once more. you tucked the mask just over his top lip, revealing exactly what you wanted.

your breaths were mingling at this point as your hands went out to cup his cheeks, holding his head even closer as you peered at his lips.

“hi.” you whispered at him, smiling a little.

you watched as his own lips spread into a toothy grin, one that had your stomach rolling into knots from familiarity, every signal in your body pumping, begging you to see that you knew the man in front of you awfully well.

“hi, baby.” he whispered back, your noses nuzzling slightly despite his mask.

before you could think otherwise, you slowly pressed your lips to his in the softest peck you could muster. something small and gentle, as though you were testing the waters.

it barely lasted a second, but it was enough to drive the man wild.

upside down, hanging from a web, jeon jungkook took his other hand and guided your mouth back to his, pressing his lips to your own properly.

it felt like the entire world disappeared around you

jungkook kissed you as though he had spent years imagining what you’d taste like, and as the seconds grew, he almost grew impatient with himself. he wanted to kiss you until it hurt, until he was fused with you in a way that would ensure you’d never be anything other than what you were now - he was enamoured by a single touch of your lips, hooked for life.

his mouth moulded against yours with such perfect longing, lingering just enough to have your heartbeat up into your throat.

your own fingers curled against his skin, one hand going to the back of his head where a few strands of his hair fell loose, allowing you to softly run your hand through them, your nails scratching his scalp just slightly. judging from the way he grunted into your mouth, you knew he liked that. liked it almost too much.

you slowly began pulling away for air, your lips parting from his begrudgingly only to be chased by his, a series of pecks being planted onto your lips. they travelled to your cheeks, your chin and jaw, causing you to erupt in giggles as you swatted his shoulder softly.

neither of you spoke for a while, simply holding one another and basking in each other’s presence, with kisses being shared ranging from sweet pecks to intense make out sessions that seemed to go on for longer and longer as the time went by. each one, regardless of the intensity, resulted in you both smiling wide.

“i should probably go inside.” you whispered gently against his lips, thumb tracing his bottom lip.

“hm?”

“i’m gonna catch a cold.”

he groaned a little, head purposefully dropping back dramatically, all whilst you giggled into your hand, playfully pushing him back, causing him to swing a little. you stole a final peck before swinging your legs back into your apartment, edging so you were back in.

above you, jungkook freed the web he was hanging onto, flipping back onto his feet so he was stood up right. now that there was a massive window between you, you peered up, half in awe of how tall he was, how broad his shoulders were. it was intoxicating.

his mouth was still uncovered, lips shaped into a smile that revealed his teeth - god, he couldn’t hold back his overwhelming joy. it was as though the feeling completely engulfed him, enough to make him want to climb through the window and start all over again.

you, however, tilted your head at him gently. now you were soeerated by glass and wood and yet the distance allowed you to see openly. the slope of his smile, the bunny nature of his teeth, it all looked so familiar. it felt familiar.

“okay, spidey.” you hummed lightly, fingers taking a hold of the curtains. “i’ll see you tomorrow.”

he leaned against the window, his height domineering even when there was something between you seperating you both. he leaned forward to lessen it, only making you smile further.

“yeah?” he questioned. “what makes you so sure?”

“because..” it was your turn to lean close to him, either hand on one side of the curtain. “i always see you in the elevator on tuesdays.”

with that, you shut the curtains.

jungkook stood there in utter shock, the sound of his heartbeat booming through his ears was enough to have him stepping back, mouth agape and eyes wide. his enhanced hearing picked up on your giggles whilst you were under your covers, as though you had let him into the funniest secret, unaware that it had rendered him absolutely useless.

the realisation nearly killed him.

you weren’t scared. you weren’t confused, or unsure of what you’d said. instead, you were happy - gleeful to a fault, as though the reality of spiderman being him was something that truly couldn’t please you any more. his biggest fear had always been someone finding his identity, and yet you were here, knowing for however long with no care in the world.

his head dropped forward against the brick wall beside your window, a helpless laugh leaving his lips.

“fuck.” he whispered, eyes wide.

you’d known. you had known the entire time, and you still kissed him. you had still chosen him, and held his face, and kissed him.

with that, jungkook fell to his knees.

it was shocking how ordinary the next morning felt.

the winter winds were still harsh, intercepted by the sun that provided a warmth that managed to pierce through the chill. the traffic below your apartment still roared, echoing through the familiar streets of new york whilst horns and sirens flooded your eardrums.

everything was exactly the same, and yet everything had changed.

you had kissed spiderman, yet more importantly, you had kissed jungkook.

the same man you had crushed on for months upon months, so entirely enamoured by him each time he stood beside you in the elevator that it had become the sole thing that excited you whenever you’d wake up. to then know he was the masked superhero you had grown to love, just like the others around you.

the same superhero you curled into every night in the form of the cute plushie you snuggled in order to fall asleep.

the thought alone had you laughing to yourself.

the thing that had you swooning was the fact that jungkook was just as gone for you, if not more. from following you around in his full suit, to practically grabbing you in order to kiss you deeper; it felt euphoric. to be wanted, desired even, by someone after years of loneliness was new to you, but it was the sweetness that followed that truly had your heart blooming.

the sweetness of it all almost felt unreal.

you went about your routine - showering, getting ready, perhaps applying a little more makeup than you were used to. with your cheeks manually flushed and lips gently glossed, you smoothed down your hair before finally locking up your apartment and heading to the elevator.

you pressed the elevator button, mild zooming at a million miles per hour as you watched it come down to your level.

what if he wasn’t in today, you wondered.

what if he had spidey duties? he was an in demand superhero after all.

your stomach flipped, mind reeling with too many thoughts, so much so that you didn’t realise the elevator reaching your floor, the doors opening.

your breath hitched a little as you made eye contact with the same man your brain couldn’t stop thinking about.

here he stood, staring at you with a hunger you could recognise immediately.

his lips curled first. he had been waiting for you.

you shyly shuffled in, fighting back your own little grin, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear whilst your hip gently brushed against his. his size engulfed the elevator, shoulders wide, hands on either side of him.

“morning.” he murmured down at you, voice husky.

you continued looking ahead. “hi.”

your voice betrayed you - so soft, too shy.

he swallowed hard. the silence shared between you wasn’t awkward in the slightest, instead feeling heavy and full with an unnamable tension that sat biting at your feet. he watched you nibble on your bottom lip, no doubt thinking the exact same thing he was, brain flooded with the thoughts of the makeout sessions you were having a few hours prior.

there was a sort of excitement in knowing he had been spiderman to you for so long, and now he got to be jungkook. the joy sat in the fact he didn’t have to tell you.

his smart girl figured it out for himself.

“sleep okay?” he asked, voice so deep it had your eyelashes fluttering up at him.

“not really.” you confessed.

“yeah?” he turned to you a little. “how come?”

“kept thinking about a certain superhero.” you hummed cheekily, pretending to be oblivious.

at that, he laughed. “yeah?”

“mhm.”

“bet he’s handsome.”

you rolled your eyes, finally looking at him. he got a good look of you.

fuck, you were so pretty it hurt.

“he’s really full of himself.”

his mouth curled. “comes with the job.”

you couldn’t help your giggle, hiding your mouth to muffle the noises that were escaping you. jungkook joined you, loving the sound more than anything.

his eyes flickered down to your hand hanging beside you, the way your smaller fingers flexed as though you wanted to touch him - a master of reading people, he knew he exactly what you wanted, especially when it was word for word what he wanted too.

his own hand moved before he could think.

his fingers brushed your own, not pondering, before he completely engulfed your hand with his own, fingers intertwining almost immediately. you peered up, smiling a little at him.

he couldn’t look away from your face, only to peer up at the number above, indicating you were still quite a few floors up from ground level, confirming his next decision.

nbefore you could read his face, he suddenly crowded you to the corner of the elevator, hands above your head, tilting your chin up and pressing his lips to yours.

a small moan left your lips at the sheer intensity of the kiss, his body against yours as he pinned you to the wall, your lips moving together in unison; two halves creating a whole. your back arched into him a little, bodies pressing against one another in a way that was anything but innocent, all whilst you both explored each other openly.

his tongue pushed against your lips, to which you openly allowed him access, whimpering a little at the way he used it to caress your own. it was downright sinful, his fingers caressing your wrists, delicate against your bruise and yet so firm that you couldn’t move an inch.

as he pulled away, a small string of saliva seperated you both from your lips.

you panted lightly as he let go of your hands, eyebrows furrowed and jaw clenched.

he looked so severe, the hardened parts of his face so harsh that it had your hooded eyes staring at him just as intensely. your fingers curled into his sweatshirt, before pushing him away cheekily, just as the elevator chimed, indicating you were both at the bottom.

you were a blushy mess, a small smile forming before you began pushing your bag on your shoulder, turning to leave.

before you could even take a further step, he grabbed your hand once more, practically yanking you right back to him. you gasped a little, watching how he held you tightly against him, hand on the small of your back whilst yours curled into his chest.

with his free hand, he pressed the button to the top of the numbers sat on the panel, purposefully choosing the one that took him straight to the penthouse. his apartment.

neither of you spoke. there was no need to.

his hand remained inteeeined with your own as slowly but surely, the elevator began climbing again. somewhere in the back of your mind, you wanted to squeal at the confirmation that jungkook never even needed to come downstairs every morning - the only reason he was in the elevator was just to interact with you. he was so painfully obvious, and yet you loved it.

his thumb brushed over your knuckles, have in disbelief that this was happening. that you had chosen him.

when the doors finally opened, he gently pushed your hand to his lips, placing a gentle kiss, before leading you out into the hallway, and to his apartment door. it was the only one up here, and you looked around curiously, noting that it was much nicer up here.

once the door unlocked, he gently led you in, letting go of your hand so you could properly explore.

you stopped completely, mouth suddenly agape whilst he slowly watched you.

the first thing you noticed was the large windows, scattered all over, allowing the sunlight you had felt earlier peak into his home in such a beautiful way, shadows dancing across each surface, heat rising in a delicious way. the second thing you noticed, and perhaps the most intriguing, was his desk.

you gasped out loud, approaching it in wonder as you properly took it in. there sat pieces of equipment scattered everywhere, technology beyond your wildest dreams - web carriages and half-assembled gadgets, all adorned with tiny tools you had never seen before.

what caught your attention, allowing you to freeze for a moment, was his suit, draped over a chair, mask sat next to it. it was secluded from everything else, as though its mere presence needed it to exist elsewhere.

you approached it slowly, fingers grazing it with a gentleness you weren’t sure you knew you possessed. holding it, picking it up, feeling the material in your hands - it was identical to the feeling you had felt on so many occasions.

you looked back at jungkook.

he was watching you with an expression you couldn’t read, utterly unrecognisable, lips parted and brows furrowed as though this was never a possibility deep in his mind. he had allowed himself the thought of you for so long, but here you were, suit in hand. he had given himself all to you.

“you really are spiderman.” you whispered gently, eyes wide with wonder.

laughing quietly, he nodded. “yeah.”

you placed it down, taking a seat on his chair in front of his lavish computer, slumping against it momentarily.

“don’t you ever get scared?” you questioned, confused. “of getting hurt or..”

he watched you gulp a little, uncomfortable with the insinuation of something even more harmful.

“not anymore. maybe when i started but, yeah. you get used to it, and i have accelerated healing.” he softly explained, walking closer and closer to you.

“really?” your mouth fell.

“my dna works a bit different to yours?”

“what else?” you whispered, too curious for your own good.

jungkook settled in front of you, looming over you in such an intimidating way and yet you made no effort to move. a deranged part of your brain even liked it.

“i have sensitive hearing. i can hear beyond what most people can. far beyond, honestly.”

you tilted your head at him, reaching for one of his arms. you cheekily pulled him closer until he was leaning down, one hand on the desk behind you and the other in your hand.

“like what?”

“your breathing.”

right on queue, your breath caught in your throat just as you gasped at him, hand curling into his own. you held it at your chest.

“you can hear me breathing?”

“from across the building.”

at that, you sit up fully, face incredibly close to jungkook. your big eyes were comical to him, the new information doing wonders for your brain.

“that’s insane.”

“it’s one of my favourite sounds, if i’m being honest.” he admitted, slightly embarassed. “soothes me when i get home after a big fight, guess its just nice to know you’re downstairs and safe.”

fuck. you wanted to kiss him so badly, your big eyes searching his. before you could stop yourself, you planted a big peck to his lips, holding his face momentarily before going back to your slouched position.

he laughed a little, leaning forward again just to take up your personal space.

“what else?” you asked, though he couldn’t help but notice how breathy you were.

unfortunately, that only sent his blood rushing to his cock immediately. seeing you so undone at the mere mention of his skills was an ego boost he had yet to discover, but was quickly realising that it was enough to have him go crazy.

“strength.”

your eyes immediately left his, falling onto his harsh, bulging biceps. god, you nearly moaned.

he watched you trace them slowly.

“i know you’re strong.” you sighed heavenly. “i watched that one youtube clip of you throwing that car like an insane amount of times.”

“yeah? you liked it?”

he leaned in closer, cock beginning to harden so much more at the knowledge you were this attracted to him.

“mhm. you made it look really easy.” you whispered a little shyly.

you watched as jungkook stepped back, standing to his full height over you, looking down at you with an unreadable expression. you looked so flushed, cheeks hot, nibbling against your lip whilst you discussed his abilities in a way that was clearly affecting you - you wanted to know so much.

your eyes flickered down for a moment, only to be met with the sight of his growing bulge straining against his sweatpants. your lips parted, one from the sight of him also so affected by you, so unashamed and open for you to see. the casual confidence in it had your own core aching, whilst your lidded eyes slowly reconnected with his own.

the air had changed.

“what else?” you softly whispered up at him.

his hand darted out to lift your chin even further. his thumb began tracing your lips, your bottom one to be exact, large pad moving them and pushing them against his digit.

“stamina.” he darkly muttered back, voice husky.

“stamina?” you repeated, throat scratching in anticipation.

“i don’t get tired.”

your mouth gently parted, allowing the tip of his thumb to come into contact with your tongue.

“ever?”

“ever.” he promised you.

that was useful information indeed. your eyes dropped to his bulge once more, and you knew that there had to have been a growing little wet patch on the heart of your panties, your mind radiating with the thought of him inbetween your legs. jungkook wasn’t fairing any better, what with your tongue gently brushing against his thumb in a way that shot right down to his cock.

before you could respond to him, jungkook reached down, taking his thumb from your lips and instead taking a hold of your body firmly. he lifted you with an ease that was also superhuman, your arms immediately wrapping around his neck, legs around his torso, head meeting his.

“super hearing, strength and stamina?” you murmured down at him, lips grazing one another. “am i missing anything?”

“speed.” he immediately murmured against you, large hands on your back but steadily moving down.

“speed?”

“i’m very fast.” he smirked at you a little, your own grin forming.

“how fast?” you breathed out, and the hitch in your throat had his stomach jumping.

“fast enough for you.” he whispered down at you suddenly, hands reaching your ass where he cupped, pulling you right against him.

this position meant you could feel him in a way you hadn’t expected. bulge against your most intimate area, arms around his neck so tight as you pulled him close, breaths mingling, noses brushing.

before you could think further, jungkook pressed his lips to yours.

this was unlike the others.

messy and uncontrolled - you grabbed his hair, fingers treading through whilst his fingers tightened, squeezing your ass almost roughly, lips moving in unison. you were trying to keep up, desperate to taste him exactly the way you needed, and he was providing. god, the way his tongue felt against your mouth was a mere indicator of what he could do, a thrill going down your spine.

you let out a sigh of content as his lips began attacking your cheek, your jaw and then neck. you were so sensitive, his kisses eliciting little noises out of you that he hadn’t expected and yet now that he was coaxing them out of you, he was sure he could never go back to not hearing them right against his ear.

his lips wrapped around the sweet spot on your neck, attacking so purposefully, sucking a hickey right against your pulse. the taste of your skin, the rapid beating of your heart against his tongue - you had no idea you were driving him crazy.

once he pulled away, he looked at you. properly looked at you.

you, with your big eyes, wide and blown out, panting lightly from the intensity of what you were both doing. what got him was the way you were absentmindedly tugging his top as though you were begging for more.

he nudged your nose with his own, purposefully, checking if you were still with him but your only response was to grab him, and pull him down until your lips touched his.

the intensity of your kisses only meant one thing and despite jungkook having defeated earth’s most evil enemies, the prospect of having you in his arms, making love, was perhaps the scariest of all - he wanted to impress you and fuck, he was willing to do whatever it took to get there.

he grabbed you properly with one arm, other hand picking something up but you were too preoccupied with claiming your stake against his mouth to notice, all whilst he walked you across his apartment. you moaned and pulled against his hair, unable to get enough of his kisses, playfully fighting against his tongue just to elicit a reaction out of him.

he dropped you onto his bed quite suddenly, making you gasp as you looked up at him, hair blown out, eyes wide and skin flushed. your neck was already bruising, just as he wanted - a physical manifestation of him on your body that he’d obsess over.

“you want this?” he whispered down at you, voice husky as fuck. “cause if you do, baby. there’s no turning back, you hear me?”

“want it.” you whined out to him in response, hands trying to grab him down.

“yeah?” he hissed, enamoured by how badly you wanted him. it felt so good considering he felt the same and more. “want me to make you my girl?”

“mhm.” you whined again, finally managing to grab his top, yanking at it desperately.

it was like a switch had turned on in jungkook’s mind.

you watched in real time as within seconds, he pulled off of his sweatshirt, throwing it to somewhere in the room before positioning himself above you, slotting right between your legs, and pushed. he pushed his cock against you, material covering material, grinding down so meanly that you were left a whimpering mess.

“look at you.” he grunted, hands on either side of your head as he pushed his now fully hard cock against you. “so fucking pretty.”

your skirt had been flipped up, leaving you in your now messy panties, the friction practically against you as the flimsy material did nothing to hide your pussy. it was so delicious, the drag of him against your clit, the harsher material making it so much more impactful.

you had never felt pleasure like this before. sure, you had been with guys, but mainly those that wanted a quick fuck or something that focused on their pleasure and yet, jeon jungkook had no intention of you leaving his bed until he was sure you were broken.

“feels good, huh? having me grind my cock into your clit, hm?” he cooed at you, voice so sweet but his actions so sinful. “please don’t s-stop.” you simply begged him back, fingers curling over his biceps.

you couldn’t get over how big he was. shirtless, chest so much bigger without anything covering it, shoulders so wide and fuck, his abs. he looked like he had been chiseled, an art piece no doubt intended for people to gawk at. a devilish part of your brain rejoiced knowing he was all yours now.

jungkook let out a moan himself, eyes closing momentarily despite his actions not stopping and that nearly sent you into overdrive, knowing that you were responsible for how good he felt. it was music to your ears and you wanted more, so much more.

“want more.” you whimpered at him, fingers now digging into his arms. “please, jungk-kook.”

his pretty girl, begging for him? has he ascended to heaven, he wondered as he stopped his actions, watching you whine and move your hips instead, in hopes of achieving friction.

he couldn’t speak. knew if he did that he’d say something harsh, mean even, as the animalistic side of his dna was starting to leak through due to his heightened emotions - he wanted to call you a slut, his whore, wanted to wrap his arms around your throat whilst your head bobbed on his cock. and yet, all he wanted really, was to have you moaning and screaming his name, arms wrapped around him as you met his thrusts, whimpering at the mere possibility of being parted with him. he loved you so much, and you hadn’t the faintest clue.

instead, he pulled back. he looked down at you, an absolute ruined mess, still dressed in your coat and jumper, tiny little skirt pushed up to reveal the sweetest panties. they were practically see through from how wet you had gotten.

within seconds, he was pulling you up. yanking off your clothes, whilst you happily allowed him, your coat, jumper and skirt meeting his own clothing somewhere in the large room, leaving you in just your underwear. your bra, just as pink and lacy as your panties, felt like his personal brand of kryptonite, so sweet against the colour of your skin.

“you trying to kill me?” he hissed down at you, one hand palming his cock against his sweats.

it was your turn to ruin him, you thought.

you sat up just slightly, body leaning on your forearms, your tits practically spilling out your bra whilst you stretched your legs apart wider.

“you like them, kookie?” you asked, breathlessly. “wanna know a secret?”

you had him hooked, as he nodded, eyes desperate, looking over the lacy material before meeting your gaze once more, lips parted. he was a mess, so desperate for you it bordered on embarassing, and it only fucked with your head more.

“bought this set thinking about you.” you sighed, almost dreamily, maintaining eye contact. “couldn’t stop thinking about the handsome stranger in the elevator all the time.”

jungkook practically moaned at your words, grunting as he palmed himself faster.

“used to touch myself thinking about you, kookie. you’re not mad right? you don’t mind?” you teased, tone condescending as you watched him fall apart in front of you.

he shook his head rapidly in no, eyes growing hooded, hands shaking. he was fighting his dna with every inch of his heart, fighting the change that he knew would overtake him, and you could see it - you didn’t quite understand, but you knew he was holding back, and that you couldn’t have.

“but the worst thing is, is i used to touch myself thinking about spiderman too.” you sighed again, body collapsing back into the covers, fingers brushing over your hardened nipples. “used to imagine him ripping off my underwear and doing whatever he wanted. isn’t that so pretty?”

with that, jungkook stilled.

he couldn’t stop it even if he tried, not with the very confirmation he had so secretly desires deep inside his stomach.

you wanted both versions of him.

jungkook, the neighbour, who helped you with your groceries and took anything you’d give him. soft hello’s and good morning’s, all tied into your hands longingly brushing, lustful thoughts hidden underneath.

spiderman, the friendly superhero dedicated to saving new york city with every inch of his heart. the same superhero who swung and protected, who had helped you only two nights prior, who also sat in plushie form on top of your bed, to which you cuddled and often even grinded against in nights of pleasure.

before you could open your mouth, no doubt to goad him further, his hands moved.

first your bra, he yanked it with a single hand, it breaking completely, splitting in the middle until it was yanked off of your body smoothly. you gasped out loud, only for him to follow up with your panties, grabbing, ripping, rendering them useless, thrown somewhere else on the bed, leaving you completely bare.

your chest rose and fell, all whilst your widened eyes fully took him in. no longer was he fighting the arachnid qualities of his essence, as his eyes seemed so much darker, lips curled into a somewhat snarl as he approached you. grabbing either side of your legs, he yanked you down until your cunt was actually in his face.

you yelped. he paid no mind as he dropped his head down, pressing his face to your pussy as though it was everything he needed and more.

“j-jungkook!” you squealed a little, hands flinging to his hair as you watched him breath in your scent.

it was crude, beyond dirty, the way he was inhaling you in, hips already grinding down into the mattress. the sight of it had a whole wave of slickness leaving you, your chest stuttering in anticipation.

he didn’t make you wait long. he was hardly a man of patience himself.

jungkook stuck his tongue out, licking through your folds with an ease that had your breath stuttering, your back arching into him, and your head dropping to the pillow. he licked a stripe all the way up before repeating his actions a few more times, already having you withering back into his impossibly soft bed.

he began his eating you out properly.

he felt no need to hold back, not when he had been doing so for months - he licked, sucked and prodded, going between thrusting his tongue inside of you and using it to lap at your clit. he sucked on it, eliciting such soft moans out of you, enough to drive him further and further.

“taste so fucking good.” he hissed, eyes meeting yours. “my girl’s pussy. fuck.”

you moaned out his name, hips lifting, pulling at his hair.

he yanked you back as you desperately tried to get away, the pleasure sending you into overdrive, a thought that had him nearly hissing at you. now that he’d had a taste, he had no intention of letting you go, and the mere thought was enough to have him get angry. his emotions were heightened, feeling the waves of pleasure in so many different ways - he could hear your heartbeat, your breathing. could feel the thump of pleasure against your clit so well.

soon enough, he was prodding a finger at your entrance, pushing it in until it reached his knuckle. so much bigger than your own, you felt almost winded by the sheer length of his fingers, your hips stuttering for a moment.

watching him slurp at your juices whilst he pumped, your smaller body shaking, legs clamping shut around his head as though that could possibly deter him. your fingernails were scratching at his skin, at the arm that was pressed against your frame, fondling your tits so casually as though you belonged to him.

“so tight. need to stretch you open.” he hissed against you, fucking in another finger, despite your squeals.

two fingers pumping in and out of you, longer than your own, so much thicker too, and all you could do was take it. he pumped so meanly, finding a rhythm that you could barely keep up with, so fast and so hard, curling until he was hitting that special spot inside of you.

your back arched as you moaned out his name.

at that, his eyes closed. he hissed at you. “say my name again, baby.”

you did, over and over and over and over until you could feel your orgasm crashing down on you, too sensitive for the sheer power of his fingers. you had been fingered before, often doing it yourself to relieve any pent up stress and yet nothing, no one, had ever made you feel the way he was doing.

his dna was different - he was half human at this point, and you could see it. fuck, you could feel it.

as though he could see your orgasm teetering on the edge, he smirked a little, wrapping his tongue solely around your clit whilst thrusting in and out.

“cum for me.” he commanded you.

you listened.

your back arched, only for his free hand to press down on your stomach, forcing you to stay down and take it as your orgasm rushed through you almost painfully. it pinched every one of your nerves, causing your eyes to shut tight, his name coming out in chants, all whilst your juices gushed around his fingers, rendering him a mess.

he fucked you through it, making sure you felt every single inch before he finally stopped, his fingers coming to a stop.

you were a shaking mess, your legs quivering around him whilst you tried so desperately to catch your breath. you could feel the emotion heavy in your chest as the need to cry almost overtook you, lining your waterline as the aftermath left shocks running up and down your poor little pussy.

he removed his fingers, hissing a little as he sat back on his knees, sucking on them almost hungrily, all whilst you watched him with heavy breath.

“you’re fucking with my head.” he growled at you, as though you had been the one to do this to him. “can’t fucking breathe. need you so badly.”

“w-want you.” you whimpered, lip beginning to quiver. “i want you so badly, jungkook.”

“my girl.” his face looked pained as he leaned down, capturing your jaw in a kiss. heavy.

hearing him claim you was euphoria defined, your mind drilling into overdrive whilst you watched him finally lower his sweatpants. once they were off, you could finally see him in all of his glory.

you choked.

thick, so much thicker than you had ever seen, with a deep pink tip, thick veins lined all the way down. your mouth watered at the way it slapped his stomach, gravity almost pulling it down due to its weight, and yet the only thing you could think of was how he’d have to break you just to fit it inside.

he watched you, throat constricting at the look of shock on your face. god, he could feel his ego boosting just from the way your eyes darted all over him, desperate to have him inside and yet knowing you’d never be the same afterwards.

“you won’t fit.” you whimpered almost immediately, legs closing shut subconsciously.

he yanked them open again, barely using his strength and yet it was enough to dominate you completely.

“i’ll make it fit.” he responded, the pupils of his eyes so much darker than they were before. “gonna mould this pretty little pussy, make sure it’s mine forever.”

you let out the dreamiest of moans, sinking deeper into his pillows with your eyes closed. you could feel him moving, no doubt doing something, only to gasp when you looked at him again. he was lining his cock up, seeing how deep he’d be only to see it settle gently against your stomach.

the base of his cock at your core, with the tip up above on your abdomen - the sight was dizzying.

he couldn’t wait any longer. he wanted to fuck you so desperately, so intensely. ha had held back for months upon months upon months upon months, and now that you were here, his sweet girl all perched on his bed, cunt ruined from the first orgasm; he knew he’d never take it for granted.

“haven’t got any condoms, baby.” he hissed, eyes closing for a moment. “i’ll pull out, okay?”

“okay.” you nodded, still half enamoured with how deep he’d be inside of you.

within moments, jungkook was lining himself up with your entrance, after a few moments of running his tip up and down your core, collecting your slick in a way that had you panting out at him.

he began pushing in, just the tip at first, but it was enough to have you squeaking, fingers digging into his meaty biceps almost instantly. he watched your eyes blow out, only to shut them tightly, but that wouldn’t do. he tapped your nose with his own, bordering on mean, desperate to maintain eye contact whilst he split you open.

“that’s it, such a good girl. such a good fucking girl.” he whispered down at you, as he fed you inch, by painstaking inch, watching your face contort in half pleasure and half pain.

he only managed to fit half way in before you were hitting him in the chest, practically convulsing around him, begging for a moments reprieve. it was fucking with his head, seeing you so fucked out when he hadn’t even done anything.

your chest was rising and falling rapidly, your poor pussy stretching to accommodate him as he stilled, allowing you to adjust in the best way you knew how. you were whimpering up at him again, all whilst he caged you in, arms on either side of your head, his lips grazing your own.

“s’too much, you’re too big.” you whimpered at him, all whilst he shook his head down at you. “no baby. look at you, you’re doing so good for me.”

the way he was cooing at you, it was laced with condescension. it fucked with your brain, having him so sweet to you, jungkook who had treated you so kindly, and spiderman who had done the most to save you, now treating you like a whore in his bed. you couldn’t believe how wet you were getting from it, wanting more, wanting him to ruin you until the only thing you could think about was having him inside you.

he pressed a kiss to your lips, small and brief, before slowly beginning to move. shallow thrusts at first, just enough to have you moaning, aching around him but the switch in your head was begging for more. he knew it too, but the human side of his body still operated first. he couldn’t break you so soon.

you wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing him impossibly closer as his shallow thrusts began to go deeper, feeding you inch by inch until he was completely bottomed out.

he hardly gave you time to adjust, beginning his thrusts properly until you were a moaning, quivering mess beneath him, whimpering his name as though he was everything and more.

“too big.” you whimpered out at him, nails digging into the back of his neck. he caressed your own with his lips. “yeah? too much for you, baby?”

“uh huh.” you nodded, though your legs were spreading wider, begging for more.

god, you were fucking killing him.

he pulled back slightly, so he could look down at the way he was fucking you, his pace a kindness to you despite wanting to ruin you already. his patience was wearing thin, the arachnid dna causing his mind to swirl with one thing and one thing only.

he wanted to fucking breed you.

with that in mind, he couldn’t help himself. oh how he wanted to be good to you, make sure he’d wait like a good man would but he physically couldn’t stop himself.

he pulled back, and began fucking you rough.

the sound of skin slapping against skin started echoing around the rooms, your whimpers and moans so heavy in the air as you begged for more, only egging on his mind, his disgusting thoughts.

silly jungkook had no idea you were just as fucked as he was.

you wanted to feel him in every single way, have him so deep inside of you that the only thought left in your body was that of him and the way he was fucking you - it was poetic, really, how the both of you were so utterly obsessed with one another despite only having snippets.

“o-oh.fuck, fuck, fuck.” you chanted, jungkook’s speed enough to drive you insane. “fuck, right there!”

“you like that, baby? like being used like this?” he hissed at you, forcing you to look at him each time your eyes would close.

“mhm. wanna be used by you all the time.”

“such a good girl. you’re all mine now,” your eyes met with his. “never gonna let you go.”

“promise?” you begged him.

“promise you, baby. never, ever.”

he pressed his body deep against yours all whilst his thrusts only got rougher and rougher, hitting that spot inside you that had your legs quivering until you were batting his chest in pleasure.

you were completely lost in it; jungkook being well versed in your body, probably from the nights he’d hear you pleasuring yourself. ever the gentleman, he’d drown out the sounds by leaving his apartment, mask in hand, desperate to respect your boundaries and yet here he was, inbetween your legs eliciting the same exact noises.

his hips pounded into yours, inhuman speed, inhuman strength - all pulled back to find a happy medium where you’d never get a fuck like this outside of him, outside of his abilities.

you could feel your high reaching again, your chest rising and falling as you clung to him so much tighter.

“kookie, g-gonna cum..” you whimpered at him, your lip beginning to quiver once more as you could feel it approaching.

“not yet.” he hissed down at you, suddenly halting his movements.

the whine that left you was beyond adorable, as you could feel your high dissipate. the climb that had been built was no longer as you were left feeling so intensely full, your hands pulling at his hair.

he watched as you closed your eyes, twitching around him, and fuck did you feel so good around him, your wet entrance sucking him in so perfectly it was as though he had found home in you.

he leaned over, just past your head where he had placed the exact thing he had brought with him earlier whilst you had been in his arms and slipped it into his hold.

by the time you opened your gaze again, you felt your breath catch in your chest.

you weren’t staring at your jungkook, the boy with doe eyes and a jaw sharp enough to hurt. no, the man in front of you was spiderman - his mask sat snug, created solely to accommodate his face, red and black staring at you in a way that had you moaning.

you clenched around him hard.

“j-jungkook?” you whimpered a little, but he gave you no time to speak.

instead, he changed your positions. suddenly, you were pulled on your side, your chest touching his as you both lay on your hips, your leg pulled up just as he began to thrust.

this wasn’t jungkook fucking into you, cock thrusting deep inside your pussy, forcing you to take every single inch, despite knowing it was too much for your poor body to handle; it was spiderman. he was openly claiming his stake over you, all whilst you stared up at him in almost wonder like state.

you were so much tighter like this, core clenching around his cock in a death grip, milking him, desperate to have him completely bonded to you.

staring into his goggles was confusing your brain - so overwhelmed, you weren’t comprehending the fact he was jungkook when all you could see was spiderman.

“spidey..” you moaned out, clinging to him.

his arms were caging you in, thrusts mean, thrusts harsh, all whilst he nudged your nose through his mask. hearing the little nickname had his balls tightening, hissing down at you.

“that’s right, baby. spidey’s fucking you now.”

your eyes rolled to the back of your head at his words.

god, you were the cutest girl in the world - so affected by a single mask, the anonymity no longer applicable and yet the thrill remained. you were being fucked, no, pounded by the most recognisable person in the city.

“been thinking about this for so long. fuck, i wish you knew how much i think about you like this.”

you whimpered so loudly. “think about you..f-fucking me all the time..spiderman.”

the amount of times you’d watch videos about him, just like everyone around you, even going so far as to secretly think about him as though he was a dirty little secret whenever you were fingering yourself only to be the object of his infatuation the entire time.

“that’s it baby. take every fucking inch.” he grunted down at you, lifting your leg higher before planting a heavy spank on your ass. “this pussy is mine now, you hear me? belongs to me.”

“all yours.” you nodded desperately.

he watched as drool was beginning to slip from the corner of your mouth, your body sweaty and growing boneless, eyes closed and tight. you had never looked so pretty.

“gripping me so good.” he grunted. “taking my cock like such a good whore.”

that familiar feeling began building in your stomach, the curl of white shining heavy behind your eyes as you tightened impossibly around his cock. he nearly choked from the feeling, knowing it was building, knowing it would ruin you.

“c-can’t hold it..” you begged him, tears lining your waterline.

he could feel his own orgasm coming, the tightening of his balls almost making him falter. he could see the bulge in your stomach, the shape of his cock sitting so nicely it looked like it belonged there, a sickening thought appearing in his stomach.

“where do you want it, baby?” he growled down at you, hands heavy on your ass as he pushed your body to meet his thrusts, both of your orgasms on the cusp.

“inside!” you begged, lips grazing his jaw through his mask.

at that, he gave you his final thrusts, rough, mean and harsh, causing you to fall over the edge.

your second orgasm ripped through you so much harder than your initial one as you completely tilted your head, squealing out loud, chanting a mixture of spiderman and jungkook all at once, clamping down on his cock. he choked at the feeling, feeling you milk ever inch of his cock as he too came, heavy cum filling you up.

he needed to breed you. needed to have you round with his children, cunt oozing his cum every chance he got. you had infiltrated his mind and there was no breathing outside of it.

“take it. fuck, take it, baby.” he hissed finally into your ear, as you both rode out your highs together.

he groaned as he came, burying himself deep inside of you, all whilst he ground his hips into you, cum spilling on either side of your entrance. his cum was hot, aching you from the inside, filling you up as far as your womb went all whilst you cried from overstimulation.

you clung to him like you needed him to function, hands shaking, tears streaming down your face from how overwhelmed you felt. you had stupidly never felt so safe, all whilst being pierced on the cock of a man who was utterly obsessed with you.

he stayed inside you, one hand cupping your face, the other gently placing your leg back down as he felt his arachnid dna slowly begin to soothe and calm, making way for jungkook entirely to come back to you. in response, you slowly lifted his mask, revealing his lips once more, and gently pressed your lips to his.

he remained inside of you for the rest of the night, making no effort to leave, only picking back up every few minutes until you were begging him to stop.

you slept in his arms, curled so deeply against him, clinging as though he was everything you needed and more. you felt like everything in your life had worked up to this very moment, sleeping in the hold of the man who had openly vowed to protect you, going to lengths you had never expected. there was safety in his presence, but also warm, a promise of a future that you had never seen for yourself.

after spending so long alone, you finally felt like you were home.

—

the next morning arrived in the best possible way. quietly.

you blinked away the sleep from your gaze, hands rubbing at your eyes, all whilst the scent of jungkook’s heavy cologne filtered through the space. the smell was comforting, easing you as you leaned your hands forward, feeling around for the man you were thinking about.

only for you to come up empty.

“huh?” you muttered, sitting up almost immediately as the covers pooled at your waist, leaving your bare body on show.

the other side of the bed was empty.

the ache between your legs was utterly delicious, a feeling you already knew was about to become a norm as you grabbed the closest article of clothing you could find, his sweatshirt. you pulled it onto your body, watching it land somewhere just above your knees.

barefoot, you padded into the living room, rolling your shoulders and stretching your arms above you.

hm, empty.

“jungkook?” you called out, the apartment large enough that there was a possibility he was here but you figured quick enough he wasn’t.

you hummed once more, a bit disappointed.

that was, until you heard a quiet whip through the air.

your head turned, lips parting as you looked out through the window, slowly approaching it with raised eyebrows. before you could even step closer, the window suddenly was grabbed by a web and pulled upwards, a gasp leaving your lips.

jungkook flew through, landing on his feet with perfect precision right in front of the window frame, looking at you directly. dressed in his suit and mask, your breath came out in puffs of shock, all whilst he stood to his full height.

you stared, and he stared back.

for half a second, neither of you moved, as though he was in a trance, completely in awe of you in his clothing, so soft and bitten in his apartment.

then, his shoulders relaxed in real time as he approached you, long strides reaching you in seconds. he grabbed you by your legs, picking you up with utter ease and spinning you in his arms for a second.

you squealed whilst he laughed, holding you tight to him.

“morning, baby.”

he continued to laugh as you hid your face in the crook of his neck, before grabbing the back of his mask and sliding it off of his face.

your smile completely disappeared.

jungkook sported multiple cuts, blood dripping from the smaller one beside his eye, all whilst he was beginning to form a bruise near his eyebrow. he looked like he had been targeted, beat up and so much more, and your throat constructed in utter shock.

“oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!” you practically squeaked, your hands darting to his face. “jungkook, what the fuck?!”

“come here.” he ignored, lifting your chin so he could press his lips to yours, chasing after your mouth.

“you’re fucking bleeding!” you grabbed his face, moving it, left and right.

“barely.” he groaned, pouting a little at being denied a kiss.

“you’re hurt!”

“yeah, well you should see the other guy. did a number on him.”

you blinked, bursting out into laughter at the sheer audacity of the man in front of you, playful to a fault. you couldn’t believe this was a real situation, the way he was clinging to you, kissing up and down your neck as though this was any ordinary day, it was ridiculous.

“can you kiss me better?” he asked.

you wanted to roll your eyes. “shut up, spidey. i can’t believe you found the time to beat up some perps before i woke up.”

“gotta impress my girl.” he scoffed, cheekily holding you with one hand whilst flexing his muscles with the other.

you couldn’t help but laugh, hiding your face further into his neck at how silly he was even whilst hurt. it filled your very soul with so much warmth, it was insane.

“you’re ridiculous.”

“yeah, maybe. go back to bed though, baby, i’ll join you soon.” he said through his kisses planted on your jaw and neck.

“you keeping the suit on this time, spidey?” you asked, grin a little too wide to be deemed anything innocent.

he grunted, liking the insinuation a little too much as he planted you on the ground, heavy hand landing a cheeky spank to your bare ass, loving the feel of it beneath his fingers.

“fuck. you’re gonna be the end of me.”

he watched you giggle out loud, making your way back to bedroom almost gleefully, whilst holding the end of the sweatshirt, allowing him a peak of your bare body, all whilst he slouched a little, the sight fucking him up.

he couldn’t help but realise that everything, all of this time apart, was meant to be. it all made sense because in the end, it led him to you.

it was always going to be you.

—

spidey koo impregnate me challenge… anyway

shoutout to the gorgeous anon who gave me this idea because i had 15k written out of a completely different spiderman idea, and scrapped it for this much better version 😮‍💨

i hope you guys like this one! super cute and fluffy - you know i love it when they’re obsessed with eachother with a cute red invisible string

as always, PLEASE let me know what you guys think of this one, there’s nothing i love more than hearing you guys vocalise your opinions & thoughts, it makes me feel so so good to see you engaging in a way that encourages me to write!

if you liked this & wanna support a baddie pay her london rent, here’s my kofi <333

love you all so fucking bad

[brown-bi-beautiful]

Ducks Don't Knock

College au

Pairing: Jock! JK x Cheerleader f! Reader

Genre: Childhood frenemies to lovers.

Words: 29.1K (I cooked)

Summary: There are three things Jungkook hates the most in the world, that includes microwaves, ducks, and you. Three things he absolutely refuses to tolerate and is determined to avoid at all costs. It gets a little hard tho when you decide to come to his college and get an apartment right next to his with your pet (guess what), a fucking duck.

Warnings: Reader is a meanie, y'all, bratty behaviour, reader is emotionally constipated, underage drinking, underage smoking (funny cigarettes), mentions of bad parenting and abandonment, SMUT (Fingering, cunnilingus, oral sex (m.), Jungkook is a switch, so are you, protected sex, the man has a HUGE dih, overstimulation).

A/n: Reader is 2 years younger than Jungkook. So when I mention ages, the younger one is the reader and the older one is Jungkook. (Sorry for the womansplaining). Also, this is not the full fic, so there might be a part two coming up in the future. Love you all for being here and happy reading.

*******

Ages 6 and 8.

You’ve always been the one in the spotlight. Being the youngest in the family, you naturally grew used to it — it became integral to who you are. By the time you were just two, you had already figured out how to turn things in your favor, how to make the moment about you without even trying. But don’t get it wrong, you’re not someone who chases attention, and you definitely don’t beg for it. You never had to. It’s always just… found its way to you. Effortlessly.

And now, you’re so accustomed to it that even a few minutes without it feel strange, almost unsettling — like something’s slightly off in the balance of things. You can imagine how your world must have tilted that day — the day you walked into your playground, your place, your little kingdom, expecting things to be just as they always were. The familiar faces, your people, your space. But this time… something was different.

The kids didn’t rush to you, didn’t crowd around asking how your day had been. Instead, all eyes were on someone else. Someone new. Someone you’d never seen before — who had shown up out of nowhere and, without permission, dared to step into your territory… maybe even steal a little of your spotlight.

The boy must have been your age, maybe even a bit older. He was new; you had never seen him in your whole life. You bet none of you have, and yet all your friends had flocked around him like a herd of cattle to its owner. You cleared your throat to make your presence known. All pairs of eyes turned to you, including the little boy's. That was the first time you saw him. He looked like that cartoon deer that your siblings loved so much, Banshi or something. You could never stand it.

His eyes were absurdly large, almost like liquid. You felt bad for him for no reason. Then, Anya, your best friend, acknowledged you. And just like that, the spell was broken. The circle shifted, and all the attention swung back to where it belonged — on you. Exactly as it should be.

That was the very first time you met Jeon Jungkook. And — much to his misfortune — the first time Jeon Jungkook met you. He decided, before the day was out, that he didn't like you very much.

Ages 10 and 12

Jungkook's friends called him Ace. He tried not to let it go to his head. He was good at most things — school, sports, and almost everything else. And he had a soft enough heart that when your brother showed up asking for a favor, he didn't immediately say no. Apparently, you had thrown a spectacular fit at home, flat-out refusing to go on the family vacation because no one could be trusted to look after your precious pet. Or, as your brother put it, you had managed to scare away five sitters in a row.

When most people talked about pets, the usual suspects came to mind — a puppy, a kitten, maybe even a calf if you were being unusual. But with you? Ordinary was never on the list.

In the few years Jungkook had known you, he’d seen you try to turn the most unpettable creatures into companions. First, there was the tarantula. Then a raccoon. A baby python. And, at one point, a mule. Each one eventually had to be relocated by your dad, either to a farm or back into the wild. So now Jungkook couldn’t help but wonder: what was it this time?

You were out on the porch when Jungkook arrived at your house with your brother and their friend Jacob. You were frantically scanning the yard, clearly searching for something.

“Kitty… KITTY… Here, kitty, come here!” you called out loudly.

Jungkook leaned closer to your brother and whispered, “Did she finally adopt a normal pet?”

“You’ll see,” was all your brother replied.

The three boys walked up to you. You were younger than all of them, yet somehow still taller. “He ran away! Again,” you announced the moment you noticed them approaching.

Your brother sighed. “Have you ever considered that maybe you’re keeping him against his will?”

“Shut up. He loves me,” you shot back defensively before returning to the urgent task of searching for your mystery pet.

“We’ll help you look,” Jungkook offered. You turned toward them immediately, a spark of hope lighting up your face.

“Yep. So… what does your cat look like?” Jacob asked casually. Your hopeful expression instantly shifted into a scoff; the very suggestion had almost offended you.

“Cat?” you repeated. “It’s not a cat.” Of course it wasn’t. Why had Jungkook even entertained the idea that you would adopt something as normal as a cat, and then name it Kitty? No, that is what sane people do. If anything, it was probably something ridiculous. A tiger cub. Maybe a hyena puppy.

"What is it then?” Jacob asked, voicing the exact question that had been circling in Jungkook’s head. As if on cue—like a dramatic entrance in a play—your beloved pet strolled out of the bushes.

"Kitty!" You crouched down immediately, voice going soft. "You had me worried."

Jungkook barely noticed the animal at first. Not until a loud, shrill scream rang out beside him. He turned just in time to see Jacob stumbling backward, nearly tripping over his own feet as he tried to get away.

“That’s a fucking lizard!”

“It’s an iguana.”

“It’s an iguana, you idiot,” Jungkook and you corrected him simultaneously.

“Whatever, bro. I am not sitting that.” With that, Jacob scrambled to his feet and bolted down the street, most likely heading straight home.

Your brother watched him disappear and sighed. “Well… I guess we can rule Jacob out as a sitter.”

“Why are you even looking for a sitter?” you asked. “I told you I’m not going.”

“Come on,” your brother groaned. “You promised you would go if we could find someone to watch him. Jungkook wouldn’t mind helping, right, Jungkook?”

Jungkook wasn’t exactly thrilled about the idea of a large lizard living in his house for a week. But the thought of you being away for that long? That part sounded pretty great.

“No, I wouldn’t,” he said flatly.

“Really?” you raised an eyebrow. “Then tell me, what do iguanas eat?”

“Uh… lettuce?” he guessed, blurting out the first vaguely healthy food that came to mind.

You gasped dramatically. “You’re going to starve him to death. Bro, he’d probably feed him cereal for dinner. I am not leaving Kitty with him.”

“I’m not an idiot, you know,” Jungkook shot back defensively. You looked at him for a moment.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

It took ten minutes of negotiation and four or five carefully considered hmms from Jungkook before you agreed to let him watch Kitty for the week. Let him. As though he had been desperately campaigning for the privilege of housing the wrinkly creature you insisted on calling your pet.

You led him to your room to hand over the supplies — the tank, the food, a handwritten care sheet that was frankly more detailed than most instruction manuals he'd read.

“So… why Kitty?” He finally asked the question he had been dying to know the moment he stepped on your porch.

“Um… I don’t know,” you said with a small shrug. “When I found him, he was being chased by the neighbor’s cat. When I finally saved him from Juno, he started purring at me. Just like a cat.”

Sometimes Jungkook genuinely couldn’t understand how someone like you could be so gentle with animals. The way you treated them was the complete opposite of how you behaved with people—soft, patient, caring. Jungkook almost smiled at the story. Almost. Then he remembered how mean you usually were to him.

“Iguanas don’t really make noise,” he pointed out.

“They do for me.”

Jungkook glanced down at the iguana lazily blinking in its tank.

“You’re lucky,” he muttered to the reptile. “She actually likes you.”

19 and 21

You were never a fan of the clean slate propaganda people pushed. Fresh starts were for people who had something to run from. You had spent years building something, a reputation, an aura, a particular quality of silence that fell over a room when you walked in. The kind that made people choose their words carefully. That made them want, instinctively, to impress you.

You were going to miss that. The careful eyes. The slight hesitation before someone spoke to you. Not for long, though. You'd built it once. You'll build it again.

Your mother was hugging you like you were being deployed. Your father moved quietly behind her, unloading the trunk with the efficiency of a man who had learned, over many years, not to comment on the volume of your luggage. And there was a lot of it. Enough that a passing person slowed down, looked at the pile, and then looked at you with something between respect and concern.

You wanted to cry — genuinely, unexpectedly — but decided not to because that would ruin your aesthetic. So you settled on kissing your mother on the forehead instead, looking down at the luggage as if you expected it to start walking on its own and settle in your apartment. With no particular effort, you glanced at the doorman.

That was all it took. Something in his expression shifted — the same way it always did with people — and he was already moving toward your luggage, gathering it up, carrying it into the lobby like it had been his idea all along. You didn't ask. You never really had to.

The building was nice. Expensive. You had not pitied your father's money when choosing it. It was close to campus — as close as you could get while still being adjacent to the city, still being able to hear it breathing outside your window at night. You needed that. The hum of somewhere that didn't sleep.

Room 1509— high enough for privacy, far enough from the elevator so you didn't have to listen to people moving all day.

With one last promise to your parents that you would call them every weekend, you bid them goodbye and walked up to the lift. The doors closed. For the first time in 19 years, you were alone in a space that was entirely yours. You allowed yourself exactly three seconds to feel something about that.

When you walked into your apartment, the luggage was already outside the door, scattered; you suppose the doorman had brought it, or whatever, you didn't really pay attention. You stepped around it without breaking stride, making a mental note to deal with it later — or find someone who would.

You set the beige basket on a table. It was the one thing you'd carried yourself, the entire journey, through the airport and the car ride and the lobby and the lift. You'd held it on your lap for five hours. You opened the lid. Smiling immediately.

"Hey, Albert." You cooed. He blinked up at you — eight months old, absurdly fluffy, already heavier than any duck had a reasonable right to be at his age. You reached in and lifted him out with the careful, practiced tenderness. "Was it stuffy in there?" You brought him up to your face, and he regarded you with an unimpressed look. "I'm so sorry. Five hours in that jail. Mom will never do it again."

Albert said nothing, of course. He was a duck. But he didn't pull away either, which you had long ago decided counted as forgiveness.

You had found him behind a school, near the small pond at the edge of the grounds, a tiny ball of yellow fur that had been separated from its mother by some kid who hadn't thought past the wanting of it. You'd spent three hours searching for the mother. Walked the entire perimeter of that pond twice, asked everyone nearby, and refused to leave until the sun was almost gone. Eventually, you had accepted the fact and taken him home. That was eight months ago. Your father had not yet attempted a relocation.

You settled onto the couch with Albert tucked against your chest, the apartment quiet around you, the city humming somewhere outside the window.

You fell asleep almost immediately, still in your outside clothes, Albert stepping down and waddling somewhere near your feet. The last thing you heard was the quiet, rhythmic sound of him working through his shredded lettuce. Bossing people around, apparently, took a toll on you.

*******

You woke up to a crash. For a moment, you just lay there, blinking at an unfamiliar ceiling, slightly confused. The skyline outside the large window had gone a pretty shade of orange, the sun mostly gone, the city settling into that amber hour of dusk.

Then the noise again. A thud, followed by something that sounded like a struggle. It was coming from directly outside your door. You got up, padded over, and pressed your ear against it.

"Shibal, who the fuck left their shit outside?" The voice was thick and gruff. Then the sound of a bark, wait bark? I thought pets were not allowed here. You opened the door a crack and peered out.

The first thing you saw was a naked back. Someone crouched on the floor, getting up slowly, a large brown dog orbiting him with a jubilant energy. Then he straightened. And it was a naked chest. He hadn't noticed you yet. He was looking down at your luggage — scattered exactly where you'd left it — like he was forming an opinion already, definitely not a good one. Then he looked up.

"Ma'am, do you need help with the luggage?"

You had approximately one second to process the face, and one second was not enough.

No, you thought. Absolutely not. This building has a hundred and something units. This is statistically impossible. This is not happening.

Jeon Jungkook looked at you.

You looked at Jeon Jungkook.

You almost considered slamming the door in his face, but you were not quick enough. He had recognized you, and you could tell the exact moment when realization hit him.

Within the next five seconds, you watched in real time as his expressions changed with the speed of light, 4 times. Confused. Astonished. Annoyed. And then the last one, which you didn't have a clean word for, a smile that wasn't really a smile, the expression of a person who has just lost a bet with the universe and finds it, against their will, a little bit amusing.

"Of course," he said, almost to himself. Then, louder: "Of course." Then, looking up, as if cursing the universe, "Of fucking course."

"Hi." You smirked, satisfied with the effect you still had on him.

*******

Three days. It has been three days exactly since you encountered Jungkook in your hallway after he fell face-first into your luggage and then stood half-naked in your hallway.

Three days of both of you trying to avoid each other like a plague, timing everything perfectly, just so you do not run into each other again. However, the efforts were more from his end; you did not really care that much, and honestly, you were lowkey offended that he did.

And as it turned out, the universe, apparently in a very funny mood, had decided his apartment was directly across the hall from yours. Right there. Opposite door. Of the dozens of empty units in this building, of the twenty or more he could have chosen, he was here, directly across from you. The word coincidence felt too generous.

So you had taken it upon yourself to accidentally run into him so that you could ask him why the hell he was avoiding you so determinably.

You were not someone people avoided. You were someone people adjusted themselves around, angled toward. Jeon Jungkook engineering his entire morning routine around not seeing you was something you could not let stand.

It took exactly two days of casual observation — observation, not watching, the distinction mattered — to establish exactly what time Jungkook left his apartment to go wherever the hell he went every morning.

It was ridiculous how much time you had in your hand, especially with the induction coming up on the very next day, and you having to prepare a special speech that was instructed to you in the mail. If Albert could talk and understand, he would definitely give you an earful about priorities and basic social behaviour.

Pressing your ear on the front door once again made you feel like a creep. Then you heard it, at exactly 7:45, the sound of a door clicking and then an electric beep of it locking again. You counted to 4 in your head before opening yours as well, and then giving the best performance of acting surprised before you even saw the figure.

Unfortunately tho, your Oscar-worthy performance was in vain because the person who stared at you, holding a hand to her heart as though you had scared her, was an old woman and not your childhood nemesis.

The woman gave you a very judgmental look before muttering something about manners and went along her way.

"You're into scaring old helpless women now?"

The voice came from your left. You turned around to see him leaning against his doorframe, casually biting an apple. A bag slung over his shoulder and his messy hair returned the warmth you felt that night.

"I thought it was you," you said, crossing your arms, meeting his eyes directly.

"You thought that 5 feet, 60-somethin, fragile old lady was me?"

"Umhmm. The resemblance is uncanny." Jungkook snickered at your wit.

He said nothing, just stared at you until he finished his entire apple as if establishing to you that you did not intimidate him. Then he turned and started walking toward the elevator.

“Wait,” you called before he’d even gone ten feet. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

Jungkook stopped, turned back, and took a couple of seconds before answering—settling on a lie. “I’m not avoiding you.”

“Oh, really?” you said. “So you’ve just been taking the stairs every time you see me in the elevator… for fun?”

“I’m a health freak.” You scoffed, clearly unimpressed.

“Just admit it. You were avoiding me.” You uncrossed your arms and walked toward him at an unhurried pace until you were standing barely a foot away. Jungkook swallowed but didn’t step back. “You might be the cool, gym-obsessed Jungkook to everyone else, but to me, you’re still that awkward little boy who’s scared of girls.” From the years of being aqainted to you, one way or another, Jungkook had learned that you held no malice in your words, so his expression did not falter.

“And you haven’t changed either,” he said evenly. “Still the narcissistic little girl who thinks the world revolves around her.” He paused, holding your gaze. “Well, guess what, it doesn’t. Definitely not mine. So no—I wasn’t avoiding you. You do not hold that amount of importance in my life.” It stung more than you expected. Just a little—but enough for a flicker of embarrassment to rise to your face.

Your instincts told you to say something meaner, to cut deeper, to make him cry again, just like you did all those years ago in the school playground. But something stopped you, mostly his expressions, which did not match a single word he said, eyes just as wide and soft as the day you first met him.

"I fucking hate you."

"Yeah? The feeling's mutual, Bubbles." The old nickname had done something to you, something weird in your heart and stomach, almost like someone was tickling you with a feather. For a brief moment, you caught his gaze drop, your toes curling up instinctively. His expression shifted, and if you didn’t know better, you might’ve called it concern. You followed his line of sight—down to your bare feet. "Why aren’t you wearing any shoes?” he asked, momentarily forgetting the topic of the conversation.

"None of your business."

"Fine. Suit yourself." He turned away, slipping his headphones back on as he stepped into the elevator.

“Health freak, my ass,” you muttered under your breath before heading back to your apartment. You turned the handle to your door once, then twice, and then again. It did not budge. "Fuck."

You locked yourself out of your apartment.

Four hours. It has been four whole hours since you locked yourself out of the apartment. You had tried everything—or at least, everything you were willing to try. Which mostly meant turning the handle in different directions and hoping for a miracle. It didn’t work. Honestly, it was probably a good thing it didn’t; you’d be more concerned if it had.

Your pride, and, more importantly, your embarrassment, kept you from going downstairs to ask for help. At least the building had decent temperature control; otherwise, you might’ve frozen in the minimal clothing you had on.

In those four hours, the hallway had stayed mostly deserted. The only people you saw were a couple who gave you a suspicious look, probably assuming you were either a burglar or, worse, someone’s ex who had just been dumped.

Eventually, you gave in and sat down outside your door—after carefully checking the floor for any dust or stains, of course. Your eyes drifted to the plant placed beside Jungkook’s door. A single white flower bloomed from it, tilted away from you like it was deliberately ignoring you—or mocking you. "Stupid Jungkook." You sighed angrily as it was all his fault. Which it was, if he had not been avoiding you, you would not be here.

Another fifteen minutes passed before the elevator chimed again. You stood up immediately, ready to swallow your pride and ask for help. You changed your mind just as quickly when you saw the same boy you had so aggressively declared your hatred for that morning. He stopped mid-step when he saw you—still in the same pajamas he had left you in hours ago. His expression shifted from confusion to understanding, and then to amusement as the situation clicked into place. By the time he reached you, a laugh had already escaped him.

"Did you lock yourself out, Bubbles?" he asked. The nickname that had made something flutter earlier now only irritated you—like he was talking down to you.

"Don’t call me that," you snapped. "And I did not lock myself out. I’m just… inspecting the corridor for bugs."

"Uh-huh," he said dryly. "I’ll save you the trouble—there aren’t any. Now go inside." He stood there, watching you with a raised eyebrow as you pretended to turn the handle again.

"I will."

"Yeah? Go ahead."

"Why are you still here? Go do your stuff."

He didn’t move. "Why are you so stubborn?' he said finally. "Just admit you need help."

You shot him a challenging look. He knew you well enough to understand—you’d rather sit out here all night than ask for help. You bit the inside of your cheek. He shook his head disapprovingly, then turned and unlocked his own apartment, stepping inside.

“Asshole,” you muttered under your breath, still biting your cheek to hold back the tears threatening to spill.

Not even five seconds later, the door opened again. Jungkook stepped out, a screwdriver in one hand and a pair of slippers in the other. He dropped the slippers at your feet. You looked at them stubbornly for a moment before giving in and slipping them on. Without saying anything, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders. Then he crouched in front of your door and started working on the lock.

Of course, your body chose that exact moment to betray you. Your stomach let out a loud hungry growl.

“Go inside,” he said without looking up. “This might take a while. There are fruits on the dining table.” The thought of finally eating something overpowered your pride, and you followed his instructions without arguing.

His interior was much different than yours, everything black and gray, a complete contrast to your pastel colours. The dog you’d seen a few times in the evenings padded up to you, eyeing you curiously, trying to decide whether you were a threat. You smiled in greeting, and that was all it took; he immediately started bouncing around, clearly approving of you.

For all his intimidating appearance, he was nothing more than a big, soft puppy. You offered him a slice of apple, which he eagerly took from your hand before nudging you insistently with his head, asking for attention. You obliged, running your fingers through his head as he leaned into you. "Stupid dog," you mumbled, but not with any bitterness.

After another fifteen minutes of playing with what might be the dumbest puppy you had ever met, you heard Jungkook call your name. You stepped out and saw him standing by your door, which was now slightly open—not fully, just enough.

Relief washed over you, and you rushed inside immediately. Albert, delighted to see you, waddled over at once.

“Holy fucking Jesus—what the hell is that?” Jungkook blurted, staring at your duck with clear disgust. Albert responded with a loud quack, returning the pleasantries.

“It’s a duck,” you said simply.

Jungkook thought, 'Of course, you have a duck. How can you exist without having an unconventional pet?'

“I can see that it’s a duck,” he replied, glancing back and forth between you and Albert. For the first time in a while, you caught something new in his expression—fear.

“Wait… are you scared of ducks?” you asked, a smirk forming. He didn’t seem to think that deserved an answer.

