jungkook’s tattoo

i love reading jungkook fics x

[jenyluv]

5 RULES TO NOT FALL IN LOVE 𑣲 series masterpost

You thrive off habits and patterns, building quiet rules to keep everything simple and casual. Because to you, unfamiliarity is eerie and evasion is easy. But between late nights and sloppy kisses; silence becomes too loud, rules blur into secrets, and deceit soaks up clarity.

➥ completed! 𑣲 banner by

PAIRING: basketball player!jk x law student!reader

GENRE: strangers to fwb to lovers, college au, smut, fluff, angst

SERIES WARNINGS/DETAILS: fem!reader, fwb!mingyu, tae x oc, yearning, jealousy, jk’s very yummy and sexy, basketball talk i have no idea about, angst, smut wise: explicit sex, multiple sex scenes, locker room sex, car sex, oral (both receiving), fingering, hair pulling, unprotected sex (be safe!!! they’re dumb!!!), penetration, riding, praising, m masturbation, exhibitionism, degradation, (more to be added probably)

NOTES: a little mini-series. this is kind of different from what i usually write so im a tiny bit nervous but am also having so much fun while writing so i hope it’ll be loved by you guys <3 im hoping to have a fixed schedule for this but we’ll see what life brings obv.

✎ i. Don’t flirt with athletes who flirt back better (6k)

✎ ii. Don’t sit courtside for someone you’re not dating (10k)

✎ iii. Never be a point to prove (10k)

✎ iv. No kissing outside of sex (9k)

✎ v. Never ask them to stay (10k)

[callxby]

THIS HAS BEEN IN MY NOTES FOR A LONG TIME NOW AND I’M REGRETTING THAT I DIDN’T READ THIS EARLIER!!! I LOVE THISSSSSSSSS, THE WRITING IS JUST 🧑‍🍳💋 ILOVEU AUTHOR FOR MAKING A MASTERPIECE LIKE THIS xoxo

[lovieku]

OUT OF THE WOODS — THREE (final) ⋆ 정국

looking at it now, it all seems so simple. your neighbour is burn-in stubborn, you’re no better, and somehow you become another fire he feels compelled to put out. but flames don’t just burn — they leave everything changed. jeongguk knows only how to run, never to let himself be consumed. you’re willing to see what happens if you stay in the heat.

pairing firefighter!jk x vet!fem reader

genre neighbours au, frenemies to lovers, fluff, angst, smut

contents slice of life, crack-ish rom-com energy, banter & bickering, lowkey grumpy x grumpy, Or sassy x sassy, dog dad! jk, hurt/comfort, healing process, dog seizure, panic attack, vet talk, mentions of weed and drugs, mentions of emotional abuse and manipulation, hints at sh, crybaby jk, burn scars, hints at minor character death, fluffiest sweetest glimpses of their life, jk wears glasses!!!!, subby jk if you squint, oral m&f receiving, nipple play, fingering, cum eating, protected & unprotected penetrative sex, handjob, happy ending hehe

word count 12.3k

author’s note i’m emotional !!! this beautiful journey comes to an end 🥹 ootw reawakened my passion for writing, especially about complex people who only need a little love after all. i’m proud of myself for finishing a series, never thought i’d have seen this day ! and i got another one planned too, so lovies wait for me… i’m sadly going to take a long writing hiatus because your girl is graduating in a few months and needs to lock in academically! but i’ll always be here more than happy to interact with you guys 🩷 i wanna thank Everyone who’s interacted and left feedback for ootw, every little comment has been so special and i’d love to hear more of your opinions … hopefully this has been a fun journey for you guys as it’s been for me!! thank u and enjoy 🫶🏻

beta read by my sweet lover @voyter who’s been supporting ootw couple and me through Everything, and my amazing best friend @missenu whom i have to thank so profusely and infinitely and profoundly for literally cowriting this chapter ! she’s been an immense source of help and wisdom and this whole fic has only seen its light because of her magic mind ᥫ᭡.

banner creds ⋆ masterlist ⋆ series playlist

prologue ⋆ one ⋆ two ⋆ three

Relearning life on the fifth floor without the oddly familiar uncertainty of your front-door neighbour is harder than you’d imagined.

It’s hard when every morning you pluck a pair of shoes from the rack he built for you in diligent silence, and Ratatouille sits unfinished in your recently watched list. Hard when you can’t bring yourself to give back his jacket, leaving it to hang behind your bedroom door like shed skin.

Hard when even hiding in Grandma Mimi’s living room, curled on her worn couch, doesn’t keep you away from thoughts of Jeongguk. Especially when the old woman sits in the armchair facing you, but her eyes remain fixed on the calendar across the room.

Only a few days remain until the date marked with Jeongguk’s initials. You’d initially assumed it was his birthday, but the finality of the red ink and the contrast from the heart shape signaling her own anniversary suggest it might be something entirely different.

Grandma Mimi has been eerily quiet, you’ve noticed, a stark departure from the woman whose tongue is usually rolling with gossip or recipes.

Sitting straighter on her couch, you fiddle with the skin around your nails, and your frail voice has her slowly turning her head toward you.

“I feel like there’s something you know about Jeongguk that I should, too.”

She swallows hard, eyes looking to the side where her calendar resides and takes a moment to gather her words. Then, she offers a reassuring smile, the one she always uses to soothe your easily agitated nerves, though it doesn’t fully reach her eyes.

“What do you mean, dear?”

“It’s just…” her welcoming expression does little to calm your mounting anxiety as you reposition on the sofa, legs crossed. “I thought there was something. Then, the next second, he goes all cold on me. I… I don’t get him.”

Grandma Mimi looks unusually torn. Beneath the fond affection you’ve come to rely on, you find a new layer: restraint. It’d be unfair of you to ask for Grandma Mimi to pick sides; she wasn’t one of your girlfriends, though, she’s more. Which is an added layer of hurt knowing her loyalty to your front-door neighbour supersedes the bond you both shared in the time of your residency.

With resolution and a heavy sigh, she inhales. You lean in, eager to welcome a possible solution to all this uncertainty.

But she opts for a short explanation. “He’s been… hurt, in the past.”

“Grandma Mimi…” You’re truthfully sick of half-sincere reasons, and it filters through the exhaustion etched in your tone. Your eyes beg for honesty, and a dull ache that has started to feel familiar spreads through your chest. “I know you care about him. But … I’m hurting, too. I just want some clarity.”

Sad how you need to turn to another person instead of the direct source for said clarity.

The old woman purses her wrinkled lips into a smile. One that tells you her heart carries the same hurt now reaching your features. She reaches out and takes your hand in her cold one, lacing your fingers together.

Exhaling, she begins arranging pieces of the puzzle, yet the picture remains blurred. “There was this girl… their relationship was turbulent. She was messed up. Then, she cheated and left him.”

“Oh, that’s… that sounds rough.” You swallow, unconsciously nodding along with her bobbing chin.

But you know that can’t be all there is to this story. Right? It’s so clear across the lines of her face, how her eyes drop to your joined hands and drift toward somewhere distant, hauntingly mirroring the look Jeongguk wore in his kitchen.

Instead of closure, further confusion merges with a sudden indignation. “I still don’t get why I’m being treated like this.”

“You didn’t deserve that, sweetie,” she reaffirms, meeting your eyes again with fierce compassion, and her hand grips impossibly tighter around yours. “Look, dear… I care so much about you both, my angels. I don’t think it’s my place to tell this story. Jeongguk carries so much love, but that spark was stolen from him.”

You suddenly feel ridiculous. You’d spent weeks thinking the spark you saw in Jeongguk’s eyes — the one that seemed to burn wherever his skin brushed yours — was a shared flame. Turns out it’s just been a reflection of your own.

You thought you were both willing to stand in its light together, slowly swallowing everything around you and making the flare impossibly high. But when you turn around, you realize he’s left you alone to be consumed by your own making.

So much for a firefighter.

Teeth harsh on your bottom lip, you let Grandma Mimi’s next words sink into your growing resentment, aimed mostly at yourself for being so naive.

“He’s a boy with baggage. I get if you don’t wanna embark on this journey with him. You gotta take care of yourself, too. You don’t have to understand him, just… show him a little patience.”

Gulping down the bitter taste on your tongue, your brows knit together at the bridge of your nose. You, showing him patience. That’s all you’ve done.

The bitterness grows sour as it appears the one person who could understand the predicament with Jeongguk is inevitably showing him more compassion, even when he’s not around.

Will she do the same for you if Jeongguk comes to her for advice? You could only hope. Though small, you smile and nod at the older woman, ready to move on from the topic.

And days later, when resentment blends with acceptance, you think you could offer him patience.

You’ve been moving through the week on autopilot, finding refuge in the dog shelter where you often volunteer. You sit in silence with stray puppies and older mutts who only ask for so much patience and care when they softly whine the first time they feel the touch of a kind hand.

More often than not, your stomach grumbles by the end of your shifts, demands a patience of its own. You’ve rarely been feeding it properly: when you do, it’s with instant ramen or whatever processed food you can grab without thinking.

You find yourself asking your heart for that same patience, too, as your mind constantly runs on a loop of unanswered questions and stalled feelings. Peace only comes when you feel yourself finally drifting into sleep, but then the alarm always blares just as your body begins to relax, and the cycle repeats.

So, when his door happens to open just as you’re unlocking yours after work, his eyes resemble those of shelter puppies, and patience is supposedly all you’ve learned to give during the time spent apart.

You haven’t seen or heard from Jeongguk for almost two weeks. Gureum never once whined through the wall, so you’d presumed he was either locked inside or that you’d simply been lucky enough to never cross paths.

Jeongguk wears exhaustion on his face like patience hasn’t been his replacement as it’s been yours, and when he sees you he stops dead in his tracks, brows twitching upward in an expression that feels painfully akin to relief.

You tell yourself to stop presuming things you don’t know the clear answer to.

Gureum emerges from behind him, tail wagging, and he sniffs excitedly at your feet. You flash a small, instinctive smile at the dog, but when your gaze lifts back to Jeongguk’s, your lips tighten into a straight line.

You’re about to turn your back to him when he speaks your name, agitated, taking a tentative step toward you and letting his door fall shut behind him.

“Can we talk?”

Brows furrowed, you witness his face fall once again at your stunned silence. You hesitate, still carrying those flames within you, feeling them slowly merge with the patience you thought you’d mastered, and that you eventually manage to show him.

“Jeongguk, I think it’s best if we don’t.”

He nods, and you immediately recognize the compliance in his eyes, the one he’s always had ready for you, even when you’d asked him to get up for the third time after you’d finally settled on your couch for Ratatouille just to grab another blanket.

“I just need one minute, please. I’m sorry—”

“I’m not ready to talk yet.” Ironic how days ago you were wanting clarity and he’s willing to give it to you now. Still, your heart’s too fragile to hear him out.

“But–”

“You hurt me.” You stop him, words, heart and all. Your words burn — a first responder whose livelihood depends on saving and rescuing … is responsible for hurting now. Patience shaped acceptance, and made you realize you might simply not be the person he longs for, no matter how well you fit together. “I feel like we should keep our distance for a while.”

“I—”

“Goodbye, Jeongguk.”

Your own heart breaks at the finality in your tone, shatters when you see its effects on his face. He inhales sharply, extending a hand to stop you from disappearing into your apartment, though it never actually touches you.

“Is your ex boyfriend still bothering you?”

The mention of Mingyu has you stalling your reply for longer than you thought you’d have to think for it. You’ve been so deep in your own head that you hadn’t even noticed his constant texts ceasing — no calls, no accidental meetings. You study Jeongguk’s expectant face, blink to try and make sense of why he’d ask this now.

You can only shake your head no.

“Okay,” he licks his lips, nodding to himself as he tugs lightly on Gureum’s leash when he starts whining at the lack of attention. You desperately wish you could kneel and pet him like you usually would have done, but you’re held captive by the way your neighbour’s face morphs, expression suddenly loosening.

“That’s good. Be safe, okay? Please, come to me if you ever need any help.”

Patience has been a virtue you’d tried cultivating. But after knowing what it feels like to have looked for him, looked in his trembling orbs as you asked for something as essential as truth, only to find no one there, something inside you snaps at his words.

“Come to you?” You let out a short scoff, keys jangling in your shaking hand. “Only for you to disappear again? You know, Grandma Mimi said I don’t have to understand you, but—”

Suddenly, he moves, stepping closer, far over the boundaries of what’s now allowed, and Gureum lets out a low bark. “What did Halmeoni tell you?”

You instinctively step back, retreating beyond the threshold of your apartment where you won’t let him reach you. Disappointment etched into every line of your face as you shake your head slightly.

“Nothing that she wouldn’t want you to tell me first. She wouldn’t betray your trust like that.”

It’s a pang ringing simultaneously into both of your chests, vibrating with the silent implications. Jeongguk betrayed your trust the very moment after he’d asked you for it, and the reminder has his nose twitching in visible shame.

He swallows hard, withdrawing to an accepted distance as the surge of panic washes out of him. “Look, I just wanted to apologize—”

“And you did.” You finalize, gaze dropping to anywhere but him. Your worn out heels, Gureum’s panting mouth, your bitten nails. “I don’t think there’s anything else we should talk about. I’m tired of this back and forth.” You’re tired of never knowing where you stand with him.

Then, you offer him one last flash of dejection before stepping inside your space and letting the door shut, signal an erect wall between you, one that trembles under the pressure of the unsaid but that you both fight to keep standing.

Another week passes without a glimpse of his sleep-deprived eyes or a single sound from the fifth floor. Jeongguk asked you to look for him exactly when it comes to the kind of help he knows you struggle to accept.

You wish you could look for him simply because you get lonely on your walks, and the other day you found a jazz song in one of your dad’s vinyl compilations that you think he’d really like, and you baked too many cookies once again but you can’t knock on his door.

Time will mend the hurt. In a month, it’ll probably feel less awkward to say hello in passing instead of dodging him at the grocery store, the way you do the next week. In two months, you might even return to friendly terms, listen to what he wanted to say in the hallway, accept that he can only find solace in your friendship, not your lips on his.

And you’ll be okay with that. You’d take it over this abrupt loss, how the tide stripped him from you cold turkey. It’s been a brutal process relearning life on the fifth floor, relearning lunches at Grandma Mimi’s without him in the seat opposite of yours, relearning Pixar movies without him overanalyzing the animation.

You give yourself the grace to do it gradually.

Gradually, just like when you convince yourself none of your own jackets fit. So you wear his over a short dress you picked for drinks with friends — strictly because the oversized look pairs better with the leather of your boots, not because almond-and-pine-equals-shelter is still something you can’t unlearn.

Gradually, so that when you finally get to Ratatouille, you sniff and wipe at your cheeks as Remy combines strawberry and cheese, and the flavors merge with jazz instrumentals, and the colorful shapes on screen would have had him go off on one of his geeky animation tangents.

Gradually, like how you’ve been staying after hours at the clinic, offering to take on the mindless, end of day tasks. Your coworkers thank you when you confirm that, for the second week in a row, you’ll be the one preparing the clinic for the morning rush.

It’s a way for you to stall time, be here where it doesn’t truly feel like you’re alone, even as the clinic is dimmed and quiet. The pharmacy prep area becomes your sanctuary smelling of antiseptic.

The only sound heard is the repeated tink-tink-tink of the small plastic spatula as you move the yellow tablets across the counting tray. It’s a robotic motion, the one to count a massive prescription of heart medication for a regular patient, a Great Dane.

You’re hunched over the counter under a single pool of fluorescent light, and the silence might even be loud enough for you to become aware of the pace of your pulse — relaxed, echoing in your ears.

Tink, tink, tink. Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub.

When a loud thump resounds from the lobby, you think you can feel your heart bursting against your ribs in perfect sync with the way the front door is slammed open.

You flinch, spatula jumping in your hand and sending a dozen pills skittering across the floor like marbles, mimicking the door bells chiming.

All of it gets drowned by a rough, panicked voice that has you standing up out of a sharp instinct. “Help, please!”

You bolt from the prep area, lab coat flapping behind you as you round the corner into the lobby. The voice was unrecognizable, a jagged, breathless wreck of a sound. But the sight in front of you is unmistakeable, stopping the air in your lungs.

Jeongguk is staggering toward one of the chairs of the waiting room, frame trembling so violently you almost miss the cause: Gureum is clutched to his chest, and his knuckles are white and slimy with the dog’s saliva. It’s the little maltese vibrating with him that sends you hurrying their way.

“Jeongguk, put him down!” You assert, professionalism surging through you and overriding the panic that rushed at the sight of him, voice sharp enough to pierce through his own fright. “What happened?”

You recognize the throes of a grand mal seizure, Gureum’s tiny body rigid, head arched back at an unnatural angle, his paws paddling the air. You still urge a response out of Jeongguk, whose wide eyes are bloodshot and fixed on the dog’s flickering eyelids.

“We were— we were on a walk, he— he fell,” his voice cracks, yet he doesn’t let Gureum go. “He started shaking, his eyes… he wouldn’t look at me. Please, I can’t— he’s dying—”

You drop to your knees in front of him, hands moving with practiced grace. “He’s not dying. It’s a seizure. You have to lay him down before you drop him.” You pry his shaky arms open, guiding him so that Gureum would be safe on the linoleum floor.

The heat radiating off the dog’s body is intense against your palms once you gently reposition him and check the pulse in his groin. Gureum’s breath comes in hot, wet gasps, and it almost matches his owner’s hysteria.

Jeongguk looks like he’s about to follow the dog into a collapse. He’s hyperventilating, fingers digging into his now empty thighs as he watches his dog shake with the last of the muscle tremors surging through his body.

“I’m sorry. Puh—please, help him,” Jeongguk hiccups, and your heart constricts. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him lose control, lose composure like this, let go completely the way he’s now breaking apart in front of you. You’re momentarily stuck, eyes flickering all over his shattered face.

His eyes are glossed over with succumbing as they follow your every shift, as you recover and reach over to grab Jeongguk’s wrist to pull his hand flat onto Gureum’s flank.

“Jeongguk. Gguk, hey. Look at me.”

He gasps, vision tunneling and drowning once he feels the dog’s beating heart beneath your warm hand, body unmoving save for his heaving chest and shaky fingers.

You beg, “Breathe with me.”

When his face snaps up at your wobbly voice, he’s a wreck of tears and exhaustion, his bangs matted to his forehead. His head twitches with a quick shake. “I’m sorry. I duh—don’t wanna lose him.”

You don’t break eye contact, don’t risk losing him to the void, and force strength in your tone. “You won’t, okay? Gureum is okay. Look.”

As he follows your gaze down, you both witness how Gureum’s tiny legs have stopped paddling. The dog blinks, head lifting a few inches, looking up at his owner with a dazed expression.

The seizure is over.

Jeongguk cracks a relieved smile, breath hitching, “Gureumie… My baby.” His large hand slides from your hold to gently cup the side of Gureum’s muzzle, eyes still wide and now blinking heavily.

You let them stay like that for a moment, allowing Jeongguk to catch his breath, unconsciously regulating with your own deep inhales, slow exhales. Batting away a pair of very unprofessional tears, you gently encircle Gureum’s weak body and lift him as you stand.

Looking up, Jeongguk sniffs and abruptly wipes his cheek with the back of his hand. “What— what’s going on?”

“It was a seizure,” you repeat, watching how his brows pinch like he’s just now letting the information filter through his padded ears and sink in. You’re quick to reassure him. “It’s over now. I just need to do a proper check-up, but he’s already coming around. Wanna come with us?”

You hold the dog closer to your chest, mindful to keep your grip gentle, as well as your tone when speaking to your neighbour, clearly still shaken up. He nods, hesitant, and stands to follow you into an exam room.

On the stainless steel table, Gureum shivers against the cold and unforgiving surface, a tiny tremor that sends a fresh wave of agony across Jeongguk’s face.

“He’s shaking again,” Jeongguk rasps, hands hovering near the table, twitching as if he wants to snatch the dog up but knows better. “Is he having another one? Is he—”

“No,” your voice is steady, settles low between the both of you. “It’s the post-ictical phase. He’s just disoriented.” A raised hand comes forward to halt his forward lean, keeping your expression stern but reassuring. “I know what I’m doing. I need you to be calm and stay where you are. Can you do that for me?”

His nod is frantic, as if he’s suddenly snapping out of a daze, and he takes a step back. He moves his eyes up at you with a desperate guilt that tells you it has nothing to do with the dog. “Yes. Sorry.”

Reaching into your lab coat, you pull out a small silver penlight, the beam cutting through Gureum’s dark, glassy stare.

“Pupils are equal and reactive,” you murmur, watching the irises contract. “That’s good. He’s coming out of the woods.”

You continue the examination in silence, moving expertly as you look for further signs of recovery. Checking his gums for that healthy flush of pink, monitoring his temperature. As expected, Gureum is burning up, little body still reeling. You remain collected, although the weight of Jeongguk’s eyes on you has your expression flickering.

After you’re finished scrubbing Gureum’s tiny paws and the thin skin of his ears with alcohol-soaked pads to regulate his temperature, the weary whine he gives into the medicinal-scented room has Jeongguk letting out a half-hiccup, morphing into a broken smile.

Gureum leans his head into your touch, his core temperature cooling down and his body readapting to his surroundings. Jeongguk grips the edge of the exam table so hard the metal groans.

Finally, you tuck your stethoscope back into your pocket after having checked for a rhythmic heartbeat, and you look up into the widened eyes in front of you. “He’s fine, Jeongguk. His heart is strong, this was a fluke. He just needs to rest.”

Jeongguk nods repeatedly, reaching out with hesitance to pet Gureum's fur. “Thank you, thank you so much.”

You hum, turning your back to him to wash your hands. The scent of alcohol evaporating from Gureum’s paws still waltzes in the air, mingling with a thick, regretful silence.

He’s the one to break through it, voice returning to its usual regulated tone, yet it’s pitched low with the realization of his complete loss of control dawning on the both of you. “I’m sorry for… Hell, I’ve a lot to be sorry for.”

“It’s okay,” you whisper. The exhaustion of the day, of these past weeks, sinks into your chest all at once. The familiar void begins taking up more than its allowed space, and with Jeongguk in the same room but nothing left on your tongue to say, you find yourself searching for an exit.

“No, it’s not,” Jeongguk lets out with a voice as frail as yours, and your brows twitch as you turn around. He sniffs, and there’s a sudden resolution across his features. “If you give me the chance, I… I think I’m ready to be honest with you, now.”

Gureum presses his face further into Jeongguk’s palm, and you’re both looking down at his timid tongue licking over his skin rather than witnessing the hurt tightening both your expressions.

You hesitate, inhale shaky, “Look, I’m still working, and…”

“I know, I know,” he nods, pointer finger sliding gently across the dog’s wet nose. “Whenever you want to, you can knock on my door. Just… consider it. Please.”

You do consider it. Let another week pass as you do.

Before work, when your leg bobs restlessly under the table and you forcefully wrap your mouth around a spoon of soggy cereal.

After work, spotting him from a distance in the park, sitting on your bench, while Gureum trots freely through the grass.

When you close your eyes, and all you can see behind your lids is his tear-streaked face and the tremor of his brows.

At the grocery store, when you’re buying apples and find yourself wishing Gureum would rip another of your plastic bags, and hoping the dog’s doing better.

Whenever you’re closing your door or opening it, and the vision in front of you is always his closed one.

Exactly one week later, coming back from another of your increasingly long walks, you finally hear sound coming from beyond the piece of wood separating you. You think you can distinguish Gureum’s nails clicking on the floor and Jeongguk’s small giggle resounding in the space.

And it’s as if your heart finally gives up the fight, longs for that melody to vibrate through it again. You clearly don’t think of it enough when your knuckles meet the wood.

Followed by an eager bark, you hear Jeongguk’s feet hastily making their way to the door. As it swings open, you wonder if he’s worn that same expectant expression every time someone has knocked over the past seven days.

Eyes large and sparkling, his lifted brows relax once he takes you in, standing in front of him, wearing the same baby blue set you had on during your very first walk together.

“Hi,” he breathes through a smile, and you think that vision alone might be enough, him looking at you like this is worth the risk of whatever rejection or truth follows.

“Hey,” in return, your smile is weak and doesn’t fully form. You spot Gureum behind him, tail wagging and tongue lolling. Returning your gaze to his owner, you ask, hesitant, “Is this a bad moment?”

“No, not at all.” Jeongguk is quick to step aside, pulling the door wide. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

He says he’s been waiting for you — just as you’ve punished both of you by stalling this conversation, you suppose — yet, after the meaningless small talk has faded and you’ve acknowledged how much better Gureum is doing, his words desert him as he fiddles with his fingers on his lap.

His couch feels firmer than you remember, and you reposition yourself as you cross your legs and turn your front to fully face him, sitting next to you.

“You said you wanted to talk.”

Jeongguk nods, locking his gaze onto yours. “I do. I owe you an explanation.” It’s not long before his eyes drop back to his hands. “I’ve been such an asshole to you this whole time, and you’re still here willing to listen to me.”

You gulp, fighting the lump in your throat and trying to silence the anxiety whispering in the back of your mind, anticipating what he might say.

He licks his lips before inhaling, “I’ve been in a dark headspace for quite some time. The time apart from you… made me realize I’ve been pushing away the only person who made it all a bit brighter.”

Looking up, he lets his glossy eyes speak to your swollen pupils and the silence speak for his regret.

Jeongguk tells you about a girl named Nora who once occupied your apartment, long before the family of four. He explains how she’d always get into trouble, pair that with his unfortunate hero complex, he’d always mend the damage.

“I fell for her because she gave me purpose. I think I was Pavlov’ed into being her dog.” A humourless chuckle escapes him, but his face soon twitches back into hurt. He leans back onto the couch and looks up at you as if he’s trying to read your thoughts. “She was good to me only when I did things for her. I lost a lot in that relationship.” He sucks in a breath. “Money, time, dignity… love.”

His money was spent on her distractions, innocent enough at first. This is how you learn that Gureum wasn’t even his dog to begin with, but Nora’s emotional support animal. He doesn’t regret the money he spent on the Maltese. His face does twist with shame when he mentions buying weed just to comply and make her stay, paying for the city’s best therapist only for her to reject the help, emptying his wallet on hospital admissions and pills which she swore she needed in her healing process.