“Keep that thing away from me,” he said, watching Albert like he was personally responsible for some ancestral tragedy. “And don’t lock yourself out again.”

"Jungkook." Your voice came out softer—softer than he had probably ever heard from you. You bit your lips, but the words still refused to come out.

"You're welcome." He closed your door after him, leaving you alone with Albert.

*******

NOW

The campus was busy today. A new semester meant an influx of new students, the place buzzing with unfamiliar faces. Summer break was over, and everyone had returned—well, everyone who had somewhere to go for the summer, unlike you.

It wasn’t that you didn’t have the option. You just didn’t feel like facing your parents and explaining why you’d changed your major three times in four semesters. Staying back had been easier. You told them you were taking summer classes to catch up, which wasn’t entirely false—you had been studying, just not enrolled in any official courses.

Apparently, you weren’t the only one who had chosen not to go home. Jungkook had stayed back, too. You didn’t know his reason, but you were certain it wasn’t out of the kindness of his heart.

At least, on the bright side, the two of you were no longer constantly plotting each other’s murder. Don’t get it wrong—you still hated him. Just not the murderable amount anymore. He had grown used to your duck loudly quacking early in the mornings, and you, in turn, had adjusted to the fact that he seemed to be half-naked at every possible opportunity.

You were on your way to the football field, changed into your cheer clothes. You were surrounded by your giggling teammates, who apparently had no better topic of discussion than how hot the football boys were. It was the first cheer practice after summer, and everyone seemed eager to show off the routines they had worked on. Everyone except you. You hadn’t worked out once in the past two months, and the thought of it worried you—mostly because you were convinced your spotter, Hoseok, might actually break a hip trying to lift you.

Leshi, your cheer captain, noticed the expression on your face before practice began, and like the sweetheart she is, she took you to the side and asked if everything was alright. You, being you (slightly constipated when it comes to expressing), had brushed it off as a slow day. Assuring her that once you are out in the field, you'll cheer up.

"Okay, five, six, five six seven eight." It took you only a few rounds before you fell back into the routine again, so smoothly, like you didn't stop practicing even for a minute.

While Tina was demonstrating a few new steps she wanted to add, the girls suddenly got distracted by something across the field. Their high-pitched giggles and laughter made you turn to see what had caught their attention. Of course—it was the varsity boys walking over. Some of them were proud of the way the girls were reacting, giving a few winks and flying kisses as if they were some pop stars or something.

"Ughh." You rolled your eyes, unimpressed.

"Girls, focus," Leshi yelled, which made them go even more mental. Across the field, your eyes met with Jungkook's. You were a little relieved that, for once, he was fully dressed. His expression was blank, as if he hadn't grown up down your street and now lived across from your apartment. Not even a nod of acknowledgement. Not that it bothered you. You wouldn't expect anything less from Jeon Jungkook. He generally does avoid you in college like you're some deadly parasite.

The boys had started their warm-up, and after a few scoldings from your captain, the girls had stopped acting like bafoons as well.

"Do you guys know each other?" someone had asked you between breaks. It was Harper, the junior, who joined the team right before the last session ended.

"Who?" you replied, mid-stretch, with Hoseok helping you.

"Jungkook," she said. "He’s been staring at you this whole time." She was clearly trying not to sound jealous. You turned in the direction, and surely Jungkook was there, eyes boring at you.

"He's probably wondering why she's so stiff," Hoseok joked, earning a playful slap to his chest from you.

"Not really. He's my stupid brother's stupid friend," you said, not breaking eye contact with Jungkook. You almost laughed when his coach flicked his forehead, probably telling him to focus. Although you gave a vague answer, it was enough for Harper and a few other girls to perk up.

"Really? OMG, that's so cool."

"What's cool about knowing that idiot?"

"I mean… maybe you could talk to him about me? I've been eyeing him since freshman year." You raised your eyebrow at her confession. Something stirred inside your stomach. You were not very familiar with the ugly feeling, but you had noticed it only took place when he was involved.

"You want me to set you up with him?" You raised an eyebrow, scoffing at the stupid suggestion. "Do I look like someone who sets people up?" You didn't mean to sound so mean, but you couldn't help it. She was getting on your nerves. What part of your attitude had given her the idea that you would giggle with her in the locker room and help her plan a date?

"Oh, come on. Help a girl out." She batted her eyelashes at you as if it would sway you. You gave her a nod.

"You want me to set you up? Fine." You straightened and called out loudly, “Yo, Jungkook!” The entire field went quiet; every single person stopped practicing to look at you. Harper's eyes widen with shock and before she could stop you, you yelled out just as loud, "Harper here wants to date you, you down?"

The boys around him immediately started hooting and whistling. Harper, completely put on the spot, gave an awkward little wave. Jungkook looked at her once and then back at you; his expression didn't change; instead, he went back to what he was doing.

"There, you got your answer." She was red with embarrassment and on the verge of crying.

"Why would you do that!?"

"What? You asked me to," you replied, feigning innocence.

"Not like that." She grabbed her things and stormed off, muttering 'such a bitch' under her breath.

"You don't have to be such a bitch all the time, you know?" Another girl said. Leaving after Harper to console her. You look around your group to see if someone was on your side, but all you got were disappointed looks. Even Hoseok and your captain, the only two people you might actually consider friends, didn’t back you up.

On the other side of the field, the boys had gathered around Jungkook, clearly curious. "Dude… I didn’t know you knew her," one of them said. Jungkook just gave him a confused look.

"The flyer," someone clarified. Jungkook didn’t bother responding, clearly not finding it worth answering.

"Yeah shes his friend's little sister," Jimin added for him.

"Man, she’s hot. Spunky too."

"Yeah, I like 'em a little mean." Jungkook shot both of them a sharp look, straightening slightly.

"Don’t ask me anything about her, okay?" he said firmly. "You’re not getting her number, you’re not getting a date." Then he turned back to practice, implying that the conversation was over.

"Guy's she's off-limits," Jimin added.

"They into each other or something?" Jimin burst out laughing at that. The mere thought was ridiculous.

"No, completely the opposite. You’d need a fire truck to pull them apart when they fight," he said. Then added, a little more thoughtfully, "But he’s oddly protective of her. Probably just sees her like a little sister."

*******

Karma hit you hard like a truck. Or more accurately, in this case, like Jung Hoseok. One second you were in the air, the next you were on the ground. One of your bases slipped, throwing Hoseok off balance, and before he could catch you, you landed on your ass—your ankle twisting painfully.

"Babe, I am so sorry, I swear to god I tried to catch you." Hoseok rushed out.

The girls were gathered around you, some of them whispering exactly what you were thinking about Karma, and some just looking with genuine concern. Hosoek was apologizing profusely, carefully holding your ankle, trying to assess the damage. Leshi had sent one of the girls to get the first-aid kit, but she was sure taking her sweet time.

"I know, Soek. It’s okay," you said.

"No, it’s not. I’m so fucking sorry—" Before he could go on, someone shoved him aside. Your eyes shifted—and surprisingly, it was Jeon Jungkook. He shot Hoseok an irritated look before turning to you.

"You Okay?" He asked you.

"I'm Fine," you replied, though a small groan slipped out anyway. Jungkook’s gaze snapped back to Hoseok.

"Dude, if you can't even catch a girl, maybe you shouldn't be on the team," He said a little more harshly than necessary.

"Jungkook, I said I’m fine—" Before you could finish, he had already picked you up and started carrying you toward the bleachers. You stared at him, horrified, then glanced back at your team, who were watching the two of you with confused expressions. "Put me down," you protested, squirming, but he didn’t budge—lifting you like you weighed nothing.

Great, now they'll think you had ulterior motives with Harper. Thankfully, Leshi stepped in, telling everyone to stop staring and dismissing practice early, making sure people started leaving.

"The fuck do you think you're doing?" you snapped as he set you down on the bleachers before crouching in front of you.

"What does it look like?” he replied. “Your teammates weren’t exactly in a hurry to help."

"Fuck, Jungkook," you said, glaring at him. "Now they'll think I did that to Harper because I'm into you."

He ignored what you said and lifted your bare foot onto his knee, carefully examining your ankle. Grabbing the first aid box beside you, he pulled out a healing spray.

"Are you done playing doctor?" you spat out as he started wrapping your ankle with a brown bandage.

"Would you just stop being a brat for once?" he shot back, loud enough to make you fall silent. For the next five minutes, you said nothing, letting him finish. When he was done, he gave your ankle a small pat.

Before he could bend down to pick you again, you stopped him. "I can walk. I'm not a child." To prove it, you stood up, putting your weight on your good foot, and began limping off the field.

"Fucking brat." was the last thing you heard Jungkook say before you were completely out of earshot.

*******

The rest of the day was relatively uneventful. You noticed people whispering here and there whenever you walked into a room—most likely talking about what you did to your teammate. You were getting the looks from almost everyone, the looks you were used to. People had always looked at you like you were some cold-hearted bitch who would sell her children for breadsticks. The whispers, though—that was different.

Or maybe it was just that you weren’t used to being on the receiving end of them. Back home, in school, people had the decency to talk behind your back—at least pretend to be sweet in front of you. But here, no one was even trying to hide that their topic of current gossip was you.

By the end of the day, you were pretty sure you heard someone say, “She has a huge crush on Jungkook and got jealous of that poor cheerleader.” It had you rolling your eyes, as if you would ever have a crush on Jungkook.

When you reached your building lobby, your gaze dropped to your injured leg, still tightly wrapped in the bandage Jungkook had put on. “Stupid Jungkook,” you muttered under your breath, irritation bubbling up again. Why did he have to make such a big deal out of a frickin' ankle sprain? You hated him for making you look like the crazy one.

You quietly walked out of the elevator on your floor; it was still just as deserted as the day you moved in. Only three apartments on the whole floor were occupied, yours, Mrs. Ferris (The poor old lady you scared that one morning), and fucking Jungkook.

As you walked to your door, your eyes drifted—almost involuntarily—to the plant beside it. The same pot with white flowers that sat near Jungkook’s door once. After you had locked yourself out that day, you noticed the pot had shifted the next morning. You also noticed that the soil in the pot was noticeably reduced, like someone had scooped it out to make it lighter. You had placed your spare key under the pot since that day. Jungkook never spoke about it, and you never asked either.

The plant now grows two flowers instead of one, two flowers always facing opposite directions; the irony had made you laugh.

Your duck was waiting for you just inside, and the moment you stepped in, he started quacking loudly—like he had his own complaints about the day. You let out a tired sigh. “Me too, Albert. Me too.” You picked him up, pressing a series of kisses to his tiny head, which he tolerated with mild reluctance. “Let me tell you something,” you murmured. “We hate Jungkook. Okay?” Albert responded with a simple quack.

You spent the evening venting to your duck while preparing a snack for both of you, then eating it together. Albert responded with the occasional nod here and a quack there, like he understood every word.

That was until you heard a familiar bark right outside your door—first the bark, then laughter. You set your bowl of berries down and stood up, ready to go out and tear Jungkook apart again, because, honestly, you weren’t done yet. You didn’t even know what would satisfy you. An apology? Hah, as if that was ever going to happen, there were more possibilities of earth being flat than Jungkook apologizing to you. You were about to yank open your front door, words right on the tip of your tongue, when something stopped you.

A second laughter. One that was feminine and high-pitched. Your expression darkened immediately. It wasn’t anything new. Over the past twenty-one months, you have seen Jungkook bring countless women home. Yet for some stupid reason, you hadn’t expected tonight to be one of those nights—like, somehow you had reserved Jungkook for the whole day with one mishap in the morning.

The irritation boiled inside you, even more so than before. How dare he stand there giggling with a girl after completely ruining your day?

You yanked the door open—harder than you intended—and nearly lost your own balance from the force.

All three pairs of eyes turned to you at once—the woman, the man, and the dog. The first thing you noticed was how beautiful she was. Her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, not a single strand out of place.

The second thing was their matching outfits—or lack thereof. Jungkook was shirtless, as usual, wearing low-hanging black gym shorts. The woman stood beside him in a black sports bra and shorts. Both of them were visibly sweaty, and it was obvious they had just come back from an evening run.

The third thing you noticed was something that gave you that ugly feeling again. A brown bandage wrapped around her wrist. The same kind that was currently around your ankle. Your mind instantly painted an image of him kneeling in front of her, carefully tending to her injury—just like he had done for you. The thought left a foul taste in your mouth. The dog was the first one to acknowledge your presence, tail wagging as he trotted over, nudging your hand for attention.

“I see your bandage skills aren’t exclusive to me. And here I thought I was special,” you said, your tone dripping with sarcasm. Jungkook rolled his eyes before introducing you to the woman. She offered you a polite greeting, hand extended, which you blatantly ignored as you brushed past her, pushing her shoulder with yours ever so lightly. Jungkook shot you a sharp look at that.

“Jiah, why don’t you go inside?” he said. “Take Bam with you.” She nodded, taking the dog’s leash before stepping into his already open apartment. The moment she was out of earshot, Jungkook turned back to you, the hint of a smile gone. “What do you want?” he asked, looking down at you as you stood right in front of him.

“Well, where do I even begin?” you snapped. “I don’t want to see your face in college. I don’t want you pretending like you care about me in front of everyone. And I want you to stop making me look like some psycho freak.” He let out a short scoff.

“Trust me, doll,” he said coldly. “That’s all you.”

You looked at him, almost offended. “I act like a psycho? If you hadn’t shown up acting like some prince charming, everything would’ve been fine. But no—you had to go all protective. Do you have any idea what people are saying? That I’m some crazy bitch who did all that for attention.”

“Didn’t you, though?”

“Excuse me?” Now you were actually offended. “I don’t do anything for attention.”

“Oh really?” he shot back. “Then why did you do that to the poor girl?”

“Poor girl?” you scoffed. “What, you feel bad for her now?”

“I feel bad for anyone who has to deal with you, Bubbles.” You let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh.

“Wow,” you said, clapping once slowly. “That’s rich. Coming from you.”

Jungkook’s jaw tightened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you don’t get to stand there and act morally superior,” you snapped. “You’ve been avoiding me like I’m some disease for weeks, and suddenly today you decide to play hero in front of everyone?”

“I wasn’t playing anything,” he shot back. “You were hurt.”

“It was an ankle sprain, Jungkook,” you corrected, your voice rising. “I would have lived.”

“And yet you couldn’t even walk properly,” he said, stepping a little closer. “God forbid someone actually helps you.”

“I didn’t ask for your help.

“Yeah, you never do,” he said, a bitter edge slipping into his tone. “That’s kind of your thing, isn’t it? Push everyone away and then act surprised when no one sticks around.”

You froze for a second, the words hitting somewhere deeper than you expected. “Don’t act like you know me,” you said, quieter but colder. “You didn’t do that to help me. You did it to prove something. That you’re the ‘good one’ and I’m the villain. Congrats—you got your audience.”

“But I do,” he replied. “I’ve known you long enough to know exactly how you operate.”

"Oh yeah? How do I operate Jungkook? Please tell me?"

“You think everything is a performance,” he said. “Like everyone’s always trying to get back at you. Grow up. Not everything revolves around you.”

His words felt like a slap, just a little. You clenched your teeth so you would not let the tear slip from your eye. You stepped closer—close enough that your chests nearly brushed. You had to tilt your head up to meet his eyes, but he didn’t look away.

"Fuck. You. Jungkook." You almost whispered. "Just stay out of my life. I don't want to see your face again."

You bit down on your lip, your gaze flickering briefly toward his half-open door. The woman inside was still visible—sitting quietly, her presence soft, easy. The kind of person people naturally liked. The kind who made others feel comfortable. Something you know no one can ever say about you.

As soon as the door closed behind you, you let out a sharp breath you were holding.

*******

You and Jungkook barely crossed paths after that—at least not for the next couple of weeks. He went out of his way to avoid you in the hallways, though it’s not like you were looking forward to seeing him either. You had even started taking the stairs whenever you spotted him near the elevator. The only place you couldn’t avoid each other was practice. Your cheer team was assigned to the varsity football team, so you still saw him almost every day.

Jimin was the first to notice—and, unsurprisingly, the first to bring it up.

“What’s going on between you and the diva?” he asked, tying his laces before jogging alongside Jungkook.

Jungkook vividly remembers the night Jimin gave you that nickname. The two of them had been drunk at a club, and he had spent nearly an hour ranting about you—about how insufferable you were. Even though there was a girl practically grinding on him, all he could think about was how much you infuriate him.

“Nothing’s going on,” Jungkook replied flatly.

Jimin snorted. “She’s looking at you like she’s about this close to chopping your dick off,” he said, holding up his fingers to show just how close. Jungkook glanced over to where he knew you were stretching with your teammates, and the moment your eyes met, you quickly looked away.

“She’s all bark,” Jungkook said casually. Jimin followed his gaze and noticed the slight frown on your face, your lips pulled into a small pout. He almost commented how you were too cute—but one glance at Jungkook beside him was enough to make him keep that thought to himself.

“You know,” Jimin said casually, “if she wasn’t so headstrong and you weren’t… well, you—you two would actually make a pretty cute couple.”

Jungkook nearly choked, coughing as he shot Jimin a look of pure disgust.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he asked, stopping mid-track.

“What?” Jimin shrugged. “It’s just a thought. You’re hot, she’s hot.”

“Yeah, well,” Jungkook muttered, glaring at him, “keep it to yourself.”

Jimin didn’t bring it up again, but the idea lingered in Jungkook’s mind. It refused to leave. Honestly, he had never seen you that way before—never even considered it as a possibility. To him, you had always just been you—annoying, sharp-tongued, headstrong, impossible. But now that Jimin had said it out loud, the thought kept resurfacing uninvited. It was irritating.

Every time he looked in your direction, he became more aware of you—of the way you carried yourself, of how easily you slipped back into routines like nothing could shake you, of the constant expression on your face that somehow managed to be both bored and intimidating at the same time.

“You two would actually make a pretty cute couple.” Jimin’s words replayed in Jungkook’s head all day. They followed him everywhere—when he absentmindedly passed the ball during practice, when he stood under the shower afterward, when he sat in his class trying to focus on what Mr. Kim was saying, when he drove back home, even when he was at the gym. No matter what he was doing, the thought kept creeping back in, refusing to let him concentrate on anything else.

When Jungkook stepped out of the elevator onto his floor after his evening run with Bam, something made him pause. You were standing in the corridor, your back to him, hands planted on your hips as you stared down at something. You were wearing such a tiny pair of shorts and a very small t-shirt that, for a brief second, he almost felt like he was invading your privacy.

Bam immediately perked up at the sight of you, ready to run over—but then he suddenly slowed, attention shifting to something near your feet. Jungkook took a few more steps forward and followed your line of sight.

"Albert. Bad duck. Put him down." There he was, the dreadful duck.

Jungkook had never liked that creature—arguably more than he disliked you. First of all, it was a duck. A duck. An animal he knew had the potential to take over the world if given the chance. They weren’t afraid of anything, and he was convinced that thing gave him a smug, almost sinister look every time he saw it.

And then there was the other problem. The duck terrorized his dog. His big, intimidating dog—who looked like he could take down anything—was, for some reason, absolutely terrified of it.

“Albert. Put. Down. The. Lizard.” Jungkook had no idea where—or how—the duck had managed to get a lizard in its beak, and he had no intention of finding out. All he knew was that he nearly gagged when Albert finally dropped it, and you picked it up without hesitation, holding it close to your face to check if it was hurt.

“You two would actually make a pretty cute couple.” Jimin’s voice echoed in his head again. Her? Jungkook thought. Me and her? He let out a loud, disbelieving laugh at the absurdity of it. The sound made you turn. The softness on your face vanished the moment you saw him.

“Can you please get your… weird little pets inside so Bam can go in?” he said, eyeing Albert, who had now waddled right in front of his door. Bam stayed crouched behind Jungkook, clearly unwilling to move. Truthfully, Bam wasn’t the only one hesitating—Jungkook wasn’t exactly eager to walk past the devil either.

“Albert is not weird,” you snapped. “Your dog is the weird one. What kind of dog is scared of a duck?”

Jungkook scoffed. “A normal one. One that has survival instincts.”

“Please,” you rolled your eyes. “He’s being dramatic.”

“He’s dramatic?” Jungkook repeated, incredulous. “Your duck just kidnapped a lizard.”

You glanced down at Albert, who was now proudly standing between the two doors like he owned the corridor. “He was rescuing it,” you corrected.

“From what? Peace?”

You ignored that, nudging Albert lightly with your foot. “Move.” Albert didn’t. Instead, he tilted his head—then took one slow step closer to Jungkook’s door. Bam let out a small, distressed whine and pressed further behind Jungkook’s legs. You exhaled sharply. “Oh, my God.”

Jungkook didn’t move either. “Yeah. Exactly.”

The two of you stood there for a moment—completely stuck. You crossed your arms. “You can go around.”

“There is no ‘around,’” he said flatly. “It’s a hallway.”

“Then jump over him.”

Jungkook gave you a look. “I’m not jumping over your demon bird.”

“Duck.”

“Same thing.”

You sighed, crouching down to pick Albert up. He resisted for a second before finally letting you lift him, his webbed feet kicking slightly in protest. “See? Not that hard.”

“Yeah, because he likes you,” Jungkook muttered, still not moving.

You raised a brow. “Are you scared?”

“I’m being cautious.”

“Of a duck.”

“Of that duck,” he corrected.

You let out a quiet huff, stepping aside just enough. “Go.” Jungkook hesitated for half a second—then walked past quickly, like he didn’t trust you or Albert. Bam followed immediately, practically glued to his side. You almost smiled. Almost. As Jungkook reached his door, he paused, hand on the handle. He glanced back, his eyes briefly dropping to your feet.

“I see you started practice again,” he said. “Is your ankle even healed?”

You followed his gaze, then looked back up at him, unimpressed. “Jungkook, you’re not actually my doctor,” you replied. “You don’t have to keep pretending like you care.” Something in his expression shifted, almost to annoyance.

“I’m not—” he started, then stopped, exhaling sharply as he ran a hand through his hair. “You know what? Forget it.”

“Just… don’t push it too much at practice,” he said, not quite looking at you. “You’ll make it worse.”

“It was a sprain, Jungkook. People have healed from bullet wounds in two weeks.” Jungkook didn’t respond. It almost looked like he might—his jaw tightening, something unreadable flashing across his face—but then he just shook his head, like he’d already decided it wasn’t worth it. The door slammed shut. The sound echoed a little too loudly in the quiet hallway. You stood there for sometime, staring at the closed door, your grip on Albert tightening just slightly.

“Asshole,” you muttered under your breath. On the other side, Jungkook leaned back against the door the second it shut, squeezing his eyes shut for a brief second. He cannot believe how much he lets you get on his nerves.

Bam looked up at him, tilting his head. Jungkook let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his already messy hair before pushing himself off the door. “I’m gonna cook that duck one day,” he muttered, glaring at the closed door.

Bam gave a small, uncertain bark. Jungkook scoffed. “Don’t look at me like that. You’re scared of it too.”

*******

The lights were low enough to blur the edges of everything, forcing you to squint just to make out faces in the crowd. Music thumped through the walls, bass-heavy and constant, vibrating faintly under your feet. It wasn’t like you didn’t enjoy parties—you did. You knew how to move through a room, how to fall into conversations, how to make people notice you without asking for it. But tonight, you just weren’t in the mood. Still, your teammates had dragged you to this frat party anyway. One last party before midterms, they had said—though everyone knew there was no such thing as a last party.

The moment you walked in, it was like the Harper situation had never happened. Smiles greeted you from every direction, people pulling you into quick hugs like you were some long-lost friend. You didn’t recognize half of them—faces blurred together, names long forgotten—but you played along, slipping back into it like it was second nature.

One of the girls slipped a drink into your hand, and you took a casual sip. You frowned slightly—whoever made it knew exactly how you liked it. You didn’t question it. By the time you were two drinks in, the edge had softened. The noise didn’t feel as overwhelming, the lights less irritating. You finally started to fall into the rhythm of the place, letting yourself blend into the crowd.

You glanced around for your teammates, but they were nowhere to be seen. Figures. With a small exhale, you let yourself sway along with the music, moving mindlessly with the bodies around you.

Your eyes kept scanning the crowd, though you weren’t even sure what—or who—you were looking for. There was a small part of your mind, barely there, wondering if he might show up tonight. You hadn’t seen him all evening, so you told yourself it was just curiosity. Nothing more.

Your gaze stilled the moment it landed on something familiar—the glint of a lip piercing. He was already looking at you. He’d known exactly where you were the entire time. Jungkook sat sprawled on a couch in the corner, a beer in hand, completely at ease. A half-drunk girl was perched on his lap, leaning into him like she belonged there. And still—his eyes were on you. boring into your soul as if he could read your thoughts.

The view had done something to your stomach. The urge to walk straight up to him and dump your drink over both of them felt very real. Not trusting your intrusive thoughts to not do exactly that, you chugged down the rest of it.

The feeling was just settling in your guts when two hands found your waist. You turned sharply, ready to snap at whoever it was—but your expression softened the moment you recognized him. "Hosoek." You pulled him into a quick hug, relief slipping through you at the sight of someone familiar.

“Hey, babe.” He leaned back, looking down at you before letting out a low whistle. “Damn. You look hot.” Parties were Hoseok’s element. The second he stepped into one, he owned it—the most confident guy in the room, like he could conquer the world with two hip thrusts.

“Says you,” you shot back, smirking as you gave him a once-over in return.

A conversation smoothed between the two of you, and for a while, the boy with the lip piercing and tattoo sleeve slipped completely out of your mind. That was until you turned—And your eyes met his again. Same spot. Same couch. Same girl draped over him, leaning in close, whispering something into his ear. Your chest tightened, heart racing.

Without thinking twice, your hand moved to the hands resting on your waist, pulling Hoseok closer. Your bodies pressed together, grinding with the music in a way that two friends were definitely not supposed to. You somewhat felt bad for Hoseok, for giving him false hope, for using him for... You don't even know what you were doing. There was this desire to one-up Jungkook, like it was some weird competition of who could be more vulgar publicly.

Even in the dim light, you caught the shift. Jungkook’s hand slid to the girl’s waist, pulling her in closer. His eyes never left yours. Not for a second. His other hand moved up, fingers tangling into her hair as he tilted her head back just slightly. It felt intentional. Like a response. Your own hand moved in instinct, sliding up to the back of Hoseok’s neck, pulling him down. Your ass pressed against him, and you felt his hand snake under your tiny skirt, grazing the soft skin of your thigh. You knew you were going too far, to the point of no return.

Then you stopped, watching how he closed the rest of the distance and pulled her down for a kiss. A kiss so intense you could feel it from across the room. Eyes finally leave you and shift his complete focus to the girl on his lap.

You wanted to scream, definitely not because you felt something shatter inside you, but because you lost. Whatever silent standoff had been going on between you, he ended it first. The sight made you a little sick.

You dragged a hand through your hair, stepping away from Hoseok abruptly. He looked at you, confusion and guilt replacing whatever haze he’d been in. “I’m gonna go outside,” you said, forcing a small smile.

“Wait—hey, I’m sorry. Did I—did I go too far? I didn’t mean to—” he started quickly. You cut him off with a shake of your head.

“No, Hobi. You’re fine.” You leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, reassuring him, before slipping away through the crowd.

The shift hit you immediately. Outside, the air was cooler, cleaner. The music dulled into a distant thump, still pulsing faintly under your skin but no longer suffocating. A few students lingered around—some laughing, some waiting for rides, one bent over the lawn, throwing up. You wrinkled your nose in disgust, looking away.

Your eyes landed on a guy leaning against the wall, cigarette between his fingers. Even from a distance, you could tell it wasn’t just a regular one—the smell gave it away.

“Can I have one?” you asked—more of a demand than a question.

“Depends,” he said, smirking, his eyes dragging slowly over your figure. “What do I get in return?” You scoffed at the audacity. He didn’t look older than a freshman.

“In return, I won’t call the cops for underage smoking…” You said coolly, leaning in just enough to catch the scent, "and drinking.”

His smirk faltered, eyes sharpening slightly. “…Good enough.” He reached into his jacket, pulling out a crumpled pack and handing you one of the poorly rolled cigarettes. You placed it between your lips, and he leaned in to light it, the tiny purple flame flickering between you.

You glanced at the lighter in his hand. “Can I have that too?” It was pretty, and you wanted it.

He hesitated for a second. “It’s mine…” A pause. Then he shrugged, holding it out. “But yeah. You can have it.”

The first drag pulled a cough out of you immediately. You weren’t a smoker—never had been—but there was something oddly familiar about the smell, something that settled your nerves just a little. After a few smaller drags, your lungs adjusted. You leaned back against the wall, exhaling slowly, your mind replaying everything that had happened inside. It felt… stupid. The whole thing.

With every sound of the door opening behind you, your eyes flicked over instinctively. Perhaps some part of you was waiting. Hoping. That once Jungkook noticed you were gone, he’d come after you. You didn’t even know what you’d say if he did. Or what you wanted him to say. You just knew that whatever had happened in there—That wasn’t normal. That is not how people who supposedly hate each other behave.

A sudden commotion caught your attention. Glancing to your left, you saw two guys hovering over a girl. At first, you assumed they were friends, but then you saw her face clearly—it was Harpar. She was so drunk she could barely stand. Your eyes flicked to the two unfamiliar guys; you didn’t know if they were actually her friends, but you weren’t about to take the risk.

You straightened up and noticed a small rock by your feet, about the size of your fist. Without hesitation, you picked it up in your cigarette-free hand and approached the three of them. “Harpar?” you called, but she was too out of it to respond. The guys turned toward you. “Do you even know her?” you asked, keeping your tone sharp.

“Yeah… she’s our friend,” one of them replied, but you didn’t buy it.

“Where are you taking her?”

“Just driving her home,” the other said casually.

“I’ll drop her. She lives near me,” you don't really know where she lives.

One of them laughed, stepping closer. “Mind your own fucking business, alright? Unless you wanna come along?” You nearly gagged at his words, disgust flooding you. Your grip tightened around the rock that was hidden behind your back. The rough edges poking at your soft palm.

"I said. Let. Her. Go."

“Or what?” one of them sneered, stepping into your space. His index finger jabbed at your forehead. Before he could strike again, you gripped your cigarette tight and shoved it into his neck. He screamed, the burning sting making him stumble back.

“Bitch!” The second one lunged at you, but you didn't get the chance to swing the rock and bash his head, a flash of movement sent him crashing to the ground. A single punch left him gasping for air. Your fingers tightened around the rock, but you didn’t let it drop. You looked up. Jungkook was standing there, chest heaving, eyes dark with anger as he loomed over the first guy. It didn’t take long—both boys scrambled to their feet and ran, leaving a tense silence in their wake.

“I had it under control,” You said, voice low, his gaze flicking to your hand, still hidden behind your back. You took a step toward Harpar, who swayed drunkenly, ready to help her, but Jungkook’s hand shot out and gripped your forearm.

“Drop it,” he commanded. You hesitated for a second. “Drop it,” he repeated, softer this time, almost calm. With a dull thud, the rock slipped from your fingers and hit the ground. You stood there silently as Jungkook helped Harper to a bench near the fence. She swayed slightly, leaning against him, still too drunk to stand on her own. You watched him pull out his phone and dial someone.

“Hey… you live with Harper, right?” His voice was calm, clipped. “Can you take her home with you? Yeah… yeah… okay.” He hung up. You didn’t want to know how he knew where Harper lived or who she lived with—you’d had enough of that for today.

“I had it under control,” you muttered again, crossing your arms.

“How?” Jungkook asked, voice low but sharp, “By cracking his skull open? You know you could actually go to jail for that, right?”

“So?” you shot back. “I was defending myself, and that bastard had it coming.”

“He did,” Jungkook admitted, his eyes darkening. “But that doesn’t mean you throw rocks at people. You’re not a child anymore.” He stepped closer to you—closer than that guy ever got before you drove the cigarette into his neck.

“Why do you even care?” you spat, voice trembling despite your best effort to keep it steady. “Why do you even care? Why. Do you. Care. If I go to jail, or if I sprain my ankle, or if I—fuck—lock myself out of my apartment? Why do you fucking care?” Your hands were balled into fists at your sides, and for the first time tonight, you felt tears prick the corners of your eyes. Not because you were sad, but because you were angry.

Jungkook froze, his own fists clenching at his sides. The smoldering anger that usually radiated off him softened into something raw, something unguarded.

“Because…” He stopped, swallowing hard, like he was trying to find the words. He took a small step back, avoiding your gaze. “I… I don’t know, okay? I don’t fucking know.”

You and Jungkook stood in awkward silence for a few minutes until someone finally arrived—a blonde girl you immediately recognized as one of the quarterback’s girlfriends. You didn’t know her name, but a small sense of relief washed over you. So it wasn’t Jungkook sleeping with Harper's roommate, it was his friend. Not that it mattered; he could fuck whoever he wanted.

The blonde gave you a polite smile, which you returned. She said something to Jungkook that barely registered in your mind before pointing toward a black Uber waiting near the gate. Jungkook helped Harper into the car with ease, and you followed behind, keeping a careful distance. Just as you reached the car, Jungkook’s hand shot out and lightly grabbed your wrist, stopping you from getting in the car.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“I can share a ride with them,” you said, nodding toward the two girls in the Uber.

“We literally live in the same building. I can drive you,” Jungkook insisted, his grip on your wrist loosening slightly.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to do that,” you replied quickly, trying to pull your hand free.

“Could you stop being so stubborn for one second?” he snapped.

“Can you stop being such a jerk for one second?” you shot back. The blonde, sensing the tension between you two, stepped in to diffuse the situation. She spoke your name softly, halting any further argument.

“We really live on the other side, and it’s getting late. It’ll be a hassle—for you, and for us.” You glanced between her and Jungkook, then gave a small nod. “Thank you, though. Take care.” The car drove off, leaving you with the asshole.

You looked at Jungkook, your gaze softening for just a moment—just long enough for your emotions to slip through. But then the image hit you again—his hands on that girl, his lips on hers—and your expression hardened instantly, like a door slamming shut.

Just as he tried to open his mouth, you turned on your heel and started walking. He called your name once. Then again. But you didn’t stop. A second later, you could hear his footsteps behind you. The distance between you didn’t stay for long.

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know. Anywhere.” You kept moving, your pace quick, like you were determined to reach home on foot; if you slowed down even a little, your thoughts would catch up to you. The night air felt cooler now, brushing against your skin, but it did nothing to settle the storm building inside your chest.

“It’s really late,” he said, but you ignored him, your steps never faltering. Then his hand closed around your wrist. Not harsh. Not forceful. Just enough to stop you. You could’ve pulled away—you knew you could—but you didn’t.

You turned, ready to snap at him, the words already forming on your tongue—but they died the second you saw his face. He looked tired. Not the usual irritated Jungkook you were used to. Just… tired. His eyes were softer, quieter, almost like the boy you remembered from years ago—the one who stood awkwardly on that playground, unsure of what to do with himself, but still chose to stay close to you.

“Please.” The word was quiet. It didn’t match him. And somehow, that made it worse. You swallowed, the fight draining out of you. “Please,” he said again, softer this time. Your shoulders dropped before you even realized it. The tension in your body loosened. You didn’t argue this time. You just let him guide you, his hand still loosely wrapped around your wrist as he led you toward his car.

The interior of his car reflected him perfectly—black leather seats, spotless, not a trace of dust anywhere. The faint mix of his cologne and cigarette smoke lingered in the air, oddly calming you faster than you would admit. You noticed him switch on the seat warmer, but chose not to say anything.

“I can do it,” you said as he leaned in to fasten your seatbelt.

“I know,” he replied, but didn’t stop. He reached across you anyway, pulling the belt over your shoulder and clicking it into place. His breath brushed against your face for a brief second, close enough to make your thoughts stumble. Then he gave the strap a small tug—once, then again—like you were some child in a car seat.

The drive stayed quiet for a while—not tense, just heavy, both of you were too drained to keep fighting. The soft hum of the engine and the warmth from the seat settled around you, easing the edge off your nerves. Then he broke the silence.

“I thought Hoseok was gay.”

You turned your head slightly, brows knitting together. “Just because he’s on the cheer team, he’s gay? That's your logic?”

“Hey, I didn’t say he was. That’s just what people think.”

“Well, he’s not.”

“Clearly.” He let out a quiet huff, something unreadable in his tone. You noticed the way his grip tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles paling slightly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” he said after a beat. “Just… didn’t know you two were that close.”

“He’s my friend.”

“Friend?” Jungkook scoffed, glancing at you briefly before looking back at the road. “Do you dance like that with all your friends? But hey, I’m not judging. You can fuck whoever you want.”

“I’m not fucking Hoseok,” you snapped. “Not that it’s any of your business.” You paused, then added, a little sharper, “And even if I was, what’s it to you?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, almost too quickly. His jaw tightened as he focused on the road ahead. “Like I said, you can fuck whoever you want. Why would I care?”

You let out a small, humorless laugh, turning your head toward the window. “Such a hypocrite.”

Jungkook didn’t respond. His hands tightened around the steering wheel, leather creaking softly under the pressure. His jaw flexed, like he was forcing himself to stay quiet, to not let whatever was building spill over.

“Can we just drive home in silence?” you cut in before he could speak, your voice tired, lacking its usual sharpness. “I can’t wait for you to go back to ignoring me.” For a moment, he said nothing. The car filled with the low hum of the engine, the distant rush of passing cars, and something heavier sitting between the two of you.

“Gladly,” he replied.

Neither of you said a word—not when he parked the car, not as you walked into the lobby, not even in the elevator. The silence followed you all the way to your floor, heavy and unbroken. No goodnight, no goodbye, nothing. You reached your door, fingers moving mechanically as you unlocked it, but you paused, glancing back over your shoulder. He was still there, standing a few steps away, like he hadn’t quite decided what to do next. Like something was sitting on the tip of his tongue—something he wanted to say, or maybe something he was waiting for you to say.

But neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. The lock clicked, louder than it should have, and you pushed the door open. And then, all he heard was the sharp slam of it closing. You were gone.

*******

You were running late—so late that every second felt like it was slipping through your fingers. You were already rehearsing excuses in your head, imagining Leshi tearing into you the second you showed up.

You grabbed your bag, shoved your feet into your shoes without properly slipping them on, and rushed out, still fixing your hair. And then you nearly walked straight into someone. You stopped short. It took you a second to recognize her—but she recognized you instantly, saying your name like no time had passed at all.

“Mrs. Jeon?”

For a moment, you just stared, caught off guard. You hadn’t seen her in years. Not since she left.

“Oh dear,” she smiled warmly. “How are you? It’s been so long. You look gorgeous.” You gave her a polite smile, a little stiff around the edges. “Wait,” she glanced around, then back at you. “You live near Kookie?” You cringed internally on Jungkook's behalf at the nickname.

“Yeah, I…” you trailed off, the words not quite coming together. Up close, she looked exactly the same. Time had skipped over her entirely; she hadn't aged a day in the past ten years.

“Do you know which one is Jungkook’s apartment?” she asked. “I know the floor, but I’m a little lost.” You nodded and pointed to the door directly across from yours.

“Oh, thank you so much, darling… I’ll see you around.” The words didn’t sit right. 'See you around?' Something in your chest tightened, a quiet defensiveness creeping in before you could stop it. After everything—after the way she left—you didn’t like how easily she said that. Like she could just… come back. Like she hasn't done enough already.

She was already moving past you toward his door. You wanted to stay, wanted to send her on her way, make up a lie that he's not home, but why do you care?

You should’ve left it alone. You knew that. It wasn’t your place. But before you could stop yourself, “He’s not home.” The words slipped out. But you knew he was; his practice started right around yours, so if he left, you would have known.

She paused, turning back to you. “Oh? Are you sure?”

“Certain,” you said, nodding, trying to sound convincing. “I think I saw him leave about ten minutes ago. Maybe try calling him?”

“I have,” she said quietly. “He’s not picking up. Not responding to my texts or voicemails either.” She said, looking a bit sad. You felt a sudden pang of anger rising, a feeling of protectiveness. You wanted to ask her where that concern had been all those years ago. Wanted to ask why she cared now. But you bit it back. Hard. Not your place, you reminded yourself again.

“I’ll just… come back, I guess,” she murmured. Please don’t, your mind whispered. But just as she turned, the door swung open. Jungkook stood there, backpack slung over one shoulder, hair a mess like always. He froze the second he saw her. And then his eyes flicked to you, searching for some explanation. Like you would know what his mother was doing here.

Mrs Jeon gave you a questioning look. "I guess I was wrong." You simply said. You forced a small smile, avoiding Jungkook’s gaze now.

And then you turned, walking down the hallway toward the elevator. You should’ve just left. You almost did. But as the elevator doors slid open, your steps slowed. Your eyes drifted back on their own. You couldn’t hear everything—just low voices, clipped, tense—but you didn’t need to. The look on Jungkook’s face was enough.

Something twisted in your chest again, heavier this time. Your feet didn’t move. Something inside you urged you to stay, to make sure he was okay before you left. You couldn't bring yourself to leave him, no matter how hard you tried. His eyes met yours across the hallway, and you wanted to shield him, protect him from the heartless woman who hurt him so much.

Your fist clenched tightly at your side as you stepped into the elevator, your eyes meeting Jungkook’s one last time before the doors slid shut. You let out a quiet sigh, a strange, twisted feeling settling in your stomach. He’ll be fine. And even if he’s not… you’re probably the last person he’d want around right now. You’d just stress him out more.

You convinced yourself the whole way to college that Jungkook is a grown man who doesn't need you to save him from his mother. Still, when practice started, your eyes kept drifting toward the boys’ side of the field. Everyone was there. Everyone except Jungkook. Your brows pulled together slightly. That wasn’t like him. He didn’t skip practice. He didn’t slack. If anything, he took it more seriously than anyone else.

You tried to focus. You really did. On the routine, on Leshi’s voice, on the rhythm your body knew so well. It didn’t last.

“Hey, Jimin,” you called during a break, making your way across the field. His eyebrows lifted in surprise, like he couldn't believe you were talking to him. “Is Jungkook not here yet?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

“No.”

You hesitated. “Have you talked to him? Is he gonna be late or…?”

“I don’t know,” Jimin said, shaking his head. “He texted me before practice to start without him, but he’s not picking up now.”

That didn’t sit right. You nodded anyway, it didn’t matter, and turned back toward your team. But your mind refused to stay put. It kept circling back. What did she want from him? Was something wrong? His dad? His brother? Or was she just… back? The thought left a bitter taste in your mouth. And no matter how many times you told yourself it wasn’t your problem, your eyes kept drifting back to the empty space where Jungkook should’ve been.

You didn’t hear from him for the rest of the day. Not that you usually did. It wasn’t like the two of you texted or checked in on each other—but he was… around. Always. You’d catch glimpses of him between classes, leaning against a wall with his friends, laughing too loudly, or sitting in the south wing cafeteria. He was hard to miss. But today—nothing. Not in the corridors, not outside lecture halls, not even a passing glimpse from across the quad. It was like he had just… disappeared.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. Why would it? It’s not like you were looking for him. However, your eyes kept drifting anyway. Every time you stepped out of a class, every time you turned a corner, there was this small, automatic pause. And every time, there was just no one. Maybe he’s just skipping classes. The thought came quickly, easy, almost defensive—but even you didn’t believe it. Jungkook didn’t skip. Not practice, not lectures, not anything that mattered to him.

You caught yourself scanning the cafeteria during lunch, eyes flicking over familiar faces. Nothing. You looked away quickly, annoyed at yourself. What are you even doing? It’s not like you cared where he was. And even if you did—so what? It’s not like he’d tell you.

Your fingers tapped absently against the table, irritation creeping in for no real reason. He probably doesn’t even want to be seen right now. The image of the morning flashed in your head: his face when he saw her, the way everything in him had shut down. Your jaw tightened. Good. Let him deal with it. It had nothing to do with you. It shouldn’t have anything to do with you.

The rest of the day dragged, slow and uneventful, and still no Jungkook. You almost asked Jimin again when you passed him after your last class, the question already forming, but you swallowed it down at the last second. You weren’t going to look obsessed. You weren’t going to be that person.

Finally, the day was over—practice done, classes done. You could go home. Go home and pretend you didn’t care about him in peace. You usually walked back from campus, turning down every offer your friends made to drop you off. You liked the quiet, the space to think—or not think at all. But today, you didn’t feel like walking. You didn’t feel like being alone with your own head either.

So when Hoseok pulled up beside you, rolling the window down with that easy grin of his, you didn’t hesitate.

“Need a ride?”

You nodded almost immediately, skipping over to the passenger side and slipping in. Hoseok didn’t question it—just started talking as soon as you settled in, something about practice, about someone messing up a routine, about plans for the weekend. His voice filled the car, light and familiar. But none of it really registered. You nodded when it felt right, hummed in response when there was a pause, but your mind was somewhere else entirely, running in circles. And no matter how much you tried to focus on anything else, on Hoseok’s voice, on the road ahead, on literally anything. It kept drifting back to the same person.

“See you tomorrow?” You nodded at Hoseok’s question, already half out the door before he even finished speaking, and made your way up to your floor a little quicker than usual.

The first thing you did when you reached your floor wasn’t to unlock your own door, but to stop outside his, stand there, and listen for any sign of life inside. A shuffle, footsteps, the TV, anything. There was nothing. Pin-drop silence. Not even Bam. No barking, no claws against the floor, no curious sniffing at the door. Which meant he was sleeping, and that only happened when Jungkook was either out or asleep. You highly doubted he was sleeping at four in the afternoon.

You shifted your weight, pressing your lips together before turning around to go back to your own place. Your eyes landed on the pot beside your door. You fidgeted with your hands for a moment, debating whether you should cross that line or not. But what if he was sick? What if something actually happened after Mrs. Jeon left?

Before you could think too much about it, before you could talk yourself out of it, you crouched down, lifting the pot just enough to reach underneath. Your fingers brushed against the spare key. His spare key. You hesitated for half a second, then you grabbed it.

“Wow,” you muttered under your breath, staring at it. “Breaking and entering now? New low.” You paused, then added quietly, “Well… technically just entering.” You slid the key into the lock and pushed the door open. The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.

You stepped in slowly, glancing around. You’d only ever really seen his living room over the past two years, maybe a glimpse of his balcony from yours, but this felt… different. Being inside like this.

“Jungkook?” No response. You checked the living room. Empty. His bedroom. Empty. The spare room. Also empty. No sign of him anywhere. The only indication that someone actually lived here was Bam, curled up on his bed in the corner, completely undisturbed. Not even a twitch when you walked in.

You stared at him for a second, unimpressed. “What kind of dog are you?” you muttered. “Someone could rob this place blind, and you’d just nap through it.”

The kitchen was clean. The only thing out of place was two empty cups sitting on the dining table. You paused for a second, glancing at them, then shook it off. Giving the sleeping dog one last look, you stepped out of the apartment, locked the door behind you, and slipped the key back under the pot like nothing had ever happened.

Back in your own place, Albert noticed you instantly, waddling over like he had been waiting. Two loud quacks. You looked down at his empty feeding tray. “Oh, baby,” you muttered, crouching slightly. “Were you hungry?”

After feeding him, you settled onto your sofa, phone in hand, scrolling mindlessly. Your thumb moved, your eyes followed, but not really. Every few seconds, they drifted to the door. Listening for any indication that he has arrived. Nothing came.

You scoffed quietly, throwing your phone aside for a second and leaning back. “Whatever,” you muttered, louder this time, glaring at your front door as if he were actually standing on the other side. “I don’t give a fuck. In fact, you don’t have to come back at all for all I care.” Your voice echoed a little in the quiet apartment. Albert looked up at you, tilting his head to the side like he was judging you.

After a few more hours of nothing but silence, you did something you never thought you would do in a hundred years. You called Jungkook. Twice. And the audacity of him to not pick up either time.

By the second call, when it rang out and went straight to voicemail, your frown deepened, irritation bubbling up fast. “Unbelievable,” you muttered under your breath, throwing your phone onto the couch beside you. “Asshole.” You got up almost immediately after, running a hand through your hair. You couldn’t just sit here all night waiting for him like some… whatever this was. You had better things to do.

After cleaning up your apartment a little and half-watching a few episodes of Schitt’s Creek, your attention drifted back to your phone again. Four new messages. Your eyes lit up, and you picked it up instantly. For a split second, something like hope flickered in your chest. And just as quickly, it died.

Leshi: the girls and i are going to dinner, please join, it will be so much fun.

Hoseok: are you alright? you seemed a little worried.

Hoseok: please let me know if you need anything at all.

Unknown: Hey, I got your number from—

You didn’t even bother reading the last one. 'Where the hell are you, Jungkook? I swear, once I know you're alive, you'll be dead.' you thought.

11:21. The clock read, you stifled the yawn that almost escaped you and got up, ready to look for something to consume as dinner.

Then you heard it, a quiet shuffling of feet, then the clicking sound of the door getting unlocked, and then Bam Barking. Relief rushed through you, and you didn't waste a single second before storming out of your apartment and across the hallway.

His door was about to shut when you grabbed the handle and pushed it open again. Jungkook turned around immediately, still wearing the same clothes he was this morning. His bag was thrown carelessly on the floor. He didn't have much time to process what was happening; you were already yelling.

“Where the hell have you been!?” You snapped angrily. “You don’t pick up any calls, you don’t text, you don’t come to practice. You just fucking vanished for the whole day. At least let someone know you’re not dead in a ditch or—”

It happened too fast. One second, you were standing a few feet away from him, anger carrying you forward, and the next, his hands were on you. He pulled you in before you could react, wrapping his arms around your waist and dragging you against him in a tight, desperate hug. The words died in your throat. Your body went still, hands hanging uselessly at your sides.

His face buried itself in the crook of your neck, his breath warm and uneven against your skin. Not rushed, just heavy, like he was trying to steady himself. And you forgot how to breathe. The anger that had been boiling under your skin faltered. Because this wasn’t how this was supposed to go. He was supposed to snap back. Argue. Say something that would piss you off even more. Not this. Not… holding you like that.

Your heart started beating a little too fast, loud enough that you were sure he could hear it. Your fingers twitched at your sides, unsure whether to push him away or hold on. You could feel the tension in him. The way his grip tightened just slightly, like he didn’t want to let go.

Your breathing stuttered, uneven, your body didn’t quite know what to do with itself anymore. There was this strange, unfamiliar feeling curling low in your stomach, something you’d only ever seen described in books, in movies. Never something you thought you’d actually feel.

You were yet to make any sense of it when he moved two steps back, still holding onto you like letting go wasn’t even an option, and then he dropped into the chair behind him, pulling you down with him. You barely had time to react before you were seated on his lap, your breath catching again at the closeness.

“Jungkook…” Your voice came out quieter than you intended, your hands instinctively coming up to push at his shoulders, but he caught them. Pulled them down and held you tighter. Your chest pressed against his; you could feel your heartbeats almost combining.

“Stay like this. Please.” His voice was muffled against your neck, rough. “Go ahead,” he added quietly. “Yell at me. You can keep yelling at me… but just...just stay like this.” His hands were feeling every inch of your waist like he was making sure that you were real; he needed that to ground himself.

Your throat felt impossibly dry, the anger that had consumed you just minutes ago dissolving so completely it was hard to believe it had ever been there at all. In its place, something far more fragile and unfamiliar settled in, a quiet, surreal tenderness that wrapped around your chest. Your hands lifted again, but this time there was no intention to push him away. Instead, you allowed your arms to circle around him. The moment your arms settled around his neck, you felt the subtle shift in him. A sigh escaped his lips, brushing softly against your skin, heavy with relief. Your hold was soft, of someone who was still learning how to hug. Your hands are moving to the back of his head, soothing.

If someone had told you yesterday that you would be sitting in Jungkook's lap, in the quiet of his living room, with his arms wrapped around you as though you were his shelter, you would have personally escorted them to the nearest mental asylum.

You had never thought of yourself as a comforter, the kind of person people sought out after a long day, someone who offered warmth and reassurance; you doubted anyone had ever looked at you that way. But in that moment, when Jungkook took refuge in your arms, you realized that you could so easily become that person, if only you wanted it enough.

Your fingers continued to move absentmindedly through his hair, the soft strands slipping between them as his breathing gradually evened out against you. You wanted to ask him how he was, whether everything was alright, but the words lingered unspoken at the back of your throat. You were afraid that even the smallest sound might shatter this stillness, breaking whatever trance had settled between you. This comforting silence will once again turn chaotic, and you will start screaming at each other. You weren’t ready for that. Not yet.

You didn’t want to let go, though you would never admit it, certainly not out loud, and perhaps not even to yourself. There was something disarming about the way he leaned into you, about how naturally your body had responded to his need for comfort. It felt like stepping into a parallel universe. So you stayed there, holding him just a little longer, allowing yourself a few stolen minutes in this quiet moment before reality inevitably found its way back.

You don't know how long you stayed like that, maybe a few minutes, maybe an hour. Time was honestly lost on you. Countless seconds ticking by as you inhaled each other's scent. The smell of tobacco lingered in his breath, telling you he had smoked right before he came in, the smell that you have always associated with him, alchemised with his wooden cologne.

Jungkook was the first to pull away, though only slightly, just enough to look at your face. The loss of contact felt jarring, like a song coming abruptly to an end. His hand rose slowly, fingers gentle as they brushed a loose strand of hair away from your eyes, tucking it behind your ear. Faces still just inches apart, you could see every tiny detail, the soft curves of his lashes, every freckle, and every tiny mole. Your eyes drift from the one on his nose to the one right below his lips.

His eyes followed yours, mimicking your movement, taking in your features like he was admiring a painting. Lingering a moment too long on the soft pink plump of your lips. You wondered how he would taste; would you still be able to taste the cigarette on his lips? Would he taste like the vanilla Chapstick you have seen him use one too many times?

Your head tilted to the side, inviting him, lulling him just to close the gap. To relieve you both from the thick tension hovering in the air. His eyes looked as if he were wondering the same thing as you, eyebrows furrowing just slightly.

A loud bark had pulled you both from the hypnotic state you had been suspended in. The moment shattered like glass, reality seeping in. You stood up from his lap immediately. Your hands brushed over your pajama shorts, smoothing out imaginary creases and dust. Both of you turned to look at the culprit of the interruption. Bam. Standing there wagging his tail, looking at you, daring you to cross the line. Jungkook cleared his throat. Loud. Announcing that the moment was over.

"I.." he began, gaze darting anywhere but you. "I'm sorry. I just." His voice trailed off before finally settling on you, still standing awkwardly a few steps away. "I had a long day."

"Yeah, it’s okay… where were you anyway?" you asked, the original reason for your visit resurfacing now that the haze had lifted. “I called.”

"Yeah, I saw."

"And?"

"And what?" he replied. The response irritated you just a little. You had been waiting for some sort of explanation, something to justify his being MIA all day. Where had he been that he couldn’t even send a quick text or pick up your call? But almost immediately, you reminded yourself that he didn’t owe you anything. Not an explanation, not an excuse, nothing.

"Nothing." You waited for a while, still standing awkwardly in the living room. A part of you is still expecting him to say something, to explain something. But the explanation never came. You let out a disappointed sigh, shaking your head as frustration began to bubble to the surface. "No. You know what? It's not nothing," you said, your voice sharpening. "You don't get to do that, you don't get to fight with me whenever you like, you don't get to hug me whenever you like, and you don't get to fucking disappear for the whole day and then act like nothing happened," Jungkook remained silent, his expression unreadable for a brief second. Then, to your utter disbelief, a small smile crept onto his lips. "What!?" you snapped, thrown off by his reaction.

"Were you worried about me, Bubbles?" that fucking nickname again. The retort that had been forming on your tongue faltered as you bit down on it. Were you? Of course you were, but you're not gonna let him have the satisfaction.

“I wasn’t worried about you,” you shot back, crossing your arms defensively. “I was just worried that… if you died, who would look after your stupid dog?”

His smile widened, clearly unconvinced. “Sure. Whatever you say, bubbles.”

“Fuck you.” You lifted your middle finger in his direction before turning on your heel to leave before he could read any more into your reaction. You had barely taken a few steps toward the door when his voice stopped you.

"Have you had dinner?" His question was soft, almost gentle, as though he already knew the answer before asking. You opened your mouth, fully intending to brush it off with a casual lie, but the quiet grumble of your stomach betrayed you. The sound echoed in the stillness of the apartment, far louder than it should have been. Jungkook didn’t tease you or even acknowledge it. Instead, he simply held your gaze for a brief moment, concern passing through his expression, before turning away without a word, and silently, he made his way into the kitchen.

You watched as he opened the fridge, pulling out a few raw ingredients with ease: vegetables, bread, and a couple of containers you couldn’t quite see from where you stood. He moved around the space with quiet efficiency, retrieving utensils from the cupboard below and setting them on the counter. The soft clatter of metal against the countertop and the gentle hum of the refrigerator filled the silence between you.

You lingered near the doorway, unsure whether to leave or step further inside. This was unfamiliar territory for the two of you; you didn't even know that Jungkook apparently cooked. You take slow steps further inside, leaning against the fridge and peering over his shoulder as he mixes something in a pan.

"I am a vegetarian." You mumble.

“I know,” he replied simply, not even sparing you a glance.

A few seconds passed as you watched him continue with the same calm concentration. “I don’t eat dairy,” you added, a little more firmly this time.

"I know."

"I'm allergic to-"

“I know,” he repeated, cutting you off gently. There was a quiet certainty in his tone that made you pause, and you wondered if he really did know you as much as he implied. Then, in a fluid movement, he was in front of you. A small piece of carrot held in front of your mouth, you hesitantly leaned forward and wrapped your lips around it. "Just trust me,” he said softly, that familiar smile playing on his lips, the one that always seemed to make your toes curl most inconveniently. “I know.”

His free arm wraps once more around your waist and moves you swiftly closer to him, your breath hitching again at the proximity. You found yourself watching the side of his face, the sharp line of his jaw, and the quiet focus in his expression as he reached past you with his other arm to open the fridge and retrieve another container.

His hand lingered a little longer on your waist, even after he closed the fridge. Squeezing your waist gently as he moved back to the kitchen counter. You stood there, shocked for a minute or two before finally lifting both your hands and tucking your hair behind both ears. You moved, standing beside him by the counter.

“I can help,” you offered. Jungkook paused mid-motion, one eyebrow arching in clear disbelief before he let out a soft chuckle. It wasn’t his usual teasing scoff but a genuine laugh. Creases formed at the corners of his eyes, and his bunny teeth peeked through as he looked at you like you had just told the most amusing joke. “What? I can,” you insisted, folding your arms defensively.

“No way I’m letting you anywhere near the stove or knives,” he replied, still smiling as he resumed chopping.

“I might surprise you. I’m a great cook,” you huffed, slightly offended.

“Putting milk in cereal is not cooking.”

Your mouth fell open in indignation. “Excuse me? I’ll have you know I make excellent ramen.”

Jungkook hummed thoughtfully, pretending to consider it. “Ah, yes, culinary genius. Should I be worried you’ll outshine me?”

“You’ve never even tried my food.”

“I have not,” Jungkook replied, pausing mid-motion to air-quote the word, “cooking, because the last time I saw you do that, your brother ended up in a hospital.”

You let out an indignant gasp, but the memory surfaced almost immediately, vivid and embarrassingly clear.

You had gone into the kitchen that day with a sudden burst of inspiration to recreate a snack you had seen on some cookery show. The enthusiasm, however, had been short-lived. Halfway through the process, you had grown bored and wandered off, completely forgetting about the dish still sitting inside the oven. It hadn’t even crossed your mind that the oven needed to be turned off manually—you had simply assumed it would stop on its own.

What followed was nothing short of chaos.

Smoke had quickly filled the house, thick and suffocating. Your brother, who had been sitting at the dining table, blissfully engrossed in his Game Boy, hadn’t noticed the danger until it was too late. By the time anyone realized what was happening, he had inhaled enough smoke to warrant a trip to the hospital. Thankfully, he recovered quickly, but the incident had cemented your reputation as a catastrophic cook in the eyes of everyone who knew you.

“In my defense,” you muttered, crossing your arms as you shot Jungkook a glare, “I didn’t know ovens weren’t automatic. No one tells you these things.”

Jungkook’s lips twitched as he tried and failed to suppress a smile. “Right. Because common sense is apparently optional in your kitchen.”

You nudged him with your elbow. “He was fine. And for your information, the quiche looked pretty good before it tried to kill him.”

“Wait… It was supposed to be quiche?”

“What did you think it was?” you asked, a smile slipping free.

“I don’t know,” Jungkook replied, glancing at you with a straight face that only made it funnier. “It looked like a burnt rat. I almost thought you’d gotten into animal cruelty.” You laughed, swatting his shoulder a little too playfully for the dynamic you were supposed to have.

A brief silence followed before the memory hit you fully, and you burst out laughing again. “God, he was so dramatic.”

Jungkook immediately caught on, placing a hand over his chest and staggering back a step as he reenacted your brother’s theatrics. In a trembling, exaggerated voice, he declared, “Mom… tell sis she can have my room.”

Your laughter doubled, echoing through the kitchen as you joined in, wiping at the corners of your eyes. “Tell Jungkook he can have my skateboard,” you added, mimicking the same dramatic tone.

“He really said that?” Jungkook snorted, shaking his head. “That fucker didn't even let me touch it.”

“Yeah, he was leaving all his inheritance to you,” you teased, leaning against the counter as you tried to catch your breath. “He was acting like he was your dying wife.”