That’s similar to how his dignity got stripped from his hold, too. Especially when he recounts, with a visible shiver, how she convinced him to get high with her, claiming he didn’t really love her if he wouldn’t join her, and the sex almost resulted in him getting baby-trapped.

The words nearly hiccup on their way out of his throat, and your hand flies to hold his in comfort. Your breath hitches, “Gguk, oh god… I’m so sorry.”

When he snaps up from the spot he’d zoned out on, he sees your face wet with tears and his palm engulfs yours so tight it might have hurt if your chest wasn’t already constricted by the truths spilling from his mouth.

Jeongguk shakes his head and you notice his other hand twitching on his thigh, almost as if he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure if he could.

“After that, it got worse.” He gulps, face stiff as he skims through the wreckage of those years, but still pushes for the honesty he owes you. “She started really abusing drugs. Then harming herself, too… but, you know. I thought I could help her. Save her.”

His voice breaks on the last admission, and you slide closer on the couch until your knees are bumping, forcing him to look at your face, your lips as you whisper with assurance, “I’m sure you did more than enough, Gguk.”

“Not enough to keep her with me. She… she just left us. Me and Gureum.” His gaze falls to the dog laying at the feet of the couch. He sniffles, worrying at his bottom lip before shaking his head to clear the fog. “But, yeah. This— I’m not telling you this so you’ll pity me.”

You inhale, open your mouth to reassure him, but he interrupts. “I just want to apologize for projecting all that onto you. I shouldn’t have let my insecurities speak over what you were telling me. And what you were showing me.”

Jeongguk had been grieving you, anticipatorily. This whole time, looking into your eyes has felt like his last time doing so, and tasting your every baked good has felt like a privilege he was destined to lose. And he had tried his best to extend that time, prove to you he could be worth it.

You’ve been expecting him, anticipatorily. Willing to discover what being so close to the fire would do to your insides, whether it would melt you into ashes or forge you into something better. And you find ashes only provide the space for new and greater beginnings, after all.

Your thumb brushes over his knuckles as you lean closer, resting your side against the cushions. In the narrow space between you, you can clearly see the subtle twitch of his chin, how hard he’s fought through this conversation.

“You need to stop worrying so much about other people. Sometimes, they don’t wanna be saved.” Your whisper fans over his cheeks like cold air over the flames. “Save yourself, Gguk. Leave some life for yourself, too.”

Jeongguk swallows back words that refuse to come out without tears, and he isn’t ready to cry. He doesn’t want to.

But it’s so hard to stay composed when your other hand, shaky and uncertain, places itself gently against his cheek, touch so soft he lets his eyes flutter shut along with your tender words.

“I hope you know that if I’m here, it’s because I found so much more in you than a person willing to carry the world’s weight. And that is nothing to be ashamed of, either. Ever.” You punctuate with finality.

When your thumb strokes his cheek, it is to catch the tears that inevitably break loose. You speak sincerity into the inches between you.

“I wish you could’ve seen from the beginning that I would’ve stood by you even if you weren’t constantly trying to prove your worth. You are worth it, Gguk. The right person doesn’t need you to only give. I wish you could also learn how to take.”

For the weeks that follow, you both truly relearn life on the fifth floor with no barriers between you — no emotional walls, at least, just two wooden doors and cracking hesitance.

You’ve confirmed your belief that loss is not just absence. What’s empty leaves space for something else, and losing Jeongguk had only prepared you to welcome him back properly, in a way. Grief led you to blooming patience and understanding, so that when you found yourself facing Jeongguk’s glossy eyes, you simply gave him back what was already his — a permanent spot in your heart.

Jeongguk, in turn, learns that loss doesn’t always look like failure, that failing might just mean the same mistakes cannot be repeated, and he can still take from them. Failing is no longer a monster under the bed when you continue to smile up at him every day, regardless of whether he can be the strong one.

When he finally allows you to see the burn scars on his bare back, the marks of the moment he truly felt like he had failed, you don’t see weakness. You don’t see someone incapable. Instead, you’re there to wipe his tears and look at him with a deepening adoration in your eyes that he never thought possible.

You learn that Nora didn’t only leave him emotionally empty. That door shutting close behind her signalled the very last time he’d ever have the chance of seeing her again.

Because Nora also left a physically empty void in her departure. She was consumed by the same flames he dominates and saves people from. He blames himself for failing to save her, but as you trace the jagged lines of his scars, you whisper that they’re only a further proof of the courage he carries — and if that ever weighs him down, you tell him to topple onto you. You’ll be there to cradle him with the care he’s finally learning to allow and accept.

Jeongguk keeps giving. Constantly. Even more than he did when he was just your neighbour turned friend.

For starters, you discover the reason Mingyu’s constant texts finally ceased: Jeongguk. He doesn’t offer much detail, only that your ex boyfriend is no longer someone you should worry about. You jokingly ask if he’s murdered him, and he laughs like he doesn’t know the sound alone tugs at your heartstrings painfully, beautifully.

“God, no,” he chuckles, laughter dimming as if he still feels he hasn’t quite earned the right to let loose like that. “Just told him to leave you alone. For good.”

You bite on your smile, shrugging playfully. “I wouldn’t have snitched on you.”

When you also let out a giggle, he can’t help but join in, softly nudging your shoulder with his. “You’re so ridiculous.”

He attempts to bake cookies, just to return the sweetness, but you can’t suppress the huff of a chortle the moment you take a bite.

Furrowing his brows, he mimics your contained smile. “What?”

“No, it’s—” You mumble around a mouthful before swallowing hard. “It’s good.”

“Oh, I knew I got something wrong,” he shakes his head, turning back to the tray, grimacing at the cookies’ pale, wet appearance.

You raise your brows, shifting into comfort mode as you wrap yourself around his arm to recall his attention. “It’s probably just the oven settings, Gguk. They’re really not bad.”

He smiles sheepishly down at you, catching your sneaky, mischievous dimples. “Okay, finish the cookie, then.”

You inhale, slowly detaching from him, “Um…”

In a heartbeat, his fingers are digging into your sides. You shriek, doubling over in his hold as he tickles restlessly, and he’s also laughing right against your ear, “You liar!”

The next time he tries, the cookies are considerably better. Perhaps it’s the determination in his eyes, the kind that says failure is no longer a reason to stop. Either way, you end the night crashing on his couch, full-tummied and high on sugar.

Almost every weekend, he cooks dinner for the two of you, and while he does the dishes you’re rambling into his ear about work. By now, he’s so invested that the times he drives you to the clinic he’s tempted to stay through your shift — can’t wait for the evening to hear the latest developments.

It’s a series of silent actions: having already the couch prepped with your favourite blankets for movie nights even as the warm spring weather approaches; carrying your every heavy grocery bag on his wide shoulders; heating up your water bottle when you’re on your period.

He even lets you drag him out for drinks with your friends, staying by your side despite his drowsiness, and he never once complains. Always has his eyes on you, attuned to your every shift.

If you want to dance, he’ll let you grind against him and guide your hips even as he shivers from the contact, restraining himself from placing his lips where he’d really want to. If you want to drink, he’ll be by your side for a glass or two before he begins monitoring your alcohol-intake.

One night, sitting together on the bar stools, when the techno-house music begins to blare too loudly against your temple, you let your head slip onto his shoulder. He runs a warm palm up and down your back and you turn sheepish at the contact, burrowing closer into his side.

He leans in, speaks into your ear, “You wanna go home, Oompie?”

Nodding into his chest, he chuckles softly. And he moves just as carefully, straightening you up so he can stand. “Okay, I’ll go grab our stuff from the table. Don’t move.”

You watch him go with a lazy, unconscious smile on your lips. Once he disappears into the crowd, your palm replaces his shoulder as you rest your cheek on it, elbow propped up the counter.

When you hear the stool beside you scratching against the floor, you turn your head with a light in your eyes ready to welcome Jeongguk back, tell him about this face mask you should try once you’re home, until the flicker dims at the sight of a stranger.

The man is buff, not in the lean way Jeongguk is. His beard makes him look rougher than he already appears, and he acknowledges you with a nod of his chin and a slimy smile. “What’s a doll like you doing alone?”

You immediately straighten up your slugged position, head spinning slightly from the drinks. “Huh, I—”

“Let me get you a drink.” He’s already waving for the bartender, but you stop him quickly.

“No, I— I’m about to leave with my boyfriend, sorry.” The word slips naturally over your tongue, whether it comes as a handy excuse or a subconscious wish.

Scoffing, the man shakes his head at the bartender, who looks on with confusion. “Right. Boyfriend. You females always use that one, huh? How come every time you say you have a boyfriend, he’s never actually there?”

Furrowing your brows, you inhale, alcohol fueling a sudden spark of anger. “Have you considered that the only way males stop bothering us is once we mention another ma—”

“Hey sweets, ready to go?”

Both you and the entitled stranger turn around at the sound of Jeongguk’s voice, standing right behind you with raised brows. They pinch together the moment he takes in the guy sitting in his previous spot, and he’s immediately wrapping a firm hand around your waist once you hurriedly step off the stool.

“My bad, bro. I ain’t mean anything,” the man mutters, lifting his hands in defeat before vanishing back into the crowd, just as you imagined he would’ve once he saw Jeongguk.

Tall, buff, tattooed and scary-looking Jeongguk, who looks down at you alarmedly, his palm traveling up your side. “Did he try anything?”

“No, no,” you shake your head, leading the way toward the exit as he follows closely. “He offered a drink, and I told him I have a boyfriend. And then he started going off about how women lie about it, like—”

You stop mid-sentence when, looking up, you see Jeongguk biting back a grin while his eyes are fixed on the ground, making sure you don’t trip on the sidewalk. Then, noticing the silence, he turns to you expectantly.

You narrow your eyes, curling into his chest as the chilly night air hits your skin. “Why are you smiling like that?”

Jeongguk shrugs, guiding you both toward his car. “Nothing, just wasn’t aware you had a boyfriend.”

Rolling your eyes, you swat at his stomach and try to detach yourself, but he just tugs you back in. You keep up the banter, only because there’s nothing you love more than playful and relaxed Jeongguk.

“Yeah, well… I would’ve told you eventually.”

“Oh, really?” He opens the passenger door and eases you into the seat before rounding the car. He gets inside, doesn’t start the engine, just shifts to look at you. Noticing your tight shoulders, he pulls his jacket off and drapes it over your exposed legs. “What’s he like?”

Your fingers curl into the leather, and you let the side of your head rest back against the seat, looking at him through heavy lids. “He’s the perfect guy to scare other men away. He’s tall, has lots of tattoos…”

Humming around a smile, Jeongguk reaches out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, hand staying to cup around your cheek. “And is he really that scary?”

Jeongguk is also learning how to take. Take in how your words sink straight into his heart, no intrusive thoughts of selfishness, simply basking into the feeling of being taken care of. Being seen, heard, understood. Being allowed to trip and finding your extended hand ready to lift him up and mend his wounds.

Ever so attentive, you read every wave of emotion washing over his face without the need for words. You have enough for the both of you, and you use them to tame the flames into a nice, warm bonfire.

You shake your head against his palm, turning your face just slightly so you can leave a faint, warm peck on his wrist. “No… he has the kindest, biggest heart.”

The next night, while thumbing through his vinyls, your fingers stumble onto a sleeve that feels unfamiliar. On the turntable, The Sky Is a Landfill by Jeff Buckley nears its end, but the record you pull from the shelf is a limited edition Radiohead. Karma Police, to be exact. The song you were born to.

You stand up from your crouched position, eyes raking over the autographed cover. Turning to Jeongguk, he’s still on the couch, glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose as he scrolls through next month’s work schedule.

You quip, loud enough over the drums of Everybody Here Wants You. “When did you get this, Gguk?”

Looking up at the sound of your voice, he adjusts his glasses only for his eyes to widen once they land on the record in your hands. He sits up straighter, “I, huh…” sighing, he admits. “That was supposed to be your gift.”

“What?” It’s your eyes dilating, glancing between the gift and the gifter. A thirty-two-teeth smile stretches across your mouth. “Are you serious? Why didn’t you…”

Phone discarded, he strides his way toward you, a shy dimple hollowing his cheek. “I’m sorry…”

Once he’s in front of you, looking so pretty and vulnerable under the amber hues of the lamp reflecting off his glasses, your gaze drops back to the vinyl. Shaking your head, you slide the record back into its place and finally allow yourself to take him in.

“Can we both agree on not apologizing anymore?”

He nods sheepishly, but whatever agreement was on his tongue turns into a yelp as you throw yourself into his chest. Your arms lock around his neck and he instinctively lifts you off the carpet.

“Thank you, Ggukkie.” Squealing, you kick your legs in the air before he’s setting you back down, giggling against your ear.

“Do you like it?”

“I love it!” You pull back just enough to better express the sentiment, eyes locked onto his blown-wide pupils.

Your smiles linger, but they morph into something easier, lazier. You’re both playing the toughest ping-pong match between eyes and lips, and Jeongguk admits defeat first, straightening slightly and loosening his grip on your waist.

“Sorry.”

You hum, eyes narrowing as you tug him back into your space with a hand splayed over his nape. “What did I just say?”

“I know, I know,” he grumbles, gaze falling onto your mouth as he swallows hard, almost as if it’s painful to look anywhere else. “I just wanna give you your space. I know that I still don’t have your full trust.”

Your brows twitch. “Gguk… You do.”

Fingers traveling up, you cradle his jaw and let your thumb brush the corner of his mouth, parted and breathing out a trembling exhale. It’s like you can see the fight slowly leaving his body, how his lids droop and his palms settle on your hips.

With your other hand, you fix his glasses and ruffle his hair — getting a little too long now — with a gentle touch. “I’ve had enough space. I can’t stay away from you.”

There never really was space between you, and there never needed to be. You’re magnets that have tried to reject one another for far too long, but when you’re face to face the pull is stronger and undeniable.

Jeongguk can only drop his forehead against yours, breathing in the sweet merge of cotton candy and almond. You speak the assurance you know he needs in the puff of air left between you.

“I wanna be there for you. With you. Through everything. I just need you to let me in.”

The flames engulf you once again, but this time you’re both standing in the heat together. You’ve decided it’s worth being consumed, and he realizes that all the times he’s ran, he only deprived himself of this comfortable warmth.

You whisper, “Do you trust me?”

Jeongguk, ever so responsive, nods his head against your forehead. “I do.”

It’s all the permission you need. You lean in, pressing your mouth to his in a kiss that has you both sighing through your nose, limbs instantly locking tighter around one another. When he lets one hand drag lower around the curve of your hips, you whimper against his lips and he wastes no time finding your tongue with his.

You don’t think you’ll ever need air to fill your lungs again, because oxygen still flows through the kiss directly to your heart. And you don’t care if it’s messy, if Jeongguk’s glasses are slipping further down his nose, if your teeth clash the more you push against each other — because when you hear him whine, it only spurs you further.

You detach just enough to trail kisses along his chin, following the line of his jaw down to his throat, causing him to throw his head back, unable to keep his moan trapped behind his teeth. Your hand buried in the hair at the nape of his neck tugs him backward, giving yourself more space to suck and nip at the expanse of his neck.

“Baby, oh shit,” he groans as you push him against the furniture, the impact hard enough to have Jeff Buckley’s voice startle and skip on the still-spinning vinyl. You release his skin with a wet smack, looking up at him through your dazed fog and swollen lips.

Jeongguk moans from the vision alone, trying to conceal it by colliding your mouths together once again, his hands firming on your waist to guide the slow but sharp grinds against his already embarrassingly, clothed and hard length.

It throbs beneath his thin sweats when you press your hand on it, pulling him lightly by his hair so you can whisper against his flushed-pink ear. “Do you trust me with your pleasure?”

He nods, moans so loud around a yeah, and watches in awe as you drop to your knees in front of him, lowering his pants along with you. You look up through your lashes and flash a wicked smile before mouthing at his cock, licking over the wet spot on his white boxers.

Jeongguk quite literally wails, messily pushes his glasses back against the bridge of his nose, then bucks his hips up in search of more friction. “Please, sweets.”

“Hm? What?” You let your lips drag over his incredibly hard girth, placing your hands on his muscular thighs and causing him to whimper. Batting your lashes, you tilt your head. “What do you want?”

“I want you to do whatever you want to me, please,” words so compliant and vulnerable clash with the way his wide palm comes to cup your jaw, fingers extending to the rest of your face and digging in desperate need of restraint.

You turn for a quick kiss on his wrist before wrapping your hand around it, shaking your head as you let his arm drop at his side. “If you want me to suck your cock, you need to keep your hands to yourself. Okay?”

“O–okay,” he stutters and wraps his fingers tight around the edge of the cabinet, knuckles turning white.

“Not a punishment, Ggukkie,” you reassure as you slowly pull his boxers down, cock springing free and brushing your nose. He hisses, tries pushing forward but your palms are back on his thighs, digging. “I just wanna take care of you tonight. Would you like that?”

Whimpering, he breathes, “Yeah, fuck, I’d love that.”

You look between his length and his face, both pretty and blushing pink. His tip throbs and leaks, begs to be welcomed in your warm mouth. His brows twitch, too, angled upwards and only accentuating his wide eyes behind the glasses.

Your tongue runs from his base to his tip before you’re wrapping your lips around it, humming along with his dragged moan. The dresser rustles once again, this time with the force of his constraint, and you start bobbing your head as your fist pumps the parts you can’t reach.

“Shit, you feel suh—so, mmph—good,” his stutter syncs with the way his own hips slip, pushing his cock further inside your mouth and hitting the back of your throat while your fist is still wrapped around his base, causing you to gag.

He gasps, hand hovering the side of your face but, ever so obedient, he doesn’t touch you. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

You retreat with a wet sound, length bouncing straight in front of you and keeping your vision of his face obstructed. “Yeah, Ggukkie. Did you like that?”

His fingers curl into a fist beside your head, and you can see his throat bob around a hard swallow. He hums, head nodding slightly.

You decide he’s been good enough. Guide his hand with your own on top of your head, where his fingers sneak into your hair and you let yourself be held as you’re wrapped around his cock again and he slowly bucks his hips into your warmth, your tongue coming out to swirl around his tip.

Jeongguk is long, and he feels even thicker in your mouth. You choke at the intrusion, but nonetheless press yourself further — anything it takes to hear his pretty, wailed sounds.

Knees numb from his hardwood floors, your panties grow wetter as you imagine what he’d feel like inside you, and the thought alone has you moaning around him, nodding your head at a faster pace while your hand keeps flicking at his base.

That’s when you look up at him, meet the flushed mess on his cheeks, how his glasses are close to slipping off his nose and his furrowed brows threaten to leave a premature wrinkle.

He opens his mouth around a moan when he takes in your glossy eyes staring up at his through your drawn up brows, and his thrusts stammer. “Baby, I’m gonna cum.”

You hum, hollowing your cheeks around his tip while your other hand lowers to tease his balls, and then you truly hear him cry.

His hand slips to your jaw so he can angle your gaze on his, glasses only heightening the twinkle in his dazed, swollen pupils. And it must be the same look mirrored in your eyes that leaves him empty of words, of any warning, before he’s choking around a moan and painting your throat white.

You cease your movement, allowing him to thrust lazily into your mouth however he wants to ride through his well-deserved orgasm. He pulls his softening cock out of your warm cavern, fucked-out gaze matching yours before he helps you up to your feet. Lips crashed to yours, he thrust his tongue into your mouth, relishing the mix of his salted taste with your saliva.

“You’re so good to me.” He pants against your lips. “How’d I get this lucky?”

You whimper in his embrace, too overwhelmed by his touch to verbalize your retort of how good he’s been to you.

Hours later, when he’s found it hard to stop kissing you and you’ve found it hard to keep your sneaky hands off him, Jeongguk has you sprawled on his bed, tugging your shorts down along with your uncomfortably slicked panties.

You support yourself on your forearms, can’t miss the look on his face when he spreads your legs wider and pants at the sight of your soaked lips, swollen clit.

“Fuck, baby,” his hands hover, overwhelmed at the sight of you from above, even more when you pull at the neck of your tee and take it off in one swift move.

He almost wanted to fuck you with that shirt on, the one you stole from his drawer nights ago, only because it felt good to see you entirely bathed in him.

But the sight of your tits shuts his every other thought out. Glasses thrown somewhere on his nightstand, he isn’t a bit phased at the sudden change in vision. You’re so close to him — so close where he can see the tiny freckles and marks you’d consider imperfections. They all look the same to him: home to his lips and touch.

He sighs, lowering his face in between your spread thighs, “Can I taste you?”

Although he still gives you the illusion of being in charge, you’re putty under his hazed, hungry eyes, nodding expectantly and pushing your chest forward to welcome his warm and wide palm around your boob, thumb brushing the nipple.

His other hand grips the side of your thigh as he softly blows on your clit and makes you whimper. Not louder than when he wraps his lips around it, suctioning the bud in his wet mouth and making your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“Gguk, oh my god,” you don’t care about how pathetic you sound, not when he lets his tongue slide between your puffy folds, his groan vibrating right through you. He still circles shapes around your nipple, and you fall on your back as you spasm under him.

You let out a particularly loud cry when you feel the tip of his tongue teasing your entrance, only to lick up where he slurps around your clit and speaks against it. “Taste so sweet. The sweetest.”

When your hand flies into his hair for support, your gazes meet before you shut your eyes at the overwhelming sensations. You feel yourself clench around nothing when his sliced eyes lock back with your wide and teary ones as he dives deep into you, humming incomprehensible praises.

You’re left whimpering at the intensity of his stare, and he sucks on your clit avidly as his grip on your boob tightens. You jolt forward when you feel one of his thick digits taunt your hole before slipping inside, and he’s instantly groaning when he feels your gushy walls squeeze.

Your fingers grip his locks tighter as he pumps the finger in and out a few times before curling inside, only to be joined by a second digit. You wail, panting and bucking your hips forward as he leaves your nub alone in favour of tracing sweet kisses along the inside of your thigh.

He’s evidently determined to ruin you when he adds a third finger, and you’re mewling loudly, mouth agape and brows raised as you shake under his ministrations.

The stretch is mind-numbing as he thrusts his thick digits at a rapid pace. You bite down on your forearm to muffle the lewd sounds, and it only motivates him more to work you through your impending orgasm.

“Jeongguk—” You cry. “I—I’m cumming, shit, baby, I’m cumming.” Your back arches against his mattress, cunt pulsating around his fingers as you let yourself go. His mouth finds home around your clit again, ignoring your sobs as he suctions harder around you.

He knows what you need — knows he needs to give back just as much as you’ve given him.

Jeongguk is quick to come up to your face and leave comforting pecks over your jaw, his other hand keeping you firm by your waist.

When he kisses you and lets your tastes mix together, tongue slicing against yours in a wet and slicked exchange just as he angles his fingers into a particular spot, you keen and squeeze around him so tight he feels lightheaded thinking of how well his cock would fit in you.

“Did so good for me, sugar,” he whispers sweet nothings against your lips as you come down, mouth traveling up to peck your temple as his fingers slowly ease their way out of your gaping hole.

Your hand reaches down and engulfs his wrist, bringing it to your face. Mouth wrapping around his fingers, you lick and suck your essence off his digits. His lips part, wishing he had been the one to taste more of you.

“How’d you taste, hm?” He presses his mouth to yours.

Your tongue massages against his, a breathy giggle escaping as you whisper your answer, “Sweet.”

You had been too drowsy for anything more in the aftermath, no matter how much you wanted it. Jeongguk gently shushed your dozy whines with small, repeated pecks on the corner of your mouth until the warm pattern he traced over your arm and the prospect of his morning pancakes lulled you to sleep.

And you find waking up beside him has been worth every wait, especially rewarding when your smaller frame is curled into his broad chest, embracing you from behind with an arm draped over your front.

Shuffling closer into him only has you gasping in more delight when you feel how his hard length pokes your soft ass, and how the friction immediately has him stirring behind you. You go still when he groans groggily in your ear, and his hand splays warm over your stomach.

“Baby,” he mumbles, the word barely leaving his lips but having your legs pressed together, only tightening the tension between your meeting middles.

You hum and try a tentative push, his hot breath fanning against your lobe as it escapes his lips paired with a growl. In response, he attempts a more decisive grind, pinning you into him with his spread hand over your womb, his hardness melting into the tender skin of your cheeks.

It doesn’t take long for his hand to slide lower, for him to sneak his fingers between your already soaked folds, impatiently prepare you with one digit in before the lazy circles of his thumb on your clit have you spasming messily. He then grinds against your covered heat, wetness soaking through your panties as his movement grows quicker.

“Please, Gguk.” Your mouth falls open. “I need to feel you inside me.”

He groans, breath coming out harsh as he continues rubbing his hard cock between your folds, enjoying the wet, slick sounds just a little more before he gives into your pleas. Your arm reaches back, hand sprawled over his ass as you hold him in place, tucking him just enough where the tip of his cock catches your entrance.

He hisses, restraint going out the door as you angle your ass to tease the possibility of sinking into your warmth.

And it doesn’t take long after that for his thick cock to find its rightful place inside your snug walls, though not without a condom wrapped around it.

The stretch is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, and you’re unable to stop the breathy sounds you let out in the quiet of his bedroom, your sloppy grip also rendering him incapable of keeping increasingly louder moans in — a combo which probably explains why you let go together, in no time, with a few lazy thrusts.

Doesn’t take long to figure out why you have sex almost every day after that, after being stuffed full by him and tightening so hard around his length you swear you’d have kept him locked there forever.

You never protest against the condom. You understand the boundaries he still needs to keep, even as you find yourself wishing to feel him bare once he finally feels secure enough. Condom or not, you’ve been on cloud nine ever since discovering what orgasms that aren’t results of your own, pathetic efforts feel like.

There’s not a single corner of either apartment that hasn’t witnessed the two of you breaking apart in pleasure.

You jerk him off on his stiff couch, he eats you out in your shower, then fucks you on the kitchen counter as you wait for brownies in the oven. You suck him off in his bed, and he bends you over with your face next to his record player as he thrusts deep into you from behind.

Then, another night, you’re on your soft couch while Netflix patiently asks if you’re still watching.

“Wanna ride you,” you say through a sheepish smile, straddling him with both knees at either side of him as you press your warm and soaked core on his throbbing length, squished between you and his toned stomach.

“Shit, baby.” He can’t help but buck his hips forward and you both moan at the slippery friction, his hand traveling up to find the curve of your breast. “You do?”