Both of you reminisced a little longer about the past, recalling more of your brother’s antics and squabbling over tiny details you each remembered differently. While Jungkook focused on cooking, you couldn’t resist sneaking a few pieces of carrot and cucumber, only for his hand to swat yours away with precision, earning a quiet laugh from both of you.

The atmosphere had softened. The heaviness that lingered when you first walked into his apartment had faded, replaced by serenity. If someone were to see the two of you from afar, they would have assumed you were old friends who cooked together on a daily basis—comfortable in each other’s presence, moving around one another with practiced ease.

When everything was finally ready, Jungkook gently guided you toward the dining area, insisting you sit down and not letting you help with setting the table despite your protests. There was something quietly endearing in the way he took charge. A moment later, he returned carrying a steaming pot of vegetable stew, its rich aroma filling the room, followed by a plate stacked high with golden-brown potato pancakes. He placed them carefully on the table before grabbing a couple of bowls and utensils.

You both ate in silence, the kind that felt natural rather than awkward. The soft clink of cutlery against ceramic and the faint hum of the refrigerator filled the space, creating a quiet rhythm. The food made you feel like a homeless man who hasn't eaten in days. Even if the food was delicious, you didn't say it out loud, you're not gonna help him double his massive ego.

He said something, but his voice was so quiet that you couldn’t quite make it out. You looked up from your plate, giving him a questioning glance, silently asking him to repeat himself.

“I went back with her today. Eomma,” he said, his gaze fixed on the bowl in front of him. “You asked where I was…”

You nodded slowly, unsure of what to say. “Okay.”

A laugh escaped him, soft and hollow. It wasn’t amused; it carried a sadness that made your chest tighten. “She wanted to talk about the house.”

“The house?” you echoed. “You’re selling it?”

“Yeah,” he replied with a small shrug. “We all moved out, so… why not?” But you could tell that the house wasn’t what weighed on him. His shoulders were tense again, his fingers absently tracing the rim of his bowl, eyes distant as if replaying the day in his mind.

“Jungkook…” you began gently.

“After all these years… I thought—” He let out that same humorless laugh, shaking his head at himself. “I thought that she wanted to see me. To talk to me. I thought she missed me.” He paused, swallowing hard before continuing. “How stupid, right? She just wanted her share of the house.” The vulnerability in his voice was raw. “I was mad at her, you know,” he admitted quietly. “But I was also… happy. I was happy that she came to see me.” he quickly shook his head and swallowed the tears that formed in his eyes.

You wanted to comfort him, to get up from your chair and wrap your arms around him again, to hold him the way you had earlier. You wanted to tell him that she didn’t deserve his love, that it was her loss for not seeing the man he had become, for not realizing what she had walked away from all those years ago. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. So you remained where you were, hands folded loosely in your lap, your gaze fixed on him as he spoke. You sat there, silently, listening to him, hoping that your presence was enough to let him know he wasn’t alone.

*******

Something had shifted between you and Jungkook after that night. It wasn’t obvious at first. On the surface, everything remained the same—you still bickered over trivial things, still exchanged sarcastic remarks whenever the opportunity presented itself, and still acted as though the other’s presence was nothing but an inconvenience. But the sharp edge that once accompanied your words had dulled. The hostility was gone.

You noticed it in the mornings. Like clockwork, Jungkook would appear by the elevator just as you stepped into the hallway. He always pretended it was a coincidence, glancing at his phone, adjusting the strap of his bag, or yawning as if he had just arrived. But the timing was too perfect, too consistent to be accidental. He was waiting. You knew he was, but you just can't prove it.

It was a Sunday, and you had brunch plans with the other cheer girls. Soft music hummed in the background as you stood in front of your vanity, carefully blending the blush across your cheeks. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle glow over your apartment. The morning felt peaceful. That peace was shattered quickly by a loud, impatient knock on your front door.

You froze, brush mid-air, brows knitting together. No one ever visits you unannounced, especially not this early. The knock came again, sharper this time; the person on the other side had little regard for patience or subtlety. You sighed, setting the brush down. “Alright, alright,” you muttered, making your way to the door.

Swinging it open, you found Jungkook standing there, hair slightly disheveled, dressed in a simple black hoodie and jeans. He looked mildly irritated, the face he makes when someone puts sugar in his coffee, something you had learned the hard way.

“What do you want?” you asked, leaning against the doorframe, your tone laced with mild annoyance.

“I need to talk to Albert,” Jungkook said firmly.

The statement caught you off guard, your brows knitting together in confusion. Nobody talks to Albert, even you don't talk to Albert. Well, you do, but you are not sure he understands very well.

“You need to talk to Albert?” you repeated, emphasizing the name.

"Yes."

"Well, Albert is busy having his morning swim. So whatever it is, you can tell me."

“Your duck,” he stated, the word dripping with vindication, “has crossed some limits.” You stared at him, silently urging him to continue. “He pooped on Bam.”

You blinked. “He pooped… that’s ridiculous. Albert hasn’t left the apartment all morning. And the door was locked.”

“I am certain your demon bird can walk through walls.”

“Excuse me?” you scoffed. “He’s a gentleman.”

“He’s a menace.”

“How do you even know it’s duck poop? Maybe some other bird did it. Hell, your dog is so stupid he wouldn’t even know if another dog pooped on him.”

“It’s duck poop, I’m pretty sure.” Jungkook shoved his phone toward your face. The screen displayed a Google Images page filled with various types of duck droppings. The search bar read: fat white duck poop.

“Albert is not fat,” you defended your pet indignantly.

“Yes, he’s not,” Jungkook agreed with a solemn nod. “He’s obese.”

“Take that back.”

“First, you ask him to apologize.”

“How do you even know Albert did it? Maybe it’s some other duck’s poop.”

Jungkook arched an eyebrow. “Oh? Do you know many ducks who live in this building? Maybe it’s Donald.” With that, he pushed the door open a little wider, revealing his dog, Bam, who was currently busy chasing his own tail. Sure enough, a large patch of dried white and green residue was stuck to his back. A laugh escaped you at the sight. “It’s not funny,” Jungkook protested. “Ask him to apologize.”

At that moment, summoned by the conversation, a soft series of webbed footsteps echoed from inside the apartment. Both of you glanced down the hallway. Albert appeared. Water droplets clung to his pristine white feathers, and he waddled forward with an air of unmistakable authority. His dark eyes fixed on Jungkook with what could only be described as suspicion.

“Look at him,” Jungkook muttered. “So smug. It’s like he’s proud of it.”

You crouched down, smiling sweetly. “Albert, honey, did you poop on the stupid dog?” Albert responded with a dignified quack. “There,” you said, standing up with satisfaction. “He denied it. Case closed.”

“Case not closed,” Jungkook insisted. “You’re taking Bam to the groomer’s. He stinks.”

“He always stinks.”

“He does not,” Jungkook shot back, clearly offended. “He smells very pleasant.”

You wrinkled your nose thoughtfully. “Oh, maybe it’s just you then.”

Jungkook stared at you for a moment before letting out an incredulous huff, though the corners of his lips. “Can you go now?” you asked, glancing back at the clock on your wall. “I’m getting late for my brunch.”

“This is not over,” he huffed as he turned on his heel and began making his way back to his apartment. “Come on, Bam. We’ll have duck soup for lunch.”

“I heard that!” you yelled after him.

“Good,” he yelled back without turning around.

You shook your head, a reluctant smile tugging at your lips as you closed the door. Albert waddled over to you, quacking softly as if seeking validation.

*******

Practice was a little more intense than usual that Thursday. The big varsity match was just around the corner, and even the most confident players carried a quiet edge of nervousness beneath their usual energy. Everyone felt this unspoken pressure hanging over the field like a storm waiting to break. And for you, the day was already off to a rough start.

You had changed your major for the third time, hoping that something would finally click, that you would stumble into a path that felt like yours. But the big, unforgiving F stamped across the paper didn’t care about your intentions. You were failing, or already had been, depending on how you looked at it. Either way, the warning was clear: one more failed class, and you’d be repeating the semester.

Ever since you had received the letter from the dean that morning, the words had been replaying in your head on a loop. “You are a bright student, that’s why I’ve called you here personally. So what is going on? You keep changing your subject, but you are not focusing on anything. We can provide extra help if you need it.” It wasn’t harsh. That was the worst part. It was gentle. Concerned, even. And somehow that made it sit heavier in your chest. You kept seeing the dean’s expression—patient, expectant, like she was waiting for an answer. You had nodded at the right places, given the right vague responses, promised to “think about it properly,” but the truth was embarrassingly simple: you didn’t know what you were doing. Not really. You kept moving, changing directions, convincing yourself the next choice would feel clearer than the last, but it never did.

You stared at the white piece of paper, thinking of ways to disclose the result to your family. You already know what your dad is going to say. Just join the family business. But you don't want to join the family business. You want to become something, something of your own, something people will only associate with you and not your family. Something that will be yours and yours only. The paper in your hands crinkled slightly as your grip tightened.

“Hey, you alright?” You turned at the sound of the voice, startled from your thoughts, just in time to see Hoseok jogging up to you. Instinctively, you crumpled the paper in your hands and shoved it deep into your bag, as if hiding it could somehow make the problem disappear.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you said quickly. “Just wanted some water.” Hoseok’s eyebrow arched in quiet suspicion as his gaze swept over the bleachers, clearly noticing the absence of any water bottle nearby.

“Do you want me to get some for you?” he asked gently.

“No, no. It’s alright. Let’s get back to practice.” You offered him a small, practiced smile—the kind you had perfected over the years, convincing enough to pass at a glance.

Hoseok studied you for a moment longer, debating whether to push further. But true to his nature, he chose not to press. Instead, he gave a slow nod, accepting your answer even if he didn’t entirely believe it. “Alright,” he said softly. “But if you need a break, just say the word.”

You nodded in return, grateful for his understanding. As the two of you made your way back onto the field, the noise of practice gradually swallowed the silence between you. Yet, even as you rejoined your teammates, your mind kept drifting back to the crumpled piece of paper hidden in your bag.

Leshi had called in sick that day, leaving you in charge, and it couldn’t have come at a worse time. With your mind already preoccupied by the dean’s warning and the result sheet, focusing on practice felt nearly impossible. Every instruction you gave sounded distant even to your own ears, like you were simply going through the motions rather than truly leading. In that moment, you found yourself incredibly grateful for your captain, who was usually the backbone of the team—always composed, always thinking a step ahead, and executing everything with effortless precision. You had never fully appreciated how much responsibility they carried until now. Right now, the field was nothing short of chaos.

“No, no, Millie, I fly first. You go after me,” you said, trying to keep your tone confident.

Millie frowned, shaking her head. “But you have the higher pyramid. You can’t be stabilized for that long.” You paused, considering her point. Normally, Leshi would have stepped in by now, making a quick, decisive call that everyone would trust without question. Instead, all eyes were on you, waiting for an answer.

“Hoseok, can you stabilize me for that long?” you asked, turning to your back spot.

Hoseok looked up at you with an easygoing shrug. “Hasn’t been an issue till now.” If Hoseok believed he could manage it, that was usually enough reassurance for the rest of the team as well.

Millie bit her lip, clearly still unsure. “It’s just risky if the timing is off,” she added softly.

"We'll try it your way if it doesn't work," she wasn't convinced.

"It's not just, Hobi. You have to think about the other bases as well," she argued, making you roll your eyes in slight irritation.

“Let’s just take five, okay?” you said, clapping your hands once to gather everyone’s attention. “The bases can discuss it among themselves, and if there are any issues, we’ll work through them.” A round of agreement rippled through the group of twenty or so teammates, grateful for the brief pause. The tension that had been building eased slightly as people broke formation, some stretching while others huddled together to talk through grips and timing.

You walked up to the bleachers again and took a seat. 'You can't even manage a cheer team for a day,' you heard a voice at the back of your head that sounded dubiously familiar to your father. You could still hear some of the girls talking, and you weren't paying any attention until you heard a familiar name from one of them. Your attention snapped into focus instantly. It was instinctive—the way a dog’s ears perk up at the mention of a favorite word. You straightened subtly, trying to appear nonchalant, though every sense was suddenly tuned to their conversation. Without turning around, you listened more carefully, your heartbeat picking up just slightly as you waited to hear what they would say next.

“OMG,” you heard one of the girls squeal from behind you, her voice brimming with excitement.

“When did that happen?” another asked, curiosity evident in her tone. When did what happen? You wondered, your fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the bleacher.

“Last Sunday,” the first girl replied. You immediately recognized the voice—Olivia, one of the dancers. Your mind began to race as the timeline clicked into place. Last Sunday? Last Sunday… as in the day Jungkook knocked on your door and flirted with you for fifteen minutes? The memory resurfaced with startling clarity: him leaning casually against the doorframe, that familiar half-smile tugging at his lips, the easy banter that had lingered just a little too long. Was he even flirting, though? Or had your mind simply twisted the moment into something it wasn’t?

“Girl, you’re so lucky. I bet he’s a great kisser.”

“I would sell my family house to kiss him, honestly.”

That was it. You couldn’t bear to listen any longer. The words echoed in your ears, each one landing like a blow to your chest. Your heart began to pound so loudly it drowned out the rest of their conversation, and a dreadful sensation started to coil in the pit of your stomach. A strange mix of nausea and disbelief settled over you as your mind raced to make sense of what you had just heard. Did something really happen between Olivia and Jungkook?

You wouldn’t have been surprised if it had. Over the past two years, you had watched him move through the cheer team like he was progressing through different levels of a game. You had seen them step awkwardly out of his apartment more than once, only to meet your eyes in the hallway. You had seen him kissing girls behind the bleachers after games, their laughter carrying into the night as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And yet, none of those moments had affected you the way this one did. Just the possibility of him being with Olivia—of him spending the night with one of your teammates—left you feeling breathless, as though the air had been knocked out of your lungs. It was irrational, you told yourself. You had no claim over him, no right to feel this way. But emotions rarely listen to reason.

Because this time was different. This time came after that night—after the way he had held you in his arms like a drowning man clinging to his only lifeline, like you were the oxygen tank keeping him alive. The memory of his warmth, the vulnerability in his touch, and the quiet intimacy you had shared now twisted painfully against the possibility that it might have meant far less to him than it had to you.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. The anger twisting in your chest felt sharp and irrational, and you knew, deep down, that it wasn’t Olivia’s fault. She was just another girl caught in Jungkook’s orbit—another name in a long list. If anything, she would probably end up heartbroken in a few days, just like the rest of them. But knowing that didn’t soften the storm brewing inside you. Logic offered no comfort. Understanding brought no mercy.

Before you could stop yourself, you were already on your feet, the bleachers creaking beneath you as you stepped down onto the field. The girls’ laughter grated against your ears, each giggle fueling the frustration and hurt you were trying so hard to suppress.

“Can you guys focus on the routine instead of giggling about boys like a bunch of high schoolers?” Your voice rang out louder, sharp enough to slice through the air and echo across the entire practice area. The chatter ceased almost instantly. Conversations died mid-sentence as heads turned toward you, surprise and confusion flickering across familiar faces.

You stood at the front of the group, shoulders squared, arms crossed tightly over your chest in an attempt to hold yourself together. A few of the girls exchanged uncertain glances, clearly taken aback by the intensity of your reaction. Olivia’s smile faded, her expression shifting into one of embarrassment.

“You know, Olivia,” you said, your voice cutting through the silence like a blade, “this is exactly why you can’t make it to the front.” A collective gasp rippled through the team. Olivia froze, her eyes widening in shock as every head turned toward her. “If your mind could focus on anything other than how to please the jocks,” you continued, the words spilling out before you could stop them, “maybe you’d realize that the only reason you’re on this team is that your mom is a donor here.” Olivia’s face drained of color, humiliation flashing across her features before she quickly looked down, blinking rapidly as she tried to hold herself together. Around her, your teammates exchanged uneasy glances, unsure of how to react. The tension was palpable, thick enough to suffocate.

You looked around the team, your gaze drifting from one stunned face to another until it finally landed on Hoseok. He stood a few feet away, arms crossed loosely over his chest, his expression calm but disapproving. The disappointment in his eyes hit harder than any words could have. In that moment, your brain finally caught up with what you had just said. Regret washed over you in a sudden, suffocating wave. If someone else had said it, you would be the first one to rip them apart.

“I—” you started, the word barely escaping your lips before it faltered. The apology sat heavy on your tongue, but no matter how hard you tried, it refused to take shape. Your hands clenched into tight fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms. Before anyone could say anything—before you had to face the hurt in Olivia’s eyes or the disappointment etched across Hoseok’s face—you turned away. The decision was driven more by the overwhelming weight of shame than by any real intention to leave, but your feet were already moving.

You walked quickly toward the bleachers, grabbing your bag with trembling hands. You slung it over your shoulder, avoiding any attempt at eye contact.

As you made your way toward the exit, the faint voices of your teammates carried through the air, each word landing like a pu.

“What’s her problem?”

“Her problem is that she’s a bitch.”

“Leshi takes a leave for one day, and she suddenly thinks she’s in charge of everything.”

“What's going on with you?” Hoseok’s voice came from beside you, breath slightly uneven as he caught up, matching your quick strides. You hadn’t even heard him approach, too consumed by the storm raging inside your head.

“Nothing,” you grumbled, not bothering to slow down or look at him.

He kept pace, his concern unwavering. “No, just talk to me.”

“I said nothing,” you snapped, stopping abruptly and turning to face him. The sharpness in your voice surprised even you. “Just leave me alone, Hoseok.”

Hoseok didn’t flinch. Instead, he studied you with a quiet sadness, like he could see straight through the walls you were trying so desperately to build. “You know,” he said gently, “if you keep pushing people away, no one is going to be here when you look back.”

You wanted to argue, to deflect, to say something—anything—that would lessen the weight of what he had just said. But no words came.

Without another glance, you resumed your hurried steps, leaving Hoseok standing there as you headed straight out of the field and toward the campus gates. You didn’t even bother changing out of your practice clothes, the cool air brushing against your skin as you walked. Your pace was relentless, almost punishing. You didn’t stop until you reached home. By the time your apartment building came into view, the muscles in your legs were burning, and your breath had grown shallow, but you welcomed the physical ache—it was easier to deal with than the emotional turmoil swirling within you.

Shame twisted painfully in your chest, making it hard to breathe. Beneath it all simmered a quieter, more unsettling emotion—jealousy. You know now, you know the name of that ugly green feeling sprouting in your stomach. You hated yourself for it. You knew your outburst hadn’t truly been about Olivia or the team; it had been about Jungkook, about the fear that the moment you had shared with him meant far less to him than it did to you.

You felt exposed, vulnerable—like you were standing at the edge of something very tall, just waiting for the wind to sway you. More than anything, you wanted to retreat into the safety of your apartment, to shut the door on the world and pretend none of it had happened.

You fumbled with your keys as you reached your doorstep, hands still trembling slightly from the adrenaline. Just as you were about to unlock the door, a voice stopped you in your tracks, the last one you needed to hear right now.

“Bubbles?”

You froze. Slowly, you turned around to find Jungkook standing a few steps away, his expression concerned. Of course, it had to be him. Of course, he had to be here—right when you were at your most fragile, when the emotions you had been trying so hard to suppress were threatening to spill over.

For a brief moment, you considered ignoring him, pretending you hadn’t heard. But your body refused to cooperate, rooted to the spot as you faced the one person responsible for the storm raging inside you.

“Did you walk home?” he asked, his eyes trailing down to your maroon cheer outfit, taking in the disheveled state you were in.

“None of your business,” you spat, pushing your door open and stepping inside, ready to slam it shut in his face. But a strong hand shot out, stopping the door before it could close.

“Hey, hey. What?” he asked, stepping closer, his expression shifting into hurt. “What’s going on with you?”

You paused for a few seconds, your chest rising and falling as you fought to keep your composure. Your eyes lifted to meet his just as he gave the door a gentle push, causing you to stumble a step back into your apartment.

“Fuck. Off. Jungkook,” you spat again, your eyes glossy with all the anger you felt. Jungkook let out a humorless laugh before casually stepping further inside, shutting the door behind him as if he belonged there.

“No,” he said simply, his calm defiance making you gawk at his audacity.

“What do you mean, no?” you demanded, incredulous.

“I mean NO,” he repeated, his voice rising just a fraction. “I’m not fucking off until you tell me what’s going on.”

“I SAID IT’S NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS!” Your voice echoed through the apartment, sharp and trembling with barely restrained emotion.

Jungkook exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair, trying to keep his own frustration in check. “No, we’re not going back to that, okay? We were doing fine. I’m not letting you go back to acting like a brat.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “We? There is no we, Jungkook. We’re not friends. Just because you cooked for me while I stood in your kitchen doesn’t suddenly make us friends.” The words hung heavily between you. For a moment, he didn’t respond. The defiance in his posture faltered, and something in his expression shifted—his jaw tightening, eyes dimming as the weight of your statement settled in. He looked hurt by what you’d said, not just surprised, but genuinely wounded. You just can't stop hurting people around you, can you?

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?” you shot back, frustrated.

“Pushing,” Jungkook replied, his voice steady and firm. “You keep pushing and pushing until there’s no one left in your corner. The moment things slip out of your control, you shut everyone out and pretend you don’t need anyone.” You opened your mouth to argue, but he didn’t give you the chance. “I’m not letting you do that this time,” he continued, taking a step closer, his gaze unwavering. “Not to me.” The conviction in his voice made your chest tighten. “You can keep acting like a fucking brat all you want,” he added, the words harsher now, though the emotion behind them was raw, “but I’m not going anywhere. I’m not letting go.”

You were hurting, even if you refused to admit it to anyone. The ache sat heavy in your chest, and instead of confronting it, you did the only thing you knew how to do—lash out. If you were in pain, a part of you wanted Jungkook to feel it too. You wanted to hurt him. just as much as you were hurting.

“Well, that’s your problem, isn’t it?” you shot back, your voice trembling despite the venom laced within it. He frowned slightly at the sharpness of your tone, but you didn’t give him the chance to respond. “You don’t know when to let go. It has always been your problem, you just never know when to let people go,” you continued, each word deliberately cruel. “I don’t need you, Jungkook. So stop acting like my fucking friend, stop acting like you know me, and stop acting like you fucking care.”

“No,” he said. You stared at him in disbelief, your brows knitting together like you hadn’t heard him correctly. The sheer audacity of that single word left you speechless. He stood there, unwavering, and that irritated you even more,

“Get. Out.” You placed both hands on his chest and gave him a shove, but it did little damage. He barely shifted, his feet planted firmly against the floor, his gaze never leaving yours.

“No.”

Your jaw tightened, frustration bubbling over. “GET OUT,” you shouted, louder this time, the sound echoing off the walls. You pushed him again, putting more force into it, but the effort only seemed to emphasize the difference in your strength. He remained exactly where he was.

“I said no,” he replied, his voice steady, almost stubborn. “You can act like a bitch all you want, but I am not getting out.”

The words struck a nerve, igniting the anger already coursing through your veins. “Get the fuck out.” You raised your hand to shove him once more, determined to force him out if it was the last thing you did.

But before you could, his hand shot up, catching your wrist mid-air. The sudden contact stole the breath from your lungs. With a gentle tug, he pulled you toward him. The distance between you vanished in an instant—your chests nearly touching. You could feel the warmth radiating from his body, the steady rise and fall of his breathing brushing against you.

You had to bend your neck to look up at his face, your heart hammering wildly against your ribs. His grip on your wrist wasn’t painful, but it was unyielding.

“Are you done?” he asked, his voice low, searching, his gaze flickering over your face, trying to read every emotion.

“No,” you shot back immediately, though your voice wavered ever so slightly. “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.”

“Well, I hate you too, princess,” he said, his voice rough. “But I’m not leaving. Because I know what it’s like to be left alone, and I’m not doing that to you.” The silence that followed was heavy and short-lived. Before you could fully process what was happening, your body reacted on instinct, surprising you just as much as it did him. Your hands lifted once more, but this time not to push him away.

Your fists clenched around the collar of his T-shirt, knuckles whitening as adrenaline surged through your veins. With all the strength you could muster, you pulled him down toward you in one swift motion. His lips collapsed with yours. The impact was sudden and desperate, fueled by anger, confusion, and a yearning you had been trying to suppress for far too long. For a split second, time seemed to stand still—the world narrowing to the warmth of his mouth against yours and the sharp intake of his breath at the unexpected contact.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss; it was messy and urgent. Every unspoken feeling—fear, frustration, longing—poured into that single moment, blurring the line between hatred and yearning.

When his mind finally caught up with what was happening, his arm wrapped around your waist. He tugged you closer until there wasn’t even an inch of space left between you, afraid that any distance might shatter the moment.

His free hand travelled up, fingers brushing along your jaw before settling at the back of your neck, tilting your head just enough to deepen the kiss. His lips moved against yours with urgency, slower, more deliberate. The initial shock melted into something warmer, something that made your chest clench, and your grip on his shirt falter for a second before tightening all over again.

Pulling back ever so slightly, your eyes met with his through your lashes. He studies your features, looking for even the slightest bit of skepticism or unease, for any sign that should make him stop.

"Are you sure-" His question was cut off by you.

"Shut up. Just shut up." You said before pulling him back down. This time, neither of you was surprised. Instead, he was ready. The moment your lips met again, he enveloped you completely. LIps swallowing every tiny moan escaping your lungs. Your hands have left their station on his collars and found shelter in the mess of his hair. A single lick of his tongue was enough for you to part them, to let him in and explore your mouth.

His hand travelled down your side, feeling every curve until it settled at the back of your thigh, gripping them and feeling the warm skin under your skirt. His breath was heavy through his nose, fanning the skin of your cheeks.

You pulled away again, and your eyes flickered between his. Without a word, you reached for his hand, lacing your fingers through his and pulling him with you through your apartment, straight to your bedroom. He followed you with no resistance, like a puppy. You could hear the rhythm of his heart in the quiet of your apartment; it was beating very rapidly. If there were a doctor present, they would have declared he was having a heart attack.

As soon as the door shut behind him, you turned. You didn’t move closer. You just stood there, waiting for him to take the lead.

He didn't reach for you right away. He paused, studying your face. His hand lifted slowly, cupping your jaw, thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. “What are we doing?” he asked, his voice low—so quiet it barely carried beyond the space between you.

"What does it look like?"

"I want you to be sure. I want you to say it." There was a pause, and Jungkook almost pulled away. He wouldn't hold it against you if you had any doubts all of a sudden.

"Jungkook," You started, taking a step closer, eyes not leaving his for even a second. "Fuck me." That was all the consent Jungkook needed. His lips found yours once more, and this time, he was determined to take your every single breath away. One hand settled on the bare skin between your top and your skirt, while the other gently pulled on the ribbon tying up your hair.

You had your fair share of sexual partners before—back in school, even now in college—but none of them had ever made you feel this. Not like this. Not with something as simple as a kiss. Your whole body felt alive, heat spreading under your skin, every nerve suddenly aware. The anger, the frustration twisted into lust.

Your hands moved, gripping onto him, pulling him closer, needing more of him. You were already working on the belt buckle tied tightly around his hips. His lips left yours, trailing along your jaw, slower now, more deliberate. When he reached your neck, the pulse jumped between his teeth as he bit down gently. Your fingers are tightening around the hem of his jeans. A soft moan escaped you before you could hold it back.

"So fucking soft," he groaned, face buried in your skin. You felt your core tingling wildly, needing his warm touch. Your hands were now reaching for your own skirt. "Don't," he instructed, holding your hand and keeping them from pulling down. "Keep it on." His hand travelled under your skirt, pulling down the safety shorts along with your panties. "Always wanted to fuck you in this tiny skirt." His eyes were almost black as he bit down on his lips, taking in your whole body. You felt a shiver run down your spine.

"Always, huh?" you asked with a smirk.

"You have no idea."

"I thought you hated me."

"I do. So much." He replied, but you knew the feeling wasn't genuine. His one hand bunched up your skirt around your waist, keeping it in place. You watched as his other hand went to his lips, licking a wide strip and wetting two of his fingers. His eyes were still focused on your now exposed and extremely drenched core, lips glistening with your own slick. "So pretty. Can take a picture and hang it on my wall."

"Jungkook," You moaned at his words. "Do something," you whined, almost begging him to touch you, with your eyes, with your words. His hands hovered right above where you needed him, but not touching. He was testing your patience, although he already knows you don't have any.

"What do you say?"

"Asshole." The words escaped like a routine. Your brows furrow at his cruel behaviour.

"Uh, uh, what do you say when you very desperately need something?" You stayed quiet, eyes challenging him. Jungkook had never heard you say that word, not to him, not to anyone, so when you finally did, it sent a jolt to his cock.

"Please." You whined again. "Touch me, Jungkook." His cock was already hard, but after hearing you beg like that, he was certain it was going to burst through his pants. Good for him that he didn't waste another precious second of your time. Wet fingers found their way to your core, tracing your puffy, throbbing lips in slow circular motions.

"Fuckkk." You threw your head back at the contact. His cold metal rings contrast against your hot skin. He took it as an invitation and attacked your neck in deep, desperate kisses, not leaving out a single spot.

"Such a beautiful pussy, so wet." He stopped rubbing the spot for a few seconds, pulling out a sound of protest from you before poking your entrance. Fingers slowly enter the warm, tight hole. The thumb continues to rub circles on the bundle of nerves. "I want to taste you." He didn't wait for your response. His fingers were already inside his mouth. Sucking around them and licking every single drop of your sweet nectar. "So sweet, baby. Want more." He hummed in approval after pulling out his fingers. You watched in quiet as he slowly kneeled down before you. His eyes never left yours.

You wanted to scream. The sight of your neighbour kneeling before you while holding your eye contact felt enough for you to come apart. Your hand settled on his shoulder so that you wouldn't fall down from how jiggly your legs felt.

Jungkook maintained eye contact as he pressed a gentle kiss on your thigh, slowly trailing up towards your core. He paid equal attention to both of your thighs, alternatively kissing each of them until he was finally where you needed him the most. The fucker was taking his sweet time, like he had nowhere to be and could spend the rest of his days down on his knees.

When lips finally settled between your thighs, you swore you saw the gates of heaven. Your cunt was gushing with juices, and his tongue sneaked out of his mouth to lick every drop of it. He gave your clit a few tiny kitten licks before settling into long, wide stripes. The more juices you released, the harder he licked, like his sole purpose was to keep you dry.

You grind your hips, shivering at the contact of your clit rubbing against his big nose. Your hand gripped his hair tightly, pulling at it and drawing a moan out of him. The sweet pleasure stopped, the second he knew you were about to reach your high. "What the fuck?" You yelled, looking down at him. His eyes glinted with mischief as two of his fingers drew slow, teasing circles on your clit. "Jungkook, please." You whined for the nth time.

"What, bubbles? Do you think you deserve it? To come?" You gave him a desperate nod; to your surprise, it earned you a slap. right there, on your already throbbing clit. "I don't think so. I think you deserve me to fuck you all night and pull away right when you're about to come."

"I'll chop your dick off." You threatened in vain; it was not intimidating. Not when you were like this. Uncovered and at his mercy.

"Such a foul mouth. I shouldn't let you come at all."

"I swear to god-" you were slapped again in your sensitive area.

"Careful what you say, princess." You bit your lips, finally swallowing your pride.

"Please. I'll be a good girl."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

"If you say so." With that, his mouth was on you again, working wonders. Two fingers slipped in, adding to the stimulation. His hand cupped the back of your knee and pulled your leg on his shoulder. Giving him a better angle to eat your pussy like you deserved. His lips wrapped around and sucked on your clit as his fingers thrust inside you mercilessly.

"OH FUCK...fuck." You were so close that you could feel your high in your mouth.

"That's it, Baby. Come on my face." You didn't waste a second to oblige, coming around his beautiful nose and lips. He lapped at every single droplet until there wasn't any left. "You ever wonder how you taste?" He asked, but you were too flushed to answer. "So fucking sweet." He tells you before getting up and kissing you again. Tongue shoved inside, making you taste yourself. It was so salty, but mixed with his own taste, you liked it a lot.

When you finally came down from that dizzying high, a rush of energy surged back into your limbs, restless and insistent. Your fingers curled into his shirt, tugging him with you as you stepped back, guiding him toward the bed. His lips never left yours—not for a second—as you stumbled back onto the mattress, the soft dip of it catching you both. A quiet breath escaped you, swallowed instantly as he moved over you, bracing himself just enough to keep his weight from crushing you. The world outside faded, the distant hum of the city, the noise beyond your window, all of it drowned out by the steady rhythm building between you.

Your hands moved again, gripping the fabric of his shirt, pulling at it impatiently. The material bunched under your fingers as you tugged, needing to feel more of him, needing to close whatever distance still remained.

He pulled away, breath uneven, chest rising and falling as he tried to steady himself. His forehead rested against yours. “Do you have a condom?” he asked, his voice low, quieter now.

You nodded, lifting a hand to point toward the bedside table. “Bottom drawer.”

For a second, neither of you moved. Your gaze followed him without meaning to, taking in every small movement, every shift in his posture as he fished through your bottom drawer. When he stood in front of you, pulling down his pants and briefs, your eyes settled on his huge cock. It was mesmerizing, your eyes glued to it, your mouth watered. You have never seen a prettier-looking penis. You were sure there was no such thing as a pretty cock, but of course, Jungkook has it.

Like iron to a magnet, you were already on your all fours, crawling to the foot of your bed. Your hands reached out and took the foil packet from him, trembling fingers brushing against his warm hands, teeth already working on tearing the packet. Lips turning up in a smirk as he watched you take charge.

"I don't think I've ever been this hard." You chuckled at the confession. Sure enough, when you touched his cock was throbbing, solid as a rock against your palm, the thick veins on it matching the rhythm of his heartbeat. You looked him deep in his eyes as you licked your palm, and now it was his turn to let out a whimper that had to be impossible for such a big man. You watch as the man turns to putty in your hands when you give him a stroke. One. Two. Three. "Fuck, Bubbles."

"And you said I wasn't a good girl. Would a brat do this?" You asked before leaning down and giving the tip a few kitten licks.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Where'd you learn that?"

"You think you're the only one with a list of names?" Your lips, plump from kissing him the whole evening, now wrapped around his cock, tasting the warm, salty precum. A strong, veiny hand wrapped around your hair, pulling at it and pushing your head at the same time. His head fell back, basking in the warm, cushy feeling of your mouth.

"Stop before I start fucking your throat."

"Is that a promise or a threat?"

"Don't you wanna talk for the next week?"

"I thought you hate when I talked."

"I do. But I also loved when you were screaming-" the words died, replaced by his own groans when you took him a few inches deeper. He was so big that you had him lodged in your throat and still had enough to wrap your hand around. However, you could only have him in your mouth for a short time because he yanked you by your hair and smashed your lips against his. "Your mouth is pretty and all, but I really wanna fuck that pussy, Princess." You couldn't help but giggle at his desperation. hands finally taking out the slippery rubber from the packet and rolling it on him. You both laughed when the condom didn't cover his whole cock, a sliver of skin sticking out at the bottom. "Who have you been fucking? Frodo."

"Ha Ha. I'll have you know, Frodo is better than you."

"No chance." As though to prove, he picked you up with one hand and threw you on the bed, knocking the air out of you. "Let's see if you still say that in the morning." Your top and bra were ripped from your body the next second, big Bambi eyes drinking in your chest before a warm pair of lips wrapped around one. "How are you so perfect everywhere?" You can never imagine yourself blushing for a man, but here you are, flushed as you take each of his compliments.

His hand took hold of his cock as he slowly guided it inside, examining your face for any kind of discomfort. You gave him an assuring nod, encouraging him to keep going. Once he was deep enough, you stopped him with a hand to his chest. You are not sure if it's possible, but you can feel him in every single organ inside your body. Like he had taken shelter inside you. You were not two bodies anymore, you were one. One big mess of sweat and cum. You could feel that sweet burn when his cock stretched your pussy to the maximum. You were sure that a little more, and you would tear apart, but that didn't stop you from wanting more. You wanted so much more.

"You're so huge." You cried out.

"Do you want me to stop?" His hunger from before has faded just slightly.

"No, no, no. Please don't stop."

"You sure, Princess?" All you could offer was a desperate nod, and with one swift motion, he was inside you to the hilt. A loud scream left your mouth, you don't even know at this point if you called his name or god's. The line seemed to have blurred anyway.

"Fuck, I love your pussy." You looked down where you both connected. The sight sent a shiver down your spine, the good kind. Your lips looked puffier and flushed, wrapped around him. A visible bulge had formed on your lower belly. Once he was sure that you had adjusted to his size, he started thrusting, slow at first before picking up the pace. His mouth found your tits again, sucking at the bud that was almost as hard as his cock, tongue slipping out now and then. When he pulled away, your nipple was wet and shiny from his saliva, taking the other one in his mouth to give it equal torture. "Can't get enough of these tits. Gonna fuck them one day?" If you were in the correct state of mind, you would have questioned his statement. One day? But without even talking, he seemed to have read your mind. "Bet you a million this isn't the last time we are fucking."

"Do you always talk this much during sex?" You manage to say between the fog that is in your mind.

"Surprisingly, No." He dared to pull out all the way. You gave him a warning look. "Chill, Bubbles. Just wanna look at that ass." Before you could register what he was saying, he had pulled you up like a rag doll and spun you around, tugging your ass up in the air. Face shoved into the pillow, you heard the loud sound before you felt the sharp smack on your raw skin. Then again, and surprisingly, instead of crying out in pain, you were moaning in pleasure. The pain was a catalyst.

The man didn't waste much time before he was pushing into you once again, the new angle giving him space to move more smoothly. The squelching sound that your cunt made was so loud and vulgar that it should be embarrassing, but all it did was push you closer to your high. Jungkook's one hand snaked under you and started rubbing your clit in fast circles, pace matching the one of his hips.

If you thought it felt good before, it was nothing compared to what you feel now. The way his full length glided inside you so smoothly. His hips are making slapping sounds loudly against your ass every time he comes back. "Oh, ey oo, it fee oo"

"What did you say?" Jungkook asked and locked both of your arms with one hand, pulling you up against his chest.

"It feels so good." You cried out again.

"It does, doesn't it?" His lips found the neck again, sucking and biting at the skin, his one hand rubbing away at your clit while the other kept squeezing your tits. You felt so much pleasure and stimulation at one time that you thought you were about to explode. And you did, without any warning to the man behind you, the dams inside you opened, making you come around the cock still thursting inside you.

"Oh, my god. I'm coming. I'm coming." Jungkook helped you through your orgasm, magical hands, magical lips, and magical cock all working together until you were completely drained.

"That's it, baby. That's it. Just a little more." You nodded even though you felt so spent that if Jungkook wasn't holding you against him, you would have fallen down into the mattress and slipped right into dreamland. A minute later, he pulled out, hissing at the loss of contact. "Where do you want it?"

"Inside me." You tempted him just a little, eyes looking at him, challenging.

"Don't tempt me, Baby." He said, taking off the latex wrapped around him, and started pumping himself.

"Here." You said, finding enough vigor to turn around on your knees and offering yourself to him. Hands pushing your tits together and tongue sticking out, waiting for his hot, wide liquid.

"Fuck. Such a slut." He groaned as he gave a few more pumps before spraying all over your boobs and mouth. The sight before him was mystical; he wanted to take out his phone and capture it forever. So that he can look at it every single night. It was certain that you had ruined every other girl for him. He has just fucked you one time, and he cannot imagine fucking anyone else ever. "So fucking gorgeous." His lips wrapped around your, not caring for the white residue still lingering there. The two of you smiled into the messy kiss, tongues licking away the cum and spit.

When Jungkook finally lay you down on the bed, you drifted away quickly, exhausted from the workout you'd just had. You only felt a faint kiss before the bed dipped and he got out. You thought he had left, but you were so sleepy that you didn't get the chance to ask him to stay, even if you wanted to. Then you felt him in the room again, the quietest sounds of feet shuffling, and then a wet cloth wiping you, your face and chest, and your still sensitive pussy. When he lay down beside you, and you were sure he wouldn't leave, you finally allowed sleep to take you away. Wrapped in his strong arms, so secure.

When you woke up, there was no sign of Jungkook in your bedroom. Your head was still foggy from your sleep and all the events that led to it. You looked down at your body, which wasn't naked anymore, instead covered with the big black t-shirt he was wearing not more than a few hours ago. You looked around for your phone and found it on the bedside table, plugged into your charger. You don't remember any of it, charging your phone or putting on his shirt, which only meant one thing. Jungkook did it for you. The thought put a smile on your face.

Everything came crashing down on you all at once—you had sex with Jeon Jungkook. The Jeon Jungkook. The boy you swore to your friends you hated. The boy you spent so long pretending you didn’t want. You checked your phone. A little past one in the morning. You didn’t remember when you fell asleep, but it had been deep, heavy—the kind of sleep that left your body loose and your mind quiet. What pulled you out of it was the dull, insistent urge to pee. You pushed yourself up, legs a little unsteady, a soft, lingering soreness settling between them as you made your way to the bathroom. When you were done, you padded out of your room, still half-dazed, heading toward the kitchen in search of something to calm your growling stomach.

But you stopped in your tracks. So… he didn’t leave. Jungkook stood with his back to you, bare from the waist up, a pair of grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips—low enough to reveal the dip of his ass. His shoulders shifted as he moved, focused on whatever he was making at the counter. Jungkook was standing on the kitchen counter. Cooking.

“You missed it again,” he said, tossing another tiny piece of what you assumed was carrot forward. Albert snapped his beak open, catching it this time. You blinked. He was… talking to your duck.

“He’s not a dog, you know,” you said, stepping closer, your voice still rough from sleep. Jungkook turned at the sound, and the moment his eyes landed on you, a smile spread across his face.

"You're up."

“And you seem to be getting along with my duck.”

“Yeah,” he shrugged lightly, glancing back at Albert. “We’ve come to peace. Turns out he’s not such a bad guy.” A quiet laugh slipped out of you, soft and unguarded. You were about to slip in another snarky remark, but you didn’t get the chance. He stepped closer, closing the distance in a second. His lips met yours. It wasn’t anything like last night. No urgency. No heat threatening to consume everything in its path. No desperation clawing its way to the surface. Just… a kiss. Slow. Warm. His hand brushed lightly against your waist, not pulling you closer, just holding you. And when he pulled away, it was unhurried. But it still left you standing there, breath uneven, wanting just a little more. "You know you have nothing in your pantry, how do you survive?"

"Kale smoothies," You started, but then settled for the truth, "That's a lie, actually, I eat ramen three times a week."

“Damn, what would the people say?” he asked, gasping dramatically.

“They’d never find out,” you replied, your voice dropping into threat.

"Understood." Seems like Jungkook had been cooking in your kitchen for a while now, because he was done 2 minutes later. Handing you a bowl full of egg fried rice. When he went to sit down at your dining table, you pulled on his arm, tugging him to your bedroom.

"My ass would not agree to sitting on a hard surface right now." Your statement put a smirk on his face, filled with pride. The two of you settled on your bed, eating your late dinner in peace. The first bite coaxed a moan out of you.

"Should I leave you two alone?"

"Yes, please. It's so good." It wasn't a daily occurrence for two of you to share a meal; however, it all felt so natural. The way he cooked for you, knowing you would wake up hungry; the way his hand reached out and thumb swiped at the corner of your mouth, gathering the remnant and licking it. It felt like you had been doing this for years. The silence felt so peaceful, no tension, no remarks.

Your thoughts travelled back to the day, to everything that went down. A question formed on your lips, contemplating whether you should voice it or not; after all, he doesn't owe you any explanation. Did you even want to know? If Jungkook did actually hook up with some other girl, would you want to know?

"Did you sleep with Olivia?" You asked, wanting to release your mind from this torment.

"With who?" He asked, genuinely curious.

"Olivia, one of the dancers? Last Sunday?"

"I haven't hooked up with anyone since... I don't know its been a long time." He wasn't lying, you could tell. Because you have heard people lie, hell, you lie all the time. But Jungkook wasn't lying. "Why?"

"She said something about you kissing her."

"Wait, she said I kissed her?" Did she? You don't even remember the exact conversation that went down between the girls, but now that you try to remember, no, she didn't. She didn't say Jungkook kissed her. Oh God, what a fucking fool you were.

"No. not really... wait, so nothing happened between you two?"

"I gave her Jimin's number if that's what you mean." Oh god, oh god, you were such a fool. You acted like a bitch, and for absolutely no reason.

"I'm such an idiot," you sighed.

"Wait, is that why you were so mad last night?" Embarrassment, that's. all you felt as the heat rose up to your face. "Were you jealous, Bubbles?" He asked, taking the bowl from your hand and keeping it aside on the table.

"What? No... that's ridiculous, why would I be... why would I be jealous?" You faked a laugh. "I was not jealous."

"It's okay. It's hot." The next second, you were trapped under Jungkook once again. His hips slowly ground on your core. The only thing that was separating you was his sweatpants and your panties. "So fucking hot when you're jealous." His hand was pushing at your t-shirt until it was bunched up over your breast. Two mounds exposed to him, waiting for his attention, nipples perking up instantly as his lips found them.

He started sucking on one of them, you were growing wetter with each passing second. His tongue slipped out of his mouth, playing with your hard nub. His teeth bit on it, gently pulling at it until a loud moan escaped you. He let go of the nipple with a wet blop and started sucking on the other one, giving it equal attention.

You grabbed his hand, which was squeezing and playing with your tits, pulling it down and inside your panties, guiding his finger to rub at your sensitive clit. When he started rubbing hard and fast, you left his hand, your own going inside his sweatpants and pulling out his cock, which was hard once again. The room was filled with both of your moans as you came around his fingers, his lips found yours, and he drank away your moans.

"Round two?" He asked, his eyes glinting with lust and mischief.

"Round two."

*******

The next time you woke up, you weren't alone; a muscular arm was wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to a warm, firm chest. Reminding you of the man it was connected to. You didn't get much sleep last night, given the number of times Jungkook had made you come in such a short period of time. The thought made you blush out of character. Never in your wildest dreams had you thought you would be sleeping with Jeon Jungkook, let alone waking up next to him.

You turned around just in time to witness his eyelashes flutter open, a sleepy smile forming on his lips, pulling you closer to his warmth. "Morning." His voice was scruffy, still lingering with the traces of deep slumber.

"Morning." You replied, leaning in and planting a kiss on his mouth. It felt so intimate, even more so than the events of last night. "We should get up, gonna get late for practice."

"Let's just skip today."

"You don't skip."

"I will if you will," you laughed, dragging yourself out of the bed, pulling a loud, petulant groan from the man. You wobbled in the first two steps before you finally regained your balance. Jungkook wasn't far behind you when he pulled you back against his chest. "Jungkook," You started scolding him, but were distracted by his lips yet again. You can never get used to this man kissing you. He does it so easily, like the two of you have been doing it for years, when in reality, merely two months ago, you two were ready to kill each other over a silly argument. "You really need to go and get ready," you said, but your actions did not match your words. Neck leaning up, inviting his kisses. You were so engrossed in the way his kisses trailed all over your face that you were thrown off guard by the next question leaving his mouth.

"Date me?"

"What?" You asked, pulling away.

"Date me. Be my girlfriend. Let me be your boyfriend." You rolled your eyes at his explanation.

"I know what you mean, Jungkook. But why? Why all of a sudden?"

"Why? Is it not obvious already? It's not all of a sudden. Tell me you didn't feel this connection all along." You pulled away, unwrapping his arms from your waist.

"I did, but."

"But what?"

"I don't think it's a good idea."

"Why? We are so good together. And the sex? The sex is amazing."

"We can't just date because the sex is good, Jungkook. Look, what happened last night was amazing, but it was-"

"Don't say that."

"You don't even know what I was going to say."

"I know. And it was not on a whim." He said, pulling you closer once again, tugging a strand of hair behind your ear. "You know that, don't lie to yourself. I like you, I think I do a little more than just like you. So please, think about this."

"I just... What if it doesn't work? I don't think I can go back to hating you, not after last night."

"If it doesn't work, then it doesn't. But what if it does? Aren't you just a little curious?" You nod, teeth biting into your lower lip, and you consider his offer. "Date me. Please. If it doesn't work, I will never show you my face again; you will not have to deal with me."

"Fine. I'll think about it," You answered, letting your body be lost in his arms. "But if it doesn't work, I might actually have to kill you."

"We'll see about that." He said before pulling you in for another kiss. You two ended up skipping college for real, creating suspicion among both of your friends. The whole day was spent on your bed, snuggling, kissing. The only time he left was to feed Bam, and he was back in less than 10 minutes. Jungkook made you squirt so many times that you actually had to drink some water so you wouldn't die of dehydration.

Right now, he was on his knees, face buried between your thighs as he lapped at you. You were trying to watch a movie together, which was nothing but background noise now. Your moans are echoing louder than the dialogue. The couch was sprayed white with his own cum just a few minutes ago.

"Oh fuck, Jungkook," You moaned as his tongue put just the right amount of pressure on your clit. The muscle stroking and flicking it. Tears running all over your face, not from anything but the overstimulation you felt between your legs. You felt so sore, and you were pretty sure your pussy was swollen and red by now. But Jungkook was a starved man, he was determined to make up for all the time you two wasted fighting and not kissing. After your nth orgasm of the night, he came up to you, lips pressing against yours in a sweet kiss. He pulled away just as quickly, only to trail kisses along your cheeks, licking away the tears.

Once you were down from your high, the blur in your eyes cleared, allowing you to see the beautiful man in front of you clearly. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling you down to plant a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose. His eyes held the entire galaxy, so big, round, and shiny. You have always been able to find solace in his eyes, no matter how hard you're fighting, when you were a kid, when you were a teenager, when you moved here, and now. His eyes always gave you this sense of familiarity that no one and nothing could ever provide.

Before you could word out your admiration, a loud quack pulled both of your attention. Albert was standing just beside the sofa, head tilted to one side, probably wondering why this man who had never before, yesterday, stepped into this apartment was now on top of you. He quacked again, making Jungkook burst out in laughter, followed by you, not even a beat later.

"Was he staring the whole time?"

"Probably."

"That duck is very weirdly obsessed with you, you know."

*******

A/N: OMG, this is so damn long. And to think that it was even longer, but I had to cut it short because I have no one to proofread. Anyway, I'm thinking about putting it all in a part two, so let's see. ALSOOOO, although I have edited it so many times, you WILL find some mistakes in there, so please just ignore them because if I read this fic one more time, my brain will scramble.

[jeonette]

HEAVY HEAT — 정국

you’re experiencing heat for the first time, and fortunately the only person in your vicinity is your down-bad and obsessed best friend. so he gladly fucks you out of it.

pairing : alpha!jungkook x omega!oc

warnings : size kink, jungkook has an obsessive attitude towards oc, mentions & acts of breeding, heavy dirty talk, penetration!!! ( p in v ), clothed sex, fingering, he eats her fucking pussy so good, creampie, slight nipple play, cockwarming.

the party you're currently at was far too loud for your liking, the drink in your hand was half empty, and the choice to chug the mixture of lime and vodka was definitely a bad call today.

you and jungkook were invited to your friend jimin's birthday bash, and he wasn't going to take no for an answer.

he made it specifically clear that the two of you wouldn’t hear the end of it if you didn't show up.

so here you are, sat at the kitchen counter in your short black dress. swinging your legs slightly while your half empty cup rested between your hands.

you were beyond restless today, and you had no idea why. your senses felt heightened and your mind was racing with too many thoughts all at once. more than the usual

your mind was at the brink of explosion when you saw a familiar figure walking up to you through the slight crowd.

the second your eyes catch jungkook, your face brightens up immediately, the restlessness melting away for a split second. without hesitation, you jump down from the counter, crashing into him.

"kookie!"

a light smile touches his lips as his arms catch you easily. smoothly letting his tattoed arm slither around your waist to pull you in closer against him, his thumb automatically brushing against the bare skin of your lower back.

"hi, sweet girl. you doing okay? had to step out for a little to handle tae." he murmurs softly into your ear, cheek brushing against your soft hair as he pulls back slightly to look at you again.

"m'okay kookie, although I think I shouldn’t have let jimin pour me this drink." you chuckle slightly.

"yeah? feeling lightheaded?"

"not really, just don't think lime and vodka is for me. I feel abit off. m'still okay though." you reassure, knowing by the slight dense in his eyebrows that he's starting to be concerned.

"a bit off, huh?" he asks gently, his fingers trace slow, comforting circles over the exposed skin of your back, grounding you.

he listens intensively to you ramble about how jimin ended up making you this specific drink, but half of his mind was elsewhere. his eyes casually darted over your shoulder, sweeping the room.

almost scanning the crowd near the both of you, just to make sure you were safe. protected.

he was always like this, he never bothered to hide his protective side, call it his nature — as he is an alpha. or simply call it, not sharing what was his. even if you didn't realize you were his, yet.

he tightens his grip on your waist, pulling you an inch closer. "told you not to let jimin pour your drinks anymore, bun. such a stubborn girl, aren't you? you never listen to me." he scolds, jokingly, taking the cup from your hand and setting it down onto the counter beside you.

his words cause you to pout lightly, "I listen to you.."

his lips curve up into a smile as he lets out a light laugh, “oh do you?"

"I'm listening to you right now. won’t drink again for tonight, kookie. now that you're here." you slur slightly, clearly tipsy, as you let your head fall onto his chest, steadying yourself against him as you feel him plant a soft kiss on your head.

"hello?! I've been yelling at you motherfuckers from across the room for the past 5 fucking minutes. you shit-heads deaf or what? the midnight movie's starting— oh, started. so get your asses on the damn couch." you hear jimin yell from exactly three feet away from the two of you. causing your eyes to slightly roll.

"mm, I'll go get us a blanket from the closet. save me a seat?" you ask, batting your lashes up at your best friend.

"course, bun."

🫧🫧🫧

the long main sofa was packed tight with four of your friends sprawled out under a shared quilt, and the single armchair on the left is already taken. that leaves the large, plush sofa chair tucked in the corner of the room. It’s oversized, but still clearly built for one person. without a single thought or hesitation, jungkook sits down first, leaning his back against the deep cushions.

you return with a heavy plush blanket, scanning the room quickly until your eyes met his.

he looks up at you in the dark, spreading his legs wider as he taps his thigh twice. "c'mere," he calls out softly, his voice low, making you feel all fuzzy.

you step over and climb into his lap, settling down without a second thought. It’s entirely natural for you two. you turn your back against his broad chest, tucking your knees up, and let your body sink completely into his. his large frame immediately engulfs you. he takes up the plush blanket from you, draping it over the both of you, tucking the edges neatly around your legs to keep you warm. a small, quiet whine escapes your lips the moment the heavy blanket settles over you. you suddenly feel strange, the moment your bodies touch.

you feel a weird, uncomfortable heat blooming beneath your skin. but instead of pulling away, you squirm tighter into his chest, trying to force his arms to wrap even tighter around your bare waist.

"you comfy, bun?" he whispers into your ear, lips grazing the corner of your ear — yeah, big mistake.

those words vibrated throughout your body, it hit every nerve. you swore you felt your hairs stand up.

"y-yeah. feels good, koo." Jungkook doesn't say a word more. but inside, his chest is fucking tightening. he was completely obsessed with how small you felt against him, how perfectly your back fit against his chest, and how naturally you sought his warmth. the fact that you’re actively tugging his hands tighter around your bare skin, asking for more of his touch, sends him off the fucking edge.

fuck, he loved this. loved knowing he was the only guy who could have you in this way. he loved being the only guy you felt comfortable enough with to hold you like this. he simply tightened his hold, resting his chin lightly on top of your head, letting his tattooed arms anchor you completely.

🫧🫧🫧

the movie was going perfectly well. you were comfortable, a little too much so, and you were fully immersed in the film.

but as the hour mark passed, an unfamiliar intensity of heat inside you made itself present. your skin started to feel slick, hot and sensitive. and your cunt began to pulse with a painfully heavy ache that youve never felt before. you can't stay still, you toss and turn in Jungkook'slap, shifting your weight, rubbing your back against his chest, completely unable to find a comfortable angle. "n-ngh...mm." you let out a tiny, breathless whine, murmuring his name under your breath. "kookie.." he shifts beneath you, his brows furrowing in the dark as he feels how restlessly you’re moving. his hands press gently into your waist to steady you, knowing that the more you move and rub yourself against him, the harder it is for him to keep his length from hardening. "bun, hey." he whispers close to your ear, his breath warm against your temple. "what's wrong? you cold? uncomfortable?" you don't answer. not because you don't want to. you physically fucking cant. you're too overwhelmed, your throat tight and your mind all hazy. you feel your cunt dripping with slick, knowing your panties were probably already ruined.

you were in heat. and what made it even worse, was the fact that this was your first time, ever. in a fit of restless frustration, you huff slightly, planting your hands on his knees, and push yourself entirely off his lap to stand up. he blinks, looking up at you through the dark living room. "bun?... you okay? what's going on?" you completely ignore his question. and as if driven by a desperate, instinctual pull you don't even fully understand, you step right back between his legs. but instead of turning around like before, you climb back into his lap and straddle him completely, facing him this time , your knees tucked on either side of his hips, your thighs pressed flush against his. and your soaked cunt pressed firmly on his clothed cock. this was far more intimate than anything you’ve ever done in private or in public. he let out a sharp breath, groaning at the feeling of your soaked pussy on his cock. his hands instinctively catch your waist to keep you from slipping, pulling you down further and right back against him. his heart was suddenly hammering against his ribs, his breath hitching as he felt the heat radiating off your body and the direct, flush press of your cunt against him. his eyes immediately scanned the room, feeling slightly relieved when he noticed the rest of your friends passed out on the couch. "b-bun...fuck, what're you—" he stutters softly, head thrown slightly back as his voice dropped to a trembling whisper.

"bun.. what is it? m-moving too much baby." you try to answer him. you part your lips to explain the heat coiling in your belly, but your voice catches in your throat. you start to stutter uncontrollably, unable to force out a coherent sentence. "I... I-I can't... it's..." before you can finish, hot tears overflow from your eyes, spilling rapidly down your flushed cheeks. he notices the moisture on his chest instantly. his hands scramble to cradle the back of your head and neck, tugging you closer until your forehead rests against his, gently lifting your face up so he can see your eyes in the dim light of the TV screen. "shh, hey, hey. baby, don't cry," he begs softly, his voice filled with desperate worry, his thumbs frantically wiping the wet tears from your skin.

"look at me, sweet girl. please, tell kookie what hurts. hm? what's wrong?"

oh but he fucking knew, from the moment you placed yourself onto his lap an hour ago. he could tell. it was obvious, after all — how could he not notice his girl acting all squirmy and different.

he just wanted to hear it. he wanted you to open that pretty little mouth and tell him you needed him. tell him you needed to be fucked by his thick cock, over and over again until your heat passes. but you couldn’t form words. the intensity of the sensation was too overwhelming, it completely drowned out your thoughts. it was starting to hurt like hell now. so instead of answering, a fresh wave of tears leaked out, and you let out a tiny, needy sob, burying your face into his neck as you pushed your lower body even harder, more desperately, into his lap.

you're hips started moving unknowingly, pushing yourself and grinding against him deeper.

"fuck— bun, talk to me, please. tell me what you need." he whispered, not knowing if he can hold on much longer without ripping your fucking dress apart.

"k-ookie.. hurts, please. d-do something." you finally let out, sobbing slightly against his chest.

"that's it, baby. where does it hurt, hm?" he lets one arm slither around your waist to pull you closer, if that were even possible. while the other caresses your silky hair knowingly.

"down..I dont— know." you mutter softly, nails clawing at his chest.

"hurts in your pussy, doesn't it, baby." he says softly, a slight teasing tone visible.

you nod frantically, grinding against him even harder.

"fuck— m'kay. gonna help you okay? need to carry you upstairs. think you can hold on f'me?" he asks, already standing up with you in his arms.

"think so— it feels.. feels a lot."

"I know, bun. just need me to fuck it out of you. promise I'm gonna fuck you s'good. just hang on f’me.”

jungkook was a complete fucking mess. he was so fucking into this. he was obsessed with the fact that you were in heat, and you wanted him to help you. he was a goner the moment you said it.

the door to the guest room flung open quickly, his foot then quickly shut it closed.

he layed your weeping figure onto the sheets gently, your dress was rode up — the big wet patch stained on your lace underwear highly visible from his point of view.

“you’re fucking soaked, bun.” his thumb ever so lightly traced your clothed clit, barely touching it when your body shook slightly.

“kookie… p-please, please it hurts.” you sobbed, weeping heavily as your back arched slightly.

“hey, hey. don’t cry, baby. gonna take care of you okay? gonna take these off of you.”

his hands traced up your thighs to slide your panties down, resulting in the cooped up slick to trail down and onto the sheets beneath you.

“fuck.” jungkook whispered underneath his breath, slipping his shirt and sweats off in an instant.

he wasted no time, plunging two fingers into your needy and achy pussy, while wiping your tears off gently with his other hand.

“f-fuck, prettiest fucking pussy I’ve ever seen, y’know that?“

his fingers start to move faster inside of you, grazing the spot inside of you which causes you to squirm every few seconds.

“kookie! n-nghh— no I— it’s not, mmf.” you couldn’t make out any words, knowing you still felt empty. knowing you needed more.

but lucky for you, you didn’t have to say a thing. he knew what you needed — and he was going to give you exactly what you fucking wanted.

“gonna let me finally taste this pretty pussy?” he whispers, slipping out his fingers as he positions his mouth above your clit, breathing softly onto your sensitive bud.

“kookie please— wan’ your mouth.” you cry, tears dripping down every time you feel his breath against your clit.