“Yeah,” nodding, you take his cock in your hand and slowly tug at it. “Condom?”

He bites his lips harshly at your strokes, moaning when your thumb brushes his slit. With vulnerable honesty, he whispers, “I— I wanna feel you, please.”

His shaky plea has your movements faltering, brows furrowing as you search his eyes. There is nothing you want more, but you need him to be sure. You need him to feel secure, never doubting the space you’ve built together.

“Are you sure, Gguk?”

He nods all too quickly, “Yeah. I trust you.”

It’s impossible to bite back your grin — impossible when a wider one stretches over his features, impossible when your eyes water with the confession.

You bend down for a messy kiss, lining his tip with your entrance before you’re sinking down his length with a loud moan that breaks through your mouth.

His fingers dig in your skin, and you can tell that even through his constant, whispered praises, he’s trying his hardest to contain himself from pushing up.

You straighten yourself once again and he groans at the vision of you, warm walls snuggling his cock all the way in, chest out and nipples hard, bottom lip caught beneath your teeth as you meet his hardened gaze, softening once you whimper.

He takes one erect nub between his slicked lips and looks up at you devilishly. “You’re so beautiful.”

And there’s no going back after experiencing bare skin against bare skin, feeling his every vein throb, spasming around the feeling of fullness and welcoming his own release, his expression contorting into pure animalistic pleasure.

There’s no going back once you’ve learned the comfort of falling asleep engulfed in his embrace every night, and no matter who heads to work first, the warmth lingers and etches a smile onto your faces for the rest of the day.

Sunday means you’re waking up first as the early morning light filters through your curtains. You grumble, letting your eyes adjust to your surroundings before landing on the figure beside you, the man who makes sure your bed is never empty, never cold.

Jeongguk is lying with his broad and defined back to you, and as you blink the sleep away, you put all details into focus. Scars run along the ridges of his muscles, blend with small moles you could kiss and trace a map with. His shoulder blades shift with the slow and deep rhythm of his breathing, and you slide closer where his warmth reaches you even if you’re not directly touching.

Still, you take your finger and lightly follow a path through his marks, soft enough where it’d only feel like a mere tickle. The sight of these burns up close makes the corner of your eyes prickle; for a moment, the memory of his tear-streaked face flashes behind your lids.

You can’t go back, can’t reach into the past and prevent nor fix all the series of events that convinced him of his own unworthiness. But you’re determined to be the anchor of his present and, hopefully, future. Where you can only see comfort in the shape of his smile and your laughter. Where scars become a proof of strength and never weakness.

When you feel him stir beneath your hand, you realize just how close you crept, palm flattened against his spine and your plush thigh sneakily slotting itself between his.

Jeongguk grunts, reaching behind him, catching your hand and pulling it around his side to rest against his stomach.

“Why are you awake, hm?”

His rumbled tone has you squirming closer into him, propping your chin on his shoulder. “It’s Sunday.”

“Exactly, baby,” he murmurs, shuffling backward until he’s tucked firmly into your embrace. “It’s rest day.”

“Grandma Mimi is probably already cooking lunch.” You speculate.

Pressing a kiss to his cheek, you giggle when, as soon as you try to pull back, he groans in protest. His fingers now wrap around your forearm, tugging you in place.

You hum, nipping playfully at his earlobe. “Is my Ggukkie still sleepy?”

He scoffs, turning his face enough to glare at you with narrowed eyes, still puffy from sleep. Even as you laugh, he talks through a growing pout. “Stop calling me that.”

“Or else?” Wiggling your brows, you keep pecking wet smacks along his jaw, then down his shoulder, moving further so that you can kiss the large and deep scar along his nape, where your lips place with sudden delicacy.

He whimpers, a sound you know he didn’t mean to let out when you feel his fingertips dig harsher into the skin of your arm.

You speak against his spine, the tight space making your voice sound muffled. “Do they hurt?”

Jeongguk loosens his grip and strokes comforting tickles on your wrist, before lacing your hand with his. “Hm, no.”

His answer spurs you to leave more kisses over his wounds, and with each one he’s holding your hand tighter. “No? But you’re so sensitive.”

“You get muh—me like that,” he stutters, letting out a low whine when you keep peppering his skin.

“Yeah?” You leave his hand only so you can press your palm flat against his toned abdomen, making it spasm under you. “Are you hard, Ggukkie?”

“I said don’t— oh, fuck,” he can only pretend he doesn’t like not being in control for so long when your fingers slide lower, under the hem of his briefs where he’d already been growing hard from your delicate, loving mouth.

Your hand wraps around his length and he startles, moaning your name and throwing his head back against you. He’s heavy in your hold, twitching when you squeeze ever so gently. You lick a path along a scar, making him shiver and buck his hips into your wrist. You clamber your body closer to his, front pressed flushed against his back where you leave more of your wet kisses across the expanse of his broad back.

“Can I leave my mark here, Gguk?” You nip at the edge of his shoulder, and he nods, groans around an agreement.

You begin faster strokes on his girth, giving extra attention to his sensitive, pink tip. Speaking around your suctioning, you hear him whine from the stimulations. “So pretty. Your scars make you the prettiest. Strongest.”

Jeongguk keens, can’t help but grind into your grip, and moans particularly loud when you move your kisses back to his nape. His large hand covers yours, not in an attempt to take control, just wants to feel you and your efforts. Peering down, the blanket covering his lower half moves feverishly from your jerking motions, and his eyes slam shut at the heavy sensations pooling at his balls.

“You’re gonna make me cum, fuck.”

“Cum, please,” you whisper against his neck, and he desperately turns his face in search of your mouth, to which you eagerly comply as you slide higher. Your lips meet in a messy, hushed kiss that has him spilling warm drops into his boxers and over your fingers.

Jeongguk usually takes longer to let go, makes sex a lasting experience that puts your pleasure on a pedestal. He doesn’t come unless you do first, and even then he likes to take his time, whether he has to fight against restraint.

That’s why, as he keeps searching your tongue with his, he rolls around so that you’re laying on your back and he’s hovering over you, until your kiss is broken by his sheepish smile. He hides his face in the crook of your neck, where he keeps working his mouth around small, shy pecks.

“Thank you,” he whispers, and you run a comforting hand through his hair.

His sex rules stand. Your pleasure is always his priority. Can’t let you go if you’re not letting go over his hand first. Minutes later, you’re pathetically grinding over his warm palm, with one of his thick digits twitching inside you.

“Such a perfect girl. Made for me,” always knowing what to say, he speaks sweet affection against your ear as you pant and grip his forearm, moaning louder when your hips buckle primally against his hand as you ride through your orgasm.

Once your breath regulates, you seek refuge with your cheek flat on his chest, and he’s quick to engulf you in his arms, whispering reassurance of how good you’ve been for him. You remain like that for what feels like eternity, a timeline you wouldn’t mind at all.

“We need to shower,” you whisper with your forehead snug against the curve of his shoulder.

He hums, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm wrapped around his torso. “Yeah. I’m so hungry, though.”

Looking up, you leave a lingering peck under his jaw before your eyes meet. “What should we eat?”

Jeongguk bites his smile, raising his brows. “Cookies?”

Giggling, you only slide closer into him, until your faces are level. “Okay, but I’ll make them this time.”

He narrows his eyes at you and you feel his fingertips threatening to tickle against your ribs. “And what exactly are you trying to say?”

You squirm, laughing as his face slides closer on the pillow. “Just that baking… maybe it’s not your calling.”

Jeongguk lets out a mock gasp and strikes, tickling fingers making you squeal and fight playfully against his hold. In between gasps, a sharp bark echoes through the room as Gureum trots toward the bed. The dog has become fiercely protective over you, even if it means going against his owner.

That’s why he hops up and begins digging his way between the two of you, forcing Jeongguk to detach and groan. “Gureumie, your mom is so mean.”

Your giggles turn sheepish at his words, your breathing evening out as your hand finds its home in the dog’s white fur. Jeongguk’s fingers lace through yours, and the dog happily rolls onto his side, belly up, satisfied that he’s successfully neutralized any threatening attack.

“Mommy’s gonna shower,” you tease, immediately laughing at his grimace.

“Don’t ever call yourself that again,” he furrows his brows even as a snicker breaks through. “Are you soft launching a new kink?”

You chuckle, sitting up and arching a brow as you look back at him. “Is daddy gonna tag along?”

He scoffs, shakes his head to conceal his grin as you keep giggling. “You actually disgust me.”

You tug at his wrist so he’s lifting his back off the mattress, but when he teasingly topples lazily onto your figure, both of you flop back into the soft bed.

You groan, attempt pushing him off even though being separated from him in any capacity is the last thing you want. He must know — he’s finally realized, you sigh contently — because he only wraps an arm around your torso tighter, nose nuzzling your hair.

In the narrow space, he mumbles, “I think girlfriend fits you more.”

Your heart skips a beat in your ribcage. You’re sure he’s felt it, too, because his fingers dig into the skin of your hip and he timidly peers up from his hiding spot.

You bite on a smile, raising your brows. “Does it, boyfriend?”

He hums around a widening grin, tenderly finding your lips with his to seal the promise.

Shower takes much longer than expected — though, you should’ve expected it would have been impossible to keep your hands to yourself.

You end up baking too many cookies, but that morning none are left. The only remaining traces settle in the corner of your lips, and as Jeongguk makes sure to kiss them away, he thinks love and trust have never tasted quite this sweet.

prologue ⋆ one ⋆ two ⋆ three

[callxby]

LITERALLY MY FAVVVVVVVVVV !!

[jeonsdeerbaby]

SALT ON THE SHORELINE ── J.JK ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏ ࣪ ˖

getting lost on an island wasn’t part of jungkook’s plan. he only came to jeju to escape the noise of the city for a while — no schedules, no expectations, no people who knew his name. just the sea, the wind, and quiet roads that stretched along the shoreline. meeting you wasn’t part of the plan either. but somehow, between tangerine orchards, late sunsets, and the salt in the air, leaving the island starts to feel harder than staying.

✧ genre/pairing : jungkook × reader · city boy × country girl · strangers to lovers · slow burn · fluff · eventual smut · a little angst

✧ tags/warnings : island romance · vacation au · teasing dynamics · emotional vulnerability · jealous jungkook · soft intimacy · late night beach walks · eventual smut

✧ series notes : a story about finding quiet in unexpected places, falling in love slowly, and learning that sometimes the sea brings people exactly where they’re meant to be.

✧ taglist : @yufawnz @inthelow @junqive @ynkksbb @jkxlvrr @lovingkoalaface @livelaughlovejoon @joonjulyagust-d @xtrataerrestrial @bluewintersocks @ggukamor @ggukkieslvttttt @bangatanily @oopscoop @silverozy @koosluvss @bo-rimmy @missdumpling190811 @sky-23s-world @mikrokookiex @mimi1097

masterlist - find my other works here!

ᯓ★ chapter index — coming soon!

ch 01 ⋆

how the waves meet.

ch 02 ⋆

upcoming.

ch 03 ⋆

??

ch 04 ⋆

??

˖੭୧ aesthetics of sots ⊹ ࣪ ⑅

he’s used to a life that never slows down. she’s never known anything but quiet. somewhere between the sea and the city, they meet — and neither of them leave unchanged.

˖੭୧ character moodboards ⊹ ࣪ ⑅

↺ jeon jungkook · 24yo

jungkook is twenty-four, a business major with a future already decided for him. heir to his father’s company, he’s used to control, expectations, and playing the part. he smokes, looks intimidating, lets people believe he’s colder than he is — it’s easier that way. coming to jeju was supposed to be a break. he didn’t expect it to feel like something more.

↺ hwang y/n · 22yo

hwang y/n is twenty-two, a political science student with bigger plans than the island she grew up on. between her family’s restaurant and familiar routines, jeju has always been home — just never forever. she’s free-spirited, warm, and a little unpredictable. she doesn’t believe in plans — not really — just in taking things as they come. the island has always been predictable, in the best way. until it isn’t.

a/n: i’m so so sooo excited for my FIRST series on here! i hope you guys like it. if you wanna be in the taglist please comment!

[words-in-purple]

⋆ ˖ ⏱︎.ᐟ five minutes | jjk

✎ summary the night before jungkook leaves for university, you climb through his window like you always do—jokes first, feelings last. but as dawn creeps closer and you get ready to go, all he can think is five more minutes—because if he gets five more minutes with you, he might finally confess.

and when i cry, you're the dam, always ready to make me laugh

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။|||| 5 minuti — alfa

⏱︎ pairing: college student!jeon jungkook x fem!reader

⏱︎ genre: psychological thriller au, hurt-comfort, romance, fluff at times, heavy angst

⏱︎ wc: 5.2k

You never knock anymore.

You used to, back when you still pretended to care about normal entrances. Now you just appear in the frame like the night has handed you a key.

Jungkook hears the latch first—soft metal, careful fingers—then the shift of weight. The blinds tremble. He’s already up before you swing your leg over, crossing the room on instinct. He catches the window frame with one hand so it doesn’t rattle and mutters, “You’re actually insane.”

You grin at him, bright in the streetlight. “Open up then.”

He does. Of course he does. For you, he’d do it a thousand times over. He doesn’t tell you that, though.

You slip in sneakers-first, landing lightly like you’ve practised this. You smell of the outside—cold air, shampoo, mint gum, and the faint sweetness you always carry. Your lower lip is chapped the way it always is in winter, and you keep worrying it with your teeth. 

You dump your bag onto his desk chair and flop onto his bed like it’s yours. It’s annoying. It’s also comforting. It makes his chest unclench so fast it pisses him off.

Downstairs, his parents’ TV is still on—laugh track, adverts, the volume too high like noise can keep him in place. Up here, it’s the dull hum through the floorboards and the quiet of a sleeping city. Even the streetlights look tired.

On his floor is a half-packed suitcase. His desk is scattered with university paperwork. The acceptance letter shoved under a hoodie as if hiding it will make it less real.

His parents want him close. He wants to leave. He wants to leave so badly he can taste it. Freedom has a flavour and he’s been swallowing air for months.

You sit up and squint at the suitcase. “That’s pathetic.”

“It’s not pathetic,” he says automatically.

“You’ve packed like three T-shirts and a pair of jeans,” you add, scandalised.

“It’s a start.”

“It’s the start of you wearing the same boxers for a week,” you say, then reach for the acceptance letter without asking permission.

His hand shoots out. Your fingers brush. It shouldn’t mean anything. 

It does—to him, at least.

You pull the paper free anyway, skim through it, then glance at him. “You’re really going?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“That’s bullshit,” you reply, not angry—just tired. You’ve watched him shrink himself down all year so he doesn’t upset anyone.

“My parents are being weird,” he says.

“You mean your parents are being your parents.”

“They want me to stay close. Commute. Like I’m twelve.”

“You’d jump out of a moving car before you do another year in this house,” you say.

“They’re acting like I’m abandoning them,” he admits, and it comes out raw—a confession he shouldn’t have said out loud.

You don’t flinch. You never do. “You’re not,” you say. “You’re just going to university.”

He wants to believe you. He does. But guilt is sticky. It clings even when the logic is clean. “I just feel like no one gets it,” he says, quieter.

You crawl closer, moving into a space that already belongs to you, and tap his forehead with two fingers. “I get it.” You tap his knee. “One thing at a time,” you say—a rule you invented just for him. “Breathe.”

His throat tightens. He looks away so you won’t see it. “You always do that,” he mutters.

“Do what?”

“Say stuff like that. Like you’re in my head.”

You grin. “I am in your head. I pay rent.”

He snorts. “You don’t pay anything.”

“I pay in emotional labour,” you say. “Which is expensive, by the way. You owe me.”

He rolls his eyes, but his chest loosens. That’s your thing. You build dams with jokes. You hold the water back until he can breathe. He thinks—too sharply—that if you ever stop, he’ll drown.

He doesn’t say it out loud.

You kick your shoes off and curl up in his hoodie, sleeves covering your hands. “Okay. Unpacking intervention.”

“I’m not unpacking.”

“You are,” you say, already reaching for the suitcase. “Because if you show up at uni with three shirts and zero boxers, they’re going to think you’re feral.”

“They’ll survive.”

“They’ll put you down,” you reply seriously.

He laughs in spite of himself. You look pleased.

You yank the suitcase toward you and start rummaging. “Plates?”

He blinks. “Plates?”

“Yeah,” you say, as if he’s stupid. “Have you bought plates?”

“There’s a kitchen.”

“You think they provide plates?” you gasp. “You sweet idiot.”

He sits up. “They don’t?”

“They provide trauma,” you tell him. “And one sponge that’s been there since 2007.”

He laughs again—helpless. It spills out of him.

You beam. You always look like that when he laughs—like you’ve pulled him back from an edge.

“You’re going to meet one loud person who’s wrong about everything,” you announce. “And they’re going to adopt you.”

“I’m not adoptable.”

“You’re very adoptable,” you insist. “You have that face.”

“What face?” 

“The please tell me what to do face.”

He scoffs. “I do not.”

You lean forward, squinting at him. “You do. You look like you’d apologise to a chair if you bumped into it.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is,” you say smugly. “You’re going to start saying lecture unironically and I’m going to bully you.”

He huffs, but there’s a smile stuck in his mouth. “You already bully me.”

“Correct,” you say. “It’s my love language.”

His stomach flips.

You don’t notice, because you’re still rummaging through his life. Or maybe you notice and choose not to touch it, the way you always do when something is too sharp.

Outside, the city is asleep. No cars. No people. Even the streetlights look bored. The clock reads 02:13, blue and cold. He keeps glancing at it. He blinks. Looks away. Looks back. 02:13 again—the clock mocking him for believing in forward motion.

You catch him looking. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“Are you anxious?” you ask, softening instantly. It makes his chest ache.

He shrugs like he doesn’t care—like he isn’t made of nerves tonight.

You tilt your head. “Okay. Talk to me. What’s the thing?”

He wants to say: you. You’re the thing. You’re the only person who listens when he feels like he’s collapsing. You’re the only person who can make the world stop long enough for him to breathe. Instead he says, “My parents are acting like I’m committing a crime.”

You scoot closer and bump your shoulder into his. “You’re not doing anything wrong.”

He stares at his hands. “It feels like I am.”

You go quiet for a moment, then say, “Do you ever think they’re scared you’ll become your own person?”

He looks at you.

“They love you,” you add. “They just… love you in the only way they know how to.”

He swallows. “It’s suffocating.”

“I know,” you whisper.

He wants to tell you that the way you say that—I know—is the difference between him spiralling and him surviving.

You don’t push. You just sit with him in it. That’s another thing you do—you make space.

At some point you pull his hoodie tighter around you and yawn, the sky at the window has started to pale. The moon is still hanging there, stubborn, even as morning edges in—the night has forgotten to leave. Jungkook watches the light change and feels something in him tense, like dawn is a deadline.

You sit up. “Okay,” you say, stretching. “I’m going.”

His body reacts before his brain catches up. “Home?” he asks, too casual.

You blink. “Home?”

He nods.

You smile like he’s missed something obvious. “Oh. I’m not going home.”

His stomach drops.

“I’m going to the beach,” you say. “I want to watch the sunrise.”

“It’s… four in the morning,” he says.

“That’s the point.”

“You’re insane.”

“Correct,” you say, pleased. You check your phone and grin. “I got my licence and suddenly I’m unstoppable.”

He snorts. “You’re literally stoppable. With one pothole.”

“Fuck you,” you laugh.

Driving. Dawn. You leaving alone. Something tightens in his chest. He can’t name it—it’s just a brief, irrational squeeze.

You grab your bag and zip it with quick competence. Then you look at him. “You wanna come?” you ask.

He sees it instantly—the two of you in your car, the city asleep behind you, the road empty and the world quiet for once. Your hands on the wheel. His head against the window. A sunrise that doesn’t ask anything of him.

He knows what happens if he goes. The thing he’s been swallowing for years until it’s become part of him. He’s in love with you. He can’t say it tonight. Not when he’s leaving. Not when he could ruin the safe shape of what you are to each other. 

He forces his face into something easy. “Nah,” he says. “I’m tired.”

You pull a face. “You’re always tired.”

“I’ve been packing.”

“You’ve been procrastinating.”

He shrugs, trying to keep it light. “Text me when you get there.”

“Okay, mum,” you say, rolling your eyes.

You head to the window like it’s nothing. Like you aren’t the only thing that makes him feel understood.

You swing a leg over the sill. Then you pause. You look back at him and smile. It lands in him like a bruise. “See you later,” you say.

He smiles back because it’s easier than the truth. “Drive safe.”

You disappear.

The room is suddenly too quiet. He lies back and stares at the ceiling, listening to the sleeping city, a lullaby he doesn’t deserve.

He realises he never set an alarm. He hasn’t needed one in weeks. The thought lands late—too late—as if the room only just remembered it has teeth.

The alarm goes off.

The alarm goes off like it’s angry at him.

Jungkook jerks upright, breath sharp. The first thing he does is look at the clock. 02:13. He stares until his eyes sting, waiting for the numbers to shift—they don’t.

A soft knock hits the window.

His body goes cold.

Another knock, familiar and impatient.

He turns his head slowly, terrified of what he’ll see. You appear in the window frame like you always do. Alive. Bright. Casual.

He hears himself say it—flat and automatic. “You’re actually insane.” The sound comes a half-second late.

You grin. “Open up then.”

He opens the window. The blinds rattle in the exact same way. You swing in, drop your bag and flop onto his bed. It’s identical. The night is forcing you both into positions. 

He stands there too long.

You squint up at him. “Okay,” you say slowly. “Are you okay?”

He forces air into his lungs. “Yeah.”

You don’t buy it. You glance at the suitcase. “That’s pathetic.”

Normally he’d snap back. Normally he’d laugh. His throat is tight and empty. You start talking anyway—about uni, about his parents, about the cafe—and the night plays you back with the confidence of something that thinks it owns you.

When you mention your licence again, he flinches.

“I got my licence and suddenly I’m unstoppable,” you say, smiling.

It hits him like a line read off a script. He interrupts too early, too sharp. “What road are you taking?”

You blink, confused. “What?”

“To the beach,” he says quickly. “Which road?”

You stare at him. “The… normal one?”

He tries to fix it—tries to drag himself back into normal. “Just text me when you get there.”

“Okay, mum,” you tease, smiling. It would be cute if it didn’t feel like a knife. When the light in the window starts to change again, you sit up and say, “Right. The beach.”

He stands too fast. “Wait.”

You pause, brows lifting. “What?”

He scrambles for normal. “Nothing. I just—”

You stare. “You’re being weird.”

He can’t explain. He doesn’t have language for the sensation crawling under his skin.

You soften. “Hey. One thing at a time. Breathe.”

The phrase is familiar. It’s what you say when his thoughts start racing. You say it like you’ve said it a hundred times, reminding him where the ground is. It’s you being you. The part of you that holds.

He swallows. “Yeah.”

You watch him for a second. Then your mouth quirks. You go to the window. He stands.

You look back and smile. “See you later,” you say.

His mouth opens. Nothing comes out. “Drive safe,” he manages.

You disappear.

For a second, in the silence, he hears something that doesn’t belong in his room.

Waves. A radio bleeding into a frequency it shouldn’t.

Then the alarm goes off.

Jungkook is already shaking.

This time, when you appear at the window, he opens it too fast. The blinds rattle. You laugh like it’s funny. For a moment, your face doesn’t match your smile.

“You’re actually insane,” he mutters, and it sounds like he’s saying it to himself.

You grin. “Open up then.” 

You swing in—and Jungkook catches your wrist.

Your eyes drop to his hand. Then lift to his face. “Uh,” you say. “Hi?”

He lets go like he’s been burned. “Sorry. I thought you were going to—fall.”

“I never fall,” you say, proud, and you grin. 

His chest aches.

You sit on his bed. “Okay. If you’ve been possessed, blink twice.”

He can’t laugh.

Your smile falters. You don’t like when he doesn’t laugh. You don’t like when you can’t fix him. “You’re stressed,” you say softly, and press the back of your fingers to his forehead, checking for fever. 

He swallows. Your touch is warm, grounding.

Then you pull your hand away and immediately try to ruin the tenderness you just created, because you’re allergic to being serious for too long. “If you die of stress tonight, I’m telling your mum you had weak genetics,” you add.

He huffs a laugh, brief. You keep tossing jokes at him, but you’re also watching him now, careful.

He keeps asking questions that don’t belong. “What time are you leaving?” he asks, too intent.

You blink. “Why are you obsessed with time?”

“Just answer.”

You narrow your eyes. “Wow. Bossy.” You soften anyway. “After we talk and you stop being weird.”

He swallows, eyes darting to the clock. “What road are you taking?” he asks again.

You stare. “The normal one. Why are you interrogating me?”

“Because—” He stops.

You tilt your head. “Jungkook.”

He looks at you like he’s about to beg and he hates himself for it. “Don’t go,” he says.

You blink. “Where? The beach?”

“Yes.”

You snort, offended. “You’re not my dad.”

“I know.”

“Then stop acting like it,” you say, then soften when his face tightens. “Talk to me.”

He opens his mouth and closes it again.

You squint. “Are you about to say something emotional?”

He scoffs. “No.”

“Liar,” you say immediately.

He looks at you and the words almost break free—I’m in love with you. I’m terrified. I don’t know how to let you go. Instead he bargains, because it’s easier than the truth. “Stay five more minutes,” he says.

You blink. “Why?”

“Just—stay.”

Your expression softens. You always soften. You’re too kind. “Okay,” you say quietly. “Five more minutes.” Then you try to pretend it isn’t tender. “Happy? You’ve trapped me. You’re officially a villain.”

He almost laughs.

You lean back on your hands. “You know why I like sunrise drives?”

He blinks. “Because you’re a weirdo?”

“Correct,” you say, then your voice shifts, honest for a second. “And also because it’s the only quiet time.”

His throat tightens. He knows what you mean without you having to explain. The day is loud. People expect things from you. You have to be someone. At sunrise, nobody wants anything. The world isn’t looking at you yet.

“It feels like… cheating,” you add, a half-smile. “Like you’re getting a peaceful life for free before reality clocks in.”

He stares at you.

You realise you’ve said too much. “Also,” you add, bright, “the beach is the only place where my thoughts shut up. So if you try to stop me, you’re basically anti-mental health.”