“she’s achy f’me, isn’t she? all red and weepy f’me, fuck baby I could just—“

he’s a fucking goner, his tongue latched your bud harshly. signs of gentleness were no where to be seen.

his mouth was all over you, making out with your aching cunt as if he was starved for months.

he couldn’t care less about your sobs, his arms were already hooking underneath your thighs to keep you from closing them.

and your hands tugging at his hair only made him even more feral.

“s-shit, sweetest fucking pussy I’ve ever tasted— don’t think I can get enough. needa have this pussy in my mouth every fuckin’ day from now on, baby.”

you were a fucking mess.

you were crying uncontrollably your back was arched, and your legs were trembling to the point you didn’t even realise what was going on.

all you knew was you needed more, you needed his cock.

“koo— m’gonna cum, please!”

“gonna cum f’me? you gonna let kookie taste you?”

before he even finished what he could say, your body was already shaking uncontrollably as you let out a rip.

your orgasm hitting you like a fucking truck, as you pushed your cunt into his mouth even more, unknowingly.

“my good fucking girl.” he pressed a light kiss onto your sensitive bud, before ripping your black dress off of you. leaving you in nothing but sweat and lust

his eyes landed onto your breasts, perked up and swollen. he swore he could’ve came right there and then.

he wasted no time, mouth already attaching itself onto your nub, wrapping his lips completely around as his tongue starts to work wonders

“mmf— kookie, need— need you inside of me, please!” you beg, feeling the need to come again.

his lips detached from your breasts as he brought himself up to slide his boxers off.

your eyes lock in at his huge cock being released from containment. eyes slightly widening, internally questioning whether it would fit.

“it’s gonna fit, I’ll make it fit, yeah?” he reassured, sensing the slight worry on your face.

you nodded slightly, pulling his face down towards you.

“kookie. kiss me, please.”

oh he was so sure his orgasm hit him this time.

he had never moved quicker, capturing your swollen lips with his. sliding his tongue in almost immediately, sparring you no time to think, and no breath to waste.

his free hand aligned his cock at the entrance of your cunt, the tip slowly pushing inside of you, causing him to groan into the kiss.

“bun— fuck. think I’m gonna fucking nut already.”

“jungkook, please. don’t care if it’s big just— just need you to fuck me. hard. please.” you begged.

“fuckk— gonna fuck you so well, baby. promise.”

he thrusted his hips forward with force, his entire length plunging inside of you fully, immediately hitting your spot.

“oh!— fuck!” you cried out, finally feeling so fucking full. this is what you needed. you needed to feel so full to the point you felt stuffed, stuffed with the only cock you could’ve ever possibly wanted.

he positioned his upper body straight, pulling your thighs towards him to make the angle deeper, as he started thrusting into you desperately.

he kept hitting bottom inside you, making your stomach bulge every time he pushes back in.

“fuck, feel that, bun? feel how fucking deep I am?”

“nghh!— feel you in my s-stomach kookie.” you barely let out, legs opening wider by instinct.

“look so pretty taking my cock, needed this all along didn’t you? wasn’t even about the heat anymore. just wanted kookie to fuck you right, yeah? claim you as his?”

jungkook couldn’t fucking stop, he was beyond obsessed. he was frenetic. he was entirely and utterly consumed by your pussy.

he was so sure he wouldn’t be able to continue living without the thought of fucking you every single day from this day forth.

“kookie— please, m’gonna cum!”

“just hold it f’me baby, gonna cum with you. gonna make sure I breed you right. leave you with my cum leaking. needa make sure it sticks, yeah?” he groaned, his thrusts becoming sloppy, as he felt his orgasm approaching.

“want that? want kookie to pump you full? gonna make sure you never sleep with an empty pussy.”

“I’m— mmf!”

you swore you had just saw stars— fuck that, you had just traveled to an entirely different universe.

your slick coated his cock entirely, as he watched the amount of cum leave your abused cunt.

his movements became erratic as he chased his own high, spilling uncontrollably inside of you. his entire length protruding, swollen and aching.

spurs of colourful phrases left his mouth as he emptied his seed fully.

“bun? hey— you feel okay?” his breath short, panting to stable his breathing.

about to pull out, you stopped him. “I’m okay, kookie. can we just stay like this, just for a little while. promise.”

how could he say no to you?

“of course, baby. gonna switch so you’re layin’ on top of me, okay?” he whispers, leaving a soft kiss on your forehead before carefully flipping your position, caressing your waist slightly as he hears you hiss due to his cock grazing your walls inside of you.

he positioned you comfortably, pulling the stained quilt on-top of your naked figure, fucking loving how you were too comfortable to get off of his cock.

he fucking prayed for times like this, and now that he’s finally got it, he was going to make you feel like a fucking goddess.

“t-thank you.” you muttered, completely drained and exhausted.

“don’t needa thank me bun, would please you whenever you fuckin want, just gotta ask me. my sweet girl.” his hands ran through your hair, his lips occasionally brushing against your head as he watched you fall into slumber.

if jungkook had learned anything that night ; it was that dreams most definitely do come true. one way or another.

sasha’s note : WE BACK!!!! — and yes. I am ovulating. ❤️

[ifwmikah]

fragile Boundaries — J.JK Fanfic

𝒮.𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 : : closed and finished. Oneshot.

© ifwmikah, 2026

🖋️ ──── In which the man who commands courtrooms like a goddamn warlord has been white-knuckling his self-control for months, pretending he doesn’t want to ruin that sweet kindergarten teacher in every filthy way imaginable.

🖋️ ──── Summary: She’s the soft-hearted kindergarten teacher who smells like crayons and vanilla dreams, always blushing behind story-time books and sticky-finger hugs. He’s Jeon Jungkook — sharp-suited corporate lawyer, quiet storm in human form, the kind of man who makes CEOs sweat and interns trip over their own feet. They first collided in the principal’s office — him there for some sponsorship paperwork, her defending a kid’s progress report like it was a battlefield. No words exchanged that day, just a lingering glance that crackled harder than cheap static. Fate, being the chaotic wingwoman she is, threw them together again weeks later at the mall. Numbers swapped. Texts turned into 2 a.m. voice notes where her shy chuckles made his dick twitch and his cold exterior crack.

Six months of “just friends” bullshit. Six months of him swallowing every dirty thought while she rambled about finger-painting disasters and he pretended forehead kisses were enough. Until the confession dropped — raw, possessive, inevitable. Now they’re official.

The problem? She’s all sunshine and nervous giggles, soft curves and hesitant touches. They’ve barely graduated past sweet hugs, temple kisses, rare cuddles, and the occasional cheek peck that leaves him rock-hard and feral in his expensive slacks. He tries to get disgusted at himself for reacting like that as such minor actions. Jungkook’s been a saint about it… almost. But everyone knows what happens when a man like him keeps a beast caged too long. The dam doesn’t just break. It fucking explodes.

🖋️ ──── Playlist.

🖋️ ──── Author's note: Listen up, twinskis — I see yall. The way y’all devoured ‘Sick for You’ has me screaming, crying, throwing up in the best way. Turning that into a full series soon because the hype is unreal. For now, here’s something that starts softer than a fresh pack of pastel markers… but trust, it won’t stay innocent for long. Drop 50+ likes and I’ll keep feeding this series like it’s my emotional support smut. Love you freaks endlessly <3

🖋️ ──── Rating: 18+ — MINORS DNI !

🖋️ ──── Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x fem!reader

🖋️ ──── Main characters: Jeon Jungkook, Kim Y/N.

🖋️ ──── Side characters: Noone.

🖋️ ──── Tropes: Corporate Lawyer!Jungkook × Kindergarten Teacher!reader, boyfriend!Jungkook, cold x sunshine, quiet x talkative, “I’ll wait” turning into “I can’t fucking wait anymore.”

🖋️ ──── Theme: Slow-burn tension so thick you could cut it with a butter knife, mutual pining that simmers into something downright obscene, the delicious moment restraints finally shatter, and the kind of love that feels equal parts tender and terrifyingly addictive.

🖋️ ──── Genre: Workplace-adjacent romance, heart-fluttering love, eventual gut-punching smut.

🖋️ ────Content warning: matured, heavy smut, 18+ content, caring boyfriend!Jungkook, shy!reader, cussing, exhaustion, corporate life, sexting, flirting over texts, nudes, teasing, arousal, heavy flirting, the reader gets turned on by his caring and patient nature, inappropriate thinking and imagination, patience, dirty and suggestive talking, showering together, him washing her off, straddling, boner, kissing, grinding, humping, biting, sucking, licking, kitchen sex, bent over the counter, talking through it, edging, begging, creampie, fingering, hair pulling, and a lot more.

🖋️ ──── Word count: 20.4k+

🖋️ ──── Average reading time: 1 hour 25 minutes

Alexa, if the reader can't access the attached Spotify playlist link, play Obsessed by Zandros and Limi on loop !

sigh.

You shoved the door open with your hip, kicking your shoes off so they smacked against the baseboard like they owed you money. The latch clicked shut behind you with that final, hollow sound that always hit different after a twelve-hour grind. Coat dumped on the hook, keys tossed somewhere on the counter—you didn’t even check. Bare feet hit the cold tile and you hissed through your teeth at the jolt, the kind of sharp reminder that winter still had its claws in everything, including your tired ass.

The city outside had already gone full midnight mode, that deep navy bleed where streetlights and passing cars smeared ugly orange and blue across the windows. You flipped on a couple lamps, the warm bulbs doing their best to push back the chill that had seeped into your bones from the walk home. Bag hit the couch with a dull thump. You dropped right after it, sprawling back into the cushions like your spine was done holding up the weight of the day.

One of those soul-sucking shifts that left you feeling scraped raw.

The other teachers had dragged you out after hours to that overpriced fusion place downtown, the kind with exposed brick and playlists that tried too hard. Gossip looped nonstop—petty staff drama, nightmare parents demanding special treatment for their barely potty-trained demons, weekend plans you couldn’t fake caring about even if you got paid. Their voices still rattled around in your skull like cheap earbuds on full blast. By the time you’d escaped and stumbled through your own door, the exhaustion sat heavy in your muscles, turning every movement sluggish and your brain into static.

Your phone vibrated against your ass. Once. Twice. You almost ignored it, too drained to give a fuck, but the itch won. You dug it out, thumb sliding across the screen.

Jungkook: you home yet princess

Jungkook: tell me you ditched those loud fucks already

Jungkook: ??

Jungkook: knew they’d suck the life out of you with all that pointless yapping

Jungkook: my poor girl

Jungkook: want me to swing by if you’re still stuck

Jungkook: it’s late as hell and i don’t like you out there alone this time of night

A tired smile tugged at your mouth before you could stop it. Even back when you were pretending this thing between you was strictly casual, Jungkook had this habit of sliding into your orbit without fanfare. Coffee waiting on your desk after you bitched about a rough start, laundry mysteriously folded when your place looked like a laundry bomb went off, takeout showing up exactly when your stomach started eating itself. No grand gestures. Just quiet, consistent shit that made you wonder how the hell he read you so easily.

And damn if it wasn’t hot in the most inconvenient way.

You couldn’t front about it. Jungkook was stupid attractive in that sneaky, slow-burn manner that crept up on you during random moments—sharp jaw you’d caught yourself staring at way too long, those dark eyes that seemed to peel back whatever surface bullshit you were putting up, shoulders stretching his shirts in ways that made your mind wander to how they’d feel pinning you down. The calm control he carried like second skin always left a low heat curling in your stomach, especially when his stare lingered a beat too long, like he was mentally undressing every inch of you.

Part of you still didn’t get how someone like him had stuck around this long. The other part—the one that got wet at night thinking about what those patient hands could really do if he ever stopped playing gentleman—was getting louder every damn day. Six months of soft touches and you were starting to ache in places that had nothing to do with exhaustion. How much longer before that tightly leashed side of him finally snapped and showed you exactly how dark those quiet cravings ran? The thought sent a lazy throb between your thighs even as you typed back, fingers hovering like you were half-afraid he’d somehow sense it through the screen.

You stared at the string of texts, thumb frozen over the keyboard while a low, inconvenient pulse settled between your legs. The man had a way of doing this shit without even trying—dropping casual concern that somehow always veered into territory that made your skin feel too tight.

You: yeah

You: just walked in

You: how’d your day go, counselor?

Jungkook: survived. boring as fuck without you in it. tell me about yours

You: later. I’m wiped rn, brain’s mush

Jungkook: poor thing. go rest those pretty legs then

You: about to hop in the shower real quick

Jungkook: good. let the hot water work those knots out

Jungkook: wish I was there to help loosen you up properly tho

The last message hit like a slow drag of nails down your spine. You choked on air, eyes blowing wide as heat crawled up your throat and burned across your cheeks. No emojis, no over-the-top shit—just that quiet, loaded suggestion wrapped in concern, like he wasn’t picturing exactly how his hands would feel digging into your tired muscles… or sliding somewhere much lower.

He’d been doing this more lately. Tiny cracks in that iron restraint he wore like armor. Little teases that lingered in your head long after the screen went dark, making you wonder how long the perfect gentleman act would hold before the corporate lawyer who destroyed people in depositions decided to destroy you in much better, filthier ways.

You shifted on the couch, thighs pressing together without thinking. The exhaustion was still there, heavy in your limbs, but it mixed now with something sharper, warmer. Thumbs moved before your brain could talk you out of it.

What if you pushed back just a little? Not full send, not yet. Just enough to see if that calm facade would flicker.

The thought sent another lazy throb through you, real and human and kind of embarrassing. You weren’t some bold vixen—most days you still felt like the shy teacher who hid behind storybooks—but the ache of wondering what he was really holding back had been growing louder than the voice telling you to play it safe.

You took a slow breath, thumbs moving before the usual overthinking could slam the brakes. Fuck it. Just this once.

You: yeah? then come help me relax for real

Sent. Instant regret mixed with a twisted little thrill as you locked the screen and shoved your face into the cushion, a half-muffled groan escaping. Your cheeks burned. The apartment felt smaller, the air thicker, like your own shitty bravery had cranked the heat. Heart thudding in your ears, you lay there replaying how pathetic and eager that probably sounded, thighs shifting restlessly against the couch because the low ache between them wasn’t fading. One weak moment had your body acting like it finally got permission to want more than careful kisses.

The phone buzzed hard against your chest. You cracked one eye open, pulse spiking.

Jungkook: finally talking your shit huh

Jungkook: i’d relax you alright… hands on that tired body, mouth following every sore spot till you’re shaking for a whole different reason

Jungkook: been dying to show you how deep that goes

The words hit low and heavy. You squeezed your thighs together tighter, a sharp inhale cutting through the quiet room. Raw suggestion that made your stomach tighten and your mind flash to those broad shoulders hovering over you, that calm control finally slipping into something rougher. He’d always held back, but these texts felt like the first real leak of whatever he kept chained up. It was almost embarrassing how quickly you were getting worked up from words on a screen while still half-dead from the day.

You bit the inside of your cheek, fingers flying again before the boldness drained out.

You: yeah? show me then… what exactly would those hands do first?

The reply took longer this time. You stared at the typing dots like they owed you a few million, nerves and heat twisting together in your gut.

Jungkook: actions hit different than typing them out baby but fuck if i don’t want to pin you down and work every inch of you till you forget your own name

Jungkook: too bad i’m buried in case files tonight. overtime’s kicking my ass

Disappointment crashed in fast, souring the buzz between your legs. You let out a frustrated breath, shoulders dropping as the exhaustion rushed back in. Of course. Reality always had shit timing. Still, the lingering images he planted refused to leave — dark eyes watching you fall apart, that quiet voice dropping lower while he finally stopped being careful.

You: oh… alright. don’t kill yourself on that paperwork and drink some water at least

You tossed the phone aside, rubbing a hand over your face. The ache hadn’t gone anywhere. If anything, it sat heavier now, a reminder of how long you’d both been circling this edge.

Jungkook: bet you’re pissed i left you hanging. here, give this something useful to chew on while i’m stuck

You squinted at the text, thumb frozen, when the photo slammed through and stole the breath right out of you.

Mirror selfie, no shirt. Face cut off, but the ink gave him away immediately — those bold, chaotic lines snaking down one entire arm and slashing across the top of his chest like they had secrets to tell. Low gray sweatpants barely hanging on, the material stretched tight over a thick, obvious shape that pushed hard against the front, heavy and unapologetic.

Your jaw slackened. A rush of heat slammed up your neck and across your cheeks as you kept staring, mouth suddenly parched, pulse kicking up in places that made the couch feel way too small. It was raw, casual, the kind of shot that screamed he’d taken it without overthinking, and that made it hit even harder. Real life didn’t usually serve up shit like this mid-text thread after a garbage day.

Jungkook: shoot these whenever the urge hits and you’re nowhere close. so what’s the damage, good or what?

Typing felt impossible for a beat. Your eyes kept dragging over the cut of his torso, the way those pants sat on his hips like an invitation you weren’t sure you could handle yet, and that blatant bulge that had your stomach clenching with a mix of nerves and straight-up filthy curiosity. Part of you wanted to overthink it, the other part — the louder, hornier one tonight — just wanted to zoom in and imagine the weight of it.

You swallowed hard, fingers finally moving.

You: didn’t like it

You: fucking loved it

Jungkook: oh yeah?

The next photo loaded before you could even exhale.

Same mirror. Same bare skin. But now his thumb yanked the waistband down on purpose, fabric shoved low enough to stop just slightly over the base of his dick, heavy where it curved out, the rest still trapped but clearly straining for attention. Your breath snagged sharp in your throat, a fresh twist of want curling low as you took it in, the sight so blunt it made your thoughts scatter into dirty, unfiltered territory — how that would look up close, how it’d feel pushing past your lips or stretching you open, the kind of messy impatience that came with finally cracking the careful script you’d both been stuck in.

You gasped, face scorching as blood flooded your cheeks in a brutal rush.

Then the next shot dropped — straight from his desk, wooden edge in frame, papers strewn like he’d barely bothered clearing space. Thighs spread in the chair, angle calculated to fuck with your head. That fat, unmistakable shape pushed aggressively against the black trousers, the thick ridge outlined so clearly it looked painful, begging to be freed.

You: NO

You: I'M OUT BYE

You: YOU HAVE ZERO FUCKING SHAME

You flung the phone across the couch like it was radioactive, snatching a pillow and smashing your burning face into it. A strangled groan ripped out, muffled and desperate, body curling in on itself while your heart jackhammered against your ribs. The room turned sauna-hot in seconds, skin buzzing everywhere, that deep, slick throb between your legs turning insistent and messy, soaking through your panties like your body had zero chill left. Just pixels on a screen, but it had you clenching around nothing, mind spinning with crude, uninvited flashes of how heavy he’d feel sliding against your tongue or splitting you open.

This kind of back-and-forth should be standard couple shit. But he was your first, and every new escalation still landed like a live wire straight to your nervous system. One half of you wanted to delete the chat and pretend none of it happened. The louder half kept looping those shots behind your eyelids — the inked skin, the cut muscle, the blatant proof he was rock hard just from texting you — feeding a restless hunger that made your nipples scrape tight against your bra with every breath.

You pushed off the couch fast, legs shaky, dragging in air that did nothing to settle the fire under your skin. The apartment pressed in too close now, every nerve ending raw and overstimulated.

Cold shower. Immediately. Before this turned into something you couldn’t ignore.

The need trailed you down the hall anyway, warm and slippery, forcing short, awkward steps as you beelined for the bathroom. Door slammed harder than intended, back thumping against it while you stood there cursing your own reactions. Pull yourself together, your brain hissed, but your pussy had other plans. The soaked fabric clinging between your thighs was impossible to pretend away, a sticky reminder that a handful of shameless photos had already turned a tired night into something far more dangerous.

On the other hand, miles away in his office, Jungkook leaned back in the creaky leather chair, a slow, filthy smirk carving across his face. He tilted his head up toward the ceiling tiles, phone loose in one hand while his thumb idly scrolled up through the chat again, rereading every panicked reply like it was fuel. His free hand drifted lower, sliding over his stomach before cupping the thick, aching length that tented his black trousers obscenely.

“Fuck, princess…” he rasped under his breath, the words rough and laced with dark amusement. He palmed himself harder, fingers pressing firm through the fabric, jaw flexing as the mental image hit — you somewhere in your apartment right now, cheeks on fire, probably stripping down fast with shaky hands because he’d gotten you that worked up.

He dragged his thumb over the swollen head trapped beneath the material, eyes narrowing with heat as he pictured the mess between your legs, how slick and sensitive you’d be trying to play it cool. The idea of you failing miserably under a stream of cold water while he sat here throbbing and ignored made a low, raspy chuckle rumble out of his chest. Real life was messy like that — him stuck at this desk with a raging hard-on, you probably cursing his name and your own body for reacting so fast.

He tapped out one last text one-handed, the other still lazily working himself over his pants.

Jungkook: enjoy the shower baby

Jungkook: try not to let the water make it worse when it slides down all that soft skin

Sent. He dropped his head back again, stroking slower now, that dark smirk deepening as he let the tension coil tighter without chasing release. He could hold out. He always did. But goddamn if these little cracks in his control weren’t getting wider every time you pushed back even a little. At the end of the day he was just a man — patient on the surface, but carrying around needs that felt sharper lately, heavier, the kind that didn’t stay buried forever.

You pushed through your front door at the usual hour, afternoon light still cutting sharp across the hallway when the lock clicked open. The jangle of your keys echoed louder than normal in the empty space, like the whole building could sense the leftover buzz still humming under your skin from earlier. You’d barely kicked the door shut when your phone vibrated again in your grip.

Jungkook: can i come over? you skipped lunch again. bringing food

You froze mid-step in the entryway, one shoe dangling half-off your foot. Him coming over? Normal on paper — random drop-ins, greasy takeout, nights where you’d both crash on the couch scrolling until your eyes gave out. But after last night’s texts and those shameless photos still burned into your brain, the idea landed heavier, charged with something that made your pulse stutter. Your stomach twisted, a messy knot of want and that same old hesitation, because part of you already knew exactly where your mind would drift the second he stepped inside.

You shoved the overthinking aside. Don’t make it weird.

You: yes please i’m starving

Jungkook: on my way

You shut the door, the latch clicking loud in the quiet, and fell into autopilot. Shoes kicked toward the mat, coat slung on the hook, bag dumped on the couch. The apartment sat still under the late afternoon light slicing through the blinds, casting long shadows that did nothing to cool the low simmer crawling under your skin. You dropped onto the cushions, exhaling sharp, then grabbed your phone and started doom-scrolling reels just to keep your hands busy and your thoughts from wandering back to gray sweatpants and thick outlines.

Halfway through some dumb video, the doorbell cut through.

A quick grin pulled at your mouth before you could stop it. You stood, tugging your sweater down out of habit, heart kicking harder as you crossed the room. Door swung open and there he was — Jungkook, easy half-smirk in place, two overstuffed takeout bags in one grip, jacket hooked over his arm like he’d rushed straight from the office. Dark hair tousled from the wind, eyes locking on you with that quiet intensity that always felt like it saw too much.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and rough around the edges, the smirk deepening as he took you in. “Figured you’d be running on empty. Got your usuals.”

“Oh, I’m very hungry,” you answered, the words slipping out with a playful bite that hung heavier than intended, your grin turning a shade too sharp. You reached for the bags, fingers brushing his in the handoff, and peeked inside. Sushi rolls, plump dumplings still steaming, spicy kimchi fried rice, bulgogi sliced thin, plus two chocolate milkshakes sweating condensation. He’d nailed every craving, even grabbing doubles on the shakes he barely tolerated just because you inhaled them. The smell hit hard, making your stomach growl loud enough to echo, but the real hunger twisting lower had nothing to do with food.

The suggestive edge in your reply lingered between you, thickening the air as he stepped inside, door clicking shut behind him like it sealed something neither of you had named yet.

You turned on your heel, already moving toward the kitchen. “Come in, then.”

Jungkook let out a low chuckle that rumbled behind you as he stepped inside, the door clicking shut with finality. You caught the rustle of fabric as he shrugged off his jacket and the soft thud of his shoes hitting the floor near yours. Everything felt routine on the surface — the familiar sounds of him making himself at home — but tonight each small noise landed heavier, like static before a storm, thanks to the filthy screenshots still lurking in your recent chats.

You set the takeout bags on the counter, plastic crinkling loudly while you started pulling containers out. Savory steam rose up fast, fried rice and bulgogi and dumplings filling the kitchen with mouthwatering heat. Your stomach twisted again, but the real distraction was the man at your back. You arranged the boxes with deliberate focus, trying not to let your mind slip back to those desk photos or the way your body had betrayed you afterward.

“You wiped out?” His voice came low, right behind you, close enough that the words ghosted across your shoulder.

You nodded, not turning, fingers digging into the edge of the kimchi fried rice container. “Yeah,” you muttered, the answer slipping out quieter than planned, almost swallowed by the tension.

Silence stretched for a beat. Then his tone dipped, rougher. “Shower already?”

Your hand stalled mid-reach, grip tightening on the plastic. The simple question punched straight through the casual vibe, dragging those vivid images back — water running, skin, the thick outline from his texts. Heat crawled up your throat and burned your face. You stayed facing the counter, hyper-aware of his presence, the faint clean scent of his cologne cutting through the food smells, the way he waited like he already knew the effect.

You finally set the container down, fingers lingering on the lid like it was an anchor. “Not yet. No time earlier,” you said, voice lighter than you felt, crumpling the empty bag and shoving it into the trash bin with more force than necessary. “Why?”

He didn’t answer immediately. You could sense him there, solid and quiet, filling the small kitchen until the air felt too thick to breathe easy. Then his words came, slow and deliberate, brushing the back of your neck like a dare.

“Oh. Guess I’ll take you up on that little offer from yesterday, then.” A loaded pause. “Wanna shower together?”

The suggestion dropped heavy between you, raw and unfiltered, making your pulse spike hard. Your mind flashed to steam, his hands, the way those gray sweatpants had looked — now standing right here in your kitchen like he hadn’t just thrown gasoline on the low burn you’d been carrying since last night. Real, messy want twisted low in your gut, mixed with that familiar shy panic that made you wonder how the hell you were supposed to play this cool when every nerve felt exposed.

You sucked in a sharp breath, fingers locking tight around the counter edge like it could keep you grounded. Oh fuck.

The suggestion sat thick in the small kitchen, innocent words carrying way too much weight. Your brain immediately supplied the dirty details — hot water beating down, steam fogging the glass, bare skin sliding together, his hands mapping every inch while you tried not to lose it completely. Heat flooded your face and neck in a brutal wave, pulse hammering so loud you swore he could hear it. The space between you suddenly felt tiny, charged, like one wrong move would snap whatever thin line you’d both been balancing on since those texts.

“I mean…” The words stuck, dry in your throat. Showering together meant everything on display. No hiding, no quick exits, just raw proximity and the very real chance of his body pressed against yours under the spray. Your stomach clenched hard, nerves and a filthy spike of curiosity twisting together in a way that left you unsteady on your feet.

Jungkook stayed silent behind you, giving you room, but the heavy focus of his stare burned into your back anyway.

You forced a swallow. “It’s on you, princess,” he murmured, low and rough but edged with that careful restraint. “Tell me no and it dies right here. No pressure, ever.”

That steady check-in, the way he always left the door open for you to bolt, hit somewhere deep and messy. It loosened the knot of anxiety just enough for a slow, liquid heat to pool lower in your belly, spreading warm and insistent. You hated how much that quiet control turned you on — the kind of man who could ruin you but chose to wait until you said yes.

You turned around then, throat tight as your eyes met his. He leaned casual against the doorway, arms folded over that broad chest, looking every bit the calm storm he was. Six-foot-one of quiet intensity towering over your smaller frame, shoulders taking up space like they owned it, dark gaze locked on you — patient on top, but with something darker flickering underneath.

“No, wait… I mean…” You bit the inside of your cheek hard, hesitation warring with the restless ache that had been building since last night. “Why the hell not.”

A slow, dangerous smile tugged at one corner of his mouth, not dicky, just hungry and a little stunned. He uncrossed his arms and stepped closer, slow enough that you could stop him if you wanted, but close enough that his presence wrapped around you like a dare.

“You sure about that?” His voice dipped lower, eyes searching your face for any crack, any sign you’d regret it.

You nodded, heart slamming against your ribs like it wanted out. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

That grin spread full and wicked across his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes in a way that made your breath catch. He reached out, palm up, open and waiting, fingers steady like he had all the time in the world to drag this out and make you feel every second of it. You glanced between his hand and those dark eyes, the air crackling with the kind of tension that promised the careful version of him was finally starting to fray at the edges.

You slipped your fingers into his slowly, feeling the rough warmth of his much larger hand swallow yours. The gentle pressure he returned grounded you for half a second before it sent another ripple of nervous heat straight down your spine.

He tugged you forward without rushing, guiding you out of the kitchen and down the short hall toward your bedroom. The walk stretched in your head — every step echoing louder than it should, the quiet apartment suddenly too small, too aware of the man moving behind you with that steady, unhurried confidence. When you reached the bathroom doorway he released your hand, his thumb dragging one last slow pass across your knuckles like a promise he hadn’t voiced yet. He stepped ahead, twisting the faucet on full blast. Water roared into the tub, loud enough to fill the thick silence while steam started curling up in lazy spirals.

You hovered near the entrance, twisting your fingers together, eyes locked on the tiles like they could save you. Your cheeks burned hotter than the rising water. This was actually happening.

You were about to climb into that tub with him — no clothes, no barriers, just skin and whatever the hell had been simmering between you since those filthy photos last night. Your mind kept flashing to the thick outline in his trousers, the way his voice had dropped when he suggested this, and it made your stomach tighten with a messy blend of dread and raw, embarrassing want.

Jungkook rummaged through the cabinet like he belonged there, pulling out your lavender body wash and squeezing a heavy stream under the running water. Bubbles foamed up fast, fragrant and thick, the scent wrapping around the small room while the steam thickened. He knew exactly where everything was. Of course he did.

He glanced back at you, catching the way you refused to meet his eyes, still fidgeting like a cornered animal. Straightening up, he turned fully, that effortless control in every line of his body as one brow arched and a slow, predatory smirk pulled at his mouth.

“Already turning red for me?” he murmured, the low sound cutting through the rush of water like it was meant to crawl under your skin.

“Shut up,” you muttered, voice barely above a whisper, embarrassment making your throat tight.

“Yeah? Make me.” His tone stayed deceptively light, but the rougher gravel underneath it sent a fresh pulse straight between your legs. He tilted his head, eyes dragging over you slow and deliberate, darkening with clear interest. “Now strip. Let me see what’s mine.”

Your head snapped up, eyes wide, the command hitting you like a live wire. It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. The calm certainty in his voice — like he’d pictured peeling every layer off you a hundred times and was finally done waiting — made your nipples tighten against your bra and your pulse hammer in your ears. You stood frozen for a beat, the reality of his words sinking in deep, filthy, and way too tempting. The air between you crackled, heavy with the kind of tension that promised he wouldn’t stay patient much longer once those clothes hit the floor.

He raised a brow at your hesitation, the smirk softening just enough to look almost kind, but the sharp edge underneath stayed dangerous as hell. “What, you planning to climb in fully dressed? Gonna soak that sweater for me?”

The teasing drawl cut through the thick steam and snapped something loose in your chest. You let out a shaky exhale, nerves buzzing under your skin like live wires as your fingers finally caught the bottom of your sweater. The material dragged heavier than it had any right to, catching on your elbows while you peeled it up inch by inch. Cool air hit your stomach first, then higher, raising goosebumps that had nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the man watching you like he was memorizing every new sliver of skin.

Jungkook didn’t step closer. He stayed leaned against the tub, arms loosely crossed, eyes locked on you with that unblinking, predatory patience that made your knees feel unreliable. The water kept rushing behind him, bubbles rising thick and fragrant, but the only thing you could focus on was how his gaze felt physical — dragging slow over your ribs, the dip of your waist, like he was already picturing exactly how he’d touch every spot once the rest came off.

You yanked the sweater the rest of the way over your head, hair falling wild around your face as the fabric dropped from your fingers onto the hamper. Plain white bra underneath, nothing special, just the everyday kind that suddenly felt obscene under his stare. Your nipples tightened instantly against the thin cotton, traitorous and obvious, and you fought the urge to cover yourself even though part of you — the filthy, curious part that had been wet since his texts — liked how exposed it made you feel.

You kept your eyes down, cheeks on fire, pulse hammering in your throat. His attention sat heavy on your skin, warm and unrelenting, tracing the soft curve of your belly and the way your breathing had gone shallow. It was mortifying and addictive at the same time, this slow unraveling while he just stood there drinking it in like he had every right.

Your hands moved lower on autopilot, shaky as they found the waistband of your pants. Thumbs hooked inside, you pushed them down your hips, the fabric clinging stubbornly before sliding over the swell of your ass and down your thighs. Simple white panties came into view, basic cotton that rode up slightly from the motion and left you feeling more bare than if you’d been wearing nothing. Cool air licked up your legs, making you hyper-aware of the damp spot already forming between them, the way your pussy throbbed once at the thought of him seeing it.

You stepped out of the pooled pants, kicking them aside with your toes, heart slamming so hard it drowned out the running water. Standing there in nothing but your underwear, skin prickling, you felt the full weight of the moment — shy as fuck, turned on in a way that made your thighs want to press together, and weirdly alive because of how calmly he was owning the space without even touching you yet. The air crackled between you, thick with the promise that once those last scraps came off, the careful version of him you’d known might not make it through the night.

You could feel the air thicken between you, heavy and electric, like the moment right before a storm finally breaks. He didn’t push or crowd you, never did, but that quiet intensity radiating off him made every inch of your exposed skin prickle with anticipation and a sharp edge of fear that only made the heat between your legs worse.

You forced yourself to lift your eyes and meet his stare, heart slamming against your ribs so hard you were convinced the sound bounced off the tiles. Steam drifted lazily around you both, softening the harsh bathroom light into something almost intimate, but it did zero to dull the raw hunger building in his dark gaze. Your mouth went dry as you stood there half-naked, pulse racing, caught between wanting to hide and the filthy thrill of him looking at you like this.

He held your eyes for a long, loaded beat, unblinking, before letting his stare drag downward with agonizing slowness. It felt like fingers ghosting over you — tracing the line of your throat, lingering on the way your breasts strained against the plain white bra, following the soft dip of your waist and the curve of your hips, then lower, right to the thin fabric of your panties that suddenly felt transparent. Every place his eyes touched left you burning, nipples pebbled tight, a fresh rush of wetness soaking the cotton between your thighs. You were mortified at how quickly your body responded, but the ache was undeniable, real, and growing louder than the shy voice screaming at you to cover up.

When his gaze climbed back to your face, it had turned darker, pupils blown, that careful mask he usually wore cracking just enough to show the edge of something feral underneath.

“Underwear staying on for now?” he asked, voice dropping into a low, gravelly register that scraped right down your spine and settled hot between your legs.

You nodded fast, one hand coming up to scratch nervously at the back of your neck, face flaming hotter. “Yeah… I think that’s fine. For now. Yeah?” The words came out shaky and uncertain, half question, half desperate attempt to keep some control while your mind spun with flashes of what might happen once the water hit your skin and those last barriers got in the way.

He watched you for another stretched second, something unreadable flickering across his features, before slowly shaking his head — not refusing you, but like he was committing the sight of your flushed, vulnerable body to memory. “Whatever you need, princess,” he murmured, the words soft but weighed down with dark promise, the kind that made you wonder how long that patience would actually last once you were both wet and slippery.

He straightened to his full height, shoulders rolling in a way that pulled your eyes straight to the hard lines of muscle shifting under his skin. His hands dropped to the hem of his shirt, fingers gripping the fabric before he dragged it off in one smooth, unhurried motion. The move revealed miles of toned torso, those familiar tattoos snaking down one arm and across his chest, abs flexing as he tossed the shirt aside. He stood there bare from the waist up, steam curling around his frame, looking every bit like the kind of man who could ruin you slowly and make you thank him for it. Your breath caught hard, eyes tracing every cut line and inked detail while fresh nerves and raw want twisted tight in your gut.

gaze locked on you the whole time, that faint smirk playing on his lips like he knew exactly what kind of mess he was making between your thighs.

The steam kept rising thick around you both, carrying that heavy lavender scent, but it couldn’t mask the raw tension crackling in the small space. Your lips parted without permission, eyes tracing helplessly over every ridge and shadow carved into his torso. He looked like the kind of trouble that started innocent and ended with you sore in the best ways — patient on the surface, but built like he could pin you against the tiles and make you forget your own name. You drank it in longer than you should’ve, stomach tightening with that embarrassing rush of want, pussy already clenching at the thought of running your hands over all that warm muscle while water poured down on you both. Real life didn’t usually hit this hard, but standing here half-naked while he watched you stare made everything feel stupidly intense and way too real.

He caught you staring, one brow lifting slow as that signature smirk deepened, voice dropping into a lazy tease. “Go ahead and take a picture, princess. Might help you later when you’re alone and thinking about me.”

The words yanked you back hard. You dropped your gaze fast, face burning like you’d been caught stealing, a nervous little laugh escaping before you could choke it down. Fuck, he was lethal with that shit — one dicky line and your brain short-circuited while your body throbbed in response. He was going to kill you slowly, dragging this out until you were the one begging for more.

He let out a low, rough chuckle at your reaction, the sound vibrating through the steamy air and settling low in your core like a promise. Before you could pull yourself together, his hands drifted to the waistband of his pants, fingers hooking casual and confident inside the fabric. He pushed them down with that same unhurried control, the material sliding over his hips, revealing the sharp V-lines dipping lower and the way his dick strained heavy against the dark boxer briefs underneath. The move was so deliberate it felt like foreplay, leaving you standing there flushed and fidgeting, heart racing as more of him was revealed and the air between you turned thick enough to choke on. Your mind spun with filthy flashes — what he’d feel like pressed against you under the water, how little those last scraps of fabric would actually hide once things got slippery and close.

Your breath snagged hard in your throat. A fresh wave of heat crashed through you, rushing straight down to pool slick and needy between your legs as your eyes locked onto that blatant bulge for a second too long. You snapped your gaze back up to his face, eyes wide, heart jackhammering like you’d been caught doing something filthy. The sight left your mouth dry and your panties even damper, the kind of raw physical reaction that made you feel exposed and stupidly turned on all at once.

Jungkook didn’t bother hiding or adjusting himself. He just stood there, tall and completely at ease, letting you look your fill while steam curled around his frame and caught on the sharp dips of his hips. The confidence in his stance made your stomach flip — like he knew exactly how affected you were and was enjoying every second of it.

“Come here,” he said, voice low and rough like gravel wrapped in velvet, the command pulling at something deep in your gut that made your thighs want to press together.

You swallowed thickly, throat clicking, before your feet started moving on their own. Bare soles padded across the cool tiles, each step shaky with anticipation as the humid air wrapped around your mostly naked body. The short distance felt endless, your pulse roaring in your ears while nerves and that insistent throb between your legs fought for dominance.

He stepped into the tub first, water sloshing around his calves as he killed the faucet with a quick twist. Then he sank down slow against the back edge, toned body disappearing inch by inch beneath the bubbly surface until the water lapped at his chest. Droplets clung to his inked skin, tracing shiny paths over muscle and tattoo lines that looked even more sinful wet. His dark eyes lifted to yours, warm on the surface but burning with barely-leashed hunger underneath, and he patted his lap in silent invitation — simple, but heavy with everything it implied. You're glad the bubbles ain't hick enough to wipe out all the underwater vision.

You paused for a split second, stomach twisting with that messy dicktail of anxiety and filthy curiosity. Steam rose thick around you, carrying lavender that did jack shit to settle your racing heart. Then you stepped in. Warm water engulfed your legs instantly, soothing and shocking at the same time as you carefully lowered yourself onto his lap, back to his chest.

The second your bodies connected everything sharpened. His solid chest pressed hot and firm against your back, skin already slick, powerful thighs bracketing yours under the water like he was caging you in without trying. You felt the unmistakable press of his hard dick nestled right against your ass through the thin, wet layers still between you — thick, heavy, throbbing with clear interest that made your breath stutter and your pussy clench hard around nothing. Your ekt it legit twitch slightly against your skin.

The moment you let your shoulders drop even a fraction, trying to breathe through the overwhelming closeness, Jungkook’s arms slid around your waist from behind. Strong, unhurried, and possessive, they locked you tighter against him, large palms spreading wide over your stomach beneath the bubbly water like he was claiming every inch he could reach. The contact sent sparks racing across your skin, his breath warm against the side of your neck as the water settled around your joined bodies, turning the air even thicker with tension and the very real promise that this shower was about to get a lot less innocent. contact sent a fresh ripple through you — not just from the heat of his skin against yours, but from the way his hold felt like both safety and sin wrapped in one.

He pulled you in tighter until your back slotted completely against his chest, then dipped his head into the crook where your shoulder met your neck. His nose dragged first along your damp skin, followed by the hot press of his mouth. He drew in a long, greedy breath like he was trying to pull every trace of you into his lungs — the faint lavender mixed with your natural scent — and you felt the shaky exhale ghost over your neck, his fingers flexing on your waist like he was barely holding back from digging in harder.

“Fuck… you smell so fucking good,” he rasped against your skin, voice low and wrecked, the words vibrating straight through your body and landing heavy between your legs. He stayed buried there, lips teasing the sensitive spot just under your ear, breathing you in deep and slow like a man who’d been running on fumes and finally got a hit of what he really needed.

The water rippled softly around you with every tiny movement, bubbles sticking to your skin where his arms locked you in place. His heartbeat thumped steady and strong against your back, just a little faster than normal, matching the chaotic rhythm slamming in your own chest.

One of his hands started moving, sliding up from your waist with torturously light fingertips gliding over your slick, wet ribs. The touch left goosebumps exploding across your skin despite the heat of the bath, stopping just under the curve of your bra, palm hovering so close you could feel the warmth radiating from it. Your breathing turned ragged, chest rising and falling quicker under the gentle sway of the water, nipples straining tight against the soaked fabric as your mind spiraled — wondering how long that hand would stay polite before it stopped asking permission.

Steam curled thick around you both, turning the bathroom into a hazy little world where nothing else existed. The lavender mixed with the raw scent of skin and building arousal, making everything feel heavier, more intimate, and way too real.

“Can I touch you, princess?” he whispered right against your neck, lips brushing with every syllable, voice so deep and gravelly it dragged another shiver straight down your spine and made your pussy throb. The question sounded soft, almost careful, but the dark hunger bleeding through it had your core clenching hard, thighs wanting to squeeze together under the water. Part of you was still screaming to slow down, to keep some control, while the rest — the louder, hornier part that had been soaked since his texts — wanted him to stop talking and just do it already.

“Yes…” the word slipped out breathy and fast, almost desperate, like it had been clawing at the back of your throat for too long. Because it had. You needed his hands on you, needed that solid weight to cut through the dizzy spin in your head and the slick heat building low in your core that the water couldn’t wash away.

The second permission left your mouth, his palm slid higher, cupping the soft weight of your breast through the soaked bra. His thumb dragged slow and deliberate over your stiff nipple, circling with just enough pressure to pull a shaky, broken whimper from your lips. Electricity shot straight down your spine and settled heavy between your thighs, making your pussy clench hard around nothing while the warm water amplified every single touch until it felt overwhelming. Your back arched without thinking, pushing into his hand like your body had already made its choice.

“Can I take this off?” he rasped against the curve of your neck, lips dragging over your skin with every syllable. His voice had gone even rougher, velvet over gravel, still trying to sound careful but failing at hiding the raw edge underneath. “I’ll keep it innocent… just washing you. Promise.”

The words should’ve felt safe, but the hunger threaded through them made your stomach twist tight with filthy anticipation. You could feel his chest rising and falling faster against your back, the way his fingers hovered right at the band of your bra like he was one second away from losing that last thread of control.

“Of course,” you whispered, voice small and shaky, barely cutting through the soft splash of water. No real hesitation left — just burning want mixed with the shy panic that still made your face heat up like you’d been caught watching something you shouldn’t.

Jungkook let out a low, relieved exhale against your shoulder, the sound vibrating through you. One hand moved with deliberate patience, fingers finding the clasp at your back and flicking it open effortlessly. He didn’t rip it away. Instead he let the straps slip down your shoulders on their own, his palms following the path in a slow, possessive glide that left your breath stuttering. The wet bra peeled off completely and dropped with a heavy, damp plop somewhere at the side of the tub, leaving your breasts bare to the steamy air and his hungry stare.

Cool air hit your exposed skin for a heartbeat before his warmth chased it away. He reached over the tub edge, pressing closer for a moment so his hard chest dragged against your back, water sloshing around you both as he grabbed the loofah and lavender bodywash. The floral scent bloomed thicker in the humid air when he squeezed a generous amount onto the sponge, setting the bottle aside with a quiet clink.

He settled his chin on your shoulder, arm wrapping back around your waist to haul you firmly against him until there wasn’t a single inch of space left. His heartbeat thrummed steady and strong against your spine, his thick dick still pressed hot and insistent against your ass through the wet fabric, a constant reminder of how badly he was affected. You felt surrounded, caged in the best and most terrifying way, skin prickling everywhere his body touched yours while your mind raced with dirty little questions about how long that “just washing” promise would actually hold once his hands started moving again.

With slow, deliberate strokes, he dragged the soapy loofah across your collarbone, drawing lazy, swirling patterns that left thick trails of fragrant bubbles sliding down your wet skin. The soft, textured drag combined with the heat of the water created this maddeningly intimate friction, like he was mapping every dip and curve on purpose, learning how your body responded to the lightest pressure. Each pass felt heavier than it should, waking up nerve endings you didn’t even know were waiting for him.

“You’re so fucking soft,” he breathed right against your ear, lips grazing the shell as the words sank into your skin. His voice came out husky and low, almost strained, while his free hand stayed anchored at your waist, thumb tracing slow, absent circles just under your ribs like he needed the contact to stay sane.

You kept your mouth shut, too scared any reply would come out as a pathetic whimper or something equally embarrassing. Instead you sank deeper into the water and against his chest, letting the silence and the way your body melted back into him do the talking. The trust felt dangerous this close, but the ache between your legs only grew sharper with every careful touch.

His hand moved lower without hurry, guiding the loofah over the full swell of your breasts. The soapy surface brushed across your sensitive skin in unhurried circles, teasing your already hard nipples with every pass until they throbbed painfully. Tiny sparks of pleasure shot straight down to your core, making your pussy clench and leak more slick into the water. Knowing it was his hand controlling the motion turned the innocent act filthy in your head — you kept picturing those same fingers pinching instead of gliding, gripping instead of teasing.

Jungkook’s breath caught against your shoulder when he felt you react, but he kept every movement measured, circling the loofah around one breast then the other like he was worshipping the weight of them. His other arm stayed locked around your waist, holding you firmly in place while the water lapped gently at your bodies. The steam had grown thicker, turning the bathroom into a hazy trap where the only things that existed were his touch, the heavy scent of lavender, and the unmistakable press of his hard dick against your ass.

He dragged the loofah further down, gliding it across the soft plane of your stomach in lazy loops. Bubbles slid down your skin and disappeared into the water with every stroke, making your belly flutter with nerves and that deepening, restless hunger. The touch stayed gentle on the surface, but you could feel the tension in his arm, the way his fingers flexed like he was fighting the urge to press harder and pull you even closer.

Then he went lower. One of his strong hands nudged your thighs apart just enough under the water, the movement so intimate it made your breath hitch. He took his time sliding the soapy loofah along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, then the outer, reaching as far as he could without forcing anything. The warm, textured glide left your legs tingling, every slow pass sending fresh pulses of heat straight to your aching pussy. You were painfully aware of how close he was to where you needed him most, the thin, soaked panties doing nothing to hide how drenched you already were. The tension in the air felt ready to snap, and part of you — the greedy, curious part — wondered how much longer he’d keep pretending this was still just washing.

You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back, each breath a little deeper, a little tighter, like he was fighting to keep his control intact. His chin stayed tucked on your shoulder, lips occasionally grazing your wet skin as he worked, sending tiny jolts straight down your spine. The difference between how carefully his hands moved and the thick, insistent press of his dick against your ass under the water turned the whole thing filthy in the best way — the heavy lavender steam, the constant soft lap of bubbles, the raw feeling of being held open and touched by him while trying to act like this was still innocent.

He didn’t cross any obvious lines with the loofah, but the slow, thorough way he dragged it along your inner thighs left you throbbing, legs trembling under the surface as more slick heat leaked out of you, mixing with the bathwater. The ache between your legs had grown stupidly persistent, almost embarrassing how quickly your body was giving up the fight.

You tipped your head back against his shoulder with a quiet sigh, eyes slipping shut as the heat of the water and the solid weight of him finally started loosening the last tight knots in your muscles. A soft, hazy hum slipped from your throat, half-relaxed, half-dazed from how good it felt to just exist against him like this.

His hands paused mid-motion, the loofah hovering like your little sound had short-circuited something in him. Then he tossed it onto the tub edge with a wet slap, clearly done pretending. Both hands came back to you instead — big, warm, and no longer hiding what he wanted. They slid up from your waist and cupped your bare breasts fully, palms molding to the soft weight like he’d been dying to do exactly this.

He started slow, massaging them with firm, reverent strokes, thumbs sweeping lazy circles over your stiff nipples until your breath hitched. The soap and warm water made every glide slick and smooth, turning the touch into something dangerously addictive. Pleasure sparked hot through your chest and straight down to your core, making your pussy clench hard and your back arch into his hands without permission.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” he muttered against the side of your neck, voice rough and low, lips dragging over your damp skin with every word. His touch stayed tender for a moment longer before growing bolder — thumbs flicking and circling your sensitive peaks, fingers kneading the soft flesh with just enough pressure to pull a shaky, needy whimper from your chest. He rolled your nipples between his fingers, tugging lightly, the sensation so sharp and perfect it made your thighs press together under the water and your mind flash to how those same hands would feel lower, rougher, spreading you open.

He pulled his hands away suddenly, the loss of his warm grip leaving your skin tingling and strangely empty. The water rippled hard around you both as he shifted, the movement pressing his thick dick more firmly against your ass like a reminder that his patience was fraying fast.

You could feel the steady thump of his heart against your back, each breath coming a little rougher now, like the careful mask was starting to slip. His chin stayed tucked against your shoulder, lips brushing damp skin every so often as he worked, the contrast between his gentle hands and the thick, insistent dick pressed against your ass turning the whole bath into something dangerously charged.

“Could you turn around for me?” he asked, voice low and gravelly, that quiet hunger bleeding through and making your pulse trip over itself.

You blinked slowly, lashes heavy from the steam and the haze his touch had left in your head. The request took a second to land, your brain still pleasantly foggy. You glanced back over your shoulder, meeting those dark eyes that had gone darker, burning with something raw and patient all at once. After a shaky inhale, you nodded.

You shifted your hips just enough to twist around on his lap, water splashing softly around the movement. It took some awkward adjusting — hands bracing on his broad shoulders for balance, knees settling on either side of his thighs — until you were fully facing him. The new position pressed you chest to chest, your bare breasts dragging against the hard, wet planes of his torso with every breath. His hands settled on your waist under the water, steady and warm, droplets sliding down your skin where they touched.

Straddling him like this, nothing but soaked fabric and warm water between you, felt stupidly intimate. His thick dick nestled right against your core, heavy and throbbing, the thin barrier doing nothing to hide how hard he was. Your faces were inches apart now — close enough to see the faint flush high on his cheeks, the way his eyes dropped to your lips before snapping back up, the tight set of his jaw as he held himself in check.

Jungkook’s thumbs kept tracing slow circles on your waist, trying to play it calm, but his breathing had turned ragged, chest rising and falling quicker against yours. Steam curled thick around you both, the lavender scent mixing with the raw smell of skin and building want, wrapping the moment in a hazy little bubble that felt cut off from the rest of the world.

“Can I kiss you?” he rasped, voice rough and low, the question hitting you out of nowhere in the steamy air. His eyes searched yours with that same careful intensity, always waiting, even while the tension between you felt ready to snap.

Your lips parted, but nothing came out at first — just a soft, surprised exhale while your brain scrambled to catch up. Up close like this, water clinging to his lashes and the sharp line of his jaw, he looked almost too much. That faint playful twitch at the corner of his mouth showed up again, patient on the surface but clearly fighting whatever darker urge was riding him hard underneath. The ache between your legs pulsed stronger, your soaked panties clinging uncomfortably as you sat there wondering how long you’d both last before the careful version of him finally gave in.

“Sure,” you whispered, the word coming out breathy and shy, but raw with honesty.

The second it left your mouth, Jungkook’s hand slid up to cradle the back of your neck, thumb stroking along your jaw as he closed the distance. His lips met yours in a kiss that started deep and unhurried, like he’d been starving for it longer than he’d ever admit. Warm and firm, they moved against yours with a hunger he kept on a tight leash — teasing at first, then coaxing your mouth open so his tongue could slip inside, tasting you slow and thorough. The faint hint of mint mixed with something darker, something purely him, flooded your senses and made your head spin.

You sank into it completely, hands sliding up to grip his wet shoulders, fingers digging into the hard muscle as the water sloshed around you. He kissed like a man unraveling — patient on the surface, but growing bolder, deeper, more desperate with every second, like all those months of careful touches were finally cracking wide open. One arm tightened around your waist, yanking you flush against him until your bare breasts crushed against his chest, nipples dragging sensitive against his skin.

Your hips rolled on instinct, a small, needy grind that pressed your soaked core right along the thick, rigid length of his dick. The slippery friction through the thin fabric pulled a low, guttural groan from his throat that vibrated straight into your mouth. His fingers flexed hard on your waist, fighting the urge to slam you down harder and chase more of that delicious pressure.

You wrapped your arms fully around his neck, fingers threading into the wet hair at his nape as you tugged him even closer. That sound from him lit something wild in you. You rolled your hips again, slower this time, dragging your aching pussy along his clothed dick with purpose. The soaked material created the filthiest glide, teasing your clit with every shift and making your breath catch against his lips.

You kept kissing him through it all, tongues tangling lazy and heated while your hips found a lazy rhythm. Arms locked around his neck, fingers twisted tight in his damp hair, you moved like your body had taken over — chasing that slick friction, letting the warm water splash lightly between you with every roll. Bubbles clung to your joined skin, the steam making everything feel heavier, more intimate, as the ache between your legs grew sharper and more demanding. Part of you still felt shy as hell, but the rest was too far gone, lost in how good he felt, how badly you wanted him to stop holding back.

Jungkook’s grip on your waist turned bruising, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks as you rolled your hips again, dragging your soaked pussy along the thick, rigid length of his dick with shameless little rocks. The drenched fabric between you did nothing to dull the sensation — every slow grind pressed the fat head right against your swollen clit, the heavy throbbing vein dragging perfectly through your folds until you were panting into his mouth.

“Fuck, princess,” he groaned against your lips, the sound raw and broken, vibrating straight down to where you were grinding on him. “You keep moving like that and I’m gonna lose my fucking mind. Feel how hard you got me? This thing’s been aching for you.”

He kissed you deeper, tongue fucking into your mouth like he was already imagining something else sliding in and out of you, one hand fisting in your wet hair while the other squeezed your hip, encouraging every filthy roll without fully taking control. The steam wrapped around you thicker than before, lavender mixing with the sharp scent of arousal as your nipples scraped against his chest with every movement, sending sparks straight to your core.

You were gone — completely lost in the slick, slippery friction, the way his thick dick nestled right between your folds like it belonged there, the needy sounds he kept feeding you with every rock of your hips. Your fingers twisted tighter in his damp hair, pulling him impossibly closer as you chased that building pressure, panties clinging uselessly to your dripping pussy while the warm water splashed between your bodies.

He ripped his mouth away after a while, breathing ragged and harsh against your swollen lips, eyes so dark they looked black. Water dripped down his sharp jaw as his fingers flexed violently on your hips, tightening, loosening, fighting himself.

“Enough,” he growled, voice wrecked and strained, the word sounding like it physically pained him to force out. “Baby, you gotta stop before I-” he shuts himself up before he said something wrong.

You blinked at him, dazed and throbbing, body still humming with that cruel edge of almost-there pleasure. Before you could roll your hips again or beg for more, he pressed a rough kiss to the corner of your mouth, then another to your forehead, lingering there like he needed it to stay sane.

“Let’s get out,” he muttered, voice lower, rougher, almost soothing even while his dick continued to throb insistently against your soaked core. “Before I stop being such a gentleman and ruin you like I’ve been dying to.”

He stood up with you still wrapped around him like it was nothing, water pouring off both your bodies in heavy streams as he lifted you effortlessly from the tub. You gasped at the sudden cool air hitting your dripping skin, legs instinctively locking tighter around his waist, ankles crossed behind his back while your arms clung around his neck. His hard dick nestled right between your thighs, pressing hot and heavy against your aching pussy with every step, the soaked fabric doing nothing to hide how badly he wanted to sink into you. The contrast between his careful words and the obvious, throbbing need grinding against you with every movement left your head spinning and your body screaming for him to finally break.

Jungkook’s arms locked tight around your back and under your thighs, holding you up like you weighed nothing at all. Water streamed from his soaked hair onto your shoulder as he turned and stepped out of the tub with steady balance, never letting you slip even an inch. The steam trailed after you both into the cooler bathroom air, lavender and raw heat still clinging to your wet skin like a second layer.

He didn’t put you down right away. Instead he stood there in the middle of the bathroom, holding you close, forehead pressed to yours while droplets fell steadily from both your bodies onto the mat below. His breathing was rough and uneven, chest heaving against yours with every inhale, the thick, heavy length of his dick still throbbing insistently between your thighs, pressed right against your soaked panties like it was trying to find its way inside you.

One of his hands dragged slowly up your spine, fingertips tracing every bump and curve like he was burning the shape of you into memory, while the other stayed locked under your thigh, fingers digging in just enough to remind you how easily he could spread you wider if he wanted.

Your face felt like it was on fire, but you couldn’t look away from his eyes — dark, starving, and still clinging to that thread of control that was clearly fraying. The way his body screamed raw need while his hands stayed almost careful made your stomach twist with filthy want. You could feel how wet you were, how your pussy kept clenching around nothing every time his dick twitched against you, and the shame of it only made you hotter.

He finally moved, carrying you across the bathroom like it was effortless, and set you down on the cool marble counter with surprising gentleness. The icy surface hit your bare ass and thighs like a shock, making you gasp softly as goosebumps exploded across your skin. Your legs stayed parted where he’d left you perched on the edge, water and bubbles still dripping down your inner thighs, mixing with the slick arousal that had nothing to do with the bath anymore. The contrast between the cold counter and the burning heat pulsing between your legs left you squirming.

Jungkook stepped back for a second, reaching for two thick towels from the rack. The loss of his body heat made you feel stupidly exposed — topless, nipples still tight and sensitive from his earlier teasing, skin flushed and marked with faint red patches where he’d gripped you. You loosely crossed your arms over your chest, not fully hiding, but needing something while you watched him move.

He came back fast, unfolding one towel and draping it around your shoulders first. His fingers brushed the tops of your breasts as he pulled the edges together, the light contact sending another bolt of heat straight to your core.

“Better?” he asked, voice still low and rough, that husky edge making it sound like anything but a simple question.

He dragged the second towel roughly through his own wet hair, muscles flexing across his chest and arms with the motion. Tiny droplets flew from the dark strands, sliding down his shoulders, over his tattoos, and down the hard lines of his abs. The sight was ridiculous — messy damp hair, flushed skin, water running down that insane body while his dick still strained hard against his soaked boxers, the outline even more obscene now that the fabric clung completely to him.

You couldn’t stop staring. Your mouth felt dry, thighs pressing together on the counter as fresh heat throbbed between your legs. He looked like he was barely holding himself together, like one wrong move from you would have him ripping those last scraps of fabric off and burying himself inside you right there on the bathroom counter. And the worst part? A big, greedy part of you wanted exactly that.

You bit your lower lip, eyes unconsciously following one slow water droplet as it trailed down the center of his chest, slipping between the hard ridges of his abs before disappearing into the towel slung dangerously low on his hips. The sight made your cheeks burn hotter, a messy swirl of embarrassment and lingering heat twisting low in your belly. After a beat, you gave a small, shy nod, the motion coming a little delayed, like your brain was still catching up to the reality of sitting here half-dressed on the counter in front of him.

You placed the dumplings neatly beside the fried rice on both plates, fingers moving on autopilot while the rich, savory smells wrapped around the kitchen. The mindless little task gave your brain something safe to focus on after the whirlwind in the bathroom — the scorching water, the way his hands had mapped every inch of your skin, how quickly your body had melted and reacted under his touch like it had been waiting for exactly that.

After drying off, he’d quietly passed you a fresh change of clothes and stepped out to give you space. He’d changed in the bedroom, pulling on one of the oversized shirts and soft sweatpants you kept here for him now. You always made sure a few of his things were around for those nights he showed up drained from endless work, too wiped to drive home, choosing instead to crash with you tucked against him.

Your hands froze mid-motion as two strong arms suddenly slid around your waist from behind, yanking you back against a solid, burning chest. The heat of him poured through the thin fabric of your shirt instantly, overwhelming and steady all at once, making your breath catch in your throat.

He pressed his face into the curve of your neck, nose dragging along the still-sensitive skin before his teeth sank in with a firm, possessive bite. The sharp sting shot straight through you, pulling a quiet gasp from your lips as warmth flooded your chest and lower, that restless ache from the bath flaring back to life without warning.

Jungkook held the bite for a long second, lips brushing over the fresh mark as he stayed buried against you, arms locked tight like he couldn’t quite let go yet. The solid warmth of his body against your back, the faint dampness still clinging to his hair, and the quiet intensity rolling off him made the kitchen feel smaller, the air heavier. Your pulse hammered loud in your ears, a confusing rush of leftover shyness mixing with the undeniable pull low in your belly. Part of you wanted to pull away and play it cool, but the bigger part — the one still buzzing from every touch earlier — leaned back into him without thinking, caught between wanting more and not knowing how to ask for it.

He snuggled his face deeper into the curve of your neck, nose dragging along the sensitive skin before his teeth sank in hard — a possessive, claiming bite that made your breath catch sharply in your throat. The sting bloomed fast into something hotter, spreading through your veins like liquid fire as his hands roamed your sides with clear hunger. They slipped under the hem of your oversized shirt, fingers tracing the bare skin of your waist and pressing in just enough to leave faint imprints, like he was marking you in every way he could.

“Jungkook—?” you gasped softly, the name slipping out breathy and surprised, your voice catching as the heat from his bite mixed with the fresh wave of sensation rushing through you.

He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he sucked the bitten spot into his mouth, tongue soothing the mark while his hips rolled forward, letting you feel exactly how hard he still was, pressed firm and insistent against your ass. The low groan that rumbled against your neck sent shivers racing down your spine. Your hands flew to the edge of the counter, gripping tight as your knees suddenly felt unreliable, the solid heat of him behind you making your head spin.

“You know I respect everything about you, right?” he whispered against your neck, lips brushing over the fresh mark he’d left. One hand slowly slid higher up your side, palm cupping the soft weight of your breast through the thin shirt, thumb stroking slow, deliberate circles over your nipple until your breath stuttered.

“Y-yeah… Why?” you managed, voice barely above a whisper, shaky as heat flooded every inch of your body from his touch.

“Good.” His voice dropped even lower, rough with barely-held restraint and something much darker underneath. “Keep that in mind when I do this.”

Before you could fully process the warning, he turned you around with strong hands gripping your waist, spinning you to face him in one smooth motion. Your back met the edge of the kitchen counter with a soft thud, the cool surface pressing into your lower back. In the next heartbeat, his mouth crashed down on yours — hungry, deep, and no longer holding back any of that carefully leashed intensity.

The kiss was overwhelming from the start. His lips moved against yours with raw need, tongue sliding in to taste you like he’d been replaying this moment since the bath. One hand stayed tangled in your hair, tilting your head exactly how he wanted while the other gripped your hip, pulling you flush against him so you could feel every hard inch of him pressed between your bodies. The kitchen counter dug into your back, but you barely noticed, too lost in the way he kissed you — like he was done being patient, like the thin thread of control he’d been clinging to was finally starting to snap. Your fingers clutched at his shirt, heart racing as the real weight of what was building between you settled heavy and undeniable in the charged air.

The kiss was nothing like the careful, sweet ones he usually gave you. This one hit like a dam finally breaking — all heat and raw need, his tongue sliding into your mouth the second your lips parted on a surprised gasp. He tasted like pent-up hunger and the last threads of his control snapping, one hand fisting tight in your hair to tilt your head exactly how he wanted while the other gripped your hip hard enough to bruise, yanking you flush against him. You could feel every thick, heavy inch of his dick pressed between your bodies, throbbing and insistent through the thin layers, grinding subtly against your stomach like he couldn’t help himself anymore.

A low, guttural groan tore from deep in his chest, vibrating straight into your mouth when you arched into him without thinking, your hands fisting the front of his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you upright. He kissed you harder, deeper, tongue stroking against yours in filthy, demanding strokes, like he was finally pouring every ounce of patience he’d forced himself to keep into this one moment. The counter dug painfully into your lower back, pinning you between the cool edge and the scorching heat of his body, but you barely registered it. You melted into the roughness, letting him take what he wanted as the kiss turned sloppy and desperate, spit-slick and breathless, your soft whimpers mixing with his quiet growls.

When he finally pulled back just enough for you to gulp down air, his forehead dropped against yours, breaths coming hot and ragged between you. His eyes were almost black now, pupils blown wide with something feral and dark, but the way his thumb stroked gently across your flushed cheek kept that thin thread of care from completely disappearing.

“Been thinking about this for so long,” he rasped, voice wrecked and low, lips brushing yours with every word. “Kissing you like I actually mean it. Feeling you lose it against me.” His hips rolled forward once, slow and deliberate, letting you feel the full weight of his hardness grinding against your core through your clothes. “Tell me if it’s too much… but fuck, princess, I need more of you tonight.”

The words hung heavy in the charged air, his body still caging you against the counter, one hand still tangled in your hair while the other slipped lower, fingers teasing under the hem of your shirt again. Your heart hammered wildly, the real, messy want in his voice making your stomach twist and your thighs press together. Part of you was still shy, still processing how fast this was escalating, but the bigger part — the one throbbing and wet from the bath and his bite — wanted him to stop holding back and show you exactly how much he’d been restraining himself all this time.

Now this was a split-second decision.

“Don’t… don’t stop.” The words barely made it out of your mouth, shaky and breathless, but they were all it took.

The moment they left your lips, something in Jungkook snapped.

His eyes darkened instantly, that last fragile thread of restraint visibly fraying as a low, almost pained sound rumbled from deep in his chest. His hand tightened in your hair, not enough to hurt but enough to tilt your head back further, and then his mouth was on yours again — harder this time, hungrier, like your permission had finally unlocked the version of him he’d been keeping locked away for months.

He kissed you like he was starving, tongue sliding against yours with filthy intent, deep and demanding. The hand on your hip slid lower, gripping your ass and pulling you even tighter against the hard line of his body so you could feel exactly how much your words had affected him. A shiver ran through you at the sheer intensity, your fingers clutching desperately at his shirt as heat flooded every inch of your skin.

He broke the kiss only to trail his mouth down your jaw, teeth scraping lightly before he sucked another mark into the sensitive skin just below your ear. “You sure?” he rasped against your neck, voice wrecked and rough, breath hot. “Because once I start, I don’t know if I can be gentle tonight.”

Your heart hammered wildly in your chest. The shy part of you was screaming that this was moving too fast, that you should slow down. But the rest of you didn’t want slow. You wanted him. All of him.

“I’m sure,” you whispered, voice trembling but certain, your hands sliding up to wrap around his neck. “Just… don’t stop.”

A dark, satisfied sound left him. In one smooth motion, he lifted you onto the counter properly, stepping between your parted thighs and pulling you right to the edge so your bodies aligned perfectly. His mouth found yours again, deeper this time, while his hands roamed under your shirt with growing confidence, palms gliding over your bare skin like he was finally allowed to touch what he’d been holding back from for so long.

The kitchen felt smaller, hotter, the food on the plates completely forgotten as the tension that had been building between you for months finally started to boil over. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, ankles locking behind his back, pulling him closer until there was nothing left between you but thin fabric and pounding heartbeats.

And for the first time, Jungkook didn’t hold back.

You kissed him back without hesitation, arms winding tight around his neck as if letting go might make the whole moment disappear. Your fingers dug into the damp strands at his nape, pulling him impossibly closer while your mouth moved against his with a hunger that surprised even you. It felt reckless and right all at once, like your body had been waiting for permission to stop overthinking and just take what it wanted.

He groaned into the kiss, the sound low and raw, vibrating through his chest and straight into yours. The noise sent a fresh pulse of heat straight between your legs, making your thighs clench around his hips where you still sat perched on the counter. It was the kind of sound that made your brain short-circuit — proof that the calm, patient man who’d been holding back for so long was finally starting to unravel because of you.

He broke the kiss with a reluctant growl, only to drag his mouth lower, lips and teeth tracing a hot, messy path under your ear and down the sensitive curve of your neck. When he reached the spot where your neck met your shoulder, he bit down again, harder this time, sucking the skin into his mouth like he wanted to leave a mark that would still be there tomorrow. The sharp sting mixed with the wet heat of his tongue made your head fall back, lips parting on a soft, broken gasp as your fingers tightened in his hair, tugging without meaning to.

Your eyes fluttered shut, breath coming in shallow little pants while your mind spun with a chaotic mix of nerves and pure, dizzying want. Part of you still couldn’t believe this was actually happening — that the same guy who used to give you forehead kisses was now marking up your neck like he owned it. But the ache between your thighs and the way your body kept arching into every touch told a very different story. You wanted this. You wanted him to stop being so careful and show you the side he’d been hiding.

He pulled back just enough to look up at you through his lashes, eyes dark and hooded, a filthy smirk curling against your flushed skin when he saw the dazed expression on your face. The sight of him like that — lips wet, hair messy from your fingers, that dicky little tilt to his mouth — made something feral twist low in your belly.

Without warning, he grabbed the hem of your shirt and yanked it upward, pulling the fabric over your head in one swift motion. Cool air hit your bare skin instantly, making your nipples tighten almost painfully as he tossed the shirt somewhere behind him. His gaze dropped to your chest, hungry and unashamed.

His hand slipped behind your back with practiced ease, fingers finding the clasp of your bra and flicking it open in one smooth motion while his mouth stayed busy along your collarbone. He sucked and nipped at the sensitive bone, tongue tracing lazy, wet patterns that made your skin prickle and burn under the attention. The dual sensations — cool air hitting your back as the fabric loosened and the hot drag of his lips — had your breath coming shorter, your fingers curling tighter into his shoulders like you needed something to hold onto before you floated away.

The second the hooks gave way, he tugged the bra down your arms and tossed it aside without looking, leaving your upper body completely exposed to his gaze and the cool kitchen air. Your nipples tightened instantly under the shift in temperature, sensitive and aching, and the way his eyes dropped to them made your stomach clench with a sharp, nervous thrill. There was no hiding now. No thin layer left to pretend this was still innocent. Just bare skin, flushed and waiting, while he drank in the sight like he’d been starving for it.

He pulled back just enough to look at you properly, his dark eyes flicking slowly from your face down to your breasts and back up again. The blatant hunger in his stare made your cheeks burn even hotter, a fresh wave of heat crawling down your neck and across your chest. You felt exposed in the best and most terrifying way, heart hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it. He didn’t say anything for a long second, just looked, letting the tension thicken until you were squirming on the counter.

Then he leaned back in, mouth descending slowly, kissing a hot trail from your collarbone down into the valley of your cleavage. His lips were soft but insistent, tongue flicking out every few inches like he was tasting every inch of you he could reach.

“I wish I could make our first time special and take my time with you,” he whispered hotly against your skin, voice thick and strained like the words were being dragged out of him. “But fuck… I’m not a patient man, princess.”

The confession hit you like a spark on dry tinder. Before you could even process it, he lifted you off the counter with ease, setting your feet on the floor only to spin you around in one fluid motion. Your palms slapped down on the cool surface for balance as he pressed a firm hand between your shoulder blades, bending you forward until your chest hovered just above the counter. The position left you exposed, ass pushed out toward him, heart slamming against your ribs as the cool marble kissed your skin and sent a shiver racing down your spine.

You glanced back over your shoulder, breath caught in your throat. The sight of him standing behind you — eyes dark and locked on you, jaw tight, chest rising and falling fast — made something deep in your core clench hard. There was no hiding the hunger on his face now, no more careful restraint. Just raw, barely-leashed want staring back at you, making your thighs press together instinctively even as fresh heat pooled between them.

He kept one hand pressed to your upper back, holding you exactly where he wanted while the other slid down your side, fingers hooking into the waistband of your pants. His touch was no longer gentle. It was possessive, impatient, like the last of his control had finally burned away the second you told him not to stop. You could feel the thick outline of his dick pressing against your ass through his sweatpants, heavy and insistent, twitching every time you shifted.

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, dark and intense, searching your face for even the smallest flicker of hesitation or a silent plea to stop. The look was raw, almost vulnerable for half a second, like he was still giving you one last out even while his body screamed for more. When he found nothing but flushed cheeks, parted lips, and the same needy haze staring back at him, something shifted in his expression — the last bit of careful restraint cracking wide open.

A low, satisfied sound rumbled in his throat as his hands moved with purpose. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your pants and dragged them down in one slow, deliberate pull, taking your soaked underwear along with them. The fabric peeled away from your skin with a wet cling, sliding over the curve of your ass and down your thighs until it pooled at your ankles. Cool air kissed your newly exposed pussy, making you acutely aware of just how drenched you were, how your folds glistened from everything that had built up since the bath.

He stayed still behind you for a moment, eyes locked on the sight like he couldn’t look away. His breathing grew heavier, one hand sliding up the back of your thigh, thumb brushing dangerously close to where you ached the most. The position left you completely vulnerable — bent over the counter, ass out, pussy on full display — and the realization sent a fresh wave of embarrassed heat through your body mixed with a sharp, filthy thrill that made your core throb visibly.

“Fuck,” he breathed, voice thick and wrecked. “You’re dripping for me already.”

His fingers traced higher, teasing along your inner thigh without quite touching where you needed him, drawing out the moment until you were shifting restlessly on your feet. The contrast between the cool kitchen air on your bare skin and the heat radiating from his body behind you made every nerve ending feel alive and oversensitive. You gripped the counter tighter, heart pounding, torn between the shy urge to close your legs and the overwhelming want to push back against him and beg for his hands, his mouth, anything.

He fully straightened up slowly, pressing his front against your back again, the hard length of his dick nestling between your ass cheeks through his sweatpants. One arm wrapped around your waist to hold you steady while his other hand finally slid between your thighs, fingers gliding through your slick folds with a groan that vibrated against your shoulder.

The touch was electric, confident, and unapologetic, like he’d been imagining exactly how you’d feel under his fingers for far too long. Your knees nearly buckled at the first stroke, a soft, needy sound escaping your lips as he explored you slowly, deliberately, learning every wet inch like he had all the time in the world and none at all.

“Please…” The broken whimper slipped out of you before you could stop it, raw and needy, hanging in the charged kitchen air like a confession you couldn’t take back.

Jungkook let out a low, amused chuckle that vibrated against your back, his fingers freezing right against your soaked folds, pressing just enough to keep you throbbing but not nearly enough to give you what you actually wanted. “Please what, princess?” he teased, voice dripping with wicked satisfaction. “Please stop? Is that what you’re begging for?”

You groaned in pure frustration, the sound muffled against your arm as you dropped your head lower, eyes squeezing shut tight. Your hips jerked backward on instinct, trying to chase his fingers, desperate for any kind of friction, but he quickly clamped his free hand down on your hip, holding you firmly in place so you couldn’t move even an inch. The restraint only made the ache between your legs sharper, your pussy clenching around nothing while slick continued to coat his still fingers.

“Please…” you repeated, the word coming out smaller this time, almost pathetic, embarrassment burning through you even as the need won out.

He stayed stubbornly quiet for a moment, as he watched you struggle. His fingers twitched teasingly against your dripping entrance, giving you the barest hint of pressure before pulling back again, like he was enjoying every second of your desperation.

“Repeating the same shit won’t get you anywhere, princess,” he murmured, voice low and rough, laced with dark amusement. “I’m not a mind reader. Spell it out for me if you want something. Tell me exactly what that pretty little pussy needs right now.”

His words sent another rush of heat through you, equal parts mortifying and insanely hot. You could feel him staring at the back of your head, waiting, his fingers still resting maddeningly against your slick heat, occasionally giving you the smallest twitch like a cruel promise of what he could do if you just said the words. This stubborn bastard clearly wasn’t going to move until you gave him exactly what he wanted.

Your mind spun, shy instincts fighting against the overwhelming throb between your thighs. Part of you wanted to stay quiet out of pure embarrassment, but the bigger, greedier part knew you were too far gone to stop now.

“Please… I need you,” you whispered, the words barely audible, shaky and desperate as they tumbled out into the thick kitchen air.

Jungkook hummed low against your shoulder, the sound vibrating through your skin like a tease all on its own. “Need me?” His voice was dripping with wicked amusement, rough around the edges. “You already have me right here, princess. Gotta be more specific than that if you want me to do something about it.”

His hand on your hip slowly drifted back, palm smoothing over the curve of your right ass cheek before he gave it a firm, playful smack. The sharp sting made you gasp, a jolt shooting straight to your core as heat bloomed across your skin. He didn’t pull away, instead massaging the spot right after with slow, possessive circles, soothing the burn while making sure you felt every second of it.

You squeezed your eyes shut tighter, face burning with embarrassment that only made the ache between your legs worse. Your voice came out small and broken, barely above a whisper. “I… I need you. Your fingers… your dick… or anything. Please.”

The confession hung heavy between you, your teeth sinking into your lower lip so hard you nearly drew blood. Shame and arousal twisted together in your stomach, making your thighs tremble as you waited, completely exposed and bent over the counter for him.

Jungkook let out a low, satisfied groan, the grin evident in his voice even if you couldn’t see it. “Good girl,” he praised, the words rough and filthy, sending a fresh rush of slick down your thighs. “Finally using that pretty mouth to tell me what you want. Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

His fingers slid back between your legs without warning, gliding through your soaked folds with confident strokes, teasing your entrance before circling your swollen clit. The sudden touch after all the teasing pulled a broken moan from your throat, your hips jerking forward instinctively only for him to hold you still with his other hand.

His two thick fingers pressed inside you slowly, stretching you open. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me already. This tight little pussy is practically sucking me in.” he murmured, voice thick with hunger.

He curled his fingers just right, stroking that sensitive spot inside you while his thumb kept teasing your clit in lazy circles. The wet, obscene sounds of his fingers moving filled the kitchen, mixing with your shaky breaths and soft whimpers. Every thrust of his hand pushed you closer to the edge, the pleasure building fast and overwhelming while he kept you pinned exactly where he wanted you.

Your knees started to buckle hard under you, the overwhelming wave of pleasure crashing faster than you could handle because you were already so ridiculously worked up. Every nerve ending felt lit on fire, your moans spilling out completely uncontrollable now — soft, broken little sounds that echoed off the kitchen walls and made you feel mortified and turned on at the same time. Your body was betraying you completely, pussy clenching greedily around his fingers as that tight coil in your stomach wound impossibly tighter, threatening to snap any second.

You genuinely believed you were going to come in another five desperate seconds, right there bent over the counter like some desperate mess, when he suddenly pulled his fingers out without warning, leaving you painfully empty and throbbing.

A frustrated whimper ripped from your throat, raw and needy, your hips jerking back on pure instinct, chasing the touch he’d just stolen away like your body refused to accept the denial. He was faster though, both of his hands clamping down on your hips in a bruising grip, holding you completely still so you couldn’t grind back against him no matter how badly you needed it. The sudden loss left you aching so intensely it almost hurt, slick dripping down your inner thighs while your walls fluttered around nothing, desperate and frustrated.

“Jungkook,” you whimpered, the name coming out shaky and pathetic, half-plea and half-accusation as embarrassment burned through your chest. You hated how desperate you sounded, how easily he’d reduced you to this.

You could feel his dick twitch hard against your ass, the thick, heavy outline of his erection pressing insistently through his sweatpants, hot and obvious even through the fabric. He was painfully hard, clearly suffering just as much as you were, yet somehow still managing to hold himself back with that infuriating control. The realization made your frustration spike even higher. If he could keep it together for this long after all the tension that had been building, why the hell was he torturing both of you now when you were literally soaked and falling apart for him? Your mind was a chaotic mess of want, embarrassment, and that stubborn little voice wondering how much more of this teasing you could actually take before you lost it completely.

“Yes, princess?” he muttered, voice low and dripping with fake innocence as his hips gave one slow, teasing grind against your ass, letting you feel the thick, heavy weight of his dick pressing right between your cheeks through his sweatpants. The deliberate roll sent a fresh spark of frustration and need shooting through you before he stopped completely, leaving you hanging again.

You tried to catch your breath, words tumbling out in a shaky, irritated rush. “I said please and asked nicely, yet you—”

“You just said you want my fingers,” he cut in smoothly, that smug edge still thick in his tone. He kept you pinned exactly where you were, bent over the counter with your ass out and pussy exposed. “But you didn’t elaborate much about what you want these fingers to actually do for you, princess. As I mentioned before… be specific.”

His fingers hovered maddeningly close again, the tips barely brushing your soaked folds, giving you the smallest, cruelest tease before pulling back. The denial made your thighs tremble, another rush of slick dripping down as your body reacted violently to his games. You could feel him smirking against your skin, clearly enjoying how he was slowly unraveling you.

Your face burned with embarrassment, mind spinning with a chaotic mix of shame and raw, aching want. Part of you wanted to tell him to fuck off and stop playing, but the bigger part — the one throbbing painfully and leaking all over his fingers — knew you were too far gone. The words felt filthy on your tongue, but the need won out anyway.

“I… I want you inside me,” you whispered, voice cracking with raw desperation as the words finally tumbled out. “Please. Fuck me… make me come.” The admission burned on your tongue, embarrassment and pure, aching need twisting together until you couldn’t tell which was stronger. Your body was screaming for release, pussy clenching around nothing, slick dripping slowly down your thighs after all the cruel teasing. You were genuinely desperate now, past the point of pretending otherwise, every nerve ending on fire and begging for him to finally fill you up.

Jungkook let out a dark, satisfied groan that rumbled deep from his chest. It sent another helpless shiver racing through you, your hips twitching in his hold even though he kept you pinned perfectly in place.

“Fuck…” he breathed, the single word rough and wrecked, like hearing you beg again had finally pushed him past his limit. His hand moved to the waistband of his sweatpants, fingers hooking in with clear intent as he shoved the fabric down just enough to free himself. The heavy weight of his dick sprang out, thick and flushed, slapping hot against your ass cheek before he gripped the base and dragged the swollen head slowly through your soaked folds.

He teased your entrance for a torturous moment, rubbing the fat tip up and down your dripping slit, coating himself in your wetness while you trembled and whimpered. The feeling of his bare dick against your pussy — hot, hard, and pulsing — made your head spin, your fingers digging harder into the counter as anticipation and nerves collided violently inside you.

“Look here,” he said, voice low and commanding, the words brushing hot against your ear like a filthy secret. One of his hands left your hip, fingers threading through your hair before wrapping the strands around his fist. He tugged your head back with just enough pressure to make your scalp tingle, guiding you to turn and look back at him over your shoulder. The position arched your back deeper, pushing your ass out further and exposing you even more, the cool counter still digging into your hips while your body trembled with anticipation.

“Yes, like that,” he murmured, dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your stomach drop. “Eyes on me when I ruin you.”

The moment the words left his mouth, he pushed in.

The thick head of his dick breached your entrance in one slow, deliberate thrust, stretching you open with a burning fullness that stole the air from your lungs. You gasped sharply, eyes widening as inch after heavy inch sank deeper, the slick glide made easier by how embarrassingly wet you already were. He didn’t rush, letting you feel every thick ridge and vein as he filled you, bottoming out with a low, guttural groan that vibrated through his chest and into your back. The stretch was intense, almost too much, bordering on that perfect edge of pain and pleasure.

“Fuck… you feel heavenly wrapped around me like that,” he breathed, holding still for a heartbeat once he was buried to the hilt, letting you adjust to the overwhelming fullness while his eyes stayed locked on yours. The eye contact felt obscene, more intimate than anything else happening between your bodies. You could see every flicker of restraint crumbling in his gaze, the way his jaw clenched and his pupils blew wide as your walls fluttered and clenched around him.

He gave one experimental roll of his hips, grinding deep, and the new angle made you moan loudly, the sound echoing off the tiles. His grip in your hair tightened just a fraction, keeping your head turned so you couldn’t look away, forcing you to watch the raw hunger on his face as he started to move.

“Keep those pretty eyes on me,” he rasped, pulling back slowly only to thrust back in harder, setting a steady, punishing rhythm that had the counter creaking under your hands. “I want to see exactly what you look like when I fuck you properly for the first time.”

Every deep stroke dragged against that sensitive spot inside you, sending sparks shooting up your spine while his balls slapped lightly against your throbbing clit with every thrust. The wet, filthy sounds of him moving inside you filled the kitchen, mixing with your broken moans and his low, ragged breaths. The eye contact made everything ten times more intense, turning the moment into something dangerously addictive, like he was fucking your soul as much as your body.

And the worst part? You couldn’t look away even if you wanted to. Not like you wanted anyways.

Your eyes rolled back the moment he hit that sweet spot so deep inside you that you didn’t even know it existed. The sudden, blinding burst of pleasure punched the air straight out of your lungs, turning your moan into something broken and shameless as your walls clamped down hard around his thick dick. Every brutal thrust dragged the swollen head right against that hidden spot, sending white-hot sparks shooting up your spine and exploding behind your eyelids until your vision blurred.

“Fuck— right there,” you gasped, voice cracking, fingers scrambling for purchase on the counter as your knees nearly gave out completely. The stretch was overwhelming, almost too much, but the way he filled you so perfectly made your head spin with filthy satisfaction. You could feel every inch of him, thick and pulsing, dragging along your sensitive walls with every punishing snap of his hips.

Jungkook’s grip in your hair tightened, keeping your head turned so you were forced to look back at him even as your eyes tried to roll again. His own gaze was wild, dark and feral, jaw clenched tight like he was barely holding himself together while he watched every reaction flicker across your face.

The wet, obscene slap of skin against skin filled the kitchen, your slick coating his length and dripping down your thighs with every deep thrust. He didn’t let up, pounding into you with a steady, ruthless rhythm that had your breasts bouncing with the force. Every time he bottomed out, his hips ground against your ass, pressing so deep you swore you could feel him in your stomach.

You were a mess — moaning uncontrollably, drool threatening to slip from the corner of your parted lips, body shaking as that coil in your belly wound impossibly tighter. The eye contact made everything ten times more intense, the raw hunger on his face pushing you closer and closer to the edge while your mind struggled to keep up with how good it felt to finally be ruined like this.

“Don’t look away,” he rasped, pulling your hair just enough to make your scalp tingle.

His free hand slid around to your front, fingers finding your swollen clit and rubbing tight, merciless circles that matched the brutal pace of his thrusts. The dual stimulation was too much. Your thighs trembled violently, moans turning into high, desperate whimpers as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak. You were so close again, teetering right on the edge, and this time it felt like nothing in the world could stop you from falling.

His hand left your hair, fingers sliding down to grip your hips with bruising force, using the new leverage to yank you back onto his dick with every powerful thrust. The shift changed the angle instantly, letting him drive even deeper, the thick head slamming repeatedly into that devastating spot inside you that made stars explode behind your eyes. Each brutal pull of your hips meeting his forward snap created a filthy, wet slap that echoed through the kitchen, your ass rippling from the impact as he fucked you harder, faster, like he was finally done pretending he could hold back.

You kept your head turned anyway, eyes half-lidded and hazy, struggling to stay focused on him even as your body threatened to fall apart. The eye contact felt obscene, almost too intense, but you couldn’t look away — not when his face was twisted in raw pleasure, jaw clenched, lips parted with every ragged breath. The sight of him losing control because of you only made everything feel more overwhelming, your pussy fluttering and squeezing around his thick length like it never wanted to let him go.

“Shit— that’s it,” he groaned, voice wrecked and low, thumbs digging into the soft flesh of your hips as he pulled you back onto him again and again. “Look at you. You feel that?”

The dirty words combined with the relentless pace had your moans turning into broken sobs, your upper body trembling as you fought to keep yourself braced on the counter. Every deep stroke dragged along your walls perfectly, the stretch bordering on too much but feeling so insanely good that your brain could barely form coherent thoughts anymore. All you could focus on was the burning pleasure building higher and higher, the way his dick throbbed inside you, and the filthy realization that you were getting fucked raw and desperate right here in your kitchen like some kind of dirty fantasy come to life.

You tried to keep your eyes on him, lashes fluttering, but the overwhelming sensations made them want to roll back again. Your mouth hung open, loud moans, whimpers and gasps spilling out uncontrollably as he used his grip on your hips to grind deep on every thrust, rolling his hips in a way that made sure you felt every single inch. The pressure was building dangerously fast again, your thighs shaking violently, the edge rushing toward you faster than you could prepare for.

Jungkook’s breathing was harsh and uneven behind you, his fingers flexing harder on your hips as he chased his own pleasure while dragging you right along with him. The way he kept you pinned there, bent over and completely at his mercy, only made the heat in your belly coil tighter, pushing you closer and closer to the point of no return.

“Jungkook— I’m—” The words broke off into a shattered moan as the pressure inside you became unbearable, your voice cracking mid-sentence while your walls started fluttering wildly around him.

Jungkook’s grip on your hips turned almost punishing, fingers digging deep into your soft flesh as he yanked you back onto him even harder, the wet slap of skin against skin growing louder and more obscene with every thrust. He could feel you tightening around him, that desperate, rhythmic clench that told him exactly what was about to happen.

“Yeah? You’re what, princess?” he growled, voice rough and taunting, hips snapping forward with brutal precision to hit that same devastating spot over and over, his fingers working faster on your clit.

He didn’t slow down. If anything, he fucked you harder, the heavy drag of his dick stretching you wide with every punishing stroke, his balls slapping against your clit and sending sharp sparks of pleasure shooting through your core. Your legs shook violently, knees threatening to give out completely as that coil in your belly wound tighter and tighter, the edge rushing toward you at breakneck speed.

You tried to warn him again, but all that came out was a high, broken whimper, your eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure became too much. Your fingers scraped desperately against the counter, knuckles white, mouth hanging open while uncontrollable moans spilled from your lips.

“Look at me,” he demanded, one hand leaving your hip to fist back into your hair, yanking your head up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze over your shoulder again. His eyes were wild, pupils blown wide, sweat glistening on his forehead as he watched you fall apart. “Don’t you dare look away when you come. I want to see it.”

The new angle, the raw eye contact, the relentless way he was pounding into you — it was all too much. Your orgasm hit you like a freight train, crashing through your body with violent intensity. A loud, broken cry tore from your throat as your pussy clamped down hard around him, pulsing and gushing around his dick while wave after wave of blinding pleasure ripped through you. Your thighs trembled uncontrollably, slick dripping down your legs as you came harder than you ever had in your life, the force of it making your vision blur and your mind go completely blank for a few blissful seconds.

Jungkook groaned loudly, the sound guttural and wrecked as your walls squeezed him like a vice, but he didn’t stop thrusting. He fucked you straight through it, drawing out every last tremor and aftershock, his dick dragging against your oversensitive walls until you were whimpering and shaking in his hold, as he removed his fingers from your clit, again gripping your hips.

“Fuck, that’s it… good girl,” he rasped, voice strained as he kept moving inside you, slower now but still deep, savoring the way you fluttered and clenched around him. “Look at you. So pretty when you fall apart for me.”

Your body felt completely boneless, slumped heavily over the cool kitchen counter as your chest heaved with ragged, desperate breaths, lungs burning like you’d just run a marathon. The orgasm had torn through you so intensely that your mind was still floating somewhere outside your body, every muscle twitching with lingering aftershocks while your pussy continued to flutter and squeeze around his thick length in weak, uncontrollable pulses. Slick was dripping messily down your thighs, coating his dick and making the connection between you obscenely wet.

Then you felt him twitch hard and deep inside you — a sudden, violent pulse of his dick that made your breath hitch sharply. He was throbbing, heavy and insistent, the thick veins along his shaft pulsing rhythmically against your sensitive walls as he fought to hold himself back. You could tell he was dangerously close too, his control finally fraying at the edges after feeling you come so hard around him. His hips jerked forward once without meaning to, burying himself even deeper as another powerful twitch rippled through his length, the head of his dick nudging right against that oversensitive spot inside you and sending fresh sparks shooting up your spine.

“Fuck… you feel too good,” he groaned lowly, the words ripped out of him like they hurt, voice strained and rough like gravel scraping against concrete.

The sound had barely left his lips when his entire body locked up behind you. His dick swelled impossibly thicker inside your already overstuffed pussy, pulsing violently as the first powerful spurt of cum flooded deep into you. Jungkook’s hips jerked forward hard, slamming flush against your ass as he came with a broken, guttural moan that vibrated through his chest and straight into your back. Thick, hot ropes of his release kept pumping into you, pulse after heavy pulse, filling you so full you could feel your lower belly swell slightly from the sheer amount. The warmth spread fast, coating your walls and leaking out around his dick with every shallow, involuntary thrust he gave while riding out the orgasm.

His fingers dug brutally into your hips, holding you pinned exactly where he wanted as his body shuddered against yours. You could feel every twitch, every throb, every single spurt as he emptied himself deep inside you, the wet, messy sound of his cum mixing with your own slick making everything filthier. Your own oversensitive pussy fluttered and clenched around him like it was trying to milk him for every last drop, drawing out more broken curses from his throat.

“Shit— fuck, princess,” he rasped, voice completely wrecked as another thick spurt shot into you. His forehead dropped heavily between your shoulder blades, hot breath fanning across your sweat-damp skin while his hips kept grinding slow and deep, pushing his cum even further inside like he wanted it to stay there. The feeling was overwhelming — the stretch, the heat, the raw proof that he’d finally lost control because of you. Your legs shook violently, another smaller wave of pleasure rolling through you just from the sensation of being filled so completely, so messily.

He stayed buried to the hilt for a long moment, dick still twitching and pulsing inside your cum-filled pussy as the last weak spurts dribbled out of him. The kitchen was dead silent except for your combined heavy breathing and the faint, wet sound whenever either of you shifted. You could feel some of his release already starting to leak out around his dick and trickle down your thighs, the evidence of what just happened making your face burn even hotter.

Jungkook pressed one last open-mouthed kiss to the back of your shoulder, teeth grazing the skin as he tried to catch his breath. His hands stayed locked on your hips like he wasn’t ready to let you go yet, dick still half-hard and nestled deep inside you like he belonged there.

“The… food. Yeah.” Jungkook’s voice came out rough and distracted, barely above a mumble as his eyes drifted lazily toward the forgotten takeout still sitting on the counter. The food had gone slightly cold by now, the once-steaming dumplings and fragrant fried rice completely abandoned in favor of far more pressing matters. A tired, almost sheepish huff of a laugh escaped him, the sound vibrating against your skin while his dick gave one last lazy twitch inside you, still buried deep like he couldn’t quite bring himself to pull out yet.

You let out a soft, breathless chuckle, the sound shaky and a little delirious after everything he’d just put your body through. The expensive takeout he’d brought over with such care now sitting there like silent witnesses while you were bent over the counter, dripping with his cum, legs still trembling from the intensity of it all.

He didn’t pull away. Instead, Jungkook snuggled his face deeper into the crook of your neck from behind, nose pressing into the warm, sweat-damp skin as if he could hide there forever. His arms wrapped tighter around your waist, one hand splaying possessively over your lower stomach like he was cradling the evidence of what he’d just done to you. You could still feel him inside, half-hard and messy, every small shift sending little aftershocks through your oversensitive walls as his release slowly leaked out around him and down your thighs.

“Shit… we’re terrible at priorities,” he murmured against your neck, the words half-muffled, voice still husky from the way he’d fallen apart moments ago. His lips brushed the fresh bite mark he’d left earlier, tongue lazily tracing over it in a soothing, almost apologetic way that made your stomach flutter. “Brought all your favorites and then fucked you stupid instead of feeding you.”

You could hear the smirk in his tone even if you couldn’t see it, that playful, self-deprecating edge that always snuck in after he let the darker, hungrier side of him take over. His hips gave one last slow grind, pushing his softening dick a little deeper just to hear the small, overwhelmed sound you made, before he finally stilled again with a contented sigh. The warmth of his body wrapped around you from behind felt grounding after the intensity, his breath hot and steady against your neck as he nuzzled closer, almost like he was recharging through the closeness.

Your mind was still hazy, body buzzing with leftover pleasure and the sticky, messy reality of what you’d just done in the middle of your kitchen. Part of you wanted to tease him back, to call him out for getting distracted so easily, but the other part — the one still clenching around him every few seconds — was perfectly content to stay right here, bent over and full of him, while the food grew even colder on the counter.

“YOU are terrible at priorities, not me,” you mumbled, the words coming out muffled and breathless, still bent over the counter with his dick nestled deep inside you. Your voice was hoarse from all the moaning.

Jungkook let out a low, raspy laugh that vibrated straight through his chest and into your back, the sound warm but edged with that dark satisfaction he couldn’t quite hide. He stayed buried to the hilt, giving one lazy, possessive roll of his hips just to feel the way your oversensitive walls fluttered around him, drawing a soft, embarrassed whimper from your throat. His arms tightened around your waist, one hand splaying low on your stomach like he was pressing his release deeper inside you on purpose.

“Oh yeah?” he murmured against the side of your neck, lips brushing the fresh bite mark he’d left earlier. “You’re the one who told me not to stop, princess. Sounded real convincing when you were begging for my d—”

“Shut up!” You tried to glare at him over your shoulder, but it came out weak, your eyes still glassy and your lips swollen. The way he was still half-hard inside you, thick and warm, made it impossible to focus. Every tiny shift sent little aftershocks through your core, reminding you exactly how full he’d left you. Part of you wanted to push him away and pretend you had some dignity left, but the bigger part was already wondering how long it would take before he got hard again and bent you over somewhere else.

He grinned. “Whatever you say, princess.”

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Tiny Snores.

──── where the addition of a new member in the Jeon family had the both of you busy as hell. And indeed, Jungkook has kept his hands to himself for a long, long time. Until you quit doing the same.

──── ❪ 전정국 ❫ ㅤㅤ: : ㅤㅤ♱ ㅤㅤHusband!Jungkook x Wife, Female!Reader ㅤㅤ married life AU ㅤㅤ slice of life AU ㅤㅤ mention of breastfeeding ㅤㅤ somnophilia if you squint ㅤㅤ nigh drive ㅤㅤ smoking ㅤㅤ sharing a cigarette ㅤㅤ arousal ㅤㅤ dirty talk ㅤㅤ flirty ㅤㅤ teasing touches ㅤㅤchecking out ㅤㅤsexual frustration ㅤㅤuse of pet names ㅤㅤmaking out ㅤㅤ desperate ㅤㅤcussing ㅤㅤnudity ㅤㅤhandjob ㅤㅤblowjob ㅤㅤhair pulling ㅤㅤorgasm ㅤㅤsucking ㅤㅤhickey ㅤㅤfingering ㅤㅤedging ㅤㅤthe reader has slight prading kink ㅤㅤchoking ㅤㅤcar sex ㅤㅤlotus ㅤㅤblushing ㅤㅤsexual tension ㅤㅤunprotected sex ㅤㅤthe reader rides him ㅤㅤdom!Jungkook x sub!reader ㅤㅤclit rubbing ㅤㅤaftercare. ㅤㅤ ㅤwc : : 8k+.

──── ❪ Taglist ❫ ㅤㅤ: : ㅤㅤ@j0cgr0c, @rapidchampionnavigator, @bubblenana, @bnchonsoygarlic, @littleladbac.

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You barely register the soft creak of the bedroom door first, that familiar low groan of hinges as Jungkook nudges it open just enough to peek inside. The dimmed lights must have tipped him off that you’d already tapped out for the night. He slips fully into the room, the cool draft from the hallway brushing your bare legs for a split second before he closes the door behind him with a deliberate, quiet click that seals the space.

Moonlight strains through the massive floor-to-ceiling glass window dominating one wall, painting silvery streaks across the floor and bed, tangled up with the low, golden haze from the nightstand lamp. It bathes everything in this hazy, intimate glow that makes the air feel thicker, warmer. Jungkook takes those slow, small steps toward the bed, shoulders loosening as he peels off his suit coat, the fabric whispering when he drapes it over the back of the chair in front of your dressing table. His fingers linger on the wood a moment, like he’s grounding himself after whatever bullshit the outside world threw at him.

His eyes lock onto you immediately, dark and full of that raw adoration that always seems to hit him harder in these stolen quiet moments. You’re fast asleep on your back, oversized shirt (which belongs to him) twisted from the day’s chaos, with seven-month-old Jae nestled right on your stomach—his little cheek smushed against your skin, tiny fists curled, breathing in that deep, trusting rhythm that syncs with yours. The weight of him anchors you even in sleep, warm and solid, his soft exhales tickling your belly through the thin fabric.

The exhaustion clings to your bones in the best-worst way; days blur from early feeds to those midnight wails that rip you awake, but you handle it with this fierce, stubborn grip. Barely twenty-three and already owning the mom role like it’s second nature, your body tuned to every shift of Jae’s, every tiny sound, while still carving out space to look after Jungkook when he drags himself home wrecked. You’ve been running on barely five or six hours, eyes heavy, muscles sore from rocking and carrying, but the thought of handing any of it off to a nanny never crosses your mind. This is yours—messy, relentless, and so fucking real it hurts in the sweetest spots.

That middle-school spark you two carried through high school and into this love marriage still simmers under everything—no big fights, just this lived-in understanding where he offers help at every turn and you push back because wearing yourself down for them feels like the only right move. Well, Jungkook was just as stubborn. He did as much work as possible before going to work, like the dishes, laundry, and so on.

His breath catches a little as he watches Jae’s tiny hand flex against you, the way your arm stays curled protectively even in deep sleep. It’s all present, all consuming—the faint baby-powder scent mixing with your usual warmth, the quiet hum of the room, his own pulse kicking up at how perfectly wrecked and beautiful you look tangled in this life you built together.

He’s won in life, no contest, the thought hitting him square in the chest as he stands there a second longer.

You look so damn peaceful, features relaxed in that deep sleep only new parents steal when the baby finally crashes too. Jae’s the same—tiny chest rising and falling right on your stomach, those soft tiny snores filling the room like the world’s most effective lullaby, warm and trusting against your skin.

Jungkook’s eyes trace your face slow, carving out every detail he already knows by heart: the faint crease between your brows that’s finally smoothed out, the way your lashes fan against your cheeks, lips parted just enough for those quiet breaths that pull at something low in his gut.

He lowers himself onto the edge of the bed, movements deliberate and slow, the mattress dipping under his weight as he braces his hands beside him, careful not to disturb the perfect pile of you and Jae.

Then his gaze slips. It trails lower without permission—from the soft lines of your face down the column of your neck and collarbone, catching on the way the top two buttons of your shirt was undone probably from breastfeeding Jae, that teasing peek of cleavage rising with each inhale under the mixed moonlight and lamp glow. It follows the dip of your waist, the curve of your hips hugged by the sheets, illuminated like they’re begging for attention, all the way to the smooth stretch of your thick thighs where your shorts have ridden up. God, he would love to bury his face betwee—

He jerks his eyes away hard, suddenly hyper-focused on the curtains like they’re the most fascinating shit he’s ever seen, jaw flexing as he tells himself he wasn’t just checking out his wife while she’s dead asleep with their kid on her.

Wasn't he feeling warm-hearted a moment ago? His heart isn't the only warm thing now.

You’ve had this body that’s ruined him since forever, perfect in that effortless way that makes his brain short-circuit. Carrying Jae only smoothed everything out and emphasized those curves harder, leaving him stealing extra fifteen minutes in the shower way too often just to shake the constant pull.

Intimacy has turned into this rare, almost mythical thing since Jae showed up. The little guy is the ultimate cockblocker without even trying—tiny demands at all hours turning what used to be easy, constant touch into stolen glances and quick brushes that leave you both aching in the quiet.

Jungkook isn’t some hormonal kid who doesn’t get self-control. He’s been solid about it, the respectful type who reads the room and never pushes, even when the want sits heavy under his skin.

You let out a slow yawn, body shifting under the sheets as sleep starts to loosen its grip. He snaps his attention back to your face instantly, clearing his throat like he’s been caught mid-thought, shoulders tensing for a beat.

Your lashes flutter, eyes cracking open heavy and unfocused, the room’s soft glow filtering in as awareness creeps back in slow waves. The weight of Jae on your stomach grounds you first, his tiny snores still humming steady, then Jungkook’s solid presence right there on the edge of the bed, close enough that his warmth cuts through the sleepy haze.

“Little guy’s got better taste in pillows than I do,” he teases, voice low and rough from the long day, dragging his gaze down to Jae with a small, crooked smile tugging at his lips. There’s that playful glint in his eyes, the one that always sneaks in like he’s trying to lighten the exhaustion weighing on both of you.

You blink harder, glancing at the clock on the nightstand. Your frown deepens quick. “You’re home?” The words come out thick with sleep, eyes widening when the numbers hit—four whole hours had slipped by since you crashed.

He looks back up at you, that steady gaze softening around the edges as he nods. “Yeah. And don’t worry about it, I’ll hit the rest of the house chores later. You can sleep more.” His voice drops a notch, reassuring and warm.

“I don’t wanna sleep more,” you murmur, voice still scratchy from the nap. “And you sure you can handle the rest? I mean, you must be wiped from work—”

“I can and I will,” he cuts in, firm but gentle, that no-argument tone he pulls out when he’s decided.

You feel a small smile tug at your lips despite the fog in your head. “Thanks.”

“You’re always welcome, love.” The words roll off him easy, low and warm, wrapping around you like the blanket you’re half tangled in.

You move slow and careful, easing Jae off your stomach with practiced hands. His little body stays limp and trusting as you lift him, settling him down beside you on the bed. You tuck the blanket up to his chin, fingers brushing his soft cheek for a second before you push yourself up to sit, back against the headboard. The motion makes your shirt slip lower on its own, the undone buttons giving way and exposing more of your cleavage in the warm lamp light.

Respectful or not, he’s still a man at the end of the day. His eyes drop immediately, tracking the movement before he can stop himself, that familiar heat flashing quick across his face.

He drags his gaze back up with visible effort, jaw tight like it’s taking every ounce of willpower he’s got. You rub at your eyes, another yawn slipping out as you stretch your arms overhead, body still heavy with leftover sleep.

“You must be tired from doing the same grind every day,” he says, clearing his throat. “Wanna go out tonight? Like a drive or something?” The suggestion comes out casual.

You frown, head tilting. “To where?”

“Not every drive needs a fixed destination. Count on the night to take us wherever it wants to.”

“You can’t be for real,” Jungkook mutters, cutting a sideways glance at you while the car idles at the red light, city glow reflecting off his eyes. The engine hums low beneath you, mixing with the distant buzz of traffic.

You’re staring straight ahead at the empty crosswalk, mind half elsewhere. “Really, I’m not hungry. Now stop arguing about it,” you tell him, turning your head to meet his gaze while your fingers scratch lightly at the back of your head, trying to shake off the leftover sleep fog.

He sighs, long and defeated but fond, shaking his head with the smallest curve at the corner of his mouth. “Nevermind. I’d rather make you something when we get home anyway. My way tastes better than whatever greasy spot we’d hit.”

“It’s been months since we got alone time like this,” you murmur, rolling your shoulder in a slow, deep stretch that pulls a contented sigh from your chest, the tension unraveling bit by bit in the quiet car. Then worry crashes in fast, tightening your expression. “But I hope Jae’s doing okay. What if he wakes up or—”

“Shh, baby,” he cuts in, voice soft and steady. “He’ll be just fine. Kid passed out hard before we left, belly full, and we handed off every single thing he could possibly need to your friend. She’s got him covered, promise.”

“How about you focus on me instead?” he mutters, voice dropping low as his hand slides over, palm warm and deliberate, settling high on your thigh. His thumb starts tracing slow, lazy circles against the fabric of your shorts, the pressure just firm enough to pull your attention fully into the car.

“I am,” you mutter back, eyes flicking down to watch the path of his hand for a beat before lifting to meet his gaze again, the city lights flickering across his face.

“I don’t think so,” he murmurs, his tone dipping into that deeper octave that always seems to vibrate through you. His fingers inch higher up your thigh in no rush at all, drawing light, teasing patterns along the way, taking his sweet time like he’s memorizing the feel of you under his touch after too many rushed nights. The weight of his hand feels grounding and electric all at once, cutting through the quiet hum of the engine.

“You got a cigarette on you?” The question makes him jerk his head your way for a split second, eyebrows lifting in that surprised, amused way he does when you catch him off guard.

“Bad habits die hard, huh?” he asks, the low chuckle rumbling through his chest as he shakes his head.

He eases the car into a long, deserted lane, tires crunching softly over gravel before he kills the engine. Silence settles heavy around you both, broken only by the faint tick of cooling metal. Jungkook leans over and pops open the hidden compartment, pulling out the familiar pack of your favorite—Marlboro Red—and holds it out without a word.

You pluck one from the pack, the paper smooth between your fingers, and wait as he fishes out the lighter. You slip the cigarette between your lips, the filter resting familiar and comforting. You flick the flame to life, the small orange glow lighting up the space between you for a moment as you lean in, inhaling slow until the tip catches and burns steady. The first drag fills your lungs with that sharp, smoky hit, tension easing from your shoulders

You glance sideways at Jungkook and catch him staring, that dark, unreadable intensity locked on you like he’s memorizing every little shift in your expression. Grinning, you lean in closer on purpose, lips parting as you blow a slow, deliberate stream of smoke right across his face. It curls around his sharp jaw and lingers in the space between you, hazy and intimate under the dashboard lights.

To him, the whole thing is pure heat.

You pull the cigarette from between your lips and hold the filter out toward him, pinching it lightly between your ring and middle finger, the paper still warm from your mouth.

He watches you for a long second, eyes heavy, before his fingers wrap around your wrist—grip solid and warm, thumb pressing just enough against your pulse point. He leans in, takes the cigarette between his lips, and pulls a long, unhurried drag. The ember glows brighter for a moment. Then he rolls every window down, letting the cool night breeze rush through the car, carrying the smoke out into the empty lane. He drops his head all the way back against the seat, as he exhales a thick cloud.

You freeze right there in your seat, the rest of the world fading for a second. The sight hits different—his relaxed shoulders, the sharp cut of his jaw in the low light, throat exposed, neck veins popping, the effortless way he owns the moment. Your breath catches without meaning to, pulse thrumming louder in your ears. It might honestly be one of the hottest things you’ve witnessed in your life, simple as it is, leaving the car feeling smaller, the air thicker, and your thoughts a little scrambled.

You take another slow drag, deliberately turning your face away toward the open window, desperate for anything to distract from the unfairly hot man sitting right beside you. The cool air does little to settle the sudden warmth crawling under your skin.

You pass the cigarette back and forth a few times, letting each of you steal a couple drags in comfortable silence, the smoke mingling with the night breeze. Then he snatches it smoothly from your fingers, bringing it to his lips for a long, deep pull without asking.

You don’t complain. Not even a little.

Your eyes drift over him instead—his hair still a little messy and damp from the quick shower he took before you left, half-lidded eyes heavy with that post-work exhaustion mixed with something sharper. That prominent big nose you’ve always had a weakness for (whatever Doja Cat said about big noses), the full cupid’s bow lips you’ve almost forgotten the exact taste of after so many tired nights, the sharp jawline that cuts straight through your better judgment and sanity, the strong column of his neck, those muscular arms flexing casually, the broad chest and defined lines under his plain t-shirt, and the very obvious, massive outline straining against the gray sweatpan—

You freeze hard, head snapping up so fast it’s almost embarrassing. You did not just look there.

Heart hammering, you gather the nerve to sneak one more millisecond glance downward, confirming the prominent bulge the soft fabric does nothing to hide, especially in the dim lighting. Then you jerk your eyes back up to his face, only to find him already watching you, that dark, knowing look pinned right on your expression.

The gray sweatpants make everything stand out even more in the low light, impossible to ignore now that you’ve seen it. The air in the car suddenly feels ten degrees warmer.

He keeps his lips parted, slowly exhaling the smoke in a lazy, controlled stream that curls toward the open window. He taps the ashes out with a flick of his finger, then turns that heavy stare back on you—like a predator eyeing prey he’s forcing himself not to pounce on, the tension thick enough to taste.

“What?” you ask, voice coming out quieter than you mean it to. You snatch the cigarette right from his fingers and twist toward your window, staring hard at the empty lane outside. Your face feels way too warm, probably bright red, and you keep it turned away on purpose so he can’t see the flush creeping up your neck.

“Don’t look at it like that if you can’t do something about it, yeah?” he murmurs, the deep rasp of his voice cutting straight through the quiet car and sending a rush of heat straight down your body. “Gives me all kinds of wrong ideas.”

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss this—the easy, skin-prickling intimacy that used to happen without thinking, back before Jae turned your nights into a constant rotation of feeds and exhaustion. The hunger is mutual. He’s desperate for you in that quiet, restrained way, and you’re every bit as desperate for him. He’s just holding back, staying respectful and patient like the man you married.

He holds the eye contact when you finally glance back, the moment stretching thick between you as you pull a long, deliberate drag from the cigarette. The smoke burns down your throat, grounding you for a second, before you toss what’s left of it out the window into the dark.

You let your eyes wander over him freely now, no more pretending. Why should you? He’s your husband—your person.

Your man.

You let your eyes drift deliberately now—down the strong column of his neck, over the flex of his arms where the muscles shift under your stare, across the broad stretch of his chest and the defined ridges of his abs visible through the thin t-shirt. His body reacts under the attention, arm tensing visibly as you keep looking. Your gaze drops lower again, settling on the prominent bulge in his gray sweatpants, and he spreads his legs a little wider on purpose, manspreading across the seat in that casual, devastating way.

Fuck, it’s stupidly hot.

It’s been so long since you’ve had this kind of uninterrupted moment, and you’d almost forgotten how perfectly you two used to fit together, like you were molded for each other in every sense.

Again— every sense.

Your hand moves almost on its own, sliding across the center console before coming to rest on his thigh, fingers settling warm and tentative right below where the fabric strains so obviously.

You hear him exhale sharply through his nose, the sound rough in the quiet car.

“Y/N,” he says, your name coming out half warning, half like he’s talking himself down from whatever pull is threatening to drag him under. His hand covers yours on his thigh, not pushing it away, just holding it there—warm and steady.

You glance up for a second, catching the raw hunger burning in his eyes—dark, barely leashed, the kind that makes your stomach flip. You look back down almost immediately, breath shallow.

Your fingers start inching higher up his thigh on their own, slow and exploratory.

“Y/N,” he murmurs again, voice strained. “You gave birth to our son just seven months ago. I don’t know if you’re healed enough. And honestly, I think it’s probably those ovulation hormones messing with you right now. I don’t think you’re ready. I’m trying to be nice here, so don’t do this.” The words come out in a low whisper, but he holds eye contact the whole time, steady and intense. You’ve known him long enough to read what he’s not saying—the need is written all over his face, screaming in the tension of his jaw and the heat in his stare.

“Jungkook…” you murmur back, barely above a breath.

“Yes, love?”

“Didn’t you just tell me to stop looking unless I wanna do something about it?” you say, a small, teasing,challenging smile tugging at your lips. “I’m working on that.” With that, you gently push his hand off yours, freeing your fingers to keep moving at their own slow pace.

Your fingers trace the hard outline of his bulge through the soft fabric, deliberate and slow, as you lean across the center console for better reach. The position puts you half out of your seat, shoulder brushing his, the console digging lightly into your ribs. He doesn’t stop you this time.

He knows you both need this—the months of careful distance cracking open in the quiet dark of the car.

You slide your hand beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, fingers finding the warm, thick base of his cock. His head drops back against the headrest with a heavy, relieved sigh, throat working as he lets you explore.

He helps without a word, lifting his hips just enough to tug the sweatpants lower. His cock springs free, hard and heavy, the cool night air hitting heated skin as it rests against his stomach. The sight of him like this—laid out in the driver’s seat, chest rising faster, jaw clenched—sends a fresh wave of want through you, sharp and undeniable after so long.

You pause with your hand wrapped around him for a second, heart hammering too loud to ignore. Then you grab the collar of his shirt with both hands and yank him toward you, crashing your mouths together in a hungry, fierce kiss that’s been building for months.

He meets you just as hard, one big hand sliding to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair as he kisses you back with raw need. He tastes like cigarette smoke and mint, the combination dizzying, making your head spin. You can feel yourself getting wetter, panties clinging uncomfortably as heat pools low in your belly.

He breaks the kiss just long enough to grab his phone, connect it to the car’s speaker, and blast some random R&B track on full volume. The deep bass fills the space as he yanks all the heavily tinted windows up, sealing you both inside, as well as turning the air conditioner in the car on. Then he looks back at you, both of you breathing hard, lips swollen.

You crash your mouths together again because once isn’t enough—you’re addicted, and so is he, tongues sliding, teeth nipping, desperate and messy. That manly scent rolling off him hits you harder with every inhale, warm skin and faint cologne and pure Jungkook, working on you like some kind of aphrodisiac drug that makes your thighs press together on instinct.

You break the kiss when oxygen becomes non-negotiable, pulling back with a sharp inhale, both of you breathing hard and fast. Your face feels flushed, lips tingling and swollen, the taste of him still lingering on your tongue.

Your hand drifts back down without hesitation, fingers wrapping snug around the thick base of his cock. You stroke him slowly at first, a few firm pumps that draw a deep, contented hum from his throat, the sound vibrating through his chest and straight into you.

With your other hand you tuck loose strands of hair behind your ear, then bend down over the center console, leaning in close. You drag your tongue in one long, slow stripe from the base all the way to the flushed tip, feeling every ridge and vein under the wet heat of your mouth.

He lets out a low, guttural groan the moment you sink your mouth down onto him, lips stretching wide around his impressive girth. The fullness of him on your tongue is overwhelming in the best way, warm and solid after so much time apart.

His hands are careful but possessive, gathering your hair and twisting it into a loose ponytail at the back of your head. He holds it there like his own personal grip, fingers flexing against your scalp as you start to move, the bass from the speaker pulsing around you both in the sealed, slightly space of the car.

His hips jerk up instinctively when you take him deeper, pushing more of his thick length into your mouth. You can barely handle halfway before his tip nudges the back of your throat, making your eyes water slightly at the stretch and fullness.

His head falls back hard against the headrest, a strained “Fuck…” slipping from his lips like a prayer and a curse all at once.

The raw reaction only fuels you more, heat curling tight in your belly as you work him with renewed hunger.

Your hand and mouth move together in a steady rhythm—fingers wrapped tight around the thick base your lips can’t reach, stroking in time with the way you bob your head. You swirl your tongue around the sensitive tip on every upstroke, tasting the salty bead of precum that leaks for you, sucking lightly as your cheeks hollow out. The car fills with the wet sounds of your mouth and his low, broken breaths, the music still thumping low in the background.

“You’re doing so fucking good,” he breathes, the words rough and strained. You lift your gaze through wet lashes and meet his eyes—half-lidded, burning down at you with that raw, unguarded hunger that makes your stomach tighten. “Good girl.”

The praise sinks straight into your bones. The second you feel him twitch against your tongue, you pour everything into it, sucking harder, taking him deeper, hollowing your cheeks as your hand works the base in tight, slick strokes.

He groans deep in his chest and tightens his grip in your hair, using it to bob your head up and down at the pace he needs. You let him take control, relaxing your throat as much as you can, eyes watering from the stretch and the way his thick cock fills your mouth completely. Saliva drips down your chin but you don’t care, humming around him, the vibrations pulling more broken sounds from his lips.

His breaths turn ragged, groans getting louder, hips jerking up every few seconds as he twitches more frequently on your tongue. The tension coils tighter in his body until it finally snaps. His orgasm hits hard with a loud, guttural groan, head slamming back against the headrest, eyes rolling back as thick, hot ropes of cum flood your throat. His body jerks with every pulse, thighs trembling under your touch as you swallow around him, taking everything he gives you.

He keeps you there for a long moment, fingers still tangled tight in your hair, holding you close as the last tremors run through his body. His groans gradually fade into heavy, satisfied breaths that brush warm against the top of your head.

Then he tugs you up gently by the makeshift ponytail, guiding you until your mouth meets his in a fierce, claiming kiss. He doesn’t hesitate for a second, tasting himself on your tongue and groaning softly into it, the kiss turning deep and messy, filled with raw gratitude and the kind of hunger that hasn’t been fed in months.

You grab onto his shoulders for balance, but he’s already pulling you closer, strong hands gripping your waist as he maneuvers you over the center console. You end up straddling his thighs in the driver’s seat, knees pressing into the leather on either side of him, the position intimate and close in the cramped space.

“I missed this…” he murmur against your lips, voice breathy and rough.

He proved his point by trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the line of your jaw and along the curve of your shoulder. You tilt your head to the side without thinking, giving him better access, a shiver running through you as his lips and tongue work over your skin, hands sliding possessively up your back under your shirt.

“Mmh… Jungkook…” The gasp slips out sharp when he bites down on that sensitive spot along your shoulder, teeth grazing just hard enough to make your eyes flutter shut and your nails dig into the front of his shirt.

“Mhm,” he hums against your skin, soothing the sting with a slow drag of his tongue, the vibration sending sparks straight down your spine.

His hands are everywhere at once—one gripping your hip possessively, fingers digging into the soft flesh like he needs to anchor himself, while the other trails down your stomach, teasing along the waistband of your sweatpants. The light touch makes your breath hitch, anticipation curling tight in your core.

Your eyes fly open the second his hand slips inside your pants, palm cupping your soaked mound with confident possession. A thick finger slides through your wet folds, parting them easily, and a full-body shiver runs through you at the contact, thighs clenching around his lap as the car suddenly feels impossibly smaller.

“Fuck, you’re dripping down my hand,” he growls against your skin, pulling back just enough to look up at your flushed face. A wicked grin spreads across his lips, eyes dark with satisfaction.

“Eyes on me, baby,” he murmurs, voice low and commanding. He waits until you manage to lock your gaze with his, pupils blown wide, before he plunges two thick fingers deep inside you in one smooth thrust.

Your hips jerk hard against his hand, a sharp gasp tearing from your throat at the sudden stretch and fullness. He doesn’t give you time to adjust, capturing your mouth in another hungry kiss, swallowing every moan that tries to escape as his fingers start moving—deep, steady, curling just right inside you.