The confession sits in Jungkook’s throat like a splinter. He’s in love with you. If you stay five more minutes, he’ll say it.

He starts, “I—”

A thin whine rises in the room. He freezes.

You hear it too. Your eyes flick to the clock. “What is that?”

02:13.

It’s always 02:13.

The alarm explodes into full volume.

This time, Jungkook is furious.

Furious at the clock. Furious at the night. Furious at himself.

The sleeping city. The same time. The knock. He can taste metal before anything metal happens. When you appear in the window frame again, he doesn’t bother pretending he’s annoyed. 

He just looks at you like he’s starving. “You’re actually insane,” he mutters, but his voice is cracked.

You grin automatically, then falter when you see his face. “Okay. What the hell is wrong with you?”

He opens the window. You swing in. You drop your bag on the chair. You go to flop onto the bed—

He stops you with a hand on your forearm.

You blink at him. “Hi?”

He says your name like it hurts, then stops himself.

Your brows knit. “Jungkook.”

He swallows hard. His hands shake. He goes for the one thing he can control. “Keys,” he says. “Give me your keys.”

Your eyes widen. “What?”

“Please.” The word comes out wrong. Too raw. Too exposed.

You stare at him like you’re trying to decide whether he’s joking. You don’t like tenderness. You don’t like seriousness without warning. You deflect. It’s your reflex. “So you’ve finally decided to become my dad,” you say, trying to make it light. “Congrats. What’s your first rule? Bedtime at nine?”

It doesn’t land. He doesn’t laugh. Your humour cracks in the air and drops.

Your face shifts. “Hey,” you say quietly. “One thing at a time. Breathe.”

That phrase again. His throat closes.

You reach into your bag slowly, careful now, and place the keys in his palm like you’re offering him something sacred.

He grips them so hard the metal bites.

“What’s going on?” you whisper.

He wants to say it cleanly. He wants to say it like a normal person. Instead it spills out raw. “I keep having this dream,” he says. “Same night. Same time. Same you. You come here. We talk. You leave for the beach. I don’t go. You go alone and then—I wake up.”

You stare at him, breath held. “And then what?” you whisper.

He can’t say die. Instead he says, “You don’t come back.”

Your face goes blank. Then you scoff, because fear makes you sharp. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

He hates that it sounds like control. He hates that it sounds like he’s trying to scare you into staying. He hates that it sounds like he’s making you smaller so he can keep you. “I don’t know how to explain it,” he says, voice breaking. “But I know it. I can feel it.”

You swallow hard. “You’re scaring me.”

The words hit him like a punch. He loosens his grip on your keys immediately, like space might fix it. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to—I just—” He looks at you and realises he’s done running. If he’s going to lose you anyway, he’s not doing it with his mouth full of silence. “I love you,” he says.

Silence. 

Your breath catches. You stare at him like the world has tilted. “Jungkook,” you whisper.

He laughs once, broken. “There. That’s the stupid thing.”

“No,” you say immediately, too fast. “No, it’s not stupid.”

His chest aches. He watches you fight with yourself.

You attempt humour anyway, voice shaky. “If this is your way of telling me you’ll miss me at uni, you’re doing it terribly.”

It’s almost funny. It’s not.

He whispers, “I’m serious.”

You stop. Your eyes shine. “You love me,” you say, like you’re testing the shape of it.

He nods because he can’t trust his voice.

You swallow. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Because he thought he had time. Because later felt safer. Because he didn’t want to ruin this. Because he didn’t want to be rejected. Because he thought he could be brave tomorrow.

He can’t say any of it without hating himself. He says, hoarse, “I didn’t want to ruin it.”

Your voice cracks. “Ruin what?”

“This,” he says. “Us. Whatever we are.”

You stare at him like you’re about to cry, like you’re about to laugh, like you’re about to do both and you don’t know which one will keep you alive.

The alarm whines. Thin. Sharp. A warning.

His eyes snap to the clock. 02:13.

You hear it too. You glance at the clock, confused. “What is that?”

He grabs your wrist—too tight, then loosens it instantly. “Don’t go,” he says. “Please.”

“I wasn’t going,” you whisper, shaken.

“You will,” he says, voice cracking. “You always do.”

You stare at him, tears rising fast. “What do you mean always?”

He can’t answer without collapsing.

You whisper, raw, “Do you want me to stay?”

He nods.

You step forward and wrap your arms around him. You—his dam—holding him when he starts to flood. You bury your face against his shoulder and whisper, “Okay. Okay. I’ll stay.”

He exhales, shaking, like he’s been holding his breath for years.

Then you pull back just enough to look at him. “Happy?” you whisper. “You’ve officially kidnapped me. Should I scream?”

He lets out a broken laugh that sounds like it hurts.

Your eyes soften. “Hey. One thing at a time. Breathe.”

The alarm screams.

He moves in front of you on instinct, shielding you from sound like his body believes it can protect you from everything if it tries hard enough.

You look up at him, eyes wet. Your mouth moves.

The sound eats it.

The alarm screams.

It takes up the room. It fills the corners, climbs the walls, drills straight through his skull—a punishment with a speaker.

Jungkook wakes up sobbing and doesn’t realise until his face is wet. 02:13. The air smells faintly of smoke that isn’t there. He sits up, shaking, and presses his palms to his eyes like he can wipe the night out of his skull.

He can’t. The knock comes again.

One. Two. He can’t do this again.

Three.

He swings his legs out of bed so hard he nearly trips. He crosses the room and yanks the window open before the next knock lands.

You blink at him, surprised by the aggression, but you’re still smiling. Still alive. Still you.

“You’re actually insane,” he says, but it’s not teasing. It’s grief.

You climb in, slower this time, watching his face. “Okay,” you say carefully. “What is happening?”

He doesn’t answer. He steps in front of the window and locks it behind you.

Your brows shoot up. “What the—”

“Sit,” he says.

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“Please,” he adds, and it comes out wrecked.

You stare at him. “You’ve finally lost it,” you say, but your voice is quiet. “Is this the part where you tell me you’ve joined the cult and I have to escape?”

He doesn’t laugh.

Your face changes. Concern, real and immediate. You nod once and sit on the bed.

He sits too, close enough that your shoulders nearly touch.

Your eyes search his face. “Okay,” you say gently. “What do you need?”

He opens his mouth. The truth sits there like a blade. He can’t say you die. He can’t.

So he says something else. Something that still hurts, but doesn’t name the worst. “Just stay,” he whispers. “Just… don’t leave yet.”

You watch him. Your expression softens in a way that makes his chest ache. “Okay,” you say. You lean closer, lowering your voice. “Did you have a nightmare?”

He laughs once, ugly. “Yeah.”

“About what?” you ask softly.

He can’t answer. You don’t press—you never press when it’s too sharp. You sit with him.

He tries something else. He tries to stall you like a normal person would, not like a man begging the universe. “Do you want noodles?” he blurts.

You blink. “Noodles?”

He nods fast. “Yeah. Instant. We can—we can eat. And talk. And then…”

And then what? Then you’ll leave. And then you’ll die. And then he’ll wake up. He can’t say any of that.

You stare at him like he’s grown a second head. Then your mouth quirks. “You’re offering me noodles at four in the morning,” you say, amused despite yourself. “You’re romantic.”

He can’t even pretend.

You soften again, the humour fading. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll have noodles.”

Relief hits him so hard his vision blurs. He stands too quickly, like if he moves fast enough he can outrun fate. He goes to the small stash of instant noodles he keeps for emergencies—because his parents don’t cook at midnight and sometimes his stomach is louder than his guilt.

He boils water as quietly as he can and brings the noodles over. Two cups. He sits beside you. You eat slowly, blowing on the steam. He barely tastes anything. He’s watching the clock out of the corner of his eye like it’s a loaded gun.

You notice.  “Stop looking at it,” you say quietly.

He jolts. “What?”

“The clock,” you say. “You’re making it weird.”

He laughs once, strained. “I’m making it weird?”

You stare at him. Your smile fades. “Jungkook,” you whisper. “What is going on?”

He opens his mouth. The confession and the truth collide in his throat.

He says, hoarse, “I love you.”

Silence. You stop chewing. He watches your face change in real time—surprise first, then something softer, something dangerous.

You swallow. “You picked now,” you say, voice shaky. “Four a.m. noodles. Are you trying to make this a coming-of-age film?”

His mouth doesn’t move.

You stop pretending. Your eyes shine. “Jungkook,” you whisper again, and this time you don’t joke. “You have feelings for me?”

He nods. He can’t trust his voice.

You stare at him for a long moment. Then you exhale like you’ve been holding your breath for years. “I love you too,” you say.

It hits him like a punch—relief, grief, everything at once—and his chest caves like it’s been waiting to collapse. He reaches for you without thinking. His hand cups your cheek. Your skin is warm. 

You lean into his touch like it’s natural. Like you’ve been waiting for it.

He almost laughs. Almost cries. He can’t pick one.

He presses his forehead to yours. For a moment, the night feels soft. Like it’s letting him have it. Like it’s giving him mercy.

Then you pull back and glance toward the window, toward the paling sky. “I need to go,” you say quietly.

He goes rigid and shakes his head hard. “Don’t go.”

You swallow. “Why?”

He can’t answer.

You stare at him, tears starting. “Jungkook. Please. Tell me.”

He squeezes his eyes shut. He whispers, broken, “If you leave, you don’t come back.”

You reach up and cup his face with both hands, like you’re anchoring him. “Hey,” you whisper. “One thing at a time. Breathe.”

He laughs once, shattered. “You keep saying that like it fixes it.”

“It does,” you whisper. “It fixes you.”

His throat closes.

You whisper, “I don’t know why you’re scared, but I’m here.”

He stares at you. He wants to beg you to stay forever. He wants to be selfish. He wants to lock the window and hide the keys and keep you here until the sun rises and sets and rises again and nothing bad ever happens. Instead he whispers, “Stay five more minutes, please.”

You nod. “Okay.”

You sit on the bed together, your shoulder pressed against his, your keys cold in your palm. Outside, the city is still asleep. The world is quiet. It’s the only quiet time.

The whine starts. He freezes.

You hear it too. You lift your head, confused. “What is that?”

Jungkook’s eyes snap to the clock. 02:13.

It hasn’t moved. It never moves. The alarm detonates.

When he wakes up, it doesn’t feel like freedom. It feels like losing the only place the world let him keep you alive.

Jungkook opens his eyes in a different room. A different ceiling. Different air. His rented studio. A radiator that never works properly. A life built around the shape you left. It smells of detergent and stale coffee. Not your shampoo. Not cold night. Not mint gum.

The window is locked in the way adult windows lock—no latch to flick quietly, no easy way in. Just glass and metal and the expectation that nobody is coming through it at four in the morning.

The city outside is awake. He hears it immediately. Cars. Someone laughing. A door shutting. Life continuing like it isn’t a betrayal.

His phone is on the bedside table, scratched and old. His hands grab it before he even thinks. No new messages. Your name is there in his chat list. The thread is still there. A scar he can still tap. He opens it. His last message is sitting there like a joke he doesn’t get.

Text me when you get there.

Under it there is nothing. No reply. No photo of the sunrise. No stupid meme. No okay, mum. Just silence that has gone on long enough to become a wall.

He scrolls anyway. Because grief makes you stupid. Because some part of him believes if he digs deep enough he’ll find you hiding.

He can’t.

He sits on the edge of the bed and stares at his hands. They’re older. He flexes his fingers. No key marks. No proof. No warmth lingering.

He gets up and walks to the window. His reflection looks wrong without you in it. He presses his forehead to the glass and looks down at the street. People move with their lives intact.

His phone buzzes. He flinches so hard it nearly slips out of his hand. It’s not you. It’s a reminder he set and forgot about. The anniversary of your death. There’s a screenshot buried in his camera roll—a police number, a missed call, a voicemail he’s never played again.

His throat closes. He stares at it until his eyes blur, then he turns it off with his thumb. 

He whispers, “Five more minutes.” The words come out like a prayer. Like a bargain. Like something he’s been saying for years without realising he’s been saying it.

He shuts his eyes.

His mind betrays him with an image. A stretch of road. A guardrail. The wrong kind of stillness. You—somewhere you shouldn’t be.

He inhales and it feels like his lungs don’t have enough space.

He opens his eyes again.  His voice cracks when he says it again. “Please.”

Five more minutes.

⏱︎ main masterlist | divider by @uzmacchiato

and now that you're not here, we talk in my dreams. let me sleep in peace for five more minutes

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။|||| 5 minuti — alfa

a/n: happy belated valentine's day my loves! this was highly inspired by the above italian song, please give it a listen <3 your likes, comments and reblogs mean so so much to me

review your experience, thoughts, or unhinged feelings here

[callxby]

no words, this is so smart like how do you even come up with this?

[solecize]

⠀⠀　 　⠀　 　⠀　 　⠀　 　⠀𖤐.ᐟ ⠀S T A R L I G H T

you've been best friends with nba star jeon jungkook since he was a skinny point guard for your high school team in the middle of nowhere. over ten years later, you remain the one calm constant amidst his hectic life of chasing greatness on the court. you've seen jungkook through all - his struggles, his successes, and especially his god-awful love life. when his recent engagement goes awry, he decides he's had enough following heartbreak after heartbreak. meanwhile, you've grown numb to the mere idea of love in favour of building your career. pent up frustrations come to a head and caution is thrown to the wind, as you and jungkook promise it's just one time. a drunken night between two friends and two lines on a pregnancy test later, your lives change. unsurprisingly, jungkook promises to stick by you no matter what. marrying your best friend shouldn't be a bad idea, especially when he's the father of your child. when the two of you continue to cross unexplored territory, you don't know if you have the guts to admit that you want more.

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ pairing: famous athlete!jungkook x reader ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ content/warnings: childhood friends to lovers, friends with benefits, unplanned pregnancy, whirlwind (platonic) engagement (of convenience), power dynamics (jk is rich and reader isn't lol), both characters have abandonment issues whoops, also they're in heavy denial, smut (more tags to be added), fluff, light angst, no use of y/n ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ notes: omg hey y'all i've had this in the works for a minute now surprise you'll have to pry the friends to lovers trope out of my DEAD cold hands idc! but this will be different than my other stuff it's gonna be more lighthearted and fun hehe

if you would like to be tagged, reply below or add your name here! ★ read on ao3

　⠀　 　⠀　 　⠀　 　⠀　 INDEX

one ✧➳

when you sleep with your best friend and wind up pregnant, the last thing you expect after avoiding him for weeks is a marriage proposal.

two ✧➳

as the months blur and your proximity to jungkook tightens, so does the tension between the two of you, turning sharp and reckless. between now living together and working for the new york titans, it's unavoidable - evidently, so is winding up in his bed time more often that not. with the already bizarre situation, you agree that it's just sex and that the engagement is still just for the baby. . .until you can no longer fight the lies.

three ✧➳

you finally confront the feelings you’ve buried deep for jungkook, just as your last trimester and all-star weekend collide - bringing unexpected drama in their wake. the time to face the music arrives and it's a song that you've known all along.

[yufawnz]

𝓣each me | part four

synopsis : You and Jeon Jungkook have been inseparable since childhood, you, the adored literature student who shines effortlessly, and him, the brilliant but overlooked aerospace engineer who has only ever felt seen by you. When he confesses he’s fallen for Yebin and asks you to help him change confidence, attraction, intimacy you agree, thinking it’s harmless. But practice turns personal, lines blur, and as Jungkook becomes someone the world finally notices, you realize the cost. Helping him become someone else might mean losing the boy who was always yours.

pairings : nerd!jungkook x popularf!reader

genre : child hood friends to lovers, coming of age, university au

word count : 12.6 k words

warnings : female reader is lowkey a player, jungkook is a virgin and inexperienced, heavy cursing / explicit language, jealousy / possessiveness, lots of miscommunication and misunderstanding, jungkook walks in on female reader having sex with someone else twice ????? ( ooppsss 🤪 ) oral sex ( giving & receiving ) usage of names like whore, bitch and especially cumslut and fucktoy, public / semi public sex, sub!jungkook → dom!jungkook, rough sex , overstimulation , hicleys ( biting / bruises ) ,corruption kink , power dynamics shift , possible creampie / unprotected sex ,multiple orgasms , begging

part four : second kiss & oral

Jungkook told himself to focus.On the music. On the room. On the girl standing in front of him, smiling like she’d been waiting for this version of him to show up all along.

Yebin tugged him gently away from the circle, fingers still loosely hooked around his wrist. “It’s way too loud there,” she said. “Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

He nodded, letting her lead him toward the kitchen, then out onto the back patio where the noise dulled into a steady thrum. The night air was cool, grounding. He inhaled, shoulders finally dropping.

“Are you okay?” she asked, handing him a drink. “You seemed surprised back there.”He laughed softly. “Yeah. Just wasn’t expecting that dare.”She raised an eyebrow, amused. “You handled it well.”

That word again. Well.He took a sip, buying himself a second. “Honestly? Today’s just been weird. In a good way. People keep acting like I’m someone else.”Yebin studied him, head tilted. “I don’t think you’re someone else. I think you’re just letting people see you.”

The comment landed deeper than he expected.He glanced down at his rings, turning one absently. “I used to think I was kind of invisible,” he admitted. “Like I could be in a room full of people and it wouldn’t matter.”

She shook her head gently. “You were never invisible. You were just quiet. There’s a difference.”Something in her tone certain, assured made his chest loosen. He smiled, a real one this time. “You always say things like that so confidently.”

“Because I mean them,” she replied, smiling back. “And because you’re actually fun to talk to when you stop overthinking every word.”He winced. “I do that a lot, don’t I.”“A lot,” she laughed. “But it’s kind of charming.”

Charming.

He felt heat creep up his neck but didn’t look away this time. He held her gaze like you’d taught him to. Count to three. Don’t rush. Let the moment breathe.“Can I ask you something?” he said.“Sure.”

“Were you surprised when I talked to you today?” The question slipped out before he could second-guess it.She hesitated, then nodded. “A little. I always thought you were hard to read. Like you were holding something back.”He exhaled slowly. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

They laughed together, the sound easy, unforced. For a while, they talked about class, about the project they’d partnered up for, about professors who assigned too much reading and deadlines that felt cruel. Normal things. Comfortable things.

And Jungkook realized he was comfortable.Every now and then, though, his eyes drifted back through the glass door, toward the living room. Toward the edge of the crowd where you stood laughing with Nayoung, looking like you belonged everywhere all at once.

He wondered if you were watching him.If you were proud.If you were okay.“You’re distracted,” Yebin said lightly, catching him.He blinked, then shook his head. “Sorry. Habit.”She smiled, not offended. “That’s okay. I like that you think before you speak. It makes conversations feel intentional.”

Intentional.He nodded, fingers tightening briefly around his cup. “I’m trying to be more present.”

“Well,” she said, stepping a little closer, voice softer now, “you’re doing a good job.”For a moment, standing there under the dim patio lights, Jungkook felt like he was finally stepping into something new. Something he’d wanted for a long time.

And yet somewhere in the back of his mind, quieter but persistent, was the awareness that none of this would’ve happened without you.That the confidence in his posture, the steadiness in his voice, the courage to stand here at all every bit of it traced back to you.

The girl who had always seen him, even when no one else did.He pushed the thought down, just for tonight.Tonight, he told himself, he could let things unfold.

But even as he laughed with Yebin, even as the party buzzed on around them, a part of him stayed tethered to the knowledge that some connections didn’t fade just because new ones appeared.

Some just waited.Quietly.At some point, the conversation drifts naturally like it was always headed there anyway.“So,” Yebin said, nudging his shoulder lightly with hers, “about our aerodynamics project.”

Jungkook huffed a quiet laugh. “I was wondering when we’d circle back to that.”She smiled, unapologetic. “I mean, we are partners now. Might as well make use of it.”

He nodded, shifting his weight. “I’ve already started outlining the simulations. The airflow models are straightforward, but the optimization part might get messy.”

Her eyes lit up not overwhelmed, not lost. Interested. “I was thinking the same thing. Especially if we compare fixed-wing versus variable geometry. The professor loves when people go the extra mile.”

He blinked, impressed. “You already thought about that?”“Of course,” she said lightly. “I don’t half-do things.”Something about the way she said it confident, deliberate made his pulse tick up.

“That’s good,” he said. “I mean, we could split it up? Or work together on the harder parts.”She hummed, tapping her finger against her cup as if thinking. “Working together would probably be better. Less back-and-forth. More efficiency.”

He nodded, then hesitated. “Yeah. That makes sense.”A pause settled between them. Not awkward. Expectant.

“My place is quieter than campus,” she added casually, eyes flicking up to his. “And I’ve got a decent setup. Big desk. No roommates on weekends.”

His stomach flipped.“Oh,” he said. “Yeah. That could work.”She smiled, just a little slower this time. “You say that like you’re surprised.”

“I—no,” he said quickly, then caught himself. Slowed down. “I mean, I’m just not used to people inviting me over for stuff like that.”Her expression softened not pitying, just curious. “Well,” she said gently, “get used to it.”

There it was again. That feeling. Like she wasn’t testing him she was expecting him to rise to the moment.“When?” he asked.

She tilted her head. “How about tomorrow evening? We can order food, get through the hard parts, maybe take breaks when our brains stop cooperating.”

“That sounds ” He smiled before he could stop himself. “…actually really nice.”“Good,” she said. “Then it’s a date.”He nearly choked. “A—”She laughed immediately. “Relax. Project date.”

“Oh,” he said, heat rushing to his ears. “Right. Yeah. Project.”“But,” she added, eyes glinting mischievously, “I didn’t say it couldn’t also be fun.”His heart stuttered.He swallowed, remembering your voice. Don’t overthink. Respond.

“I think,” he said carefully, holding her gaze, “we can manage both.”Her smile widened, clearly pleased.“Great,” she said. “I’ll text you my address.”As she pulled her phone out, Jungkook leaned back against the railing, exhaling slowly.

This was happening.He was being invited. Wanted. Included.And yet unbidden his eyes drifted again toward the glass door.Toward the living room.Toward you.He wondered what you’d say if you knew.If you’d tease him. Warn him. Pretend not to care.

The thought made something warm and uneasy twist in his chest.But when Yebin looked back up at him, smiling like she already expected him there tomorrow, he returned the look.For tonight, he stayed.For tonight, he let himself step forward.

The conversation thins out the way party noise always does after midnight music still thumping, laughter still spilling, but distant now, muffled, like it’s happening in another apartment entirely. Jungkook barely notices when the space beside him empties, only registers Yebin shifting closer when her elbow brushes the railing next to his.

She leans forward, resting her weight on her arms, chin tipped slightly as she watches him not flirtatious, not casual. Curious. Like she’s lining pieces up in her head.“So,” she says, light enough to sound harmless. “Can I ask you something?”

He nods before thinking about it. “Yeah. Sure.”Her eyes drift past him, toward the living room. Toward the messy sprawl of people, the tangled conversations, the flicker of movement near the couch.Toward you

“You and [name] are really close,” Yebin says.It’s not a question, and that’s what makes his chest tighten.“Yeah,” he answers, a beat too fast. “We’ve known each other forever.”Yebin hums softly, like she’s filing that away. “Does she have a boyfriend?”

The words land heavier than they should. His stomach dips, something sharp pulling low in his ribs.“No,” he says. Then, after a pause that feels longer than it is, “She doesn’t really date.”

Yebin turns fully toward him now. “Really?”He shrugs, tries to look easy, but his thoughts immediately betray him.Because date isn’t the right word.

What they have doesn’t fit into anything neat. It’s not dates. It’s not labels. It’s late nights sprawled across her bed with open textbooks neither of them is actually reading. It’s her knee brushing his, lingering just long enough to make him hyperaware of it. It’s her correcting the way he stands, the way he speaks, the way he looks at people.

It’s her fingers at his shoulders once, firm and deliberate, pushing him back until his spine straightened.You need to stop apologizing with your body, she’d said, like it was obvious.You’re allowed to take up space.

He forces himself back into the present.“She says relationships are complicated,” he adds, quieter now. “Too much effort.”Yebin’s eyes sharpen. “That’s interesting. Because I’ve seen her with Mingyu. At parties.”

His stomach drops properly this time.“Oh,” he says slowly. “That’s not serious.”Yebin tilts her head. “Not serious?”“No,” he replies too quickly, the words tumbling over each other. “She doesn’t do relationships. Just hookups.”

The word tastes wrong in his mouth.Not because it’s untrue but because it feels like a betrayal to say it out loud, stripped of all context. Because he knows what she never says. Knows the way she keeps things light on purpose. Knows it’s armor. Distance. Control.

“She says it’s easier,” he continues, like he has to justify her now. “Less complicated. Less expectations.”Yebin watches him, really watches him, like she’s reading between every line.“You talk about her like you know her really well.”

He exhales, slow. “I do.”Because he does.Because she was sitting across from him just hours ago, arms crossed, expression serious as she said, Okay. First rule. Confidence is a skill. And we’re going to practice.

Because she’s the one who picked apart his wardrobe with brutal honesty. Who laughed when he blushed. Who told him, Relax. You’re allowed to be attractive, like it wasn’t a loaded sentence at all.

Because she’s been teaching him how to exist in rooms like this how to flirt, how to read people, how to look like he belongs.And somehow, without ever saying it, she made him feel like he mattered.

Yebin breaks the silence. “Can I ask you one more thing?”He nods. “Yeah.”She meets his eyes fully now. No teasing. No smile.“Have you and [name] ever hooked up?”His brain short-circuits.

“What—no,” he says immediately. Too fast. Too loud. “No. Never.”He shakes his head, heat creeping up his neck. “She doesn’t see me that way. At all.”Yebin doesn’t interrupt. Just waits.

“She’s my friend,” he says, firmer, like he needs the words to anchor him. “My best friend. Honestly my only real one for a long time.”His throat tightens.

Yebin studies him for a long moment, expression unreadable. Then, finally, her lips curve into a small, satisfied smile.“Okay,” she says. “That’s good.”Before he can process it, she leans in and presses a quick kiss to his cheek light, warm, deliberate.

His breath stutters despite himself.“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says softly. “My place.”“Yeah,” he answers, voice unsteady. “Tomorrow.”She winks as she steps away. “Text me if you’re late.”

As she disappears back into the crowd, Jungkook stays where he is, fingers curled tight around the railing, heart racing not because of the kiss on his cheek.But because no matter how carefully he phrases it in his head

Being taught how to want someone by the very person he wants most suddenly feels a lot more dangerous than he’s ready to admit.