The pads of his fingers brush against that perfect spot with every stroke, making your thighs tremble around his lap, pleasure sparking sharp and hot through your body as he works you open with practiced precision.

As he pulls back from the kiss, you’re both panting hard, lips swollen and breaths mingling in the steamy confines of the car. His free hand slides up your body with purpose, long fingers wrapping around your throat in a firm, possessive grip. Not hard enough to restrict your air, but just tight enough to send your head spinning—blood pounding in your ears, a delicious dizziness washing over you that only heightens the arousal flooding your system.

His thumb presses tight, perfect circles against your swollen clit, the pressure steady and maddening, pulling whimpers and sharp little gasps from your throat with every rotation. You’re close already, core clenching around his fingers, as your eyes shut closed, thighs trembling around his lap as the pleasure coils tighter and tighter—until he suddenly stops moving entirely, fingers buried deep but still.

You groan in pure frustration, brows pulling together as you open your eyes and stare at him with heavy-lidded eyes, face burning flushed and chest heaving with every desperate pant.

“I said eyes on me,” he murmurs, voice dark and commanding, one brow arched in that teasing challenge. “Don’t you dare look away or close your eyes, or else I stop, hm?”

You nod frantically, too far gone to argue back or do anything else, cheeks blazing even hotter.

He’s reduced you to this needy, dripping mess—embarrassingly aroused, hanging on every word and touch like he owns you. And right now, he absolutely does.

“Such a good girl for me,” he hums against your lips, voice thick with satisfaction and something darker, the praise sinking into your skin like a brand.

You don’t wait for more permission. You start moving your hips again, grinding down onto his fingers, fucking yourself on them with desperate little rolls that make obscene wet sounds fill the car. He matches your pace instantly, thrusting deeper, curling those long fingers against that perfect spot with devastating accuracy.

A few more relentless strokes and the coil inside you snaps violently. You clench hard around his fingers, orgasm ripping through you with a loud, broken cry that bounces off the tinted windows. Your whole body shakes, thighs clamping tight around his lap as wave after wave crashes over you, soaking his hand and the front of your sweatpants while your vision whites out for a second.

He doesn’t stop right away. He slows his movements instead, drawing out every last tremor and pulse of your orgasm with long, lazy strokes, milking you through it until you’re a trembling, whimpering mess in his lap, aftershocks still sparking through your oversensitive nerves.

You lean your forehead against his shoulder, still breathing hard, eyes closed, the aftershocks of your orgasm leaving your limbs shaky and your mind hazy. The solid warmth of him grounds you even as your pulse continues to hammer.

“Breathless already, baby? We just started,” he teases, the grin clear in his voice as he turns his head and drags his tongue slowly over your earlobe, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just enough to make you shiver.

Somehow, in the tight space of the driver’s seat, he manages to work your sweatpants the rest of the way off, the fabric sliding down your thighs with a soft rustle. His hands grip your hips firmly, angling them back so you’re positioned perfectly above him, the head of his still-hard cock brushing against your soaked entrance.

You open your eyes, swallowing hard, the lump in your throat thick, your breathing still uneven and your pulse racing under your skin. The cool air of the car hits your bare skin, contrasting with the heat rolling off his body.

He leans back, reaching down to recline the seat a little further so there’s more room, settling deeper into the leather. His dark eyes lock onto yours, voice low and rough with command as he murmurs,

“Now… ride me.”

Your eyes snap open wide the second the command hits your ear, a jolt of nervous heat racing through you. He raises a brow at your reaction, that cocky, knowing look already in place.

You gulp hard, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as your fingers tighten against his shoulders for support.

“C’mon, baby. Don’t act all shy now,” he grins, clearly enjoying the deep flush that floods your cheeks. His hands grip your hips firmly, guiding you down slowly, letting you feel every thick inch as he sinks into you.

The moment you bottom out, a low, guttural groan rips from his chest at the same time a sharp gasp escapes your lips. He fills you so completely it borders on overwhelming—stretching, hot, and so deep it feels surreal after months of nothing. Your thighs tremble around him, the full, heavy pressure of him inside you stealing the last of your breath.

You stay still for a second, adjusting to the overwhelming stretch, forehead pressed to his shoulder again as you try to catch your breath. He’s thick and deep, filling every inch of you until it almost hurts in the best way.

His hands stay locked on your hips, thumbs stroking slow circles over your skin. “Fuck… look at you,” he rasps, voice rough. “Taking me so well.”

You start to move—small, tentative rolls of your hips at first, testing the angle. The friction is immediate and intense, every shift dragging him against that sensitive spot inside you. A soft moan slips out of your mouth before you can stop it.

“That’s it,” he encourages, guiding you into a steadier rhythm. “Just like that.”

You plant your hands on his chest and push yourself upright, finding a better angle. The new position lets you sink even deeper, and you both curse at the same time. Your thighs burn already from the effort, but the pleasure is sharper now, building fast as you start to ride him properly—rising up until only the head remains inside, then dropping back down in one smooth motion.

The wet sound of your bodies meeting fills the car, mixing with the low bass still thumping from the speakers. Jungkook’s head falls back against the seat, eyes half-lidded as he watches you, jaw tight, every muscle in his abdomen flexing under you.

“God, you’re so tight,” he groans, hips lifting to meet your downward thrusts. “Missed this pussy so fucking much.”

You lean forward again, bracing yourself on his shoulders as you pick up the pace, chasing the heat coiling low in your belly. His hands slide up your back under your shirt, then down to grip your ass, helping you bounce harder on his cock. Every time you take him to the hilt, a broken little sound escapes you—half moan, half whimper—and he drinks every one of them in like he’s starving.

The pace turns messier, more desperate. You bounce harder on him, the wet slap of skin against skin echoing in the sealed car. Sweat starts to dampen the back of your shirt; his palms slide over it as he grips your ass tighter, helping lift you up only to drag you back down harder each time.

“Fuck—just like that,” he groans, the words punched out of him every time you sink all the way down. His hips snap up to meet yours, driving deeper, making your breath hitch on every thrust. The fullness is almost too much, stretching you open in a way that makes your thighs shake and your nails dig into his shoulders.

You drop your forehead to his again, panting against his mouth. He captures your lips in a messy kiss—open, wet, all tongue and teeth.

“Come on, baby,” he murmurs against your lips, voice wrecked. “Let me feel you come around me.”The underside of your thighs burns from the strain, muscles trembling as your pace starts to slow. Jungkook notices immediately. His hands clamp down on your thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he thrusts his hips up hard whenever you lag, forcing himself deeper.

“Keep going,” he orders, voice rough and breathless.

Every time you sink back down, a loud, broken moan spills from your lips, the sound echoing in the small space of the car. He’s so deep it steals the air from your lungs, stretching you open with every downward roll of your hips.

You try to obey, bouncing on him again even as your legs shake. The friction is relentless—wet, hot, and perfect. His grip on your thighs stays firm, guiding your rhythm when your body starts to give out, using his strength to keep you moving.

“That’s it… fuck, look at you,” he groans, eyes locked on where your bodies meet. “Taking every inch like you were made for it.”

You drop forward, bracing your hands on his chest, forehead pressed to his as you keep riding him through the burn. The new angle makes him hit even deeper, and another loud moan rips out of you, louder this time. His hands slide up to your waist, holding you steady while he starts thrusting up to meet every downward motion, the wet slap of skin filling the car along with your shared, ragged breathing.

One of his hands slides down between your bodies, thumb finding your clit with unerring accuracy. He rubs tight, firm circles over the swollen bud while continuing to thrust up into you, the dual stimulation so intense it makes your vision blur.

You’re seeing stars almost immediately.

Your hips stutter, a high, broken moan tearing from your throat as the pressure builds at a dizzying speed. Every deep thrust combined with the relentless circles of his thumb pushes you higher, the pleasure sharp and overwhelming. Your thighs shake violently around him, walls fluttering and clenching around his cock as you race toward the edge.

“That’s it—come for me,” he growls against your ear, voice rough and strained.

The command snaps the last thread of your control. Your orgasm crashes through you hard, ripping a loud, choked cry from your lips as you clamp down around him. Your whole body seizes, trembling violently in his arms while wave after wave of pleasure tears through you. Your hips jerking weakly as he keeps thrusting up into you, dragging out every pulse until you’re oversensitive and gasping against his shoulder.

He groans deeply when you clench around him, the tight, rhythmic squeeze of your walls pulling a raw, broken sound from his chest. His hips stutter for a second as he feels every pulse of your orgasm, forehead dropping against yours while he rides it out with you.

“Fuck—just like that,” he rasps, voice strained and breathless. His hands grip your hips harder, holding you down as he thrusts up through the aftershocks, chasing his own release now that you’re fluttering and dripping around him.

You cling to his shoulders, still trembling, oversensitive but not pulling away. Every deep stroke sends little sparks of leftover pleasure through your body. His breathing turns ragged, muscles tensing under your palms, the wet sound of him moving inside you growing louder and more desperate.

“Gonna fill you up,” he warns through gritted teeth, the words punched out between thrusts. His pace turns short and hard, burying himself as deep as he can go with every snap of his hips.

A few more powerful strokes and he comes with a low, guttural groan, head snuggled against your neck. His body jerks with each pulse, holding you tightly against him while he spills everything he’s got, cock twitching deep as he rides out the last of his orgasm.

You both stay locked together for a long moment afterward, chests heaving, bodies slick with sweat. His arms stay wrapped tightly around you, keeping you pressed against him while he softens slowly inside you. The car is quiet except for the fading bass of the music and your shared, uneven breathing.

Jungkook presses a soft kiss to your temple, then another to the side of your neck, the earlier intensity melting into something gentler. His hands stroke up and down your back in slow, soothing motions, grounding both of you.

“You okay?” he murmurs against your skin, voice still rough but softer now.

You nod weakly against his shoulder, too spent to form words yet. Your thighs are still trembling, the dull ache from riding him mixed with the pleasant, heavy fullness of him still inside you. He doesn’t rush to pull out. Instead he holds you there, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head while the other rests warm on your hip.

Outside the heavily tinted windows, the empty lane remains dark and still. Inside, the air is thick with the scent of sex, smoke, and the faint cologne clinging to his skin. He shifts just enough to press another lingering kiss to your lips—slow this time, unhurried, tasting of gratitude and leftover hunger.

“Missed this,” he whispers against your mouth. “Missed you.”

“Thank you so much for taking care of Jae,” you say with a bright smile, glancing between Yuna and the baby now settled in your arms. He’s wide awake, tiny fingers already tugging curiously at the neckline of your shirt.

“Of course,” Yuna replies, looking proud of herself. “I was gonna stay up all night anyway, so it wasn’t a problem if you left him here a bit longer. Feel free to drop Jae off whenever you want—I honestly believe a couple deserves some time alone too.”

She worked as a babysitter for about six months back in high school, but you hadn’t expected her to be this good with kids.

“Oh, surely… only if Jae doesn’t cause you too much trouble,” you offer with a soft laugh.

“Nah, he’s chill. One of the nicest kids I’ve seen. Barely troubled me at all.” Yuna tilts her head, smiling. “But I hope you and Jungkook had a great time. Where did y’all go, though?”

Your smile drops instantly. You look down at Jae, suddenly very interested in adjusting his little onesie, trying to fight the flush you can already feel creeping up your neck and cheeks.

Of course you can’t exactly tell her that Jungkook fucked your brains out in the car.

“Somewhere,” Jungkook answers for you, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, eyes fixed on you.

You know better than to look at him right now. One glance and the heat already crawling up your neck will turn into a full-blown flush that Yuna will definitely notice.

She frowns slightly at Jungkook, then shifts her attention back to you, waiting for a better answer.

“We—… we went to a cinema,” you say quickly, forcing a casual tone as you bounce Jae lightly in your arms.

Yuna’s frown disappears, replaced by an easy smile. “Oooh. That’s great.”

At least she buys the lie. You risk a tiny glance toward Jungkook and catch the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s fighting a smirk. You immediately look back down at Jae, pretending the baby’s tiny fist has suddenly become the most interesting thing in the room.

“Alright, I’ll take a leave then. Good luck for your exam, yeah?” you say to Yuna with a smile.

She nods and walks you both out to the car, standing on the curb and waving until the vehicle pulls away and her apartment building disappears from view. Jae remains nestled in your arms the whole time, tiny and warm against your chest.

The car is quiet for a few minutes as Jungkook drives, the city lights sliding across the windshield. You glance over at him, catching the soft, satisfied look on his face, one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gear shift.

Jae makes a small cooing sound, pulling your attention back down. You adjust him carefully, brushing a thumb over his soft cheek.

“You think she bought it?” you ask quietly, keeping your voice low even though the baby can’t understand.

Jungkook’s mouth curves into a small smirk. “Cinema, huh? Cute.” He glances sideways at you, eyes dark and amused under the streetlights. “You’re a terrible liar, by the way. Your ears were bright red.”

You huff, looking out the window to hide the fresh heat crawling up your neck. “Shut up.”

He chuckles low, the sound warm and familiar, then reaches over to rest his hand lightly on your thigh—nothing heated this time, just steady and present. “You good?”

You nod, leaning your head back against the seat, still cradling Jae. The ache between your legs is a quiet reminder of everything that just happened, but the contentment sitting in your chest is stronger. For the first time in months, the exhaustion feels lighter.

You see, perverted or not, life just feels better when you’ve got a capable—actually insane—sex partner. Like, hell yeah. Fuck anyone who claims sexual frustration isn’t a real need.

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𝒮.𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 : : closed and finished. (Oneshot)

© Ifwmikah, 2026.

[zetaares]

summer love | j.jk

during a trip with your friends in brazil, you decide to go out to a nightclub, but who would have thought you’d meet the hottest man out there?

pairing: musician!jungkook x law student!reader

genre: smut with plot, strangers to friends, friends to lovers, part 1???

warnings: explicit sexual content, rough & passionate sex, dom!jk, light choking, fingering, shower sex, female oral sex (eating out), squirting, standing/bench sex, riding, pull-out method (mention of condoms!!), size difference, jk has got a curved veiny dick, mentions of an ex-boyfriend, emotional confusion, eventual love confession.

summary: while staying in rio de janeiro, a girls' night out leads you straight into the hands of a hot stranger who wrecks you for the night. what started as a wild vacation hookup turns into something neither of you can walk away from when fate brings you back together in LA a year later.

part 2: here

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“i don’t know about this dress,” your friend sophie said, checking herself out in the mirror.

“i like it. it looks good on you, soph,” andrea replied as she fixed her makeup, sitting in front of the shiny mirror in the hotel room.

you were having the holiday of your life in brazil with your best friends, what else could you ask for? after your ex-boyfriend broke up with you months before this trip, it had messed with your head. you weren’t even sure if you could get out of your house, let alone travel outside the country. he had confessed that he wasn’t sure about the two of you and that he hated himself for it, that he didn’t want to break up, blah blah. truth is? he cheated on you. no wonder he was so unsure!

“y/n,” sophie said, snapping you out of your thoughts. “girl, you look stunning! why don’t you try on my necklace?”

she walked toward you as she sat on the edge of one of the matrimonial beds, handing you a beautiful golden necklace that shone against your sunkissed skin. brazil’s sun was no joke.

“oh wow,” you started, looking at yourself in the mirror where andrea was doing her makeup. “it’s really beautiful, soph. thank you!”

“oh, it’s nothing! come on, ready to take some photos?” she asked, turning up the volume on the speaker as loud music resonated through the large hotel room.

“yeeees!” andrea squealed, jumping out of her seat and pulling you all into a group hug, everyone bouncing with excitement to be there.

you took some photos and posted them to your instagram story, just like your friends did. once you were all ready, you spritzed on some perfume and headed outside where your uber was waiting.

the ride made you feel like you were in a movie, windows rolled down, your straightened hair a mess in the strong wind, but it was perfect. you could even smell the ocean from copacabana’s beautiful beach. it amazed you how many people were still out at 1:30 am. you had eaten dinner at the hotel lounge before leaving.

the driver was hilarious, trying to talk to the three of you in broken english, but thankfully you knew how to speak the language. he even let andrea connect her bluetooth to the car stereo and blast loud music. you were so thankful for your life and your friends in that moment, and for once, you could let go of the heavy thoughts.

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there was a long queue to get into the club, with people chatting everywhere, but luckily the line moved fast and in less than ten minutes you were inside. the place was huge, a three-story building. sophie had managed to get vip tickets so it wouldn't be too crowded. the weather was insanely hot, so paying a bit extra for your own booths to dance and enjoy freely was worth it.

you went up the stairs and settled down in the area one of the hosts guided you to: two black leather couches facing a low table with a bucket filled to the brim with ice and vodka in the center. you looked at each other, and as if the music held some sort of magic, you automatically started moving your bodies to the brazilian rhythm. you swore those instruments awoke something inside you. you were dancing like crazy while andrea and sophie danced alongside you with big smiles.

at some point in the night, you couldn't even tell where you were standing. you took your sweet time taking in your surroundings. every single guy was so hot. andrea was already gone, probably making out with a handsome local, while sophie danced next to you, holding your hips while you both sipped on caipirinhas. you kept looking around, feeling like an absolute goddess. plenty of men were already staring and smiling at you, and you smiled right back.

you decided to turn all the way around and that’s when you caught sight of a tall guy over your shoulder. his face was full of piercings, and he clearly wasn't a local, he looked foreign, probably asian, and ridiculously hot. before you even had time to think, he was already walking your way with a bottle of beer in hand. you smiled, and he smiled back.

“heeey,” he said, joining you and sophie, moving his shoulders to the rhythm as he took a sip from his bottle.

you gave a nervous smile, but the alcohol in your system was already working its magic. you took your last sip of the night, leaned your back against his chest, and rolled your hips to the music. he reacted instantly, wrapping one hand around your hip and leaning down into the crook of your neck.

one thing was clear: he was bold, and you loved it.

“i like the way you move,” he murmured softly in your ear with a velvety voice that made you feel like you’d go crazy. the way he smelled didn't help either.

you didn't say a word as you felt his lips press against the back of your neck while you kept moving. you loved the way a single kiss from him made you feel.

sophie quietly left the two of you alone under the guise of going to the restroom. you had tuned out your surroundings long ago, this man was driving you insane, or maybe it was just the alcohol.

turning around, you took the beer bottle from his hand and set it on the table. you ran your hands through his hair, leaned up on tiptoes, and pulled him into a kiss. his reaction was instant, he kissed you back, pulling your body flush against his in a way that drove you wild.

when you pulled apart to catch your breath, he asked, “wanna go somewhere else?”

you nodded. “yeah.”

the moment the word left your lips, he laced his fingers through yours, and you grabbed your small handbag to head out.

he led you to his car. if you were sober, you never would have gotten into a stranger’s car, especially knowing he had been drinking!

you could barely walk straight, smiling at nothing in particular, just letting things happen. he opened the passenger door of a black audi and buckled you in. you watched him walk around the front toward the driver's side. he was wearing a burgundy shirt with several buttons undone, he’d probably opened them inside the club to beat the heat.

he drove quickly, and the next thing you knew, you were in an elevator riding up to the 20th something floor of a massive hotel.

“do you live here?” you asked mid-kiss, completely lightheaded.

he chuckled and shook his head, pulling you into another deep, steamy kiss.

the elevator doors chimed open, and he guided you to his room. a massive floor-to-ceiling window overlooked the city lights below.

as soon as he shut the door behind you, he pinned you against the wall and kissed you deeply, his large hand gripping your ass under your dress. you smiled, and he grinned back.

“cm’ere,” he said, unbuckling his belt, unzipping his jeans, and sitting down on the edge of the bed.

you followed him over and straddled his lap, a leg on either side of him. your dress had hitched up, revealing your legs and the black lace underneath.

“fuck, do you feel that?” he asked. truthfully, you couldn't miss how hard he was beneath you, and it was turning you on fast.

“mhm,” you hummed, kissing his neck as you unbuttoned the rest of his shirt. in one smooth motion, he discarded it, showing off a toned torso covered in tattoos and abs.

“fuck,” you breathed out.

he grinned. “like what you see?” he laughed and lifted you effortlessly to your feet. he found the side zipper of your black dress and slowly slid it down, helping you step out of it. he took you in like a piece of art, biting his lip. stripping off the rest of his clothing, he pulled you back onto the bed with him lying on his back, leaving you on top with your chest exposed to him. “you’re so hot,” he murmured, making your mind spin.

you smiled and decided to take charge, kissing him hungrily while your hands explored his body. you could feel his hard length twitching between your folds. you grinded down against him, back and forth, your natural slickness making every slide hot and effortless.

“yeah, come on, grind on me,” he encouraged, guiding your hips with his hands.

he leaned his head back with his mouth slightly open and eyes closed, taking in every single movement. then, grabbing hold of you, he flipped you beneath him, pinning you to the mattress. he trailed kisses down from your neck to your torso, licking your nipples until you squirmed beneath him. sliding lower down your stomach, he finally reached where you were aching for him most.

you bent your knees, and he settled between your thighs. he took hold of your legs, giving you a wicked glance with his dark eyes before leaning in to suck on your clit.

“oh, fuck yeah,” you gasped, gripping his hair to guide his movement.

“you like that?” he asked, sliding his tongue inside you with long, deliberate strokes.

“y-yes, so much,” you managed to choke out.

he shifted his weight onto one arm, using his free hand to stroke your body before sliding his fingers down to join his tongue, circling your clit. how was he this good at it? it was driving you completely wild.

“fuck yes,” you whimpered, lost in the sensation.

opening your eyes briefly, you saw him smirking down at you. he worked his fingers so well that your whole body was writhing on the bed beneath him, his strength and presence were driving you crazy. he circled his fingers faster, making you shiver and cry out.

“so beautiful,” he breathed out.

when you opened your eyes again, you saw him reaching toward the nightstand for a condom. you rolled onto all fours for him, just how you liked it. hard and fast from behind.

“damn baby, already on all fours?” he chuckled, giving your rear a firm slap.

he took you right there, pounding into you until the sound of skin hitting skin filled the room, driving you out of your mind. he pulled your wrists behind your back, forcing your head down sideways onto the pillow, leaving you completely open to him.

“f-faster... hmmm,” you moaned loudly, certain the rest of the hotel guests were going to complain.

jungkook didn't hesitate. he tightened his grip on your wrists behind your back, driving into you with a relentless, punishing rhythm that made your knees tremble against the mattress. every thrust sent shockwaves through your entire body, the friction and heat mounting until you were completely breathless, clinging to the edge of the bed as the intense coil in your core finally snapped.

you let out a broken, breathless cry as your orgasm crashed over you, your inner muscles clamping down tight around him. hearing you break, jungkook growled low in his throat, his hips accelerating into a few final, deep, desperate thrusts before he came undone into the condom, buried deep inside you.

he held you tight for a moment, both of your bodies slick with sweat as your breathing slowed. pulling out, he sat on the edge of the bed to get rid of the condom before lying back down next to you and rolling onto his stomach. keeping a comfortable distance between you, you both drifted off to sleep.

⊹⋰𓇼⋆⸝·⸝⋆꙳⊹⋰ ⊹⋰𓇼⋆⸝·⸝⋆꙳⊹⋰

morning light was already streaming through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows when your eyes fluttered open. for a second, you were completely disoriented, the gentle hum of the air conditioner and the bright brazilian skyline reminding you that you weren't in your hotel room.

a quiet shift next to you brought it all rushing back.

you turned your head slowly to find him sleeping on his stomach. both of his arms were stretched up on either side of his head, his face buried deep into the plush pillow. the soft morning glare hit his back, highlighting the sharp dip of his spine, the defined muscle tone across his shoulders, and the dark ink of his tattoos sprawling over his skin. he looked impossibly relaxed, completely different from the intense, confident guy who had pinned you to the bed hours earlier.

careful not to make a sound, you slid your legs out from under the sheets. you wince smiled at the faint, dull ache between your thighs, a pleasant reminder of last night, and tip toed across the cool floor toward the bathroom, quietly shutting the door behind you.

after using the toilet, you turned on the faucet, letting the cool water wash away the lingering fog of sleep and makeup. you splashed your face, grabbed a hand towel, and began patting your skin dry.

when you looked up into the bathroom mirror, you caught his reflection standing in the doorway.

he was leaning against the frame, sleepy eyed, dark hair delightfully messy, his gray sweatpants hanging loosely on his hips.

“morning,” his voice came out deep and raspy with sleep, a small smirk playing on his lips as his dark eyes met yours in the glass.

you turned around, resting the back of your hands against the edge of the sink. “morning. sorry! did i wake you?”

“nah, but i noticed the bed was empty,” he chuckled softly, taking a slow, barefoot step into the bathroom.

you smiled, heat creeping up your neck as memories of the night before flooded back. watching him step closer, you realized something ridiculous. through all the loud music, caipirinhas, and wild heat in the club, one tiny detail had been completely skipped.

“you know...” you started, leaning back against the marble counter, “we never actually introduced ourselves. what’s your name, by the way?”

he paused, an amused glint flickering in his eyes as he closed the remaining distance between you.

“jungkook,” he said softly. he reached out, his hands naturally finding your waist, his thumbs rubbing small, warm circles against your skin. “and you?”

“y/n,” you replied, feeling an immediate spark reignite the moment his skin touched yours.

“y/n,” jungkook repeated, letting your name roll off his tongue with a low, slow cadence that made your chest tighten.

he glanced over your shoulder toward the large glass shower enclosure, then looked back down at you.

“well, y/n... i was just about to turn the shower on,” his grip on your waist tightened, pulling you an inch closer until your stomach brushed against his. “care to join me?” he said, smirking as he stepped away from you, showing off his toned, tattooed back as he turned on the shower. “i don't bite, baby,” he added, catching you running a hand over your neck as you debated his tempting offer.

fuck it, you thought. for once in your life, you were feeling free, feeling good about yourself. you felt wanted again. none of this was something you could have lived with your ex, he was trash those last few months, making you feel like you were nothing, when you were so much more. this trip was part of your journey toward loving yourself again.

you walked over to him, sliding both hands up to caress that beautiful back you were already obsessed with. leaning in, you gently rested your forehead against the warm skin between his shoulder blades. the contrast was crazy, here you were, completely bare and raw, clinging to a man whose last name you didn't even know, yet finding this weird sense of safety in his warmth. he went completely still under your touch, the steady stream of the shower filling the quiet space between you for a few seconds before he slowly turned around to face you.

“all good?” he asked softly, a bit of genuine concern in his eyes. he clearly hadn't expected something so quiet and intimate from a late-night hookup.

“yeah, yeah, it’s just...” you started, trailing off as your eyes dropped to the floor.

he reached out, his thumb gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “i think you’ve got some heavy stuff going through your head right now, am i right?”

the way he said it hit you right in the chest. he was reading you like an open book, seeing right through the brave face you’d been putting on all night. how could a complete stranger be this perceptive? it felt surreal how easily he seemed to get you without you having to explain a thing.

“i can make those thoughts go away,” he murmured, tilting your chin up until your eyes met his, searching your face for a reaction, a smile, anything.

you looked up, taking him in up close for the first time. his sleepy, hungover face was out of this world, his lips slightly parted, showing a glimpse of his teeth in a tender smile. you noticed the small moles on his skin and even his long eyelashes. you felt the warm tips of his fingers finding the hem of the oversized t-shirt he must have thrown on you last night.

you closed your eyes and slowly lifted your arms as he gently pulled the shirt over your head, the fabric smelling like him. your bare skin met the cool air of the bathroom until he closed the distance between you. you opened your eyes to find him staring down at you with an intensity that made your pulse race.

“you’re so beautiful,” he murmured, placing a hand behind your lower back to pull you flush against him.

he was being so gentle, so gentle it almost brought tears to your eyes. the way his lips traced your neck, your collarbones, and the shell of your ear made you fall for this feeling of being cared for, of being wanted. he brought his lips back to yours for a slow, unhurried kiss. there was no rush, just two strangers taking their time to feel everything.

taking a step back, he took off his grey sweatpants, revealing he had nothing on underneath. as he stepped into the shower, he held out a hand. you took it without hesitation, stepping into the warm stream as the room around you blurred, the heavy glass mirror fogging over completely.

he trapped you between his arms, your back pressed against the cool blue tiles as he kissed you again and again, the heat of the water mixing with the heat of your bodies. he slowly squatted down, trailing wet, hot kisses down your ribs and over your stomach, his lips brushing right against where you needed him most. all the thoughts in your head melted away, replaced by a desperate need. you wanted to fuck. you wanted him to fuck you.

“eat me out,” you demanded, your hands tangling in his wet hair as his grip on your ass tightened.

without wasting a single second, he parted your thighs, taking your clit into his mouth and circling it with his tongue. your body quivered against the tile. he slid two fingers inside you under the warm water, working you so sweet and deep that your knees buckled.

he stood back up, his chest heaving against yours as water slicked over his tattooed shoulders.

“turn around,” he rasped, his dark eyes fixed on yours. “let me fuck you real good.”

you obeyed, turning to rest your hands against the wide tiled ledge inside the shower, the built-in bench coming in ridiculously handy. bending your knees, you arched your back and lifted your hips for him, completely surrendered.

“ah fuck, let me grab a condom,” he muttered, his hand slipping from your hip as he prepared to step out, but you caught his forearm.

“don’t,” you said softly, a sudden flush of bashfulness hitting you because the only reason you were still on the pill was your ex. “i’m on the pill...”

he paused, his dark eyes locking onto yours through the steam. “you sure?”

you nodded.

he stepped back into the hot stream, positioning himself right behind you. you loved being taken from behind, feeling the raw strength of a man, of this man, working you so damn well. both of his hands gripped your hips as he aligned the head of his throbbing cock with your entrance. he slid all the way in with zero resistance, a dark smirk spreading across his face at how easily you took him.

“fuck, y/n, you’re so wet,” he groaned, pulling back slowly before driving back in. “hmm, yeah, so tight...” he spoke those magic words that hit your brain like a drug.

“hmm, god, i love it,” you gasped, taking the lead to roll your hips back against him, fucking yourself on his cock.

the wet slap of skin against skin camouflaged under the sound of the shower was driving you wild. you just wanted to soak in every single second, it was exactly what you needed. it was so dirty, so intoxicating that you swore you could feel yourself falling. and you were, your legs were literally giving up. sensing your knees weaken, he lifted you slightly, shifting you back onto that tiled bench. he gripped your shoulders, pounding you from behind.

“ah yeah,” he muffled, his hot breath hitting your neck as his chest pressed flush against your back. “you’re taking me so good, baby. go on,” he whispered, his hand reaching up to gather your wet hair into a messy makeshift ponytail. the pull tilted your head back, leaving your neck completely exposed as your soft whimpers echoed through the bathroom.

“hmm, harder,” you urged, and jungkook lost it. his movements became frantic, almost impossibly fast. his free hand found the front of your neck, resting there with just enough pressure to send a shockwave down your spine. “i’m close, i’m close, i’m—”

before you could finish, a wave hit you that you’d never felt in your entire life. your body buckled as you squirted, your inner muscles clamping around him in violent waves.

jungkook helped you sink fully onto the bench, letting you catch your breath as he gave himself a few quick, desperate strokes, coming with a low growl. he wiped the steam from his eyes and looked down at you, a genuine smile breaking across his face.

“that was... fucking hot y/n,” he breathed out, still trying to catch his own breath.

you felt dizzy sitting there. everything was spinning in the best way possible, that sensation was entirely new to you, so intense it barely felt real. you looked up at him and smiled, completely speechless.

“come here, let’s shower,” he said softly, washing his hands before popping open a bottle of shampoo.

you smiled, standing on shaky legs to join him under the water.

the whole thing felt crazy intimate. this was a total stranger you’d picked up at a club in a foreign country, yet here you were, sharing this quiet morning. you ended up laughing together when a bit of shampoo got into your eye, making you panic to rinse it out. jungkook laughed along, patiently helping you wash off under the stream, rubbing soap over your back and leaving a few tender kisses on your wet shoulders.

afterward, he managed to prepare you a quick breakfast. he’d picked up some fresh oranges during his stay in brazil, along with a loaf of bread from a local market. as you finished slipping into the oversized clothes he’d lent you again, you hopped up to sit on the kitchen counter and unlocked your phone for the first time since last night.

3:00 PM.

you had literally slept the entire day away. fucked in the shower, and now you were having breakfast, at 3:00 PM.

the second you dragged down your notification bar, your heart did a flip.

“oh no,” you gasped out loud.

jungkook turned around from the stove, a plate of warm toast with jam in his hands, looking at you with pure curiosity. “what?”

“15 missed calls...” you said nervously, rubbing your forehead as you quickly pulled up the group chat and typed out:

i'm alive!!!

i'm actually at a hotel

with a guy

jungkook grinned, hopping up to sit on the counter right next to you and taking a big sip from his glass of orange juice.

“i think you should probably call them, no?” he teased, his dark eyes sparkling.

“yeah, i definitely sho-,” you muttered.

the phone didn't even ring twice before the screen glitched and two panicked faces popped up at the exact same time.

“Y/N! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?!” sophie practically screamed into her microphone, her hair a wild mess as she held her phone way too close to her face.

“GIRL, WE WERE ABOUT TO CALL THE POLICE!” andrea chimed in right behind her, shoving sophie out of the frame so she could stare into the camera. “we came back to the table last night and you were completely gone! we thought you got kidnapped!”

you winced, pulling the phone an inch away from your face while jungkook muffled a laugh into his glass of juice, enjoying every single second.

“i'm fine! i'm so sorry, guys, i swear i'm okay,” you said quickly, trying to keep your voice down. “i... uh... left… with someone.”

dead silence hit the call. sophie and andrea exchanged a look on their side of the screen before both of them yelled in unison.

“AHHH, YOU LEFT WITH SOMEONE?!” sophie shrieked. “the asian guy with the piercings? the absurdly hot one?!”

“uhm, yeah,” you stammered, feeling heat rush all the way up to your ears. “we went back to his hotel.”

andrea’s jaw literally dropped. “wait... it’s 3:00 PM. y/n... did you just wake up?! did you spend the whole night and the whole day with him?!”

out of the corner of your eye, you saw jungkook leaning over, curiously trying to take a sneak peek at your screen. the second you noticed him hovering, you completely blocked him, pulling the phone flush against your chest and glaring at him. he just let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head with a playful smirk on his face.

“andrea, shh! oh my god,” you hissed into the microphone, trying to regain control of the conversation.

“is he there right now? IS HE LISTENING?!” sophie whispered loudly into her mic, her eyes wide as she tried to inspect your background “HEEELLOOOO?!?!”

seeing his chance, jungkook suddenly leaned in close behind your shoulder, sneaking just half of his sleepy, messy haired face into the top corner of the frame.

“heeeey gir—”

you didn't even let him finish the sentence. instantly panicking, your thumb smashed the red button, cutting the audio off mid-word before he could even get the greeting out.

you dropped your phone onto the counter and buried your face in your hands, groaning out loud. jungkook burst into a full, hearty laugh, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull your flustered body against his side.

“you didn't even let me say hi,” he teased laughing while you sat there dying of embarrassment.

⊹⋰𓇼⋆⸝·⸝⋆꙳⊹⋰ ⊹⋰𓇼⋆⸝·⸝⋆꙳⊹⋰

that summer in brazil became a blurry, beautiful paradise. what started as a wild one-night stand melted into the best week of your entire life. you, sophie, and andrea ended up merging groups with jungkook and his friends who were also staying in rio.

you can still vividly picture that last sunset in copacabana. the sky was painted in deep pinks and gold as sophie splashed around in the warm ocean, screaming for everyone to get in. you remember jungkook grabbing your wrist with a toothy grin, his long fingers interlaced with yours as he dragged you laughing down the shoreline, both of you crashing into the waves. under the water, with the sun dipping below the horizon and nobody watching, he had pulled you flush against his chest to steal a few ocean-tasted kisses that made your heart ache before it was time to say goodbye.

one year later.

los angeles.

a lot had changed since rio. you were back in LA, grinding through your final year of law school, constantly buried under legal briefs and cases. jungkook had moved to the city too, pursuing his music career, his days spent in dark recording studios, his nights spent running around town.

and somehow, through the chaos, you two had stayed in each other's orbits.

you had his number saved in your phone, and what started as occasional text check-ins turned into routine hangouts. dinner, late night food runs, and eventual hookups. you weren't officially together, no labels, no promises… just two people who couldn't seem to untangle themselves from one another.

it was 11:00 pm on a friday night. the empty pizza box sat closed on the kitchen counter, and both of you had already washed up for bed. your 5th-floor apartment felt like a cozy sanctuary, high above the LA traffic. low, sultry rnb melted into smooth jazz from the bluetooth speaker on the shelf, filling the room with a warm, steady rhythm. mood lamps decored the living space in a soft gradient of warm purple and golden orange light, casting shadows against the walls.

jungkook was sitting back on your couch in his grey sweatpants and an oversized tee, his long legs spread casually as he waited for you.

“you’re staring,” you murmured, leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom with a hairbrush still held loosely in your hand. you were dressed for sleep in a matching baby pink velvet set, a soft cropped tank top and tiny velvet shorts that hugged your hips.

jungkook let out a low, raspy chuckle, running a hand through his dark hair as his eyes slowly dragged over your outfit. “can’t help it. you look ridiculously good in pink.”

setting your brush down, you walked across the warm floorboards, stepping right between his open knees to straddle his lap. jungkook’s large, warm hands immediately slid under the hem of your velvet shorts, resting flush against your bare thighs to pull you close.

“hmm...” you breathed, resting your hands against his chest.

“i missed you,” he whispered, leaning up so his lips brushed the shell of your ear over the gentle saxophone playing in the background. “spent all day in the studio thinking about you,”

the restraint snapped right there. you reached down, tangling your fingers in his hair, and pulled him into a heavy, bruising kiss. he groaned into your mouth, his tongue sliding past yours as his hands tightened on your waist. the kiss was raw, hungry, and entirely unhurried, perfectly timed to the slow music filling the room.

he slid your pink tank top over your head, tossing it onto the coffee table, before his mouth trailed down your jawline to your bare chest. he cupped your breast, taking one sensitive nipple into his mouth to suck on it gently, sending an electric shock straight down to your core. you gasped, arching your back into his mouth as his thumb hooked into your velvet shorts, pulling them off with practiced speed.

he pulled back just enough to look up at you, his dark eyes blown wide with desire as he shoved his sweatpants down his hips.

“ride me, baby,” he rasped, his voice heavy with command.

you didn't need to be told twice. gripping his broad shoulders for balance, you lifted yourself up, aligning your wet core over his hard length, and slowly sank all the way down onto him in one full, breathtaking movement.

“ah—fuck, jungkook—” the air completely left your lungs in a loud, shattered moan.

riding him was your absolute weakness, the absolute control, the deep friction, and the view of jungkook looking up at you with pleading eyes, through the purple and orange glow of the room drove you insane. you set a torturous pace, rolling your hips and grinding down against him before lifting yourself up to take him all the way in again.

“fuck, y/n,” he grunted, his tattoos flexing as his hands gripped your hips tightly, helping you set the rhythm. “you feel so fucking good... god, look at you...”

“mnh, harder, kook, d-deeper…” you whimpered, your head tilting back as you picked up the pace, the soft cushions of the couch taking every heavy impact as the music swirled around you.

he lifted his hips to meet yours, thrusting up into you with ruthless precision. “like that, baby? hmm? tell me how bad you need it.”

“yes fuck, right there,” you sobbed out, your voice echoing off the walls as your inner walls began to clamp desperately around him.

the sensation was completely overpowering. you threw your head back, riding him frantically until the intense pressure shattered into a full body orgasm. you cried out his name, your thighs trembling violently as the waves tore through you.

hearing you break was his absolute limit. with a guttural growl, jungkook gripped your waist, pulled himself out of you at the absolute last second, and came undone right across your stomach and thighs, his entire body shuddering beneath you as he held you tight against him.

for a long time, neither of you moved. you collapsed forward, resting your forehead against his chest as your breathing slowly synchronized with the low jazz fading out on the speaker. jungkook wrapped his arms tightly around you, rubbing slow, soothing circles into your back, his chin resting gently on top of your head.

as you lay there in the warm, ambient light of your apartment, the entire year flashed through your mind. you thought back to that chaotic, spontaneous night in Rio, how broken and lost you’d felt after your ex, and how this incredible man had casually walked into your life and helped you heal without even trying. from the Copacabana beaches to quiet Friday nights on your couch in LA, he’d made you feel so safe, so desired, and so deeply loved every single step of the way.

you were so overwhelmed with emotion that the words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop them.

“i love you,” you whispered softly against his skin.

the room went completely still for a split second. you froze, your heart hammering against your ribs as you realized what you’d just confessed out loud.

but jungkook didn't pull away. instead, a soft, breathless laugh escaped him. he tightened his hold around your waist and tilted your chin up with his thumb, forcing you to look at him. his dark eyes were shining with so much warmth it almost brought tears to your eyes.

“i love you even more,” he murmured softly, leaning in to press a tender kiss to your lips.

he pulled back just enough to look at you, a timid, slightly nervous smile softening his face.

“i know this might sound like a stupid question, considering...” he trailed off, gesturing vaguely between the two of you with a quiet chuckle, before his gaze locked back onto yours. “...but do you wanna make it official? i want to call you my girlfriend everywhere i go.”

you couldn't help the huge grin that spread across your face. leaning down, you kissed him again, sweet, slow, and full of absolute certainty.

“yes,” you whispered against his lips. “i’d love that.”

⊹⋰𓇼⋆⸝·⸝⋆꙳⊹⋰ ⊹⋰𓇼⋆⸝·⸝⋆꙳⊹⋰

HEY YALL, i had so much fun writing this, i just had to give them a plot, i’d love to write a pt2

let me knoooowww

[jikookncity]

Spiderman!Jungkook x Reader (smut)

Jungkook is Spider-Man, but because of a spell gone wrong, everyone forgets who he is—including his girlfriend Y/N. He watches and protects her from the shadows, but it hurts him so bad that she doesn't remember who he is. Except her body remembers something her head can't. She wakes up in the middle of the night craving something she never knew she had. Jungkook ensures they find their way back to each other eventually. (Very smutty)

WC: 16.4k, unprotected sex, restrained by Spiderman's webs during sex, dirty talk, kinda Dom!Jungkook, sex dreams (memories), casual mentions of sex throughout the entire story, this is the same as my NCT Donghyuck story, this is a BTS ver! Part 1 only, part 2 at the end

side note: I found this pic on X through google images but I cannot find the original poster/editor. If this image is not okay to use please message me and I will delete it, I would never want to steal someone else's art or hard work, thank you!

----------------

Spiderman slips onto the fire escape outside Taehyung's apartment, the city humming below him like a heartbeat he can't quite feel anymore. He's not here to spy—he tells himself that. He's just checking. Making sure she's safe. That's what he does now: patrols her life like a ghost, invisible and aching.

But then he hears Taehyung's voice through the cracked window, and Y/N's laugh—that soft, familiar sound that used to be for him—and he can't tear himself away.

He crouches low, listening.

"So you're telling me you haven't gotten laid in, what, three months?" Taehyung's voice is teasing, light. He's sprawled on his couch, a beer in hand, grinning at Y/N like they're having the most casual conversation in the world.

She's curled on the other end, legs tucked under her, a throw pillow hugged to her chest. "That's not what I said."

"That's exactly what you said. You said you're 'too wound up, stressed, can't sleep.' That's textbook horny, babe."

"Taehyung!"

"What? I'm just saying." He takes a lazy sip of beer. "You're way too tense these days. You need to hook up with someone. Let off some steam."

She gasps, swatting at his leg. "I absolutely am not."

He grins, eyes glinting. "Yes you are. I can't put my finger on it, but you just seem so restless lately. Like you're crawling out of your skin."

"It's just stress over work." She pulls the pillow tighter. "Writing for the New York Chronicles is a lot of work. Deadlines, interviews, fact-checking—"

"Uh-huh. And when's the last time you got properly fucked?"

"Taehyung!"

He laughs, full and unbothered. "I'm serious. Maybe some good dick will help you. Relax those shoulders, clear that head of yours. You're practically vibrating."

On the fire escape, Jungkook's hands tighten into fists.

She's mine.

The thought crashes through him, possessive and raw. His jaw aches from clenching. He watches her through the window—her flustered expression, the way she hides her face in the pillow, the way she doesn't deny it. She's restless. He knows. He's seen her pace her apartment at 2 a.m., seen her press her thighs together in the bathtub, heard the soft, frustrated moans she thinks no one can hear.

And he knows Taehyung is right. She needs release. But the idea of her finding that release in someone else—some stranger's hands, some stranger's mouth, some stranger's cock inside her—makes his stomach twist with something dark and violent.

"You're impossible," she mutters, throwing the pillow at Taehyung.

He catches it easily. "And you're in denial. But okay. Keep telling yourself it's deadlines."

She stands, smoothing her shirt. "I'm leaving before you say something even more embarrassing."

"Text me if you change your mind! I know a guy—"

"Goodnight, Taehyung!"

The door clicks shut. Taehyung chuckles to himself, shaking his head.

Jungkook stays frozen on the fire escape long after she's gone, her scent still lingering in the air, her laugh still ringing in his ears.

He knows what he has to do.

He has to reintroduce himself. Casually, carefully. Slide back into her life before she finds someone else to release those frustrations on. Before some other man touches what's his.

But not tonight.

Tonight, he watches her walk home from a rooftop three blocks away, her silhouette moving under the amber streetlights. He watches her pause at her door, glance over her shoulder like she feels something watching her. She hugs herself, shivers, and disappears inside.

Soon, he tells himself, pressing a hand over his chest where his heart used to belong to her. Soon I'll make you remember. Or I'll make you want me again.

But for now, he waits.

Jungkook stands outside the coffee shop, his reflection staring back at him from the glass door. He checks his hair three times—runs his fingers through it, smooths the front, tucks a stray strand behind his ear. The black shirt hugs his shoulders just right, and the glasses frame his face in a way that used to make Y/N bite her lip and look at him twice.

She loved these glasses, he thinks, adjusting them once more. She used to say I looked like a secret librarian. A hot one.

He takes a breath, pushes the door open, and walks in with a confidence he's been practicing for weeks.

The bell above the door chimes. Y/N looks up from the counter where she's been scribbling in a notebook—probably working on another article for the New York Chronicles. Her hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail, a few strands escaping to frame her face. She's wearing a simple apron over a cream sweater, and when she sees him, she smiles.

It's polite. Professional. The same smile she gives every customer working at her parent's cafe.

But it's still her smile, and his heart stumbles.

"Hi," she says, setting down her pen. "What can I get started for you?"

He steps up to the counter, leaning an elbow on the polished wood. "Hey. I'll take an iced americano and a chocolate donut."

She nods, writing it down. "Anything else?"

"No, thanks. That's perfect."

She turns to prepare the coffee, and he watches her movements—efficient, practiced. The way she scoops ice, pours the espresso, reaches for the donut with a tissue. When she turns back and hands him the cup, their fingers brush.

It's barely a second. Just a whisper of contact.

But she pauses, her eyes lifting to his face. A flicker of something—recognition? Curiosity?—passes through her gaze before she blinks it away.

"Here you go," she says softly.

He takes the cup, letting his fingers linger just a moment longer than necessary. "Thanks."

She smiles again, a little different this time—warmer, a hint of confusion. Then she turns back to the sink where a few dishes are waiting, rolling up her sleeves.

Jungkook takes a seat by the window, sipping his americano, watching her from behind his glasses. She's humming softly, something he doesn't recognize. From the back room, he hears Taehyung's voice, humming some pop song, the clatter of boxes being moved.

Over the next few weeks, he becomes a regular.

He comes in every other day, sometimes every day. Always orders the same thing—iced americano, chocolate donut. Sometimes he grabs a table and pretends to work on his laptop, but really he's watching her. The way she tucks her hair behind her ear. The way she bites her lip while reading. The way she laughs at something Taehyung says, bright and easy.

Their interactions are casual. Limited.

"Morning Jungkook." She learns his name.

"The usual?" She asks.

"You know it."

A smile. A quick exchange. Then she's busy, and he's left with the ghost of her attention.

It's not enough.

So one afternoon, when the shop is empty and Taehyung is in the back, he makes his move.

He walks up to the counter, coffee in hand, and as he reaches to pay, he lets his wrist go slack. The cup tips. The lid pops off. Brown liquid splashes across the floor, a puddle spreading near his feet.

"Shit," he mutters, a little too loud.

Y/N spins around from the espresso machine. "Oh no! Don't worry, I'll get it—"

She grabs a roll of paper towels from under the counter and moves to crouch down, but he's already there. He takes the roll from her hands, his fingers closing over hers for a brief, deliberate second.

"It was my fault," he says, meeting her eyes. "Don't worry about it."

"Really, I can—"

"Nope. I got it." He kneels, wiping up the mess quickly, ignoring her protests. "You have enough to do. Let me take care of this."

She stands there, hands on her hips, watching him clean up her floor with an expression caught between amused and impressed.

"You're not going to let me help, are you?" she asks.

"Nope." He finishes, tosses the wet paper towels in the trash, and straightens up. "See? All good."

She shakes her head, a smile tugging at her lips. "You're stubborn."

"I prefer determined."

"A determined mess-maker."

He laughs—a real laugh, not the careful one he's been using.

They stand there, the air between them easier now, the tension cracked open. She leans against the counter, crossing her arms, studying him with fresh eyes.

"You come here a lot," she says.

"I do. Good coffee. Good donuts." He pauses, letting his voice drop just a fraction. "Good company."

Her cheeks flush. She looks down, then back up, a spark in her gaze. "You're not from around here, are you?"

"Born and raised. Just... been away for a while."

"Ah. A returning native."

"Something like that."

She tilts her head. "What do you do, Jungkook? Besides cleaning up your own messes?"

"I'm a freelance photographer. I take pictures of the city, the people. Try to capture moments that don't last."

Her eyes light up. "That sounds beautiful."

"It has its moments." He holds her gaze. "Maybe I could show you sometime. If you're interested."

The offer hangs in the air, soft and deliberate. She bites her lower lip, considering, and he feels his pulse quicken.

"I'd like that," she says quietly.

A bell rings from the back—Taehyung calling something about a shipment. The moment breaks, but it doesn't shatter. It settles into something warm, something potential.

"I should let you get back to work," Jungkook says, stepping back. "But I'll see you tomorrow. Same time?"

"Same time," she confirms, her smile lingering.

He walks out of the coffee shop, heart hammering, a grin threatening to break across his face. He doesn't look back, but he doesn't need to.

He knows he has her attention now.

Taehyung slides up beside Y/N the moment the door swings shut behind Jungkook. He nudges her shoulder with his, a knowing grin already spreading across his face.

"Okay, so that guy? Exactly your type."

Y/N rolls her eyes, but she can feel the heat creeping up her neck. "Jungkook?"

"Obviously Jungkook." Taehyung leans against the counter, crossing his arms. "Like, I get it. He's attractive in that nonchalant way. The whole I just rolled out of bed but I'm still hotter than you vibe. And that confidence? It's practically dripping off him." He wiggles his eyebrows. "Makes you horny, doesn't it?"

"Taehyung!" She smacks his shoulder, but she's laughing. "Shut up. He's just a nice guy."

"A nice guy who you've been staring at for three weeks straight."

"I have not—"

"You literally watched him walk to the door just now. Like a sad puppy."

She opens her mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. Because he's right. She did watch him. She always watches him.

Taehyung groans, shaking his head with mock exasperation. "When you two finally hook up, I'm going to be right there to say I told you so."

"He's just a customer, Injun."

"Mhmm. Sure." He pats her shoulder and heads toward the back room, already humming again, leaving her standing there with her thoughts.

She bites her lip.

He's just a customer, she tells herself. But her mind drifts anyway, unbidden.

His voice—low and warm, with a teasing edge that makes her stomach flip. The way he carries himself, relaxed but aware, like he knows exactly what he's doing at all times. His baggy clothes, the way they hang off his frame, hiding and revealing at the same time. The silver rings on his fingers. That little smirk he gives her sometimes, like he's in on a joke she hasn't heard yet.

Her exes were... fine. Nice. Respectful. Boring.

They held doors open and said please and thank you. They kissed her forehead and asked if she was comfortable. They never made her pulse race. They never made her wonder what it would feel like to be pushed against a wall and taken.

Jungkook does.

He gives her mystery. Maybe even a little danger. The way he looks at her sometimes, like he's holding something back—something intense.

She shakes her head, physically trying to dislodge the thought. Crazy. You don't even know him.

But the thought lingers, hot and stubborn, all the way through the rest of her shift. It follows her home, past the subway, up the stairs to her apartment. It settles in her bones the moment she closes her door.

---

She's restless.

The apartment is quiet, dark except for the lamp by her bed. She changes into a tank top and shorts, lies down, tosses, turns. Her body feels tight—a coil wound too tight, needing release.

She gives in.

From the nightstand drawer, she pulls out her vibrator—a sleek pink thing she's had for years. She lies back, spreads her legs, and lets the hum of the motor fill the silence.

Her mind drifts to him.

To Jungkook. To his hands. Those rings. What they'd feel like gripping her thighs. His voice, low in her ear, telling her exactly what he's going to do to her.

She presses the vibrator harder against her clit, her breath hitching. She thinks about his smirk, his confidence, the way he holds her gaze a second too long. She chases the image, lets it build—

And then she comes.

A sharp, quick release. A gasp. The tension snaps, but it doesn't dissolve. It just... scatters. Falls apart unsatisfyingly.

She sighs, letting the vibrator drop onto the mattress. Her body feels hollow. Empty. Like the orgasm barely scratched the surface of what she actually needs.

"Fuck," she whispers to the ceiling.

She lies there, staring at the dark, her skin still buzzing with unresolved heat. She wants more. She wants him. But he's a stranger. A customer. Nothing.

She rolls onto her side, pulls the blanket up, and tries to sleep.

---

Outside her window, perched on a fire escape three buildings over, Jungkook watches the dark shape of her bedroom through the gap in her curtains.

He didn't look. Not directly. He swung toward her building on instinct, drawn by the familiar pull of her presence, and he landed on the adjacent rooftop just in time to hear it.

The buzz of the vibrator. Her soft, breathy moans.

His name. She whispered his name—Jungkook—on a desperate exhale.

And then the sigh. That disappointed, hollow sigh at the end.

He heard it all.

His fingers curl into a fist against the brick wall beside him. A smirk spreads across his face, slow and predatory, mixing with the ache in his chest.

You're not satisfied, are you, baby?

He knows the feeling. He's been unsatisfied too—in a different way. Hungry for her touch, her voice, her warmth. But that hunger is about to be fed.

He pushes off the ledge, letting the night air rush past him as he swings into the darkness.

Soon. I'll take my rightful place soon.

Below him, the city blurs. Sirens wail somewhere in the distance. Another night of crime waits for him—thugs to stop, civilians to save. The usual.

But tonight, for the first time in weeks, he feels something close to hope.

It starts slowly.

A whisper of warmth against her skin. The weight of a body behind her, pressed close, solid and familiar. She can't see his face, but she knows him—or rather, her body knows him. Her back arches into his chest instinctively, seeking more contact.

His hands. God, his hands. Calloused palms sliding up her thighs, fingers digging into her hips with just enough pressure to bruise. She feels the cool bite of metal rings against her overheated skin. A low chuckle rumbles against her ear.

"You've been so good for me, baby. But I'm gonna take what's mine now."

She opens her mouth to respond, but he's already rolling her onto her stomach, pulling her hips up, positioning her on her knees. The sheets are soft beneath her palms. She can feel his cock—thick, hard, pressing against her soaked entrance—and she whimpers, pushing back against him.

"Please," she breathes. "Please, I need—"

He cuts her off with a sharp thrust. He slams into her to the hilt, and she screams, her body clenching around him immediately. He doesn't stop. He fucks her like he owns her, like he's been waiting for this, each stroke deep and punishing, hitting a spot inside her that makes stars burst behind her eyelids.

"That's it. Take it. Take all of it."

His voice is low, rough, almost unrecognizable through the fog of lust. She can't think. She can only feel—the stretch, the burn, the relentless pounding. He wraps a hand around her throat, not choking, just holding, tilting her head back so he can whisper directly into her ear.

"You missed me, didn't you? Your tight little pussy missed me. Say it."

"I—yes—fuck—I missed you—"

He groans, a sound so raw it vibrates through her bones. His pace quickens, his grip on her hip bruising. She feels the coil building, tighter and tighter, her moans turning into desperate sobs—

And then she wakes up.

---

Gasping.

Y/N bolts upright in bed, her tank top soaked with sweat, her thighs sticky with arousal. The sheets are twisted around her legs. Her pussy is throbbing, clenching around nothing, so empty it almost hurts.

She blinks at the ceiling, panting.

What the fuck was that?

The dream is already fading, slipping through her fingers like water. She remembers heat. A deep voice. Being pinned down and fucked senseless. But the face—she can't remember the face. Just a blur of dark hair, broad shoulders, a cruel smirk.

She presses her palm against her cunt, gasping at the sensitivity. She's soaked. Her thighs are slick. Her hole flutters, desperate to be filled.

"Fucking hell," she mutters, flopping back onto the pillows.

It's been like this for almost a week now. Every night, another dream. Some nights she's on her knees, sucking a thick cock while a hand tangles in her hair. Some nights she's tied to a bed, spread open, being fucked so slowly she can feel every inch drag against her walls. Some nights it's just a voice—a low, possessive voice—calling her filthy, desperate, mine.

She always wakes up the same way: wet, aching, unsatisfied.

She reaches for her vibrator on the nightstand, but even as she presses it against her clit, she knows it won't be enough. It never is anymore. She comes—hard, fast, grinding into the plastic—but the release is hollow. An echo of what her body actually craves.

She doesn't know what that is.

Her exes were boring. They never made her feel claimed. They never made her scream.

But her body wants something more, something she's never experienced. Or so she thinks.

She sighs, tossing the vibrator aside. Her cunt still throbs, still clenches, still weeps for something she can't name.

Why does this feel like grief?

---

Across the city, perched on a water tower overlooking her block, Jungkook watches the distant glow of her window with a dark, hungry expression.

He knows.

He's been watching her sleep through the gap in her curtains. He's heard her moans, her whimpers, the desperate sounds she makes when she's lost in a dream he put there—not consciously, but through the lingering threads of the spell that binds them. She can't remember him, but her body can. Her body is a traitor, whispering his name in the language of her muscles, her slick, her trembling thighs.

He clenches his fists, his cock hardening painfully in his suit.

He lets out a slow, shaky breath.

I'll give you what you're craving soon.

He pushes off the water tower, swinging into the night, leaving his mark on the rooftops like a promise.

But he doesn't go far. He lands on the fire escape just outside her window—close enough to hear her frustrated sigh, the rustle of sheets as she rolls over, the quiet, desperate whisper she thinks no one hears:

"What do I need? What's wrong with me?"

He presses a hand to the glass, his rings glinting in the moonlight.

Nothing's wrong with you, love. You just need me.

The morning rush at the coffee shop had been mercifully slow, leaving Y/N and Taehyung with nothing better to do than wipe down the already-clean countertops in a lazy, synchronized rhythm. The TV mounted in the corner murmured in the background—some local news broadcast about a bank robbery in Midtown. The anchor's voice was tinny, almost an afterthought.

"...and witnesses report that Spider-Man intervened just moments after the robbers entered. No casualties reported. The web-slinger made a quick escape as usual—"

Y/N didn't look up. Neither did Taehyung. It was New York. Spider-Man stopping a robbery was as routine as a subway delay. They'd both heard the name so many times it barely registered anymore—a ghost in red and blue, flickering across screens, saving lives, disappearing.

Taehyung hummed a tune under his breath, rubbing a smudge off the granite with his thumb. Y/N's mind was elsewhere. Still half-lost in the hazy aftertaste of another dream from last night—the echo of a deep voice, the phantom weight of hands on her hips, the ache between her legs that hadn't fully faded even after she'd come twice this morning.

She bit her lip, grip tightening on the rag.

Focus. Work. Coffee. Normal stuff.

The little bell above the door jingled.

She looked up.

And there he was.

Jungkook stepped inside, and she felt the air shift. He was breathing hard, his black t-shirt clinging to his torso like a second skin, dark patches of sweat spreading across his chest and under his arms. His hair was damp, plastered to his forehead in messy waves, and a thin sheen of perspiration glistened over his neck and collarbones.

He looked exhausted. But also... good. Really good.

"Hey," Y/N said, her voice coming out a little too breathy. She cleared her throat. "You okay?"

He offered a tired smile, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. "Yeah. Just tired. Killed it at the gym today." He let out a huff of laughter, rolling one shoulder like it ached. "Didn't realize I pushed myself that hard."

She nodded, already moving to make his usual ice americano. Her body went through the motions automatically while her eyes trailed down his frame. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms corded with muscle, veins visible beneath the tanned skin. The sweat highlighted every contour—the arch of his biceps, the column of his throat, the way his chest rose and fell with each controlled breath.

Shit. She felt heat creep up her cheeks.

Her gaze dropped lower, catching a glint of silver at his wrist. A bracelet—woven black cord with a small metallic charm, a roughly shaped star. It looked handmade, well-worn, the edges smooth like it had been touched a thousand times.

She slid the cup across the counter toward him. "That's pretty," she said, nodding at the bracelet.

For a split second, something flickered in his eyes. A flash of emotion too fast to name—hope? Pain? He opened his mouth, and she could've sworn she saw him about to say something, his throat bobbing with a swallow.