• ─── ୨୧ ─── •

You see it clear as day.Yebin rises on her toes and presses a kiss to Jungkook’s cheek soft, deliberate and then she winks at him before turning away, disappearing into the crowd like she didn’t just tilt something off its axis.

Something inside you snaps.Not loud. Not dramatic. Just a sharp, quiet break in your chest.Nayoung gasps beside you, grabbing your arm. “Oh my god babe, did you see that?” she whispers loudly, eyes sparkling with chaos. “Yebin just kissed him. On the cheek.”

You nod slowly, eyes still glued to the spot where Jungkook stands frozen.“Wow,” Nayoung adds, smirking at you. “Looks like your little project is working a bit too well, huh?”You don’t answer. Because Jungkook looks up.And his eyes find yours.

For half a second, the noise fades. The laughter, the music, the movement around you all of it blurs. He looks… unsure. Like he’s checking something. Like he’s looking for a reaction.So you give him one.You smile.Slow. Easy. Almost careless.Like nothing touched you at all.

“Oof,” she says, dragging the word out as she leans in close to your ear. “Yeah you definitely don’t have a chance anymore.”You scoff, rolling your eyes. “What are you talking about.”

She arches a brow, unimpressed. “Please. I think you’re a little late to the whole understanding your own feelings thing.”You turn toward her, defensive laugh already loading. “I don’t have feelings.”Nayoung gives you that look. The one that says she’s known you too long for this nonsense.

“Mhm,” she hums.You shove her shoulder lightly. “Shut up.”She grins wider. “I’m serious. You spent all day turning him into some confident, flirty version of himself, then act surprised when someone else notices? Girl, that’s on you.”

Your chest tightens, but you keep your face smooth. “He likes her. That’s the whole point.”“Is it?” she asks softly, teasing tone fading just enough to sting. “Because the way you looked when she kissed his cheek didn’t exactly scream proud wingwoman.”

You open your mouth then close it.Nayoung sighs dramatically. “Look, I love you, but if you wait any longer to admit what you’re feeling, you’re gonna blink and he’ll be at her place tomorrow, doing ‘project work’ and smiling like that for someone else.”

You swallow.She nudges you again, gentler this time. “You’re not heartless. You’re just slow. And now?” She tilts her head, smirk returning. “You might be too late.”Then you turn.

Mingyu is leaning against the counter nearby, laughing with someone, drink in hand. He barely has time to register your presence before you grab the collar of his shirt and pull him toward you.

His eyes widen. “Whoa—”You don’t let him finish.You kiss him.Hungry. Immediate. Like you need to drown something out. His surprise lasts only a second before he kisses you back, hands coming to your waist instinctively, the crowd around you erupting in cheers and whistles.

But none of that matters.Because in your head, it’s still playing.Yebin’s lips on Jungkook’s cheek.The wink.The way he stood there, stunned.It loops. Again. Again. Again.Your chest feels too tight, too hot. This this is easier. This is what you do. No thinking. No feeling. No explaining.

You pull back just enough to breathe, forehead resting briefly against Mingyu’s, laughter forced onto your lips like armor.There.That should fix it.You don’t look back at Jungkook.But somewhere in the room, he’s watching.And for the first time that night, you don’t know who you’re trying harder to convince

Him or yourself.So you ask mingyu “Can we go back to my place?”He doesn’t answer with words at first.

Instead his hand slides to the back of your neck, thumb brushing your pulse point, and then his mouth is there hot, open-mouthed, right below your ear. The kiss is slow at first, almost teasing, teeth grazing just enough to make your breath hitch. Then he sucks, deliberate, possessive, and your knees actually weaken for a second.

“Why not,” he murmurs against your skin, voice low and wrecked, like he’s already halfway gone. “Let’s go.”

The cab ride is torture. His thigh pressed to yours, fingers tracing lazy circles high on your inner thigh under your skirt, never quite high enough. You’re soaked, aching, and every time the car hits a bump his fingertips slip just a little closer. You bite your lip so hard you taste copper.

The apartment door barely clicks shut before Mingyu’s hand is around your throat not choking, just firm, possessive, pinning you back against the wood with enough force that your skull thuds lightly. His mouth doesn’t ask permission.

He devours teeth scraping your lower lip until it stings, tongue forcing its way in like he’s claiming territory. You taste blood and whiskey and him. Your hands claw at his shoulders, trying to pull him closer even though there’s no space left.

He breaks the kiss only to growl against your mouth, “You want to stop thinking?”You nod frantically, already trembling.His grip tightens just enough to make your pulse hammer against his palm.“Then beg properly.”

Your voice cracks on the first try. “Please—fuck—please, Mingyu—”“Louder.”“Please fuck me until I can’t remember my own name. Until my brain is gone. Until the only thing left is you inside me.”Something feral flashes in his eyes.

He spins you so fast your palms slap the wall. One hand fists your hair at the scalp, yanking your head back until your throat is exposed. The other rips your skirt up, panties torn to the side in one violent tug you hear fabric rip and don’t even care.

Cool air hits your soaked cunt for half a second before his fingers are there, two plunging in without warning, curling hard against that spot that makes your vision spark.You cry out, loud and broken.

“Not enough,” he mutters, adding a third finger, stretching you roughly while his thumb grinds mercilessly on your clit. “You’re dripping all over my hand already. Pathetic.”

He pulls his fingers out abruptly. You whine at the loss then choke on a scream when he replaces them with his cock in one savage thrust. No warning. No gentleness. He bottoms out so deep you feel him in your stomach, the stretch burning, perfect, overwhelming.

“Fuck—” you gasp, nails scraping paint off the wall. He doesn’t let you adjust.He fucks you like he’s trying to break you apart hard, fast, punishing. Each thrust slams your hips into the wall, the framed photo above you rattling dangerously.

His hand in your hair keeps your head pulled back so he can bite down on the side of your neck hard enough to mark, hard enough you’ll wear his teeth for days.“Say it again,” he snarls, voice shredded. “Tell me what you want.”

“Make make me forget—” you sob, tears spilling now, not from pain but from how fucking good it feels to be used like this. “Fuck my thoughts out please—fuck me stupid—ruin me—”

He roars something wordless and yanks you off the wall, spins you again, lifts you like you weigh nothing. Your legs wrap around him instinctively as he walks three steps and drops you onto the narrow entry table. Mail and keys scatter. Something smashes. Neither of you cares.

He hooks your knees over his elbows, folds you in half, and drives back in so deep you scream his name like a prayer.

The new angle is brutal every thrust hits your cervix, sparks of sharp pleasure-pain that make your whole body seize. His hand finds your throat again, squeezing just right while the other braces on the wall beside your head, caging you.“Look at me,” he orders.

You do. His eyes are black, pupils blown, jaw clenched so tight a muscle jumps. Sweat drips from his temple onto your collarbone.

“You’re mine to wreck tonight,” he rasps. “Every time your mind tries to think about anything else anyone else I’m gonna fuck it right back out of you. Understand?”

“Yes—God—yes—”

He shifts his hips, changes the angle just enough that the head of his cock drags relentlessly over your g-spot with every brutal plunge. Your body starts shaking uncontrollably, thighs quivering, toes curling.

“Come,” he commands, thumb pressing hard on your clit, rubbing fast vicious circles. “Come so hard you forget how to breathe. Drench my cock. Show me how empty your head can get.”

It hits like a freight train.

Your back arches off the table, mouth open in a silent scream that turns vocal a second later raw, wrecked, his name torn out of you over and over. You clench so tight around him he hisses, hips stuttering, but he doesn’t stop fucks you through the spasms, through the aftershocks, drawing it out until you’re sobbing, oversensitive, begging him to stop and keep going at the same time.

He finally slams in one last time, burying himself to the hilt, and comes with a guttural sound that vibrates through your whole body. Hot pulses deep inside you, so much you feel it leak out around him as he grinds slow, possessive, making sure you take every drop.

He doesn’t pull out right away.Just stays there, breathing hard against your neck, cock still twitching inside you while your walls flutter weakly around him.

After a long minute he finally eases back just enough to look at your face tear-streaked, lips swollen, eyes glassy and unfocused.“Still thinking about anything?” he murmurs, thumb brushing a tear from your cheek almost tenderly.You shake your head once. Slow. Barely there.

Brain blissfully, mercifully quiet.He smirks dark, satisfied and leans down to kiss the corner of your mouth.

“Good. Because I’m carrying you to the bedroom now” His voice drops lower, rough promise. “…and I’m gonna fuck you again. Slower this time. Deeper. Until you can’t even beg anymore.”

He scoops you up, still buried inside you, legs wrapped around his waist, and starts walking.The bedroom door bangs open against the wall as Mingyu carries you in still impaled on him, your legs locked around his waist, every step making him grind deeper inside you.

He doesn’t bother with lights. Moonlight spills through the half-open curtains, carving sharp shadows across his face, making the hunger in his eyes look almost dangerous.

He drops you onto the mattress hard enough that you bounce once. Before you can catch your breath, he’s on you again knees forcing your thighs wide, hands pinning your wrists above your head with one massive palm. His other hand wraps around your throat, thumb pressing just under your jaw, tilting your face up so you have no choice but to look at him.

“You’re still somewhere else, aren’t you?” His voice is low, rough with want, but there’s no accusation just raw need. “I can feel it. Every time I push in, there’s this tiny fucking hesitation. Like part of you isn’t all here with me.”Your breath catches. He doesn’t know. He can’t know.

But he’s right about the hesitation. Inside your head, the loop starts again without permission Yebin leaning in at the party, her glossy lips brushing Jungkook’s cheek, the way his dimple flashed when he laughed softly, the way his eyes flicked toward you for the briefest second before sliding away.

It was nothing. A friendly peck. A stupid, meaningless moment. And yet it’s been replaying on a glitchy reel in your brain for days, weeks, making your chest ache in ways you can’t explain.You don’t say any of it.You never have.

Instead you arch up into him, desperate to drown it, whispering, “I’m here. I’m right here. Just please. Make it all go quiet.”

Mingyu’s eyes darken, something possessive flashing through them. He doesn’t ask who “it” is. He doesn’t push. He just growls low in his throat and releases your wrists only to flip you onto your stomach in one rough motion.

Face down, ass up, cheek pressed to the sheets that still smell faintly of last night’s perfume. He yanks your hips back, spreads you open with both hands, and spits once hot and deliberate right where you’re already dripping.Then he slams back in.No preamble. No mercy.

The thrust is so violent your whole body jolts forward, a choked scream ripping from your throat. He doesn’t give you time to adjust just sets a punishing rhythm, hips snapping against your ass with enough force the headboard starts slamming the wall in time with every stroke.

Inside your head, you force the image forward on purpose this time, like holding a match to dry paper Yebin’s lips on Jungkook’s cheek. His easy smile. The way you stood frozen across the room, drink forgotten in your hand.

You sob into the pillow, hips bucking back against Mingyu involuntarily even as tears stream sideways across your face.

He leans over you, chest to your back, weight crushing you into the mattress so you can barely breathe. His mouth is at your ear, voice a dark rasp. “Whatever’s got you like this I’m gonna fuck it right out of you. Until there’s nothing left in that pretty head but me.”

He doesn’t know it’s a name. Doesn’t know it’s a face.But he fucks you like he does.Pulls almost all the way out then drives back in with a force that makes stars burst behind your eyelids. Again. Again. Relentless. The wet, filthy sound of him pounding into you fills the room, louder than your broken moans.

You keep the words locked behind your teeth at first. But the image won’t fade.So you let it slip just once, barely audible, a whimper into the sheets “Jungkook”Mingyu doesn’t falter. Doesn’t freeze. Doesn’t ask.

He just snarls low, animal and fucks you harder, deeper, like the sound of any other name is a personal challenge. His hand slides under you, fingers finding your clit, pinching hard before rubbing fast, vicious circles that make your thighs shake.

“Say it again,” he growls against your neck, not because he knows, but because he senses the resistance, the fight still in your body. “Whatever’s stuck in there say it so I can fuck it loose.”You shake your head, frantic, ashamed but your hips keep rolling back to meet him.

“Jungkook—”He rewards you with a brutal thrust that punches the air from your lungs.Again.

“Jungkook—”Another punishing snap of his hips.

The shame twists with the pleasure until they’re indistinguishable. Every time the name leaves your lips, Mingyu answers by driving into you like he’s trying to overwrite it, erase it, replace every syllable with the stretch of him, the burn, the rhythm that’s starting to unravel you completely.

You don’t say Mingyu’s name yet not out loud.Not until the loop finally cracks.The image flickers then fractures then shatters under the onslaught.

Your orgasm hits like a tidal wave violent, blinding, your whole body seizing as something inside you gives way. You scream then, raw and wrecked, and it’s his name that tears out of you this time.

“Mingyu—fuck—Mingyu—”

He groans like the sound is gasoline on fire, fucks you through the spasms, through the aftershocks, until you’re oversensitive and shaking and babbling nonsense, until the only thing left in your head is him his weight, his scent, his voice growling “Mine” against your neck as he finally lets go.

He comes with a guttural curse, burying himself so deep you feel every pulse, every hot spurt filling you up like he’s claiming territory no one else can reach. When he finally stills, he doesn’t pull out.

Just stays draped over you, breathing ragged, cock softening slowly inside while your walls flutter weakly around him.After a long minute, he brushes sweat-soaked hair from your face, lips grazing your temple.

“Still thinking?”You shake your head once. Slow. Empty.The splinter is still there smaller now, quieter but for the first time tonight, it doesn’t hurt to breathe around it.Mingyu kisses the shell of your ear, voice soft now, almost reverent.“Good.”

The front door clicks shut behind Mingyu, the sound clean and final in the quiet apartment. No dramatic slam just the soft latch catching, the way it always does when he leaves after one of these nights.

You stay sprawled on your stomach, face half-buried in the pillow that still smells like his shampoo mixed with sex and sweat. Your thighs ache in that deep, satisfying way, skin sticky, sheets ruined.

Mingyu didn’t say much when he pulled out. your body heavy and spent in that dull, exhausted way that should’ve meant relief. Satisfaction. Something close to peace.Instead, your chest feels tight as hell. Your body got what it wanted.Your mind absolutely did not.

Mingyu hadn’t lingered. No teasing, no jokes. He sat at the edge of the bed for a moment, breathing steady, shoulders tense, like he was counting to ten before doing something stupid. Then he stood, pulled on his clothes in the dark, eyes deliberately not looking at you for too long.

“I think I’ll head out,” he said casually too casually like he wasn’t walking out in the middle of whatever the hell this was supposed to be.You just said, “Okay.”Because what else were you supposed to say?Sorry I fucked this up?Sorry I couldn’t get him out of my head?Sorry I said someone else’s name?

God. Fuck.

You squeeze your eyes shut, jaw tightening.It wasn’t intentional. You know that. You didn’t plan it, didn’t mean it but that doesn’t change shit. Doesn’t change the way the room went still for half a second. Doesn’t change the way Mingyu froze before pretending he didn’t hear it.

Jungkook.The name had slipped out of you like a betrayal you didn’t see coming.And the worst part?You know exactly why.

Because the moment keeps replaying in your head on a goddamn loop. Yebin’s lips brushing Jungkook’s cheek. That stupid wink. The way he’d stood there, steady, confident fine without you.It crawled under your skin. Sat in your chest. Made you feel stupid and replaceable and way too late.

So you did what you always do.You grabbed the nearest distraction and tried to fuck the feeling out of your system.And instead, you said the wrong name.Again.

You roll onto your back, staring at the ceiling, cursing under your breath.“Fuck,” you mutter. Then louder, sharper, “Fuck.”This was supposed to be easy. That’s what you tell yourself, right? No attachments. No feelings. No complications. Just bodies and heat and forgetting.

Except you didn’t forget.You dragged Jungkook into bed with you without him even being there.And now Mingyu’s gone. Jungkook’s probably at home, smiling at his phone. And you’re left alone with the wreckage, the silence, and the sick realization curling in your gut.

You didn’t kiss Mingyu because you wanted him.You kissed him because you couldn’t stand wanting someone else.And that?That’s the kind of truth you can’t fuck your way out of.You don’t cry.You don’t spiral not yet.

You roll onto your side instead, tug the blanket up like it’s something solid, something capable of shielding you from your own thoughts, and you make a conscious, deliberate decision to shut everything down before your brain can start pulling threads you’re not ready to unravel.

Sleep is easier than honesty.Sleep doesn’t ask you why your chest hurts.Sleep doesn’t replay the tilt of Jungkook’s smile or the exact place Yebin stood or the way your own name sounded foreign in your mouth when it wasn’t the one you said.

Sleep doesn’t punish you for knowing better.So you let yourself sink into it.Morning is cruel in a way only mornings can be.It doesn’t drift in softly or give you time to adjust it drops you straight into consciousness, sharp and unforgiving, with sunlight slicing through the curtains like it’s exposing something you tried very hard to keep hidden.

Your eyes blink open, gritty and unfocused, and your head throbs with a dull, persistent ache that has nothing to do with alcohol and everything to do with memory clawing its way back.For half a second, you’re empty.Blank.Then everything slams into place all at once.

The party.The noise.The balcony.Yebin’s lips brushing Jungkook’s cheek like it was nothing like it was allowed.That stupid, knowing wink.Nayoung’s laugh in your ear, teasing, careless.The way your chest tightened so sharply it felt like swallowing broken glass.

Mingyu, the bed. And “Oh my god,” you whisper, the sound rough and scraped raw as you sit up too fast, dizziness blooming behind your eyes.Your stomach drops so hard it feels like it might actually fall out of you.

You press the heel of your hand into your forehead, as if you could physically shove the memory back where it came from, as if pressure alone could undo what your mouth betrayed.

You said his name.You said Jungkook’s name out loud.With Mingyu right there.“Fuck,” you breathe, the word barely holding together. Then again, louder this time, sharper, like it might bruise something on the way out. “Fuck.”

The sheets are cold now, rumpled but empty, no warmth lingering beside you, no indentation to suggest someone hesitated before leaving. There’s no unfamiliar phone on the nightstand, no blinking notification, no missed call waiting to soften the blow.

Of course there isn’t.Because what was Mingyu supposed to do stay after that? You swing your legs off the bed, feet hitting the floor hard enough to ground you, anchoring you just enough to keep the scream lodged in your chest from breaking free. Your body feels wrong this morning too heavy, too aware, like it turned against you while you weren’t paying attention.

You pace once, then twice, dragging your fingers through your hair until it tangles around them.“This is why you don’t do feelings,” you mutter to the empty room, voice brittle, almost convincing. “This is why you don’t do this shit.”A laugh slips out of you, sharp and humorless, cutting off almost as soon as it starts.

You weren’t even supposed to care.Jungkook was supposed to be simple. A project. A responsibility. Your friend. The boy you were helping because you’re good at that at guiding, fixing, nudging people forward and then stepping aside once they don’t need you anymore.

Except somewhere along the way, you didn’t step aside.Somewhere along the way, he stopped blending into the background of your life and started taking up space you hadn’t meant to give him.Your phone buzzes suddenly on the bed, the sound loud in the quiet room.

Your heart leaps straight into your throat before logic can catch up, hope flaring embarrassingly fast as you lunge for it.You grab the phone.Not Jungkook. Nayoung.You sink back onto the mattress, staring up at the ceiling like it might offer answers.Emotionally deceased sounds about right.You type something. Delete it. Type again.

you : i fucked up

The three dots appear almost instantly.

nayoung : girl that was obvious

nayoung : but like how bad

You think of Mingyu pulling his jacket on without a word.Of Jungkook smiling at someone else like he’d earned it.Of Yebin’s expression satisfied, certain.Your throat tightens until swallowing feels like work.

you : nuclear

you : i moaned his name, while having sex with mingyu

This time, the pause stretches.Long enough to hurt.

nayoung : …oh

nayoung : oh babe

You close your eyes, breath hitching despite your best effort to keep it together.And that’s when it really lands not the embarrassment, not the guilt, not even the fallout you know is coming, but the truth sitting underneath all of it, heavy and undeniable.

You didn’t say Jungkook’s name by accident.You said it because he was already there.Because he’s been there for longer than you let yourself notice.Because the idea of him choosing someone else hit something deep and unprotected inside you, something you weren’t ready to acknowledge, let alone name.

You sit up slowly, breath shaky, chest tight.This isn’t about Mingyu.This isn’t even about Yebin ( isn’t about yebin ?????? ) It’s about the fact that somewhere between teaching Jungkook how to stand taller, how to flirt better, how to be seen without apologizing

You forgot to teach yourself how to let go.And now?Now you’re awake.Alone.And painfully, unmistakably aware that pretending it’s “just friendship” isn’t going to save you anymore.Because feelings don’t disappear when you ignore them.They just wait patient.For the morning.

You open the chat with Mingyu like you’re defusing a bomb you’re not entirely sure won’t go off anyway.

Your hands are a little shaky, fingers stiff from the way you slept wrong, brain still fogged over with leftover exhaustion and regret, heart already worn thin like it’s been running for too long without rest.

You stare at the empty text box for a full ten seconds, maybe more, watching the cursor blink like it’s judging you, before you finally force your thumbs to move.

you : sorry,i didn’t mean to do that last night

The moment you hit send, a cold wave of regret washes over you so fast you almost gasp, the instinct to grab your phone and fling it across the room hitting hard and immediate.Too late now.It doesn’t even take a minute.It doesn’t take thirty seconds.It takes three.

mingyu : i think we should stop this whole hooking up thing

Your stomach flips violently, like the floor just dropped out from under you.You sit up straighter without realizing it, spine snapping rigid, pulse suddenly loud in your ears. Okay. That’s fair logical expected, even deserved, if you’re being honest with yourself.

You brace for the rest the awkward goodbye, the polite distance, the slow fade out you’re used to.Then another message comes in.

mingyu : i realised last night that i actually like you

mingyu: and now im going to pursue you

You freeze completely.Like your body forgot how to move, forgot how to breathe, forgot how to exist beyond staring at the glowing screen in your hand. Your brain short-circuits so badly it almost feels surreal, like this is happening to someone else and you’re just watching from a distance.

You reread the messages. Once twice a third time, slower, just to be sure your sleep-deprived, emotionally wrecked mind isn’t inventing things to punish you.“…what?” you whisper to the empty room, the word coming out thin and disbelieving.

You type something delete it.Type again, more carefully this time.

you : wdym

The reply comes instantly, like he never put the phone down, like he’s been waiting for you to respond.

mingyu : i meant what i said

mingyu : im going to pursue you

mingyu : be ready at 7

mingyu : i’ll come pick you up

mingyu : we’re going on a date

A date.A real one.Not half-dressed mornings and whispered goodbyes. Not sneaking around schedules and pretending you don’t care. Not leaving quietly before things get complicated.Your chest tightens but not with excitement with panicPure, unfiltered, bone-deep panic.

This is not what you planned.This is not what you wanted. This is not your fingers move anyway, betraying you before your brain can catch up.

you : okay

The word looks too small on the screen too easy too permanent.You drop your phone onto the bed like it burned you, like touching it any longer might lock you into something you don’t know how to undo.

“What the fuck have I gotten myself into,” you mutter, dragging a hand down your face, palms pressing briefly into your eyes like that might reset everything.You’re being pursued by Mingyu on purpose and seriously .

Your thoughts start spiraling immediately dates, expectations, emotional conversations, labels, the slow narrowing of space you’ve spent years keeping wide open everything you’ve carefully avoided wrapped up neatly and handed back to you like karma with a smile.

Your phone buzzes again.Your heart jumps straight into your throat before you even look, reflexive and traitorous.This time Jungkook.Your breath catches so sharply it almost hurts.

jungkook : are you home ??

jungkook : i need your help , i’ll be there in 5 minutes

Five minutes.You stare at the message, pulse racing, thoughts crashing into each other so hard you can barely separate them.Mingyu wants to date you. Jungkook is on his way over. Yebin exists watching, waiting, patient.And you are standing directly in the middle of a mess you swear you never meant to create.

You glance around your apartment like it might give you answers rumpled sheets still twisted from last night, discarded clothes on the floor, the faint, lingering sense that nothing has really reset yet. Nothing is clean.Nothing is settled.

“Fuck,” you whisper again, softer this time, the word heavy instead of sharp.Because suddenly, this isn’t just complicated.It’s dangerous.

Jungkook shifts his weight, hands fidgeting in his pockets like he’s suddenly unsure where to put himself.Then he blurts it out.“Can you teach me?”You blink. “Teach you what?”

His ears turn pink instantly, but he doesn’t look away. That’s new. That confidence you helped build he’s wearing it now, even when he’s embarrassed.

“Kissing,” he says first. Then, quieter, rushed, like if he doesn’t say it all at once he’ll lose his nerve, “And other stuff. I just want to be prepared. For today.”

Your chest tightens so fast it almost knocks the air out of you.Prepared for her, rightt ????

“I know I’m rushing you,” he adds quickly, eyes apologetic. “I’m sorry. I just I don’t want to mess it up.”For a second, you can’t even speak.Because of course he’s earnest about it. Of course he’s nervous. Of course he trusts you enough to ask. That’s what makes it hurt so damn much.

You swallow hard, forcing your voice to stay steady.“You already know how to kiss,” you say, trying to sound casual, like your heart isn’t quietly cracking. “You kissed me last night. Remember? The dare.”

His eyes widen slightly. “I—yeah. I remember.”“You didn’t exactly look clueless,” you add, softer now, unable to stop yourself. “So that part? You’re fine.”There’s a pause.“And the rest?” he asks, hesitant. Careful. Like he’s afraid you’ll say no.

You look at him really look at him. At the boy who used to trail after you with his head down. The one you defended when people laughed. The one who trusted you with everything.And now he wants to take everything you taught him and give it to someone else.

Your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes.You turn away before he can see too much. Before he can see how badly this costs you.

Jungkook shifts again, the movement restless, like he’s standing on unstable ground and doesn’t quite trust himself not to tip over. The confidence he walked in with falters just a little, cracks at the edges.

“I mean—” he rubs the back of his neck, a nervous habit you know too well, “I don’t want to be stupid about it. I don’t want her to think I don’t know what I’m doing.”

There it is.That careful honesty. That earnest fear of disappointing someone he likes.Your throat tightens. You turn slightly, leaning back against the counter, arms folding more out of self-defense than attitude. The apartment feels too quiet suddenly, like it’s listening.

“You’re not stupid,” you say automatically. You’ve said it a hundred times over the years. It still comes out just as fast.He gives a small, crooked smile. “I know. You always say that.”

Because you always believed it.He hesitates, then looks at you properly really looks at you. Like he’s checking whether he’s crossed some invisible line.

“I just I trust you,” he says. “You explain things in a way that doesn’t make me feel embarrassed.”That one lands hard.You glance away, jaw tightening. Trust. God. Of course it’s trust. It’s always been that.

“You don’t need a step-by-step manual,” you say, trying to keep your tone light, joking even. “It’s not a test you study for.”“I know,” he says quickly. “I just— I want to get it right.”

For her.The words hang there even though he doesn’t say them out loud.You breathe in slowly. Count to three. You can do this. You’ve always done this.

“You already know more than you think,” you say. “You pay attention. You’re gentle. You don’t rush. That matters way more than technique.”He nods, listening like this is the most important lecture he’s ever attended.

“And,” you add, softer now, “if you’re worried about messing up, that usually means you won’t. People who don’t care are the ones who screw it up.”That earns you a quiet laugh from him. “That sounds like something you learned the hard way.”

You huff. “Something like that.”There’s a beat of silence. Not awkward. Heavy.Then he says, almost shyly, “About last night the kiss. I wasn’t really thinking. I just did what felt right.”Your heart stumbles.“Yeah,” you manage. “It showed.”

He blinks. “In a bad way?”“No,” you say immediately, then force yourself to slow down. “No. Just you didn’t look lost.”That seems to ease something in him. His shoulders relax.“So,” he says, hopeful again, “you think I’ll be okay today?”

You meet his eyes. Really meet them. There’s excitement there. Nerves. Anticipation. No trace of doubt about who he’s going to.You smile. It takes effort.

“Yeah,” you say. “You’ll be more than okay.”He exhales, relieved, like you’ve just handed him permission to believe in himself.“Thank you,” he says quietly. “For helping me. Always.”

You clear your throat and gesture toward the couch, forcing your tone to stay steady.

“Sit,” you say, softer than you mean to.

He moves to the couch and sits, hands resting awkwardly on his knees like he’s waiting to be graded. The leather creaks under his weight. You stay standing for a second, watching him how he’s trying so hard to look calm, how his leg bounces anyway.

God. He looks younger like this. Familiar. Safe.

You sit down too, leaving just enough space between you that it doesn’t feel intentional. The air feels charged anyway.

“Okay,” you say, exhaling. “First of all breathe.”

He lets out a laugh, a little embarrassed, then actually does it. In. Out.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to dump this on you first thing in the morning.”

“It’s fine,” you reply automatically. Too fast. You slow down. “I just need you to listen, okay?”

He nods immediately. “Yeah. Of course.”

You rest your elbows on your thighs, fingers lacing together. You don’t look at him right away.

“You don’t need to treat this like a performance,” you say. “Or something you have to master overnight.”

You stood in front of him, wearing nothing but an oversized tee that skimmed your thighs, leaving little to the imagination. The air felt thick, charged, like the storm brewing outside. Jungkook’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, wide and uncertain, his cheeks already tinged with that familiar pink flush.

“Kook,” you said softly, stepping closer until you were between his slightly parted knees. “We don’t have to rush this. Remember, this is about learning how to give, how to finger, how to receive. All of it. And I’m here to show you every step.”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly. “I I know. I trust you. It’s just I’ve never done this before. Not really. What if I mess up?”

You smiled, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from his forehead. “That’s why it’s a lesson. Messing up is part of it. But we’ll start simple. Today, you get to practice giving first. On me. That way, you learn what feels good by seeing my reactions.”

His eyes widened further, darting down to where the hem of your tee barely covered you. “Me giving to you? Like… head?”

You nodded, your voice steady but laced with encouragement. “Yeah. And fingering too. We’ll build up to you receiving later. Sound good?”

He nodded slowly, though his hands fidgeted in his lap. “Okay. Teach me. How do I start?”

You took his hands in yours, guiding them to the hem of your tee. “First, undress me. Slowly. Build the anticipation that’s key. Touch me like you’re exploring, not rushing.”

His fingers trembled as they gripped the fabric, lifting it inch by inch. Cool air hit your skin, making you shiver slightly as he revealed you bare underneath, already feeling a warmth building from his gaze alone. He pulled the tee over your head, tossing it aside, and just stared, breath catching.

“You’re… beautiful,” he whispered, almost reverently. “I mean, I’ve always thought so, but up close like this…”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” you teased, but your voice was breathy. “Now, lie me down. Make me comfortable.”

He stood, a bit awkwardly at first, then gently guided you back onto the couch, your head resting on a throw pillow. He knelt between your legs, his broad shoulders making the space feel intimate, enclosed.

“Okay, Kook. Start with kisses. Not right there tease around it. Inner thighs, stomach. Make me want it.”

He leaned in, his breath warm against your skin. His lips brushed your inner thigh first soft, tentative pecks that sent little sparks up your spine. “Like this?” he murmured, voice muffled.

“Yes,” you sighed, threading your fingers through his hair. “A little firmer. Use your tongue if you want.”

He did, tracing slow lines up your thigh, getting closer but not quite there. His hands rested on your hips, thumbs rubbing small circles. “You smell good. Is that weird to say?”

You laughed softly. “Not weird. Intimate. Keep going higher.”

He moved to your other thigh, bolder now, nipping lightly with his teeth. A soft gasp escaped you, and he paused, looking up. “Did that hurt?”

“No,” you assured him. “It felt good. Surprising, but good. Surprise can be hot.”

Encouraged, he continued, his mouth venturing to your lower stomach, kissing along the sensitive skin there. His hands slid up, cupping your breasts experimentally, thumbs brushing over your nipples. “What about here? Is this okay while I’m… down there?”

“Multitasking already?” you teased, arching slightly into his touch. “Yeah, that’s advanced, but it works. Pinch a little gently.”

He did, rolling one nipple between his fingers, and you moaned quietly. “God, Kook you’re a natural.”

His confidence seemed to spark at that. He trailed kisses lower, finally hovering over your core. “Now how do I do this part? The head part.”

“Start slow,” you instructed, spreading your legs a bit wider. “Use your tongue flat at first, long licks. Find the clit; it’s the most sensitive spot. Circle it, suck gently. Watch my reactions.”

He nodded, determination in his eyes, and leaned in. His first lick was hesitant, broad and warm, sending a jolt through you. “Like that?”

“Mmm, yes. Again slower.”

He obeyed, his tongue exploring, tasting. He found your clit after a moment, flicking it experimentally, and your hips bucked involuntarily. “There?” he asked, pulling back slightly, lips glistening.

“Yeah right there. Keep going. Use your lips too.”

He dove back in, more assured now. His tongue circled your clit in slow, deliberate motions, then flattened against it, applying pressure. You felt the heat building, your breaths coming faster. “Fuck, Kook that’s good. A little faster now.”

He picked up the pace, his hands gripping your thighs to hold you steady. One hand ventured inward, a finger tracing your entrance. “Can I add this? Like, finger while I do it?”

“Smart boy,” you breathed. “Yes. Start with one—curl it inside, like you’re beckoning.”

He slid one finger in slowly, feeling the wetness, and curled it just right. Your walls clenched around him, and he groaned against you. “You’re so tight wet. Is this because of me?”

“All you,” you confirmed, voice hitching as he added a second finger. “Pump them in and out, while you suck.”

He did, his mouth closing around your clit, sucking gently while his fingers thrust rhythmically. The dual sensation was overwhelming; your back arched, fingers tightening in his hair. “Jungkook—oh god, just like that.”

He pulled back for a breath, eyes dark and intense as he looked up at you. “You taste amazing. Sweet. I could do this forever.”

“Don’t stop talking,” you encouraged, half-laughing through a moan. “Dirty talk can make it hotter. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

He smirked a shy, emerging smirk and dove back in, fingers curling deeper. “I’m thinking about how you’re falling apart because of my tongue. How you’re gonna come on my face.”

The words, combined with a particularly hard suck, made you cry out. “Kook—yes, fuck—”

He got rougher then, sensing your edge. His free hand pinned your hip down as you squirmed, fingers pumping faster, tongue lashing relentlessly. “You like that? Being held down while I eat you out?”

“Yes—god, yes—don’t stop—”

He added a third finger, stretching you, curling them against that spot inside. Your vision blurred, pleasure coiling tight. “Jungkook—I’m close—”

“Come for me,” he growled against you, voice vibrating through your core. “Let me taste it. Lose control—I want to see you shatter.”

That did it. The orgasm crashed over you like a wave, your body convulsing, thighs clamping around his head as you rode it out. He didn’t stop, lapping up every bit, fingers slowing but not withdrawing until you were trembling, oversensitive.

You pulled him up, breathless, cupping his face. His lips were swollen, chin slick. “Holy shit, Kook. For a first time? You just made me see stars.”

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning shyly but proudly. “Really? I… I just followed what you said. And watched you.”

“You’re a quick study,” you said, pulling him into a kiss—tasting yourself on him. “Now, let’s switch. Time for you to learn receiving.”

He hesitated, standing as you guided him to sit where you had been. “Wait… are you sure? After that, I feel like I should—”

“Nope,” you interrupted, kneeling between his legs. “Lessons go both ways. Plus, I want to show you how good it can feel when someone knows what they’re doing.”

His sweatpants tented obviously now, arousal evident from pleasuring you. You tugged them down, along with his boxers, freeing him thick, hard, tip glistening. He hissed at the air, hands clenching the cushions.

“Wow,” you murmured, wrapping a hand around him. “Look at you. Already so ready.”

He blushed deeper. “From from making you come. That was hot.”

“Good,” you said. “Now, relax. I’ll start slow, like I taught you.”

You leaned in, pressing kisses along his length first—teasing, just as you’d instructed. His hips twitched. “That… tickles but feels good.”

“Teasing builds it,” you explained between kisses. “Now, watch.”

You took the tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue. He groaned loudly, head falling back. “Fuck—your mouth—”

“Talk to me,” you pulled off to say. “Tell me what feels best.”

“That—the swirling. Do it again.”

You did, taking him deeper, bobbing slowly. His hand found your hair, not pulling—just holding. “Deeper? Can you?”

You hummed in affirmation, relaxing your throat to take more. He bucked slightly. “Sorry—”

“Don’t apologize,” you said, stroking him. “It’s natural. Guide me if you want.”

He nodded, breath ragged. “Okay… faster?”

You obliged, sucking harder, hand twisting at the base. His moans grew louder, more desperate. “God—you’re so good at this. I feel like I’m gonna explode.”

“Not yet,” you teased, slowing down. “Edge yourself—makes it better.”

He whined. “Tease.”

“That’s the point.” You added fingers now—wait, no, this was about receiving head. But the lesson included fingering too. “Want to learn fingering on yourself? Or just focus?”

He laughed breathlessly. “Myself? Like… prostate?”

“Advanced,” you said. “Maybe later. For now, receive this.”

You dove back in, deepthroating him, gagging slightly for effect it made him curse. “Fuck—do that again.”

You did, over and over, until he was thrusting shallowly into your mouth. “I’m close—shit—”

“Come,” you mumbled around him. “Let go.”He did, with a guttural moan, spilling down your throat. You swallowed, pulling off with a pop. “How was that?”“Incredible,” he panted. “You swallowed?”

“Personal choice,” you said, wiping your lips.“Your turn to practice fingering properly.”He was eager, sliding two fingers in slowly. “Like before?”“Yes—curl, thrust. Add thumb on clit.”He did, watching your face intently. “You’re getting wetter. Does it hurt when I go faster?”

“No—feels amazing. Rougher now.”He obliged, pumping harder, thumb circling. You moaned, losing words. “Kook—yes—”“Talk to me,” he echoed your earlier words. “Tell me how good I am.”“So good—making me crazy—”He got rough, fingers slamming in, palm grinding. “Gonna make you come again. Scream for me.”You did, shattering around his fingers.

He licked them clean, eyes locked on yours.The room is quiet afterward. Not awkward just heavy.You’re both breathing a little differently, sitting too close on the couch like neither of you wants to acknowledge how much time just passed.

You clear your throat first.“Well,” you say, forcing a light tone, “that was fast.”He lets out a breathy laugh, cheeks flushed, eyes darting anywhere but your face. “Yeah. I—uh—sorry.”You wave it off, standing. “Don’t apologize. You’re unfairly good at this, Kook.”

That finally makes him look up.“I am?” he asks, incredulous.“Annoyingly so,” you add, shaking your head with a half-smile. “You’re a fast learner.”

His ears go red immediately. He pushes himself up from the couch, suddenly all awkward limbs again, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thank you,” he says softly. “For helping. I really mean it.”

“No problem,” you reply easily too easily.You turn away before your face can give you up, heading to your room. You pull on your shorts, a loose tee, splash water on your face like it might reset your entire nervous system.

When you come back out, he’s standing near the door, backpack slung over one shoulder, looking ready. Prepared. Confident.Exactly like you taught him to be.“Have fun today,” you say, leaning against the counter. “She’s lucky.”He smiles, small and genuine. “I hope so.”

The words slip out before you can stop them.“Oh by the way,” you add casually, like it doesn’t matter. “Mingyu asked me on a date.”His smile flickers.“Oh,” he says. Just that. Neutral. Controlled. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, nodding. “I said yes.”Something unreadable passes through his eyes surprise, maybe, or something tighter. He recovers quickly, though. Too quickly.“That’s good,” he says. “I mean yeah. He’s Mingyu.”

You hum in agreement, even though your chest feels wrong.“Well,” he says, shifting his weight. “I should go. I don’t want to be late.”“Right,” you reply. “Go get her.”He hesitates at the door, hand on the knob. Turns back once more.

“Hey,” he says quietly. “Thank you. For believing in me.”You smile. Real this time. A little sad. A little proud.“Always,” you say.He leaves.The door clicks shut.And suddenly, the apartment feels way too empty for someone who’s supposedly doing everything right.

The quiet doesn’t rush in all at once.It settles.It seeps into the corners of the apartment, into the space he used to fill with nervous laughter and the soft thud of his backpack hitting the floor. The air still feels disturbed, like it remembers. Like it’s holding onto something neither of you said out loud.

You stay where you are for a moment after the door clicks shut.Just standing there.Your eyes drift to the couch how close you were sitting, how neither of you had moved first. There’s a faint crease in the cushion where he’d been, a stupid, insignificant detail that suddenly feels way too loud.

You exhale, slow.“This is fine,” you murmur to no one. You push off the counter and wander aimlessly, fingertips brushing the edge of the table, the back of the chair he always pulled out for himself without thinking. The apartment feels bigger now. Emptier in a way that doesn’t make sense, because you’re still here. Everything is still here.

You did everything right.You helped him.You kept it light.You didn’t cross lines.You didn’t say the things sitting heavy on your tongue.You even smiled when you told him about Mingyu.That part replays against your will.

The way Jungkook’s smile had faltered just for a heartbeat.How his shoulders had gone a little stiff. How quickly he’d smoothed it over, like he was proud of himself for not letting anything show.Exactly like you taught him.The realization lands harder than you expect.

You sink onto the couch, staring at the blank TV screen. Your reflection looks composed. Put together. Someone who has her life figured out.But your chest feels tight.

You try to imagine him right now walking down the street, confidence settling into his steps, replaying what to say, how to smile, how to stand just close enough. You picture him doing everything you coached him on.

For someone else.Your phone buzzes on the table. You don’t check it immediately. You already know who it’s from.Eventually, you reach for it.

Mingyu : Still on for tonight? I’ll pick you up at 7.

You stare at the message.7 feels too soon. Tonight feels too fast. Everything suddenly feels like it’s happening in the wrong order.You type back anyway.

You : Yeah. See you then.

Send.The screen goes dark, and the apartment goes quiet again.You lean back, head tipping against the cushion, eyes closing.You tell yourself this hollow feeling is just adjustment. Growing pains. That you’re proud, not lonely. That this is what progress looks like.

But your mind betrays you, offering up one last image uninvited Jungkook at the door, hesitating. Turning back.Saying thank you like it meant more than just the words.Your throat tightens.You press your palm flat to your chest, grounding yourself, breathing through it.

“He’s fine,” you whisper. “He’s happy.”And maybe that’s true.But the emptiness doesn’t argue.It just stays.

Jungkook barely remembered how he got out of the apartment.

The hallway felt too quiet, like the walls were listening. His shoes hit the floor a little too hard as he stepped away from the door, heart still racing, skin buzzing in a way that had nothing to do with nerves anymore.

He pressed the elevator button. Once. Twice.His mind refused to cooperate. Your voice soft, breathless looped in his head no matter how hard he tried to shove it away. The way you wouls said his name like it belonged in your mouth. Like it fit there naturally. Like it had always been meant to sound like that.

His stomach twisted, low and unfamiliar. Not embarrassment. Not pride.Something warmer. Something dangerous.He swallowed hard, jaw tightening.Get it together.

This wasn’t about you It wasn’t supposed to be. He’d come here for help for Yebin. For the project. For confidence. For practice. That’s all it was.So why did his chest feel tight?

The elevator dinged. He stepped inside, staring at his reflection in the mirrored wall. His hair was still neat. Clothes still sharp. He looked put together.He didn’t feel like it.

Then your voice cut in again different this time. Casual. Offhand.Mingyu asked me on a date. I said yes.

His fingers curled slowly at his sides.A date.He had told himself honestly believed that you didn’t want that kind of thing. That you kept things easy, uncomplicated, physical. That love wasn’t something you reached for.

So when you said yes something in him stalled.So you finally want to give love a chance, he thought, bitterness threading through the realization.

But then why Mingyu?The doors slid open. Jungkook stepped out and walked automatically, phone heavy in his pocket. Mingyu’s face surfaced in his mind confident, effortless, always so sure of his place next to her.

Of course it was him.Jungkook let out a slow breath, trying to push the ache down, label it as something harmless. Jealousy didn’t suit him. Wanting something that wasn’t his definitely didn’t.His phone buzzed.He stopped walking.A message from Yebin lit up the screen.

Yebin : you can come whenever you want ,here’s my address

He stared at it for a second longer than necessary, grounding himself in the familiar flutter of nerves. This this was what he’d been working toward.He typed back.

Jungkook : okay ,i’ll take a shower first and then come over

Almost immediately—

Yebin : good

yebin : we can start working on the project when you get here

He locked his phone and slipped it into his pocket, forcing his shoulders to relax.Project. Focus. Normal. That was all this was.

Still, as he started toward his dorm, the echo of your voice stayed with him uninvited, unshakable settling somewhere deep in his chest like a secret he wasn’t ready to name.

And no matter how many times he reminded himself who today was for, one thought lingered stubbornly at the back of his mind He wasn’t sure he could unlearn the way you said his name.

By the time he reached the dorm building, his jaw ached from how tightly he’d been holding it. He took the stairs two at a time, not because he was in a hurry, but because standing still felt dangerous. Like if he slowed down, his thoughts would catch him.

His room was dim when he stepped inside. Taehyung wasn’t back yet. Good.

Jungkook dropped his bag by the door harder than necessary and headed straight for the bathroom. He didn’t even bother turning on the light before stripping out of his clothes, fingers a little clumsier than usual. The shower came on with a sharp hiss, steam filling the small space almost immediately.

He turned the knob hotter than usual.Too hot.The water hit his shoulders and slid down his spine, relentless, grounding. He braced his hands against the tiled wall and let his head fall forward.

Breathe.

Except his mind refused to cooperate.Your voice slipped in anyway.Not what you’d said that had been harmless. Teasing. Light. But the way you’d said his name. Soft, familiar. Like it belonged in your mouth. Like it always had.

“Kook,” you’d laughed, shaking your head.His stomach tightened, traitorous.“Stop,” he muttered under his breath, pressing his forehead to the cool tile. The water drummed against his back, loud enough that he hoped it might drown the thoughts out.

This isn’t about her.It can’t be.He stayed there longer than he needed to. Until his skin was pink, until the water started to feel less like comfort and more like punishment.

When he finally stepped out, the mirror was fogged over. He wiped a clear patch with his forearm and stared at his reflection.He barely recognized himself.

Hair damp and falling into his eyes. Shoulders broader, posture straighter. There was a confidence there now subtle, but real. Something earned. Something you’d helped build.His chest tightened again.

He dressed slowly, deliberately. Like muscle memory. The shirt you’d picked out simple, clean, fitted just right. He remembered you tugging at the hem, squinting critically.

“Trust me,” you’d said. “This one works.”Jeans. Belt. Rings he almost skipped those, fingers hovering, then sighed and slid them on anyway.The cologne came last.

He hesitated with the bottle in his hand, thumb resting on the nozzle. Then once at his wrist. Once at his neck.The scent bloomed instantly.Warm familiar tpo familiar.

“Damn,” Taehyung’s voice cut in, making Jungkook flinch.Taehyung was sprawled across his bed, phone in hand, eyebrows raised. “Who are you trying to impress, bro? You look illegal.”Jungkook cleared his throat. “I’m not trying to impress anyone.”

Taehyung snorted. “Sure. And I’m a monk.” He sat up, eyeing him. “Got a date?”“No,” Jungkook said quickly. “I’m going to Yebin’s. For the project.”“Ohhh,” Taehyung grinned. “Academic rizz. Respect.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Lucky guy.”

Jungkook turned away to lace his shoes, shoulders stiffening.Taehyung tilted his head. “You good?”“Yeah,” Jungkook said. “I’m fine.”Taehyung hummed like he didn’t buy it. “Speaking of dates did you hear?”Jungkook already knew. His fingers tightened around the laces.

“Your best friend,” Taehyung continued, enjoying this far too much, “is going on a date. And not just with anyone. With Mingyu.”Jungkook nodded once, eyes fixed on his hands. “Yeah. I know.”

Taehyung squinted. “Why do you sound like someone just canceled your birthday?”“I don’t,” Jungkook said flatly.“You do.” Taehyung leaned closer, suddenly serious. “Wait.” His eyes widened. “Don’t tell me you—”

“No,” Jungkook cut in, straightening abruptly. Too fast. Too sharp. “She is my best friend, Taehyung.”Taehyung blinked, then laughed. “That was defensive as hell.”“It wasn’t.”

“It absolutely was.” Taehyung smirked. “Besides, you like Yebin, right?”Jungkook hesitated.Just a second.“…Yeah,” he said finally.The teasing drained from Taehyung’s face, replaced with something more thoughtful. “Then what’s the problem?”

Jungkook didn’t answer.

Because suddenly it all felt tangled. Because liking Yebin had been simple at first admiration, attraction, the idea of something new. But you had been there longer. Before all of this. Before confidence. Before knowing how to stand tall.

You’d taught him how to speak up.How to look people in the eye.How to believe he deserved to be wanted.And now everyone else did too.

Taehyung watched him quietly. “Are you actually into Yebin,” he asked, more gently now, “or are you trying to get over [ name ] by liking yebin ?”The question hit harder than Jungkook expected.

He grabbed his jacket, fingers curling into the fabric like it could anchor him.“I like Yebin,” he said after a moment, voice carefully steady. “I’m just figuring things out.”Taehyung studied him for a long second, then sighed. “Just don’t lie to yourself, man.”

Jungkook didn’t reply. He slung his bag over his shoulder, checked his phone once more no new messages and headed for the door.As it closed behind him, only one thought followed him down the hallway, stubborn and unresolved he hoped he wasn’t already too late to understand what he’d been trying so hard not to feel.

The walk to Yebin’s place felt longer than it should have.

Jungkook replayed Taehyung’s words over and over in his head, each step threatening to pull him back into thoughts he didn’t want to untangle yet. He told himself not to overthink. He had a plan. He was sticking to it. Tonight was about the project. About Yebin. About being normal.But he was thinking anyway

Are you lying to yourself?

Are you pretending this is simpler than it is?

Every red light gave him time to think, and every time his mind drifted too close to your laugh, your smile that morning, the way you’d said have fun today like it didn’t cost you anything he shut it down. He told himself not to spiral. Not tonight. Not when he finally decided to do something normal, something uncomplicated.

So he walked faster. Head down. Thoughts packed away and taped shut.

He stopped outside her apartment building and checked the address again, even though he knew it was right. Took a breath. Adjusted his jacket the way you’d shown him shoulders back, posture open, like he belonged anywhere he stood.

You’ve got this, he told himself, even if the words felt borrowed.He knocked.The door opened almost immediately.“Hey,” Yebin said, smiling.Jungkook’s brain stalled.

She wasn’t dressed up. That was the problem. A loose T-shirt that looked soft and lived-in, slipping just slightly off one shoulder, and shorts that were clearly meant for comfort short enough that his eyes betrayed him before he could stop them.

He gulped.Hard.“Oh—uh—hi,” he said, voice catching just a little before he recovered. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”She laughed lightly, completely unbothered. “You’re fine. Come in.”

She stepped aside, and Jungkook followed, suddenly acutely aware of everything: the quiet hum of the apartment, the faint scent of detergent and something floral, the way his cologne felt too noticeable now.He reminded himself to breathe.

Yebin closed the door behind him and turned, leaning back against it casually. “I’m glad you came early,” she said. “We can actually get stuff done before it gets too late.”“Yeah,” he replied quickly, nodding. “That sounds good.”

She glanced him over then really looked and her smile changed, slower, more deliberate. “By the way,” she added, “you look really nice today.”His ears warmed instantly.“Thanks,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I, uh tried.”

It wasn’t a lie. It just wasn’t the whole truth.She gestured toward the couch and coffee table, where notebooks and a laptop were already laid out. “Make yourself comfortable.”

As he set his bag down and sat, Jungkook forced his thoughts back into order. Project first. Focus. He could do this. He wanted to do this.

Still, as she moved around the room easy, confident, completely unaware of the way his chest kept tightening one unwanted realization lingered in the back of his mind

No matter how much he tried not to think about you, everything he was doing tonight somehow traced back to you.And that scared him more than he was ready to admit.

They’re midway through refining the last section when Yebin leans back in her chair, stretching her arms over her head.

“You know,” she says casually, like she’s commenting on the weather, “you’re way calmer than I expected.”Jungkook glances up. “What do you mean?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. I kind of assumed you’d be more intense. Especially since you hang out with [ name ] so much.”The way she says it light, almost amused makes something prickle under his skin.