Do you remember that you gave this to me?

But the words didn't come. He just watched her as she pulled away from the counter, already turning back to the rag in her hand.

Of course she didn't remember.

"Thanks," she said over her shoulder, already distracted, moving toward the back to restock napkins.

Jungkook stared at the bracelet on his wrist. The star charm. She'd made it for him on their six-month anniversary, clumsily braiding the cord while sitting cross-legged on his bed, laughing about how she'd never made jewelry before. "So you don't forget me," she'd said, pressing it into his palm. "Wear it even when you're being Spider-Man. I want to be with you, always."

He clenched his jaw, forcing the ache down his throat.

She doesn't remember. Of course she doesn't. You knew that.

Taehyung slid off his stool and walked over, holding out a napkin. "Hey," he said, his voice soft but pointed. "Your forehead's bleeding a bit."

Jungkook blinked, reaching up. His fingers came away with a smear of red. Shit. Must've caught a stray piece of debris during the takedown. He'd been too focused on getting there fast—on changing out of the suit in that alley, on making it to the shop before she closed—that he hadn't bothered to check for damage.

"Ah, that." He took the napkin with a casual shrug, pressing it to the cut. "Tripped on the way here. Almost ate pavement. Stupid, I know."

Taehyung's eyes lingered on him a moment too long, a quiet skepticism behind his gentle gaze. He didn't say anything, but Jungkook could feel the weight of his unspoken question.

That's a weird place to trip. And you're too banged up for just a fall. And you showed up right after Spider-Man was seen.

But Taehyung just nodded, taking a slow sip of his own drink. "Be careful," he said simply, and walked back to the counter.

Jungkook exhaled slowly, pressing the napkin harder against his temple. He watched Y/N move behind the counter, her hair tied in a messy bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face. She was beautiful. She was his. And she didn't even know it.

He took a long sip of the coffee she'd made him, letting the bitterness ground him.

He smiled against the rim of the cup, eyes fixed on the curve of her back as she bent down to grab more cups from the low shelf.

The bracelet gleamed on his wrist like a promise.

The morning air in Manhattan carried the usual cocktail of exhaust fumes, pretzel cart steam, and distant sirens. Y/N walked with her messenger bag slung across her body, earbuds in, a playlist of lo-fi beats keeping her grounded. The New York Chronicle skyscraper loomed ahead, all glass and steel, reflecting the pale winter sun. She was running a little early today, which meant she could grab a decent coffee from the lobby cart before heading up to her desk.

She was two blocks away when the screaming started.

At first, it was distant—a ripple through the crowd ahead. Then it grew, a wave of panic rolling toward her. People began sprinting in her direction, faces twisted with fear, elbows knocking pamphlets and coffee cups out of the way. A woman clutching a toddler nearly collided with her.

"What—" Y/N pulled out her earbuds, heart lurching. "What's happening?"

No one stopped to answer. The tide of bodies pushed past her, and she stumbled sideways, grabbing a lamppost to steady herself. Then she saw it: a column of smoke rising from the base of the Chronicle building. Orange flames licked at a collapsed awning. Glass littered the street like crushed diamonds.

Oh god. That's the lobby.

Her feet started moving before her brain caught up. She had to get in there. Had to see if her coworkers—her editor, the layout team, Maria from HR who always gave her extra granola bars—were okay. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She ignored it.

"HEY!"

A blur of red and blue dropped from above, landing in front of her with a soft thud that cracked the asphalt. She yelped, skidding to a halt.

Spider-Man.

His lenses narrowed, body angled like he was about to grab her.

"What the hell are you doing?" His voice was modulated, sharp with urgency. "There's a gas leak—could blow again any second. Get back."

"I have to see if the people in that building are okay!" She tried to sidestep him, but he moved with her, a wall of spandex and muscle.

"I'll check. You stay here." He pointed a gloved finger at the sidewalk behind her. "Don't move."

She barely registered that she'd just been ordered around by a superhero. Her heart was hammering. The smoke stung her nostrils. "I'm not just going to—"

He was already turning, preparing to leap. She took a step forward, following him.

A sharp thwip sliced through the air.

Something snapped around her right wrist—a rope of white webbing, sticky and warm, yanking her arm sideways. She stumbled, grunting, and found herself anchored to the handle of a police cruiser parked at the curb. The web held fast, elastic but unyielding.

"What the hell?!" She yanked at her wrist, but the webbing stretched and held. "Are you serious right now?!"

Spider-Man paused, tilting his head. She could almost hear the smirk behind the mask. "Nope. Wait here. I'll free you after I'm sure it's safe."

And then he was gone, a red streak disappearing into the smoke-filled doorway.

Y/N stood there, arm stretched awkwardly toward the cop car, jaw hanging open. People were still running past her, but the immediate panic was thinning. She looked at her wrist, at the white strands wrapped snugly around it, and felt a jolt—not of anger, but of something else.

The texture. The pressure. The slight give when she pulled.

Her breath caught.

She was in her bedroom. The lights were dim. Her wrist was bound to the bedpost with...not a rope...not a scarf...something else entirely. Her arms stretched above her head and a dark figure hovered over her. She couldn't see his face, but she could feel his weight, his heat, the deep rumble of his voice against her ear.

"Stay still, baby. I'm not done with you yet."

The memory dissolved as quickly as it came, leaving her gasping on the sidewalk, knees weak.

What the fuck?

She shook her head violently, pressing her free hand to her flushed cheek. "I'm starting to feel like a fucking sex addict," she muttered under her breath. Of all the things to think about right now—tied to a car by Spider-Man—her brain was conjuring erotic flashbacks? With...Spider-Man? For all she knew, the guy was a forty-year-old accountant underneath that suit. He could be balding.

But he didn't move like a forty-year-old. And his voice, even through the modulator, had a certain quality—young, confident, teasing.

She shook her head again, harder. Stop it. Focus. The building.

A few minutes passed. The fire trucks arrived. EMTs started setting up a triage zone. Y/N strained her neck, trying to see if anyone was being carried out. She pulled at the web again, frustrated, but it held true.

Then Spider-Man emerged from the smoke, walking casually now, hands on his hips. He jogged over to her.

"Building's clear. No casualties. Gas leak was contained before it got worse. Minor injuries, but everyone's out." He reached for the web on her wrist and gave it a sharp tug setting her free.

She rubbed her wrist, red and slightly raw. "That wasn't cool. You could have just asked me to stay."

"I did. You didn't listen." He shrugged, the motion exaggerated by the suit's padding. "You should be more careful. People get hurt when they run toward explosions."

"I work there." She glared at him. "I was worried about my friends."

He was quiet for a second, his head tilted. She could feel his gaze through the white lenses, studying her. There was something familiar about the angle of his jaw, the set of his shoulders.

Then he straightened. "Bye."

And with a single leap, he was gone, swinging between buildings, disappearing into the Manhattan skyline before she could even respond.

Y/N stood there, mouth half-open, hand still rubbing her wrist. The phantom sensation of the web lingered—soft, taut, possessive. Her skin tingled where it had been wrapped.

Why does that feel like a memory I can't reach?

She stared up at the empty sky, the smoke still curling into the gray clouds.

And for some reason, her thighs pressed together.

Get a grip, Y/N. He's a stranger in a mask.

But her body didn't believe that. Not for a second.

The evening air did nothing to cool the heat lingering beneath Y/N's skin. After the chaos at the Chronicle building, after being webbed to a police car like some disobedient puppy, after the shredded remains of her dignity scattered across Sixth Avenue—she'd gone through the motions. Talked to her editor. Confirmed everyone was safe. Filed a preliminary report on the gas leak. Smiled at Maria's thanks.

But all the way home, her wrist tingled. The ghost of that webbing refused to fade.

Now she stood in her apartment, shoes kicked off, coat thrown over the armchair. The city lights bled through her window, painting amber stripes across her wooden floor. She should shower. Eat something. Answer the three texts Taehyung had sent asking if she was okay.

Instead, she grabbed her laptop and collapsed onto her bed, flipping it open.

YouTube.

Her fingers moved before she could talk herself out of it. She typed in the search bar: Spider-Man New York 2024.

The results flooded the screen. News clips. Fan edits. Compilations titled "Spider-Man's Top 10 Saves" and "Spider-Man Being a Menace for 12 Minutes Straight." She clicked the first one—a news report from two months ago, shaky cell phone footage of Spider-Man webbing a falling construction beam before it crushed a bus.

She watched it twice. Then a third time.

The comments section was a battlefield.

"whoever is under that suit is DEFINITELY packing i'm not taking questions"

"imagine getting railed by spider-man... the grip?? the stamina???"

"he literally fights crime every night and still has time to help old ladies cross the street... husband material"

"plot twist: he's actually a 50 year old dude with a beer belly and we're all just simping for spandex"

"even if he is 50 i'd still let him web me to the bed 🥴"

Y/N snorted despite herself, scrolling deeper. The thirst was real, embarrassingly real. These women were out there, posting paragraphs about what they'd let Spider-Man do to them. What they'd do to him. She felt a pang of something—not judgment, because who was she to judge—but recognition.

She'd felt that web around her wrist. She'd felt the possessiveness in that single thwip.

And God help her, she wanted to feel it again.

She clicked on another video. This one was different—a street interview, low-budget, filmed by someone's phone. The camera focused on Spider-Man, standing casually beside a hot dog cart, and standing next to him was a little boy—maybe eight years old, holding a notebook.

The interviewer says, "We've got a special guest today—this is Liam, and he wanted to ask Spider-Man a few questions."

Spider-Man crouched down to the boy's level. His lenses softened, tilted—the body language of someone genuinely engaged. He reached out and patted the kid's head, a casual, affectionate gesture.

"Go ahead, Liam. I'm all ears."

And he laughed—a low, warm chuckle that cut through the modulator like a blade through silk.

Y/N's breath hitched.

That laugh. She knew that laugh. It tickled something deep in her chest, a phantom sensation, like a voice calling from underwater. Her fingers tightened on the laptop. She replayed it. Once. Twice. Three times.

"I'm all ears."

The way he said it—teasing, gentle, familiar.

She shook her head, hard. You're projecting. Every guy laughs. It's not him. You don't even know who "him" is.

But her skin was prickling. Her thighs pressed together under the laptop.

She kept scrolling.

There was a Reddit link. r/SpiderManFantasies (NSFW). Her thumb hovered over it for a full ten seconds before she clicked.

The forum was a treasure trove of desperation. Women (and some men) posting photos they'd taken of Spider-Man mid-swing, or perched on a rooftop, or standing in the middle of a street after a rescue. The photos weren't explicit—they couldn't be, he was fully suited—but the captions were anything but.

"If I ever meet him I'm dropping to my knees immediately. That suit does NOT hide what he's working with."

"Imagine him pinning you down after a fight, all that adrenaline still pumping... you'd feel the bass in his chest."

"I don't even care what he looks like. I just want one night. ONE. NIGHT. With whoever is under that mask."

One post showed a blurry shot of Spider-Man crouched on a fire escape, his legs spread, the suit stretching taut across his thighs. The caption read: "I want to sit on his face and never get up."

Y/N closed the laptop so fast the screen clicked shut.

Her heart was hammering. Her cheeks burned. She pressed a hand to her forehead, groaning.

"I'm not above this," she whispered to the empty room. "I'm so far below this it's embarrassing."

She threw the laptop aside and flopped onto her back, staring at the ceiling. The city hummed outside—distant sirens, a neighbor's TV, the low bass of a car passing by. Her skin felt too tight. Her cunt ached, a dull, persistent throb that had been living in her bones for weeks now.

The clock on her nightstand read 11:47 PM when Y/N finally collapsed onto her bed, still wearing her jeans and a thin camisole.

Sleep came heavy and reluctant.

---

She woke with a gasp, thighs pressed together, a dull throb between her legs.

The clock read 2:47 AM.

Her skin was damp with sweat. Her nipples were hard, rubbing against the cotton of her shirt. She'd been dreaming again—fragments of a body above her, weight pressing her into the mattress, a warm mouth trailing down her stomach. She couldn't see his face, but she could feel his hands. Strong, calloused, knowing exactly where to touch.

"I've got you, baby. I've always got you."

She threw an arm over her eyes, breathing hard. She was wet, aching, clenching around nothing. She slid a hand down her belly, into her underwear, her fingers finding her clit swollen and desperate.

She rubbed herself slowly, trying to chase a release that never came. She imagined the web wrapped around her wrist again. Spider-Man's lenses staring down at her. The low laugh from the video.

"Fuck," she whimpered, fingers moving faster. But it wasn't enough. It was never enough. She could feel a shape just out of reach.

Her body remembered. Her mind didn't.

She pressed her palm harder, hips bucking, but the orgasm hovered like a mirage, untouchable. She let out a frustrated sob, pulling her hand away, her chest heaving.

Outside, on the fire escape, a shadow shifted.

Jungkook pressed his back against the brick wall, his own breathing uneven. He'd heard her whimper through the glass. Heard the wet sound of her fingers working. The whine of her frustration when she couldn't finish.

His cock was hard, straining against the suit. He'd come here to check on her after the explosion—to make sure she was safe, to watch her sleep like he did most nights. He hadn't expected this.

But he couldn't leave. Not while she was aching.

Not when he was the only one who could fix it.

He pressed a palm against the cold glass of her window, the mask hiding the anguish on his face. Soon, he told himself. Soon I'll find a way.

But for now, he just listened to her breathe, and hated the spell that kept them apart.

The knock that rattled Taehyung's door at 11 PM was frantic—three sharp, pounding hits, then a pause, then another. He barely had time to unlatch the lock before Y/N pushed past him into his apartment, her eyes wild, her hair a mess, her chest heaving like she'd run the whole way.

"Okay," she said, hands on her hips, pacing his narrow living room. "You were right. You were fucking right."

Taehyung closed the door slowly, crossing his arms. He was in sweatpants and an old band tee, clearly winding down for the night. "Right about what, exactly? Because I'm right about a lot of things."

She whirled on him, jaw tight. "The sex thing. The needing-to-get-laid thing. The I'm crawling out of my skin thing." She raked her fingers through her hair, tugging at the roots. "It's not just being horny, Taehyung. It's like—" She stopped, struggling for words. "It's like my body is craving something specific. A specific touch. A specific rhythm. A specific person. But I don't know who or what. I don't remember. I just feel this ache that nothing fills."

Taehyung's teasing demeanor softened. He gestured to the couch, and she collapsed onto it, head in her hands.

He sat beside her, voice careful. "An ex? Someone you dated before? Maybe your brain locked away a breakup that hit you harder than you think."

She looked up, rolling her eyes so hard it was almost audible. "No. It's not an ex. I don't have any traumatic breakup memory. It's—" She groaned, frustrated. "I don't know. It feels like a ghost. A phantom limb."

Taehyung was quiet for a moment. Then he said, slowly, "Maybe you don't need to find that specific person. Maybe you just need to try someone new."

She blinked at him. The idea hung in the air, fresh and foreign.

"Someone new," she repeated, tasting the words.

"Someone who doesn't come with baggage or memories. Someone who can just—" He made a vague gesture. "Fuck you into forgetting whatever's haunting you. A clean slate. A hot body. A night of no strings."

She stared at him. Then, slowly, a nod. "Maybe you're right."

His grin spread wide. "I am right. And I know exactly how to start." He pulled out his phone, already scrolling. "There's that new nightclub in midtown. Opened last week. 'Velvet Underground.' It's got black lights, VIP booths, and supposedly a very attractive bartender who does body shots. I've been dying to go."

"A club," she said flatly.

"A club where you can find a guy—or girl, no judgment—who will take you home and fuck you until you forget your own name. That kind of club."

She chewed her lip. The idea terrified her. Thrilled her. She thought of her empty bed, the wet sheets, the incomplete orgasms. She thought of the phantom hands in her dreams.

"Okay," she whispered. "Okay. Let's do it."

Taehyung clapped his hands together. "Yes. I'll text you the details. Wear something slutty. I'm talking a dress that says 'I'm here to get railed.'"

She laughed—a real laugh, shaky but genuine. "You're such a bad influence."

"Someone has to be."

They spent the next hour planning. What time to arrive. Which drinks to order. An exit strategy if the guy was a creep. Y/N felt lighter than she had in weeks, a fragile hope blooming in her chest.

---

Outside, pressed against the brick wall of the adjacent building, a figure in red and blue watched through the sliver of curtain left uncovered.

Jungkook's hands curled into fists.

His jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached.

Someone new.

The words echoed in his skull, each syllable a knife twist. She was going to let some stranger touch her. Some random guy from a club. He'd put his hands on her skin, his mouth on her throat...

A low, guttural sound escaped his throat, muffled by the mask.

No. Absolutely fucking not.

He pushed off the wall, landing silently on the fire escape below. His mind raced. He couldn't stop her—not directly. He couldn't reveal himself, couldn't break the spell. But he could intercept. He could follow. He could make sure that no one—no one—got close enough to touch what was his.

Even if she didn't remember it.

He swung into the night, a plan already forming. The club. He'd be there. Not as Spider-Man—too obvious. He'd ditch the suit, put on something tight, something that would make her look. He'd find her on the dance floor, buy her a drink, let the night unfold.

The hunt was on.

The strapless bodycon dress was a weapon, and Y/N knew it.

Black velvet hugged every curve from her collarbone to mid-thigh, the hem riding up just enough to make men's eyes glaze over. She'd paired it with strappy heels that made her legs look miles long and a thin silver necklace that caught the light. Her hair fell in loose waves, makeup smoky and deliberate.

Taehyung let out a low whistle when she stepped out of her bedroom. "Holy shit."

"Too much?" She tugged at the neckline nervously.

"Not enough. You're going to break necks tonight. Possibly some hearts too, but who's counting." He offered his arm. "Shall we?"

She took it, laughing. "Let's get me laid."

---

The Velvet Underground lived up to its name. The interior was all dark burgundy and dim gold lighting, with a massive dance floor pulsing under black lights that made white fabrics glow. Bodies moved together in a haze of sweat and bass, the air thick with perfume and alcohol.

They claimed a spot at the bar, and Taehyung ordered them both shots of tequila. "Warm-up," he shouted over the music.

Y/N downed hers, grimacing at the burn. A second followed. Then a third.

By the fourth, the edges of her anxiety had blurred into a pleasant haze. The bass thrummed through her bones, and she found herself swaying, scanning the crowd. Potential candidates everywhere—sharp jawlines, broad shoulders, confident grins.

None of them made her stomach flip.

But then the door opened.

And he walked in.

Jungkook had planned this.

Tight black jeans that hugged his thighs and sat low on his hips. A simple white T-shirt, thin enough that the outline of his chest was visible when he moved. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing the veins in his forearms. He'd styled his hair messy, like he'd just rolled out of bed, and he wore that lazy half-smirk that had always made her knees weak.

Her favorite outfit.

He remembered the first time she'd seen him in it. They'd been dating for a few weeks, and he'd shown up at her door looking like this. She'd pulled him inside by his collar, pinned him against the wall, and kissed him so deep he'd seen stars. Her hands had tangled in his hair, pulling, while the other roamed down his stomach to palm him through the denim. She'd broken the kiss just to whisper against his lips, "You look so good it should be illegal. I want to ruin you."

And she had. For hours.

He carried that memory in his bones as he pushed open the club door, scanning the crowd with practiced casualness. His eyes landed on the bar.

There she was.

Strapless black dress. Hair loose. Cheeks flushed from alcohol. She was even more beautiful than he remembered—which was saying something, because he remembered every detail.

He pretended not to see her at first. Ordered a drink. Leaned against the bar, letting the black lights catch the contours of his arms.

Then Taehyung spotted him.

"Hey! Jungkook!"

Jungkook turned, feigning surprise. His eyes landed on Y/N, and he let them widen slightly—just enough. "Oh. Hey. Didn't expect to see you guys here."

Y/N's breath caught. Her lips parted, a soft gasp escaping. "Hi."

Just that. Hi. But the word came out breathy, almost involuntary.

Taehyung gestured him over. "Come join us. We're just warming up. Y/N's on a mission tonight."

"A mission?" Jungkook raised an eyebrow, sliding onto the stool beside her. Close enough that his knee brushed hers under the bar. "Sounds intriguing."

She opened her mouth to respond, but the words came out slurred. "M'sion... find someone... hot..."

Taehyung sighed. "I think the tequila hit faster than expected."

Jungkook smiled knowingly. She always did get tipsy fast. Three drinks and she'd be clinging to him, whispering dirty things in his ear. Four and she'd be begging to go home. Five and she'd be asleep before they hit the door.

"I can help you get her home," he offered, voice steady. "If you want."

Taehyung looked relieved. "God, yes. I was not looking forward to carrying her six blocks in those heels."

They helped her off the stool. Her legs wobbled, and she stumbled forward—

Right into Jungkook's arms.

Her palms landed flat on his chest. Her head tipped up, eyes glassy and unfocused. She blinked at him, a dopey smile spreading across her face. "Wow. You're... strong."

His hands caught her waist, steadying her. The velvet of her dress was soft under his fingers, her skin warm beneath the fabric. He could feel the rapid flutter of her pulse.

He lowered his voice, letting it dip into that husky register she'd always loved. "Oh yea?"

She nodded, earnest and drunk. "Mmhm. Like... hero strong."

If only you knew.

Taehyung was already heading for the door, waving them along. Jungkook kept one arm around Y/N's waist, guiding her out into the cool night air. The city hummed around them, taxis honking, distant sirens, the buzz of neon signs.

The walk to her apartment was slow. She kept tripping on cracks, leaning into him, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. At one point she looked up at him, squinting.

"You smell... familiar."

His chest tightened. "Good familiar or bad familiar?"

"Good." She nuzzled into his shoulder. "Really good."

Taehyung shot him a look—half curious, half amused. Jungkook just shrugged, playing it casual, though his heart was hammering.

They reached her building. Taehyung held the door while Jungkook helped her up the stairs. At her apartment door, she fumbled with her keys, nearly dropping them twice.

When she finally got it open, she turned around, throwing her arms around both of them in a messy group hug.

"Thank you," she mumbled into Taehyung's shoulder. "You're the best."

She pulled back, swaying slightly, and turned to Jungkook.

Her eyes met his.

The air between them thickened.

"You..." She reached up, touching his cheek with drunken clumsiness. Her thumb brushed his jawline. "You look so good tonight."

The words came out soft. Barely a whisper. Heavy with something she couldn't name.

Jungkook's throat tightened. He wanted to grab her, pull her inside, pin her against that door and remind her exactly what she was missing. He wanted to kiss that drunk confession off her lips and replace it with moans.

But not yet.

Not yet.

He smiled, gentle and aching. "Get some sleep, Y/N."

She blinked slowly, then ducked inside, closing the door with a soft click.

The lock turned.

Jungkook stood there for a long moment, hand pressed flat against the wood. He could hear her on the other side, shuffling, probably kicking off her heels.

"She say something?" Taehyung asked from behind.

"Just saying goodnight."

Taehyung hummed, unconvinced. "You know, for a guy who just met her, you're pretty invested."

Jungkook turned, keeping his face neutral. "She's a friend. I don't like seeing friends drunk and alone."

"Uh huh." Taehyung didn't push. "Well, thanks for the help. I'm gonna crash. See you around, Jungkook."

"Yeah. See you."

When Taehyung disappeared down the stairwell, Jungkook let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

He pressed his forehead to the door, listening. On the other side, he heard her humming—off-key, sleepy—as she padded toward her bedroom.

Soon, he promised himself. Soon she'll know.

But for tonight, he'd settle for knowing that even drunk and confused, she still thought he looked good.

That was enough.

For now.

The door clicked shut behind him, and the silence of his apartment swallowed him whole.

Jungkook stood there for a long moment, forehead pressed against the wood, listening to the echo of her voice in his head. You look so good tonight. Drunk, slurred, honest. She'd meant it. Even without knowing who he was, her body remembered. Her eyes had traced the lines of his shoulders, the curve of his jaw, and something deep in her gut had stirred.

But she was inside, alone, probably already curled up in bed, dreaming of strangers.

And he was out here. Alone. Again.

He pushed off the door and walked to his kitchen, grabbing a glass of water he didn't want. The apartment was too quiet. Too empty. The walls seemed to press in on him, carrying the weight of every night he'd spent like this—restless, aching, watching the clock tick toward dawn while the city hummed outside.

It's hard when no one loves you and the ones you love can't remember you.

He set the glass down harder than intended. It cracked. Water spilled across the counter.

"Fuck."

He stood there, dripping, staring at his own reflection in the dark window. A stranger in his own life. Spider-Man saved people. Jungkook saved no one. Not even himself.

He loved being Spider-Man. Loved the rush of swinging between buildings, the wind in his face, the sound of sirens fading as he swooped in to help. Loved the gratitude in strangers' eyes when he pulled them from wrecks, the way kids pointed up at him with awe.

But Jungkook deserved his own life too. A job he didn't have to hide. Friends who called him by his real name. A girl who looked at him like he was the only man in the world.

He closed his eyes, and there she was. Y/N. Laughing. Touching his face. Whining his name in that breathless way she used to when he was inside her.

"You're so good, Jungkook. Fuck—don't stop—"

His hand curled into a fist.

Then his spider-sense flared.

Sharp. Urgent. Something wrong.

He sighed, heavy and resigned, and reached for the suit.

---

The city was cruel tonight.

He swung from rooftop to rooftop, the wind biting at the exposed skin of his face and hands. Below, the neon lights of Manhattan bled into puddles on wet asphalt. Somewhere, a woman screamed—he veered toward it, landing on a fire escape to find a mugger wrestling a purse from an elderly lady. He webbed the guy to a lamppost in seconds, returned the purse, and was gone before the woman could finish thanking him.

Two blocks over, a car crash. He helped pull a family out before the fuel line sparked.

A domestic disturbance. He talked a man down from a balcony ledge.

A break-in at a convenience store.

A fire on the Lower East Side.

He kept moving. Kept saving. Kept pretending that each life he touched filled the hole inside him.

But it didn't.

Because the whole time, in the back of his mind, he was thinking of her. Her safety. Her smile. The way she used to trace the scars on his shoulders after a bad fight, her voice soft with worry: "You can't keep doing this, Jungkook. One day you won't come back."

And he'd kissed her forehead and promised he'd always come back to her.

Now she didn't even know to wait.

---

He landed on a rooftop overlooking her building.

The lights were off in her apartment. She was asleep, probably still drunk, tangled in sheets that smelled like her perfume. He imagined her lips slightly parted, hair fanned across the pillow, the slow rise and fall of her chest.

He pulled out the photo he kept tucked inside his suit. Polaroid, edges worn from handling. Her smiling at the camera, hair messy, wearing his hoodie. She'd taken it one morning after they'd spent the whole night tangled together. He'd been making coffee, and she'd grabbed his phone, snapped the picture just as he turned around.

"So I can look at you even when you're gone," she'd said.

He didn't know she'd end up being the one gone.

He pressed his thumb to her face, tracing the curve of her smile.

Soon.

Soon, he'd find a way. Something drastic. Something that would break through the spell's hold and make her remember—or at least make her feel it, even if she couldn't name it.

Soon, he'd be inside her apartment. Inside her. Reminding her exactly what she was missing.

But for now, he tucked the photo back, turned toward the next siren, and launched himself into the night.

For her. Always for her.

The bell above the door chimed, and Jungkook walked in like he owned the place.

Y/N looked up from the register, head pounding, eyes barely open. Her hair was pulled into a messy knot, and she was pretty sure she still smelled like last night's cheap perfume and regret. The hangover was a dull throb behind her eyes, a punishment for every shot Taehyung had convinced her to take.

She squinted at him. Him. The guy with the dangerous smile and the bracelet she didn't remember giving him.

"Morning," she grumbled, not even trying to sound pleasant.

He grinned. Actually grinned, like her misery was the highlight of his day. "Someone had fun last night."

"Someone regrets everything."

He laughed—that low, easy sound that did something annoying to her stomach—and walked past her to the counter. "Just the usual, please."

She turned to make it, moving slow, her head throbbing with every step. The espresso machine hissed, and she winced.

Behind her, she heard the door open again—a small commotion, a child's voice. She glanced over her shoulder.

A little boy, maybe seven or eight, had run in too fast, his backpack swinging. He collided with the table where Jungkook had set his bag, sending it toppling. But before it could hit the ground, Jungkook's hand shot out, catching it mid-air with reflexes too fast, too precise.

"Sorry, mister!" the boy said, eyes wide.

Jungkook just smiled, crouching down to the kid's level. "It's okay, buddy. No harm done." And he reached out, ruffling the boy's hair with an easy, affectionate motion.

Y/N froze.

The gesture. The way his fingers moved through the dark strands, the gentle mock-scolding in his tone. It was exactly how Spider-Man had ruffled that kid's hair in the interview she watched online. She'd watched the clip multiple times, her body heating each time—the way those gloved fingers had been so careful, so human, beneath the mask.

She blinked, shaking off the thought. No. That's ridiculous. Lots of people ruffle kids' hair.

But something nagged at her. The precision of the catch. The casual confidence. The way he moved.

Jungkook straightened, catching her stare. His eyebrow arched. "Something wrong?"

She realized she'd been staring. Heat crept up her neck. "No. Nothing. Your coffee."

She shoved the cup toward him, maybe a little too aggressively. He took it, amused, and leaned against the counter instead of leaving like a normal person.

She needed to get this over with.

"Listen," she said, forcing herself to meet his eyes. "About last night. I was... a lot. I know I was all over you, and I'm sorry. I don't usually—I mean, I was drunk, and Taehyung was being an ass, and—"

"Cute."

She stopped. "What?"

"You were cute." He took a sip of his coffee, watching her over the rim. "Not 'a lot.' Cute."

Her face burned. She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. No words came out. Just a stupid, flustered silence.

He smiled—that knowing, crooked smile that made her knees weak—and pushed off from the counter. "See you around, Y/N."

He walked out, the bell chiming behind him.

She stood there, heart hammering, watching him disappear down the street.

Fuck.

She touched her cheek. It was hot. She was blushing like a teenager. And worst of all, she was thinking about him—the scent of his cologne, the strength in his hands when he'd caught that bag, the way his voice had dipped when he said "cute."

She shook her head, turning back to the register.

But as she wiped down the counter, her mind wandered. To Spider-Man. To Jungkook. To the way both of them made her feel seen in a way she couldn't explain.

Maybe I have a crush on him.

She bit her lip.

Or maybe I'm just that desperate.

But even as she thought it, she knew it wasn't true. There was something about him. Something familiar. Something that pulled at the edges of her memory, just out of reach.

And somewhere across the city, swinging between rooftops, Jungkook smiled to himself, her blush burned into his mind.

Soon, he thought. Soon, you'll remember.

The city was settling into dusk, streetlights flickering to life as Y/N walked home, her bag slung over one shoulder. The hangover had faded to a dull ache, replaced by the restless energy that had been gnawing at her all day. She was thinking about Jungkook—the way he'd laughed, the way his hand had caught that bag, the way he'd called her cute.

She was so lost in thought she almost missed the commotion.

A sharp cry. An old man's voice, cracked with panic. "Help! Someone help!"

Y/N's head snapped up. Across the street, a figure in a hoodie was sprinting away, an old leather bag clutched under his arm. Behind him, an elderly man stumbled, reaching out helplessly.

"Hey!" Y/N didn't think. She ran.

Three blocks. Her lungs burned, her legs pumping, the thief weaving through pedestrians. She was fast—she'd always been fast—but he was younger, more desperate. He ducked into a narrow alley, reeking of garbage and stale urine.

She followed without hesitation.

The alley was dark, shadows pooling like liquid. She could hear his footsteps echoing, slowing. He was cornered. She rounded a corner, ready to tackle him—

And then he was gone.

No. Not gone. Pinned.

A figure in red and blue dropped from above, landing silently. The thief was already webbed to a wall, the bag dangling from Spider-Man's hand. The hero turned to her, the white lenses of his mask catching the faint light.

"You really need to stop running into danger," he said, his voice modulated, teasing.

Y/N's heart pounded—not from the chase, but from him. From the way he stood, the way he moved.

She tried to step forward, to get a better look at the thief, to see where he'd gone into the darkness—

A thwip. A strand of web shot out, catching her wrist, yanking it to the brick wall beside her.

She stared at her hand, pinned by the familiar white silk. Again.

"Are you kidding me?" she snapped, yanking at the web. It held firm. "You can't just—"

"Watch and learn," Spider-Man said, and in two quick moves, he had the thief subdued, the bag retrieved, a police call tapped into his comm—all while she stood there, helpless, a memory flickering in the back of her mind.

Webs. Restraint. A voice whispering in the dark. Hands on her wrists, pinning her down. A body pressing against hers, the rough texture of a suit, the heat beneath it.

She blinked, the image dissolving like smoke.

He was in front of her now, the old man's bag tucked under one arm. He reached up and flicked the web on her wrist. It dissolved instantly, dropping her hand.

"You're free," he said. "Now go home. It's not safe."

She rubbed her wrist, glaring at him. "You can't just do that whenever you want! I was helping! I could have—"

She stepped forward, jabbing a finger at his chest plate. "You don't get to decide when I'm in danger! You don't get to just—"

She pushed him. Hard. He didn't move, but she kept going, frustration boiling over, her hands flat against his chest—

And then her foot caught on a loose piece of asphalt.

She stumbled forward, off-balance, straight into him.

Her body collided with his, her hands instinctively grabbing his arms to steady herself. Her fingers wrapped around his biceps, the fabric of his suit smooth and textured beneath her palms.

And something clicked.

The feel of it—the tight compression, the subtle ribbing, the exact way the material hugged the muscle underneath—sent a shiver through her. Her eyes widened. She didn't know why, but her hands began to move, sliding down his arms slowly, almost reverently. She felt the curve of his shoulders, the strength of his forearms, the way his muscles tensed under her touch.

She looked up.

The mask stared back at her, white lenses unreadable. But she could feel him watching her, feel the sudden stillness in his body.

Her breath caught. She could see him beneath the mask. Not his face, but something else. A feeling. A memory just out of reach.

I know you. I've felt you before.

She lifted a hand, reaching for his mask, her fingers trembling—

He stepped back.

Just one step, but it was enough to break her hold. Her hand hung in the air, empty.

"I have to go," he said, his voice tighter now, less playful. He set the bag down. "The police are on their way. Stay safe."

And before she could say another word, he was gone—a blur of red and blue vanishing into the night sky, leaving her alone in the dark alley, the old man's bag at her feet, her skin still tingling where she'd touched him.

She stood there, heart racing, frustration and confusion twisting in her chest.

Why does he feel so familiar?

She clenched her fists. It was like a word on the tip of her tongue, a name she couldn't remember, a face she couldn't see.

And yet, he's a stranger.

She bent down, picked up the bag, and walked out of the alley, her mind churning.

Who are you?

The question echoed in the empty space where Spider-Man had been. And somewhere, high above, hidden in the shadows, Jungkook watched her go, his hands shaking, his heart aching with the weight of everything she didn't remember.

The bell above the café door chimed, and Y/N's heart did a little flip she immediately suppressed.

Jungkook walked in, all easy confidence in a loose black t-shirt and those worn jeans that hung just right on his hips. He ran a hand through his hair—still slightly damp, like he'd just showered—and gave her a small smile as he approached the counter.

"Morning, Y/N."

She should have said something. She should have smiled back, asked for his usual order, made some casual remark about the weather. But her mind was still reeling from last night. The alley. The webs. The way her hands had traced the suit's texture like her fingers remembered what her brain couldn't.

Instead, she just nodded, her movements mechanical as she punched in his order. "Americano."

He blinked, clearly noticing her clipped tone. "Yeah. Thanks."

She turned to make the coffee, her back to him, feeling his gaze on her. She could sense the question in his silence—what's wrong?—but she couldn't bring herself to address it. She didn't know what to say. Hey, I think you might be the superhero who's been haunting my dreams and my subconscious sex life, but I can't be sure, so just pretend everything's normal.

She slid the cup across the counter. He took it, their fingers almost brushing. She pulled back too fast.

"Thanks," he said again, slower this time, searching her face.

She just nodded and turned to wipe down the counter, even though it was already clean.

The café was quiet—a lull between the morning rush and the lunch crowd. Taehyung was in the back, restocking cups, humming something under his breath. Y/N busied herself with meaningless tasks, acutely aware of Jungkook settling into his usual table by the window, pulling out his phone.

He didn't look at her again. Or maybe he did, in brief glances she pretended not to notice.

After a few minutes, he stood up, stretching his arms above his head. The motion pulled his shirt up just slightly, revealing a sliver of his stomach. Y/N's eyes tracked it before she forced them away.

"Bathroom," he said, more to announce it than anything, and disappeared through the back hallway.

The moment the door clicked shut, Taehyung emerged from the stockroom, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Okay. Now's my chance."

Y/N frowned. "What chance?"

Taehyung didn't answer. He darted to Jungkook's table, where the worn leather messenger bag sat propped against the chair leg.

"Taehyung, what the hell—"

"Shh." He was already crouching, unzipping the bag with practiced ease. "He's so mysterious. I just want to snoop a little. See if he's hiding anything interesting."

Y/N's heart lurched. "Stop! Put that back." She hissed, crossing the café in three quick strides. "What are you doing? That's his private stuff—"

"Relax, I'm just looking." Taehyung's hands moved through the bag's contents—a wallet, a phone, a protein bar wrapper, a small notebook. "Boring, boring, boring. How does this guy have no personality in his bag?"

"Taehyung, I swear to God—"

He pulled out a crumpled piece of fabric. Dark red and blue, folded into a rough square.

His eyebrows shot up. "Oh, he's a fan."

He unfolded it, and Y/N's breath caught in her throat.

It was a mask. A Spider-Man mask. The white lenses stared up at her, empty and familiar.

Taehyung held it up, smirking. "See? Fanboy. Probably wears it to bed or something." He scoffed, tossing it carelessly back into the bag. "Guess even mysterious guys have heroes."

But Y/N wasn't listening.

She reached down, her fingers trembling, and picked up the mask. The fabric was cool against her skin. She ran her thumb across the surface—the subtle ribbing, the tight weave, the exact texture that had pressed against her palms last night.

The same texture.

Her blood ran cold.

She remembered the alley. The way her hands had slid down Spider-Man's arms. The way the suit had felt beneath her fingers. The way her body had known it, even when her mind couldn't.

This was the same mask. The same fabric. The same—

She looked up. Taehyung was staring at her, his smirk fading into confusion. "You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

She couldn't speak. Her throat was tight, her heart pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears.

She was holding Spider-Man's mask.

Jungkook's mask.

Jungkook is Spider-Man.

The realization hit her like a freight train, knocking the air from her lungs. She stood there, frozen, the fabric clutched in her hands, the truth burning through her.

He's the one who saved me. He's the one who webs me to walls. He's the one who watches me from the shadows.

He's the one I've been dreaming about.

She thought of the dreams—the vivid, explicit dreams where Spider-Man's voice had whispered filthy things in her ear, where his hands had pinned her down, where his body had moved inside hers like he knew every inch of her. The dreams where she had arched into him, moaning, pleading, coming undone.

Her face flushed, her thighs pressing together involuntarily.

Oh God.

She had been dreaming about him. About the man who had been coming into her café, smiling at her, teasing her, touching her—and she hadn't known.

But her body had.

Her body had remembered.

"Y/N?" Taehyung's voice was sharper now. "Put it back. He'll be out any second."

She forced her hands to move, folding the mask roughly and shoving it back into the bag. She zipped it closed just as the bathroom door creaked open.

Jungkook emerged, wiping his hands on his jeans. He glanced at them—Taehyung standing awkwardly by the table, Y/N frozen behind the counter—and his brow furrowed.

"Everything okay?"

"Fine!" Taehyung said, too quickly. "Great. Just—telling Y/N about a thing. A thing I saw. Bye."

He scurried back to the stockroom, leaving Y/N alone with Jungkook.

He walked to the counter, picking up his coffee, his eyes studying her. "You sure you're okay? You seem... off today."

She couldn't look at him. She stared at the counter, at the espresso machine, at anything but his face.

"I'm fine," she said, her voice flat. "Just tired."

He didn't push. He just nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. "Alright. I'll see you later, then."

He turned and walked out, the bell chiming behind him.

Y/N stood there, her heart pounding, her mind racing.

Jungkook is Spider-Man.

And she had been dreaming of him fucking her senseless.

She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the rapid thrum of her pulse. A strange mix of fear, confusion, and something else—something hot and hungry—coiled in her stomach.

She had questions. So many questions.

But more than that, she had a need.

A need to find out if the dreams were somehow real.

----------------

Wanna read the ending (smut + their reunion)? Subscribe to my BTS patreon here OR read the FULL story here!

[vinylopall]

the weight of what if | j.jk

⤷one-shot!! in which....seven months without intimacy and you somehow still spiral into a full-blown pregnancy scare because your period goes missing and so does your common sense, Jungkook gives the gentlest reproductive biology lesson known to mankind

pairing: boyfriend!jungkook x fem, gf!reader

genre: romance | fluff | slice of life | anxiety | domestic fluff | established relationship

warnings: green flag JK, he has the patience of a saint, biology lesson at 9 p.m., overthinking takes center stage, no actual pregnancy, negative pregnancy test, pregnancy scare, communication saves the day, emotional support boyfriend, irrational anxiety, cuddles, kisses, tooth-rotting fluff, anxiety, mentions of sex and fingering

word count: 3,6k

The apartment is quiet when you wake up, the space beside you is still warm but empty. Jungkook has already left for work, another early morning at the tech company where he's been pouring all his energy lately. You sigh, rolling onto your back to stare at the ceiling.

For almost three years, Jeon Jungkook has been your safe place. At twenty-four, he's already settled into the rhythm of adulthood, working as a junior software engineer at a growing tech company before returning each evening to the cozy apartment he rents, and you live there too.

Jungkook loves you more than anything, and he is convinced that you are the best thing that has ever happened to him.

That's why, whether you do everything together or not, he takes your relationship seriously. He wants to be the person you come to whenever something or someone has been buzzing you. He absentmindedly plays with your fingers whenever you ramble, kisses your forehead every chance he gets, and falls asleep within minutes if you're curled against his chest. And if somehow work keeps him away, he calls every morning and every night, and he refuses to let an argument survive until sunrise.

Communication has always been the foundation of your relationship.

You haven't been the type of person to die for male validation. Yes, of course, there were times when you were a teenager that told a different story, but that was in the past, and time changes people.

For you, a relationship was never about intimacy; yeah, of course, that has its role too, but with him everything was different. For the first time, you felt wanted without having to share anything about yourself. You could love without having to give something back, too.

There were late-night conversations and Netflix dates that ended with you actually seeing the movie through to the end; you could shower together and not expect anything, same with cuddling and with just... everything in general. For both of you, a relationship didn't equal physical intimacy; it was simply more than that.

However, now your period is suddenly more than two weeks late.

Logic should have been enough. You haven't had intercourse in over seven months. You know how pregnancy works. You know the odds are nonexistent. Your brain, however, has other plans.

You drag yourself out of bed. You walk to the bathroom, your mind already racing through the possibilities as it has been doing for days. It's just stress, or maybe it's the jet lag from the vacation two weeks ago. Or maybe... no. You refuse to even think the word.

But as you brush your teeth, your reflection in the mirror seems to mock you. You look different, somehow. Fuller in the face, maybe? Or is that just your imagination playing tricks on you, feeding into the irrational fear that's been consuming you?

Your phone buzzes on the counter, and you pick it up to see a message from Jungkook.

Morning, beautiful. Sorry I left without saying goodbye. Big deadline today. Call you at lunch? Love you.

A small smile touches your lips. Even exhausted and overworked, he still thinks of you. Still makes time for you. That's the kind of man he is.

Morning. Good luck with the deadline. Talk at lunch. Love you too.

You set your phone down and finish getting ready for work, trying to push the overthinking aside. By the time lunch comes, you're a mess of nerves and emotion. You pick at the salad you brought, your stomach turning at the sight of food. Then Jungkook calls you.

"Hey," you say, trying to sound cheerful.

"Hey. How's your day going?"

"Fine," you lie. "Just the usual. How about you? Surviving the deadline?"

"Barely," he says with a laugh. "But I think we'll make it. Hey, I was thinking... since I'll probably be late tonight, maybe we could do something this weekend, like a picnic?"

Your heart aches at the suggestion. It's been so long since you've had proper quality time together.

"I'd like that," you say softly.

"Good. Me too." There's a pause on his end. "Is everything okay, though? You seem... quiet."

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath. This is your chance. You could tell him right now, but the words won't come. How do you even begin to explain something so irrational? “Hey, I know we haven't had sex in seven months, but I think I might be pregnant.” He'd think you were crazy. Or worse, he'd think you'd been with someone else.

"Just tired," you say, hating yourself for the lie. "Long week."

"Okay…" he says. "Well, try to get some rest tonight. I'll try not to be too late, but no promises."

"It's okay. I understand," you say.

Then there's a long pause.

"I love you, you know."

"I love you too," you whisper.

When you hang up, you rest your forehead on your desk.

That evening, by the time you get home, Jungkook is already there, sitting on the couch with his laptop on his knees. He looks up when you enter, his face lighting up with a smile.

"Oh Hi. I didn't expect you to come home until later," you say to him.

"Hey, beautiful. I finished earlier than expected," he says, patting the space beside him. "Come here. I missed you."

You drop your bag on the floor and sink onto the couch beside him, leaning your head against his shoulder. He wraps his arm around you, pulling you closer.

"Rough day?"

You nod against his shoulder. "Something like that."

"You okay?" he asks, his voice softer now.

You force a smile. "Yeah, just tired."

He doesn't buy it, not even a bit. He reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Hey, you're not just tired. Talk to me. Please?"

"I-I don't know how to say this without making a fool of myself."

"Say what, my love?"

You take a deep breath.

"My period is late."

"Okay," he says, his tone measured. "How late are we talking?"

"Two weeks..."

He frowns a little.

"Two weeks? That's late." He looks at you, his eyes softening. "Okay. Have you been stressed lately? I mean, you just graduated a few weeks ago, and you've been stressed for weeks about that," he says softly.

"Yeah, I have been stressed."

He takes your hand. "Yeah, I thought so. You've been pacing the apartment back and forth these past few weeks. Stress can do a number on your cycle, baby. Remember last semester when you were panicking over that exam, and it was a week late then, too? And unless there's something you haven't told me, we haven't exactly... you know."

"I know, but what if...?"

"What if... what, love?" He tilts his head, his expression patient. He looks at you as if he can see the gears turning in your head, the spiraling beginning.

"You know what, Kook."

"Okay, let's think about this together, yeah?" He shifts to face you fully, giving you his complete attention. "When was the last time we... you know. Actually had sex?"

"Like, seven months ago."

"Okay... baby... we haven't had sex in seven months... I'm pretty sure that's not how it works." He sighs softly, running his thumb over your knuckles. "So what's going on in that head of yours? Because I know you, and you've already thought through every possible scenario, haven't you?"

"Yes- I mean, you fingered me last month, and you know if there's, like... you know, cum, I can probably, maybe..."

"Babe," he says, looking at you. His mouth opens, closes, then opens again before he finally finds his words. "Are you... are you telling me you think you got pregnant from my fingers?" He has to look away, pressing his lips together, or he's going to laugh.

"What? No! I'm just saying that maybe if there was cum on them-"

He bites his lip, looking at you. "Baby. Sweetheart. Love of my life."

He reaches out and takes both of your hands in his, his thumbs caressing the backs of them. He looks at you with those vulnerable, gentle eyes.

"I need you to hear what I'm about to say, okay? And I'm not making fun of you, I promise. When I fingered you, I obviously didn't finish, and I didn't bring my fingers there, and if there was sperm, let's say... maybe from the night before, it couldn't survive that long. And even if there somehow was, and I mean somehow, a viable little guy hanging around on my fingers after I washed my hands, took a shower, went to work, came back, and helped you with dinner, it wouldn't be able to swim all the way up there from where, uh, my fingers were. That's not how biology works."

"Kook. I know, I'm just saying that maybe, maybe-"

He smiles. "Maybe nothing, sweetheart."

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. His chin rests on the top of your head. "I love you. I love that your brain works like this. But I also need you to know with absolute certainty that you are not pregnant."

You nod against his chest. "I know, but my mind is so dumb."

He chuckles softly. "Your mind isn't dumb; it's creative. But I understand why it's like this. It's okay to be worried. But let's look at the facts, yeah?"

"Okay, sure." You nod, biting your lip in concentration.

"Fact one: no sex in seven months. Fact two: you graduated from university and had those stressful exams. Fact three: we traveled by plane for our vacation in London, and the time zone changed; jet lag and time zones can also contribute to a late period, from my knowledge." He squeezes your arms. "See? The facts are on your side. And hey, if you're so stressed, we can get a test tomorrow and see it for yourself, and you can calm down."

"I don't want to see. Taking tests is scary, and I don't want to see the two lines."

"But, my love... not knowing is making it real anyway, isn't it? You're already seeing the two lines in your head."

You nod again.

"Exactly, so let's make it a fact instead of a scary story."

"Yeah, you're right... let's buy a test tomorrow. I hate it when my brain is so loud."

"I know. But my voice is louder, and it says you're okay." He speaks gently into your hair.

A few minutes pass in comfortable silence, and you focus on the sound of his heartbeat.

"Thank you for being so patient with me."

"You never have to thank me for that. It's my favourite thing, to take care of you."

You nuzzle your nose into the crook of his neck, inhaling his familiar scent that comforts you. God, you love how he smells.

"Hey, I'm getting hungry. Wanna make some buldak? I think we still have a creamy carbonara and a quattro cheese in the pantry."

"Buldak?" You perk up like a dog hearing the word "treat." "Oh yes, I've been craving some for, like, a week."

He chuckles. "My brave girl, craving spice even when you're stressed." He leans back slightly so he can look down at you. "You feel a little better?"

"I feel better, let's just forget it."

"Good, we'll forget it," he says with a soft smile. "Oh, and by the way, don't think I didn't notice you stole my grey hoodie again."

You suddenly get shy. "Shut up, you know I love this one."

"Of course you do. It smells like me."

"Well... it helps quiet the loud thoughts."

"Aw. Well, if it helps, then you can steal all of my hoodies."

You give him a soft peck on the cheek. "Can we go make buldak now?"

"Mhm, I'll make it. You stay here, and I'll call you when I'm going to put the spice in."

You smile at him. "Okay, baby. Love you."

"Love you too, my little dumpling."

You roll your eyes jokingly.

You finish eating, watch a movie, cuddle, and eventually go to sleep.

The morning light filters through the blinds, painting stripes across the rumpled sheets. You watch the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the peaceful expression on his face as he sleeps. You feel so grateful for this man. He stirs and a slow, sleepy smile spreads across his face when he sees you watching him.

"Morning sunshine."

"Morning, baby," you say sleepily.

He props himself up on one elbow. "So... are we ready?"

You nod, rubbing your eyes. "Yeah, I'm ready."

He gets up. "Okay, ready-ready, or more like you're preparing-yourself ready?"

"I'm ready-ready."

He offers you his hand, helping you up. "Good. The closest pharmacy is three minutes away. We could walk."

You nod. "Okay, my love."

He smiles. "Let's get ready and go then."

You both change and do your morning routines. When you're done, he holds the apartment door open for you. He laces his fingers through yours as you walk to the elevator.

"You know, this is probably the most dramatic trip to the pharmacy we'll ever take." He bumps your shoulder playfully. "We should've made a playlist for this."

"Very funny, Jeon," you say, although you're smiling.

The elevator descends.

"Hey, deep breath. It's just an overpriced box and a stick. And no matter what it says, you know I'm here."

"I know. That's why I love you."

"I love you too."

The walk to the pharmacy is short, and you decide to buy the first type of pregnancy test you lay your eyes on.

"Do you want anything from the convenience store next door? Chips? Doritos? Cheetos?"

"Nah, I'm good. Let's just go."

He nods and pays for the test.

The walk back home is even shorter. When you arrive at the apartment, Jungkook goes straight to the living room, giving you space. He settles onto the sofa, looking through his phone, though his eyes keep tracking your movements across the room.

"Don't forget to set the timer, and I'll be right here when you're ready."

You nod and head straight into the bathroom. You take a plastic cup from under the sink and look at it. You've done this exactly one time in your entire life. This will be the second. It's not that bad, especially when you know you haven't done anything incriminating.

You pee into the cup, dip the test in it for 10 seconds, and set a 5 minute timer on your phone. The first line shows up quickly and it stays that way for the next 8 minutes. You watch it, waiting for a second line that never appears. Only after you're 100% sure there's no second line, no matter how faint it might be, you walk into the living room.

He looks up as you enter, his expression hopeful but guarded.

"Baby...?" he asks, waiting for you to say something.

Jungkook looks at you. He's absolutely sure there won't be a pregnancy unless you've had one with someone else. But no. He won't let that thought consume him. He trusts you as much as you trust him. After all, he knows he's your everything, and the other way around.

"It's negative," you say, your voice small.

He smiles. "See? It's okay. You're okay. We're okay."

You fly into his arms, shaking with relief.

"Shhh, it's alright. You've been so brave. Look at you. You were so scared, and you did it anyway. I'm so proud of you."

"I don't know what I'd do if it weren't for you."

"I'm always here to stop that little overthinking brain of yours." He looks at you. "So... how on earth have we managed to have a full-blown pregnancy scare after seven months without sex? We're nothing if not... imaginative."

"Shut up," you say, sniffling.

Jungkook grins as he kisses your forehead.

"Make me. And for the record, you scared the hell out of me today, you know that?" he says as he cups your face.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. For a second there... when you went quiet... I thought my heart was going to explode." His thumbs stroke your cheeks, wiping away your tears.

"I'm sorry," you mumble into his shirt. "For being so... so much."

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands still framing your face.

"Don't you dare apologize for this. Your brain works overtime because you care, because you feel things deeply. It's one of the things I love most about you."

"It was pretty stupid, wasn't it?"

"It was creative as I had already said," he corrects with a smile. "It was a masterpiece of overthinking. We should frame that pregnancy test, maybe with a title like The Contraception of the Finger."

You groan, pushing playfully at his chest. "Oh my God, stop."

"Never," he says, pulling you back in for a tight hug and rocking you slightly.

"So... what now?"

"Now, we celebrate."

"Celebrate what? A negative test?"

"We celebrate that my voice is, in fact, louder than your brain's. And we celebrate with another buldak because I know you're still craving another pack."

"You know me too well."

"It's my job," he says proudly. "Now, go on. I'll dispose of the evidence. Rest in peace, little stick. You served your purpose."

He disappears into the bathroom for a moment, and you take a deep breath.

When he returns, he takes your hand again.

"Come on. Let's go make the spiciest noodles we can find. As a reward for your bravery."

You let him lead you into the kitchen and lean against the counter, watching him fill the pot with water.

"Hey, Kook?" you say softly.

He turns from the stove, a question in his eyes.

"I love you."

His face softens into a smile. He walks over to you, cups your face, and kisses you slowly.

"I love you too," he murmurs against your lips. "Now, how much spice are we talking? I'm thinking your bravery deserves a whole spice pack."

You laugh. "Bring it on."

And as he turns back to the stove, humming, you know that everything is okay.

The sharp scent of the spicy sauce fills the kitchen as Jungkook tears open the packet with his teeth. He's muttering about how extra cheese doesn't belong on buldak, his brow furrowed in concentration. You watch the muscles shift in his arms as he reaches for the chopsticks.

The fear had been like a stone in your gut, but now it's gone. What if it hadn't been fear at all? What if, beneath all the panic and the logic-defying scenarios, there was a tiny, secret flicker of... what?

You look at him now, at the way his hair falls into his eyes, at the gentle curve of his smile as he glances over at you, and the thought begins to take shape. A child... his child.

The idea, which had been so horrifying just an hour ago, suddenly has a face. It has his eyes and his laugh. It wouldn't have been the end of the world. It would have been the beginning of a different one. You realize that a different world with him and his child wouldn't have been so bad at all.

divider cookies

divider baby

a/n: do I like putting my personal experiences on the internet? no. did I think this would make a cute one-shot? absolutely. okay, but... why are our periods late this month? 😭 July is literally over in, like, an hour for me, and I still haven't gotten mine. I'm saying this because I've seen so many people on TikTok complaining about the exact same thing. I definitely know I'm not pregnant because, well... um... seven months and a negative test. 💀 But yeah. Once it finally decides to show up, I already know the pain is going to be absolutely insufferable. At this point, I just want it to come so I can get it over with. Btw this took me 8 hrs to write, my back hurts....

[matchastwb]

MEI’S HOLY GRAILS — FIC RECS (JJK & KTH) mdni

✿ liking and reblogging isn’t enough for these fics, i need to make a list and post about it🤓 (will be occasionally updated!!)

✿ about my taste in fics:

⤷ fluff: this is my FAV! i’m a whore for fluff, sue me, but i can never get enough of it especially when there is also a lot of TENSION!

⤷ smut: i love it, but i need a fun plot to go with it. fics that are purely smut scenes typically aren’t my cup of tea! i need an interesting (or sinful heheh!) premise to go with it usually, but there is AMAZING smut in here do not fear <3

⤷ angst: now this is something that i love… in moderation! i’m a weak hearted girl, so this rec list won’t be too angsty !! (although angst is DEF there hehe)

✿ (roughly) listed in order of length from shortest to longest fic :)

One Bed in Belize by @stobitproductions

⤷ jjk | oneshot (f, s) | rivals to lovers, forced proximity, college au

i raveddd about this fic here, but to keep it concise: it’s beautiful, so cute, and reading it feels like a reward! the idea and details are so unique, and i wanted to print it out just so i could underline some lines! fics that have a more niche backdrop are always so fun because it feels fresh and it’s like im learning something new. i love love loveeee this! so underrated !

Pour Up by @jungkxook

⤷ jjk & kth | oneshot (s) | college au, threesome, hot as fuck lol

this is for any horny freaks out there! you will love love love this. the best bangtan threesome i’ve EVER read it’s sososososo hot they play a stripping game and things get freaky in the most sinful beautiful and college way ever. PLS READ THIS??!

The Lovebug by @jungkxook

⤷ jjk | oneshot (f, s) | spiderman!jk, noona!reader, college au

this fic is sooo cute! jk is a loser and a nerd and he’s so incredibly cute and downbad for reader here! this made me swoon, one of my fav superhero fics for jungkook or bts n general 🫶

Best Mistake by @lovieku

⤷ jjk | oneshot (a, s) | dilf!jk x inexperienced!reader

this is art in its most raw, unapologetically sinful form! i loveee the tension with subtle glances and signals and how it leads to a realistically heart-wrenching ending. it was both gratifying and angsty—it’s perfection. it had me squealing and crying in just 17k words. the BEST of this trope in my opinion!!

Loves Me, Loves Me Not by @dreamersparacosm

⤷ jjk | two-shot (f, s) | chaebol!au, fake dating, friends to lovers

this was SOOO cute! i think the winning factor here is the humor and wit tbh! i was genuinely laughing out loud one moment and the next i’m biting my nails from the TENSION!! such a perfect delicious two-shot! lowkey anything she writes can be on this list tbh 😭

Still Don’t Know My Name by @dollfaceksj

⤷ jjk | three-shot (s) | neighbors!au, sexting, enemies to lovers

i read this on wattpad and felt like i was transported to 2019 when i would stay up late and die of laughter over horny comments. it’s so SMUTTY but also FUNNY and ugh, the tension was unreal. i think i discovered something about myself while reading this, that’s how good it was LOL

Love at First Oink by @glodenclosetau

⤷ kth | smau series (f) | neighbors!au, friends to lovers

this will always have a special place in my heart for being my first smau ever! it’s sooo ridiculously cute and funny, and the story is genuinely so unique i've never seen anything like it! this is friends to lovers PERFECTION!! i still reread from time to time when i get want to giggle at my phone like a crazy person llololol

Teach Me How to Love by @kookooluvr

⤷ jjk | series (f, a, s) | fwb, professors!au

now this is coachella...every spectrum of fan fiction excellence was MAXIMIZED. the angst in this hurts in the best way possible and the FLUFF had me squealing! and the smut? ranges from beautiful, emotional lovemaking to horny quickies in the club bathroom and it’s all super YUM!! to top it all off? GORGEOUS GORGEOUS PROSE!!! a must read!

Maybe I Do by @chateautae

⤷ kth | series (f, a, s) | arranged marriage, ceo!tae, strangers to lovers

no one should be surprised that this is here. if you haven’t read it yet, DO IT NOWWWW! this is the epitome of a perfect arranged marriage fic, taehyung is to die for here—genuinely i’d give a lung to MID tae he is THAT swoon worthy—and the oc is just so beautifully written. this is the fic that got me back into reading bts fics after a two year hiatus! <3

✧♬•*¨*•.｡ other fic recs | main masterlist |

[cocoakook]

𖥻 ׁ𑣲정국 𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞 / dilf x babysitter

⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔

|| mr. jeon wasn't looking for a girlfriend when he hired you as a babysitter for his 5 year old son - however, he took a liking to seeing you in his own home, way more than he'd realized. (13k words)

content : age gap (31 & 22) , secretly down bad jungkook, mini slow burn, sensitive reader, teasing, jealousy moment, eventual smut (mention of m. masturbation, unprotected p in v, oral f. receiving, praise and degradation, edging, doggy, hair pulling, talking her thru it, small boobs appreciation, clit play ..), fluff, lwk mean dom kook, they want each other bad, reader has long hair, jungkook is kinda grumpy, themes of dom & sub faintly underlying

♡ bunny´s notes : dad jungkook is my fav trope ! i worked hard on ts,, lmk what u think (This took ages to write) >.< may contain typos or errors

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Life looks different twice a week.