“What about her?” he asks, keeping his voice neutral. Yebin lets out a small laugh. “She just has this vibe. Like she knows everyone wants her attention. Always so confident. A little full of herself, maybe?”The words hit sharper than he expects.

“She’s not like that,” Jungkook says immediately, too fast. His shoulders tense. “She’s actually really nice. She helps people a lot. She—”Yebin tilts her head, eyes narrowing just a bit. “Whoa. Why are you being so defensive?”

The room goes quiet.Jungkook realizes how he must sound how quickly he jumped in, how tightly his jaw is set. He forces a small chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck.“I’m not,” he says, though it comes out weaker than he wants. “I just know her well.”

Yebin hums, unconvinced. “I don’t know. From the outside, it kind of looks like she likes attention. Mingyu, parties, people always around her.” She shrugs again. “It’s not a crime. Some people are just like that.”Jungkook hesitates.

He thinks of you standing up for him when people mocked his quietness. Of you pulling him out of corners, explaining things patiently, never laughing at him only with him. Of how you always seemed bigger than the room, but never cruel.

But then he looks at Yebin at the way she’s watching him now, curious, expectant and something insecure twists in his chest. He wants her to like him. To think he’s easygoing. Normal. Not stuck on someone else.

So he exhales and nods, just slightly.“Yeah,” he says, choosing the easier path. “I guess she can come off like that sometimes.”Yebin’s expression softens immediately, satisfied. “Exactly. That’s all I meant.”

She smiles at him, warm and approving, and reaches for her notebook again. “Anyway back to the project?”“Yeah,” Jungkook replies, forcing a smile of his own.But as he looks back at the screen, his chest feels tight.He knows what he just did.He knows whose side he should’ve taken.

And the worst part is he hates how relieved he feels when Yebin looks pleased with him.Yebin taps her pen against the notebook, eyes still on the screen but her tone drifting casual, almost lazy.

“Honestly,” she says, “I don’t get how you deal with her all the time.”Jungkook’s fingers pause over the keyboard. “What do you mean?”

She shrugs. “She’s kind of a lot. Always at parties, always with someone new. Mingyu today, someone else tomorrow. Doesn’t that get exhausting?”He swallows. He tells himself it’s harmless. Just talk. Just opinions.

“I guess,” he says slowly. “She doesn’t really do serious stuff.”“Exactly.” Yebin glances at him, catching the shift in his tone. “That’s what I mean. She keeps things messy. No commitment. No boundaries. I don’t know how you trust someone like that.”

Jungkook nods, even though something twists in his chest when he does.“Yeah,” he murmurs. “She says it’s easier that way.”Yebin scoffs softly. “Easier for her, maybe.” She leans back again, crossing her legs. “Some people just don’t want to grow up. They like attention too much.”

He thinks of you laughing too loud, of the way rooms seemed to orbit you. Of how you always came back for him anyway. The thought makes his jaw tighten.

“Maybe,” he says, agreeing again, because it’s simpler. Because Yebin is watching him closely now, clearly encouraged. “She can be confusing.”Yebin smiles, sharp and pleased, like she’s won something.

“I knew it,” she says. “I mean, you’re different. You’re focused. You actually care about things.” She gestures between them, to the laptop, the notes. “This matters to you.”Jungkook hums in agreement, even as guilt crawls up his spine.

“She just drags people into chaos,” Yebin continues. “You don’t need that. You need someone who’s on your level. Someone who takes you seriously.”She turns fully toward him now, eyes locking onto his.

“Someone like me.”His breath stutters.She reaches out, fingers brushing his wrist not lingering, but deliberate.“You should replace her,” Yebin says lightly, like it’s a joke. Like it’s obvious. “Best friends come and go. But I’d actually be here for you.”

Jungkook doesn’t answer right away.He nods instead.And somewhere deep in his chest, something cracks quiet, ugly, and irreversible.

jo’s notes : finally, finally part four is here, gang 😭🫶🏼 i’m so, so, so sorry for the late post. i’ve been really busy since my friend is moving to Aus for uni, and i wanted to spend my last few days with her before she leaves 🥺 and also we are half way through the series 😝

but anyway WHAT has my boy jungkook done 😭 everything is about to get messier from here. FMC is going on a date with mingyu, and her ex is showing up soon ????????

and YEBIN ??? no words. absolutely none 🙄

lmk in the comments how you’re feeling about this part, and i’ll drop part five once we hit 600+ notes and a lot of comments, i guess ????MWAHH, love y’all. have a great day/night 🫶🏼

series masterlist | main masterlist | taglist

taglist : @whoa-jo @euphorichaewon @cortisicm-deactivated20260121 @kookdollia @lackingdopaminesince2007 @somehowukook @sadiayn @whoboo @aiiselle90210 @annyeongbitch7 @jksusawife @trulyelasticshelter @goldietigers294 @m4aimm @dim18 @tastykookoonut @nomadclairo @lovesickjules @xcviisworld @tealtulipsin @danamihi @lvnderdreams @goawaysha @watermelonya @taiwan0618 @stvvrgrr @emmie2308 @kookiesbab @taebokkiii @sassywildbunny @kweenhu @kkjagi @taetaecatboy @tenselyinnernight @ellushic @parkavenuearmory @park-littlecrane @koosluvss @icylattae @frgtmenotes @salalalalami @confidentjus @happreader @mniys @labbbaaa @songbyeonkim @nikkinit @freshavocados257 @ninixgyu4eva @pung3 @rustedaffections @carriereadsbooks @cuntessaiii @ynkkssb @katie-tibo @kimyishin @crossainthemum @jk97bam @lilylikeslilies @hidden-fluff-lover @looktosky

[kookquettes]

OVERDRIVE ʲᵉᵒⁿ ʲᵘⁿᵍᵏᵒᵒᵏ ₊ ⊹₊ ⊹

chapter 4

After discovering her brother's secret life as the leader of an underground racing crew, Y/N is pulled into a world of speed, danger, and rivalry. That's where she meets Jeon Jungkook - the fearless leader of the opposing crew, the one her brother can't stand, and the last person she should ever get close to. But Jungkook is impossible to ignore. And Y/N is impossible for him to forget. Because in a world where every choice could end in flames...falling for each other might be the most dangerous race of all.

pairing: racer!jk x model!reader

warnings: brother's enemy, somewhat forbidden love, smut, angst, fluff, obsession, jealousy, possessiveness, masturbation, unprotected sex, sexting, bodily fluids, rough sex, multiple positions, public sex, degradation kink, dirty talk, sexual tension, sexual teasing, smoking, violence, illegal activities, mentions of blood, control

playlist ₊ ⊹₊ ⊹

glossary: mlist / chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4 / chapter 5 / chapter 6 / chapter 7 / chapter 8 / chapter 9 / chapter 10

series m.list ₊ ⊹₊ ⊹

w.c: 5k

sha’s note: so…this is kinda my first series here on tumblr. i got inspired to write this after relistening to ohmami by chase atlantic (i love ca to death) and also afterrewatching culpa mia hehe. i’m hella scared to see how this turns out cus tumblr is filled with incredible writers and i’m a newbie. please be nice to me 🥹🙏

taglist: @brokebitch-101 , @annpeachy , @ecwipsecoffee , @sky-23s-world, @pradaheeseung , @mar-lo-pap , @kookienooki , @lolakacie , @httpjeonlicious , @anabeatrizal-blog1 , @azxher , @valiantlyrunicmutant , @skycache , @afoluvztumblr , @zaf3ira , @fml3486 , @jiminsmassivebooty , @justletmeread601 , @strawberriesss34566 , @nellbyy , @goawaysha , @alwaysbethinnerlookbetter , @punchbug9-blog , @taetae84 , @withluvjm , @hagridshaircar , @bjoriis

Missed turns ₊ ⊹₊ ⊹

The rain had left the streets slick, glittering like broken glass under the fluorescent parking lot lights. Jungkook’s car stopped with a soft hiss of tires on wet concrete, droplets sliding down the windshield in lazy rivulets. He sat there, hands falling off the steering wheel, staring at nothing.

Y/n.

The memory of her drunkenly blabbering bullshit in his arms burned in his chest. Her soft weight, the faint scent of vanilla and liquor, the way her lips had mumbled nonsense about Chanel being cheaper than Louis Vuitton—all of it replayed like a damn highlight reel he never asked for.

The memory hit like a punch to the chest, and for the first time, he realized the pull wasn’t just physical attraction anymore. Not just some electric, fleeting fixation that had him chasing adrenaline on the streets.

This was different. Dangerous. Terrifying.

For him at least.

He could feel it coil in his chest, tightening like a vice. He’d always known the moment he let someone close, grief would get him. But…he wanted her anyway.

God, he wanted her.

He groaned and shoved his face into his hands. “Fuck,” he muttered, voice swallowed by the rain. “The hell is wrong with me?”

His phone buzzed, harsh and demanding against the soft patter of the storm. A notification from his mother:

ma: you home yet, guk?

ma: the rain is insane!

ma: text me immediately once you’re home

He stared at it, the familiar guilt and irritation warring in his chest.

Reply? No. Not now. Not with this spinning chaos in his head. He shoved the phone into his pocket.

And that’s when his eyes fell to the passenger side.

A pair of heels.

Nude, glossy, red-backed. One of Y/n’s. Probably some designer nightmare that cost more than rent, but hell, it wasn’t the price that mattered. It was her. That perfect, infuriating, stubborn girl, almost asleep in his arms just earlier, drunk and rambling about Chanel being better than Louis Vuitton, her words as chaotic and alive as her body had been pressed against him.

He leaned forward, fingers hooking at the back. Jungkook almost swore he could feel her warmth still radiating off it.

“Shit,” he growled under his breath, jaw clenching so tight it ached. “Fucking left her heels…” He slammed the side of the heel against his palm, just enough to make a sound like thunder.

The rain outside mirrored the storm inside him—relentless, cold, and unforgiving.

“Damn it…don’t do this to me,” he muttered, voice rough, as though saying it out loud would expel some of the madness twisting his insides.

He swung the heels around his fingers like weapons and pushed the car door open, rain sounds immediately piercing his eardrums. Lightning flashed, brief and blinding, but he barely flinched.

The world was loud, wet, chaotic—but nothing compared to the mess inside him.

Jungkook tucked the heels under one arm, fumbling with his keys. The car locked with a harsh click, echoing like a judge’s gavel. He paused, glancing back at the empty passenger seat, the place that had been hers, now cold and hollow. A pang shot through him.

Before his thoughts could spiral any further, Jungkook gave his head a small shake, like that might physically knock them loose. It didn’t work, but he let his body take over anyway — heels hooked on his fingers, shoulders tense, feet moving on instinct. He didn’t look back. He just kept walking until the noise thinned out and the streetlights blurred together, until he was unlocking the door to his small rental apartment and shutting the world out behind him.

The door clicked shut, perfectly timed with the thunder cracking outside — like the sky was mocking him for thinking he could outrun anything.

Jungkook exhaled long and slow, shoulders slumping as he dropped Y/N’s heels onto the grey couch. They landed soft, almost delicate, before he followed suit, letting himself fall back hard enough to make the cushions bounce beneath him.

The apartment greeted him the same way it always did: small, sterile, silent. Too clean. Too empty. A place that looked lived in but never felt like it. No warmth. No clutter. No proof that anyone stayed longer than they had to.

He preferred it that way.

He always had.

Ever since that one moment in childhood — the kind that rewires you permanently, that hollows you out and leaves something feral in its place — Jungkook had learned how to survive by not lingering. Not in places. Not in feelings. Not in people. His passion had grown out of that loss, twisted and sharpened until it turned into something illegal, something dangerous, something that paid the bills and kept his hands busy.

But Jungkook doesn’t dwell. Didn’t look back.

What happened, happened.

Bare feet kicked up onto the low coffee table as he grabbed the remote and flicked on the TV. Some random series filled the room with noise — engines revving, metal screaming, adrenaline bleeding through the screen.

Cars.

Good.

He hoped the sound would be a tsunami, something loud enough to drown out the static piling up inside his skull. And for a moment, it worked.

Until his eyes betrayed him.

They drifted, slow and traitorous, to the couch beside him — where her heels lay abandoned. The long, elegant stems crossed over each other like they were relaxed. As if they belonged there.

He clicked his tongue, annoyed. No curse. No explosion. Just a heavy rise of his chest as his hands laced together beside his head, fingers restless, fidgeting like they didn’t know where to go.

It felt like his mind — no, his heart — was trying to tell him something he refused to hear.

That no matter how hard you ignored someone, how deep you buried them, they always found a way back. A smell. A sound. A pair of stupid fucking heels on your couch.

The phone rang and Jungkook stilled.

Ma.

The name glowed on his screen like a warning sign. He stared at it, jaw tightening.

Speaking of people he ignored.

With a dramatic huff, he picked up the call and pressed the phone to his ear.

“Mmm. Ma.”

“Jungkook? Are you home yet?” Her voice crackled through the line — sharp, worried, wrapped in that unmistakable maternal edge. “You didn’t reply my text and it’s pouring out.”

His lips tugged into a smile that didn’t reach anywhere meaningful. “Yeah. I’m home.”

“Oh, good…good.” Her tone softened instantly. “I just wanted to make sure. The rain’s awful tonight.”

A beat.

“How was work?”

He let the silence sit there, stretching, heavy. Licked his lips. Nodded to no one.

“Yeah. Me and Joon had…a shit ton of cars to fix at the garage today.”

“That sounds exhausting, sweetheart. At least you’re getting paid.”

Hopeful. Gentle. Useless.

“Anyway, Guk,” she continued, hesitant now. “I wanted to ask when you’re free.”

“Why?”

“Your father’s birthday is coming up. I thought maybe we could do something. Together. The three of us.”

Something inside him seized. His breath hitched — not enough to notice unless you were looking for it. He blinked once. Twice. His throat dried out like it had been sandblasted.

When he spoke again, his voice was calm. Too calm.

“Why?” he said.

“Dad’s dead.”

The silence on the line was thick, suffocating.

His mother sighed — quiet, broken. “I know, but—”

“Ma.” His jaw clenched. “He’s dead. He’s—he’s gone, okay? We need to get over it.” The words came out sharp, cruel, honed. “See—this is what happens when you love too much.”

A pause.

“I’m not celebrating shit just to walk away feeling empty.”

“But, Seoyeon—”

“Bye.”

He hung up before she could finish.

The apartment swallowed the silence whole. Jungkook tossed the phone aside and stared at the ceiling, chest tight, pulse loud in his ears. Outside, the rain kept coming down — relentless, unforgiving — like it knew he deserved it.

And beside him, Y/N’s heels stayed exactly where they were.

Waiting.

🏎️. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

“No—fuck—I swear I kicked them off right here before I slept!”

Y/n yanked her sheets back like they’d personally betrayed her, the fabric whipping through the air. She dropped to her knees, palms flattening against the floor as she checked under the bed even though the space beneath it was barely more than a shadow.

As if a pair of Louboutins could just…evaporate.

She even tugged up the corner of her rug, ridiculous and desperate, like the heels might be hiding under there out of spite.

“Y/n,” Jin said, voice sharp with disbelief, “those are heels. How the hell do you lose those?”

Y/n snapped upright so fast her spine cracked.

Her arms flew out wide, frustration spilling out of her like water from a tipped glass.

“I don’t know, dude!” she barked. “All I remember is wearing them to the party, coming back drunk as shit, and then I woke up in my bed.” Her palms slapped against her bare thighs when she dropped her arms, the sheer sleeves of her top brushing her skin like ghost fingers.

Jin stared at her for a second, then something clicked behind his eyes. His brows furrowed. His arms crossed over his chest.

“How did you even get home last night?”

Y/n froze. Her brain stalled, gears grinding.

“I don’t know…” she mumbled, shrugging as she turned back to the crime scene of her missing shoes. “Jungkook sent me.”

Jin let out a loud, unimpressed snort. “Pfft. And you say you don’t know.”

“Oh my God,” Y/n groaned, whipping her head toward him. “Okay—whatever. He sent me home, alright? I was drunk.”

“Didn’t I tell you to call me?”

“Didn’t exactly come to mind when I was busy chugging liquor down my throat like it was fucking water and ruining my life choices,” she shot back.

Jin sighed, long and theatrical, like he was carrying the weight of her stupidity on his shoulders. He dragged a hand through his hair, gripping it at the nape.

“Okay. You know what? I’ll find you another shoe that matches the look while you settle this.” He turned toward her walk-in closet like a man going into battle.

Meanwhile, Y/n’s cheeks puffed out as she exhaled, exhausted from squatting and crawling around like a raccoon looking for treasure.

She dropped onto her messy bed, the mattress dipping under her weight. A groan dragged out of her throat.

“Ughhh…”

She pushed her hair back, slouching, staring blankly at the ceiling as if it might replay last night for her.

She tried—she really fucking tried—to remember. The party. The drinks. Jungkook’s voice. His hands steadying her.

Did I even kick them off myself?

Or…

Her stomach twisted.

She reached for her phone, thumb hovering before she scrolled to his contact. The name sat there like a dare.

She hit call. It rang.

Once.

Twice.

“Hello?”

Y/n blinked.

Huh.

No teasing. No pet name? No smug little, ‘Miss me already?’

Just…flat and tasteless.

Her lips went dry instantly.

“Jungkook…” she started, quieter than she meant to. “I…needed to ask—uh—do you remember what I did with my…heels?” Her voice climbed at the end, betraying her nerves.

A pause. Then, monotone as a dead radio station—

“Your heels are here.”

That’s not what threw her. Not the heels. His voice. It sounded like someone had scraped all the warmth out of him. Like as if he had warmth in the first place.

He kind of did.

“O-oh,” she stammered. “They are! Okay—great!”

God, she sounded stupid.

On the other end, Jungkook hummed. The sound vibrated low, unsettling, like a door half-closed.

“Well then…uh…can I have them back?”

“Yeah.” Another pause, like he was doing something else. Like she wasn’t his full attention “You coming to the race next Friday?”

Y/n’s brows lifted.

Race?

She hadn’t even known there was another one. She wasn’t planning to go. But her heels—

“Uh…yeah,” she lied automatically, nodding like he could see her. “I’ll be there.”

“Bet. I’ll see you then.”

Her chest tightened. Something about the way he said it felt like a dismissal.

“Thanks, by—”

Peep.

Peep.

Peep.

The line went dead.

Y/n stared at her phone like it had personally slapped her.

“…What the fuck?” Her voice came out small, incredulous.

Did he just—hang up?

Before she could even say bye?

The quiet in her room suddenly felt too loud, pressing against her skin. And for the first time since she met Jungkook, Y/n didn’t feel amused. She felt…uneasy. Like she’d just reached for something warm—

And found nothing there.

“Found it!”

Y/n’s head snapped up at Jin’s voice echoing from inside her closet. The sliding doors parted to reveal him holding up a pair of knee-high black leather pumps, the heels sharp, unapologetic.

“These,” Jin said, nodding to himself. “These Dior heels would fit the concept way better.”

He tossed them into the open Louis Vuitton duffle on her bed.

Y/n blinked once. Then again. Her head tilted, just a fraction.

“Wait—” She cleared her throat. “You never told me what the concept was.”

Jin paused, hand hovering over the bag. “Uh…” His brows pulled together as he thought. “The board said something like…biker? Or edgy? Something aggressive—I don’t know.” He waved a hand vaguely, as if that solved it. “Same vibe.”

Y/n pressed her lips together, then dragged her tongue over them, slow. She let herself fall back against the mattress, staring up at the ceiling.

She shook her head once, sharp, like she could physically dislodge the lingering feeling from the call.

“I’m supposed to be on a break,” she muttered, forearm flopping over her eyes. “Why the hell are they calling me back in?” She sounded tired. Not dramatic. Just… worn.

Jin sighed, planting his hands on his hips. “Uh, because I need money?” He raised a brow. “If you don’t work, where exactly am I supposed to get my income from, huh?”

He smacked her thigh lightly.

“Ow—what the hell?” Y/n yelped, jolting upright.

Jin dropped onto the bed beside her, unfazed. “You’re welcome.” She shot him a look, but it didn’t have the usual bite.

“And anyway,” he continued, leaning back on his palms, eyes scanning her face. “Look at what this holiday’s done to you.”

Y/n frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jin tilted his head, studying her. “You come home thinking it’s gonna be quiet. Instead—” He ticked it off on his fingers. “You find out your brother’s the leader of some illegal street racing thing.”

She winced.

“Then,” he went on, “you go on a date with his arch nemesis.”

“It wasn’t a—”

“And then,” Jin cut in smoothly, “you start hanging around those punks—except Marquise, she’s cool—”

“She is,” Y/n said automatically.

“—you get drunk,” he continued, “and suddenly you’re trusting that… what’s-his-name—”

“Jungkook.”

Jin snapped his fingers. “Him. You trust him to take you home.”

His hands flapped in emphasis, but his eyes stayed sharp.

The room fell quiet.

Y/n didn’t respond right away. Her jaw tightened—not defensive, not angry. Just thoughtful.

He wasn’t wrong though.

This break was supposed to be nothing. A pause. A reset. Instead, it had peeled things open she didn’t know existed—her brother’s double life, the underground scene, the way danger didn’t always look loud or reckless. Sometimes it looked cocky. Annoying. Familiar.

She swallowed.

“I didn’t trust him because he’s nice,” she said finally. Her voice was steady. “I trusted him because he didn’t push.”

Jin studied her again, longer this time.

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

She shrugged, small. “I don’t know. I’m just saying.”

Jin exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “You’re in deep, Y/n.”

She scoffed softly. “I didn’t even do anything.”

“That’s what worries me,” he said.

She looked away then, eyes drifting to the duffle bag, to the black leather heels sitting on top like a decision already made.

Friday hovered unspoken between them. The races. Him. The version of herself that hadn’t existed a week ago.

🏎️. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

A few days passed.

Not in any way that felt significant at first. The kind that slipped by quietly—meals eaten standing up, unread notifications, nights that ended too late and mornings that started too early.

And yet. It started small.

Yoongi’s sports car engine snarling past her window at night. The smell of gasoline near a convenience store. Someone laughing low behind her in line, voice careless and familiar in the wrong way.

She never said his name.

Didn’t need to.

Her phone stayed face down more often than not. She told herself it was habit. Told herself it meant nothing when she checked it anyway—thumb hovering, stupidly hopeful, before she caught herself and locked the screen again.

She shouldn’t miss the attention. That was the part that irritated her the most.

It wasn’t like anything happened. There was no promise, no expectation. Just a presence that had slipped in too easily, then pulled back without warning—leaving space where she hadn’t realized she’d made room.

By the fourth day, she stopped pretending she wasn’t thinking about him. Work came anyway.

The studio buzzed with quiet urgency—headsets murmuring, shoes scuffing against concrete, the smell of hairspray and warm lights settling into the air.

Y/n stood still at her mark.

The Dior boots grounded her, black leather hugging her calves, heels sharp enough to command the floor. The rest of the outfit followed suit—sleek, dark, intentional. Armor, dressed up as fashion.

Jin stood in front of her, fingers quick as he adjusted her collar. “Chin up,” he murmured. “This crease needs to sit clean.”

She obeyed without thinking.

To her left, her hairstylist leaned in, the cool end of a comb nudging her hair aside with precision, tucking a strand back into place.

“Hold,” they said softly.

Y/n met her standing reflection in the mirror that was mostly blocked by the number of people surrounding her.

Makeup flawless. Hair perfect. Expression composed in a way she’d practiced for years. She looked untouched. Unbothered.

No one could see the way her mind drifted—how, for half a second, she wondered if he’d recognize her like this. If he’d look longer. If he’d say nothing at all.

“Okay,” Jin said, stepping back, satisfied. “She’s ready.”

Y/n inhaled once. Slow. Controlled.

Whatever she was thinking, whatever had followed her here, it stayed behind the camera.

“It’s here!” someone shouted from the back—one of the crew with a headset clamped over their hair, mic angled toward their mouth.

The studio shifted instantly.

The main director’s face split into a grin. “Alright,” he said, already moving. “There she is.”

Y/n and Jin both turned, craning past light stands and bodies to see what the sudden crowding was about. A few crew members hovered near the backdrop, circling something tall and black like it had just rolled in with its own gravity.

“C’mon, chop chop!” The director clapped, the sound cracking sharp through the air. Conversations cut off. “Vogue wants Y/n, and we want it fucking perfect.”

Jin lifted two fingers, wordless, already herding her forward. Y/n followed automatically, heels clicking against the concrete—measured, deliberate. Like every step was making a point she hadn’t decided on yet.

Then she saw it. She stopped so abruptly Jin nearly walked into her back.

The Rolls Royce sat dead center on set, black paint gleaming under the lights, its front angled toward the camera like it knew it was being watched. Polished. Untouchable. Mean in that quiet, expensive way.

Jin glanced at her, panic flickering across his face. “Hey—hey, what?” he asked, voice dipping. “What’s wrong? You good?”

Y/n didn’t answer right away.

It wasn’t the car. Okay—maybe it was a little the car. You don’t expect a fucking Rolls Royce in the middle of a fashion shoot unless someone’s trying to make a point.

But that wasn’t what lodged in her chest.

What got her was the image that followed too easily—the way her brain filled in the driver’s seat without asking permission. Broad shoulders. One hand lazy on the wheel. Tattooed knuckles. A smirk he wore like he didn’t care who noticed, decorated with lip piercings.

She almost scoffed at herself.

Get a grip.

“If Jin hasn’t filled you in yet, love—” The director stepped up beside her, oblivious, hands tucked into his pockets. “The concept we pitched to Vogue is a badass woman driver. Racer. Whatever label makes them feel edgy this week.” He chuckled, crow’s feet folding into his grin.

Y/n blinked, eyes sliding back to the car.

She hated how immediate it was. How her body reacted before her brain could catch up. Like some fucked-up reflex she hadn’t trained out yet.

For half a second, she genuinely wondered if she was losing it—if exhaustion had finally tipped her into hallucinations. Because she could see Jungkook there. Clear as day. Like he belonged in that seat in a way she didn’t want to unpack.

Why the hell are you thinking about him?

No—worse.

Why was he thinking about her less, and why was that suddenly the problem?

If he could pull away like it meant nothing, why couldn’t she do the same? She’d been good at that. Great, even when he used to stuff his face into her sight. Somewhere along the line, the balance had flipped. And she hated that she noticed.

“You’ll start inside the driver’s seat,” the director continued, snapping her back into the room. “We’ll shoot through the windshield, side angles, a few close-ups. Then we’ll move you onto the hood—strong, unapologetic. Like she owns the damn road.” He gestured toward the car, already envisioning the shots.

Y/n inhaled. Slow. Controlled.

“Mhm! Got it.” She said, voice steady enough to fool anyone listening.

She fluttered her lashes once, more habit than flirtation, and stepped forward. The leather of her boots creaked softly as she moved, heels clicking again—louder now, sharper.

Jin leaned in as she passed him. “You sure you’re okay?” he murmured. “You scared the shit out of me for a second.”

She didn’t look at him. “I’m fine,” she said. “Just… wasn’t expecting that.”

He nodded, buying it. Or choosing to.

Y/n reached the car, fingers brushing the door handle before she caught herself. Cool metal. Solid. Real. She slid into the driver’s seat.

The door shut with a heavy thud that echoed through her chest.

For a moment—just one—she sat there, hands resting in her lap, surrounded by leather and silence and the stupid thought that maybe she was more affected than she wanted to admit.

Then the director’s voice rang out again. “Alright, Y/n—eyes up. Let’s make them nervous.”

She lifted her gaze. And whatever she was feeling, whatever name it had, she buried it deep and gave them exactly what they came for.

“Yes—nice nice!”

🏎️. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

The cars revved and shot forward, engines screaming as rubber kissed asphalt. They were already tearing into the iconic sixth turn—crowd leaning, breath held. And as always, Jungkook fucking owned it.

He cut the curve clean, no hesitation, body loose like the car was an extension of him. His opponent lagged half a second behind, then a full one. Might as well have been a mile.

The crowd erupted as Jungkook blasted toward the finish line.

He crossed it first.

Cheers cracked through the air. Whistles. Phones raised. Someone slapped the side of his car as he rolled to a stop. When Jungkook climbed out, helmet off, sweat damp at his hairline, Taehyung was already there—grabbing him by the shoulders, shaking him like a lunatic.

“Did it again, man!” Taehyung yelled, laughing. “You’re actually insane.”

Jungkook laughed too, that easy, boyish grin flashing for the cameras and the crowd, adrenaline still buzzing in his veins. He dapped Taehyung, then Namjoon, chest still rising fast.

Behind them, his opponent stood stiff beside his own car, getting chewed out by his leader. Jungkook didn’t look back. Not even once.

They started toward Taehyung’s car, parked dead in the middle of the chaos—music blaring, people everywhere, the night alive and feral.

Then Namjoon stopped short. He hit Jungkook lightly in the chest with the back of his hand, sharp enough to pull his focus.

Jungkook followed his gaze. And just like that, the noise dimmed.

“Y/n…” Jungkook muttered.

She stood a few feet away, arms crossed, posture relaxed like she hadn’t just walked into his territory. Black fabric hugging her like it belonged there. Dior boots catching the floodlights. Face unreadable. Eyes on him—but not soft.

Marquise hovered just behind her, tense, watching Jungkook like he might explode.

Jungkook’s grin died where it stood.

Y/n tilted her chin up slightly, gaze cool, distant—almost bored.

“My heels,” she said. Simple. Flat. Commanding.

The same tone he’d used on her during their last call.

Two could play that game.

Taehyung bit back a laugh. Someone else muttered, “Shit...”

Jungkook didn’t react. Not visibly. He just nodded once.

“Of course,” he said. Polite. Neutral. Empty of flavor.

He turned on his heel and headed back toward his car without looking to see if she’d follow.

She did.

His guys stepped aside instinctively, making a clean path for her. Marquise hesitated.

“I’ll find you later,” Y/n said quietly, not breaking stride. Marquise didn’t argue.

Y/n’s boots clicked against the concrete as she followed Jungkook—sharp, deliberate, each step landing like punctuation.

Jungkook heard every single one.

He didn’t slow down. Didn’t look back. But his jaw tightened anyway. And for the first time that night, the adrenaline in his chest wasn’t from the race.

Y/n stopped a few steps away from Jungkook’s car.

The crowd had thinned here, peeled back toward the music like a tide retreating. Engines ticked as they cooled. Neon lights flickered overhead, buzzing faintly, like the night itself was irritated.

She crossed her arms, weight sinking into one hip, jaw set. She looked carved out of defiance.

Jungkook didn’t look at her.

He leaned into his open window, torso bent, one arm braced on the door as he reached across the passenger seat. The interior light flicked on briefly, washing his knuckles in white.

He pulled back with a soft grunt.

Her Louboutins dangled from his fingers—nude leather, red soles catching the glow like a warning sign.

Neither of them moved.

Five seconds stretched. Six. Seven.

The air felt thick, like it was holding its breath. Finally, Jungkook extended his arm, offering the heels out to her.

Y/n’s gaze dropped to them… then slid back up to his eyes. She stepped forward and reached for them. He pulled back. Just enough.

Her eyes snapped up, sharp as glass.

“Jungkook,” she said tightly. “My heels.”

“And my sweater?” he asked. No smirk. No tease. Just flat.

She frowned. “You had the chance to take it back that night why didn’t you?”

His jaw flexed. “Okay, I want it back now.”

Annoyance flashed across her face. She blinked, slow, disbelieving, then shrugged like she couldn’t be bothered.

“Okay. Next time.”

He tilted his head slightly, gaze dropping beneath his lashes, voice steady but unyielding.

“My heels.”

Jungkook looked down at them, then placed them—firmly—into the warmth of her palms.

Their fingers brushed. Static.

Y/n shot him one last glare, then turned on her heel and walked away—model stride sharp, spine straight, every step loud against the concrete.

Jungkook leaned back against his car, eyes tracking her until the darkness swallowed her shape.

Only then did he breathe. A slow exhale, like he’d been underwater too long. He turned back toward his door and suddenly slammed forward.

“Yo—what the fuck—?!”

He spun, fury flaring—Y/n stood there again. Eyes blazing. Jaw tight. Her heels clutched in one hand like a weapon. One of them had just stabbed into his back.

“What the actual fuck…is wrong with you?!” she snapped.

“What?” he shot back, genuinely thrown.

She shoved him hard in the chest, forcing him back against the car. Metal rattled.

“You…drag me into your space,” she said, shoving him again, “act like you want me—”

Another shove.

“—take me out, look at me like I’m something—heck even treat me like I’m special—”

Another.

“—then suddenly you can’t even pretend to give a shit!?”

Jungkook laughed once, sharp and bitter, turning his head aside. “You’re reading too much into—”

“Don’t,” she snapped. “Don’t fucking do that.” She shoved him again. He didn’t stop her.

Didn’t grab her wrists. Didn’t bark back. Part of him wanted to grab her wrists, ground her, tell her to calm the fuck down. Jungkook just stood there and took it.

Because some ugly part of him thought maybe this was punishment. Maybe this was balance.

“This is why I don’t trust guys like you,” she said, voice cracking now. “This is why I don’t fucking let you in so easily,” she continued, anger splintering. “Guys like you are always full of bullshit.” Her chest rose and fell hard.

“I don’t like being played, Jungkook.”

Something flickered in his eyes. Not anger. Fear. And then out of nowhere—

“Hey—hey!”

Her heat was suddenly ripped away from Jungkook. Yoongi’s arm locked around her waist, yanking her back hard.

“That’s enough, Y/n.” Yoongi snapped, voice low and dangerous.

Y/n struggled. “Let go of me!”

Jungkook straightened slowly, back still against the car, chest tight—not from the shoves, but from the words she’d thrown like knives.

He didn’t look at Yoongi nor did he look away from her. He met her eyes over Yoongi’s shoulder.

“You done?” he asked quietly. That calm—that distance—hurt worse than if he’d screamed. Because it told her everything she didn’t want to believe. And for Jungkook, it confirmed exactly why he should’ve never let her get this close.

Yoongi shoved Y/n backward, palm firm at her shoulder, steering her toward Hoseok, Jimin, and Marquise like he was moving a liability out of traffic.

“Watch her,” he snapped without looking back.

Marquise caught Y/n by the arm. Hoseok stepped in front of her instinctively, a quiet wall. Jimin hovered close, eyes darting between the two men like he was watching a fuse burn down.

Yoongi turned back to Jungkook. Jungkook hadn’t moved. Hadn’t squared up. He just stood there with his back half against the car, shoulders loose, expression flat—like he was already tired of a fight that hadn’t even started yet.

“I probably wasn’t fucking clear the first time,” Yoongi said, jabbing a finger hard into Jungkook’s chest. “Stay…the fuck away from my sister, Jeon.”

The touch landed. Hard. Jungkook didn’t flinch. Didn’t swat his hand away either.

He just looked down at the finger pressed into him, then back up at Yoongi, eyes dark and exhausted, like violence was a language he’d spoken too many times tonight.

“I didn’t fucking go after her, okay.” Jungkook said. His voice was low, scraped raw, patience hanging by a thread.

Yoongi laughed once—sharp, humorless. “Then what the fuck is she doing here, huh?” He gestured wildly. “Shoving you? Screaming at you? You think that shit just happens?”

Jungkook exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening. Rainwater dripped off his hair, slid down his neck, soaked into his collar. The neon lights painted him in bruised colors.

“She wanted something from me,” he said. “That’s it.”

Yoongi scoffed. “Bullshit.”

Jungkook’s eyes flicked past him—to Y/n. She stood rigid between her friends, arms tense, chin lifted like she refused to be the weak link in the room. Something in his chest twisted.

“Look,” Jungkook said, gaze snapping back to Yoongi, irritation finally cracking through. “You want me off her ass? I’ll gladly fucking do it.” A beat. Then, colder. “She’s wasting my energy anyway.”

The words landed wrong. Too sharp. Too deliberate.

The air shifted—like someone had sucked all the oxygen out.

Hoseok’s brows shot up. Jimin’s mouth parted slightly. Even Yoongi paused, grip loosening, surprise flickering across his face before suspicion crept back in.

Y/n laughed. A short, hollow sound that didn’t match her face.

“Oh. Wow.”

She ripped her arm out of Marquise’s grasp.

“Y/n—” Marquise started.

“No. I’m good.” Y/n stepped back, eyes locked on Jungkook now, burning, glassy, unreadable. “Crystal fucking clear.”

She lifted her heels, fingers tightening around them like weapons, and turned sharply, storming off across the concrete. The sound of her boots faded into the noise, swallowed by engines and bass and chaos.

No one stopped her.

Jungkook watched her go. Didn’t chase. Well he couldn’t since Yoongi was in the way. Didn’t call her name. Even if he wanted to.

Something hollow opened in his chest—quiet, ugly, familiar.

Yoongi stepped into his space again. “If you ever—”

“I said. I’m done,” Jungkook cut in, finally pushing off the car. He looked at Yoongi now, really looked at him, eyes stripped of everything but warning. “You got what you wanted.”

Yoongi searched his face, like he was trying to decide whether to hit him or believe him.

Jungkook didn’t care which one he chose. Because his eyes had already drifted back to the dark stretch where Y/n disappeared.

For the first time all night, the race felt like the easy part.

The party didn’t even stutter. Bass still pounded like a bruised heart refusing to quit. Neon lights kept flickering, drunk on their own chaos. Engines revved, laughter cracked, bottles clinked. Life went on like nothing important had just snapped clean in half.

Jungkook stayed by Taehyung’s car, shoulder pressed into the metal, a plastic cup sweating in his grip. He’d been nursing the same drink for ten minutes. It tasted like nothing. Might as well have been water—or gasoline—for all he cared.

“Bro,” Namjoon muttered, glancing at him. “You good?”

Jungkook didn’t answer. Just tilted his head back and stared at the sky, clouds hanging low and heavy like they were eavesdropping.

She’s wasting my energy.

The words replayed in his head, warped and distorted, like a track scratched to hell.

He didn’t regret saying them. That truth sat ugly and loud in his chest. Didn’t regret it—but fuck, it didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

Across the lot, Y/n looked carved from ice and rage. Not crying. Not shaking. Just sharp. All edges.

She brushed Marquise off when she reached for her. Shot Hoseok a look that could cut glass. Even Yoongi, usually all teeth and temper when it came to his sister, didn’t say shit. He watched her for a long second, jaw tight, then turned away like he knew better.

That scared Jungkook more than yelling ever would’ve.

Then the call went up.

“Next race!”

“Yoongi versus Jungkook!”

“Oh shit—someone’s dying tonight!”

The crowd surged like blood rushing to a wound.

Jungkook straightened automatically, body moving before his head caught up.

Racing had always been his refuge. The one place where everything went quiet. Where the world narrowed down to rubber, asphalt, and instinct.

Tonight? His mind was a fucking riot.

He slid into his car, door slamming shut, sealing him inside the familiar cocoon of leather and heat and fuel. The engine hummed under his palm, loyal as ever.

Don’t fuck this up, he told himself, jaw tightening.

Yoongi’s car rolled up beside him—low, predatory, confident. Jungkook didn’t look over. Didn’t trust himself to.

The trigger pulled. They launched.

The world blurred into speed and sound. Tires screamed. Neon lights stretched into molten lines. Jungkook took the first turns clean—too clean. Almost aggressive. Like he was trying to outrun something inside his chest.

Focus, he barked at himself. Just fucking drive. But her voice cut through the roar of the engine.

I don’t like being fucking played, Jungkook.

His grip tightened. Then his own words followed, colder. Meaner.

She’s wasting my energy.

“Fuck,” he muttered, shaking his head like that might knock the thoughts loose. “Shut up—shut the fuck up!”

The crowd came into view ahead, faces smeared together into one pulsing mass—and then—

Her.

Y/n stood near the barricade, lit half in red, half in shadow. Arms crossed tight like she was holding herself together by force. Chin lifted. Eyes burning.

She wasn’t cheering. She was staring straight at him. Their eyes locked. Just one second. It hit him like a pothole to the chest. Something in him stuttered—like the engine skipped a beat. Like his heart forgot what it was supposed to do.

Don’t look at her, he ordered himself, breath hitching.

Jesus fucking Christ—don’t—

He tore his gaze back to the road, pulse roaring louder than the engine.

The sixth turn loomed ahead. His turn. The one everyone talked about. The one he owned. He’d taken it blind a hundred times, trusted muscle memory like gospel.

Tonight, his hands hesitated. Just a fraction.

Too fucking late.

“Shit—fuck!”

The car clipped the turn wrong. Tires screamed in protest, metal shuddering like it was cursing him out. Yoongi shot past in a blur of taillights and smoke.

The crowd exploded.

“What the fuck was that?!” Taehyung yelled.

“No way—did Jungkook just miss that?!”

He corrected fast—too fast. Pushed harder. Chased the gap like it hadn’t already swallowed him whole.

But the damage was done. The finish line came up brutal and final. Yoongi crossed first. Clear. Clean. Undeniable.

Jungkook slowed, pulling off to the side as the engine ticked beneath him, hot and disappointed. His hands were still locked on the wheel, knuckles white, veins screaming.

He didn’t look at the crowd. Didn’t look for her. Because for the first time in his life, losing didn’t spark rage. It sparked something worse.

Realization.

And as he sat there, chest rising and falling like he’d just survived a wreck, one thought settled heavy and unavoidable in his bones. She wasn’t a distraction. She was the reason. And that scared the living shit out of him.

Yoongi’s side detonated. Cheers burst out like fireworks—raw, loud, unapologetic. Hoseok whooped and tackled Yoongi in a half-hug, half-body slam. Jimin jumped on his back, nearly knocking the breath out of him.

“You fucking did it!” Hoseok laughed, shaking him like a soda can.

“Sixth turn, baby!” Jimin yelled. “I told you—karma’s a bitch!”

Yoongi grinned, breathless, sweat-slicked and victorious, chest heaving like he’d wrestled the night itself and won. Someone shoved a drink into his hand. Another clapped him on the back hard enough to bruise.

The crowd swarmed. But just a few steps away, Y/n stood still. Stranded. Like the noise had hit an invisible wall around her.

Her gaze stayed locked on Jungkook. He didn’t look back.

He just walked off, one arm swinging loose at his side, shoulders tight, posture screaming restraint. The kind of walk men did when they were holding themselves together with duct tape and pride. The neon lights slid over his back like they were trying to grab him—failed every time. Each step he took felt like a door slamming shut.

Her chest tightened.

Coward, she almost thought.

Before she could sink into it—before she could do something stupid like follow him—Marquise’s arm looped around her waist.

“Hey,” she said, soft but firm, tugging her closer. “C’mon. Don’t stand there like a ghost.”

Y/n blinked, snapped back into her body like she’d been yanked by a leash. Her eyes flicked away from Jungkook just in time to see his silhouette disappear into the darker edge of the lot.

Gone.

Marquise pulled her straight into the chaos.

“Winner, bitches!” Hoseok yelled, throwing an arm around both Marquise and Y/n.

Yoongi turned, still buzzing, grin wide—then faltered when he really looked at his sister.

“…You good?” he asked, voice lowering, cutting through the noise just for her.

Y/n forced a smile. The kind that sat wrong on her face. “Yeah. I’m fucking fantastic,” she said, grabbing a drink from someone’s hand and lifting it. “You won. Congrats. Gold star. Big man shit.”

Jimin raised his cup. “To Yoongi!”

“To Yoongi!” the group echoed.

Glasses clinked. Liquid sloshed. Someone laughed too loud.

Y/n drank. Didn’t taste it though. Didn’t feel it.

Her eyes drifted again—traitorous, disobedient—back toward the shadows where Jungkook had disappeared.

The party roared on around her. But somewhere between the bass and the victory chants, something settled heavy in her chest.

This wasn’t over. She didn’t want it to be.

🏎️. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

Y/n chugged her fourth glass like she was timing herself for something she couldn’t afford to lose.

The alcohol burned down her throat, sharp and temporary, like a match struck in the dark — bright enough to distract, not nearly enough to warm. Her chest still felt tight. Still felt loud.

Yoongi noticed from the crowd the way storms notice shifts in air pressure. Not because she was drinking — she always drank — but because she was drinking like she wanted silence. Like she wanted her thoughts to finally shut the fuck up.

He’d already clocked her earlier, shoving Jungkook into his car, her voice slicing through the night like glass dragged across concrete. The lecture about ‘why the hell are you here’ was sitting on his tongue, heavy and loaded — but it wasn’t the priority.

Her face was. The tension pulled too tight around her mouth. The way her shoulders sat like armor instead of posture.

Yoongi shoved through bodies slick with sweat and adrenaline, the music pounding like a reckless heart. He slid in beside her and hooked an arm around her shoulders without asking — muscle memory, instinct, blood.

Y/n stiffened. Then relaxed when she realized who it was.

“Walk with me,” he said, already moving. She let herself be guided.

They drifted away from the chaos, toward the edges of the parking lot where the night thinned out into mist and oil-slick air. The bass softened here, muffled and distant, like a heartbeat heard through walls. Their footsteps sounded heavier, more honest, echoing against concrete that didn’t pretend to care.

Yoongi didn’t speak right away. Let the quiet stretch. Let it breathe. Then—

“What did he do?”

The question landed slow but deep, like a stone dropped into water.

“Why were you fighting?”

Y/n’s eyes locked onto the ground like it was safer than looking anywhere else. Her fingers rubbed absent circles into her arms, Yoongi’s hold grounding her — an anchor she didn’t realize she’d been drifting toward.

“You can tell me,” he added, softer. “I swear I won’t yell. Or scold. Or go…full asshole.” A ghost of a laugh slipped out of him. It didn’t quite land.

“I don’t know…” she said finally. “He was just… being a dick.”

Yoongi glanced at her.

“Told ya.”

Her glare snapped up, sharp enough to bruise.

“Okay—yeah—rub it in. It’s not like I’m gonna talk to him again.”

“Damn right I am,” he muttered, squeezing her cheek between his fingers. “I warned you.”

She smacked his hand away. “Don’t.”

“I’m serious,” Yoongi said, shrugging. “He’s already fucked up. I know him.”

“You don’t know him.”

“I know the type,” he snapped back. “I race with them. I bleed with them. I bury people like them.” The word bury dropped between them like a dead weight.

Her chest stuttered. “Jesus, Yoongi.”

“I’m not being dramatic,” he said, voice lowering. “This isn’t a fucking movie.”

He exhaled through his nose, jaw grinding like he was chewing on something bitter.

“Guys like Jungkook don’t ruin your life all at once,” he continued. “They chip at it. Little pieces. No contact. Weird moods. That silence that creeps in and makes you feel crazy for noticing.”

Her stomach twisted.

Check. Check. And check.

“And then one day,” Yoongi said, “you’re standing there wondering why you feel like shit when he technically hasn’t done anything wrong.”

That one hurt in a quiet way. The kind that sinks under skin and stays there.

He hadn’t cheated. Hadn’t lied. Hadn’t crossed a line she could point to. But her chest still felt bruised. Like something had pressed too hard and walked away pretending it didn’t notice the mark it left.

Her pride folded inward, small and sore.

“You don’t know him,” she muttered again, but it sounded thinner now. Like a defense she didn’t fully believe.

Yoongi stopped walking. He turned her toward him, hands firm at her arms — not aggressive, just real.

“Y/n,” he said, shaking her once. “I didn’t like seeing you like that. In fact—I don’t.”

She looked away, jaw locked tight enough to crack teeth.

“I don’t like seeing you angry,” he said.

“You don’t like seeing me angry,” she echoed, bitter.

“No,” he said quietly. “I don’t.” His voice cracked — just enough to give it away “Because when you’re angry like that,” he continued, “it means you care. And I fucking hate who you’re caring about.”

Something in her loosened. A knot she didn’t know she’d been clenching. Her face softened before she could stop it. Yoongi saw.

“I’m not mad at you,” he said. “I knew you’d go against me anyway. You always do.”

She huffed weakly.

“I’m mad at the situation,” he went on. “And I’m scared of what happens when you start caring about people who don’t know how to hold you.”

“I don’t need protecting,” she whispered.

“Yes,” Yoongi shot back, “you do. Because it’s exhausting watching you walk straight into shit I already know will burn you.”

She let him talk. Because every word rang true, sharp as exposed wire.

And she hated that.

“He’s trouble,” Yoongi said finally.

Then he held out his pinky. The sight of it hit her harder than expected. That stupid promise. The one they made as kids. The one that always meant something.

“Promise me,” he said. “You won’t go back to him.”

Her gaze dropped to his hand. If she didn’t take it, he’d keep trying. If she did… she already knew she’d break it.

Slowly, she wrapped her pinky around his. Yoongi smiled — small, relieved, like he’d just exhaled after holding his breath too long. He let go, then smacked her back hard.

“Oof—fuck,” she groaned.

He laughed, arm swinging back around her shoulders like it always had.

“C’mon,” he said. “Before you drink yourself into a regret montage. You’re not supposed to be here by the way…”

🏎️. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

Jungkook had left before anyone could stop him.

Before Namjoon or Taehyung could hold Jungkook back for at least two more races, he’d already slipped into his car while the night is still loud enough to not notice one less engine breathing.

The road out of the lot curves like it always does. The neon lights of Seoul soon started to bleed into his windows. Streetlights stretching and snapping past his windshield.

He doesn’t turn the music on. That’s how you know he’s fucked.

The engine hums low and steady. Unlike him. His hands are tight on the steering wheel, veins popping, knuckles pale. He loosens them. Tightens them again. Like he’s testing whether control is still something he owns.

It should feel good. Leaving early. Walking away.

He’s done that his whole life.

So why does his chest feel like someone left a door open in winter?

The road ahead is straight, boring, forgiving — and his brain, traitor that it is, drags him right back to that goddamn moment. The way the car hesitated. Not slid. Not failed.

Hesitated.

Cars don’t hesitate. People do.

He exhales hard through his nose, jaw clenching. “Fuck,” he mutters, like the word might erase it. It doesn’t.

He sees her again — not even clearly. Just flashes. Arms crossed. That look on her face. The way her anger had weight to it, like it had been sitting there for a while, waiting for him to fuck up just enough to let it out.

He didn’t regret what he said.

That’s the worst fucking part.

He meant it. Every cold syllable. Every ounce of distance he threw at her like a shield.

Still.

The realization hits him sideways, no warning, no mercy.

He didn’t lose the race because Yoongi was better. He didn’t lose it because the road was slick. He lost it because his mind wasn’t empty.

Because it had her in it.

Something pulled at him from the crowd — not loud or desperate — just there. Existing and fucking him up.

And Jungkook doesn’t fuck things up unless he cares.

That truth sits heavy in his gut, like swallowed glass.

He laughs once. Sharp. Bitter. “You’re such a fucking idiot,” he tells himself, staring at the road like it personally betrayed him.

Caring has never ended well for him. Caring is how you get people taken from you, how you lose focus, how you start driving differently.

He thinks of how easily she got under his skin. How fast it happened. No buildup. No warning signs. Just—boom. Presence. Weight. Consequence.

That scares him more than the crash ever could.

He presses harder on the gas, like speed might outrun the thought. It doesn’t. Because deep down — beneath the engines, the races, the walls he built brick by brick — he already knows the answer.

He’s attached.

And attachment means distance is the only thing that’s ever kept him alive.

His phone buzzes in the cupholder. He doesn’t look.

The city opens up ahead of him, wide and indifferent, and Jungkook drives straight into it — already grieving something he refuses to touch, already pulling away from someone who never even asked him to stay.

His phone buzzed again. And again.

The vibration rattled in the cup holder, obnoxious, insistent. He glanced down briefly at the screen when the car stopped at a red light.

Missed call.

Missed call.

Missed call.

Same name.

He scoffed under his breath, dragging a hand down his face. Of course. Timing had always been a cruel little bitch.

The phone buzzed again. Jungkook cursed quietly, flicked his blinker on without thinking, pulled over halfway down an empty stretch of road. The engine idled, restless. So was he.

He stared at the phone like it might bite him.

Distance.

That was the rule.

Distance was how he survived people.

He picked it up anyway.

“Yeah, Seoyeon-ah.”

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hiyya luvs!! im so happy to get back to overdrive. i think this chapter could be one of my favourites maybe cus we get to know more about jungkook and probably how fucked up he can be. i hope you guys liked this chapter as much as i did<3

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