On boring mondays and long wednesday evenings, you'd been making your way over to a neighbourhood that seemed far out of reach before, getting on a bus you'd never thought to ride. Lavish residences with blooming gardens line the streets of his district, among them, a rather dark looking, simple house;  plain garden with a swing placed thoughtlessly right in the middle of the neglected front lawn, a broken porch light glowing whenever it felt enticed to.

Yet the herbal, earthy and simultaneously fruity scent of bonterra organic cabernet lingers in the air from what feels like a mile away. The artificial sweetness of your 16 euro body spray - notes of sugar and vanilla - create a mismatched harmony that infiltrates Mr. Jeon's home. 

His son fell in love with you at the first meeting.

The puppy-like looking little boy had nannies on trial and error before - highly paid, recommended ones, the kind that have a linkedin, like all the other rich bastards in Jungkook’s circle have. While the first two's  soft approach got the occasional giggle out of Jukyung, the following three, stricter ones, failed to do anything but make him cry and refuse to eat the meals they had spent so much time preparing. All of it seemed to make no sense since -  he is by no means a difficult child to charm, proving equal habits by the time you came around. Hiding behind his dad’s leg and clinging his tiny hands to the cashmere pant, eyes wide and already glossy from glancing up at the fresh face in front of him.

Maybe that's why Jukyung came to adore you so quickly. Sweet faced and unmistakably younger than any of the other women his dad hired. Old enough to be old in his eyes - but young enough to know the shows he watches, recognize marvel superheroes and play the songs currently on the radio - when he repeats them with a jumbled melody and made up, Incoherent lyrics.

“He's a bit shy” Jungkook sighs, muttering as his fingers skim down the kid's tiny shoulders soothingly. You reply with a small hum, offering an inviting smile to him as you talk,

"That's okay. I'm sure we will get along. I'm – , nice to meet you Jukyung.”

He blinks slowly, the big doe eyes that match his dad's shine with childish excitement Jungkook lost somewhere along the way of becoming a man.

“Namjoon said you're good with brats like him”  Jungkook continues, a curious glint in his serious gaze, his friend's judgement remaining under scrutiny. 

“Mr. Kim?”  

He nods, “He suggested you to me”. While adjusting his tie, he spares a quick look at the golden watch on his wrist.

“I hope you get along. Don’t hesitate to call me if there is an emergency.”

Jukyung pouts as he looks up to his dad, his iron man shirt bunched up in angry little grips of his hands. You stay quiet, listening to the serious tone in Jungkook's voice fade out into a parental gentleness, wiping the look off his son's face as he crouches down, giving him a kiss to the forehead and a reassuring pat on the head. “Appa is gonna be home in a couple hours. Be nice, okay?”

“Okay” he grumbles in return, almost managing to sound annoyed - if it wasn't for him nodding enthusiastically. The determination of his dad is wearing off on him even at this age. 

Overall, the resemblance is striking, which is definitely why your eyes keep scanning over Jungkook's form. Noticing his full, pierced bottom lip, the slenderness of his fingers, the sharp contours of his jaw and round tip of his nose that looks exactly like his sons.

Jungkook also thinks his son is just like him.

The panorama window sits high above the rest of the city, his desk overlooks people scrambling for a taxi, kids leaving their school's building with a backpack that's almost bigger than their own body. The corner of his office desk is decorated with a frame holding a picture of his son on his third birthday, smiling at him. The assistant left long ago, the humming of the radio turned off with her departure, Jungkook always works in silence when he is in solitude. His mind was filled with enough noise.

Vibrations drumming against his desk snap him out of the deep focus read he was loosing himself in, his eyes feel dry from the screen's blue light that glowed continuously - picking up his buzzing phone, trading for a smaller blue light to stare at him.

A picture of Jukyung takes up his screen, a large wooden spoon clutched in his hand, his feet anchored to the stepper in order to reach their stovetop. From the caption, it reveals the orange hued, vegetable filled pan to be a coconut curry that his son has, supposedly, made all on his own.

He huffs in the memory of Jukyung attempting to help him with pajeon when it had rained two days ago - knowing from extensive experience that his five year old may be a talented boy, but certainly no chef.

The screen turns dark again, leaving a read notification on your end. Streetlights down the line start turning on their yellow glares, the sun’s glow replaced as it bids goodbye slowly, notifying him that it is time to go home soon.

“Appa!” 

“You’re not sleeping yet?” he tuts, loosening his tie and pulling off his suit jacket that survived another day. Jukyung shakes his head, a mischievous look proudly displayed on his face.

“You should have put him to sleep” Jungkook says, looking over at the neatly cleaned kitchen. From his distance, he can make out a covered pan still filled with a generous portion of food.

“He has a set bedtime” he continues, brushing past you as you walk to the front door, picking up your shoes. 

Up until now, you assumed to have done a good job with his son. He was quick to talk to you, engage - reluctantly - with your suggestions, his shy and guarded posture loosening into clumsy movements as time went by. 

“Right, i’m sorry, i guess i forgot about it” 

Your reply is timid, shoulders raised against your knowledge, voice lowering into a smaller, flowery tone. The coconut curry’s aromas fly their way from the kitchen into the rest of the house, lingering in the air like an apology.

“Next time then”

Next time - Jungkook wants you to come back for a next time. Satisfaction runs through you quietly, Jukyung’s sleepy face looking up at you as he waves goodbye,

“Yes, see you next time” you say, waving back at the two politely.

It’s even quieter in his home than it is in his office once his son has fallen asleep. There’s no loud clock ticking on a wall, no background of employees talking in the hallways or printers working. 

But there is a warm, home cooked dinner, sitting on his stove for him to eat.

Upon lifting the pan’s cover, the scent gets stronger, delicious spice and freshness rise with the steam of the dish. Jungkook doesn’t recall the last time he came home to the warmth of someone else’s cooking.  Since Jukyung was born, there might have been a day - once or twice - where someone was watching him and there was food left over for him to eat. A day or two, where he didn’t need to carry his tired hands to rummage through his cabinets after vast hours of working. It was always cold, he knows that for a fact.

It wasn’t the comfort of a hot meal, the embrace of a taste that was seasoned with care - the picture of Kyung stirring the curry flashes in his mind as he scoops another spoonful into his mouth. He groans, aware of the inevitable look of anger crossing his expression. Jukyung pointed it out to him a couple months ago, how he always looks mad when he likes  the taste of something he’s eating. 

The static rush of water running is the loudest one in his house as he rinses off the empty plate, even with the pressure turned up to it’s fullest - with the water splashing over the rim, wettening his underarm, the rhythmic beating of his heart sounds loudly within his ears. 

It’s the last sound he hears before he goes to sleep, the last thing he feels when his eyes are closed and his body feels warm, even with the AC running in the background. 

Mondays always brought giddyness into his home. Jukyung got to pick the movie for the night- which typically ended up being either ponyo or spiderman into the spiderverse. His matching spiderman socks glide against the wooden floor as he sprints towards the front door, where you're sliding into the cotton slippers Jungkook bought for you to wear on your visits. 

“You're gonna hurt yourself Kyung” Jungkook calls out, walking up behind him in slower strides. 

“Hey Kyungie” you greet while his giggle starts up your own. Freely letting it out, the smile lines craving your skin, the scrunch in your nose blooming. You're reaching to mess up his hair a little, as he peers into the large tote bag hanging from your hand, the coloring book you brought looks very tempting.

“Noona, you have one?” he gushes.

“Of course. Told you I would bring you one didn't I?”

Nodding, he looks at his father who's displaying a lighter version of the same grin he's got on his face. 

“What do we say?” Jungkook raises an eyebrow, turning his expression into a playful look of strictness.

“Thank youuu” Jukyung sings, sporting another giggle. He probably never wanted his dad to leave the house this badly, the idea of filling out little bear drawings with you couldn't wait any longer.

"That's right” his dad retorts.

“Give that to me” he continues, grasping the handles of the bag with his hand and pulling it out of yours. He must've noticed how it looked filled to the brim, now setting it on his couch as you pour yourself a glass of water. 

“You can leave your things here, no need to carry everything over and make hassle” 

You set the glass down, smiling at him awkwardly. “You’ve been saying that for weeks”

“Exactly” he says, buttoning up his coat, “And you keep ignoring it”

“Most of it is my uni stuff, Kyung's been sleeping early lately”

"You're studying that late?” he asks, narrowing his gaze at you. You hum in confirmation, explaining that the exam you're about to write has been driving you crazy. “I just can't get the hang of his writing. You’re not secretly a kant lover, are you?”

Jungkook scoffs, shaking his head abruptly. Philosophy has never been his thing and probably will never be. His life lessons wouldn't have been avoided by knowing what some old man thought a thousand years ago, his business would not have grown to be any bigger either. 

"Unfortunately not. My advice is to keep reading. You'll get it eventually”

“Stellar, Mr. Jeon” you say, watching him shut his eyes in response. Juykung's laugh sounds faintly in the back of the open living room, busying himself with the crayons he snuck out of your bag.

"There's money on the counter for food, I didn't have time to go grocery shopping” 

You look over to the couch as you speak, purposefully raising your voice to get the kid’s attention.

“That’s okay. I was thinking of making pizza from scratch”

Jukyung's doe eyes widen at your suggestion - snapping towards you for the second time, his excitement spills over into the room, flooding it with infectious, childish happiness.

“Pizza, I love pizza. Appa never makes it”

You gasp loudly at the perfectly reasonable revelation, shaking your head at Jungkook with faux disappointment.

“Really? That's no good”

Jungkook, a bit caught off guard at his son's cheekiness though it should come to no surprise, crosses his arms over his chest as he defends himself with the excuses of that being untrue, that if Jukyung ate his vegetables, maybe he'd consider pizza more often.

Their back and forth grants a glimpse into the home the way nothing material ever could. His son's expensive backpack and cheap pokemon bodywash don't account for the late nights that he lets him crawl into his spacious bed, strokes his head and mumbles made up stories to get Jukyung to fall back asleep. Domestic bickerings of father and son that are too alike and yet, couldn't be more different. 

Jungkook's face never looks more handsome than it does when he's with his kid, his smile only reaches his eyes in moments like this. It's a sight you felt privileged to, a sight you, admittedly, called back into your thoughts often.

“Noona always gets to be the nice one, isn't that a bit harsh on me?”

“No, no you aaare is nice too. But noona is so nice. Just like you said noona is...” he trails off, pursing his lips and really straining his thoughts. He's thinking hard, and the adults have to hold back a laugh at the deep frown in his brows, the angry purse of his lips. At least before you understand that he's trying to recall something Jungkook had said about you.

“That's enough” he cuts in, reaching his hand down to high five his son,

“Don't cause trouble”

The front door creaks open, turning back with a composed expression, he nods at you, stepping out of the house without another goodbye to spare. 

The sun is high up in the sky even in the afternoon. Rays of light reflect on the metal slide tucked into the back of the playground, scorching and unusable on days like these. From the bench you're sitting on, next to moms spreading the newest affair stories coursing through the neighbourhood, Jukyung is in perfect view. Running around in the knee long denim shorts he begged you to let him wear - they look just like ones his dad has on when he's not in a suit, he said. Watching his short legs scramble around among the equally tiny ones of his two friends, you could make out that they must be playing catch - or something akin to it. His giggles are loud and his friends laughter bright, it felt impossible not to smile at the combined sound of it.

Jungkook spots you as he rounds the corner, his shortsleeved button down shirt and black jeans sticking out sorely in a crowd of floral dresses and lightly colored Tshirts. The low call of your name gets you to notice him taking a seat on the bench as well. 

“Mr. Jeon, you're early”

“My meeting was cut short” he replies, facing the playground in search of his kid. You can tell the moment he spots Jukyung, the frown in his brows evening out, his upper back now rests against the bench in relaxation. 

“Has he been good?” 

“Of course. He's really energetic today” you chuckle, meeting his eyes that have shifted over to you.  He huffs out a short laugh, “Yeah, Kyung loves this weather” he adds, seeing a strand of your hair swaying past your face in the breeze. You tuck it back in place, holding a hand up to see past the blaring sun. 

Your words about the new show Jukyung started watching turn into background buzz for him as Jungkook's gaze wanders off to the side, trailing after a mother holding hands with her son as they make their way out. Heesung, the little boy and Soojin, his mother, live a block down from him. Kindergarden has caused their worlds to collide in more than one way - Jukyung frequents their home, Heesung and him play football in their yard - while Soojin sometimes laughs a tad too loudly at Jungkook's sarcastic remarks and accidentally goes to pick up her son in a shirt that might've been washed too hot. Watching her now, his expression doesn't change, his frown never returns as though there is nothing present to bother him. Maybe there wasn't, maybe he had five years to get used to being a single father, to this inner feeling of somehow taking something away from his son.

He pushes it back down, letting his thoughts run back to routine - when his next meeting starts tomorrow, what he'd be cooking for dinner later. 

“Sounds like something he'd like” he states, unsure if that's even the case. “How was your exam?” 

“Oh, it went well, I think. I'm just glad it's over now” you reply, sighing with the relief of long studies that have come to an end. The glimmer of initial surprise doesn't go unnoticed, he himself is a bit stunned he managed to remember anything outside of his own schedule. 

“I was always stressed in uni. I'm sure you did a good job” he says, seeing the exhaustion behind the coralish blush and the concealer you wear daily. 

You try not to visibly melt at the validation, it was like he could pick out on your underlying insecurity, your silent need for something as simple as reassurance - someone to tell you that you did well, as embarrassing as that is.

“It is stressful. I have a paper due next week and I haven't had time to start it” 

Jungkook hums, "Shouldn't have come today. You never cancel” he mutters almost disapprovingly, the image Jukyung swinging next to his friend reflects in his eyes.

“I wanted to see Kyungie. Promised him we'd be going to the playground” 

A subtle, sunny smile takes its place on your lips when it’s your turn to face the swings - just as he's pulled to look at you again, because as time went on, it's been becoming increasingly, infuriatingly difficult to stop himself from doing so. Reluctantly, he allows his focus to remain on the sheer softness he can make out by looking at your lips, the fondness painting your face in peace. Something compels him to mumble that you're too nice to his son, wishing for you to overhear. He knows you do hear him once that gentle smile turns into an actual chuckle again and suddenly, he is almost grateful that you did. 

Jungkook also knows what classes you have on the days you watch Juykung, he knows that the dress you’re wearing is your favourite because his son said it makes you look like a pretty princess - and he knows that he tried his hardest to pretend that he does not know any of those things. Just like he ignores how you remembered to ask him about the marketing deal that'd been stressing him out lately and how you noticed that he fixed the porch light after months of putting it off.

“Seriously, how long was that thing flickering for, it would drive me crazy” 

Jungkook snarls briefly, the way he does when his son is being a bit of a brat, before searching for the answer to your question in the back of his mind.

“I don't remember a time it ever worked. When Hyejin and i first moved in it was already like that”

Hyejin. 

It wasn't like you'd never thought to ask. Never sat in their home looking for evidence of another parent - pictures where she'd be seen moving in the background or posing with him. The absence of a mother was impossibly evident, regardless, never making the home feel incomplete. Jukyung never asked complicated questions about his mother, never had a complaint about her working too much, like appa does, or why all the other kids had one to come home to. But there had to be one, gathering from that one time he asked you if your mother and you are still friends, he knows he has one too.

The first ten seconds after he says her name are silent, it's always like that when he does mention her to anyone, like a curse you weren't supposed to say out loud.

“She's..?”

“His mother” he finishes, the uncomfortably familiar tightening in his throat fails to climb all the way up to shake his stable reply, practice over the duration of five years does that to someone.

“I see. I've never heard you talk about her” you say awkwardly, only noticing how that sounded once the sentence is spoken, you open your mouth to stumble over words that tell him “It’s not like you have to, i just meant-”

"No need to get scared” he says, the rough laugh that follows makes a flash of heat go through your stomach and an embarrassed flush flood your system. His unshakeable calm and stupid, serene seriousness even whilst laughing - rattled you every single day since meeting him. It makes you nervous by default, to engage with someone that seems to have it all together. So unlike you, so unlike any of the men that you’ve come in contact with in university frats and hallways.

“It’s not like there's much to say, she didn't want to be in his life, so she isn’t”

Occasionally, fragments of life were really that plain. That easily explained, a history of grief, longing, hard work and separation summarized into a bite sized answer that accomplished as much answering as a question like that can be answered. The addition of her leaving Jungkook stranded at 26 with a newborn that, he now has to raise into a functioning human, didn't serve any purpose. The detail that they had just begun renovating the house was useless. Five years later, all that matters is that the world kept spinning, that Jukyung may not have a mother but he does have a father that loves him unconditionally. A father that's happy with the way things are, for the better.

The simple answer sunk in and now, it didn't matter to you either, insignificant how's and why's vanished because of how hollow it felt to look into a story that ended in a content little boy.

“I don't think he needs more than his dad. You're doing amazing at giving him what he needs to be happy”

Jungkook’s throat tightens again, unfamiliar this time, fondly, like he wants to bathe in the compassion of that sentence and remind you - that Juykung needs you too.

“Thank you” is what he settles for, allowing enough space for quiet appreciation to sit down between you. 

It doesn't stretch on much longer, interrupted by the high pitched crying ringing through the otherwise tranquilly chaotic playground. Crying that sounds too much like Jukyung. You're on your feet before he registers; it is indeed his child that's sitting on his newly scarped knees, sobbing tears that tumble down his chubby cheeks in a stream.

“Shh, it's okay Kyungie, come here.. Let noona see..” you mumble into his black messy hair, the wetness on his face seeps into your shirt as he molds himself into your chest. You're crouching form has Jungkook standing uselessly to your right, looking down at your hand that soothes his kid's back, the comfort of your embrace sparks Jukyung to sniffle in order to catch his breath and explain that he fell, only for his voice to break at the end.

You place a kiss on his temple, picking him up to sit on your underarm while inspecting his minimal wound with worried eyes that look suspiciously glossy. Jungkook's whispering gruff “It’s okay" 's, the unease in his own body diffusing when Juykung naturally reaches for your embrace, seeks your soft words with tiny hiccups. Softening even further, as his miniature fingers brush a salty tear from your own cheek. 

Jukyung pouts, telling you not to be sad, that he's a big boy. He knew he’d be safe when you came walking, knew you’d be there to hold him when he was hurt and Jungkook now knew - that his son's trust in you is the biggest blessing a curse could possibly bring. Butterflies that he thought lost their wings half a decade ago begin to fly through his stomach briskly, the tingle so juvenile and youthful it feels almost wrong to pay attention to. 

“You need to be more careful buddy” he grumbles, hugging the small boy to his chest as you´re passing him over, listening to his sobs subside slowly.

“Do you wanna eat ice cream before we go home?”

Jukyung's mood brightens in a bat of his long eyelashes, the glossy doe eyes staring into his dad's demandingly and he knew no better than to give in. “I want choco ice cream" he nods enthusiastically, forgetting all about his scraped knee at the thought of tasting chocolate that melts into his mouth.

“Would you like one too?” 

“Yes, yes noona take one! You like strawberry” Jukyung says proudly, stealing the polite no off your lips, declining the idea of you missing out on something as amazing as ice cream. Jungkook looks at you to confirm, 

“You're right, I do like strawberry” you say to Jukyung, though you're looking at his dad, who is already pulling out cash from his wallet, whilst his son is beaming about being able to recall the flavour you favor most.

“Thank you Mr. Jeon” you tell him after he's done ordering for the three of you. He's about to open his mouth to tell you that it's really nothing, but Jukyung butts in.

“Jungkook” 

Both of you share a look of confusion, tilting your head at the little boy apparently does the trick, he repeats his father's name - this time elaborating simply, 

"Appa's name is Jungkook”

Jungkook's puzzle pieces fall into place before yours do, huffing at the innocent ease of his words, the weight behind them invisible and unimportant in the mind of a five year old. Jukyung takes the icecream into his greedy little hands as soon as it's in reach, licking away at it like there was a timer running - the pain of his previous injury long left in the dust.

“You're right Kyung” he enforces after a split second of bravery in his weakness, handing over your own portion and hoping - that you'd understand the message he's trying to send.

Normally, you’d refuse. Immediately result in professional smiles and head shakes, saying that there is no need to skip formalities. It might have been the intensity of his brown eyes as he established what he wanted, how there was never an offer as much as there was a demand. Doomed to the beauty of his name and the honey as he said it, there remained no bone in your body that craved to deny him. Your throat itches to say his name, let it roll off your tongue delightfully, let the sound hang in the thick summer air.

“Jungkook” you repeat, satisfied at hearing yourself say it. The wall tore down loudly, echoing a minimized space between you two. Realistically, it was nothing more than his first name - but also, nothing less than being called by his first name. 

“Getting used to that will take time”

"Don't stress out” he exhales heavily, facing his kid that's succeeded in smothering his mouth in chocolate ice cream.

“Noona, can you not stay for longer? pleeeease?”

“Jukyung, let noona go home, she's been entertaining you all day” Jungkook chimes in, picking up his whiny kid by his armpits, the stretched word please becoming background noise as he groans, settling him against his broad chest.

“Enough, it's late and you're sleepy, say bye to noona” he says, a slightly worn out edge to his tone. Jukyung pouts as he waves in your direction, watching you zip up your jacket with glassy puppy eyes.

“Bye bye noona” he mumbles dramatically, making a kissy face afterwards. With your fingers scratching at his head that rests on Jungkook, you tell them,  “Goodnight, sleep well” 

Jungkook's tiling his head down involuntarily - closer, focusing his unguarded gaze on the genuine smile on your face, the tenderness in your words as you speak to his baby. His heart thumps stupidly loud when Jukyung giggles at your touch and he hates how submissive he feels to all of it. To the ridiculous image of extending the hold to include you, attach his lips to your head because it'd be so easy to just lean down and -

"Mr. Jeon?”

“Yes”

Sharp. Maybe too sharp - too forced against the silent, pillowy warmth that bubbled up inside him moments ago. He notes your startled blink, the sweet innocence of those pretty eyes that don't understand what it does to him when you stare up like that. He doesn't correct you, respects the much needed, accidental distance in the usage of his last name.

“I uhm, just wanted to say goodbye”

“Yeah” he grumbles, roughly wiping a hand down his tired face, his other holding on to the squirmy child, “Goodnight”

The door shuts, Jukyung is rubbing his eyes sleepily and it's just them now. He's just Appa now, and you're on the bus - on the way back to the university dorm you live in. At times that felt like a united world broke its illusion. You were, whether you yourself knew or remained painstakingly unaware, in utterly incompatible worlds. That is his mantra, his voice of reason anytime he starts drifting into thoughts that notice how much your dynamic creates a harmonious balance despite it all. Despite him being nearly a decade older, a single dad, a rich business man. 

Because as much as he feels sick being stripped down like this, naked in the shower - exposed to his bare thoughts - in your eyes, all he truly ever was, is Jukyung's dad. Just Appa - just Mr. Jeon, Jungkook. He desires nothing more than to solely be Jungkook, that's who stares back at him with every glance in the fogged up mirror. But he isn't, or more so, he cannot be. Not when you have too much ahead of yourself, the youth of nine years he'd lived through already- and deserve so much better than a thirty-two year old single father that fists his cock to the remembrance of his first name on your lips, in that sweet, girlish voice.

He groans your name quietly - like the sound hurts and scratches its way up his throat because it feels wrong, so wrong how naturally it seeks to slip out no matter how much he forbids himself to voice it. Slow drags of his hand over his aching cock transform into hasty strokes that crave a smaller, softer hand to tip him over. The blurry picture of you earlier, in that pretty dress that hit just below your knee, the fabric denting at the curve of your waist just enough to make out the dips and curves - felt sinfully beautiful in his mind's eye. It would've felt much more satisfying to spill into a hand that has polka dotted gel nails, watch his milky arousal drip from those feminine fingers instead of his tattooed digits. He wouldn't be washing it away shortly after, there would be no shameful cloud to loom over his head as he shampoos it.

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” 

“Sorry,” you hush, gathering up the limp child in your arms. His head lolls back, pouty lips parted in a relaxed snore. Jungkook’s fingers brush yours when he takes his sleeping kid into his arms, bicep straining against the black button down, “I tried to keep him awake. The playground really did a number on him”

"Not surprised” he says, stroking some long strands from Jukyung's forehead, “So?”

“Oh, right” you almost forgot he asked you something. It was just so distracting - the subtle ways he would soften when looking at his son, the way his shirt clung to his arms and chest in an intimidating contrast, “Sure, if it's no issue”

“Of course not” he mutters back like the question was an inconvenience, the width of his shoulders coming into view as he steps up the staircase, getting ready to lie Jukyung into his racecar bed. 

Jungkook’s long day shows up in his slower movements as he chops up the ingredients, adding that tired rasp to his already sultry voice as he talks. 

“You bought it for him”

“What?” his eyes narrow a little, swinging the noodle pan with an easy wrist,

“The bed he's been rambling about” you answer, standing just shy of brushing against his frame when attempting to pull out two plates from the top cabinet. Your stance proves unstable, fingertips reaching for lengths out of reach even on the balls of your slippers,

“Yeah. He wouldn't let it go” Jungkook says with a short exhale, his fingers reach beyond yours, pulling out the two plates with a clank that's too loud in the sudden silence. His chest brushes against your shoulders with the slight lean, the ghost of his contact haunts your skin with shivers, no matter how brief it had been.

“Here” he says, his gaze dropping to meet yours, already looking up at his face that seemed too close - even though there is a respectable distance, you could clearly see the mole under his bottom lip, the silver ring in the corner that glistened in the fluorescent  kitchen light. The action remains uncommented but you swear you see his eyes dart to your parted lips for an unusually long second-  just as he returns his attention back to the curry pasta, leaving you to set the plates down like nothing had happened, because nothing did happen. 

The unforeseen pulse between your thighs would beg to disagree. Embarrassingly it blooms, causing you to press your legs together secretly - hidden under the dark wood table just as he sits down next to your tense figure. Not across, not facing you with the length of his table separating you. On the chair next to yours, body angled in to fill up your empty plate with a delicious smelling dinner. The action is careful, caring in a way that only worsens the ache with its underlying dominance, with the gruff mumble of him telling - or rather, ordering you to start eating. You wait for his plate to be full before you do, and with the first bite always comes that satisfied, low moan. Jungkook knew it was coming, he'd first lost his mind when you got icecream together and braced for its arrival ever since. Your reactivity had him fantasize about how stupidly easy it is to make you moan, how he would probably be able to make you cry if he just kissed you for long enough, deeply enough. 

“You should eat too” you mumble, covering your mouth. He's staring, he just now realises.

“Is it good?” Jungkook questions, taking a first bite himself - the flavours spark on his tongue in the familiar comfort of a dish he has cooked a dozen times over.

“Soo good” you hum, nodding your head as if to support the statement while chewing. He hums too, beginning to feel the heat rise up his neck and it steals his ability to speak momentarily.

“Yeah?” he huffs, a swipe of his tongue over his lips accommodate the strangely sultry intonation that's laced itself into the conversation, 

“You like it?”

The way he asks feels loaded. You do like it. Both of you know you do. The simple answer is yes, the complicated one is the softer sounding yes you give him;

eyeing his lips, voice quieting to mirror the weight of his own gaze. 

“I'm glad. It's nothing elaborate” he mutters, spinning his fork slowly with a stern glare into the plate. He was getting distracted.

“I saw normal people by sally rooney in your bag”  Jungkook states, remembering how the cover caught his attention. He read that book a while back, turning the pages about stories of, well, normal people. Relationships, lives.  From the handful of books he read, he wouldn't shy away from crowning this one as his favourite. Something so ordinary and complicatedly mundane felt like second nature. You, on the other hand, take another bite as you gather your thoughts.

“Terrible book. Don't read it, it's a waste of time”

“What?” he fires back, a sharp huff of air leaving him.

“What? It's so boring, basically nothing happens in it” irritation laces quietly into your words, watching him get increasingly more irritated in return. He sets his fork down, a tinge of sarcasm accompanying him, “Right, nothing in 300 pages”

“Yes” you say, barely smiling while gesturing his way, “Now you get it”

Jungkook shakes his head, grumbling that, “You have terrible taste”

“Because I don’t wanna read about someone’s daily life?”

“Because you think that slice of life is boring. It's social commentary” he says, his voice getting a tad louder with his increased annoyance and it hits him then, that he's getting way too worked up over this. He can’t help it, the feeling of being misunderstood prickles underneath his skin. Instead of going on a tangent about the lessons in life and the beauty of normalcy in a society where there’s so many expectations thrust on you,  he resumes eating.

“If I wanted philosophic takes I’d read my classes notes” 

“Maybe you should” 

“Sorry?” you say, more mockingly than seriously offended. Jungkook, looking back up at you with his signature, neutral expression tells you; “Apology accepted” before breaking out into what can only be described as an indefinite smirk. 

“Once you get older, you’ll understand wanting to know about lives like your own” he retaliates, eating another mouthful of pasta to let the statement settle first. 

“I’m not saying it’s not understandable, i’m saying i think it’s boring” 

Your explanation doesn’t pull an answer from him, pushing you to start talking again. “I like when a book takes me places that.. aren’t realistic”

“Most people do”

“Yeah, i guess”

You’re looking at him from the lens of someone that has lived an equally as normal life - maybe even more so, without a child to take care of on your own, without the headstart of abundant money, the responsibility of a business on your shoulders.

“But I guess it’s nice to read something boring once in a while. Makes you feel less boring yourself” 

"Recommend me one. Maybe it can change my mind”  you add after a moment of consideration, the olive branch fragile and swaying as you wait for him to take it.

“Intermezzo. Also by sally rooney.”

“Are you a fan?” you joke, raising an eyebrow at him. He tuts, his shoulders shaking slightly with a gentle, low laugh spilling from his lips. Ease takes over your body, a smile openly shines on your own lips now, the thought of wanting to hear his laugh again makes you feel impatient. 

Impatient to listen to more of his opinions, unwrap the tangled ropes that tie together his thoughts. 

Perhaps too impatient, too uncoordinated as you brush the fork past your lips.

"There's something” he begins, inching closer with intent. His hand reaches to your face, thumb swiping at the corner of your lips with added pressure as he mumbles the remainder of his sentence, “... on your face”

He’s unable to stop looking, unable to pretend he does not see your eyes widening, your breath catching in your throat. The tiny sound of surprise has him holding down a deep moan. He doesn't let his finger linger afterwards, his thumb is gone from your skin as fast and unexpectedly as it had landed there in the first place. However, you would be able to feel it tingle there for hours later. Even days.

Like on this quiet friday evening, standing in your cozy bathroom, looking into the mirror as you tie your hair back, remove your hoops - wash off the make up that’s been marinating on your face for longer than it should have. You scrub, closing your eyes, the warm water feels like a hug on your stripped skin. In the black behind your eyelids, the touch on your face feels lively - and you can almost hear his voice too, telling you to read the book that’s now sitting on your nightstand, halfway into a story of grief, love, family. 

A story about a part of life everyone will be confronted with. An ending no one can escape witnessing and falling victim to. Nature taking its breath back, people losing each other and gaining vital epiphanies, long winded stories that end in questions and answers. Reflection, a window into your own life and it's fragile evanescence. Death isn’t the only grief a person can experience. Losing someone - something, the effects of that run through your veins because of absence. Learning to fill the hole - whether by stitching it up or embedding its presence into routine, isn’t a task exclusive to the aftermaths of a death. 

The text message notification dings, transferring you out of the story that’s been playing out on the laid out pages.

“Can you watch Kyungie today? It'd be from 7pm to around 9:30pm.” 

With a glance to the time on top of your screen, you close up the book, letting him know that, yes - you’d be there soon.

When you arrive after taking the usual route, nothing is particularly unusual, though something is different. Impossible - to -  ignore - kind of different. He stands in front of the hallway mirror for much longer than normal, adjusting his tie for what seems like the seventh time in five minutes. And when he walks past to slip into his jimmy choo's, the air reeks thickly of bleu de chanel.

Manly, fresh, deliberate.

“What’s the occasion ? You never make me watch him on weekends” 

“It was a bit spontaneous. I’ll pay you extra for the short notice - and I’ll text you if it gets later.” 

You nod in agreement, give him another questioning look he fails to acknowledge as your heartbeat continues to speed up, the clingy awareness of insecurity providing its steady beat. He swings his coat over his shoulders, slipping into it carefully. The gust of wind that passes when he closes the front door behind him is cool, uncovering how suffocating the air in your lungs is. Suddenly, you knew what this was. Why it might get later than anticipated, later than how things usually are.

Jungkook is going on a date.

It doesn’t matter, does it? 

That you’ve never seen his hair styled like this and you're already mentally scrolling through restaurants he might be taking her to, silently wondering If he kisses on the first date,

If he tastes like nicotine and sugary maturity.

It matters when the strong feeling of disappointment rushes to your chest and your mind wraps itself around the concept of Jungkook looking to date. The quiet intimacy from your perspective now staring back at you like a huge misunderstanding. It didn't vanish - if anything, the plunging feeling only grew with his son that is already tugging on the sleeve of your oversized sweater, babbling about wanting to watch ponyo and do puzzles. Activities with his noona, the babysitter that watches Jungkook’s son. 

Jungkook's son, who’s so completely in love with you, who you've sung to sleep with Jungkook admiring quietly, leaning against the doorframe - hoping you didn't spot his shadow. Jungkook who'd heard you tell Jukyung your favourite fruit and somehow, always ended up buying tangerines at the end of the week after that

“Noona actually brought you a new puzzle” 

His smile widens into an innocent giggle, wrapping his little grubby hands around your arm and you can not be asked not to chuckle in return, letting him walk you to the couch. “Did you eat dinner Kyungie?”

“I’m starving” she chuckles, "Haven't eaten in hours”

Boring, god the woman in front of Jungkook is so incredibly boring to him.

Soojin's pretty, with long brown hair and a low cut shirt, a gentle voice and a nice smile. The faint touches of her hand on his arm when she laughed at something he had said - or the way her eyes darted to his lip ring - didn’t reel him in. Not like it did with you, where he felt the pull of wanting to kiss that needy look off your face. Everything she said, about her yoga studio and the way she liked going golfing, was so boring to Jungkook. He wondered, at some point of watching her sip the wine he ordered, if you had already put Jukyung to bed, if your hair is pulled into a messy pony yet and if you knew what he was doing right now.

Something about it made him feel almost guilty. He'd avoided saying it on purpose, why you're watching over his son today and yet, when he glanced back at you through the window, It was obvious you had caught on. Obviously, whatever you were feeling about the realization, you did not look happy for him. In a twisted way, it made him happy, even if for a mere moment.

Dinner tastes good, steak always does the trick - wine always relaxes him. Unable to indulge in it to the full extent, he had to drive - but getting wine drunk has never sounded more appealing. Especially after the fifth failed attempt of intellectual conversation. Words were not getting him anywhere but deeper in thought, nowhere and yet, parked in front of her apartment, with a slightly frustrated frown in his eyebrows - his lips kept colliding with hers anyways, allowing her warm tongue to lip past and explore his mouth. His eyes shut tightly in an effort not to sink into this burdening feeling, the low groan that he lets out sounds more frustrated than blissful. Frustrated with himself, with the fact that Soojin's hands on his shirt buttons fail to faze him, that he doesn't move his hands up and down her body to map out the curves she has - but simply anchors them to her hips. He was holding on to the denim like the image of you, despite wanting nothing more than to let go of both at that very moment. 

“I should get going” she mumbled breathlessly, the desperation in her airy voice sounded like she imagined him to refuse, to keep her in his car and mess up the make up she'd spend so much time putting on, let her undo the very last buttons of his shirt too. So when he hums and agrees, saying that it is getting late and they both  do have a child at home after all, her slick smile turns almost polite. Straightening out her hair with her fingers, she stepped out without meeting his gaze once more.

Jungkook exhales heavily after the Mercedes door slams, running a sweaty hand down his handsome scowl and begins driving home, to his son, to you.

The rattling of his keys don’t wake you from the slumber you’d fallen into about halfway into the second round of ponyo playing on the flatscreen.  It laughs at Jungkook, mocking the storm that was already rampaging his thoughts. You looked like a domestic wet dream;  Jukyung's sleeping from with his head laid on your chest that is rising and falling, comfortably matching the rhythm of his son's slowed breathing. With unspoken awe, he notices how his son holds on to your shoulder loosely, how your soft hand looks big on the little boy's back and your eyelashes fan so prettily against your rosy cheeks. Noting the absence of a blanket, he’s already halfway into laying one over the both of you, ignoring the sheer fact that, realistically, he would need to wake you and you should be making your way back home. 

“Jungkook?” 

The dazed mumble of his name halts him in his tracks, widened blanket hanging in his hands without a purpose. He lets you wake up, waits until the fog of sleep disappears from your eyes to continue talking. The taste of his date's lips haunts his mouth in a bitter aftertaste now, seeing how your first instinct was to pull Juykung closer to your body, perching him upright as you sit yourself up.

“Shit I must've fallen asleep. Did you just get back?”

“Yeah, about a minute ago” he answers, folding the blanket back up, “Did he make you watch that fish movie again?” he mumbles, nodding towards the tv.

You nod too, groaning softly while tucking the sleeping child into the corner of the couch, coming to yourself from the nap. “Probably why we fell asleep, seen it about a hundred times now.” A beat of silence passes, your voice turns painfully careful, 

“ How.. was it?”

Jungkook stills, the air between you both growing thick. A tense glance is exchanged as he steps forward an inch, his fully dressed-up form standing right in front of where you are sitting on his couch with a softness he isn't familiar with. He tried to clear himself of his actions - weak attempts in forgetting about you, buttoned his shirt back up and reapplied his perfume to overpower her stench. He was aware it was to no use, not when you could see his well gelled hair now beginning to fall loose, how a trace of red was smeared slightly around his lips and the pristinely ironed shirt looked just a tad messed up. He clears his throat, answering the question you never wanted to ask in the first place.

“Okay, I think”

“Okay?” you echo, the curious undertone smells like a hope you didn't dare to have. Misplaced, possibly unwelcomed. 

He sighs, a quick shake of his head following,

“Nothing special. "Didn’t feel it.”

It was short, direct. An answer that was true to his nature and another relief to yours. 

“Not your type?” 

“No, not my type” he says, his body slumping down on the couch next to yours with a hand reaching to caress Juykung’s back - his head tips back against the couch with a delicious stretch of his neck. No purple bruises, no wet patches of skin decorating the road down to his shoulder. The darkness of the living room provides you with a slight comfort, swallowing details of your feelings, like the slight shake in your fingers when you too -  lean back against the couch, head tilted enough to face him. He looks at you for that brief lapse of time, vulnerable wordlessness settles down, taking up the remaining inches between your faces. Raw and hidden all at once, the absence of light strikes Jungkook to be honest with not only himself, but you.

“It just felt unnatural. I didn't really.. want to be there”

He murmurs, his eyelids feeling heavy with drowsiness, “Wanted to go home” 

“Sounds boring. We had fun here, you really missed out” you mumble back with withheld amusement, feeling the effects of this moment take a toll on you. It’s easier to tease him when you feel unseen, there is less resistance to the pull that always wants to tug you together adjacently. 

The hum he lets out sounds from deep within his throat, almost rumbling through his deep, quiet words. 

“Like I said, I wanted to be home”

Home, didn't just mean at his house, inside his walls without anyone to bother him but his kid. Home meant being somewhere you were, somewhere he had his son in reach, somewhere he knew he belonged. There was no use in explaining his favourite book to a woman that wasn't interested in the workings of his mind, no use when you'd read the same book and - hated it, listened to him bitching about you not getting the point but nonetheless, ended up reading another one of those just because he saw value in it. 

When you breathed a part back into his lungs that was devoid of air, that now longs for warm meals after a long work day, the sight of a woman sleeping with his kid in her arms, a soft laugh he helped elicit.

Utterly, devastatingly terrifying.

“I felt like that with my ex boyfriend. Like I had to be what.. he wanted me to be” you say after a deeper inhale, the breath filling your tight chest with courage. You learned not to cry because he would get annoyed, mastered to dim your light for comfort, but it's plastered all over your face, how much allow yourself to show when you feel like it's just Jungkook that's watching. 

“Unnatural, if that's what you meant”

“I did” he clarifies, “How long were you together for?”

“Not too long, I broke up with him after six months” you explain, reminded of the day you chose yourself. It must be laughable in his eyes, you think. Six months was nothing compared to his break up. Instead, he sympathetically quiets his words, mist of late hours making them feel too loud anyway.

“I’m sorry to hear that”

"Don't be” you shake your head, "It's better that way. I don't want to pretend” 

“Neither do I” he admits, running his fingers through his hair, the previously formal style now messily sitting on his head with wear. He looks comfortable.

“Was.. this your first date after Hyejin?”

The question is a leap, a gap you didn't know you had permission to breach. As the question leaves your lips, the dark gives away how he doesn´t seem fazed or surprised, he just presses his lips together, nodding “Yeah. Had a baby to raise”

“Do you feel ready now?”

Jungkook cocks his head, his body instinctively turning towards you. The invisible string of rough, vague want and deep, intricate need for connection pulls tighter. 

“Ready?” he hums, a moment of debating his answer goes by “Ready isn't a feeling. You decide ready”

Control is a possession he kept dearest to him. Decide how people look at you. Decide what they know. Decide when you're ready, no matter how much his heart rebels against it with its violent beat, no matter how much his hands long for a counterpart to lace his finger through and squeeze when things get overwhelming. 

“You shouldn't pretend. There's nothing you have to hide” 

You mutter, turning to your side as well. Whilst looking at him with the slit of separation that presented as a large wall, there still wasn't anything he could hide under. You'd seen him, even with his suit on and his back turned, you were always able to see Jungkook. 

Midnight struck on his rolex like lightning, the string that's been pulling at your heads and hearts snaps underneath the tension of him deciding - that he isn't ready yet.

“You should go home, you'll be exhausted for your 8:00 am class”

He rises to his feet, cracks in his surface blend back together as the newfound space creates enough room to stop breathing in each other's exhales, swallow each other's words.

A sinking feeling comes up back as you do from the suede couch, the distance is notable, your smile adjusts into one he knows is restrained and it makes him feel like an asshole. He doesn't fight it, tells you to be safe after you open his front door, stepping outside of the isolated world they created. 

The candle, a big, blue and sparkling six, is lit with its swaying flame moving in the wind passing through the Jeon’s kitchen window. Jukyung leans forward, his lips pursed as he blows out the candle with his birthday wish rooted deep in his mind, letting the smoke from the extinguished flame carry it out into the world.

“Did you wish for something good buddy?” His dad asks, wiping off the chocolate icing sticking to the bottom of the candle. 

“Of course I did” he smiles proudly, the shimmer of childhood bright and alive as another year of life is ahead for him. His eyes widen in amazement the second the knife slides into his belgian chocolate mousse cake,

“What did you wish for?”

“That’s a secret, silly” Jukyung nods enthusiastically, watching as his dad raises a questioning eyebrow, placing a generous slice down on to the plate laying on the table.

“Alright, Alright” Jungkook says, pressing a kiss to his son's ruffled hair. In true Jukyung fashion, the chocolate spreads beyond the corners of his lips and somehow always ends up all over his fingers. But it's his birthday today, so all Jungkook can really do is watch, smile and hold back the current of emotion raving through his pulse. 

After dropping Jukyung off at his best friends house, he drives back up the road, spotting someone waiting on his porch.

“What are you doing here?”

“Hey” you start, shuffling the blue paper bag from one hand to another, 

“Sorry, i just wanted to drop off a gift for Kyung. Guess I'm a little late” you smile, reading him unlocking the door as a silent invitation for you to follow. Taking off your shoes as always, sliding into your house slippers laying right next to his. 

“What did you get him?” Jungkook grabs two glasses from the cupboard, holding up a bottle of lillet. You nod, “A coloring book. The totoro one, i'm tired of ponyo” 

Jungkook grins, pouring the both of you a refreshing, full glass. The weather is beautiful today, breezing romantic summer air. His eyes note the pink lipstick stain on his glass after you took a sip, sitting prettily. 

“I can't stand that stupid fish” he grumbles, bringing his glass to his lips, concealing the way his smile widens at the sound of your laugh.

“He's growing up fast. He was so much more.. baby like when i started”

“Yeah. He's a little gentleman now” Jungkook rests his forearm on the counter, leaning against it casually by your side. 

“He starts preschool soon right?”

He hums, looking into his glass, 

"In September" 

You hum too, the marble counter reflecting a ray of setting sunlight into the room. Glows of the golden hour soak his honey skin in it's hues, the glint of fresh tears in your eyes is more obvious when colorful.

“Ahh..” you shake your head, smiling to suppress it further, your finger already on the way to catch what's threatening to fall from your eyes, “Sorry, i get emotional so quickly” 

Jungkook shifts closer, the natural black strands falling over his forehead - his body folds slightly to adjust to you, he knows this feeling. He recognizes it for what it is, for what it has always been with you around. He's not good at hiding it this time.

There's beauty outside control. 

“That's okay. I get it, he's my son” he murmurs, brushing his fingers against yours, resting on the cool surface. You wait for them to disappear, but they never do. His fingers stay on top of yours like a feather light kiss, brown eyes refusing to look away from your face as the sadness disappears into sheer relaxation. 

“You do realise that he loves you” Jungkook says, his thumb slowly moving against your hand, 

“Do you know what he wished for, when he blew out the candle?” 

His body moves forward again, you shake your head no, letting him continue, the words drowned in quiet affection.

“He said it's a secret, but that lasted for maybe 10 minutes” 

Another smile blooms on your lips, waters the one growing on Jungkook's as he continues, focused on keeping that devastatingly heartfelt look all over your face. 

“He wished for you to keep watching him when he gets older” 

Jungkook is mesmerized with the first tear that truly tumbles down the apple of your cheek, a single, short sigh passing through your lips as you do nothing but look at him. Into his eyes, searching for something.

He inches his fingers closer, time feels stretched out into slow motion as his thumb makes contact with the wetness on your cheek, swiping it away carefully. You don't shatter under his touch, encouraging his thumb to wander down your jaw, caress again, until, unwillingly, tilting up the tip of your chin subtly.

He's powerless as he leans down, breathless at the first angelic touch of your lips on his. 

Jungkook wants to kiss you until the world fades out. 

Your lips attach to his too, slowly at first, testing how good it feels in your whole body every time his quiet sounds slip into your mouth, getting louder once your arms have made their way around his neck. His kisses grow demanding at the closeness, the warmth of your body creeping from your waist into his palms, your sweet moan of satisfaction makes him smile faintly right into the kiss, sliding his tongue against yours to pull another moan from your mouth.

“We need you” he mumbles, the words swallowed under more passionate collisions, drowning in your combined heavy breathing that resulted from being each other's source of air. 

“Do I kiss better than Soojin?” you mumble after a hitch of your breath, his swollen lips trail down your tilted neck eagerly and patiently all at once. The memory of her makes his skin prickle, wanting nothing more but to tie himself to you further. Wet, open kisses punctuate his response, the nickname seeping into your skin, embedding its low sound into your body. 

“Jealousy looks cute on you, sweetheart” 

“M'not jealous" you chuckle, airy and full of lies. You can feel his grin resurface against your jaw this time, his hands slip underneath the hem of your blouse, tracing the slit of skin with slow strokes,

“Don't lie to me” he murmurs, brushing his lips against yours for another taste of you. “M'gonna take this off”

He announces it, waiting for your nod to confirm before pulling the fabric over your head. The white, lace adorned bra cups your small chest beautifully, pulling his eyes to trace down the curve of your neck, the line of your shoulders, down to your breasts. He attempts to soothe his ragged need by running his hands up and down your back, feeling the skin grounding him.

Your manicured fingers pull him in by his tie, loosening the patterned fabric as he works on shrugging his heavy jacket off his shoulders. The rings on his finger are cool against your cheek, while your fingertips thrum against his chest once you've managed to unbutton his shirt. The desire in your eyes is honest as you do nothing but look at each other, painted under the light of the kitchen, shifting as he carries you up the stairs, lays you down into the plushness of his large bed. His black covers dip underneath your combined weight. There's gentleness in this heat, in the way his fringe tingles on your forehead as he supports himself - bicep flexing next to your head.

“You're so fucking beautiful” he whispers, nipping at your bottom lip the moment a pout forms on your face. Inside his chest cracks open the sentiment of being naked. Everything you know about the way he is, the pressure of his kisses and the taste of his skin, how his muscles flex and his eyes get heavy lidded - made him so, so naked. 

Above you, the warmth radiates from him, forgetting that your skin is exposed to the cold nightly air taking up most of the tranquil room. Birds singing outside remind you that there's a whole word beyond this moment and these four walls that surround you. 

Jungkook, most of the time, knows what he wants. His lips and hands wander all over you, rounding your shoulders, unclasping your bra with distracting flicks of his tongue on your collarbone. The bra gets tossed somewhere unimportant, his mouth devotes itself to leave every patch of your chest kissed, tracing down the subtle swell of your breasts - but there's only so much throbbing you can take between your thighs, so many little nibbles until you get restless and dig your nails into the naked muscle on his back. 

“Stop whining” he huffs, tugging sharply at your right nipple while lapping at the equally stiff left one, his lips close around it with a rougher suck. You naturally whimper again, raising your back off the bed to indulge into his touch as much as you try to squirm away from it. The only place you wish to run to right now is this.

Alternating sides, he glances up at your pleasure clouded face, circling your bud the tip of his tongue torturously slowly, rubbing against the other one with the pad of his thumb without necessary roughness. 

Too shallow, too soft.

“Please” 

Jungkook hums at your whiny plea, noting the furrow in your eyebrows that's formed in concentration to, somehow, feel more of his touch. 

“Ask nicely for what you want” he retorts, continuing to suck on your skin with time entirely at his mercy. Your fingers curl into his hair, voice coming out quietly and stained with embarrassment.

“Please.. give me more” 

“Not so hard, is it?” 

You shake your head no - breaking into a louder moan as he sucks more insistently, lips smacking against your skin. “Yes- mh -mmh”

“Like this yeah?” he mumbles, the breathless moans coming from your lips fill up his ears with motivation to keep kissing at your chest until your palm flattens on his forehead, pushing in overstimulation. He smiles, dominant and beautifully dangerous while dancing down the line of your stomach, kissing along your navel with his tongue dipping just a slither below your pant line. Warm fingers cup your thighs, carrying the need to rip off your pants to be gratified with the feel of your skin on his own. 

If both of you listened closely enough, the joined, rapid thumping of two interlinked hearts could be heard below Jungkook's deep murmurs.

“You're so needy, what are you squirming for?”

“You, Jungkook” you pout again, unfamiliar with the desperate edge in your voice and the urge to beg for something like the touch of another person. His grip on your thighs loosen, repositioning to rub your hips on either side.

“What do you want from me? Talk to me” 

“Something, just do something” you groan impatiently, biting the corner of your lip at the sudden sting after the smack he lands on your thigh, shaking his head to retaliate.

“Ask nicely. You want me to take this off and touch you?” he asks, narrowing his voice down into a delicious, low rumble that melts you down further, sinking into the intoxication he's drunk with. His dark eyes look straight up at you, expecting you to answer him. Still, there's an underlying question in the way he brushes his thumb over your hip bone as he waits for your response.

“Can you please.. take it off”

“And do what?” 

He slowly unzips your pants, popping the button and getting a glance of the tiny bow sitting obediently atop your panties. Teasing, so sweet.

The sensation of your pants sliding down your legs feels freeing, an obvious damp spot greeting Jungkook as he tugs your legs free - making his painfully erect cock twitch against the material of his boxers. 

“Touch me, please” you finish, a glossy layer overshadows your eyes and a slight sheath of sweat coats your palms. Nervously, you grip the dark sheets, closing your thighs to hide your growing arousal from him. His demeanor shifts to compliment your surfacing emotion, sliding his warm, steady hands up and down your arms, placing a longing kiss to your forehead. Your chest deflates with a heavy exhale into the safety. 

“Good girl, that's it pretty. I'm gonna touch you, just like you want” 

His own need is mere background noise the minute he parts your thighs again, sees the reciprocated craving of your body for his. The tip of his index draws a line on your inner thighs, touches the scruff lace edges of your panties before laying his palm out, cupping your mound into his hand possessively.  

His round nose brushes your cheek as he just holds patiently, grinding ever so slightly against where you need it most. Jungkook’s tongue comes out to take a brief lick at the shell of your reddened ear as his whispered lures taunt you. 

“M'gonna be so good to you. You want that don't you? You want me to make you feel good?” 

The depth of his fingers circling your tender clit is sufficient for a gasp to leave you, for your lips to seek out his in order to dim down the volume of desire coursing through you. He doesn't respond by engaging in your kiss, rather by slipping his fingers below the cotton to find a small sea to dip in, trail back up to more gratifying touches on your most sensitive part.

“You gotta use your words” he insists, the circles growing smaller, faster against your slickness. Practically coaxing the words he needs to hear out of you, the want much greater than any fear.

There's beauty outside control.

If Jungkook was pretty before, he's striking now. Buried deep between your thighs that he has hooked over his shoulders. Inhaling the scent on you, tangy candy and musk, coating his tongue from the first long stripe he licks up your center. Your thighs tighten, secure in his hands that lock you down on his mouth.

The slow, long licks don't last for long, shift into sharp, short flicks against your swelling clit. Feeling him strum the pad of his fingers against your entrance, you break out into another helpless whimper, tightening around nothing but the sole thought of his thick fingers nestled inside your cunt.

Knowingly, he doesn't push in, keeps sucking on your clit, letting his saliva run down your puffy folds, you know what he needs to hear, you know what he wants you to do.

“Please, put it in - haah” 

Jungkook groans, the deep noise vibrating against your soaked skin. One of his fingers slide in slowly, pausing his mouth's actions as the warmth welcomes him in like it had been awaiting his arrival. He uses the pause to listen to his name falling from your lips, appreciating your eyes shutting when, without a warning, a second finger sinks in, curling both digits upwards deliberately. 

“You're so good, look at you” he mumbles, plunging his fingers in and out of you slowly enough to feel them drag against your walls, making a mess with relentless laps on your clit.

“I - fuck i'm gonna come” you squeak, tugging the strands of his hair weakly, your lower stomach is full to the brim with pressure, a large wave of pleasure tips right over you, swimming into his mouth greedily.

“That's it, come right into my mouth” he moans, licking up every drop of delightful pleasure spilling from you. Your taste hits him all at once, eyes closed and frowning for more. He doesn't stop you, lets you rock your hips into his mouth, unfiltered.

“Needy fucking thing aren't you? Not enough?” he huffs, rising back to his original position of  hovering over you. Flushed, trying to suppress the panting and submission. Red looks elegant on your face, his thumb traces the color in adoration, watching the pupils dilate in your eyes. 

He looks just like you do, exhales heavy and raw, desire replacing the blood in his veins. 

The tension winding in his toned stomach snaps at the brief, careful touch of your warm hand on his bulge. Hard, straining aggressively. Your hand rests there, feeling out his thick shape, his length below your fingers. 

“I need to feel you” he breathes out, permanently etching the words into your brain despite how softly they were spoken. Quickly returns to smash his lips onto yours with a rough kiss as if to consume you whole, passing the taste of yourself onto your tongue. 

“Lift a little f’me” 

One of his many pillows slides under your stomach, the imprint of his hand burning your bare hips, knees rooted in his sheets. Jungkook takes a shaky inhale, gathers your hair into his hand to reveal the curve of your spine, there for him to kiss reverently. 

“Fuck, you’re soaking” he bites down on his lip, a groan ripping from his throat at the sinful sight below. Your thighs gleam, the same shine coating his heavy cock as he grinds it through your folds, slapping the pink tip against your glossy, tight hole once, then twice.

“Thaaaat’s right, take my cock so well” 

Praise soothes the stretch he’s giving you, building a cozy home inside your body to reside in. You know now, that you want it all. His heart, his mind, his body craving itself into yours on nights like these. Your hands are planted down securely, though your elbows wobble under his impact. 

Pushing in further until his pelvis makes contact with your backside. At the first feel of him, entirely sunken into you, intertwined,  both of you remain melodically silent. 

He adjusts the position of his hips, angling until a spongy, soft spot nudges his tip - and starts moving his hips. Deep with a craving for connection in this messy pleasure. It’s been so long since he felt himself burn with another person, smell the sex in his bedroom and enjoy the taste of salty sweat and sweet skin to skin. 

“Good, so so good” your broken words buzz inside his head, making the deep and rhythmic ruts get sloppier. Moans, groans and whines come together in harmony, loud, shameless. 

“Suck on it baby, c’mon”  Jungkook threads his strong arm around your throat, holding his thumb on your plush bottom lip. When you don’t open your mouth right away, too lost in the vast ocean of pleasure, he shoves it past your lips - grinding against the wet muscle.

Your lips close around it instinctively, mindless callouts muffled by sucking just like he’d ask. Your obedience sparks him to thrust deeper, pushing your body back into him gets you another reward - his wet thumb finds your oversensitive clit, stimulating it wildly. No direction, no even movements as he seeks you out and you keep calling for him. 

“I’m gonna come jungkook” 

“You're gonna hold it” he gruffly says, taking away the additional pleasure to run his fingers through your hair, pulling your head back at the roots. Your neck stretches - back arching more than either of you thought possible and it stings better than you’ve ever felt it before.

The thorough, overwhelming orgasm building in your body is impendant, you clench on his big cock and whine for him louder,

“Can- can’t, please, mhh- fuck” 

“You can, you can. C’mon be good and hold it” he grits out,  jaw tense as his hips snap ruthlessly, chasing his own high. 

You’re so soft and warm and so fucking tight - the arch of your back clings with sweat against his will and he loves it. The knowledge of you wanting to break all over his cock -  all of it comes together to push him over the edge he’s been dancing on. He’s falling fast, closing his eyes for one last time to pull the strings of his voice together,

“Let go for me, let go baby” 

“Fuck” he whispers, pumping his cock into his fist, right after feeling you gush on him. He throbs in his own hand, then you feel it - sticky, warm as it leaks down onto your back, drips down while he’s attempting to catch his ragged breath. Your knees finally give out - with a long, tired sigh, your sore chest makes contact with his bed, head buzzing, aware of your body’s heat and unaware of the look in his eyes, the heaving of his broad upper body. 

Footsteps sound behind your closed eyes, inching closer to you. He places the damp towel on your spine, wiping away the traces of his cum, kisses the spot after, pats your butt like he had every right to that normalcy. 

The normalcy of laying down next to you, wrapping his still bare body around yours - heart beating against your back. You still don’t see him, your open eyes scan his colorful tattoos contrasting your skin. 

“Are you feeling okay?”

His voice is rough, the aftermath of what you did audible, louder in the proximity of his mouth to your ear. You give something close to a nod, a mumbled yes in response. You are okay. More than okay.

“Not too rough?” 

“No” 

“No?” he buries his nose into your neck, mumbling your words back in a question.

“No,” your body moves before you could stop it from happening and finally, after everything, you’re looking straight at him. 

“Was perfect”

It’s not monday or wednesday today, which is precisely why Jukyung is confused for the first minute of seeing you take your jacket off. 

It’s saturday, his dad has a day off and is wearing black sweats and a dark grey t-shirt. So he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. 

What matters though, is that his favourite person is in his home unexpectedly, so he runs up to you, flinging his arms around you in a rush. 

"Noona! " 

“Hey there” you greet back, returning the hug. Jungkook watches with his arms crossed and his head slightly tipped to the side. 

The confusion in Jukyung’s eyes returns when you give the same greeting to his dad - allowing him to sneak his arms around your waist. This is new. 

“We’re having movie night, i told you buddy” Jungkook says, reading the question off his child’s lips. He did tell him, however, Jukyung naturally assumed it would be on the following Monday. Not a boring, 7pm saturday - an hour before his technically strict bedtime. 

“You decide on a movie while appa and i make snacks yeah?” You add, smiling at Jukyung warmly. Behind you, the older man waits impatiently, holding the edge of the door in his hand. Jukyung nods, taking charge of the remote to select a movie - all three of you knew what it’d be, you’ve been unsuccessful in redirecting his favourite ghibli movie.

“Missed you” Jungkook mumbles against your lips, the door mostly closed - shielding you from the curious pair of eyes his son holds.

Smart kid. 

You tell him you missed him too, breathing in the subtle perfume on his shirt. His palm holds the side of your face, making an effort to keep your eyes on his. 

“He’s used to sleeping early, an hour and he’s dozing off, promise”  he says quietly, knuckles grazing your powdery soft skin,

“I know” you whisper, closing your eyes to soak up his touch. When Jukyung would find out is still undecided - it hasn’t been long but, sneaking around creates a guilty cloud to float above your heads, raining down anytime the three of you come together. 

Jungkook smiles, precious and simple, then leans down again to feel your lips on his to reassure that - soon, you’d tell him soon.

A gasp erupts in the silence but neither of you are the cause of it. 

Or.. right now. 

“Appa - you’re -” the childs eyes widen alongside his big, toothy smile.

“Kyungie - listen to me-” you start - frantically turning to him while Jungkook shuts his eyes tightly, accepting their dooming defeat. 

“Appa likes noona, Appa likes noona” Jukyung sings loudly, skipping around the kitchen.

@jeonlic tag like u wanted mwah